#bryne tag

[sleepsart]

Hi this is Saoirse (any prns), Bryne (they/them), and baby Annalise (she/her) . They r soooo special 2 me. They r also sleepin

[ ID: A drawing of Saoirse, Bryne, and Annalise on a poorly drawn couch. Annalise is a baby in a onesie asleep on Saoirse. She has short curly hair. Saoirse is stretched out asleep on the couch, across Bryne's lap. She's wearing a hoodie, gym shorts, and ankle socks. She has long curly hair in a ponytail, and she has multiple piercings, freckles, and tattoos. Her face is mostly tucked into her hoodie and har hands are on Annalise's back. Bryne is awake, leaning on one hand and smiling down at Saoirse and Annalise with a soft expression. Their other hand is on Annalise's back and Saoirse's hands. They're wearing a t-shirt, shorts, and a smiley-face patterned sock. They have a prosthetic leg and a pair of glasses. Their hair is long and in locs, which are mostly pulled back into a ponytail aside from a few loose ones. End ID ]

Tag list: @luna-spacedoodles @convexers @renchanters @cuuno @grey-nova @chimbamuerto @gardenergulfie @oakskull @sadgeish @im-troublesome @griancraft

[floororangejuice]

idk some art

alot of just an oc that i havent shared on here but i love him alot

[and a single alex cause why not]

[derelictheretic]

OC TAG GAME

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @strangefae and @detectivelokis !! Ty 💕💕💕

Not quite sure whose done this since i've been. absent. so i'mma send tags out to @deputyash @bluemojave @adelaidedrubman @bl-beater @jollybone @clicheantagonist @florbelles @unholymilf @henbased @ishwaris @megraen @shellibisshe @trashcatsnark @v0idbuggy @wewillryesagain No pressure as always !!

Favourite OC

Currently I would say Lola is holding that spot, she's fun to draw and write for and I just spin her in my brain like a rotisserie chicken all day she brings me so much joy to think about. She's also my first transfem OC so she,,,,, is so special 2 me <3

My consistent faves of all time tho are my boy Damien (my half demon half vamp man), my girl Lucy (She is a unicorn shifter and I Adore she sooooo much) and ofc my creacher Dean uvu

Oldest OC

Damien!! He's from my first original story I ever made and I've had him for 7 to 8 years!! He rotates in my head forever even tho I barely talk about him 👉👈 His story has changed a few times but his design has stayed pretty consistent! He means the world to me and so does his story and one day I will bring it to life ashsjsjs

Newest OC

That would be Lola!!!! I'd been wanting another unhinged lady to play around with and felt like having a pink murder lady as well and thus Lola was born 🥺 She brings serotonin and I love playing around with her relationships with the other characters!

Meanest OC

Hmmm this is a tough one but it's probably Heather! Heather is actively mean on purpose and loves her passive aggression and tearing people down through her words. She smiles while pointing out all ur insecurities and faults and will laugh if u cry <3 bestest worstie wife ever <333

I have a few other mean OC's like Rilo (Demon lord) but he's on a much bigger scale of wanting to commit genocide against all supernatural creatures soooo he's just like evil less so just mean. Very smile in ur face while he obliterates ur very atoms kinda vibe,, hate him so <3

Softest OC

This is impossible I have too many softies,, But probably Lucy! She's a pacifist and just has the biggest heart, she's very empathetic and always wants to help people even if there is nothing she can do in a situation. She also is just very soft in nature like she has a gentle touch and soft voice and sweet eyes that will make u cry and tell her all ur problems while she holds u.

Most aloof/standoffish

I have a few of these too lol I'd say it's a tie between Michael, Silas (Eldritch horror slasher) or Pheonix (Marvel OC besties with Wade). Silas probably wins because he doesn't tolerate talking to humans in any circumstance and just seeing him tends to send people running. Silent, brooding, grumpy eldritch horror man my beloved.

Smartest OC

I have a sentient AI OC called HEXX and he has knowledge from all across the galaxy (being an AI for a spaceship he needs it lol) so I'd say that'd be him! Ask him anything and he has the answer, just don't ask him about love bc he will have his 1010th identity crisis and the ship will suffer it's 1010th failing and emergency landing :)

Dumbest (affectionate) OC

Hmmm i'm gonna say my baby boy Ky bc he's my literal himbo lmao He has zero thoughts in his pretty little head!! Only loving friends and having fun!!!! Golden retriever boy only know eat hot food and love everyone!!!!! No but he genuinely is so,, so stupid,,, the one thing he can somehow do on his own is cook, baking is off limits he will burn down the kitchen......

OC's I'd be friends with irl

I have a few I think it'd get along with so I'll narrow it down to three!

Piper; We would vibe in a makeshift tree house and play video games and I'd listen to her gush over women (Faith) for hours and she'd judge my horrid taste in men <3 She'd probably also beat me in poker and steal all my money.

Fredrick; my genderfluid god would take me to so many concerts and drag me across the country to get something they bought off of eBay and I would have a blast.

My lil tech nerd Keiden; he likes coding and games, I can kind of code and like games, it just makes sense. We'd play raft and Minecraft and make epic structures and talk about what we would do different with the game mechanics.

[neverswungonswingingstars]

hi!

do you know who the "can we expect a newsroom wedding?" guy is?

Hi! 😊

If you mean actor wise, his name is Rory Fleck Byrne! The only thing I've seen him in before was ghosts! Idk how many of you watch it, but he played the actor that was alison's free pass in the episode where they rent the house out to a filming studio! Haha so I'm looking forward to seeing him!

Not sure how much we know about his character or how many episodes he'll be in but he must be the variety host that was clearly flirting with Dale at that bar, so watch this space!

Let me know if I missed the mark completely with what you were wanting to know and I'll try again 😂

Thank you for sending me the ask 😘

[once-upon-the-earth]

favourite Hozier album? and song?

youre asking this to my indecisive ass? Okay

favourite album i think is unreal unearth but his first is also pretty great, like "competing with the title of best album" great. Wasteland baby makes a very close third

favourite song has got to be nfwmb though. Im never getting tired of that song

thanks for the ask!

[derelictdumbass]

🍨, 🐠, 🌵, 🎨, and 🔢 for the oc f/o ask game? whichever oc you'd like! :)

Thank you for sending these in! I have Damien brainworms so I'll do him!! 🥰

🍨 fave dessert 🍨

I'm a sucker for a good cheesecake! French vanilla is my fave flavour!!

Damien would be more a fruit dessert person, like cherry pie! I think that would be his favourite due to his mother making it and other fruit desserts/pastries often.

🐠 fave aquatic animal 🐠

One of my favourites are brown fur seals, they are super cute and basically puppies of the sea!!

Damien has a soft spot for emporer penguins after a trip to a bubble dimension full of them and a few of the little ones may have followed him around like he was their parent.

🌵 fave cactus or succulent 🌵

I really like Echeveria elegans, I think they're very beautiful and I'd love to have a few in the future!

Damien loves any pink flower cactus, he says they remind him of a plant his mother used to grow in their garden and he has a few littered around the house. He is the designated flower waterer.

🎨 fave art form 🎨

My favourite art form is anything to do with drawing, illustrating, painting, comics, animation, etc. It is my biggest passion and I live all the different methods people can use to tell a story or share a part of themself with the world.

Damien's favourite art form is music, he plays the violin and piano and loves the way you can put your soul into chords and symphonies and he is most at peace listening to music and playing it.

🔢 favourite number 🔢

Seven always comes to mind for favourite or lucky numbers so that's my pick!

I think Damien's would be something like eleven, for a deep or shallow reason I'm not sure!

[icarussrancidart]

oooo you care about my scp self insert you care about my scp self insert so bad

[lunarscaled]

"Boo!"  ( rowan )

HALLOWEEN STARTERS

@xamassed

-> Lyric wasn't sure how parents feel on Halloween. They aren't sure what they feel is necessarily that of a parent's perspective, but they do worry: if Rowan will have a good time. If she will get along with the other children. If she likes her costume enough even though Lyric picked it out from the store on short notice ( ---it's a fairy, with glittery wings whose sparkles stick to every bit of skin on their palms as they adjust the wire and the little straps and the velcro back of her dress over a t-shirt and leggings because it was cold outside, and Rowan was a tree. ) She was wide-eyed and enamored with the thought of the holiday despite the potentially gruesome concept of people hacking the tops off of pumpkins and scraping their guts out, if that was something like body horror to plants, and Lyric assumes it is because she is young. Of course you would want to do things your peers do when you are young, no matter the species.

They can see the bouncing of her fake pipe cleaner antenna around the corner before she jumps out at them, legs pulled up as high as they can go for a maximum stomp sound when they hit the pavement. Lyric raises their eyebrows at her, not the least bit phased, but pretends to be impressed anyways.

"Ooo, real scary there, sprout."

-> They adjust the collar of her dress to make sure the seams are properly lined up with her shoulders and not pinching the fabric of her t-shirt underneath and making uncomfortable lumps. She holds a plastic, pumpkin-shaped bucket in one hand hops over sidewalk cracks as they double check the directions of where they're going, pulling up the kickstand of their bike with their heel.

"But keep the scares for one the ground, okay? No tricks while I'm driving."

[xamassed]

⟬ meme / anonymous ⟭  

As both of you being djinn, was there any particular activity you and Seasnán enjoyed doing together?  

The round frames of his glasses were given a subtle push up the bridge of his nose before he let loose a long, thoughtful hum. It pained him to think about her, since it didn’t feel as if her passing had happened thousands of years ago, but it felt dishonorable to her memory to dismiss the question simply because he carried the heavy burden of guilt on his shoulders.

“She was a brilliant storyteller. She always knew how to show and not tell, and she made characters that I easily found myself adoring.” He sat back in his seat, eyes turning upwards. “Sometimes it took only a week to write up a new chapter. Other times, it took her months. Either way, she would always read them to me aloud, and I would listen. It wasn’t just that she knew how to write, but she knew how to deliver it. The pauses, the emotion, the voice of each character.”

He missed it. He missed her stories, he missed her voice, and he missed her.

[helloitsbees]

nothing brings me as much joy as someone being so fandom-pilled that they tag or caption the most niche, obscure in-joke with "someone has probably already done this". no i don't think someone has drawn herbert west in the huge david bryne suit already but i want so badly to live in the world where you're the sixteenth person to have thought of that exact concept

[sleepsart]

Gaymers and their child

[ ID: A drawing of Saoirse, Bryne, and Annalise on a poorly drawn brown couch, which has a white and green blanket laid on the back. Annalise is a baby in a light blue onesie asleep on Saoirse. She has short brown curly hair and light brown skin. Saoirse is stretched out asleep on the couch, across Bryne's lap. He's wearing a green hoodie, brown gym shorts, and mismatched neon yellow and pink ankle socks. He has long orange curly hair in a ponytail, and he has multiple piercings, freckles, and tattoos. He has tan skin. His face is mostly tucked into his hoodie and his hands are on Annalise's back. Bryne is awake, leaning on one hand and smiling down at Saoirse and Annalise with a soft expression. Their other hand is on Annalise's back and Saoirse's hands. They're wearing a light purple t-shirt, dark purple shorts, and a black and yellow smiley-face patterned sock. They have a prosthetic leg and a pair of glasses. Their hair is long, brown and green, and in locs, which are mostly pulled back into a ponytail aside from a few loose ones. They have brown skin. The background is orange. End ID ]

Tag list: @luna-spacedoodles @convexers @renchanters @cuuno @grey-nova @chimbamuerto @gardenergulfie @oakskull @sadgeish @im-troublesome @griancraft

[mostsanescarletspiderfan]

WE ARE ROBIN 3.0

30 years into the batman's carrier the We Are Robin movement has decreased since its original formation six years ago, nonetheless, the youths of Gotham still come out to protect its nest.

This iteration of the team consists of three previous members who have stayed to mentor and give support to the five new recruits.

Shug-R mostly just does the hacking and planning but if needed she also acts as a field medic, since she joined the oracles her job became way easier.

Daxton Chill aka Alt is the mechanic/tech support for the team but unfortunately that makes him the least active member on the team during missions.

Isabella Ortiz aka redbird co-leaders with Shug-R, she is romantically involved with the leader of the Gotham Knights.

Nathan and Michael Hook have been both a pain in the ass and a blessing to Orpheus and Onyx for their incredible inventions, that intrigued Dax and he decided to give them a chance and, well, when four superheroes give you a thumbs up you can't say no.

Dexter Dent is the son of ex-supervillain Harvey Dent and [REDACTED], his father is VERY agonist of him being a vigilante even tho the hypocrite himself is one now, on an unrelated note the penguin seems quite fond of the lad.

Tiffany Fox has been surrounded by heroes all her life with you would think it meant she would have an easier time getting into the hero game but noooo it couldn't be so easy... Her Brother's solution was to put her with these kids as a compromise.

Aurora or as she likes to be called, hoopoe, hopes to one day become a great hero just like Bryne is.

Like any self-respecting superhero team they have their own headquarters called the nest, this one given to them as a first outing gift by Tim Drake who owned it first. Their range extends from the Hill all the way up to Robbinsville, when they patrol it's not unusual to team up with the night shift and the Gotham knights but they also find themselves paired with fennec fox of all people most of the time.

NOTE: for those who don't know who Nathan, Michael and Aurora are the first 2 appear in batman: black & white vol 2 #6 and DC power 2024 while Aurora is from batman: the brave and the bold 2023 #6-7-8, also the DCPU tag is to navigate my dc universe and We Are Robin 2.0-4.0 are placed in different points in the timeline so I don't wanna use them yet.

[superdogbiter]

Feel free to say in the tags why you chose what you chose

But i think i know who's gonna win

[ravenofthefandoms]

The Lucky Stag: Part 3

Word Count: 4621 (oopsies)

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Characters: Sandor Clegane, original character (Marlys), original character (mentioned) (Jeremiah Bryne), Morgan (mentioned), Lem (mentioned), Gatins (mentioned), Brotherhood without Banners, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion

Warnings: some gore (it’s Game of Thrones), some mild angst, some mild fluff

A/N: Hi :) sorry for disappearing but life has been hectic. I’ve been wanting to write again, especially after House of the Dragon. Hopefully, people still wanna see more of this. Hopefully, for a time, I’ll have more regular updates and posts. As I said a while back, there are some Podrick x reader posts I have brewing plus some ideas for House of the Dragon. This one isn’t super exciting but I’ve got some plans for the next few chapters that should get the blood pumping if you will

Tags (let me know if you would like to be removed since it’s been so long): @anita-e-taylor, @my-bitch-loki @orange-sherbxrt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters outside of my own original characters. The others belong to George R.R. Martin. I do not own any of the gifs used. They belong to the original creators.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

You had been walking for ages, or what felt like it at least. Walking where, you did not know. Sandor had muttered to himself while he held you outside of the burning tavern, something about finding the men so he could tear them to bloody fucking pieces. Unfortunately, you had nothing but the singed, smoky clothes on your back and the aching hole in your chest left to your name. You knew, in reality, that it had only been a day and a half since your life had turned to ash but time no longer felt as it did before. Your eyes always felt dry, and your voice caught in your throat more often than not. Sandor could count the words you’ve spoken on his two hands.

On the first night, your friend, Marlys, was gracious enough to let you stay with her and her husband. She insisted that it was her duty as your friend, however. Another thing she tried to insist on was you sleeping in her and her husband’s bed, which he had heartily agreed to. You refused, though. Instead, you curled on the hay floor near the fireplace, Sandor sitting against the wall near your feet. 

Marlys was truly a kind woman, and you felt badly now for the way you were when you stayed there that night. You supposed that you shouldn’t, considering your grief was fresh and intense. The next morning, you and Sandor broke your fast with Marlys and her husband before they gave you enough food for a day of travel and a skin of water. Their kindness made tears well in your eyes. As you said your goodbyes, Sandor waited outside for you. 

Your childhood friend pulled you into a tight embrace. Tears spilled onto each others’ shoulders as she whispered her condolences. After a night of rest, you realized that you weren’t the only one who grieved your brother’s death, and held onto Marlys as tightly as she held onto you. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). Promise you’ll come back someday.” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice to be steady. 

Letting go, you walked out to a patiently waiting Sandor. “Ready?” He knew what your real answer was, the same as anyone else’s would be. Your nod was good enough for him though. With one last tearful look towards probably the one place you wish you could stay, you began walking.

The first day of walking had been largely uneventful. Sandor led you with, surprisingly, gentle hands. Whether on your elbow, on the small of your back, or even holding your own in his, he never let go of you until you needed a break or it was time to set up camp. He found a clearing off the side of the path you had been traveling. With no ax, he was unable to cut any logs to build a proper fire, and instead gathered twigs and sticks from the surrounding copse of trees. As he gathered the firewood, you sat and prepared the area where the fire would blaze. Stones from a nearby stream were set in a circle to keep the flames contained. You handed it over to Sandor when he returned. He began to stack the wood, stuffing fallen leaves and tall grass into the center.

By the time you sat and made yourself as comfortable as you could on the hard ground, Sandor had the tinder smoking, then smoldering, and finally beginning to burn. As the fire slowly grew, Sandor moved to sit next to you. His eyes watched you carefully, unsure what to do or say. He had never been good with words, most of them crass and rude. He didn’t want to be crass or rude with you though. When it came to you, Sandor wanted to make you smile and laugh, to see the glimmer in your eye when you spoked animatedly, to keep you warm during the chilly nights, to-... He shook his head slightly, needing to derail this trail of thinking. As odd yet enjoyable this sensation was, there were priorities to be dealt with first. He needed to track down those sons of bitches that hurt you so and make them regret ever being born. 

“Sandor,” you murmured. He looked down and grunted. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” He suddenly found his hands, fiddling with a small twig, to be much more interesting. 

“Don’ thank me. I’ve been more trouble than not,” he muttered. A soft chuckle, more of a sigh than anything, fell from your lips and you shook your head, almost as if he had made some silly joke. Pride swelled in his heart for a moment – hearing any sort of sweet sound from you was a blessing. You didn’t respond to his words, only scooted closer to him as a chill began to creep into the air. Your shoulders grazed his, body heat warming you as much as the fire in front of you. “You should get some rest.” His eyes flicked down to you, the smallest of bitter smiles gracing your lips. 

“Aye, I should.” You looked up at him; the lack of, well, everything in your eyes made him uneasy. He knew as well as you that rest would not come easy, if at all. Your eyes returned to the flames, your gaze becoming unfocused in them. A long moment lasted before you spoke again. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. Sandor kept his gaze fixated on your face, waiting for you to continue. “I’ve always known what needed to be done. Cook the venison, bake the bread, serve the ale, keep the tavern running, watch over my-... watch over my brother.” The last few words came out slightly strangled, as though you choked on them. “I am lost now.” 

Another long silence fell between you before Sandor reached over and took one of your hands in his own. “You’re not lost. You’re not broken neither.” Your gaze lifted to meet his own. “You’re strong. And I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, if you let me.” You were able to offer him a small, watery smile along with a quick nod.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Your eyes returned to the flames for a moment longer before you closed them. “I want nothing more,” you said softly. Again, silence fell over the two of you, nothing to hear aside from the crackling of the fire. Sandor was unsure how long he stared into the dancing flames before your head nodded onto his shoulder and soft snores filled the air. 

The next morning, you awoke with a start, images from the past few days haunting your dreams. The sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon, though the chill of night still hung in the air. A shiver ran down your spine as your body began to wake from its slumber. Your tailbone and legs ached as you stood and made your way to the stream. The water was cold and brisk. Dipping your hands in the babbling brook made your arms break out into gooseflesh. You cupped the water in your hands, gently bringing it to your face. The freezing shock was necessary, you felt, before you began on your journey again. When you returned to the fire, Sandor’s eyes were open and sought out your approaching figure. 

He said nothing, something you were accustomed to after a few months of knowing him. Sandor would never be considered a particularly chatty man. However, sitting in silence with the large man brought you a sense of peace and calm. 

You nodded once at the question in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. There was nothing for you to gather or put away, only the still-smoldering embers of the night’s fire. Sandor kicked dirt over it, if only to ensure that the flames would stay smothered rather than springing back to life. Once again, he guided you to the path with sure steps. There was a bloodlust in his eyes as he tracked the men that he was intent on killing. It didn’t scare you, strangely enough. For once, it made you feel… protected. You couldn’t say that you remember a time when you felt protected. Your brother, gods rest his soul, was strong and protected you from men who were too handsy or too violent. There was always the silent agreement, however, that you were the one that protected your brother. You raised him, cared for him, and made sure he grew to be the man that he was beginning to be. This sensation from Sandor, it lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you had not realized was there. A shadow that had hung from you for as long as you could remember.

Gently, you shook these thoughts from your head. You instead focused on the path ahead, watching and wary of your surroundings. Many hours passed, early morning turning into early afternoon. As though he was indeed a hound picking up a scent, Sandor stopped suddenly. He turned to your left. You turned as well, trying to see or hear or smell whatever it was that he was sensing. After a few moments, you could hear the sound of raucous laughing, as well as cursing. It was enough for Sandor to tug you along gently, despite his long, angry strides.

You walked just behind Sandor, the sound of laughter growing as you continued to walk closer. An ax laid next to a stump and a pile of chopped logs. From where you stood, you could see four men, all somewhat familiar, sitting around a fire. Sandor stopped, looking back at you slightly with a warning in your eyes. It was something you understood quickly. You nodded and took a step back.

That bloodlust was back in his eyes, if it ever left. He grabbed that ax and began stalking towards the group of men. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. Sandor swung his ax with a yell at the first man, lopping off his head with ease. It was at this moment that you turned around, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the bile down. It wasn’t that you had a sudden guilt about the silent agreement between you and Sandor to avenge your brother. In fact, you quite enjoyed the ferocity with which he swung his weapon. What made your stomach churn was the memory that it returned to you: your brother’s corpse. The grisly nature of the scene unfolding was something that you found you just could not watch. Squelching flesh as it was maimed by steel still reached your ears. Your eyes closed quickly, taking deep breaths to keep your stomach calm. As the final man whimpered in pain, you could hear Sandor speaking to him. You weren’t sure what Sandor said, his voice too soft to be carried over the wind. You did, however, hear the dying man scream at the giant before him.

All you could hear was further grumbling from Sandor. You did not open your eyes nor did you remove your hand from your mouth. The crunch of leaves and sticks stopped behind you. “It’s over now, little flower.” His hand gently came up to grab your wrist, pulling it away from your face. Your eyes opened slowly, looking up to meet Sandor’s own gaze.

“Did I scare ya?” There was something in his voice that had you shaking your head quickly.

“No, Sandor. I just… I couldn’t watch.” He nodded softly. Your hand drifted up slowly to rest on his scarred cheek. “Thank you.” Your voice was more frail than you expected or wanted it to be. “They met the ends they deserved.” 

He nodded his agreement. 

“Aye, they did. There are still more. The one who led them, with the yellow cloak. We find him, and your brother will have been avenged.” You nodded, looking up at him with a fierceness in your eyes that made his heart stutter a moment. With no more need to stay, the two of you continued back on your journey. 

Surprisingly, you did not walk as far as you thought you would have to before the sounds of men reached your ears again. It was distinctive this time, and much closer than the last group of men had been. Sandor looked down at you, nodded, and then headed towards the noise, ax ready to attack.

To both your own and Sandor’s surprise, the men you sought were standing on barrels with nooses around their necks. A handful of men, no more than ten, stood around them, and one sat above on the tree branch. Swords were partially drawn in caution, until one of the men spoke.

“Clegane.” He was a handsome man, the one who spoke. An eye patch covered his right eye, a crop of sandy hair cropped close to his head. If it weren’t for the setting you found yourself in, you would think him to be some dashing knight that you, as did many of the other girls in your village, dreamt of being swept away by. You stayed close to Sandor, however, almost hiding behind him as a child does behind their mother’s skirts.

“The fuck you doing here?” Another man asked. This one had long hair gathered into a knot atop his head and a deep red cloak hanging around his shoulders. His gaze flicked to you, seemingly amused.

Sandor pointed at the soon-to-be hanged men. “Chasing them.” His hand, still gripping yours, tensed slightly. “You?”

The second man to speak looked back at the men before responding. “Hanging them.” He seemed almost bemused in the way he spoke, as though it were just another sunny afternoon. 

“Any particular reason?” Was Sandor’s somewhat irritated response. The clipped conversation had your eyes darting between the men as they spoke. 

The first man spoke again. “They’re our men, or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Burnt down a tavern in the next village too. Why do you want them?” His eye flicked to you, as though just realizing that the Hound was not alone. Curiosity made his head quirk to the side, his lone eye seeming to look you up and down. Not in the way you were used to men doing, but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like he was reading your body, your mind, and your soul. There was a part of you that felt sure he could hear every thought in your head.

“Same reason.” Sandor jerked his head to you. “It was her tavern they burnt. Her brother they murdered.” Your hand tensed in his, and he squeezed it gently. “She saved me.”

“Saved you? A surprise anyone would think to do that.” The second man seemed to be quite witty, or at least thought he was. There was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that you could see, even from your distance. 

Sandor looked down at you once again before returning his gaze to the men in front of him. “Aye, it is.” A pause and he started walking towards them intently, you following behind him. “They’re ours.” Sandor said, a statement of fact rather than a request.

The first man moved forward. “It is the Brotherhood’s good name they’ve dragged through the dirt.

“Fuck your name.” Sandor’s response was instant. The two of you came to a stop in front of the men. “They’re ours. I’ve killed ya once before, Dondarrion, happy to do it again.” In response, a man in the small crowd drew an arrow, pointing it at Sandor. You frowned and moved to the side between the archer and Sandor, releasing his hand in the process. “Drop that arrow, you bloody girl.” His eyes remained focused on the man he addressed as Dondarrion. “Tougher girls than you tried to kill me.” Sandor raised his ax, pointing it at the archer but careful of where he knew you stood next to him. A beat of silence and Sandor turned to start stalking towards the archer.

“You can have one of them.” Sandor turned back.

“Two.” It was almost incredulous how they seemed to barter over the lives of these men, who got to kill them. The two men who spoke with Sandor looked at each other. The second one nodded to the first, Dondarrion, who in turn nodded to Sandor.

They turned to the three men whose fates they so casually debated. Sandor went to the one on the farthest left, looked him up and down, and swung his ax back. It was grabbed, however, by the second man before he could bring it down. “No, no, no. We’re not butchers. We hang them.”

“Hanging? “ Sandor’s voice was annoyed. “All over in an instant. Where’s the punishment in that? Not enough after what they did to her brother. What they did to her ho-” Your hand on his arm stopped Sandor in his rant. He looked down to you, where you shook your head. There was no point in arguing. The other four you found died in pain and suffering. It was enough for you. Sandor pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. 

“They’ll die.” Was the simple answer from the red-cloaked man, whose hands rested so casually upon the pommel of his sword.

“We all bloody die, except for this one here.” Sandor looked back to Dondarrion, making your brow furrow in confusion. You turned to look at the man as well, still standing a bit behind Sandor. The man looked at you, a small, almost knowing smile upon his lips as he held your gaze. It unsettled you a bit, so you looked back and up at the men facing their deaths. “I’ll only gut one of them.” The bartering nearly made you snort with laughter, but you held it in.

“No.” Dondarrion switched his gaze from you to Sandor as he spoke. The giant man next to you turned and glared at the man.

“Chop off one hand.” This time you couldn’t help the snort of laughter, the gazes of the men around you turning upon you suddenly.

“We gave you two out of the three, out of respect of the lady’s loss. That’s generous.” His eye held a bit of warning for Sandor, telling him not to push his luck. Sandor sighed and looked down at you. You nodded and he turned back to Dondarrion. 

“Bunch of nances,” he grumbled. Sandor threw his ax to the ground in annoyance before looking up at the men. “There was a time I would’ve killed all seven of you just to gut these three.” Your brow quirked at his statement but you paid it no further mind.

“You’re getting old, Clegane. Or maybe your lady love has just made you soft.” Again with the mirthful look from the red-cloaked man, whose eyes roamed you freely. His gaze, though holding no malice, roamed over you with far less intensity and far more interest in the decolletage visible from the top of your gown. This was the gaze you were used to from men, and did not unsettle you like the other man’s did.

Sandor’s eyes turned to a deadly glare at the man before turning back to the men soon to be killed. “Well, he’s not.” His foot moved to the barrel that the first man stood on and kicked it from underneath his feet. He dropped suddenly and a sickening crunch was heard as he struggled against the noose. Sandor moved to the next one, turning back to you first with a question in his eyes. Your eyes leveled with his before flitting to the man in the middle.

“Did you kill my brother? With your own sword? The man you hung from a tree with the deer he had killed.” Your steely gaze leveled on the man, a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth. Violently, he shook his head, muttering what you believed to be lies. You had no proof save the the cloak around his neck. The cloak was not something you recognized, but the pins holding it together were. Those were the pins you had bought your brother for his sixteenth nameday. Your hand reached up, grasping the pins gently as you looked at them before you ripped them off. You put your bootclad foot on the edge of the barrel, leveling to meet his eyes once again.

“Mistress, please, I’ll give you anything.” The final words barely escaped his lips before you pushed the barrel over and the air was stolen from his lungs. With this man, there was no snap, only the strained gasp as his throat quickly began to become crushed against the rope. You kept your gaze upon the thrashing man’s face, watching with a deepset frown as his eyes seemed to bulge from his face and the color drained from his face to only be replaced by a blue hue. Dondarrion, who had sidled up next to you, quickly kicked over the barrel of the last man, who also choked. As soon as the third man began his suffering, you stepped back. The two men who Sandor seemed to know watched with varying expressions as Sandor looked at the middle man’s feet. The red-cloaked one seem bemused as Sandor removed the man’s boots and compared them to his own feet, while the other seemed intrigued.

“Got anything to eat?” Sandor finally asked once he pulled the new boots onto his feet. The men nodded and began walking to where they had set up camp. It wasn’t far, but far enough from the road where the deadmen hanged that you could no longer hear the creaking of the rope as their limp bodies swayed in the breeze.

A few men had stayed behind, assumingly to cook the game they had hunted and keep the fires stoked. You sat next to Sandor on a log, your knees drawn close to your chest. A leg of rabbit was in your hand but your gaze stayed on the lapping waves of the lake next to you. Two men sat on the log to your right and the man called Dondarrion on the left. The red-cloaked man soon joined you, a skin of something in his hands. “Enjoying yourself?” 

Sandor examined the rabbit bone, cleaning it of its meat. “I prefer chicken.” A small smile graced your lips before you took another bite from the leg.

“Would you like to introduce us to your friend, Clegane? It is the proper thing to do.” The red-cloaked man passed the skin to Sandor, who took a swig of it before handing it to you. You took it, the burn of alcohol bringing a slight relief to you.

“Not really,” he replied. You nudged him with your elbow, though this was only met with a grumble from the man. “(Y/N), that is Beric Dondarrion, leader of this… whatever it is. And that bald cunt with the topknot is Thoros of Myr. This is (Y/N).”

They both nodded to you, which you returned. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I’m no lady, Ser. But I thank ye, for the food. And the justice.” Though you spoke of it, it didn’t really feel as though justice had been served. Those men were dead, but so was your brother. You wondered if the dull ache in your heart would ever leave, or even lessen at all. The men seemed to be able to see the dull look in your eyes. Sandor’s hand gripped your knee gently, tossing the rabbit bone into the flames. Your eyes met his, and a small smile lifted the corners of your lips. He nodded and turned back to Thoros and Beric, though his hand didn’t leave you. The aforementioned men shared a look, noticing this surprisingly sweet gesture of comfort from the Hound. 

Beric nodded at your words before returning his attention to Sandor once again. “You ought to join us.” You listened as Sandor snorted, responding to Beric. At this point, you tuned yourself out of the conversation, the only thing anchoring you to reality was Sandor’s hand on your leg. You finished the rest of the rabbit leg that had been given to you earlier, tossing the bone into the fire. 

Your eyes lingered over the water, lapping at the muddy shores. The image of the strangled man kept flashing in your mind, but you steeled yourself against it. He suffered, hopefully more than your brother did. This was not enough, but it had to be. You would make it so. 

The men continued to speak, Sandor’s thumb rubbing soft and slow circles against your knee. He stood, giving one reassuring pat to your leg before he walked to the edge of the lake and began to fiddle with his pants. You averted your eyes quickly, attempting to keep a soft blush from your cheeks as your eyes found the first thing that wasn’t Sandor. Unfortunately, that thing was the amused gaze of Thoros of Myr. Suddenly, something he said registered in your brain. “You’ve brought him back? Not healed him, but… how?” The man who called himself a priest chuckled into his drink. 

“I prayed.” Beric pulled up his shirt to show you many scars, many of which should have killed him. “Six times, isn’t it?” Beric nodded to Thoros’ question. “I just got lucky. Or he did, I suppose.” Beric dropped his shirt as Sandor returned from relieving himself.

They continued their conversation, though you only payed half a mind to it. The fact that Beric had died six times but was still standing before you, very much alive, was incredible. They continued to talk about fighting, cold winds, and mysterious creatures that sounded like tales that the old women in the village would tell you as a child. “It’s not too late, Clegane.” This was the last thing Beric said to Sandor, silently awaiting an answer to his proposition. Sandor gave a soft sigh, staring at Beric before looking down at you.

His gaze held yours for a long moment, longer than you’ve had before. A soft emotion that you couldn’t quite place entranced you. “Well, what do ya say, lass? Ever been to the North?” You shook your head slightly. “Would ya like to?” A brief moment of clarity washed over you. You accepted Sandor’s offer of protection. You thought that, once your brother’s killers were caught, he would see it as a job done. Or maybe he would simply refuse to bring you, a woman, on what was doubtlessly a dangerous adventure. It seemed that this was not the case. How it seemed, at least to you, was that Sandor was intent on staying with you. And this thought made your heart feel a little brighter than it had before, and a smile painted your mouth. A real smile, one that reminded Sandor of the smiles you would offer him back in the tavern. The smile that always made his heart skip a beat, despite that particular sensation frightening him.

“Aye, I think I would like to see the North. It’s not like there’s much left for me in the Riverlands.” Beric nodded his head to you while Thoros raised his skin and took another drink. Sandor offered you a small, secret smile before taking your fingers in his hand as discreetly as he could. It wasn’t discreet at all, but thankfully, neither Thoros nor Beric felt the need to say anything.

[scribblesbyb]

Writing Game Week #1: Use These Prompts to Get Back Into Writing!

Prompt 1 Prompt 2 Prompt 3 Prompt 4 Prompt 5 Prompt 6 Rules: Sharing randomly generated prompts every day for a week. Create sth with it in only an hour (time yourself). Don't edit or proofread till the very end. Just. Write. Tags: cute idiotic fluff, voyeurism??, just two people being idiots really A/N: For this prompt, I chose Book I in the series, The Seven Realms (The Demon King). Feel free to pick wtv you like for your take. I colored the part I took from the book as well.

P.S. If you've never read the book/series, you'll be lost lol. I tried to leave as many context clues though so I hope you still enjoy it!

WC: 1637

Prompt 7: Turn to page 103 in Your favorite book, read the scene, and finish it yourself.

“Raisa swallowed hard and stepped into the shelter of the doorway. Amon planted a hand on Micah’s shoulder and propelled him down the corridor. But the look Micah fired at Raisa over his shoulder said this wasn’t the end of it.” 

Cowering back into her room, Raisa breathed out deeply, hand trembling as she carefully shut the door. Plopping herself onto the comfy mattress, her exhausted body spread like a starfish, she tried desperately not to think of Micah’s glare. 

It lingered on her skin. She hugged her body close, comforting herself, quickly switching topics in her mind. She thought of her fervent kiss with Amon; how his big arms embraced her and his worrying made her stomach twist with butterflies.

There was nothing to worry about, she reassured herself. Whoever made that tunnel must’ve died a long time ago.

“Whatever,” she mumbled under her breath, ignoring the creeping blush in her cheeks. “Let’s change out of this bothersome gown.”

While she did that, her mind continued to harass her, reminding her of how stupid it was to throw herself at Amon like that. He clearly didn’t seem to be into it. And something about that hurt the princess on a primal level. 

What was I thinking? Wearing a gown? Letting Magret know our secret place? Kissing him? Telling him about the tunnel? And now this whole mess with Micah?

Micah, who had sat in his room fuming, unable to believe that a man of the Queen’s Guard nevertheless dared emasculate him as such. Just like Raisa feared, this wasn’t over. Amon had made an enemy without even realizing it.

Bryne’s son was facing a difficult night of his own. Having seen Raisa after all these years sent his mind spiraling. Foolishly he tried to tell himself he didn’t know why. But he did. He absolutely did. Raisa in that gown? Raisa being the daring, do-first-think-later girl he admired? Raisa’s lips, her waist, her soft skin?

He shook his head; his movements deliberately slow as he undressed. He feared that if he moved any faster, it would prompt him to do something rash. Like go back, check on the princess, sweep her room—in the name of duty, of course, and then…well…things happen.

Then he remembered the tunnel. Raisa promised she’d do something about it but he knew her. She’s stubborn enough to think that it still posed no danger. 

Instinctively, his armor came back on and he retraced their steps back to the glass garden. Sure, he had to be up early. And yes, he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it from his dad if he’s incompetent tomorrow. It didn’t matter. He just wanted, nay needed, to know that the princess, his Raisa, was safe.

In no time, he was descending the ladder into the rat-infested pathway that led to her room. Worried she had already slept, he kept his footsteps light as he approached the end. It was hard to keep his breathing steady, though. His heart was beating too fast. Images that weren’t supposed to be running through his mind couldn’t stop emerging despite how hard they pushed them away.

Images of them kissing here only minutes ago. Images of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped them. And why did he? Just why? Just because she’s the princess? Just because his righteous self wouldn’t let him?

His thoughts halted as he came to the door. Bracing himself, he put his hand to it and opened it slightly ajar. He paused to listen. Beyond the walls, he could hear the sound of water running. Perhaps the princess is taking a shower? 

Amon thanked the heavens. He thought he was going to have to work while Raisa slept. But if she was in her bathroom quarters, there was enough noise to cover his movements. He would work swiftly; board the door up before Raisa was done.

But Raisa was already drying herself off, seeing that she wasn’t enjoying her bath as much as she typically did.

Her mind had continued to incessantly worry over every little thing that happened throughout her long, exhausting day. It cut her bathtime short. She decided it was best she went to sleep; put an end to this day once and for all.

Wrapping her body up in a towel, she came out, steam trickling into the room, alerting her late-night intruder. He jumped, hiding behind the several dresses that hung in her wardrobe. Bones! He thought. She’s going to reach in here for clothes, isn’t she?

He glanced behind him. The door was already half boarded up. He couldn’t go back the way he came and come back later to finish his job. He was stuck. 

Raisa, unaware of her friend’s presence or his turmoil, shed the towel covering her up to the ground. Water rolled off her tan skin, dripping onto the soft rug beneath her soles. She went through the dresser near her bed, searching for a pair of undergarments suitable for bed. What pieces she deemed fit she threw onto her bed in one swift motion.

Amon watched. He didn’t want to. He begged his eyes to look away, tried to pry them off the lines of the princess’ curves or the fullness of her body. He remembered how firm yet frail it felt in his arms as he kissed her. How right it was to do so.

It was hard to stop. His lustful gaze followed her as she dressed. She bent over slightly to put on her underwear, covering her intimates first. Then, she glided a thin, pink nightdress over her glistening skin. It stopped at her knees, granting Amon a sheer view of Raisa’s front. 

Brushing her hair back, the blissfully unaware princess sat at her dresser to unbraid and brush her hair. Normally, Marget would be doing this for her. She didn’t mind doing it herself, though. 

Her mind drifted to Amon again as she combed through her hair. Where did he learn to kiss like that? It seemed to be the question that bugged her the most. Wouldn’t it be weird if I asked? She feared he’d jump to ridiculous conclusions.

He didn’t seem to have any trouble showing his jealousy, though, Raisa wondered idly, recalling how he reacted when she spoke of her suitors.

“It seems it’s going to be a long night.” The princess sighed to herself, giving up on brushing her hair just as she did with finishing that bath.

Not expecting to hear her talk, Amon startled where he stood, rattling a few hangers as he did. He held his breath and waited, closing his eyes and not wanting to see if Raisa had picked up on the noise. His heart danced wildly in his chest; his lungs filling up with air that begged to be released. 

Weary, he blinked open one eye. Raisa was still sitting there, only she was looking in his direction with fearful eyes. She can’t see me, he thought, but she did hear me.

Grabbing a pair of cutting scissors, Raisa slowly stood to her feet. In her panic, she seemed to forget about her state of undress as her light steps made their way to the closet.

Amon’s brain spiraled some more. Several scenarios ran through his brain, none of which were good. He tried to determine which one was the best case but came up empty. Exhaling loudly, the words came spilling out of him before he could even think.

 “I’m sorry Raisa,” he began quietly, “I only came because I was worried.”

The princess shrieked at her friend’s voice then quickly covered her mouth to muffle the sound. The last thing she wanted was to wake up the guards. Not with Amon here. Not with her dressed like this.

“Amon?” The name was a whisper in the air. “What in Hanalea’s bloody bones are you doing here?”

“I wanted that door boarded up.”

“I promised you I would do it!”

“Please.” He rolled his eyes. “We both know you wouldn’t have.”

The princess huffed, slamming open her closet doors to glare at her rude intruder. “What are you saying? That I’m stubborn?”

Amon’s eyes didn’t know where to look. He squirmed and fidgeted at the proximity of such breathtaking beauty. Face red, he replied, “Yes, Your Highness.”

“There you go calling me that again.”

“Would you look at yourself?” Amon’s eyes flicked to hers, tired of being the sane one here. “Look at yourself and tell me you’re not royalty.”

Embarrassed, Raisa hid her body behind clumsy arms. She looked away, turning to fetch a robe and cover herself up. Amon let out another heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry.”

Raisa stood there, too shy to speak. Tensed silence filled the room till she found her voice.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?”

“For being stubborn, I suppose.”

Amon chortled, shoulders finally slumping back. “I’ll be going now…I didn’t mean to disturb you. Thought you’d be sleeping by now.”

“That makes the two of us.”

Amon smiled again. “Yeah, Da’ is never letting me live this one down.”

Raisa smiled back, stepping up and briskly patting his shoulders. “Well, then you’d better go soldier. And that’s an order from your soon-to-be queen.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She could tell from his tone he didn’t mean it that time, and her smile widened.

She let him out the door, bidding him good night once more. Before he walked away, however, she asked, “by the way…how long were you in my room for?”

Amon halted, heart stopping in his throat as he turned back around. “I’d only just come in.”

With that, he rushed down the hallway, fleeing what felt like the scene of a crime. Raisa cocked her head in question, but being too exhausted from overthinking things, she didn’t dwell on it.

Then she noticed how far along the door had been boarded up and realized her late-night visitor had been here longer than he should’ve been. The thought filled her with an inexplicable anxiety that kept her up all of that night.  

[pluviacuratio]

𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

fern green (hex #4F7942)

sepia brown (hex #704214)

fire brick red (hex #B22222)

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Citrus perfume (her favorite splurge is sundrunk, but she uses others like karma)

Honeysuckle and lavender. It's from the soap she makes!

Disinfectant, thanks to her work.

Garlic and spices, thanks to her love of cooking.

Ash and metal, if she's been working at the forge her parents own.

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Long, flowy skirts. They offer more comfort for her than pants, and she tends to wear them long enough that she doesn't typically need anything long underneath to cover her legs from the sun.

Cardigans. She flip flops with her temperature enough that long sleeve shirts tend to be too warm after a while, so she enjoys the comfort of a cardigan she can take off or put on as she pleases.

Mid-length dresses. Something to offer some fun, especially when they're patterned.

Platform shoes. Her height is a sore spot, so she wears big chunky shoes.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Messenger bag. It is literally always on her person unless she physically cannot bring it along or it genuinely doesn't fit the situation (in which case she'll bring a smaller purse)

First aid kit. She's always here to patch people up at any given moment and makes sure it is always stocked.

A small blue gem pendant. It features in nearly every outfit she wears, whether it matches or not. It was a gift from a dear friend and she will never willingly get rid of it.

Secret fourth thing: A small, well-loved plush bunny. It's been in her life she was a child and she lovingly patches it up whenever there is damage so there are plenty of stitches all over it.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Hands on her chest, expressing joy or affection.

Open stance, wanting to seem welcoming and inviting.

Bright smiles, overall joyful expressions.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Sunset over a city skyline.

Flower petals on the wind in a field.

A full moon surrounded by endless stars.

Baby grand piano in a dreamy ballroom.

tagged by: @darksonofsparda

tagging: @xamassed (For Bryning!), @predeition, @1a-villains (Mic!), @prismpowa, @cosmicdreamt, and whomever else wants to snatch this!!