#sad beric hours

[wallboys]

“It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing.” — Beric Dondarrion

a storm of swords, g.r.r.m. / the surgery, dimitris anastasiou / christ displaying his wounds, giacomo galli / “the man with a hole in his head”, rick bursky / the limits of control, nicola samorí / the perjured city, hélène cixous

[muadweeb]

ARE YOU MY MOTHER, THOROS?

[merakiaes]

I Want To Make Babies With Her - Tormund Giantsbane

Pairing: Tormund Giantsbane x Snow!reader, Jon Snow x twin!reader, Sandor Clegane/Beric Dondarrion/Thoros x reader (platonic)

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: Cursing, mentions of sex and violence, changes in the timeline. I haven’t seen the old episodes in a long time so I had to change the request up a bit, hope it’s okay anyways! Also, I just wanted to tell you that English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes, and I also don’t edit them before I post them. I’m usually too tired and do it afterhand instead

Wordcount: 5569

Description: You’re Jon Snow’s twin sister and Tormund forms a strong attraction to you, and after a while, you feel yourself growing to like it.

The day you had reunited with your twin brother, you hadn’t seen him in years. 

You had been with Robb during his reign in the North, fled the Red Wedding with your life barely intact, and unfortunately with the loss of you direwolf. 

You were on your own for so long, before finally coming across the Brotherhood Without Banners, Beric and Thoros taking a liking to you almost instantly thanks to your unusually dirty mouth and sparky personality. 

During your travels, you had eventually stumbled into the Hound, Arya and her friend Gendry. 

With everything going down, you got separated with your sister and the other two once more, and hadn’t seen them since. 

Until now. 

Thoros, Beric and yourself had, for a second time, reunited with Sandor Clegane on your way to Castle Black. 

You had, unlike your sister Arya, never had a problem with the burned man, having been the only one who had actually taken the time to speak with him during his stay in Winterfell back in the day. 

Although he still had been very cold, back then. This time he was different. 

You hadn’t seen him since that day in the cave when he had been accompanied by your sister and fought Beric in a duel of swords. 

He told you about a woman named Brienne of Tarth beating him to a pulp, about your sister leaving him to rot in a ditch, and a man saving him from a cruel fate and taking him in to help around his community in exchange for food and a place to settle down during the nights. 

Then he told you about them being killed. 

And the four of you went on a little merry trip to find the culprits, Sandor growing to become just as fond and protective of you as Thoros and Beric. 

You had arrived first at Castle Black, having separated with Beric, Thoros and Sandor a while back when being overrun by a band of bandits.

Knowing they could fend for themselves and therefor most lightly had gotten away with a few bruises at most, you hadn’t looked back. Instead steering way towards your twin, who you had heard was in charge of both the Brothers and wildlings now. 

As you had come through the gate, Jon had been waiting for you, the guards having told him ahead of time that someone was approaching. 

The second you got down from your horse, you had been pulled into an embrace, Jon refusing to let go for so long you finally had to slap him to let you breath. 

It wasn’t a dramatic reunion, the two of you weren’t those kind of people, but it was a heartwarming one. After all, twins always shared a special kind of bond; a bond regular siblings could never even imagine. 

But even though everyone was staring at the two of you as you greeted each other, you could clearly feel one pair of eyes burning harsher into your neck than the rest. 

Turning around, you had been met with the biggest smile you had ever seen a man wear in your life, at the time also being the most disturbing one. 

The man in question turned out to be Tormund Giantsbane, a great friend to Jon, and a wildling from beyond the Wall. 

Tormund had been at loss for words the second he laid eyes on you. 

The way you held yourself as you rode your horse, the way your thick lashes framed your brooding, glaring eyes, the way your black hair whipped about in the wind and your cheeks glowed pink from the cold, and most importantly, the amount of knives and daggers and weapons in general that seemed to be stuck to your body, just waiting to be used, made him feel some kind of way he could only describe as horny and in love. 

And you hadn’t had a moment alone since. 

Every time you managed to sneak of, he would find you, and when he wasn’t physically with you, he was watching you from afar with that unnerving smile. 

When a brother of the Night’s Watch had managed to shoot an arrow into your arm, he had been at your side. 

”Pain is temporary.” He had said, you responding with a quick ”Shut up or I’ll put you through temporary hell.”, through gritted teeth as Edd pulled out the arrow. 

When you were eating, he was at your side, either staring at you in silence as you ate, or chatting your ears off. 

”Do you ever shut up?”

”Yes. But not very often.”

When you were going around to help with the different chores and jobs, he was trailing after you. 

”Why are you following me?”

”You’re the only one around here to seems to know what they’re doing.”

Even when you were sleeping alone in your room, he found a way to disturb you.

”I fixed you breakfast. I know it’s only fruit but it’s the only thing I can do without burning it.”

“It’s in the middle of the night. If you wake me up one more time I swear to the Gods I-”

Luckily, Edd had walked past just then that night, pulling Tormund and his apples out of the room, apologizing to you and slapping his wildling friend over the head repeatedly. 

Wherever you went, whatever you were doing, whoever you were with, he was there, staring at you with that grin of his that just screamed“I don’t know how to flirt so I’m just going to stare at you until you marry me.”

Though you were trying to keep the stern look on your face throughout the days, you were having an incredibly difficult time keeping your lips and eyes from twitching whenever he was near. 

Luckily, Jon seemed to sense your uneasiness, and although it pained him to see his friend sad, he had told Tormund to take a few steps back, take it a little slower. 

Not exactly what you had asked him to say, your exact words being to tell that wildling fuck to stay out of your way before you ticked off and stabbed his or someone else’s eye out, but you guessed that it would have to do for the time being. 

Edd had been seated between you and your brother as this conversation had taken place, and his eyes had widened to the size of plates in fright as those words had left your mouth. He had been more than surprised to hear such a mouth on a lady, but more than everything he was scared shitless that he would be the unlucky one to be in your way when the moment came that you lost your temper. 

Fortunately, although not as much as you would have wanted, Jon’s words seemed to work to some extent, at least, Tormund backing off for a few days. 

And luckily for you, the very same day he started being touchy feely again, your oh, so missed, companions came knocking on the door, figuratively speaking. 

“Thank the Gods!” You yelled out as you spotted Thoros, Sandor and Beric climb off their horses, leaving Tormund behind as you rushed towards them, jumping over the railing and landing on the ground gracefully, although painfully. 

You had been stuck with Tormund for the past hour and you were about ready to chuck yourself from the Wall, therefor wanting to get away from him as quickly as you could, not having the time to take the stairs. 

The men, along with Jon, had all stared in shock as you launched yourself from the balcony like you were some trained assassin, something you couldn’t help but take pride in as it was most likely a lucky shot and you would’ve fallen on your neck any other time. 

“Thank the Gods!” You repeated, throwing yourself at the three, your arms going to wrap around their necks all at once. 

Thoros and Beric laughed loudly as Sandor only grumbled. “Someone’s excited to see us.” Beric spoke, eye wrinkling in amusement.

“You would too if you hadn’t gotten to be alone for longer than five minutes at a time for the past few weeks.” You almost cried as you desperately clinged to them. “Take me away from here, please. I can’t take it.”

They all laughed again, no one noticing Tormund’s fuming form at the top of the stairs, watching you get touched by three other men. 

“I didn’t know you knew them.” Jon said as you finally composed yourself and got back to the ground. 

“Little bird has kept us company on the road ever since the War of the Five Kings.” Thoros mused, giving you a fond glance, teasing smile on his face. 

“And I’ve had several run ins with Sandor during that time.” You told your brother, who nodded slowly, glancing between the four of you, naturally going into protective brother mode even though he said nothing. 

As you, Thoros, Beric and Sandor were led to Jon’s room by him and Edd, your heart skipped a beat with relief at the fact that you were for the first time in weeks able to walk without having an annoying red head wildling at your ass. 

You thought, at least, as the man in question soon invited himself to the small meeting by barging in, insisting that he go on the trip beyond the wall with them. 

The trip you weren’t invited to, it turned out, which caused you to glare at your brother for the remaining of the discussion. 

Not even an hour later, Ser Davos returned with Gendry and Jorah Mormont in his company, which only made you even madder. 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone while you let him go with you! I’m older than him!” You yelled at your brother, pointing to Gendry who widened his eyes. 

“I’ll gladly stay here if she wants to take my place.” He spoke, looking between them. 

“Yes!” “Yes!” “No!” The two of you yelled back at him at the same time, being joined with Tormund’s voice, as well. 

This caused Thoros and Beric to look between you and the wildling, clearly holding back laughs, while Sandor only glared at him, not wanting the madman to corrupt you. 

As if you were innocent to begin with. 

“You’re staying here, and that’s final!” Jon ordered loudly, before lowering his voice, eyes saddening. “I only just found out you were alive. I’m not walking you into your real death when I just got you back.”

You looked at him, long and hard, before leaning back into your chair with a huff, crossing your arms and throwing your feet onto the table. “Fine. But I’m staying and listening, in case I need to come save your asses.”

“You won’t.” Jon told you sternly, already knowing what you were getting at. “But you can stay.”

You rolled your eyes, but stayed quiet, wanting him to believe you had given up. 

But as they left you at Castle Black with Ser Davos and Edd, they soon realized that was not the case, as you an hour after their departure started saddling a horse, bag in hand. 

“Lady (Y/N), I really think you should listen to your brother and stay here.” Davos insisted as he walked behind her to the stables.

“It’s my ass Jon will have served on a silver platter if you disobey his orders.” Edd agreed, hurrying after you as you carried the saddle to the horse. 

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t find out you knew of my plan.” You reassured, but they wouldn’t have it. 

“The dangers beyond the Wall is not something a lady like yourself will do well in.” Ser Davos tried reasoning with you, only earning a roll of your eyes in return. 

“And still, they took Gendry with them. I’m ready to bet he’s already complaining about the cold.” You told him, looking at him as you sat up in the saddle. 

“(Y/N)-” Edd started, but before he had the chance to finish his sentence, you send them both a big smile. 

“Bye!” You told them happily, before riding through the same gate your brother had only moments before. 

The difference was they didn’t have horses, so it wouldn’t take long for you to catch up to them. 

Wrapping your furs tighter around your body, you sent the horse off into the snow, already thinking of a snarky come back to use to the scolding that was sure to come.

“I don’t know how you survive up here.” Gendry complained as he walked between Thoros and Beric, causing the two to share and amused glance. “I’m freezing my balls off.”

“So we heard.” Beric mused, having listened to the boy’s whining since they had stepped out of Castle Black. 

“What are you whinging about it?” Sandor came up to them, being tired of listening to Gendry repeat his oh so big problems. 

“I’m not whinging.” Gendry defended, stopping to look at the Hound.

“Your lips are moving and you’re complaining about something. That’s whinging.” Sandor said. 

Gendry opened his mouth to fire back, but Sandor went on, pulling Beric forward slightly. “This one’s been killed six times and you don’t hear him bitching about it.” 

Suddenly, the sound of hooves hitting the icy ground filled their ears, causing the rest of the group at the front to stop in their tracks to look back. 

“He did complain quite a lot the first time, actually.” You yelled out as you rode into sight, smirking at Jon as you saw his face fall into a pissed of expression. 

Your twin dropped his bag on the ground, storming towards you. “I thought I told you to stay at Castle Black!”

“I thought you’d learned by now that I don’t usually listen to what people tell me.” You fired back, drawing the reins back as your horse shifted. 

“Unbelievable.” Jon snapped, glaring eyes boring into your teasing ones. 

However, before anyone could say anything else, Tormund came rushing to join your little group, Jorah walking at a normal pace. “You came back for me!” Tormund exclaimed, causing everyone to turn to look at him with weirded out expressions. 

You gave him a forced smile. “If it makes you sleep better at night then sure.” 

“I wasn’t done!” Jon took a step forward, causing you to turn to him. 

“What? We’re the same age, actually I’m two minutes older, I have the right to make my own decisions.”

“It still doesn’t change the fact that you never listen to anyone but yourself!”

“Maybe I don’t listen to other people because other people never listen to me!” You yelled back finally, eyes burning with irritation. 

“Calm down, sweetling.” Tormund suddenly said, the words causing you to turn to him with a glare as chilly as the very snow you stood on. You glared at him long and hard before turning to Gendry, deciding you were done with the others in that moment.

“I bet Davos you were complaining before I left, seems like I was right. I could hear your whinging from the gate. It’s a wonder something haven’t killed you yet.” You told him, snorting, although the irritation still evident in your eyes. . 

Gendry opened his mouth, offended, all while Beric and Thoros laughed, and Sandor let out a gruff. 

“I wasn’t whinging!” “Fucking told you.”

Gendry and Sandor said at the same time, Gendry in exclaim and Sandor in an unimpressed mutter. They looked at each other, Gendry narrowing his eyes and Sandor raising a tired eyebrow. 

You rolled your eyes at the toxic masculinity, pulling your bag off your saddle and throwing it at Thoros before reaching your hand out for Gendry to take. “I’d rather lend you some of my body heat than continue to listen to your bitching, come on.”

Gendry glared at you, but nonetheless grabbed your hand and heaved himself into the saddle behind you. 

“What do you mean?” Tormund took a step forward, eyes wide open. 

You ignored him, turning to Jon. “We’ll go ahead and scout, we’ll be back.”

And with that, you were off, leaving Tormund to look after you, confusion and hurt written on his face. He looked between the remaining of the party. “What did she mean?”

“She meant she was going to take him to a cave and let him fuck her. What do you think?” Sandor spit out, aggravated, earning Jon’s attention. 

“That’s my sister you’re talking about.” He glared. 

Sandor raised his eyebrows. “You think she hasn’t rolled around the sheets before?”

Jon said nothing, Tormund continuing to comment. “I’d like to roll around her sheets.”

Jon only slapped his head, before continuing his walk, Jorah at his side, the fierce bear seeming to be the only one who didn’t have something to say about his sister. 

“I don’t think you have a big chance of even coming near her sheets now, I’m afraid.” Thoros told Tormund as they fell behind. 

The red head grew panicked, turning to look at the man with the top-knot. “Why not? What did I do?”

“You told her to calm down.” Sandor huffed. 

Tormund looked at them, confused, to which Sandor continued, turning to look at him as he snapped. ”Telling a woman to calm down works about as well as baptizing a cat.”

Tormund’s eyes widened, only growing more confused at this. ”Why would you baptize a cat?”

”The point exactly.” Beric pitched on, chuckling quietly as Tormund went into full panic-mode, asking them on repeat if they thought you’d forgive him for the rest of their walk. 

After Gendry and yourself had gone ahead, you had after a while gotten tired of sitting in the saddle and left him to do the scouting on his own while you walked to meet the rest of the group in the middle. 

Of course, Sandor just had to make a comment asking if Gendry’s dick wasn’t big enough to please you, which sent the red head half-giant into another concerned question-time. 

“Sees her one time and suddenly he’s in love with her.” Sandor scoffed to Thoros and Beric as they walked behind the rest of you, like they had for the whole walk. 

They snickered. “She’s a looker, you can’t blame him.” Thoros nodded his head as he spoke, looking at you as you for the first time actually cracked a laugh at Tormund’s jokes, causing the wildling to light up like the sun. 

“She might be hard to impress but I wouldn’t rule it out.” Beric agreed. 

Sandor grumbled at the thought. Although he had no kind of sexual or romantic feelings for you, the wildling man annoyed him to no end, and you didn’t. If you got together, he’d have to deal with his chattering all days long, seeing as he was already stuck to your hip. 

Hopefully you wouldn’t be so stupid as to fall for him. 

But as you walked beside Tormund, you were actually starting to warm up to him. 

This was the first time you had actually taken the time to listen to him, seeing as you had always ran away in Castle Black, but you now had nowhere to run. 

And ever since he opened his mouth, he had piled up compliment upon compliment, something you weren’t used to as you were a bastard. 

”You’re probably one of those beautiful women who don’t even know it.” He had started, all while looking at you with that stare of his. 

At this you had still not quite gotten to like the idea of speaking to him, having responded rather shortly. ”No, I know.”

But then he kept going, and while you had up until this point been vexed to no end by this very thing, you were starting to admire him for not giving up despite your attitude. 

”You smell good.” ”Your cheeks are pink as roses.” “Your hair is soft as silk.” “I want to kiss you for the rest of my life.”

Yes, the compliments had gotten rather intimate at the end, but luckily, although unluckily, you had met up with Gendry again just then, and you had went on to fetch one of the dead, losing Thoros and one of the dragon queen’s dragons in the process. 

And you wouldn’t have been surprised if you managed to get yourself killed, either. Fighting thousands of dead fuckers was no dance on roses with Tormund trying to chat you up at the same time. 

”I can’t fight them all on my own!” You yelled at Jon as he ran off in the other direction, sword raised and slashing left and right. 

”You’re not alone, you have me!” Tormund suddenly came up beside you, grinning widely as per usual, not being concentrated in the slightest. 

”Well, then we’ll for sure be dead before we’re done!” You yelled back out, annoyance lacing your voice and dripping with every word. 

”Looks like we’re working together!” He grinned at you. 

”Don’t get used to it.” You snapped as you just barely managed to save his ass from being chewed up. 

And Tormund had never seen anything quite as beautiful as you when you broke a thick branch over the wight’s back, frozen in place as you threw your daggers of dragon glass around.

“Tormund!” You yelled at him as you noticed him staring, finally breaking him out of his trance to get his head back in the game. 

As you had gone back to Castle Black, you had gone with Jon, Sandor and Daenerys to King’s Landing with the wight, and stuck with them while Tormund, Beric and Edd stayed in Castle Black. 

A few days later, you heard about Daenerys’s dead dragon now being one of the Others, and having completely broken down the Wall. 

Your thoughts had clouded with worry for Beric, Edd and even Tormund. 

But soon enough, you returned to Winterfell, where you finally reunited with Arya, Bran and Sansa. 

You had ridden side by side with Sandor as you entered the gates, looking ahead as the army spilled into your home. 

As you were reuniting with your siblings, Tormund, Edd and Samwell had reunited with Jon. 

After hugging and greeting his friend, Tormund had recognized Sandor, standing alone by his horse, and wasted no time in running upp to him and clapping him on the back. 

“Old friend!” He greeted, looking over his shoulder. 

“You again?!” Sandor exclaimed as he shook him off, anger filling his every bone. 

“Where’s your friend?” The wildling asked, looking around wildly. “(Y/N), is he with you?”

“Of course she’s with me, that woman wouldn’t leave me alone if I killed her puppy.” 

Tormund’s smile fell. “Do you think she’s in love with you?”

Sandor gave him a look. “No, she’s not fucking in love with me.”

The redhead smiled again. “Do you think she’s in love with me?”

“Why don’t you go ask her herself?” He snapped, pointing forward. 

Tormund turned around, finding you laughing with your sisters. His mouth fell slightly agape as he watched you, black hair pulled back at the bangs, doublet tight against your chest. 

“I want her to have my babies.” He said, gazing dreamily at you. 

Sandor looked at him, disgusted.

“Think of them, great, big monsters. They’d conquer the world.” He went on, causing Sandor to raise his eyebrows. 

“Have you seen her? Any shorter and she’d fade from existence.”

“Ah, yes.” Tormund realized. “They will get their size from me, but their fighting from her.” He said finally after a moment of thought. 

“Finally some sense coming out of that mouth of yours.” Sandor muttered, shaking his head slightly, watching as the big redhead started walking towards you, catching you sisters’ attention. 

“Oh Gods…” You cursed under your breath, closing your eyes briefly as you noticed Tormund approaching. 

“(Y/N), you are looking as stunning as always.” The wildling said, his smile never faltering. 

Your sisters giggled, giving you a look before walking off, much to your dismay. 

“Thank you, Tormund.” You thanked, giving him a nod and a smile. 

He smiled at you, as he always did, before looking down shyly for a second before looking back up. “I was wondering, now that I’m here in a castle, if you might want to teach me how to read.”

You had not expected those words to leave his lips, that much was sure. All you could do was raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. “You want to learn how to read?”

Tormund nodded eagerly. “Yes, I want  to read that book you always talk about. What was it, something about a lucky enemy?” He thought, eyes glazing over.

“Foes of fortune.” You smiled softly, helping him, surprised and admittedly a little touched he had remembered your favourite book, well, almost, anyways. 

“Yes! That’s the one!” He exclaimed. 

You snickered. “Alright. Meet me in the library an hour before the feast. We’ll start then.” 

And with that you walked off, leaving Tormund to go brag about his process to your twin. 

You spent the rest of the evening settling into your old chambers before it was time to meet Tormund in the library. 

For the first time in years, you were wearing a dress, the violet silk coming to pool around your feet as you walked across the stone floors. 

Your room was close to the library so it wasn’t a long walk, resulting in you getting there a bit early and allowing you to pick down the book from the shelf and get comfortable. 

As Tormund seemed to be turning a bit late, you started reading the book to make the time go faster, and soon enough Tormund walked into the room with Arya behind him. 

“Have fun.” The younger girl smirked at you, giving Tormund an nod before walking away. 

After smiling to your sister, Tormund turned to look at you with a big smile. “Apologies for being late, I couldn’t find the library.” 

You chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to start?” You changed the pages back to the first page putting it down on the table in front of you as Tormund came to side in the chair beside yours. 

As you got to work, you were surprised to say you were actually enjoying his company. For once in his life, the man was almost as quiet as a mouse aside from the words he spoke when he attempted to read from the book. 

You were fascinated with the amount of concentration he was putting in the letters, and how much he seemed to want to learn to read for your sake. 

Never in your life had someone done something like that for you before. 

You had always been cast aside, your whole life. The Stark siblings hadn’t treated you any different from how they treated each other, but at the end of the day it had only been you and Jon as you grew up, and in the end, he had left you behind, as well. 

Tormund had, although a little too forward for your liking, been nice to you from day one. And you had sneered at him, glared at him, snapped and scoffed at him. And yet here he was, stumbling over his letters and words as he tried to read your favourite book. 

Something switched in you after your time in the library, and you found yourself staying in his company the whole night during the feast, something the people close to you seemed more than surprised about, while Tormund was absolutely ecstatic. 

The compliments he had been throwing on you while beyond the Wall continued the second he got a drop of his weird drink into his body, and now he was even more forward, having taken it a step further to touch you. 

He was holding your hand, leaning on your shoulder, and for a minute or two even falling head first on your legs. 

”You’re comfy.” ”Your hand feels perfect in mine.” ”You’re my new pillow.”

Were only a few of the many things he told you that day, and you didn’t know if it was the wine, or the fact that you were slowly realizing you liked this new kind of attention, that made you flirt back. 

As people were shouting and drinking around you, Tormund leaned in to your ear, tickling your skin with his beard. 

”Can I tell you a secret?” He whispered, although it wasn’t the best of whispers. 

”I wouldn’t recommend it, no.” You smiled teasingly, snickering slightly as his eyes dropped closed for a second. 

He leaned in once more, looking at you before speaking. ”I want you to have my babies.”

You cringed, but couldn’t help but let out a laugh. ”Gods… I think it’s time for you to get some rest.” You said, beginning to stand up, taking the big man with you. 

“Only if you come with me.” He grinned, looking at you with the very same stare that would have you shifting in your boots a few weeks back. 

You rolled your eyes. “I will. But not in the way you think.” You told him, and being the respectful man he was, he didn’t press it further, only letting a sad look resembling a puppy’s fall onto his face as you started to lead him off. 

“Have fun!” Beric yelled at you with a laugh as you walked past, Tormund’s arm over your shoulder. 

“No, no fun!” Sandor protested, going to stand up, however getting pushed back down by his one-eyed friend before he could get very far. 

You laughed, shaking your head at them and not bothering to answer, knowing they would both keep believing the worst no matter what you told them. 

As you walked out of the Hall, Tormund managed to snatch a carafe of wine on his way out, proceeding to spill some into his mouth. 

“Give me that.” You laughed as he spilled most of the contents in his beard, grabbing the flagon and holding it to his mouth with a steadier hand, allowing him to clunk some down all while staring at you with loving eyes. 

“Now you have some.” He told you as he finished, eyes never leaving your face as you took a few sips. 

“Happy?” You asked him once done, only getting a big grin in return. 

You shook your head at him as you drank and laughed all the way to his chambers. 

He turned to you once entering with a shit-eating smirk, and you instantly lift you finger to shush him from talking, reading his mind. 

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

Tormund nodded repeatedly. “If you want to take it slow, we’ll take it slow.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t bother arguing. 

You watched as he pulled out two chairs by the small table in the corner of the room. “At least stay and finish this wine with me. I promise I won’t try anything.”

You narrowed you eyes slightly at him, finally nodding and moving to sit down once you realized he meant it. 

But as it turns out, the wine was stronger than you thought, and despite everything you had told everyone else and yourself, you ended up sharing a long, exhausting night with a wildling that night.

But as you woke up alone in his bed the next morning, you found yourself remembering every single detail, and not regretting it one bit. 

Tormund had been awake all night, gazing at you and watching over you as you slept peacefully beside him. 

Never had he seen anyone as beautiful but at the same time lethal before, and it drove him absolutely mad. 

But, although begrudgingly, he had been ordered by Jon the night before to show up for breakfast, meaning he had to leave you alone to bid to your twin’s wishes. 

As he had gotten dressed in his grey and white furs, he had walked off to what he thought to be the right place. 

In the meantime, Jon was on his way to Tormund’s room to take him, figuring he would get lost without the help. But what he found upon opening the door had not been the ginger wildling he had been expecting. 

Instead he found you, lying facing down, furs ridden down to your waist, exposing your bare back. 

Jon had never been so quick to shut a door before in his life, eyes widening as he rushed off to breakfast. 

Tormund had found his way eventually, sitting himself down between Sandor and Beric and wasting no time in piling food onto his plate. 

Jon had spotted his redheaded friend the second he entered the Hall, walking up to the table and sitting down opposite him, looking at him as he, too, filled up his plate slowly. 

Tormund felt his gaze after a while and looked up, only to meet his eyes.

Before he could say anything, Jon cleared his throat, looking down at his food. “Is there a reason my sister is sleeping, naked, in your bed?”

As soon as the words left his lips, every conversation in the room died. The sound of people choking on their food and drinks and the sound of a cup slamming against the table, courtesy of Sandor Clegane, could be heard as everyone turned to look at him, shock written all over their faces. 

Tormund looked between them all, and answered with a shrug like it was the most obvious and normal thing in the world, “I told you I wanted to make babies with her.”

Tagged: @edarene @anephemeralwoe

(Sorry if I forgot someone, I’m having a hard time keeping track of who wants to be tagged for all of my GoT imagines, and who wants to be tagged only in my Sandor series. If you haven’t already made it clear, please send a message so I don’t mess up hahah)

[7deadlycinderellas]

No more math and history, ch5

AO3 link

Second session is on.

Second session is often sold as being for “adventure campers”, which works out to most of the campers being a bit older. Arya and Ygritte end up letting some of the riders at the stable canter and gallop instead of just trot, and there are trail rides into the forest every single Sunday. Ygritte’s even been mumbling about getting out the jumps.

The first weekend of session, Shireen’s new cabin goes on the ride with them. Arya is pleased, because Ygritte has been acting very withdrawn in the past few days, and she can’t figure out why.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Arya tells Shireen, as they bring up the rear of the group while Ygritte leads, pointing out interesting things along the path. “She never shuts up normally, she’s got an even bigger mouth than I do.”

“You’ve known each other a while?”

Arya nods, patting her roan mare on the rump so she would keep up.

“She started going out with my cousin Jon- sort of- five years ago. The next year was the summer my dad died. We hadn’t thought they were that serious, I mean, it was a summer camp romance. But after we left early, at the end of session she hopped off the bus at White Harbour and hitched a ride to Winterfell to come and check on all of us before she took the train north. She’s been a fixture ever since, holidays and summers both, even the ones she didn’t come here.”

She doesn’t mention the absolute minefield the grounds of Winterfell had become to wander if Ygritte was around. It had just been annoying at first, but about two years ago, when her and Jon had first begun having sex, it had become downright hazardous. Every Stark child had gotten an eyeful at some point, and some things just could not be unseen.

“I’m sort of jealous,” Shireen admits, “Getting to see the same people here every year. It makes me sad I started coming so late.”

Arya shrugs. She missed out on four years, but coming back to camp still felt like slipping on her favorite pair of pajamas.

“If you want to start making some of those great camp memories,” Arya starts off, “You should start hanging out at the docks after campfire, since that seems to be where we have all our heartfelt talks lately.”

The first night of second session, instead of Bran, the dock ended up being taken by Sansa, who was having a late night breakdown over what Mother would have thought for her plans for senior year.

Arya was happy enough to help her sister out, but she was rather glad that Gendry and she had found an alternative make out spot.

Shireen doesn’t get a chance to respond when they have to all stop, because one of the ten year old campers slips from her saddle and tumbles upon the ground. She’s more scared than hurt, but Arya gets to show off for the others why they always carry the first aid kit.

It’s the fifth day of second session when the worst sound Arya can imagine at camp comes over the loudspeaker.

The siren, wavering in and out, announcing a lost bather drill.

Arya remembers the procedure no problem. All campers, CITs and uncertified staff file to the mess hall to be counted.

And all red clipped staff head to the lake, strip to their underwear, and dive in. They suck in breaths and dive down as deep as they can, sweeping their hands against the bottom, before rising again. Then they repeat, until the all clear is blown.

Arya knows what they’re doing. They’re looking for a body. After hearing about Pyp last summer, she imagines Brienne and Beric must be making sure all their staff know exactly what needs to be done in an emergency.

And aside from that potential horror, there’s always the lingering embarrassment when everyone emerges from the water, soaking wet, shivering and half dressed.

As the lifeguard on duty, Gendry blows his whistle to declare the search over. He also, thankfully, has a pile of towels by his stand to pass out so they can dry off.

Arya rushes forward to grab one for Sansa, who’s trying to cover herself. Arya smothers a laugh, Sansa’s always been more modest than her, she used to be uncomfortable even wearing a bikini in public.

Sansa smiles in gratitude when she’s able to cover herself as she dries off. She doesn’t have to fear attention, because all the hooting at pointing this time is off to the left side of the group. The subject of the topic is Margaery Tyrell, who appears to have forgotten since orientations that these were a possibility on any day at all, and is wearing nothing more than a few scraps of purple lace.

To her credit, Margaery pays the hollars no mind as she redresses, even as her bending over to pick up her jeans gives the rest of the lakeside crowd a prime view of her entire bum.

Even Sansa can’t seem to take her eyes off her, her nose and cheeks lit up red. Arya doesn’t even get a chance to mock her lusty gaze, when she admits,

“I wish I had that kind of confidence.”

Arya rolls her eyes, but is distracted by Ygritte coming up to the group, already re-dressed.

“At least this means no one will remember the last one last summer, I was the one being hooted at then.”

Sansa regards her curiously.

“What are you on about Ygritte, don’t you usually wear men’s boxers?”

Ygritte runs a hand through her hair as she responds.

“Yeah, but it was also a day that I had decided not to wear a bra, and forgot that I’d decided.”

Arya is surprised when Gendry tosses a towel over her shoulders, she’d been so distracted by the others.

“My hero,” she says with a grin. She notices Gendry’s eyes still trailing her up and down.

She’s not wearing anything special, a black sports bra and ordinary striped cotton knickers. So she knows he’s not just looking, he’s looking at her.

“Nice to have an actual gentlemen in the guard’s chair,” Ygritte quips as Arya pulls her jeans and shirt back on and shakes off her hair, “You can bet Anguy wasn’t waiting here with a stack of towels after drills, he just laughed and catcalled while we shivered.”

Later that night, when Arya is pressed back against the equipment shack again, Gendry’s lips plundering hers, he pulls back for a moment.

“Sorry,” he says, with a grin that tells Arya he’s entirely un-sorry, “All I can picture is those stripes across your bum.”

Arya leans forward to briefly suck on his pulse point, which she has learned makes him emit a high-pitched whine.

“What’s wrong with stripes?”

Gendry retaliates by kissing her again while rubbing the back of her neck under her ponytail.

“Not a damn thing.”

Carefully, his hands move down her back and land on her backside, with a gentle pat.

“Well,” Arya says, “At least we know that if I ever take off my clothes for recreational purposes around you, you won’t expect me to be wearing a lacy push up bra and matching thong. Even if I owned anything like that, I wouldn’t wear it to camp.”

Gendry snickers in her ear.

“I would expect no different from you.”

His gentle pat turns into a playful squeeze.

“I still don’t think it’s fair for you to possess my mind like that hours later.”

Arya huffs.

“You don’t realize it do you? Men take off their shirts all the time, and no one thinks anything of it.”

She runs her hand down the side of his neck.

“You don’t realize it at all...you’re so-” she grunts in frustration, her hand moving back a moment to sort of gestures at his chest, “I still can’t believe you don’t have girls all over you.”

“I don’t want girls all over me though,” Gendry replies. “Hell, I don’t even understand the desire to date more than one at a time. How would you even remember anything about each of them?”

Well at least that’s something.

“But still, we’ll go out to the climbing wall and you’ll get all sweaty and take off your shirt, without even caring what it will do to me…”

Gendry snorts, rubbing his nose against the skin of her cheek.

“Is that your way of saying you want to go out to the climbing wall tomorrow since you’re off?”

It sort of is, but her words stand. Half the time she goes down to the lakefront, he’s got his shirt off and he’s all wet and she has to practically stop her stomach from growling.

The climbing wall had been brand new just the last summer the Starks were there. Conquering it had become Arya’s goal that summer. She had just barely made it before they had received the call about Ned’s death.

She’s surprised to find that it’s far easier than she recalls. Maybe she’s just gotten that much taller.

“That was amazing!” Shireen squeals, watching her as she returns down to the ground.

Arya grins. It’s not a hard course, but she’s glad for any appreciation. Gendry got caught up talking to Grey Worm and Loras while they demonstrate some of the others the safety equipment and rules. He’s stubbornly kept his shirt on, though the sweat is making it stick to him in very excellent ways.

“Well I used to do gymnastics…”

Shireen looks interested, so Arya goes on.

“There’s a story as to why I stopped. If you join Gendry and I at the dock tonight, I can tell it to you both.”

Because it’s a Saturday, Gendry’s even managed to obtain a bag of broken cookies from Hot Pie for them to munch on.

“So,” Arya starts, “Do you ever watch the Olympics, Shireen?”

“Sure,” Shireen says. She’s on her back, staring up at the moon, which is nearly full again. “I like watching the figure skating in winter.”

Arya smiles. She was immune to skating dreams mostly because of the dumb sparkly dresses for costumes.

“When I was eight, the summer games came around, that was the year the Northern gymnasts swept the medals and all I wanted was to be up on the winners podium with them.”

“I remember that,” Gendry comments, “It was on the telly the whole season.”

“Well, I begged to be able to take lessons, and Mum and Dad found a gym really close to Winterfell, a couple of the Northern team had even trained there. I think they were both hoping that the classes would burn off all the extra energy I used to use misbehaving.”

“That’s a laugh,” Gendry interjects.

“I loved it.” Arya admits, her knees pulled up to her chest. She misses it terribly, even now. “I’m actually planning to go back to the gym and work this school year as an assistant, now that it’s reopened.”

Gendry looks at her oddly at this point. As long as he’s known her, the Starks have always been well off, and it never really occurred to him that any of them would have to work. Arya’s said a thing or two about the company not being quite so stable, but he’s never really taken it in before now.

“I still love gymnastics, but I would never be involved with anyone aiming for the Olympics again. I saw girls there who had dropped out of school to train eight hours a day.”

Shireen’s eyes go wide. Arya has gathered from her stories that Shireen values education greatly.

“And there was this one coach- Coach Hagar, everyone called him Jaqen- who was...I hate to say it, but he seemed sort of like a cult leader. He was from Braavos and kind of a legend there. He hand-picked girls for his elite team, they were the real gold medal hopefuls. Everyone wanted to be one of them, including me. But he demanded absolute obedience. He discouraged any kind of outside activities, dating, even doing other sports. If he told you to do something to improve, you did it, no questions asked.”

Arya meets Gendry’s eye and the pair share a wink.

“I was never any good at that, so I was never going to end up there.”

Arya rolls flat on her back between the two of them.

“After I came home from camp, there were two deaths on Jaqen��s team, one after another. One died of an eating disorder. That was awful, but that’s a known among athletic circles. Then, less than a month later, one of her teammates slammed her head into the balance beam, trying a mount she wasn’t ready for. Broke her neck, she died less than a week later. If she’d lived, she would have been a quad.”

Arya bites her lip before continuing.

“But the nail in his coffin came when one of his team accused him of- of having, well, groomed her for several years.”

Shireen’s eyes go wide and Gendry rolls over so she can’t see his face.

“Her parents apparently didn’t believe her, but me and several others did, and we reported it. It made the news, he got fired, and the whole gym ended up closing during the scandal.”

Arya stares off at the moon.

“It’s strange. I was so sad, so down about Dad dying...that I don’t think I could have resisted the urge to join. Jaqen always seemed to want his gymnasts to think of absolutely nothing else, like he wanted them to forget who they were. At first, that was all I wanted was to disappear, to forget so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That didn’t last, and I think the scandal helped. It pulled off the mask and made me realize I could never do that, I could never stop being me.”

“Was your Mum disappointed?” Gendry asks. Arya smiles, she knows she went on for so long about being scared her mother was always going to be disappointed in her.

“A little, I think she was mostly proud that I hadn’t let myself be dragged in too deeply. And after Dad passed, suddenly having one less expense every month was a good thing.”

Leaning to one side, Arya notices Shireen has an odd look on her face. There’s a pinch in her stomach and something nagging at the back of her mind,

“It is pretty late,” Gendry cuts in looking to Shireen, “Want us to walk you back to your cabin?”

Shireen swallows roughly, and shakes her head.

“It’s OK, the moon’s bright, I can make it fine.”

And with that, she stands and returns to camp.

“Did I say something wrong?” Arya asks, uncertain.

Gendry exhales slowly.

“No. It’s not what you said, sometimes things you don’t expect drag things up when you least expect it.”

He pauses before asking.

“You really think you could have lost yourself to training like that?”

Arya nods.

“It would have been easy. Dad always used to go on about how I could join the team during secondary school and get scholarship money. That seemed much more sensible, but the allure of the Olympics is hard to pass up for practical plans like that. I’m glad something stopped me.”

The two of them are silent for a bit. It’s such a serious spot to end the conversation, that she desperately looks for a way to change the subject. Arya pulls herself up to a sitting position, she raises an eyebrow at Gendry.

“So you, uhh, want to take this elsewhere?”

Arya’s actually really glad Gendry had admitted to not having much more experience than her, because this is uncharted territory. Not the kissing, she could figure that out just fine, but the process of getting to the kissing.

He turns a bit pink, but stands, and offers his hand.

Like this, how on earth are you supposed to ask someone if they want to go make out behind the equipment shed? Arya supposes she could ask Sansa, but there was still a chance she might roll her eyes. Like it was something she was just supposed to magically understand.

They’re sitting on the grass this time, Arya kind of half leaning over his lap while they kiss. Gendry raises his left hand and it lands between her shoulder blades, and she thinks he’s trying to pull her closer, but his hand presses, and then he kind of freezes against her mouth.

“Erm-” he starts. Arya can see him blushing even in the moonlight, she’s so close she could count his freckles, “How come you aren’t wearing a bra?”

Arya furrows her brow in confusion. The last several days had been unusually hot, even for the Stormlands in the summer, and she had changed out of her jeans almost as soon as she could. She’s in the same jersey and shorts she always wore to bed.

“Because I’m in my pajamas- I never- wait, Gendry, you do realize most women don’t sleep in their bras right?”

Gendry’s face is straight up glowing now.

“Never really thought about it.”

Arya snickers. At least she’s not the only one a little clueless sometimes. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do, so in a fit of impulsiveness, she grabs his right hand and guides it to her breast.

“And since we are actually friends,” she starts, while he squeezes experimentally, “maybe you could explain to me what exactly it is that straight men see in boobs.”

Gendry shrugs, his cheeks still aflame. She is almost sitting in his lap now, her knees bracketing one of his thighs. In a single movement, he turns her around so she is sitting full in his lap, but facing away from him. He squeezes her waist in one hand, and returns his other to keep touching her breasts through her jersey. He kisses the side of her neck.

“I just think they’re nice is all.”

Arya can’t restrain her snort.

“You know, that’s actually pretty much what Sansa told me when I asked her.”

As happy as Sansa had been that when she came out, Arya had accepted her no question. She had been less pleased by the cavalcade of inappropriate questions that she followed up with.

Arya cranes her neck so she can keep kissing him. The angle is weird, so she mostly contents herself with kissing his chin and throat instead. His hands feel good on her, and her mind starts wandering about all the other places he could be touching, places on him she could be touching.

“Hmm,” she says after several minutes, “We should probably go back. Don’t want to be too tired tomorrow morning.”

It’s a few more minutes before either of them disentangle and stand.

When she straightens her clothes, Arya is suddenly seized by an idea.

“Gendry,” she says, quietly.

When he raises his head to look at her, Arya grabs the bottom of her jersey and quickly lifts it up to her chin.

The stupid grin that appears on his face warms Arya to the core. She drops her shirt and giggles, unusually girlishly.

“Seven hells,” she whispers breathlessly, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Arya spins on one heel and leaves Gendry, still stunned, in the dust.

She returns to the cabin, still somehow feeling lighter than air.

She’s so lost in her own head that she doesn’t notice Ygritte, still awake in her bunk, staring silently at a letter.

[arabian-bloodstream]

Gendrya Confirmation, Bitches!

OK, so technically, no, it's not confirmed, but I'm taking this bit of detective work on my part as confirmation, damnit! (Not that I didn't already 100% believe that Gendrya was happening and have been pretty darn firm in that belief all along.) So before I jump to that, I need to set it up and so I shall...

Alrighty then, I wrote a post full of happy-happy-joy-joy, entitled: "Oh, my precious babies! So endgame!" a few weeks ago. I wrote this after the episode when most of the Gendrya fanbase was not very happy. You know, that would be episode 04, yeah, the one when Gendry dropped to his knee and proposed and Arya was all, 'Nah, I'm good' and went back to her target practice while his little heart crumpled to a million pieces before our very eyes. Yeah, that one.

Meanwhile, I was all "YES!" at the end of episode because my precious babies were clearly endgame in my eyes! True story, look at the date on that linked post. So the main reason why I felt so positive about Arya and Gendry after episode 04 was because of the first scene with the Hound and the final scene with the Hound. As I wrote in that post:

In the first scene, Gendry and the Hound were at the feast celebrating the North’s victory over the undead–Arya’s victory. And, of course, Arya was nowhere to be found.

  Gendry: Have you seen Arya?   The Hound: You can still smell the burning bodies and that’s where your head is at?   Gendry: I just want to thank her–   The Hound: I’m sure you do.   Gendry: Look, it’s not about that.   The Hound: Of course it’s about that, you twat. Why shouldn’t it be? The dead are dead. You’re not.

The Hound made it pretty clear he was well aware that Gendry wanted to *be* with Arya and when Gendry tried to deny it, the Hound called him on it and, surprisingly, pointed out that it was exactly what he should be doing. Now, let’s make this clear. Gendry wanted to celebrate LIFE with *Arya* and the Hound flat-out told him that such was exactly the thing he should be doing.

Contrast this with the final conversation the Hound has in the episode.

    Arya: You’re heading to King’s Landing.     The Hound: I have some unfinished business.     Arya: Me too.     The Hound: I don’t plan on coming back.     Arya: Neither do I.

So we have the show using The Hound to illustrate that *Gendry* is life as Gendry wanted to celebrate life with Arya–who you remember was “celebrating” by shooting arrows at a target–and on the opposite spectrum, that Arya has indeed once more chosen a life of death. Now, at the end of that discussion, he also asked that if he needs her to kill him, will she just leave him to not die again and she said probably… which means, that they probably will wind up in a situation like that, but this time she will give him mercy. However, before she does, he’ll tell her to choose life. Something like: Go get that blacksmith cunt that’s always mooning over you and have lots of black-haired babies with him. Don’t be like me. Don’t chase death your whole life. Live.

I later expounded exclusively on that theme in greater detail here in a post (not surprisingly) titled: Arya's Choice. In that one, I discussed the entangling of the Hound and Gendry in Arya's storyline throughout season 08 going back to their reunions with her taking place together. In this meta, I wrote:

The reason that Arya’s first scene with Gendry and the Hound was done TOGETHER [...] is because they represent opposite choices of her life going forth.

The Hound is death.

Gendry is life.

It’s all tied up together. Gendry (life) chose to walk away from her all those years away, and then Arya ran away and was captured by the Hound (death). Now Gendry (life) offered himself to her, but she chose to walk away and met up with the Hound (death). It’s eventually going to come down to Arya making the choice herself to walk away from death–which I believe that the Hound will push her to do–and choose life, choose Gendry.

As noted above, I even gave him some dialogue when I did think that Arya would give him mercy. (Although to be fair, I thought that Arya would do so because everyone around me kept saying she would do so. I hadn't really thought that would happen before it kept getting pushed at me. :shrugs:) But the main thing is that I thought he would give her the push to live comparing his life to hers. No, he didn't mention anything about Gendry--nor (and I can't believe I'm saying this because I'm not particularly fond of the word, but coming from Sandor Clegane it was always hilariously used) did a 'cunt' come from him all season long. He died without uttering it even once. Sad.

Anyhoo. Comparing part of my "something like this" dialogue for his parting words to Arya with what he actually said? I think I nailed it pretty closely.

My words: Don’t be like me. Don’t chase death your whole life. Live. His words: You think you've wanted revenge a long time? I've been after it all my life. It's all I care about and look at me. LOOK AT ME! You want to be like me? You come with me, you die here.

Same point getting across there. And this is what David Benioff said about the scene itself "Inside the Episode” that was on Youtube right after the show aired.

It's a small scene, but it's also, for us, one of the most important scenes in the whole episode because it's the culmination of their story together. The road to vengeance always ends in one place. Which is what the Hound is saying to her here. "I've made my choice a long time ago, and this can only end in one possible way for me. But for you, you have so many other options.

The Hound has genuinely come to have affection for Arya. I think he loves her, as much as he's capable of loving someone. And he knows that if she comes with him at this point, she's not gonna make it out of there.

So, yeah... Nailed it! And if the Hound is death... then doesn't that then make Gendry life considering how they’ve so closely entangled the two characters with Arya this season? Especially with the contrasts? Not only the conversations in episode 04, but Arya choosing to not spend her final hours with the miserable old shits (The Hound, and yes, Beric, but the Hound was the key one there) but instead having sex with Gendry. And sex well, its main purpose is to, you know, create life. And then there’s the first time she saw them both this season in episode 01, “Winterfell,” Arya spied the Hound and then Gendry arrive. The Hound rode in upon a black horse. Gendry? A white horse.

After she turned down Gendry's proposal--in my analysis, rejecting life--and joined the Hound on the road to King's Landing to commit regicide, expecting to not come out of it alive--accepting death--she rode a black horse.

After listening to Sandor's words, after choosing to let Cersei die by a means other than her hand, running through the streets of death and chaos, fighting to live, fighting to try and help others live, surviving because the God of Death declared that no, my former pupil, death was not happening, not today, Arya Stark stood amidst all of that death and she stood in the light. The sun shone upon her and she saw a way out of that darkness, away from all of that death, back to life. She saw a white horse.

And she rode on that white horse away from death. To life? To Gendry? I think so.

Now, taking all of that into account, the Arya and the tangling of Gendry and the Hound--which just had to definitively be deliberate--here's where my little detective work brought me to my final definitive GENDRYA CONFIRMATION, BITCHES! moment.  In early Spring, D.B. Weiss and Daniel Benioff helped create a new Spotify playlist: Game of Thrones: The End Is Coming. Upon doing so, they told For the Record in an email, “The answer to the ending is one hundred percent hidden in the playlist choices. No one will believe us, but it’s true.”

Well, a friend of mine and I have been going through each song to try and guess which songs apply to which characters and situations as we're heading into the final inning. And then I got to one particular song and I literally said: "OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG! GENDRYA CONFIMRATION, BITCHES!" And this is why.

This is from the official Game of Thrones Youtube channel: It is titled: Game of Thrones | Season 8 Episode 5 | The Hound's Gift (HBO).  The description of the video is: Maisie Williams explains Arya's choice. Yeah, you read that right. Uh huh, please do make note that my post written a week or so ago about the Hound = Death and Gendry = Life, and that Arya will choose life (thus Gendry) was titled "Arya's Choice" and I done wrote that on May 06, 2019! I'm just saying. Ahem, anyhoo. So, the video has Maisie talking about the "gift" that the Hound gives Arya.

This is a really important moment, the Hound realizing that "I don't think this kid knows what she's gonna get into." And turning around and giving her this incredible gift, which is the second ticket to a new life.

He's wanted revenge his entire life, and do you wanna be like him? "Is that what you want?" Just a moment in Arya where all those emotions that she’s been trying to suppress and trying to ignore and trying to focus on the task at hand all bubble up again, and this man who she cares so much about and has learned so much from and admires so much turned around and says ‘You don’t want this. You—you go.' She realizes there is another way. There is another life that she could have.

We tell real stories about real people and in this season, Arya decides against being that character that people love, and she decides to, to take her life into her own hands and take control of what she wants.

Let's break what she says down a bit first. Obviously, all of this lines completely up with where I've seen this going. Arya steps away from the whole list-friendly, death-first Arya-'assassin' that "people love." And it makes me sad that Maisie does know that so many people do love that iteration of Arya. It makes me so sad because Arya is so, so much more. *sigh*

The reaction to the idea of Arya having sex, showing interest in *that* kind of relationship--because no, it wasn't all just about the fact that it was watching a girl we watched grow up, there was definitely a lot of... but that's not Arya!, she's an assassin-baby!--shows that she definitely has a point. Still, what she says here makes it quite clear that, yes, Arya IS going to step away from that. Having Sandor basically say to her that she doesn't want to be a miserable old shit like him was a real wake-up call.

Her first "ticket" to life was obviously the coin from Jaqen Hagar. This is her second, and getting that from the Hound who has seen and been through so much shit with Arya, plus seeing the devastating horror of rampant death and destruction all around her has brought that message home loud and clear. She does not want that life, his life. Which is death. She is choosing now to take what she wants. And what does she want? Well, that brings me (finally!) to that OMG! moment.

Remember what I said above about the Game of Thrones spotify list and those clues that D&D talked about. Well, while going through the songs, and having watched this particular video clip the day before, I was pretty damn shook when I got to the end of "No One Knows" By Queens of the Stone Age. Here are the complete lyrics. However, what I want to focus on is the chorus and the outro as we close out the song.

[Chorus] And I realize you're mine Indeed a fool am I And I realize you're mine Indeed a fool am I Ahh

[Outro] Heaven smiles above me What a gift here below But no one knows A gift that you give to me No one knows

That's right.

"What a gift here below, but no one knows. A gift that you give to me. No one knows."

The Hound gave Arya a gift. Arya was No One.

Thus my "OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG! GENDRYA CONFIMRATION, BITCHES!"

Yeah. They are the ship that is promised. BOOYAH!

(Plus, yeah, all of the other reasons I’ve talked about ad nauseum over the last month!)

[katlyn1948]

Evading Capture: Chapter 9 “A Ludicrous Plan”

Well, my fellow readers, I have updated!

This chapter literally picks up where the last one left off and it is basically all pillow talk. It’s not so much fluff, because they do get into some intense conversations, but its still pillow talk because their naked, in bed (its a cot) talking.

I also explore some of Arya’s deep feelings.

Anyway, hope you enjoy

Also I would like to mention that his WIP is coming to a close. I have to say there is probably four or five more chapters left until it’s wrapped. I am going to be so sad because it has become one of my favorites.

But enough talk about endings, lets just enjoy what we have right now!

Arya was warm, really warm. The warmth encompassing her small frame shifted slightly, allowing cool wisps of air to coat her back, causing gooseflesh to spread throughout her body. She shivered slightly as she tried to bring the missing warmth back to her exposed body.

The events of the previous night were beginning to reemerge to her waking mind, causing the corners of her mouth to tug upward. There was a slight ache between her legs, a reminder of the pleasures her body had experienced just a few short hours ago. It was an interesting ache, one she welcomed and hoped to experience more than just this one time.

She hadn’t expected last night to happen.

Arya had ignored her budding feeling for the brooding blacksmith, and when she finally broke, she wasn’t expecting him to be there like he was. He understood her more than she cared to admit, and that scared her. For people who cared about her often ended up dead.

It was a grim thought to be having, considering her mind was clouded with the intimacy she had just reciprocated to a man she trusted completely. But she’d be a fool to not think about the possibility of what could lie ahead. Just a few days ago, her mother and brother were alive and well, preparing to deceive a grotesque lord in order to secure a passage essential to winning a war. Now they laid dead; killed by men during a wedding, as they were too cowardly to do in on a battle field.

Arya realized that life is not guaranteed and that protecting the people she loved would prove a challenge, even for herself.

She had to protect Gendry, for she knew that if she were to lose him too, then her world would truly be shattered beyond repair. He was now her family, and not because of some spontaneous coupling in a worn down old shed, but because he listened and cared for her when no one else did. He came to find her during her drunken stupor, making sure that she didn’t do anything stupid. She knew that Beric and others, although they grew fond of her, would never had done the same.

Gendry was a different breed of man, the type one must grasp onto and never let go.

And that is what Arya had done.

She sunk her claws deep into him, claiming him as her own, never to let him go.

READ ON AO3

[uncomfortable-writers]

Last Night (Hound x Reader)

(Gif credit to owner)

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Character: Sandor Clegane

Persona: Female

Word Count: 755

Request: Are requests still open? If so, please could I request a Hound x Stark reader where they confess their feelings for each other before they fight the Night King? Thank you! XxX 

A/N - Sandor needs more love <3

The tension could be felt in the air, it hung around looming over the occupants of Winterfell, reminding them of their impending doom. 

You were wandering the halls of the castle looking for something to fill your time with, well rather someone but they were nowhere to be found. You turned the hall and were greeted with another empty corridor, you sighed to yourself. Leaning against the wall you rested your head in your hands, it was pointless. You were going to die without confessing. “If you follow the corridor round you’ll find a set of stairs. Go up those and through the first door, you’ll find him. He’s sat with Lord Beric”, Arya said as she glided past, her footsteps completely silent. You jumped in fright, completely unable to say your gratitude to her as she slipped back into the darkness.

After following her instructions down to every precise detail the northern winds hit you, taking your breath away. The air stung your lungs as you moved forward looking for him, and just as Arya said he was there.

Slumped on the floor, back against the wall without a shred of worrying or discomfort on his face, (despite the position he was sat in and the fact that it was below freezing). You couldn’t help the soft smile while you looked at him, he really did make this horrible night feel a lot better. You made your way over to the pair. “You should tell her, you might not get another chance”, Bedric reminded Sandor, nodding his head in your direction. “Piss off Beric”, Sandor mumbled. He was in no mood to talk about such things. Beric did as Sandor commanded, he walked wordlessly passed you but still smiled politely. 

The Hound watched as his friend left and his love interest entered.

“You come to spend your final hours with a sad shit too?”, he asked bitterly although there was a half-attempted joke in there, luckily you knew Sandor well enough to catch onto it. “Of course, better to spend it being miserable and quiet than overly optimistic like the others”, you informed him, dropping down to sit on the cold ground beside him. 

The Hound let the corner of his lips twitch into a semi-smile, wordlessly he handed over the flask of wine over to you, “Drink this, it tastes like piss but it’ll keep you warm”, you took it from him, your (E/C) eyes conveyed your thanks even though your mouth didn’t. Sandor didn’t need to drink it now you were here,he liked that there was no judgement behind your eyes, nor prejudice or disgust at his scar; just the warmth he needed. The atmosphere became silent but it was awkward or uncomfortable, it was wonderfully tranquil giving you both the peace you needed before the storm came in the morning. Thoughts swirled through your head, you weren’t sure whether it was because the wine was incredibly strong or if it was because of the fear that you might never get the chance to say the words again, but before you could stop your mouth it was already speaking your thoughts.

“You know Sandor”, you whispered quietly, “I think I like you. I think I like you a lot”.

The Hound was taken back, he really was unsure of what to say. He never imagined that you might feel the same way as he did. Sandor held his hand out without a word, you took this as a bad sign and was about to apologise as you placed the flask back into his palm. 

“Sandor I-I’m sorry--”, you stammered but was cut off, “I don’t want the damn wine girl, I want your hand instead”, and with that he tossed the wine on the ground next to him. Your heart had been pounding in your chest but at this simple display of affection it started to calm, you placed your small hand into his giant one. The Hound was surprisingly gentle as his fingers clasped around your own, “You have the worst timing”, he sighed. You giggled softly at this, Sandor’s thumb ran over the back of your knuckles memorising every detail. When on the battlefield he would need a reminder of what he was fighting for, he needed the chance to hold you again.

With his tree-trunk like arm, he pulled you into his side, “You know I think I like you a lot too little one”. Instantly you relaxed into his side and suddenly the North didn’t feel so cold.

[cherryplasmids]

☆ still my dove ☆

pairing: sandor clegane x reader fandom: game of thrones—season 8 anon request: Sandor x Reader where they’re involved in some sort of battle or they’re attacked by some bastards and the reader is greatly injured, losing an arm or a leg? “What use am I to you now?” notes: mentions of blood and violence and death.  — I am in no way an expert on disability. I don’t know the science behind having a leg chopped off or anything. I do not mean to offend anyone.

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

         The heavy bodies of four wights that struggled to desperately end your life, suddenly vanished, leaving your arms to drop at your sides. Besides immediately confusion—how in the actual fuck did they just disappear—soreness filled your body and you could finally breathe; inhale without fearing it would be your last.

After the initial shock, people began yelling out names or screaming in pain or crying when they stumbled upon dead loved ones or maybe all of the above. You wanted to feel emotional agony because you are certain you’ve lost someone in the battle but the exhaustion overwhelmed you, silencing any type of feeling besides content. Even when you heard your name being yelled, you just lied there waiting for someone to find you while thinking of a downing cold ale, kissing Sandor because you know your tall, brute lover survived, and sleeping for three days.

Whoever shouted for you came close and quieted down. Despite all the smoke in the air, temporarily disrupting your vision, Necalli’s distinct appearance captures your attention. He leans over, placing his hands on his knees and begins panting. His face is covered in a thick coat of blood and ash with streaks of sweat on his cheeks. Armor no longer rested on his chest or shoulders, instead, the thin olive tunic dangled loosely off his collarbones. Thankfully, you couldn’t find any major wounds, just little scratches decorating his tanned flesh.

“Y/N,” Obvious relief spilled out of him. He drops down to his knees and removes his Unsullied combat helmet which immediately makes you sad.

“I’m sorry about your friends.” You pointed at the helmet. “They nor the Dothraki should have died first. That’s just disrespectful.”

“Perhaps we were taken for granted.” He shrugs even though sorrow fills his eyes. “But we do what she asks of us with no question. If her intent was for us to die, I think we did a good job.”

It’s a poor attempt of a joke but you crack a smile anyway. “Is Grey Worm—”

“Alive, searching for Missandei. I looked for you as soon as the battle was over.”

You lift a hand up to touch his cheek. “Thank you, raqiros.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good...I think? Just lightheaded.” You stop for a moment, pausing in order to take a deep breath. “Tired, really damn tired.”

Necalli doesn’t speak and looks you over, assessing your condition. He moves your head side to side, wiping away blood from your warm cheeks. You’re delirious to his ministrations because the exhaustion hits you. Hard. Like a sudden rainstorm or the Sept of Baelor blowing up.

Sleep; it’s alluring and the best idea you’ve had in ages. You just need uninterrupted sleep..forever. You, Sandor and the comfy beds filled with cozy furs that Winterfell had in abundance. Necalli is keeping you from fulfilling that desire. He needs to stop worrying—you’re completely and utterly fine, just exhausted. Nothing more and nothing less.

But then he starts shouting causing your ears to start ringing. You close your eyes and push your hands to close anymore sound from going into your ears. He’s screaming bloody murder for what? He needs to leave now because he’s being extremely rude now.

Despite his incessant screaming, sleep calls out to you—sending soft murmurs of delicate yearning. Your eyes close even further, darkening the outside light from penetrating your eyelids. It feels warm.

It doesn’t last long because you begin involuntarily shaking—violently as if you’ve basked in ice cold water. Eyes snapping shut, you see Necalli shaking you, his face filled with the utmost concern and worry.

“Necalli?” Then you feel a jolt in your lower region, shocking you into an upright position. There are so many people crowding you, all shouting incoherent nonsense. Sansa is there, tears spilling, and head shaking. Everything is suffocating, too hectic for you to focus until you notice her eyes shooting back and forth from your own gaze to your legs.

So, you look.

Blood gushes from your left leg, dark red, almost black, but that isn’t the worst part about it.

It was gone.

Your left fucking leg from the knee down wasn’t there—just empty space where the shin should be. Your mouth opens up, but nothing comes out—or maybe it did but you couldn’t tell because of the high volume ringing in your ears.

The pain hits you now, shooting through your body like fire. Somehow, at the same time, it felt like ice and electricity replaced your veins, throbbing at rapid a pace that seemed to quicken your heart rate. It makes you reel, sending you back to your previous lying position, head thudding against the wet dirt which is the worst thing you could have possibly done. An explosion of blinding whiteness blows up in your head and the last thing you could remember is watching Sandor race towards you before your consciousness simply vanishes into darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

          Beric’s death struck sorrow in Sandor. After all, the two men have spent many hours together, trying to survive all the obstacles life has thrown at them. They prevailed together, came to the North together, fought alongside each other, and buried comrades together. Although Sandor’s never been one for sentiment, there’s a bit of nostalgia coursing through him as his eyes wander out to the vastness of the North. Beric, an oddball, surrounded himself with other oddballs like Thoros, made Sandor feel welcomed. Not a hound—a brother who’s destiny is to survive. He’s not heartbroken, far from it, but he is sad.

Originally, he just drank a cups of ale in Beric’s honor. However, once he couldn’t find you among the dead or the living, he became inconsolable.

Three days after the battle, he still cannot find you. No one is telling him anything on account of you and Sandor not necessarily being in a relationship. If he specifically asked for you, people would be suspicious and Sandor was not the type to have his personal business under scrutiny by any means. Instead of sacrificing his pride and ask for aid, he helplessly searched for you throughout Winterfell. Every nook and cranny searched and stripped to find you. Three days worth of panic and innocent bystanders being shoved or yelled at and silent tears at night when he’s alone.

It registers after the fourth day that you might not be here. The sudden realization of your clingy self not being there to annoy him, jump on his back, or to play with his fingers when you’re nervous, suddenly slaps him so hard in the face, he physically caught whiplash.

Sandor’s thoughts increasingly became a jumbled mess as he kept drinking with his sight becoming a tad bit hazy. Tipsy is not the word to describe him at the moment. He’s intoxicated and smells like he took a bath in alcohol—not at all how he usually is. Nothing about him is normal anymore, well, as normal as he tried to be. Everything is different; the morning light disrupted by ash polluting the air, the frostiness of the North seems warmer, fewer people roaming around, even the ale tastes different. It’s dreary, dark, and depressing. And the only way he can combat that heartbreak is to drink until he’s dead.

He’s got nothing to live for anymore. He’s done his duty of protecting the Stark girls and without you around, he doesn’t see a future because he planned it with you. The brown cottage with cobble steps and yellow flowers planted beside it that you wanted to live in with him was a far fetched dream that is impossible to realize without you. All the little plans of being farmers and florists and chefs and any other random idea you had would never come true. He did not have the heart to continue, to move on without you because you were everything. How can he move on when you took his heart with you to wherever the fuck you ended up at.

That’s when he knew he could never be happy. The stars would never align for him to set him up with a good life. The one chance he did, the village had been slaughtered and the second time an opportunity came, you were taken from him.

Life’s a cruel joke and Sandor’s been the butt end of the joke since childhood.

So, he takes another gulp of ale, only to find the cup empty. He reaches over to the beer barrel to pour more but nothing comes out of the tap. Just one push of the barrel sends it over. Nothing sloshes inside of it. It’s empty.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            Something slams heavily against the wall, but Sandor’s eyes are crusted shut. He can’t tell what the noise is and doesn’t want to. The massive pounding in his head makes him feel heavy as if his brain weighs a ton. It’s a heat stroke combined with a migraine, the frigidness of Winterfell doing nothing to cool him down.

Then he’s shaking. A second party is forcefully kicking him but he’s immune, numb. Kicking and stomping, loud slams, gibberish—nothing can shake him out of the thick haze and rut he’s succumbed to.

“Fuck off,” Vomit is on his tongue and it makes him gag.

Whoever is disturbing him speak again, more gibberish followed by another kick to his side. After that, they stop. Instead, freezing water with chunks of ice crashes down on his face, sending his body to jolt forward into a sitting position.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Sandor whips his head up despite the throb in his brain to find Arya standing over him, arms crossed over her chest with her eyebrows raised—unamused and certainly unimpressed. Light illuminates her tense silhouette which means it’s still daylight. He’s been sleeping for a few hours instead of a few days like he thought.

“Fuck you,”

She taps her foot and moves to sit on an ale barrel. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Sandor pushes himself to sit against the nearest wall, grunting the entire time. He can’t think straight without pushing his limits, can’t talk without feeling like he licked a shag carpet. Breathing heavily and eyes closed, he takes his time to calm down or else he’ll attack the younger girl. She might beat him, though. After all, he is intoxicated beyond belief.

“All this time you’ve been drinking your arse off for the fun of it and—”

Sandor shakes his head, brain sloshing around in his skull. “Dead,”

“What?”

“She’s dead.”

“Who—” Arya stops herself, sighing deeply before rubbing her forehead. “Y/N?”

“There’s not..nothing left.”

The young Stark girl gets down on her knees, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “You idiot!” Sandor’s eyes flare up in anger. She’s pissed too.  “While you’ve been here feeling sorry for yourself, mourning over her for no reason, she’ been screaming day and night about missing you.”

His eyes perk up, his body physically straightening as her words finally have some clarity. “She’s alive?”

Arya rolls her eyes and stands up. “Yes, been asking for you.”

Scrambling to get up, Sandor stumbles and trips over his own feet several times before standing properly, but his feet don’t have stability. Suddenly, he tilts backward, falls back and hits his head on a wooden barrel. It smashes and ale seeps out.

Arya remains unimpressed at the sight, offering no help to the groaning and probably concussed Hound. “Shower and sober up or she’ll have your head for smelling like an alehouse.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            By the time Sandor sobers up, takes a shower, and actually attempts to groom a bit, it’s the next night. He didn’t think it would take him that long, obviously underestimating how fucked up he was. The hours leading up to the very moment he entered the makeshift hospital wing in the castle was filled with extreme anxiousness. It’s been five, almost six days, since the battle—fours days he deemed you dead. All the nasty thoughts of his lonely future remained in his head. Surely you wouldn’t want to be with him after he left you to deal with your injuries alone.

He assumed they were horrific since Arya refused to speak about them and even got a little teary-eyed mentioning it. Did you look like him now? Scarred flesh and ugliness tainting your features? No, no matter what happened to your face, he would still love you. It couldn’t be that. When Arya’s eyes got misty and somewhat pitiful, it reminded him of how she used to look when he brought up a specific topic on one of their adventures years ago. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember the subject.

When he reaches the wing, there are three Unsullied men guarding your door. They glare at him as he approaches. He expects them to part but they remain still, speaks held up high with their hands tightening their grips. He’s feeling particularly nasty at the moment and opens his mouth to swear but is cut short by your room door opening and swinging shut.

Necalli, your best friend, looks tired with bags under his eyes and terrible posture. His head is low even when one of the Unsullied guards speak to him. It’s in Valyrian, a language Sandor never heard of until the Targaryen girl invaded Westeros. You know it, though. You gave him cute nicknames and compliment him using that language. He never knows what you’re saying, but the little smile on your lips makes it okay.

“Sandor,” Necalli’s accented voice calls out to him, removing him from his memories. The tanned man looked a little pale but he smiled up at him anyway. He didn’t think the Unsullied were allowed to smile. “It’s really great to see you.”

He grunts and nods.

“Y/N has been in and out of sleep. She is awake now but might fall asleep on you. Just don’t do anything that causes her heart to quicken.” The sly bastard winks at him talk Valyrian to the guards before all four Unsullied members leave the wing.

As soon as he sees their bodies turning at the end of the hall, he pushes the door open. Firewood and lavender waft throughout the room, reminding him of his smell and your body scent mixing together. His boots noisily alert you of a new presence and before you can call out, Sandor is standing a few feet away from your bed.

Your breath hitches and hands tighten around the snow-white sheets.

“What—” You audibly gulp. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not. Off you go.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t want you here.” Your voice is tight, eyes filled with terror.

Visibly caught off guard, Sandor takes a step back at your words. Not even a week ago were you declaring your love for him, begging for him to fuck you, preparing all these future plans with him. Now you’re telling him to leave as if that hadn’t happened? Had he done something wrong? Why do you look terrified?

“What the fuck do ya mean?” He snaps at her, anger taking ahold of him.

You match his ferocity. “Are you deaf now? I said get the fuck out!”

Sandor stares at you for a long time, causing you to shift. He always does that to you when he knows there’s an underlying issue. And you’ve just outed yourself out by swearing at him, something you rarely ever do.

“The Stark girl told me you were hurt.” Again, he stares, searching for something. “I don’t see anything.”

His lingering eyes sends anxiety through your body and you feel panic welling up in your throat. Again, you tighten your hands around the sheet, bringing it up toward your body.

“Please, Sandor, just go.”

Your whispered words do nothing to ease the giant man and he moves toward you. Your eyes shut when he gets near you, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to cascade downward. Each shuffle, creak, and any other movements cause you to tense up because Sandor will inevitably find out what’s wrong. Of course, it terrified you.

He kneels down beside you and gently tugs the sheet out of your hands. You whisper in disagreement and for a moment, he stops. Eyes intense, you could feel his stare at you and eventually, you relent, completely releasing the sheet.

Agonizingly slow, Sandor peels the cloth off of you, bare flesh gaining goosebumps. He stops when he reaches your knees. Realization stuns him, causing him to release the sheet.

Tears slip out underneath your closed eyelids. Before you know it, you’re sobbing and shaking.

Sandor feels his heartbreak at the sight of you completely and utterly devastated. He understands now. Why you didn’t send someone to get him, why he wasn’t by your side. You’d rather have him think you’re dead than in this condition.

“Oh, Sandor,” He leans forward, tugging you into his chest and you awkwardly grab onto him, twisting your body enough to be practically on him.

“I love you.”

Somehow you cry harder, chest heaving. You shake your head at his words and look up, eyes shining with tears with absolute sorrow leaking.

“What use am I to you now?”

“Listen to me, dove.” Voice gruff and stern, he pulls you further to him. “Nothing has changed. You’ll still be annoying and clingy and will still jump on my back. We will get that cottage with yellow flowers and cobblestone steps.” You cry even more. “Everything is the same. Legs or no legs, you’ll still be my dove.”

He pulls you into him again, smelling your lavender scented hair and lets you soak his shirt in tears. You try to talk but he hushes you, knowing that you’ll need sleep soon. So, he climbs onto the bed. Like routine, you curl up to his side and grip onto his shoulders. It’s silent after that, just you two together with bodies pressed against each other and breathes mingling—thinking about life together away from all the deaths and injuries and wars. Sandor kisses your head and you know you’re safe and absolutely loved at that moment.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 3,034 published: may 16, 2019 edited: n/a

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                                         FLORIAN THE FOOL

                                                             ao3

Time flies and it does not wait for anyone. But theirs are years well-lives, so Gendry supposes it's all right, in the end // Gendry gets to watch his Arya grow old with him. It feels like a blessing.

gendry’s pov of the white fawn

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town

Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now

It's brighter now

I once believed love would be burnin' red

But it's golden

Like daylight

- Daylight, Taylor Swift

***

Sometimes, when it’s raining outside and the kids are deep asleep, curled on top of one another like a litter of pups, Gendry takes Arya’s hand and they dance slowly in the middle of the room, swaddled in darkness. Nothing fancy – mostly, they just sway side-to-side, her cheek leaning on his chest and his chin resting on the top of her head.

It’s very quiet between them.

This always reminds him of kneeling on the cold, soft mud in front her, underneath Raventree, when they were told to ask gods to bless their marriage. He did not believe in gods then and he does not believe in them now; Old or New or Red, they don’t seem to listen to mortals’ wishes at all. But despite that, he bowed his head dutifully and, against everything, did ask for one thing and one thing only-

Let me love this woman right, please. Just let me love her like she is supposed to be loved.

It is a prayer, but it’s also more than that; it is a promise.

Arya, with her hair chopped short and desperate eyes, trying to convince him she is a boy.

Arya, bow in her hands, swift and nimble on her feet, running through the woods like a fawn.

Arya in yellow silks and with flowers on her head, so young and so fucking gorgeous it hurt. Arya, saying she is his, claiming him as hers.

Arya hovering above him, her eyes shining in the dark.

Arya on her back, face all red, hair stuck to her forehead and crying in pain, her hand clasping his so hard that bruises form on his fingers.

Arya, ankle-deep in cold, cold river, holding Ben under his armpits and lowering him into the water and raising him up over and over again as he wiggles in her grip, giggling.

Let me love her like she deserves to be loved.

*

Jory only falls asleep if someone sings to him and it takes them way too much time to figure it out, probably because none of them have any fucking idea what they’re even doing and so the thought of ever trying lullabies have somehow never occurred to either.

But one yet another sleepless night, Arya, more tired than sane really, lays their screaming, screeching baby on the bed between them and begins to rub comforting circles on his belly with her eyes closed as she opens her mouth.

Six maids in a pool

They're of noble blood

One Fool, but great, on the shore

He'd seen that flower full of love

"She'll be in my garden" - he'd sworn

And then there is a sudden silence, blissful silence except for Arya’s low, rough voice and the sound of crickets outside as Jory’s eyelids flutter and shut. Soon enough, he’s deep asleep, clutching Gendry’s index finger with one of his tiny fists.

They stay frozen, afraid to move, to even breathe, in case the baby will wake up, but it does not happen and Gendry slowly tears his gaze away from Jory, so relieved and overjoyed, about to just pull Arya against his chest and kiss her senseless-

But Arya looks down, still like a lake, tears rolling down her cheeks one by one.

‘’Arry.’’ – he whispers hopeless, at loss of what to do. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he’s sure she must hear it.

‘’It was- it was Sansa’s favorite.’’ – she lets out with a shaky breath, hunching over and hiding her face in her hands. – ‘’Florian The Fool and Jonquil.’’

Slowly, so, so slowly, Gendry grabs her wrists and lowers her hands down and cups her face, wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She’s so skinny, so sad lately, worn to the bone.  

‘’It’s just so hard now.’’ – she admits quietly.

He’s about to say I know, but bites on his tongue before those words escape from his mouth. No, he doesn’t. He does not know much really. He leaves on the first light and comes home late, and Arya stays, day and night, hissing in pain every time she nurses and lulling crying Jory in her arms for hours, over and over again. The girl who wanted adventure and thrill, stuck in one place like a caged bird.

Staring into Arya’s weary, gleam-less gray eyes, Gendry really, truly hates himself for the first time in his life.

He does not know how to make it better. So, instead, he does the only thing that comes into his mind; he kisses her forehead and tells her that she can go to sleep and he will watch Jory. This night and all the other nights. And he will learn all the songs under the sun, if that’s what their baby wants. Behold, Gendry The Fool.

This earns him a smile. Small and barely-there.. but it’s a beginning.

*

In the morning light, she is a statue carved out of marble.

Sitting on the threshold, barefoot and with her hair loose, she looks so fragile. Bird-boned. If she was a metal, she would require goldsmith’s nimble fingers to form, not brute strength of a blacksmith.

And yet, she hears his footsteps, she turns around to look at him and moves a little to the left to make place for him. And, when he sits down, she rests her head on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do and he wraps his arm around her-

And yet, despite all, they just fit. They work.  

She places his hand on her swollen belly so he could feel their babe kicking underneath his fingers, oh gods, he never wants to move from this threshold ever again. He tries to imagine sitting here with another woman, sharing his life with another woman and it just leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

He is hers. Simple as that.

*

Duncan is so small in Gendry’s hands, barely bigger than a loaf of bread and looking so delicate. Born a moon too early, he came out of Arya’s womb pale and unmoving and Gendry has never been more afraid in his life than in those few seconds stretched into infinity, looking into Arya’s wide wild eyes and waiting for their second son to take his first breath and start to cry. He’s fine now, maybe still a bit too light, but that’s okay – Gendry can keep him safe and warm in his arms as long as it takes for his to gain strength on his own, as long as he needs it. Even if it’s forever. It doesn’t matter.

Jory is so curious about his baby brother that it’s almost comical. He peaks at Duncan napping on Arya’s breast and then gently, very gently, pats his chubby cheek.

‘’Soft.’’ – he grins up at Arya and she laughs.

‘’Yeah, babies are like that. All soft and nice. Do you want to give him a kiss?’’

Jory seems to be thinking about it for a while, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his brows from concentration. It smoothes down when he leans to press a peck on Duncan’s dark head.

‘’Love him.’’ – he babbles with a toothy smile and Gendry can swear that there actual tears in Arya’s eyes, no matter that she would deny it.

*

‘’Wish I could give ‘em a name.’’ – he says quietly, watching as older boys snore in unison, both of them holding each of Ollie’s tiny fists.

Arya reaches out above their sleeping children and puts her little hand on his cheek. Her eyes are shining in the darkness like twin stars and yes, indeed, Gendry wishes for a name other than Waters more than he has ever wished for anything, but that’s not the only thing he desires. He wishes for a featherbed for Arya; for her to be less tired; for her hands to remain soft. He can’t give her comfort the same way he can’t offer any of the three sons he has with a noble-born woman anything more than a hut on the hill, a few goats and a small workshop in the Maidenpool.

‘’They have a father who loves them, a father who they can be proud of. That’s more important than any name could ever be.’’

Gendry thinks it’s very lady-like of her to say so. But, after all, she gave up her name for him, so maybe he could trust her on this matter.

*

Sometimes he dreams of Arya in Winterfell; Arya all highborn in Northern furs, a silver crown on her dark hair and cheeks painted pink from frost. He dreams of wolves surrounding her, howling for her in the woods, bowing their heads for her when she passes through the pack of them as if she was their queen.

Wolf dreams, she tells him shortly one time when he wakes up in the morning to find her sitting in the bed still deep asleep and biting on her lip hard enough that it bleeds, her hands all scratched by her own nails. He doesn’t ask for more explanation. It’s scary enough, to think what she might have become, how high she might have risen had she not she chosen him.

*

Beric arrives one evening, seated on a fine black mare that makes boys gasp in awe and nervously elbow each other until Jory asks very politely – let it never be said that Gendry raises his son as wildlings, thank you very much – if they can maybe, just maybe, feed her an apple. As horse happily munches, absolutely not paying any attention to three little creatures combing her tail and patting her sides, Arya hoists baby Ben on her hip and talks with Beric outside as Gendry goes to fetch cheese and milk.

On his way back, he stops on the threshold and grins involuntarily. Gods, his wife is just so fucking pretty, more beautiful with every passing year. No one would call her a dirty boyish urchin now, with her long dark locks cascading down her back and a blush on her sweet face. She sways delicately, side-to-side, as the child in her arms dozes off, his head resting on her shoulder.

Gendry very briefly wonders if he could possibly persuade her to have yet another babe. A daughter this time, a little Arya, gifted with her mother’s effortless grace and devious gleam in grey eyes. From their sons, Ollie is the only one brown-headed and also the only one alike to Arya in any physical regard; Jory and Duncan are both copies of him, taller than they should be at their age and growing out of every pair of shoes more rapidly than Gendry can supply them.

‘’Your brother would take you. All of you.’’

Beric’s voice is like a cold shower, briefly, just before it turns into a cold fury brewing in Gendry’s gut.

‘’Why would I ever take my sons to Winterfell?’’

‘’They could have a future there.’’

Gendry doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. If Lord Beric  All-Mighty Dondarrion wants to say that he cannot damn support for his own family, he can fucken say it to his face. But he remains inside the house, hidden in shadows and frozen in place. Listening.

Arya laughs, both softly and bitterly somehow.

‘’What kind of future? Bein’ treated as bastards, even though they’re not? Bein’ treated as baseborn and worse for that, even tho they don’t deserve it? ‘’

‘’Your brother has no heirs, he could use three healthy, strong boys. Do you want your ancestral seat in the hands of some other house? For Starks to die out?’’

Gendry’s fist clench. That’s a low blow and Beric bloody knows it, probably that’s why he does not look Arya in the eyes.

He never let it go. He rode with smallfolk, wined and dined and shat with them, but he never forgave himself for letting highborn girl under his care to be defiled by a bastard blacksmith, knight or not.

Nearly killed me when I refused to ride North with them, sulked through the wedding and acted all high and honorable, and now he tries to take a wife from her husband and children from their father.

‘’Rickon married Shireen Baratheon; if Bran will die childless, Rick’s second son will hold Winterfell. If not, Sansa’s child will. Heard she has a boy now.’’

‘’It’s your sons’ right.’’ Beric’s voice turns sharp. ‘’Hope you know what you’re depriving them of.’’

There is silence ringing in Gendry’s ears for a moment. He inhales, deeply, and is just about to move, to bash Lightning Lord’s skull in, when-

‘’Oh, I know full well.”

Ours is the fury. For the first time, he thinks Arya would make a fine Lady Baratheon; there is so much anger radiating from her that he half-expects for the sky to part and send down thunderbolts.

‘’I deprive them of ever watching their father killed in a godsdamned game of thrones. No one will chop Gendry’s head off for a secret. No one will betray me and slit my throat. ‘’ she states, her voice unwavering. - ‘’If I die on them, it will be in childbirth. If Gendry does, it will be from the plague. These are honest deaths, the ones that don’t scar. Don’t teach me how to love my own children, Beric, or how to take care of them. I gave them the freedom to be who they want to be. And if I will ever bear a daughter, she will be freer than I ever was.’’

Guilt, heavy like a stone, punches him in the gut.

All those years and I’m still underestimating you, love.

Beric gifts them their fine black mare when he leaves the next morning, against their protests. Gendry wants to sell her – it’s suspicious for people like them to have a horse like that – but boys plead and plead for hours and Arya glances at the mare fondly, and Gendry is reminded how she used to ride faster than wind, hair unbound and no saddle needed. Freedom incarnate.

His wife calls the horse Wintersong.

Alysanne is born nine moons later.

*

Against his stupid, silent wishes, their children grow up quicker than a blink. He longs for bare feet and joyous shrieks, for mud fights and hurts that could be healed by kisses. What he gets now is to see them all go their own way and seven hells, it hurts so much.

Benjen is the first one to go, stolen away at just nine by Lord fucking Dayne,  to squire for him and then to be knighted. And Gendry knows, somewhere in the more rational part of him, that this is a good thing, that Ben would be happy doing what he was so clearly made to do. Ned is an honorable man and he will take good care of the boy, and one day Ben will be a great knight. They would sing songs of him. Still, this knowledge does nothing to soothe his sorrows. Bloody Starfall is too far away to travel and, as he hugs Ben’s scrawny frame, the realization that it might be the last time he does that takes his breath away.

I will never see him practicing with wooden swords in the woods again. I won’t see as he grows up.

Is there ever a bitter moment for a father, he thinks, clutching Alysanne’s hand as she waves her brother goodbye.  – then when he gives his child away and they are not his anymore?

The first night after his son’s departure,  Arya weeps from dusk till dawn, clinging to him in desperation until exhaustion pulls her under.  Next morning she’s calm and collected again, moving on as if nothing happened, but this is the first time that Gendry looks at his wife and thinks she’s getting older.

Jory’s next; always the responsible one, he quietly and slowly explains to them one afternoon how he will finish his apprenticeship soon and would like to stay in Maidenpool and marry his carpentry master’s youngest daughter. Gendry knows the girl – pretty lass named Joy, fox-like and with hair kissed by the fire. He had no idea that Jory fancies her thou, although it is possible he might be the only one oblivious, as Arya doesn’t even try to look surprised.

(Stupid. – she tells him in the evening, shaking her head. – During the fair last year all he did was look at her, all moony, too afraid to ask her to dance. Didn’t you notice that?

Well. He didn’t.

Arya sighs heavily, resting her head on her hand and glancing at him from underneath her lashes.

Remind me why I married you?

He leans down, resting his forehead against hers. His hand sneaks underneath her skirts to rest on her bare tight and he watches as grin blooms on her face.

Don’t complain, m’lady.)

Duncan doesn’t ever really leave, which Gendry cherishes.  Even as a kid, Duncan loved coming over to forge the most, begged Gendry to teach him blacksmithing ever since he was maybe six. As a man grown, his second son is his mirror copy; his body made to hammer metal into obedience and temper it into strength. He’s good at that, very good in fact. Steel sang for Gendry for most of his life – and it sings for Duncan too, even more beautifully. Girls from the whole town come over to watch him work and even Gendry is not as blind as not to see that the boy enjoys their attention.

He would be lying if he said it does not worry him, the thoughts of his own father and bastards swimming in his head until one day Duncan sets the hammer down and turns to him, blushing like a maiden.

‘’Dad.’’

‘’Hmm?’’

‘’Well. There is this girl- we, I mean, she… you know…‘’

Ha. There is always a girl.

‘’Are you going to marry her?’’

Duncan’s ears turn red.

‘’Yes.’’

Gendry stays quiet for a moment, before deciding that it certain things just don’t matter as much as he used to think they do.

Slowly, he eases his scowl into a smile.

‘’Congratulations, then.’’

Olllie… Ollie is a burden too heavy to bear.

(Arya screamed for hours, howled like a wolf with the limp body of their son clutched to her chest. No words, just raw ache of a wounded animal, not letting anyone come near. Alys hid in the cupboard, curled in a little ball with her hands pressed to her ears and crying in terror until Jory carried her away, hushing Duncan and Ben out.

Spring fever has a smell, sweet and disgusting. It always comes too late, when there is nothing that can be done anymore, clinging to hair and skin for weeks. No one can wash it off. In a way, Arya was right – death from plague never really scars. The wound that it leaves simply doesn’t ever close.

Ollie was so small, gasping for breath. He still had all his milk teeth, he still loved for Gendry to toss him up in the air, he still would ask Arya to tell him stories every evening and kiss his forehead goodnight.

So small.)

Sometimes he wonders – if they lived in a castle, maybe a maester could heal him, maybe he still would be alive. He wonders if Arya wonders about it too, but decides to keep silent.

They don’t talk about Ollie, none of them.

Alys runs away two moons before her five and tenth name day, surprising no one. Gendry guesses he got his wish; she is her mother’s daughter, truly. He watches, sad and resigned, as his wife tries and fails to hide her quiet glee as she reads him the letter Alys left. He just hears some phrases, here and there: mummer’s troupe, tightrope, adventure, being an acrobat and a boy, there is always a fucking boy.

And just like that, there is two of them again.

*

When they were younger, they used to be more desperate for each other, more hungry. Gendry supposes it makes sense -  he was less sure of her then. Not in a way he doubted she loved him, he always knew she loved him, cared for him. It was more like he was living without ever exhaling, holding his breath and waiting until someone will take her away from him, because surely someone will?

Lady Arya, the Northern Princess on his lap, her eyes shut closed and mouth opened in pleasure, moaning his name and digging her nails in his shoulders.

It was just too good to be true.

He was so careful, not to get used to any of it. From his experience, Gods delight in taking things mortals take for granted. And his family already feels fragile enough; no matter how solid the walls are,  they built them on quicksand. Everything is perishable and he can never forget that. But the older he gets, more and more of this burning anxiety disappears from his bones, evaporating in the thin early-morning mist outside when he wakes up in her warm arms and she sleeps like breast milk and dreams.

He still memorizes as much as he can though. Just in case one day memories would be the only thing he has left.

The identical shade of blue of his sons’ eyes. Alys’ breathy laughter. And Arya, Arya, Arya.

Years made her sweeter, softer.  When they were freshly married, she used to order him around in bed, half-starved for his touch and half-ashamed for being so needy. They would go hard and fast, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips and her teeth leaving bite marks on his neck. He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy that, but now it’s even better. -now, when they make love, it’s slow and gentle, and everything they never thought they could be. She unravels underneath him, letting him pleasure her and worship her until she’s boneless and pliant, laughing breathlessly when his beard scratches her belly.  She used to be slim and skinny, his wolf maiden, taut like a bowstring about to break, with lean muscles dancing underneath her pale skin. Now, there are traces of their children all over her body. They are written in the silver threads in her hair and in a blue spider web of veins on her breasts and faint marks on her belly where it stretched to accommodate growing babies, each of them.

It makes him stupid every time, looking at all those. Stupid and drunk on a feeling he does not even know how to describe.

Time flies and he can never get enough of her, of how it feels to be buried in her, of her hair in between his fingers and her nose bumping his and the way she bites on her lips when she peaks. The taste of her, the sight of her, the sound of her – she drives him mad and he sometimes wonders if he was put on this Earth just for this one purpose, to love this woman until he dies.

Because Gendry loves his lady Arya, like a fool and with all of him. This one thing never changes, even when they grow older and softer and weaker, and their hearts beat slower than they used to. Even when she is no longer dark-haired and he is no longer strong like an ox.

He can no longer carry her through the door, but he can still hold her hand as they watch the sunrise together. And maybe she does not water dance anymore, but, when she brushes her lips against his knuckles, this wicked gleam still burns in her eyes.

He loves her. The best he can. And as it seems to be enough for her - well, he trusts her enough to find solace in that.

[beric-the-lightning-lord]

Last Goodbye - NSFW Beric x Reader

Pairing: Beric Dondarrion x Reader

Word Count: 2,505

Warnings: NSFW

Author’s Note: So first time ever posting anything I have written on tumblr and the first time I have ever posted smut. I’m not entirely happy with it but after days of revision, I figured it was time to bite the bullet and post. So I hope everyone enjoys!

Court had been dragging on for the last three hours and you were beginning to grow quite bored with all the pleasantries and formality. You had been in Kings Landing since the Tourney of the Hand and were way past ready to get out of the dirty, crowded city. Your eyes wandered over to your husband who was standing off to the side chatting quietly with Thoros. The two had become fast friends despite Thoros unseating him in the joust. As if sensing your eyes on him, Beric looked up to you at your spot in the gallery and offered a warm smile that you couldn’t help but return.

The moment was broken as a group of peasants were led into court. You watched quietly as the scene unfolded before you. Apparently, The Mountain had led a band of brigands under cover of darkness and ransacked three towns, killing everyone in their path and burning the towns to the ground. You forced bile down as you listened to the tales of horror of women and children being slaughtered like pigs. Out of instinct, you drew your hand to the small firm bump of your swollen abdomen.

The Knight of Flowers was causing a small scene as he practically begged Ned Stark for the honor of killing The Mountain. Thinking of the joust between the two, you almost wished that Stark would give the job to the young knight but thought better of it upon realizing that on the battlefield, he would stand no chance against the towering mountain. Your eyes wandered back to Beric who once again sensed your eyes on him and raised his gaze to meet yours. 

“Lord Beric.” You froze as you realized who had spoke his name. Your heart sunk so low into your chest that you felt as if you might faint on the spot. Beric instantly tore his eyes from you and focused on the Hand of the King, taking a step forward. “Thoros of Myr. Ser Gladden. Lord Lothar.” You watched in a daze as the hand tasked them with assembling twenty men each to hunt down The Mountain, placing your husband in charge. 

As Stark dismissed court for the day, you stayed rooted in your spot, tears shining in your (e/c) eyes. Feeling a hand on the small of your back, you turned to find Beric with a sad smile. Not wasting a moment, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he pulled you in close, wrapping his strong arms around you. A few tears escaped from your eyes as you clung to him not wanting to let go. The gravity of the situation weighing heavily on you. He wasn't just hunting down some random untrained brigands, he was going after The Mountain. The hulking brute could decimate the whole front line of an army and walk away unscathed and you were supposed to let your Beric hunt him down and bring him to justice. No. Absolutely not. You hadn't even told him you were with child yet.

You pulled back from Beric, harshly wiping the tears from your eyes before leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. Turning on your heel you began to march down the gallery towards the stairs to the main floor. 

"(Y/N)!" You could hear him walking swiftly behind you to catch up to you. "Where are you going?" He grabbed your arm, turning you to face him. 

"What does it look like?" You asked frustrated. "I am going to talk to the hand. This is a death sentence and you know it." Your voice was rising as the pain and anger you were feeling began to spill out. "I am not going to lose you." Your voice broke as the last words slipped out. Maybe you were overreacting but you knew what The Mountain was capable of. No matter how talented Beric was with a sword in his hand, there was no way he could bring down a mountain.

He reached up and caressed your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as your body filled with warmth at his soft touch. You opened your eyes as he leaned his forehead against yours. "You're not going to lose me." He said softly as he stared intently into your eyes. You wanted to believe him. You truly wanted nothing more than to believe him but the sense of dread in your gut was overwhelming.

"M'lord." You jumped at the sudden voice. "Sorry to intrude but I wasn't sure of our orders." The captain of your household guard said as he stepped closer to you.

Beric pulled away from you and straightened himself up as he observed the guard. "I trust you to pick twenty good men and young Edric Dayne as well, and task Dairn with gathering supplies. You will be staying behind with Lady (Y/N). Tell the men they are free to do as they please tonight as long as they are sober and ready to ride out at first light."

First light. You only had one night left before Beric ran off to hunt down The Mountain. You hardly noticed as the guard left you and you walked in a daze with Beric by your side. When you were safely back to your chambers, you rounded on Beric again, not ready to give up without a fight. 

"Tell Stark that you can't do it." You pleaded with him.

He sighed, running a hand through his thick rust tinged locks. "You know I can't do that."

"Well then I'm coming with you." You made a big show about packing your things as you stomped around your chamber, shoving a knife into your satchel dramatically, making sure Beric saw the small blade.

Finding no point in arguing with you, Beric sat on the edge of the bed waiting for you to calm down from your current rage filled packing. As the last of the supplies you deemed necessary were shoved into your satchel you smiled victoriously. Any minute Beric was going to back out of his suicide mission when he understood how serious you were. You walked over to where he was sitting with a half smirk on your face and a slightly raised eyebrow, daring him to counter your move or back down. 

Instead, you were startled when he reached up and grabbed a hold of your hands, before staring up into your eyes. "You are not going and I am. It's as simple as that, (Y/N)." He broke eye contact long enough to glance down at the small firm bump of your stomach. "I'm coming back to you, both of you." 

The smile slipped from your face as you realized there was nothing you could do to stop him from leaving. Your last hope had been to tell him about the child you were carrying, his child. A new round of tears started as he pulled you into his lap. He ran his fingers through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings and promises of the life you would share with him, raising your child together. But in your gut, you knew this was goodbye. Beric, your Beric, was not going to return to you. To your child, who was only going to grow up hearing stories of his heroic and noble father but never actually meeting him. It broke your heart and no amount of begging or pleading would change it. 

You awoke several hours later, wrapped up in his arms, having fallen asleep from crying. The sun was setting, sending his rusty hair aflame. He looked so at peace, so content that you dared not move. So you lay there next to him taking in every detail, from his steady breathing to his scent, to the way his skin felt against yours. Unable to resist touching him any longer, you lifted your hand gently brushing away the hair that had fallen across his forehead. You leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips, smiling at the way his soft whiskers tickled your face. 

His arms tightened around you, pulling you tight against his body, a small smile playing at his lips as he gently rubbed your swollen stomach. You placed your ear against his chest listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. 

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay?” You asked softly.

“I am riding out with a hundred swords, a hundred of the best swords. Clegane’s head will be mounted on the gate of the red keep and I will be back in Blackhaven with you before you know it.” He placed a kiss on the top of your head. “Don’t waste any more time fretting over it.”

You pulled away from him so you could gaze into his eyes, placing a hand on his cheek. “I am supposed to worry about you. Gods, I worry about you every day. I know you don’t want to hear that - but its the truth. I know you are confident enough with a sword in your hand. I don’t doubt you but this ill feeling just won’t go away.” 

He let out a long sigh as he reached his hand forward and tucked your hair behind your ear. “I don’t want to waste any more time arguing over this, (Y/N).” The sadness in his rich, velvety voice was almost enough to break your heart. It dawned on you that this task scared him as much as it scared you but he had to do his duty, the hand had commanded it.

You slid closer to him, snaking an arm around his neck and pulling him down to you. Beric’s eyes widened slightly at your sudden change in mood. You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Sliding your tongue across his lips, he parted his mouth allowing you access. You tilted your head to the side deepening the kiss as you closed your eyes, your tongue fighting for dominance over his. 

Your arm stayed wrapped around the back of his neck as you pulled him even closer to you, desperate to keep him as close to you as humanly possible. Beric slipped an arm to the back of the dress you had fallen asleep in and tugged at the loose end of the ribbon that kept the delicate silk dress on your body. As soon as the ribbon was loose, he pulled down one of the sleeves of the dress, revealing your bare shoulder. He rolled you from your side on to your back and climbed on top of you, only breaking your kiss to begin trailing kisses down your neck and across your bare shoulder.

A familiar warmth began to spread through your body from your womanhood as you turned your head bearing your neck for him. As his trail of kisses grew lower down your chest, you began to squirm as your skin grew more and more sensitive to his touch, the throbbing between your legs growing more intense. 

Your hands found their way to the bottom of his shirt and you began to lift it up his back. He pulled away from you long enough to sit up and pull his shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it on the floor. Running your hands across his chest, a smile lit up your face as you grabbed a hold of his shoulders, pulling him back down to you. Your lips crashed together in a fervor as his hands worked on pulling your dress down the rest of your body, leaving you fully exposed to him.

Once you were completely exposed to him, he wasted no time sliding down your body to your dripping wet womanhood. He placed sweet kisses on the inside of your thighs, nibbling ever so slightly, eliciting a soft moan out of you. You bucked your hips towards him, begging him to take you in his mouth. He slowly rolled his tongue across your folds making your eyes roll back at the intense pleasure coursing through your body. Beric’s tongue flitted lightly over your clit and your hips involuntarily bucked into him causing him to nip slightly at you. 

He placed his hands on your hips effectively pinning you down as he continued to lick and suck on you. Your moans grew erratic as you were coming closer to your orgasm. He pulled back sensing your iminent undoing. You whimpered at the sudden lack of contact. You needed to feel him. You needed him to reassure you that no matter what happened, he loved you and that your love would endure anything. 

“Berrrrric,” you moaned softly as he continued to lick your dripping cunt. “Please.” 

He trailed wet kisses back up your stomach, pausing only to take your breast into his mouth. His tongue swirled on your sensitive nipple, nibbling on the soft, sensitive flesh of your breast. As his lips crashed back on to yours, you began to hastily undo his pants as he shimmied out of them. Your hands instantly found his hardened member, giving it a few long, slow pumps. His head fell back as he let out a groan of pleasure at your touch. 

Unable to compose himself any longer, he lined himself up with you as he slowly slid inside you. You closed your eyes as you relished the feeling of his throbbing cock inside you. Beric brought his lips to yours once again for a quick kiss as he slowly began to thrust in and out of you. You bucked your hips upwards rhythmically as he pushed deeper inside you. Your breathing was erratic as your body throbbed with pleasure, quickly nearing your release. He hooked his arms under your legs propping you up ever so slightly to drive into you even further. Arching your back, your head rolled back into the bed as your walls clenched tightly around him finally reaching your release. He rode through your waves before reaching his own climax, where his thrusts became more inconsistent before finally ceasing altogether. Your foreheads rested together as you fought to catch your breath.

Beric placed a soft kiss on your lips before rolling off of you, leaving an intense throbbing between your legs. As he laid by your side, you snuggled in close to him as he wrapped his strong arms around you. You ran your hand through the tuft of hair on his chest before bringing it up to rest on his cheek. “I love you.” You said softly, barely above a whisper.

“I love you too.” You swore you saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes but when he answered you in his rich, velvety voice, there was nothing but love and happiness laced in. As you snuggled back into his arms you silently prayed to anyone that would listen in hopes that Beric was going to make it through this, one way or another.

[bonesgadh]

How me and my mom™️ reacted to every Gendrya scene part 2.

8x02

Arya looks at Gendry as he works.

My mom: she is checking him out! Did you see the way she pursed her lips?

Me: I can’t blame her, he is looking like a five course meal. Lol look at his titties all exposed.

My mom: THE EYEBROW. SHE JUST RAISED HER EYEBROW.

Me: He is steaming, literally.

(You should make mine first, and make sure it’s stronger than this.

It’s strong enough.)

My mom: that was so damn erotic, I’m liviiiiiiing.

Me: erotic? More like phallic. They are so going to sleep together at some point.

My mom: you think?

Me: they might as well have a sign. You know people at tumblr say they want #forgesex?

My mom: I never thought they’d have that many fans.

Me: you kidding? They are one of the popular ones.

(“I know death” speech.)

Me: see? So phallic.

My mom: Gendry is a masochist. He so wants Arya to do that to him.

Me: they’d have very hot sex.

My mom: indeed.

Arya with The Hound and Beric scene.

(I’m not going to spend my final hours with you two miserable old shits.)

Me: she is so going after Gendry to fuck.

Arya is shooting arrows and Gendry is shown to be looking at her.

Me: okay maybe we won’t get #forgesex because it’s quite soon but I’m almost cetain we will get a kiss at the very least.

My mom: I don’t wanna get my hopes up.

The scene happens.

(Was that your first time?

Yeah, I never had leaches put all over my cock.)

Me: jesus Gendry you are so stupid! *bursts into laughter*

(Your first time with a woman.)

My mom: why does she wanna know, though?

(What? I wasn’t–I wasn’t with her.

Were you with other girls before that in King’s Landing, or after?)

Me: *still laughing uncontrollably*

My mom: oh my god could you please stop laughing? They are talking about sex and SHE IS TAKING HER GLOVES OFF *shakes my arm violently*

(We are probably going to die soon. I want to know what it’s like before that happens *sex eyes*)

My mom: oh. my. god.

Me: *laughter begins to diminish*

Arya goes for the kill.

My mom: holy fuck AAAAAHHHHHH.

Me: well, that escalated quickly *smiles*

My mom: Oh god I don’t know if I can watch this.

Me: I thought you shipped them.

My mom: I do but she is my baby. I’m not ready to see her have sex.

Me: well your baby is about to become a woman.

They undress each other.

My mom: there’re so many clothes, you can actually see them getting impatient.

Me: I was not expecting this to happen this early in the season, I’ll be damned.

We catch a glimpse of Arya’s scars.

Me: Gendry’s wtf face is pure gold.

(I’m not the red woman, take your own bloody pants off.)

Me: yaaaaaaaaas bitch, I love bossy Arya.

My mom: I wish I was that confident when I was young.

Scene of Tyrion, Davos, Brienne, Tormund, Podrick and Jaime squad happens.

My mom: I’m still not over what we just saw.

Me: Tumblr must be on fire right now.

My mom: oh god what if he dies and comes back as a wight and Arya kills him with the weapon he made for her????

Me:

Also me: shut up mother.

Final montage with Jenny of Oldstones playing in the background.

My mom: is he sleeping? Arya left him exhausted.

Me: man, the look in Arya’s face is heartbreaking. I don’t think she expected to develop such strong feelings for Gendry and now she knows chances are they won’t survive, how sad.

[angelicdestieldemon]

His last night on Earth

Beric Dondarrion had never thought he’d get the chance to fall in love. Each time he died, a part of him never came back. So when he met her, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven, no matter the fact that he knew there was no heaven or hell - just darkness. Everything about her drew him in, the way her hair shined in the sunlight and the way her skin glowed in moonlight. Her eyes that glowed in the flickering flames and a voice as soft as the breeze. She was perfect to him in every way that mattered. When she spoke to him she was kind, she didn’t ask him about the darkness, she somehow knew it was not something he wanted to talk about. She spoke to him about her life before the war, of her little brother who was taken to fight alongside his father- neither of them ever coming home. She spoke to him of the walks she used to take along the river, following the water as it led to the sea. She told him stories of the suitors who came knocking on her fathers door, each one never enough to prove to her lord father that hew was worthy of his little girls hand. He laughed softly every time she would regale a tale about the mischief she would get up to, sneaking out in the middle of the night, only to be scolded by her septa when morning came and there was mud on the hem of her night dress. There was a sadness to her that he wanted to wash away, he wanted to make her smile like she made him, sometimes when he grew tired of Thoros’ drinking habits they would sit, side by side, throwing small stones at the man until he woke up and glared at them. When he ultimately did she would laugh - a beautiful melodious sound that warmed the parts of him that remained un-numbed by the touch of death.

Every time he looked upon her he knew he had fallen in love for the first and last time, she gave him a reason to stay alive, to keep fighting. If he could not protect himself, who would protect this wonderful creature who had wormed her way into his numb heart. 

When they arrived at Winterfell, he looked for her, but she was nowhere to be found. He asked around, hoping with every part of him that she was still alive. Jon told him she had arrived at the castle with them but hadn’t been seen since they arrived. Relief coursed through him, she was alive, she would be safe with the other women in the crypts, while he fought to his last breath to protect her. 

He sat now, drinking with Clegane and Arya, waiting for the call to arms, praying to the Lord of Light that he would keep the love of his life safe. Throwing the wine skin back to the two sitting opposite him, he leant back on the wall and closed his eye. Listening to the whistling of the wind, remembering the soft sound of her voice. The light from the torch opposite him dancing over his eyelid, preparing himself for the long night that was still to come. 

A shadow passes over his eye and stops, cracking his eyelid open he stares with disbelief. There she is, as beautiful as he members her being. Her skin glowing in the light of the moon and her eyes shining in the fire light. She reaches out a hand to him, not saying a word but he understands. He takes her small hand in his own larger one and raises himself from where he is sat, they stand opposite each other, their bodies a hairs breadth away from one another. He stares down into her eyes and loses himself in her beauty. He can see Clegane and Arya staring dumbly at them but he ignores them and follows behind his love as she leads him into a part of the cast ehe hasn’t been before. She leads him through abandoned corridors and hallways before entering a room in the farthest corner of the castle. Inside is a basic chamber, with a bed just big enough for two, a small unlit fire and a window over looking the rear of the castle. She closes the door behind him before turning towards him her eyes meeting his, she pads over to him, her hand reaching up to lay against his cheek, the edges of her fingers brushing his eye patch. He takes her hand in his and moves it to press a kiss to her palm, before leaning down and cupping her face and drawing her in for a chaste kiss. He leans his forehead against hers and whispers the words he has always wanted t say to her but never had the strength to say aloud. 

“I love you,” his voice low and gravelly. 

“I love you too,” She replies and before he can stop himself he pulls her back towards him kissing her with all the passion these long years have built up between them. 

Wrapping his arms around her waist, her arms wrapping themselves around his neck, he lifts her to fit against him as he walks towards the bed and lays her down with all the car he can muster. He removes his heavy coat, boots and armour, leaving himself in a loose fitting blouse and breeches, and he climbs on to the bed over her. Slotting their bodies together as though they were meant to be, he claims her mouth once again, their mouths teasing each other as they bite and nip each other until their lips are red raw. His tongue tangling and sliding against hers, pulling soft moans from each of them. He can feel himself growing aroused and he forced himself to pull away.

“If we go any further I won’t be able to hold myself back,” he whispers, berating himself at his lack of control.

“Beric, look at me,” she says turning his face to meet hers. “I want to be yours, and for you to be mine. I want you to make love to me, because I am in love with your and there is no one else in the world I’d give myself to but you. I’m yours, completely,” she says, her eyes staring with love into his and he gives into his desire.

He sit ups and allows each other to remove their remaining layers before pulling her now naked body against his and claims her mouth in a kiss he hopes expresses the degree of his feelings for her. He moves them to lie in the centre of the bed, her head resting on pillows to make her comfortable. 

“Is this your first time?” He whispers, and she nods. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” She nods once again, having complete trust in him.

He kisses her softly on the lips before tailing his mouth down her perfect un-marred body, his lips leaving marks on his neck to remind her of his love, of this night, their one night together. He kisses her breasts, lavishing them with devotion and care enough to make her moan softly into the otherwise silent night. Leaving her breasts he lays kisses further south until he lies between her legs, her sex warm and wet and ready for him. He takes his time leaving kisses on the inside of her thighs until she his mewling and begging for him, he places kisses on her outside lips before parting them with a long lick that makes her moan loudly and raise her hips. Using his hand flat on her belly to hold her down he continues with pleasuring her with his mouth. Licking and sucking at her sex until she begs for him to be in her. He crawl back up her body kissing her, his tongue allowing her to taste herself. He rubs his length in her wetness before positioning himself at her entrance.

“This will hurt at first, but I promise it will pass,” he whispers, his forehead resting on her own.

She wraps her arms around him, her fingers pressing into the skin of his back as he pushes in slowly until he is fully encased in her tight, wet, warmth, he stops there, allowing her to accommodate his length. Only when she asks him to move does he begin to thrust, slow firm strokes that leave both of the breathless and rife with desire, all the while he steals kisses from her lips and nips at her neck trailing wet open mouth kisses to mark his love for her. 

He can tell she is is getting close by the way her nails are digging into the skin of his back and he lowers a land to rub at her clit until she climaxes around him, her walls clenching his length in a tight grasp, her nails scratching him and marking him as her own, her moans like music to his ears and her whispers of her love for him making him follow soon after.

In the after glow he pulls her warm sated body against his and holds her there for the rest of the night, neither of the willing to sleep away the last few hours they will have together, both of them acknowledging but refusing to voice that this is his last night on Earth, instead they hold each other tight, making love as many times as they need. Trying to remember the feeling of each others bodies against their own. Trying to remember the other perfectly. 

As Beric lays there, with the love in his life in his arms he prays to the Lord of Light once more to protect her, he receives no answer, he never does but he knows in his heart that he will do whatever it take to save her life, he will fight the Night King himself if he has to, but she is his everything and he will fight and die tonight to ensure she does not.

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound CH. One

Title: The Brotherhood

Words: 1,821

Warnings: Some violence and somewhat strong language

A/N: This is my attempt at a Game of Thrones re-write. Some things will remain the same and others will have changed. This is the first chapter of thirty and some will contain suggestive content. All warnings will be written as they appear in each chapter and not all chapters will have the same warnings. Anyways, please enjoy!

Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

From the beginning you had missed your forests and clean air. The air in the Red Keep was stale and smelled like a pig-pen. But for your father’s sake you had plastered on a smile and said no words about it. You went through the days without feeling anything. Besides the guard your father had on you all the time, and your secret love, you were alone. That was fine with you; less people to potentially piss you off. That all changed when your father was sentenced to death for treason. 

You had just walked out of your chambers when your guard, Liam, hurriedly came to your side.

 “You have to leave the city. Your father is to be tried today and I promised both your father and the Clegane man to get you out. I overheard the King say that no matter what, your father’s head will roll.”

 Your eyes were wide and your thoughts running wild, but you listened without hesitation and ran back into your room to gather some things.

 “Are you coming with me? Is Sandor?” You asked him. He gave you a sad smile.

 “No, my lady. I am to drop you off somewhere safe. Yoren will be coming to get you.”

 “What about Sansa? Is she coming with me?”

 “No. She is too well guarded. King Joffrey doesn’t let her out of his sight.”

 “They’re not going to let you live. I’m surprised you’re still alive, if I’m being honest. Please come with me!”

 “I can’t, my lady. I will stay here for Lady Sansa and do the best for her that I can.” He grabbed your hand and the two of you made your way down to the stables.

  “You have a week’s worth of food and water in the saddlebags along with some money. That should be more than enough until you meet Yoren at the Inn at the Crossroads,” Liam said. “In the small chance of that not happening, your dagger and bow are on the other side.”

 “But I’m not good enough—,” you started.

 “You are. I’ve seen you fight. You can hold your own. Now, you have to leave! Quickly!” Liam pulled your hood over your head and kissed the back of your hand. With one last look, you spurred your horse into a gallop. You didn’t look back, no matter how much you wanted to.

 ---

 It had been a couple months since you had left King’s Landing. Yoren never showed up to the meeting place and you didn’t wait for him. You had decided to go back to Winterfell and try your luck there, but things didn’t work out as planned. A while ago you had stopped in a tavern to get food and had overheard the story of what Theon did to your youngest brothers. You had almost blown your already flimsy cover and had to excuse yourself from the room. As you got on your horse, you let the tears fall freely as you rode away. A couple days later, you ran into the Brotherhood.

 ---

 Riding along a barely there path, you heard the sound of footsteps begin to follow you. It was most likely not a friendly, so you stayed calm and continued on as if you hadn’t noticed their presence.

 “Why is a little lady like you all by her lonesome out in the cold, dark, woods,” someone said behind you. You stiffened and pulled your cloak tighter around you.

 “That is none of your concern.” Your voice was hard but the man kept pestering.

 “Do you need someone to warm you up at night? My friends and I will certainly help you with that.”

 “No, thank you.”

 The man did not like that answer and whistled to his friends. Three men came out from the woods, weapons drawn. You hadn’t been in a fight since before you had arrived at King’s Landing, but you knew that you’d be able to take at least half of them down. Dead set on fighting, you faltered when you saw the colors they were wearing. Lannisters. Hate filled your entire body. You straightened up and slid off of your horse.

 “Change your mind already? Wise decision.” His mouth split into a sickening grin and he approached you. Your head was bowed and hands hidden in your cloak. As soon as he got close enough, you un-sheathed your dagger and slit his throat.

 His companions were stunned and while they gaped at you in surprise, you managed to kill another. That shook them out of their daze and they drew their swords. Advancing on you, one of them lunged. You threw yourself to your right and promptly tripped. As you fell a pair of arms caught you.

 “We got you now, bitch!” The one holding you growled. “We’re gonna gut you like a pig.”

 Panicking, you started thrashing around. Your blade managed to nick the one holding you and with a yell, he dropped you to the ground. Panting, you tried scrambling away.

 “Come back here!” He yelled. When he was right on top of you, an arrow went through his head. You let out a gasp and tried to get further away. The last man standing was looking around frantically for whoever killed his friend.

 “That wasn’t very smart of you! Do you know who we are?!” He yelled into the trees. Not a second later, he was hit with an arrow.

 Slowly, you got up from the ground and dashed to your horse. Before you could swing your leg over, something hard hit you over the head and you blacked out.

 ---

 When you came to, you were in a cave. A fire was in the middle of the room and two people were about to start a fight. You let out a groan and a dark-haired boy came to your side.

 “Don’t move too much, milady. You were hit pretty hard,” he said.

 “Where am I? Who are you?”

 “My name is Gendry. I don’t know where we are.” He helped you sit up slowly. You blinked hard a few times and your eyes widened when you saw two familiar faces.

 “Arya? Sandor?” Your voice was quiet and with the noise of the fight, no one heard you. You watched the fight with fearful eyes, hands clenching your cloak whenever Sandor almost got hit. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until Sandor killed the man he was fighting. Only after Arya tried to kill him did you call out to her.

 “Arya? Is that really you?” You said, getting to your feet. Arya stopped thrashing around in Gendry’s hold and turned to you.

 “[Y/n]?” She whispered. Launching herself out of Gendry’s grasp, she fell into your arms.

 “Oh thank the gods. Are you hurt? Did anything bad happen to you?” You took her face into your hands and turned it every which way, looking for signs of damage.

 “No, I’m alright. How did you manage to escape? Is Sansa alright?”

 “I don’t know how she is. I hope with all my being that she’s okay. And my escape will have to be a story for another day.” You kissed her forehead. “Now, if you could give me a moment, I need to do something real quick.”

 You released Arya and walked over to Sandor.

 “Seven Hells, it really is you,” Sandor said.

 “Yes. It’s really me.” Tears welled up in your eyes and you threw yourself into his arms.

 “I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered into his chest. His arms tightened around you. All he wanted to do was keep you in his arms and never let go. He would’ve too, if the Brotherhood wasn’t so eager to get him out of their cave.

 “You have proven yourself innocent. I think it’s time for you to leave,” the man he just killed said. Beric was his name.

 You were pulled away from Sandor and he had a hood put over his head and his hands tied behind his back.

 “What are you doing? Let him go!” You cried. Gendry had you in his hold and he wouldn’t let you go.

 “He has to leave. We can’t have him knowing where we are,” Beric said.

 “Don’t let her follow me!” Sandor said. “Keep her and her sister together.”

 You fell to your knees and hugged Arya as they led him away. You had just gotten him back and he was already gone. A few days passed and the only thing keeping you whole was the fact that you and Arya were together again. You got to know Gendry a bit, and you could see the mutual attraction between him and Arya. It made you smile but you said nothing. Then the red woman came and took Gendry. Arya was furious and so were you. Just because the Brotherhood needed money, they’d sell a person. You fell asleep angry that night and only slept a few hours when Arya woke you.

 “I’m leaving. Please come with me,” she begged quietly.

 “Of course. I would never leave you.” You got up slowly and made your way over to the weapons. You grabbed a bow and the smallest sword you could find, you still had your dagger, and slipped out of the cave. As the two of you ran in the dark forest, someone grabbed you and Arya from behind.

 “Kick all you want, wolf-girl. It won’t do you no good.”

 You relaxed when you heard who was talking, but Arya kept fighting. She was causing too much noise so Sandor knocked her out. He threw her over her shoulder and took your hand before going to his horse. Sandor helped you get on the horse then put Arya in front of you.

 “He can’t carry all three of us at once, so I’ll walk beside you,” he said, holding onto the reins. Before you started moving, you grabbed his hand and squeezed gently.

 “Thank you for coming back to us.” Your voice was soft and low. Sandor was glad it was night and you couldn’t see the red dusting his cheeks. He said nothing in return. All you got was his hand squeezing yours back. He was a man of a few words and you got the meaning of his gesture.

 The three of you made good time and came upon a clearing after an hour or two. You set Arya down on your cloak and she curled up into a ball. Smiling fondly down at your little sister, you brushed a piece of hair out of her face. Sandor was making a fire and once it was fully made, you joined him. A comfortable silence washed over you. Your head made its way to his shoulder, eyes drooping shut. Sleep was creeping up on you, and right before you fell, you felt something touch your forehead and your body being laid down.

[she-wolf-of-highgarden]

Every time Arya mentions songs

“Despite the hour, Harrenhal stirred with fitful life. Vargo Hoat's arrival had thrown off all the routines. Ox carts, oxen, and horses had all vanished from the yard, but the bear cage was still there. It had been hung from the arched span of the bridge that divided the outer and middle wards, suspended on heavy chains, a few feet off the ground. A ring of torches bathed the area in light. Some of the boys from the stables were tossing stones to make the bear roar and grumble. Across the ward, light spilled through the door of the Barracks Hall, accompanied by the clatter of tankards and men calling for more wine. A dozen voices took up a song in a guttural tongue strange to Arya's ears.” - Arya IX, ACoK

“The song came drifting up the river from somewhere beyond the little rise to the east. "Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho . . .” - Arya II, ASoS

“I'll make her my love and we'll rest in the shade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho." The song swelled louder with every word.” - Arya II, ASoS

“Lightfoot, she moved to the big old willow that grew beside the bend in the road and went to one knee in the grass and mud, within the veil of trailing branches. You old gods, she prayed as the singer's voice grew louder, you tree gods, hide me, and make him go past. Then a horse whickered, and the song broke off suddenly. He's heard, she knew, but maybe he's alone, or if he's not, maybe they'll be as scared of us as we are of them.” - Arya II, ASoS

“For once he did not argue. They set off as she had wanted, walking their horses slowly down the rutted road a dozen paces behind the three on foot. But before very long, somehow they were riding right on top of them. Tom Sevenstrings walked slowly, and liked to strum his woodharp as he went. "Do you know any songs?" he asked them. "I'd dearly love someone to sing with, that I would. Lem can't carry a tune, and our longbow lad only knows marcher ballads, every one of them a hundred verses long.” -Arya II, ASoS

“For once he did not argue. They set off as she had wanted, walking their horses slowly down the rutted road a dozen paces behind the three on foot. But before very long, somehow they were riding right on top of them. Tom Sevenstrings walked slowly, and liked to strum his woodharp as he went. "Do you know any songs?" he asked them. "I'd dearly love someone to sing with, that I would. Lem can't carry a tune, and our longbow lad only knows marcher ballads, every one of them a hundred verses long." "We sing real songs in the marches," Anguy said mildly."Singing is stupid," said Arya. "Singing makes noise. We heard you a long way off. We could have killed you.  Tom's smile said he did not think so. "There are worse things than dying with a song on your lips.” - Arya II, ASoS

“ Hot Pie shifted his seat. "I know the song about the bear," he said. "Some of it, anyhow.” - Arya II, ASoS

“ Tom and Hot Pie resumed their song on the other side of the brook, with the duck hanging from Lem's belt beneath his yellow cloak. Somehow the singing made the miles seem shorter. It was not very long at all until the inn appeared before them, rising from the riverbank where the Trident made a great bend to the north. Arya squinted at it suspiciously as they neared. It did not look like an outlaws' lair, she had to admit; it looked friendly, even homey, with its whitewashed upper story and slate roof and the smoke curling up lazy from its chimney. Stables and other outbuildings surrounded it, and there was an arbor in back, and apple trees, a small garden. The inn even had its own dock, thrusting out into the river, and . . .” - Arya II, ASoS

“What, with only the boy here? I told you twice, the old woman was up to Lambswold helping that Fern birth her babe. And like as not it was one o' you planted the bastard in the poor girl's belly." He gave Tom a sour look. "You, I'd wager, with that harp o' yours, singing all them sad songs just to get poor Fern out of her smallclothes.""If a song makes a maid want to slip off her clothes and feel the good warm sun kiss her skin, why, is that the singer's fault?" asked Tom. "And 'twas Anguy she fancied, besides. 'Can I touch your bow?' I heard her ask him. 'Ooohh, it feels so smooth and hard. Could I give it a little pull, do you think?” - Arya II, ASoS

“There was laughter all around. Then Tom drew his fingers across the strings of his woodharp and broke into soft song.” - Arya III, ASoS

“You'd know for certain if there was a song," said Tom Sevenstrings. "One good song, and we'd know who Ser Maynard used to be and why he wanted to cross this bridge so bad. Poor old Lychester might be as far famed as the Dragonknight if he'd only had sense enough to keep a singer." - Arya IV, ASoS

“Lem and Gendry played tiles with their hosts that night, while Tom Sevenstrings sang a silly song about Big Belly Ben and the High Septon's goose. Anguy let Arya try his longbow, but no matter how hard she bit her lip she could not draw it. "You need a lighter bow, milady," the freckled bowman said. "If there's seasoned wood at Riverrun, might be I'll make you one." Tom overheard him, and broke off his song. "You're a young fool, Archer. If we go to Riverrun it will only be to collect her ransom, won't be no time for you to sit about making bows. Be thankful if you get out with your hide. Lord Hoster was hanging outlaws before you were shaving. And that son of his . . . a man who hates music can't be trusted, I always say.” - Arya IV, ASoS

“Lem snorted through his broken nose. "Was it you who made a song of it, or some other bloody arse in love with his own voice?" "I only sang it the once," Tom complained. "And who's to say the song was about him? 'Twas a song about a fish.”  Arya didn't care what Tom's stupid songs were about. She turned to Harwin. "What did he mean about ransom?” - Arya IV, ASoS

“The wench is dead," the woman hissed. "Only worms may kiss her now." And then to Tom Sevenstrings she said, "I'll have my song or I'll have you gone."So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.The next morning the little white woman was nowhere to be seen. As they saddled their horses, Arya asked Tom Sevenstrings if the children of the forest still dwelled on High Heart. The singer chuckled. "Saw her, did you?" - Arya IV, ASoS

“The singer laughed. "The sound of me, at least. She always makes me sing the same bloody song, though. Not a bad song, mind you, but I know others just as good." He shook his head. "What matters is, we have the scent now. You'll soon be seeing Thoros and the lightning lord, I'll wager.” - Arya IV, ASoS

“Someone could make a rare fine song of that.” Tom plucked a string on his woodharp.” - Arya IV, ASoS

“Now when did you ever say no to anything, Tom?" the woman hooted. "I'll roast some mutton for your friends, and an old dry rat for you. It's more than you deserve, but if you gargle me a song or three, might be I'll weaken. I always pity the afflicted. Come on, come on. Cass, Lanna, put some kettles on. Jyzene, help me get the clothes off them, we'll need to boil those too." - Arya V, ASoS

“Finally Tom ran out of rain songs and put away his harp. Then there was only the sound of the rain itself beating down on the slate roof of the brewhouse. The dice game ended, and Arya stood on one leg and then the other listening to Merrit complain about his horse throwing a shoe.” - Arya VII, ASoS

“You must be a lackwit, boy," said Lem. "We're outlaws. Lowborn scum, most of us, excepting his lordship. Don't think it'll be like Tom's fool songs neither. You won't be stealing no kisses from a princess, nor riding in no tourneys in stolen armor. You join us, you'll end with your neck in a noose, or your head mounted up above some castle gate.” - Arya VII, ASoS

“Anguy drew an arrow. "We're outlaws. Outlaws steal. It's in the songs, if you ask nice Tom may sing you one. Be thankful we didn't kill you." - Arya VII, ASoS

“My hair comes out in handfuls and no one has kissed me for a thousand years. It is hard to be so old. Well, I will have a song then. A song from Tom o' Sevens, for my news." "You will have your song from Tom," Lord Beric promised. He gave her the wineskin himself.” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“Nay," said the dwarf. "You're not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If it's the mother you want, seek her at the Twins. For there's to be a wedding." She cackled again. "Look in your fires, pink priest, and you will see. Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. This place belongs to the old gods still . . . they linger here as I do, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames. For the oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both. And they remember when the First Men came with fire in their fists." She drank the last of the wine in four long swallows, flung the skin aside, and pointed her stick at Lord Beric. "I'll have my payment now. I'll have the song you promised me  And so Lem woke Tom Sevenstrings beneath his furs, and brought him yawning to the fireside with his woodharp in hand. "The same song as before?" he asked."Oh, aye. My Jenny's song. Is there another?"And so he sang, and the dwarf woman closed her eyes and rocked slowly back and forth, murmuring the words and crying. Thoros took Arya firmly by the hand and drew her aside. "Let her savor her song in peace," he said. "It is all she has left.” - Arya VIII, ASoS

“Because I hacked your little friend in two? I've killed a lot more than him, I promise you. You think that makes me some monster. Well, maybe it does, but I saved your sister's life too. The day the mob pulled her off her horse, I cut through them and brought her back to the castle, else she would have gotten what Lollys Stokeworth got. And she sang for me. You didn't know that, did you? Your sister sang me a sweet little song.” - Arya IX, ASoS

“The music from the castles was louder here. The sound of the drums and horns rolled across the camp. The musicians in the nearer castle were playing a different song than the ones in the castle on the far bank, though, so it sounded more like a battle than a song. "They're not very good," Arya observed.” - Arya X, ASoS

“Firepits had been dug outside the feast tents, sheltered beneath rude canopies of woven wood and hides that kept the rain out, so long as it fell straight down. The wind was blowing off the river, though, so the drizzle came in anyway, enough to make the fires hiss and swirl. Serving men were turning joints of meat on spits above the flames. The smells made Arya's mouth water. "Shouldn't we stop?" she asked Sandor Clegane. "There's northmen in the tents." She knew them by their beards, by their faces, by their cloaks of bearskin and sealskin, by their half-heard toasts and the songs they sang; Karstarks and Umbers and men of the mountain clans. "I bet there are Winterfell men too." Her father's men, the Young Wolf's men, the direwolves of Stark.” - Arya X, ASoS

“She had no more time to watch the tents then. With the river overflowing its banks, the dark swirling waters at the end of the drawbridge reached as high as a horse's belly, but the riders splashed through them all the same, spurred on by the music. For once the same song was coming from both castles. I know this song, Arya realized suddenly. Tom o' Sevens had sung it for them, that rainy night the outlaws had sheltered in the brewhouse with the brothers. And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?” - Arya XI, ASoS

“Come with me." Sandor Clegane reached down a hand. "We have to get away from here, and now." Stranger tossed his head impatiently, his nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. The song was done. There was only one solitary drum, its slow monotonous beats echoing across the river like the pounding of some monstrous heart. The black sky wept, the river grumbled, men cursed and died. Arya had mud in her teeth and her face was wet. Rain. It's only rain. That's all it is. "We're here," she shouted. Her voice sounded thin and scared, a little girl's voice. "Robb's just in the castle, and my mother. The gate's even open." There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother.” - Arya XI, ASoS

“The Hound no longer watched her as closely as he had. Sometimes he did not seem to care whether she stayed or went, and he no longer bound her up in a cloak at night. One night I'll kill him in his sleep, she told herself, but she never did. One day I'll ride away on Craven, and he won't be able to catch me, she thought, but she never did that either. Where would she go? Winterfell was gone. Her grandfather's brother was at Riverrun, but he didn't know her, no more than she knew him. Maybe Lady Smallwood would take her in at Acorn Hall, but maybe she wouldn't. Besides, Arya wasn't even sure she could find Acorn Hall again. Sometimes she thought she might go back to Sharna's inn, if the floods hadn't washed it away. She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.” -Arya XII, ASoS   

“You'd be dead if I had. You ought to thank me. You ought to sing me a pretty little song, the way your sister did.” - Arya XII, ASoS

“I thought your sister was the one with a head full of songs," the Hound growled. "Frey might have kept your mother alive to ransom, that's true. But there's no way in seven hells I'm going to pluck her out of his castle all by my bloody self." - Arya XII, ASoS

“That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“Arya took a step backward as the long steel song began. The Tickler came off the bench with a shortsword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Even the chunky brown-haired squire was up, fumbling for his swordhilt. She snatched her wine cup off the table and threw it at his face. Her aim was better than it had been at the Twins. The cup hit him right on his big white pimple and he went down hard on his tail.” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“Don't lie," he growled. "I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it." When Arya did not move, he said, "I killed your butcher's boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after." He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. "And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf." A spasm of pain twisted his face. "Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? Do it! The gift of mercy . . . avenge your little Michael . . .” - Arya XIII, ASoS

“Worshipers came to the House of Black and White every day. Most came alone and sat alone; they lit candles at one altar or another, prayed beside the pool, and sometimes wept. A few drank from the black cup and went to sleep; more did not drink. There were no services, no songs, no paeans of praise to please the god. The temple was never full. From time to time, a worshiper would ask to see a priest, and the kindly man or the waif would take him down into the sanctum, but that did not happen often.” - Arya II, AFfC

“You believe this is the only place for you." It was as if he'd heard her thoughts. "You are wrong in that. You would find softer service in the household of some merchant. Or would you sooner be a courtesan, and have songs sung of your beauty? Speak the word, and we will send you to the Black Pearl or the Daughter of the Dusk. You will sleep on rose petals and wear silken skirts that rustle when you walk, and great lords will beggar themselves for your maiden's blood. Or if it is marriage and children you desire, tell me, and we shall find a husband for you. Some honest apprentice boy, a rich old man, a seafarer, whatever you desire." - Arya II, AFfC

“Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, brewers and bakers and beggars and whores. They bought clams and cockles from her, told her true tales of Braavos and lies about their lives, and laughed at the way she talked when she tried to speak Braavosi. She never let that trouble her. Instead, she showed them all the fig, and told them they were camel cunts, which made them roar with laughter. Gyloro Dothare taught her filthy songs, and his brother Gyleno told her the best places to catch eels. The mummers off the Ship showed her how a hero stands, and taught her speeches from The Song of the Rhoyne, The Conqueror's Two Wives, and The Merchant's Lusty Lady. Quill, the sad-eyed little man who made up all the bawdy farces for the Ship, offered to teach her how a woman kisses, but Tagganaro smacked him with a codfish and put an end to that. Cossomo the Conjurer instructed her in sleight of hand. He could swallow mice and pull them from her ears. "It's magic," he'd say. "It's not," Cat said. "The mouse was up your sleeve the whole time. I could see it moving." - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“When Cat slipped inside the brothel, though, she found Merry sitting in the common room with her eyes shut, listening to Dareon play his woodharp. Yna was there too, braiding Lanna's fine long golden hair. Another stupid love song. Lanna was always begging the singer to play her stupid love songs. She was the youngest of the whores, only ten-and-four. Merry asked three times as much for her as for any of the other girls, Cat knew.” - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“Cat was thinking about the fat boy, remembering how she had saved him from Terro and Orbelo, when the Sailor's Wife appeared beside her. "He sings a pretty song," she murmured softly, in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well." - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“Dareon's song was finally ending. As the last notes faded in the air, Lanna gave a sigh and the singer put his harp aside and pulled her up into his lap. He had just started to tickle her when Cat said loudly, "There's oysters, if anyone is wanting some," and Merry's eyes popped open. "Good," the woman said. "Bring them in, child. Yna, fetch some bread and vinegar." - Cat of the Canals, AFfC

“Not for me. Her nights were bathed in moonlight and filled with the songs of her pack, with the taste of red meat torn off the bone, with the warm familiar smells of her grey cousins. Only during the days was she alone and blind.” - the Blind Girl, ADwD

[acilykos]

Game of Thrones Season 8 Episode 2

My personal review of episode 2! Beware of Spoilers under the cut!!!

OH. MY. GOD.

This episode was just AMAZING.

I loved the new reunions and how they went further in depths with them.

The episode was funny, yet also a bit tragic knowing that with the battle of Winterfell approaching, many of my favs will die.

I absolutely ADORED Jaime this episode!! He really had a great character development. It was nice how he apologised to Bran and their little talk there. Also Bran? “How do you know there is an afterwards?” Jaime looked so shocked😂

His reunion with Tyrion? Awesome

How he got distracted after spotting Brienne?

I swear, he walked around like a love sick fool and it was adorable. He almost choked on his drink just to greet Brienne! Also him knighting Brienne later?? I cried tears of joy! She was so genuinely happy and I was happy for her!! Brienne deserved this!

Speaking of that scene, poor Tormund trying to get Brienne’s attention with those weird flexes😂 “If I was a king, I’d knight you ten times over”

Ahhh that circle of theirs at the hearth was just great!

Also, who’d have thunk that Podrick was such a good singer? He was amazing! And the song? It was nice and tragic and beautiful! They did a really good job!

Gendry and Arya this episode. I never thought we would get them to be together like that, but here we are! I was screaming so much during that scene!

Robert would be so happy knowing that at last house Baratheon and house Stark will (hopefully and probably be able to) join their houses together (if they survive that is)(what I really fucking hope btw).

Now if someone would FINALLY legitimate Gendry please-😂

Also Arya talking with the Hound! I was waiting for them to have a real talk together😂 But her going away shortly after Beric arrived hahaha “A girl is not spending her last hours with two miserable shits”

On a side note, Tormund was just amazing this season thus far and one of the funniest people😂😂 Also how he tackled Jon when he walked towards Edd?? “My little crow” if I didn’t know any better, I would think he has a tiny crush on Jon😂😂

Speaking of Jon now, I am glad he finally told Deanerys, although he should have found a better timing (a.k.a telling her MUCH SOONER) and not right now before battle. Especially because he is the last male heir to the Targaryen line and his death would be quite significant. Although, had they known sooner, it could have been a distraction for the battle to come. (though, I doubt that because there were multiple people working and Sansa was pretty much leading them while Jon tired getting his thoughts together and Daenerys doing nothing except standing around)

SPEAKING OF SANSA.

She was as always amazing!

Sansa talking with Dany was cool, especially when she was like “What about the North? We swore to never bend again” because fuck yes girl!

What was also amazing was when Theon arrived (my bby) I was so happy to see him again and ahhh “I came to fight for Winterfell, if you will have me Lady Sansa” ahhh it was so cute also Daenerys seemed almost shocked seeing that Theon a.k.a one of the last Greyjoys who fight for her, be so familiar and devoted to Sansa who doesn’t bend the knee to Daenerys.

Seriously, if something should happen, I can see Theon ending up siding with Sansa rather than Daenerys because they’ve known each other for eternity and also because now that Jon is officially a Targaryen, her claim to the Iron Throne gets weaker if it doesn’t vanish at all.

Also Theon talking with Bran and telling him that he will protect him?! I was so happy to see that. I was worried that those two would not have a chance to say at least one thing to each other on screen. I am glad that this little line was Theon trying to make good on what he has done (even tho I still believe that he has paid enough already for what he has done at the hands of Ramsay).

Oh yeah, also HOW COULD THEY HURT ME LIKE THIS BY LETTING DAVOS INTERACT WITH A LITTLE GIRL REMINDING HIM OF SHIREEN?

I was crying a little to be honest😂 They even played Shireen’s theme as the girl talked to Davos, and Davos was absolutely sad. You could just see how shocked he was, and that he really saw Shireen in her. He was completely speechless when he saw her and didn’t know what to say at first.

Poor Missandei trying to bond with the Northerners and they just ignore her. At least she has Greyworm at her side! I am weeping because I’m thinking about their doom

Also not gonna lie, I was disappointed that Sam didn’t step in when Dany said everything about how “The man who killed our father was going to pay” and told her “Well, you can join him then"😂😂 I am glad tho that Jaime was dismissed then because Brienne saved him and Sansa trusts her.

If Daenerys had dared to do anything to Jaime, I don’t think I would have survived that to be honest.

Speaking of confrontations.

LYANNA MORMONT AND JORAH FINALLY TALKING!

I was really happy to see them and was worried here as well, that we wouldn’t get a meeting between them! Lyanna was amazing, as always, too, when she just “I wish you good fortune cousin” and then walked away. Jorah seemed kinda happy?😂 She was a true Mormont, stubborn and demanding to fight for her homeland and not even Jorah could stop her hahaha.

Writing this, I just noticed that we didn’t hear anything about Cersei, but to be honest, I didn’t really mind because the battle of Winterfell is on upon them and we could have almost a full hour of the Adventures in Winterfell.

I think I’ve said everything?

If not, I will definitely add my thoughts because this Episode might just be my favourite as I said before!

I am sad as well though because after all this calm before the storm, we have many of the characters we have grown to love in the battle fronts with a very high chance of dying.

I hope nobody does, but knowing Game of Thrones, they might just end up dying all, failing to protect Winterfell and the army of the dead walks south and kills the rest of the Westerosi on the mainland as well.

[megsironthrone]

Singles Event

Based on this request: How do you feel about modern AU Sandorxreader where Sandor is encouraged aka forced into going to an event for single people and of course he finds himself the darkest table in a corner. Him being convinced no one wants to chat/date with big and scarred guy like him until [reader] sinks into the other chair, heaving a sigh of relief, muttering about creepy guys hitting on her. Them hitting it off and chatting for hours, her not seming to mind how massive he is compared to how short she is etc. (Same anon, follow up to the Sandor one) Sandor and [reader] bonding over how both were dragged there against their wills by friends. Both also getting a tad tipsly over the course of the evening and [reader] starting to refer to Sandor as ‘puppy’ since “You had big sad puppy eyes when I sat down….well after you finished glaring at me that is.” I LOVE SAPPY SANDOR FICS WHERE HE’S SECRETLY A BIG SOFT PUPPY INSIDE.

Here you are, lovely!! I do not own Sandor. He belongs to George R.R.Martin. 

Warnings: Mentions of drunkenness, one innuendo, slight fluff, Modern AU

Pairings/Characters: Sandor Clegane x fem!reader

Sandor bit back a groan. Why had he let Beric and Arya convince him to show up at this singles event? He had no desire to meet anyone and he knew no one would want to even talk to him. He was scary-looking and completely out of place. He definitely didn’t belong there. So, he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed a drink and sat in a dark corner of the bar. He was content to drink on his own until he could escape. What happened next would take him completely by surprise.

           Sandor took a sip of his beer when someone sank into the seat across from him. He glanced at you in confusion for a second. Then he frowned. You weren’t even really paying attention  to him. Instead, you were glancing over your shoulder as if you were looking for someone. When you didn’t see anything, you let out a sigh of relief.

           You turned toward the man across from you and your breath caught in your throat. “Sorry for disturbing you,” you muttered, “I just needed to get away from that guy. He’s been hitting on me all night. Not exactly what I came here for. It was starting to creep me out,” you explained, barely breathing between sentences. You watched Sandor’s face as you spoke. His expression didn’t change.

           "Ya aren’t here ta meet someone? Isn’t that kind of the point?“ he snapped and you laughed bitterly. "Believe me when I say, I’m not here by choice. And by the looks of it, neither are you.” Sandor scoffed. “What makes ya say that?” You smiled a little. He was gruff, but he hadn’t sent you running yet. He didn’t seem all that dangerous either, despite the fact that he looked scary as hell.

           "You’re sitting by yourself in the dark, drinking alone instead of mingling like everyone else.“ Sandor smirked. You were observant. He had to give you that. "Yeah well, I don’t like crowds.” You nodded in understanding. “Not a fan either. My friends decided they were tired of me 'moping’ around. Their words, not mine. What about you? Why are you here, other than drinking I mean?”

           Sandor wasn’t sure how to respond at first. He hadn’t expect you to try and start a conversation with him. He took another swig of beer before answering, “My daughter convinced me. Said she’s tired of me bein’ unhappy. Only she used more colorful words.” Your eyes widened in surprise. “You don’t look old enough to have such an opinionated kid.” Sandor nodded. “Adopted. Her parents are dead. I took her in.” You let your lips curl into a smile. “You’re a kind man…” you trailed off, hoping he’d supply you with a name. “Sandor. Sandor Clegane.” He motioned for the waitress to bring you both a drink. “I’m Y/N.”

           After that, you and Sandor sat chatting for hours. You didn’t notice the bar clearing out or that it had suddenly grown quiet. You were far too busy enjoying the conversation. You learned that Sandor was a police officer and that his daughter, Arya, was a high school student. It was the combined effort of Arya and Sandor’s friend Beric that forced Sandor into going out. As the hours passed, you continued talking and the drinks kept coming. You were getting a little tipsy.

           "You know, you are just like a puppy,“ you mumbled after a few drinks. Sandor just raised a brow. It took much more for him to be bothered by alcohol than it did you. After all, he was massive and you, well, weren’t. None of your differences seemed to bother you though. You were just happy to find someone to talk to who wasn’t looking to get in your pants. "A puppy?” You nodded and giggled. “Because you had big, sad puppy eyes when I sat down…well after you finished glaring at me, that is.”

           "Did I?“ You assured him that he had. "You know what I think? I think your daughter is probably right. I think you might be just as lonely as I am. Maybe it’s a good thing they forced us to come tonight. I would have missed out on meeting such a handsome man.” Sandor slid your drink away from you. “I think you’ve had enough.” You looked at him with a pout. “But-” Sandor shook his head and chuckled. “You’re startin’ ta slur your words and complimentin’ me.”

           Your brows furrowed. You weren’t drunk. Far from it, but you were still confused. “What do you mean? You are very handsome. And I’ve enjoyed talking to you.” Sandor snorted. “’M not handsome, Y/N. My face is ruined.” You rolled your eyes. “It is not.” Sandor shook his head. He thought you’d definitely had too much to drink.

           You glanced at the time. “But you’re right. I’ve had enough. I need to go.” You stood up and made your way to the door. “Where are ya goin’?” he asked. You glanced back at him. “To my car.” Sandor got up and walked over to you. Only then did you realize how tall he really was. He towered over you more than anyone ever had before. “You’re not drivin’. We’ll call ya a cab. ’M in not state ta drive with ya in my car either.”

           You didn’t argue. The effects of the alcohol were starting to get to you. So you just nodded and continued to stare at the man. “What?” You smiled up at him. “You’re huge.” Sandor snorted lightly before gently nudging your back as he called for the cab. You took a step and stumbled. You were more drunk than you realized.

           Sandor scooped you up in his arms, causing you to sigh. “You’re strong too. And you smell nice.” You tucked your head into the crook of Sandor’s neck. He felt his face heat up at the proximity. He wasn’t used to being so close to a woman, especially one that didn’t run away screaming. “I wonder if you’re big everywhere,” you muttered, nearly causing Sandor to drop you. He was just going to have to pretend he didn’t hear that. You weren’t thinking straight.

           The cab showed up a few minutes later and Sandor carefully set you inside. “You should call me sometime, Sandor,” you mumbled as he deposited you inside. “Don’t have your number.” You laughed again. “Yes you do. I programmed it into your phone when you went to the bathroom.” You closed the door of the cab. The car drove off, leaving Sandor staring after you with a soft smile on his face.

            He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy about being forced out of the house now, but decided not to tell Arya. Not yet. He wanted to see if anything would come of this first. Who knows, maybe you were the reason he agreed to show up that night. One thing was for certain, he was definitely going to make use of your phone number. Starting now.

-I don’t usually do this. I’m not a people person, but how about a date? Say next weekend?

           After sending the message, Sandor called for another cab for himself. For a while, nothing came to his phone and he wondered if he had been reading you wrong. Maybe you really had had too much to drink and didn’t know what you were saying. Or maybe you’d been put up to sitting with him all night. Sandor shook his head. That didn’t seem right. Why would anyone agree to that? Before he could think on it further, his phone chimed.

-Took you long enough ;) I’d love to go out with you. Preferably without the drinks next time. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not serious. See you soon, Sandor. Goodnight.

           Sandor couldn’t fight the rare smile that graced his lips. He couldn’t believe that he’d been lucky enough to meet anyone, let alone someone like you. You really seemed interested in him. That didn’t happen to Sandor. People feared him. They didn’t like him and they certainly never grew to love him. But maybe, just maybe, there could be a chance with you for something more than a mundane friendship. Maybe Sandor had been lucky enough to find the person he was meant to love.

(a/n: I hope you like it. In other news, I’d very much like more variety of Rory McCann gifs for Modern AUs.)

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