#Bloody Horseface

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Eren Yeager x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] Eren comes home after a rough night at the bar with Jean. Unable to see him in such a state you decide to tend to his wounds… among other things… I'm talking about his dick. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, minor injuries, blood, marijuana, alcohol is mentioned, dubcon (Eren's high), biting, sadism, masochism, rough vaginal sex, no plot.

“So what exactly happened?” You asked as Eren trudged through the door of your apartment.

He hung his head, attempting to obscure his battered face. The lengthy sigh he let out filled the room with his exhaustion. You took a few steps closer to him while he dropped his keys on the floor. The metal colliding with the tile flooring destroyed any semblance of serenity once held in your home. You pulled him into a hug and he let out a pleased hum. His arms snaked around your waist and he held you close. The remnants of weed smoke and vetiver cologne filled your nose.

“Jean…” He said, tone dripping with subdued exasperation.

“What did he do?” You asked.

It was so hard to hide your desperate curiosity. You loved hearing about the inner workings of his social circle.

“He was mainlining adios motherfuckers all night.”

“What did he do? Black out and kick your ass?”

Eren chuckled. ���You honestly think Jean could kick my ass?”

“Maybe. Jean does look like the kind of guy to hulk out when he drinks.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

You rubbed his back, each pat radiating affection.

“I’m kidding. Jean could never kick your ass.”

“He could, but it’s fine.” Eren dropped his arms and released you from his grip. “Can I tell you about it while you clean me up?”

You were finally granted a full view of his face. His right cheek was a strawberry scrape and showed the beginnings of a bruise. His bottom lip was split. The blood exuded from the cut had dried, leaving behind a swatch of maroon. What stood out the most was the fresh blood dripping from his right nostril. You took him by the hand and led him into the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and held his head in his hands, obscuring his face once more.

“Here,” you said, handing him a tissue.

He rolled it up and stuck it up his leaking nose.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying in vain to wriggle out of his pants.

You had little desire to see your beloved struggle. You kneeled before him and tugged at the jeans, peeling them off. A happy “phew” flew past his bloodied lip.

You grabbed all your first aid supplies and organized them on the ridge of the sink.

“Gimme the details.”

Eren sighed. “Jean decided to hit on every girl at the bar.”

You prepped a cotton ball with alcohol. “Every girl?”

“Maybe not every single girl, but he hit on every girl that had the shit luck of making eye contact with him.”

“Oh no. He was that guy.”

“Yeah,” he groaned. “The last one he bothered was with her boyfriend on a date. I tried to tell him! But he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced it was because I wanted to fuck her. I even brought you up!”

“Aww!”

Eren ignored your little remark.

“Fuck. And you know what,” he said, tone bristling with repressed rage. “I wasn’t gonna say anything because Jean was drunk and I don’t even care about what that horsefaced shitdick thinks. But fuck it! He thinks you’re too good for me! Did you know that?”

You swiped his cheek with the cotton pad. A little squeak crawled up Eren’s throat as the alcohol came into contact with his scrape.

“Sorry,” you said softly.”

He looked at you with sad, tired puppy dog eyes, red rimmed from the blunt he shared with Historia and Ymir earlier in the evening.

“‘s okay,’ he mumbled.

His posture grew rounder, softer. A chiropractor would likely have a shit fit had they seen such a shoulder slump but not you. No, even with the little info available you were able to surmise Eren’s immense need to decompress. Why pick on him about his posture when he was already battered and bruised?

You suppressed the urge to tease him and crawled into his lap, straddling him. His Grecian body radiated a pleasant warmth. It felt like home. You brushed a few locks of hair away from his face and gave him a quick peck on the forehead.

“I actually wasn’t aware of that. You know why?” You asked.

“Hm?”

“Because it’s not true. I’m definitely shitty enough to be with you.”

“You have such a way with words,” he groaned as you tended to him. “Anyway, the girl’s boyfriend was pissed to say the least and tried to drag Jean outside the bar by his collar. It all happened so fast I—ouch! If I had been a little quicker…” Eren’s voice trailed off.

His viridescent eyes were pinched shut as you dabbed his face with another cotton ball imbibed with alcohol. Your touch, while gentle, felt like hundreds of needles pricking the apple of his cheek. It was a pain you were familiar with. You tried to be gentle yet thorough. Though each muted moan and wince from Eren made your clit pulse.

“Did the guy fight Jean?”

“He tried. But I got in between them. I thought I talked everyone down but out of nowhere the boyfriend must have heard a sleeper word because he ran at me and punched me in the face twice. The last one sent me into the wall which is why my cheek is all scratched up.”

“What a loser. Did you hit him back?”

Eren half-smirked. “No. Too high for that shit. I was more concerned about not breaking my phone and getting home in one piece. When I saw an out, I took off running.”

“Nooooo. What about Jean?”

The brunette giggled. “Just kidding. I took his phone and got him a Lyft. I did have to push him inside it, but I’m sure everything worked out.”

You couldn’t help but think about Jean fighting his way out of the car in desperate search for unsuspecting women to hit on. You snickered at the thought. Eren placed his hands on the small of your back.

“What’re you laughin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you said, rocking your hips slightly.

His green gaze was penetrating. Even the haze of weed and head trauma couldn’t dull it. Eren’s desire took precedence over all. It was an unrelenting force. You stroked his uninjured cheek.

“Does it hurt? Does it ache at all?”

“Yeah, but I think I know what will make it feel better.”

You rolled your eyes. “And what exactly would that be?”

Eren pressed his semi hard cock against your clothed cunt. He rocked his hips a little, eyes fixed on you, awaiting your reaction. You put your hands on his shoulders and slowly dragged them down his chest, his muscles taut against your palms. You smirked, reciprocated the pressure he provided by grinding up against him.

You pressed your lips against his and sucked lightly on his swollen bottom lip. The metallic taste of blood linger on your tongue as Eren let out a pained groan. He pulled away, betrayal fell upon his face.

“Sorry,” you demurred. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Alright, enough of that. Get up.”

You slid off of his body. He stood up and tossed you over his shoulder with a swiftness you didn’t think his stoned self was capable of. He carried you to the bedroom and tossed you onto the bed.

“Undress.”

You laid there, unmoving.

Eren sighed. “Undress… please?”

“‘kay.”

You eagerly stripped off your clothes and presented your naked body to him. He followed your lead and disrobed, leaving his clothes in a heap on the floor.

He crawled onto the bed, his ardor riddled gaze fixed on yours. His cock was tumescent, the tip pink and leaking precum. You longed to tongue the tip and savor the sweetness seeping out. He wrapped his hand around the length of his erection and stroked, leaving it slick and glistening.

You spread your legs and draped your arms over his shoulders and ran your hands down his muscled back, dragging your nails along the way. A pained groan fell from his lips. Your hands stopped on the apex of his ass and dug your fingertips into the delicate flesh.

“Too much?” You whispered in his ear.

“It’s fine,” he replied through a clenched jaw.

You gripped his cheeks harder as he slid his cock into your cunt. Eren’s hunger for pain embedded ecstasy into your existence. His hands roamed your body before one found its way to your swollen clit. His thumb encircled it, applying a hint of pressure as he drove his cock further inside you.

The muscles of Eren’s ass tightened as he bottomed out, his balls slapping up against your writhing body. Your fingers dug deeper into his skin, relishing in every groan that grew from the depths of his throat.

“Does it hurt?”

“Ye—yeah it does.”

“Good,” you growled. “That’s what I want to hear.”

You nipped at his neck and ran your tongue along the length of it. The piquant taste of his sweat dancing across your tastebuds. You wanted to lick him clean, get rid of all the sweat, blood, and stress that afflicted his evening. Eren deserved to be worshiped after the fuckery he waded through… Though he’d have to suffer a bit more.

“Shit!” He cried out as you proceeded to bite him.

Your eyes held an impish glint as he pushed your face away from him. He held you down by the shoulders and thrust into you like you were nothing more than a nameless hole. You missed having his thumb pressing on your clit, but this was nothing to complain about. You were on the verge of coming undone regardless.

“‘Ren—fuck—I’m close.”

Eren was silent, too focused on his cock touching your cervix to respond. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him gently. He welcomed the tenderness even if it took him by surprise. His hips skipped a beat and a trickle of cum entered your cunt. It felt as if the warmth was traveling through your veins, engulfing every inch of your body. Your breathing labored and you struggled to articulate your needs. You wanted to tell Eren how good his cock felt inside you, how happy you were that he was okay, and how badly you wanted to suck on his split lip.

You cried out his name as he pounded his cock into you, the tip now slamming into your cervix. Your body quivered under the weight of his and you felt as if you were ascending.

Eren held you close as your orgasm peaked, whispering the sweetest of words within your ears.

“That feel good, baby? You deserve it after taking such good care of me.”

“E—even though I made you blee—”

A breathy moan interrupted your sentence much to Eren’s enjoyment. He laughed and pulled his cock out, jerking off and aiming his tip at your stomach. He shut his eyes tight as a stream of pearlescent cum coated your skin. He hopped off the bed and grabbed the shirt he had been wearing previously. He wiped away his mess and gazed lovingly at you.

“I could use a shower. Join me?”

“Y—”

He cut you off. “You don’t have a choice.”

“Why ask me then?”

“... Due diligence?”

“I—I don’t think that’s what that means but… alright.”

[marytunno]

-read below-

HORSEFACE

- Gendry?-

He didn’t answer.

- I know you are awake, you breathe different!- 

He made an annoyed noise and turned around facing her, it was dark, only a few moonbeams filtered through the windows of the inn.

- What do you want?- he asked, his voice tired, it wasn’t like he didn’t like sleeping with Arya, better than having to share a cot with Anguy or Lem for sure, but sometimes she could be such a pain.

- I can’t sleep…- she said as if he could have a solution to her problem, he could sleep and he really wanted to just do so.

Arya bit her lip looking at Gendry’s face, she wasn’t sure if he was just tired or if he was actually scowling, it wasn’t her fault her thoughts were keeping her awake.

- Doesn’t sound like my problem…- he managed to say before turning around, his face against the rough fabric of the sheets.

Arya stayed silent for a few moments, Gendry thought she might have given up when again, she called him.

- mm?- 

-Are you still awake?- her voice tiny

-No- he kept his eyes closed smiling to himself 

A second later Arya’s elbow went against his back

- Ouch, stop- he choked back a laugh trying to stop Arya’s attack, she was laughing too now.

-Shh you are going to wake everyone up!- 

-Maybe that’s what I want!- she continued, trying to steal their pillow from under his head

-Of course, if m’lady high can't sleep why should we… ouch… stop!- with a swift movement Arya had taken their pillow and, biting back a laugh, she had struck him in the face.

- Don’t call me that!- 

-Give me that pillow!- 

She smiled, he wasn’t mad, she had learned during all the time they had spent together how to distinguish between when Gendry was upset or just being his grumpy and scowling self. 

He had been upset a lot lately, it was nice to hear him laugh again, it was nice to play together and not have him always spend time with the brotherhood.

-Yield first!- she grinned looking down at him

-You wish!- a second later her back was against the straw mattress, her hands trying to hold on to the pillow desperately 

He was bigger and heavier but she was fast and she never gave up.

She was Arya Stark, she was a wolf.

- Don’t bite me!- he complained moving his hand back, a tactical mistake on his part.

In a second Arya reversed their positions standing on top of him, their pillow safe in her hands, ready to strike again.

- I win!- she laughed

- You cheated!- 

- I didn’t!-

A sound froze them and their laughter.

- If you both don’t shut up and go to sleep I’ll beat you bloody!- growled Lem, still half asleep, his hand holding onto the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping him from strangling them noisy idiots.

They stayed in sacred silence for what felt like ages, both too awake to go back to sleep, both trying not to laugh about Lem’s sleepy outburst.

- You’ll be the death of me…- Gendry sighed after a while taking back the pillow all for himself.

She didn’t answer, Arya just smiled, her wild wolfish grin.

- We won’t have to listen to Lem and the others for much longer… When we are back with my family no one will tell us what we can do or not do!- she said, pure happiness in her voice, it was like that every time she talked about her family, he was happy for her, he truly was, but he didn’t really share her excitement.

-Well maybe my mum will try… but I think…- she sounded focused, almost talking to herself. 

He sighed, he didn’t want to think about her getting back to her family, he did not want to think about her mum and her brother, he wanted to sleep but now he wasn’t sleepy anymore. 

Gendry almost thought that Arya had fallen asleep, but her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as if thinking about things, what things he had no idea, maybe her home and family… nice things… 

- Gendry?- 

- Arya - 

- Do you think I’m pretty?- she whispered as if the question itself was something to be ashamed about.

He didn’t really think much about his answer, Arya was his friend, of course he liked her, so why was she even asking him such a stupid question?

- Yeah, sure…- he said, looking at her in the darkness 

- I’m being serious!- she complained, turning to her side looking at him with her northern eyes, he had been serious too, but whatever, he had no idea why she had decided to act like such a girl in that precise moment.

He got closer as if really looking at Arya’s features, whatever to make her happy, whatever to make her go back to sleep.

She stayed still looking at him studying her face, the moonlight playing delicately on her skin. 

Gendry moved a strand of chestnut hair away from her eyes, it had grown longer since Harrenal, since the bad days, lately Arya even looked too much like a proper little lady for his liking, it was harder to pretend that they were equals and that they were going to be friends forever. 

Arya just bit her lip and waited for an answer, voices and memories from what felt like a lifetime ago replaying in her mind.

- I mean…- Gendry started - I think you are… I wasn’t joking before… you are pretty enough I guess… a better sight than most of the brotherhood for sure…- he started, Tom would have scolded him for talking like that… that wasn’t the way knights and lords and whoever spoke to their ladies in songs, but most of the songs were about idiots wanting to convince women to love them, well actually to sleep with them, that was the goal most of the times.

Not his case, he knew life wasn’t like in the songs, and he cared too much about Arya to lie to her or even think about hurting her. 

- You looked nice with the green dress… but I like you better like this… - he continued thinking about how easily the fabric had been ruined by them playing, Lem’s words still burning in his mind, sometimes he just wanted her to be just Arya, not some fancy lady too highborn to be his friend.

- You have a nice face I think…- he concluded, well she kind of did, most girls had nice faces anyway.

Arya seemed to think about his answer for a while, as if trying to detect a lie in his words. 

- I don’t… Sansa always called me horseface, Jeyne Poole too… - she said, trying to sound as unbothered as possible, he knew her too well to believe her.

What to say tough?

- Fuck them… I like your face…- he blurted out, god job, poets were going to quote him for sure… 

Arya just smiled, she knew he was her friend and did not want to hurt her feelings, he wasn’t a liar, she liked that about him, but even if he liked her face, what did he know of girls anyway? Sansa had been right, and now after all the time she had spent away from home… she wondered if her mum would have even…

- Why do you care anyway?- he asked interrupting her thoughts 

- It’s just… I’m all dirty and my hair is all tangled up…  I ruined Lady  Smallwood’s dress… and I can’t sew really good… what if they don’t want me back? Like maybe Robb won’t pay the brotherhood to have me back… because I’m ugly and… he needs the money for the war… and I’ve been bad… I have killed people… and I didn’t save my…-

She dried swiftly a tear escaping her eye, her voice frantic, whispering her dark thoughts, her stupid thoughts.

- Arya…- he tried to stop her

- My mum is not going to want me anymore… I’m broken now… I never acted like she wanted and now… she is going to see me like this and… - 

- Arya, don’t say that…- he stopped her, his arm going around her and taking her closer, hugging her sweetly.

- Of course they are going to pay for you… I’m sure they would give away even your fancy castle to have you back, alright? And your mum is going to be so happy to see you again… She is not going to care about anything else… -

Arya just rested her head on his chest, her eyes filling with tears she did not want to spill. She had seen Gendry cry before and he had seen her cry too… it wasn’t about that… she just didn’t want to be scared… she didn’t want to be the wild, messy, dirty Arya she inevitably was.

- What if they can’t recognize me?- she asked again

-Don’t be stupid, Harwin knew it was you, and… you are more Stark than a wolf… They’ll know… and if they don’t you’ll tell them about what it was like when you were home…- he tried to be as nice as he could, he didn’t want her to cry or be upset, he could also tell her that if they were really that stupid and didn’t want her back, well, he would have always been her friend.

- Sometimes… I don’t know if I’m really Arya Stark anymore… if I have ever been or if it was just a dream… sometimes it gets difficult to remember… some faces are blurry and sometimes I can’t recall how my mum’s voice sounded… - 

- Of course you are Arya Stark… and you remember the important stuff… you can’t just forget who you are…-

-But…- 

He looked her in the eye, his hand resting on her face. 

- Trust me… you are too much of a pain in my ass to not be a lady from a great house… - 

She rolled her eyes and tried not to smile, he noticed tough, he smiled too… She was a lady… and he was just her bastard friend… a nobody… he would have missed her when she would have been back with her family… she would have probably forgotten him quickly enough… not important enough to have some space in her memory for him… it was better if she forgot about all the hell they had been through even if it meant forgetting him but... 

But maybe she would have missed him too… just a little bit… while sleeping on feather beds and eating fine foods… dancing dressed like a proper lady… maybe she would have missed her bastard friend… just a little bit…

- I told you… I’m not a lady…- 

He smiled back at her, sometimes he wished that to be true.

- I’d rather have you call me horseface than a lady… - she continued pouting

- What will you do when you get back to Winterfell?- he asked, Arya yawned, after waking him up now she dared to fall asleep before him? No way.

-It’s going to take ages before we get there… I have to help Robb win the war… I have to kill Ilyn Payne and…-

He ignored many things in her answer, like the fact that she still believed he was going to be with her in Winterfell, the fact that probably the way to help Robb win the war was getting married off to some stupid fat lord she would have hated, the fact that the war was stupid and Stark soldiers were as mean as all the other bloody soldiers he had met in his life. 

-Yeah… but when you get home… when is going to be all over…- 

She smiled and for a moment he watched her mind travel miles away, travel north, travel back when things were nicer and easier.

- I remember my dad sitting in the Godswood with Ice… he listened to the old gods… I want to show you… it’s not like here in the south… there you can feel them… in the north… and I want to see snow again… sleep in my bed for like a month… no two months… I will visit Jon at the wall, I need to see him again… I know he is not going to care about me being… different… he is going to like me anyway…- 

Gendry nodded and said nothing, it sounded nice, it was stupid to even think that but for a moment he felt something weird for this Jon, this perfect brother straight from Arya’s memories, something that tasted a lot like jealousy… he liked Arya too… he had just said so… whatever… it was nice Arya had people to go back to… 

- Of course he is…-

Arya smiled and snuggled closer to him, her eyes fluttering asleep, he wondered if one day, in her huge castle surrounded by her happy rich family she would have remembered that moment, if she would have remembered him.

Arya felt her body heavier, her mind almost empty now, ready to run like a wolf in her dreams, to run like a wolf until she reached her family again.

Soo… I don’t really know if this fic really respects the prompt… (yey me… good job) I guess I wanted to explore the different meanings that Memory can have for this ship… Arya remembering her family, being scared they won't remember her or like her, Arya being scared to forget who she is and on the other side, Gendry hoping his friend will remember when they’ll be separated because he knows they will.

It came out as a fluffy night talk with a pillow fight and an annoyed Lem like a cherry on top, I hope you enjoyed it.<3<3

[theart2rock]

Coverabend in der Met-Bar mit Dirty Hotline und Civil War

Eigentlich stand der heutige Samstagabend gar nicht zur Debatte, dass ich heute an ein Konzert gehe, eigentlich. Dann aber sucht sich die Met-Bar für die leider verhinderten Bloody Horseface eine Ersatzband um die aus Italien anreisenden Civil War zu supporten. Civil War sind eine Guns ‘n’ Roses Coverband und so passt natürlich auch eine Coverband ins Vorprogramm. Auf alle Fälle die Met-Bar sucht über alle möglichen Kanäle eine Vorband. Und diese Suchanfrage wird auch massiv Folge geleistet wie zu lesen war und man wird in Dirty Hotline fündig. Dirty Hotline selbst kommen nicht nur aus meiner Nachbarschaft, nein sie sind auch noch gute Freunde von mir. Und flugs ist der gemütliche Erholungsabend zu Hause Geschichte. Wie sang Bon Jovi doch so schön; I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Also mache ich auf Someday I’ll be Saturday night (ebenfalls Bon Jovi) und fahre nach Lenzburg. Ich gebe es zu, ich habe ja schon oft von der Met-Bar gelesen und gehört, selbst war ich aber bisher noch nie dort, ich weiss, Schande über mich. Bleibt einfach nur noch die Frage, ob ich denn überhaupt fotografieren darf. da meine zwei sehr kurzfristigen Anfragen unbeantwortet blieben, entschliesse ich mich einfach die Kamera einzupacken und auf gut Glück und vielleicht ein wenig treuem Hundeblick an der Kasse, um Erlaubnis zu fragen. Vor Ort wird mir diese Erlaubnis auch erteilt und ich kann beruhigt schon einmal die Kamera bereitmachen. Zuvor aber wird erst einmal noch die grosse seitliche Bar aufgesucht, der Durst muss ja schliesslich auch einmal gestillt werden. Der eine oder andere Smalltalk darf natürlich auch nicht fehlen. Und natürlich kann ich auch schon einmal der Hauptgrund für meine Anreise begrüssen, nämlich die Band, die gleich auf der Bühne steht. Pünktlich um 20:45h geht dann die musikalische Reise durch die Rockgeschichte los. Bei Dirty Hotline bedeutet dies hauptsächlich Songs aus der Blütezeit des Rocks zwischen den 70ern und anfangs der 90er Jahren, bevor dann der Grunge für eine lange Zeit die Rocker schweres Brot essen liess und vielen einen langen Atem abverlangte. Seit ziemlich genau einem Jahr steht mit Jacky eine neue Stimme am Mikrofon, und es ist nicht nur eine Stimme, es ist eine verdammte Rockröhre. Ich habe mich schon 2-3x vertraut machen können mit ihrer Stimme, als sie mit ihrem Akustiktrio «In Tune» Auftritte im intimeren Rahmen abhalten konnte. Akustisch zu spielen ist wie Striptease und zeigt erst so richtig, was man aus den Stimmbändern herausholen kann. Ich empfehle allen sich dieses Trio (Luca und Dome von Dirty Hotline sind die anderen beiden Mitmusiker) ebenfalls anzuhören, wenn sich die Gelegenheit dazu ergibt. Mit Dirty Hotline habe ich Jacky erst einmal in einem kleinen Festzelt auf sehr beengtem Platz erlebt. Da ist die Bühne in der Met-Bar doch etwas grösser und Jacky hält, was sie mir einmal versprochen hat, nämlich dass sie auf der grossen Bühne mit den Songs von Dirty Hotline zur Rampensau wird. Der Einstieg mit «Highway To Hell», «Holy Diver» und «Highway Star” lässt die drei «H»-Songs schon zu einem Erlebnis werden, und zeigt schon einmal das Potential. Wer Dio, Gillan und Scott so singt, lässt die Originale schon fast vergessen. Aber es steht ja nicht nur eine Sängerin auf der Bühne, nein, auch der Rest der Truppe weiss ihr Handwerk zu verstehen. Da ist die Groove Maschine Urs hinter den Fellen, der in ebendiese brescht und den Takt angibt. Jeder Break sitzt und dies ist bei solch ausufernden Songs wie «Burn» nicht so ganz einfach, dies alles einfach so abzurufen. Zu Bassist Luca habe ich ein besonders Verhältnis, spielte er in meiner alten Band noch auf dem Schlagzeug, zupft er hier den Tieftöner. Da wir einmal miteinander in einer Band gespielt haben, weiss ich um seine Qualitäten, und er ist ein Perfektionist. Egal ob die 1/8-Noten durchgezupft werden oder komplexe Iron Maiden Läufe aufs Griffbrett gezaubert werden müssen, er meistert es mit Bravour. Was mir auffällt, im Gegensatz zu früher, ist er auf der Bühne mittlerweile sehr agil unterwegs und begleitet seine tiefen Tönen auch mit einsprechender Mimik. Dann bleibt noch Gitarrist Dome, dass er sich in dieser musikalischen Periode zu Hause fühlt, aus welcher Dirty Hotline ihr Repertoire zusammenstellt, sieht man ihm sofort an. Die Solos zelebriert er förmlich auf seinen sechs Saiten. Anfänglich war die Band noch mit zwei Gitarren unterwegs. Nach dem Wegfall der zweiten Klampfe spürte ich im Sound noch, dass etwas fehlte. Dies steckt man mittlerweile aber locker weg und Dome spielt sich die Seele aus dem Leib und lässt zu keinem Zeitpunkt die zweite Gitarre vermissen. Die Songs kommen kompakt her, und rocken die Met-Bar. Dome geniesst den Augenblick und stürmt während «Eruption» schon einmal den Bartresen. Bei Dirty Hotline von einer Coverband zu sprechen ist in meinen Augen eigentlich schon fast ein wenig verkehrt am Platz. Der Titel einer Tribute Band würde ihr besser stehen. Dass Dirty Hotline ihre Wurzeln im Kanton Schwyz haben, dessen wird dann auch noch mit der Schwyzer Fahne Tribut gezollt, dabei lässt man noch locker den Rausschmeisser «The Trooper» vom Stapel. Umbau ist angesagt für die aus Genua stammende Guns ‘n’ Roses Tribute Band Civil War. Ihre Anreise war ein wenig beschwerlich, wie ich hörte. Man kennt es ja, wenn man aus Italien kommt. Den Gotthard bezwingt man nicht so einfach, da hat gemäss der Sage schon der Teufel seine liebe Mühe gehabt, resp. wurde dann von ein paar findigen Urnern übers Ohr gehauen. Auch wenn heute ein Loch durch den Alpenpass besteht, sorgt das Dosiersystem eher für Unbehagen und Zeitverlust anstelle von stressfreiem Reisen. Alle Widrigkeiten zum Trotz haben es aber auch Civil War nach Lenzburg geschafft und steigen mit einem «It’s So Easy» ins Set und lassen «Mr. Brownstone» und «Nighttrain» folgen. Die Gunners Party startet also schon einmal ziemlich amtlich. Im Publikum haben die T-Shirts der Rocker aus Los Angeles, die damals mit ihrem Debüt, nach etwas längeren Anlaufschwierigkeiten, es dauerte über ein Jahr bis «Appetite For Destruction» bei dem Zuhörer zündete, überhandgenommen und man drängte sich schon bis vor den Bühnenrand. Handwerklich ist es so wie ich es mir gewünscht habe, stark gespielt und auch mit dem nötigen Dreck im Sound. Optisch kommt «Slash» dem Original am Nähesten mit seiner Mähne und dem standesgemässen Zylinder. Die Mitmusiker waren da optisch schon Lichtmeilen davon entfernt, was mich aber nicht stört, da in meinen Augen die Musik bei einer Tribute Band zählt und nicht die Optik. Ich schüttle immer noch den Kopf, wenn ich mich an ein Inserat einer amerikanischen Def Leppard Tribute Band zurückerinnere, die doch tatsächlich einen einarmigen Drummer suchten. Und wenn ich die Augen schliesse, dann höre ich Guns ‘n’ Roses und in Gedanken sehe ich auch die Band. Der Zuruf nach November Rain wird zwar gehört, aber leider nicht erfüllt. «Axl» erklärt auch weshalb; man hat kein Piano dabei, und ja, dann geht diese Überhymne natürlich einfach nicht. Die Songauswahl lässt aber ansonsten keine Wünsche offen, es ist wirklich eine Greatest Hits Vorstellung, die geliefert wird. Was mir vor allem auch aufgefallen ist, wie tight die Band ist. Extrem kompakt und noch etwas, sie spielen ohne doppelten Boden, sprich es werden keine Samples verwendet, was man hört und sieht, es ist alles echt. Ich bin ja nicht unbedingt der grösste Gunners Fan und vertrete grundsätzlich die Meinung, dass Axl und Co anstelle zwei Use Your Illusion Platten eine EP mit vier Songs hätten veröffentlichen können, und alles wäre gesagt gewesen. Bei Civil War (was übrigens einer der Songs auf meiner EP gewesen wäre) aber halte ich mich nicht nur wegen der kleineren Location dauernd vor der Bühne auf. Nein ich habe sogar vorzeitig meine Kamera ins Auto gebracht, um völlig unbeschwert der Band zu lauschen, was doch als Kompliment aufzufassen ist. Das Einzige, was mich ein wenig stört am Auftritt von Civil War ist, dass sie für mich doch recht bierernst rüberkommen. Beim Sichten der Fotos im Anschluss habe ich kein einziges Bild gefunden, mit einem Lächeln drauf. Vielleicht war man auch einfach müde von der Anreise und hatte bereits die Rückreise wieder im Kopf, denn der Tross reist noch nach dem Konzert direkt wieder zurück nach Italien. Deshalb umso schätzenswerter, dass man extra für dieses Konzert in die Schweiz reist. Es war ein toller Abend in der Met-Bar und ich denke, es wird in Zukunft noch das eine oder andere Konzert geben, welches ich in dieser gemütlichen Location besuchen werde. Schade war es nicht ganz so voll, da hätte schon noch etwas Platz gefüllt werden können. Beim Sound muss ich ein paar Abstriche machen. Bei Dirty Hotline war in meinen Ohren die Gitarre doch eine Spur zu laut, so dass die Stimme gegen diese Wand ankämpfen musste. Dasselbe auch bei Civil War. Auch hier kämpfte vor allem «Slash» gegen die Band an und seine Solos gingen teilweise schon fast im Gefüge unter. Da könnte der Mischer noch ein wenig nachbessern. Aber ansonsten sehr tolle Atmosphäre, coole Bar und auch wer nicht gerade vor der Bühne stehen bleiben will, kann sich zurückziehen. Was ebenfalls hervorzuheben ist, dass sehr freundliche Personal der Met-Bar, so machen Konzertbesuche Spass. Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[hivesfics]

pierce through me, eren x reader

Cross posted to ao3 under “dickshapedclouds”

Warnings: semi public, strangers, nipple piercings, oral fem and male receiving, photo taking, eren is very cocky

You couldn't believe you let Sasha talk you into this. A drunken conversation about wanting a new piercing turned into her demanding you get your nipples pierced. You knew it was because she liked living vicariously through you and she secretly wanted nipple piercings, but was too scared to get them.

"So you're going today right? Right? Can I come with?"

"Fucking hell, Sash. Yes I'm going today, no you cannot come with me." You groan, exasperated.

"Oh c'mon, I've seen your tits plenty of times." Sasha grins, grabbing the aforementioned part of your body and squeezing before releasing.

You swat playfully at her and roll your eyes, pushing her aside.

"I don't care, I'd rather you not see me cry when I get a needle shoved through my nipples."

"You've literally gotten snot in my hair from crying once." She groans, throwing her head back and stomping like a child.

"If I get you donuts after my appointment will you shut up?"

"I- yes."

"Thank god. I've got to go or else I'll be late. You can see them after I get home."

"Deal." Sasha grins, slapping you on the back as you exit your shared apartment.

It doesn't take but 10 minutes to arrive at the joint tattoo and piercing studio. You can't help the nervous, but giddy feeling inside of you.

This wasn't your first piercing, you had multiple. But with each new one you couldn't help being excited.

"Back again, get a life." Jean, the secretary, teases.

"Shut your mouth, is Levi still in?"

"Nah, but we've got a new piercer here. Let me get him."

He stands from the front desk and makes his way to the back. There's some shouting and a few moments later Jean returns with a male.

Hes covered in piercings and tattoos, brunette hair pulled into a messy bun. You can't help but flush at the fact that someone so attractive will be seeing and touching your breasts.

Even if it was in a professional manner.

"This is Eren, he's a little asshole." Jean rolls his eyes.

"Shove it up your ass, horseface. Nipple appointment, right?" Eren insults Jean before turning to you.

"Uh- y-yeah."

"Awesome, let's go back and I'll get everything sterilized and set up."

The giddy feeling has now dipped more into anxious territory. You follow Eren to the back, taking a seat on the piercing chair.

"If you wanna go ahead and take your shirt off you can, or you can wait until everything is sterilized since it's a little chilly back here."

You sit in comfortable silence until he asks you again to remove your shirt after he's gloved up and has everything prepared.

You do so obediently, folding it and setting it aside. Breasts now standing proud, nipples pebbling from the cool air.

"After I mark you can lay down, alright?"

"Alright."

Its so odd to have someone you're not fucking so close up and personal with your chest. You can feel his warm breath against your skin and it causes goosebumps to rise on your body.

"That look good?"

"Yeah, looks great." You smile and lay back.

"Great." He takes the set of forceps and as gently as possible clamps them onto your left nipple.

"You'll feel a pinch, I want you to breathe in nice and deep for me." Eren says as he prepares to push the needle through.

As soon as you breathe in, he pushes it through.

"Oh, fuck!" You hiss, clenching your jaw.

"Sorry." Eren laughs, moving quickly to your right breast.

Although your nipple is hard, he flicks it. Sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine. His eyes flitting to yours before pressing the clamp around it.

"Again, deep breath in, sweetheart."

And God does that send an ache between your legs. You inhale, filling your lungs completely.

Expecting the pain, it doesn't hurt as much as the first. But you still hiss, jaw clenched tight.

"Good girl." He says at your breathing.

Eren takes note, cleaning you up quickly before taking his gloves off. He massages the joints of your jaw, making your mouth drop open slightly.

"You did so good." He smiles, tongue flitting over his lips.

You see the glint of a tongue piercing and wonder how it'd feel against your skin.

"You've got the prettiest tits I've seen." He says lowly, placing his thumb underneath and forefinger on either side of your breasts.

"If you weren't so fucking hot you'd have a bloody nose." You breathe, a moment of bravery, you grip his jaw and pull him down for a kiss.

"God I wanna put my mouth on them." Eren groans, showing restraint as to not hinder the healing process.

"Suppose I'll have to see you again when they're all healed." You grin, hand gripping his hair as you press your lips to his again.

He clambers into the piercing chair with you, knee between your legs. His hands gripping your waist.

"Can I eat you out? Please?"

"Since you asked so nicely." You coo, reaching between where he's pressed against you to unbutton your pants.

"Lay back, sweetheart."

Eren shimmies down, his feet hanging off the edge of the long seat. He grabs the waist of your pants and tugs them down with your panties.

"Oh fuck." He groans, taking in the princess Diana piercing that goes through the hood of your clit.

"Pretty isn't it?" You grin.

"Levi do this? That bastard got to see this gorgeous fuckin' cunt?"

"Jealous?"

Eren glares up at you before diving in, tongue dipping into your hole. Nose nudging at your sensitive clit.

You gasp, tangling your hands in his hair again, pulling him closer to your cunt.

He groans against you, vibrations sending a jolt up your spine. Heat filling your body.

Afraid to get his piercing caught on yours, he avoids touching his tongue to your clit. Instead opting to nose at it, and rub his thumb over it.

"Feel s'good!" You moan, rocking down against his face.

You could feel him smirk against you at your desperation. You grip his hair tighter, basically riding his face with how you cant your hips up.

He's licking at you like a man starved, eyes focused on your face as he feasts. He dips both thumbs into your cunt, spreading it open, pushing back against your hands so he can spit.

"Such a desperate thing." He coos teasingly, face soaked.

"If you don't get your mouth back on me I swea I'll- ah! Hhmf! Fuck!" You hiccup, head thrown back as he fucks you with his tongue.

One hand still tangled in his hair, the other pressed to your mouth. Your teeth biting into your knuckles to muffle your sounds.

You feel that familiar knot in your stomach, heat pooling heavily.

"Im- fuck- I'm cumming- gonna cum!" You moan, thighs squeezing tight around his head as you ride out your high.

Hips jerking as you ride his face.

Eren pulls away with a filthy grin, licking his lips before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Let me return the favor." You pant, releasing your hold on him.

You make quick work of pulling his pants down, and pulling his cock out of his boxers.

"Fuck- you're pierced here too?" You gasp, licking over your lips as you trail your fingers over the three piercings down the shaft.

"Pretty, huh?" He takes your words, smirking down at you.

"Bastard." You quip, licking a hot stripe from the base to the crown.

Tongue dipping into the slit, tasting the pre that has beaded there. It causes Eren to moan and you can't help but clench your thighs at the gorgeous sound.

You love when men moan for you, you love drawing out the pretty sounds they make. And Eren is no exception, his moans get high and breathy.

You kiss the barbell of the piercings before taking the length of his cock into your throat in one go. Eyes trained on his face like his were on yours.

"Holy fuck- that's so good-" he rasps, fisting a hand into your hair.

Not to push and pull your head, but simply to ground himself.

"Where's the cocky bastard who just ate me out, hm?" You say once your mouth is free of him.

He glares at you, gripping the side of your jaw to make your mouth open before feeding his cock into your mouth.

"Such a damn brat, this what you want?" He groans as he uses your throat.

You can feel the piercings drag against your throat, in deep and then back to your tongue. Your cunt weeps with arousal in response to how he uses you.

"Gonna use that cunt next, cum all over that pretty clit. You're gonna be mine- my little cum dump." He groans.

You whine around his cock, looking up at him with watery eyes. It nearly makes him blow his load, dick twitching in your throat.

He holds himself there, grinning at the way your throat contracts around him, how you gag.

"Mm that's right, choke on me. Good girl." He pulls out of your mouth, giving you a moment to breathe.

A mixture of spit and precum connecting your lips to the length of him. You pant heavily, tongue lolled out of your mouth.

Eren shoves himself back down your throat, holding the sides of your head as he thrusts his hips. Tip of his cock kissing the back of your throat with each thrust.

"So fuckin' pretty." He groans, pulling out to jerk himself off over your face.

You keep your tongue out, eyes trained on his. Waiting patiently for him to cum over your face.

His hand grips your hair, tilting your head as he spills over your face and tongue.

"Fuck. Fuck- can I take your picture?"

You nod, making sure none of his cum drips from your face to your breasts. He's quick to grab his phone and open the camera, snapping a few photos.

"Now lay back and let me fuck that pussy."

You grin and settle back, spreading your legs for him.

"Good girl."

[nerajaana]

Lyanna this Lyanna that FYI Ratgar left Elia and his babies to die for that horseface🥰

Uhhhhh am I supposed to stan that dickwad robert baratheon to establish the fact that i’m not a fan of Rhaegar?

Horseface this horseface that bloody hell i know you lot are the stalwarts of internalized misogyny in this fandom please you don’t have to establish that over and over. P. S Y’all have to be the most jobless hacks on this hellsite i swear to gods

[cappymightwrite]

So I’ve just read your meta on the TWOW Alayne I sample chapter (it’s amazing btw!) and I noticed something while reading it that I wanted to share and see if anybody else has noticed - nearly every man Alayne dances with during the feast could be taken as a reference to Jon or the Night’s Watch.

Ben Coldwater -> Snow is, obviously, cold water, and Ben is a sneaky Benjen reference

Andrew Tollett -> most likely related to Dolorous Edd Tollett, Jon’s old steward and good friend

Ser Byron the Beautiful -> GRRM has described Jon as a Byronic hero

Ser Morgarth and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse -> these men are more dubious, I’m not really sure of the link with Morgarth. Shadrich is a callback from Brienne’s AFFC plot though, and a sign that Sansa’s cover isn’t as secure as she and Littlefinger think it is

Ser Albar Royce - a reference to Waymar Royce, he of the many Jon parallels and Sansa’s old crush, though she finds his cousin(?) stout and dull

The Sunderlands - their family are the lords of the Three Sisters. In ADWD, Davos is told a story on Sweetsister about Ned having to sneak across the Bite during Robert’s Rebellion, to get North and call his banners. A fisherman helped him but drowned when a storm caught their boat - but his daughter got Ned safely to the Sisters. The prevailing story on the islands seems to be that he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly, whom she named after Jon Arryn

Uther Shett - I was half-convinced this guy also had a relative on the wall, because his name (insulting pun aside) seems to be a reference to Chett, the prologue POV of ASOS who had a grudge against Jon for losing him his position as one of Maester Aemon’s stewards in favour of Sam

Ser Targon the Halfwild - Jon will likely be half-wild when he comes back from the dead, but he’s already been described as ‘half a wildling’ multiple times. Also Targon = Targ-Jon?

Ser Roland and Ser Wallace Waynwood - both are described earlier in the chapter as long-faced with brown hair, which are also Stark features. Alayne thinks of them as “horsefaced”, probably an Arya reference that also calls back to her and Jon’s shared Stark look. Wallace is even the same age as Robb, and thus Jon, would be.

So though Jon wasn’t mentioned by name in the chapter, I think he was very present... not just lemoncake-wise ;)

Thank you! :D Haha for a moment there I was like...wait which meta? Had to take my mind back for a sec there because I've written quite a bit since then! But yeah, doing deep dives into certain chapters is really fun — my next one that's in the works is Jon XI in A Dance With Dragons. Great to hear you enjoyed my Winds one :)

Ooooh that is really interesting and a mighty fine catch! Definitely the vibe I got whilst reading that chapter, after having analysed Alayne II, AFFC (which chronologically precedes it), is that Jon's presence or references to him are made subtly throughout the chapter(s) — especially whenever Winterfell is alluded to because Jon is the "Snow of Wintefell", the "blood of Winterfell", etc. But also vice versa, Sansa is very much connected to Winterfell in Jon's chapters as well — "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa."

But let's take a look at those names you listed below the cut! Big post ahead, so buckle up kids!

So, I hadn't noticed the significance of those names on my reading, but I can well believe what you're suggesting because it plays very much into how I interpreted the subconscious goings on of that chapter — that you have these rememberances/reminders of Winterfell and Sansa's Stark idenity at crucial moments within the chapter’s narrative pacing, especially prior to moments with Harry the Heir. Not to sound too crass, but it's sort like a marking of territory, and this is made even stronger by that goddamn phallic as hell Giant's Lance lemoncake (aka Jon's peen). It's all quite neatly buried, but when you start matching up the imagery...I mean, I guess wolves are territorial beasts, so...checks out? (George...why are you like this?)

It is interesting that we get that iconic entrance of the Giant's Lance lemoncake prior to these dance partners, i.e. a claim has been staked essentially, and it ain't from Littlefinger, which is what could be interpreted on first inspection. And let's not beat around the bush, as uncomfortable as it is (because Sansa is ONLY 13/14!!), this is a sexual claim being made owing to the phallic symbolism and the general tone of the chapter being about Alayne's betrothal/marriage:

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

I legit just snorted re-reading this: "splendid subtlety" MY ASS! What follows is a whole lot of gift-giving, which come to think of it, in combination with this bloody big cake...well, it reads quite a bit like a wedding breakfast to me, followed by dancing, in addition to a possible nod to a Stark bridal cloak, masked by the Arryn colours:

There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

Because if we compare this "cloak of cloth-of-silver" with previous descriptions of Sansa's maiden cloak, we see this obvious recurring inclusion of either silver or grey as one of the Stark colours:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden's cloak. Sansa's hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared. – ASOS, Sansa III

"[...] and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back...why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

This is all very in keeping with the theme of the chapter, which is meeting Alayne's betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, so obviously a future marriage/alliance is very much a prevalent theme here. Furthermore, the mention of "Myrish lace" for the "ladies fair" does somewhat remind me of Alys Karstark's wedding garb:

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. – ADWD, Jon X

I think some other people have mentioned before how even though Jon makes a conscious comparison between Arya and Alys — "reminded Jon so much of his little sister" — the romanticised, flushed cheeked imagery very much points towards a subconsious allusion to Sansa (ETA: anyone spoken on this got a link?). With that in mind, we could see this as foreshadowing of not only Jonsa, but a Jonsa wedding, and Sansa as Queen in the North — "a frosty crown" "Winter's lady" — with Jon as her king/consort. In my current Jon chapter analysis I've been working with the idea that actually as soon as Jon starts romanticising a girl, which is notably different from just noticing someone's physical beauty (e.g. with Val), that is when the subconscious comparisons to Sansa really jump out.

But anyway! Onto those names...or rather, Jon Snow stand-ins.

Rising, [Ben Coldwater] offered Alayne his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

“You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

If I've counted that right, that's 14 men? Alright, here we go.

First up...Ben Coldwater

I think you're right that Ben Coldwater feels very much like a nod to Ben-jen Stark, who is referred to as Ben a few times I think, and Jon Snow (cold water = snow), both men of the Night's Watch. House Coldwater also traces its lineage back to the First Men, and are sworn to House Royce, who are also notably descended from the First Men, have previously married into the Stark family and still maintain close connections to the current house through Ned's fosterage in the Vale. So, through the Royces, we see another possible connection to the Starks and Jon Snow...Jon Snow who was named after Jon Arryn.

I would also add that we have Ben make this inquiry prior to his dance with Alayne:

“Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

I don't know, maybe I'm reaching but...singers feature quite a lot in connection to Jon, for instance:

Mance Rayder, who infiltrates Winterfell disguised as a singer called Abel, an anagram of Bael, aka Bael the Bard;

Bael the Bard and the Blue Rose of Winterfell — a story told to Jon by Ygritte, which very much evokes the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna;

Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon's real father, was a notably skilled lyre player, whose singing supposedly made Lyanna cry — "The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle," (ASOS, Bran II). He is also theorised to have written the song Jenny of Oldstones, possibly for the Ghost of High Heart, Jenny's friend.

Ygritte — when Jon starts to find her more attractive, when he starts to romanticise her, he observes that "sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him," (ASOS, Jon II).

Val — again, we start to see Jon begin to warm to Val, to see her in more of a romantic + typically feminine light, because of her singing to the baby Monster: "I have heard you singing to him," (ADWD, Jon VIII).

Sansa — oh, my sweet Sansa...when remembering his family, not quite in his dying moments, but a little bit prior to that, Jon thinks "Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow," (ADWD, Jon XIII).

I think it's clear that Jon loves a good song and you know what? He'd probably be asking about the lack of singers too! One final detail perhaps worth noting is the seat of House Coldwater:

[...] the Coldwaters of Coldwater Burn [...] – TWOIAF, The Vale

Obviously, the "song of ice and fire" is not a person, but more the elemental and destructive forces of the Others and the dragons, yet nevertheless, through Jon's parentage, as well as his actions (burned hand, etc.), plus his personality to a certain extent (hot-headed then repressing emotions) you do have this duality of hot and cold, of fire and ice...Coldwater Burn? Could be something.

Ser Andrew Tollett

So, like you said, the name Tollett immediately puts us in mind of Eddison Tollett, also known as Dolorous Edd, who is like Jon, a black brother of the Night's Watch. And he is a good brother to Jon, voting for him in the election for the Lord Commander, as well as becoming his loyal steward for a time, before being sent on a mission to Long Barrow. Interestingly, Dolorous Edd, as well as the Tolletts in general, do have a bit of a Stark vibe to them...

Like a typical Stark, Dolorous Edd is described as having a "long face" (ACOK, Jon III), a face like a mule's to be exact, but also notably a horse's as well:

"[...] Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn [...]" – ADWD, Jon XII

He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that's what he is. – ASOS, Prologue

He is given the nickname Dolorous Edd (dolorous = mournful), and is referred to several times as being "dour" (ACOK, Jon II, Jon III, ASOS, Jon V, ADWD, Jon XII, XIII), an attribute not entirely out of place when we consider some notable Starks and their disposition, as well as their house words:

He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. – AGOT, Tyrion II

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. – AGOT, Jon VIII

I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. – ACOK, Catelyn VI

Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages [...] And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. – ASOS, Catelyn V

So, not unlike Jon, Arya and Ned, Dolorous Edd has a "long and solemn" face (AGOT, Arya I), as well as a "dour" personality. Furthermore, even House Tollet of Grey Glen's sigil and words have Stark vibes, since according to semi-canon sources, their shield is "pily grey and black" and their words are "When all is darkest," which arguably carries the same ominous, Long Night warning of "Winter is coming". In addition to this, like the Coldwaters, the Tollets are sworn to the First Men descended Royces.

But beyond this, if we take a look at some legendary and historical Tolletts...we actually have two notable names:

Torgold Tollett — also known as Torgold the Grim, though ironically, because he was famous for riding into battle laughing, and naked from the waist up:

The songs say that Torgold knew no fear and felt no pain. Though bleeding from a score of wounds, he cut a red swathe through Lord Redfort's staunchest warriors, then took his lordship's arm off at the shoulder with a single cut. Nor was he dismayed when the sorceress Ursula Upcliff appeared upon a bloodred horse to curse him. By then he was bare-handed, having left both of his axes buried in a foe's chest, but the singers say he leapt upon the witch's horse, grasped her face between two bloody hands, and tore her head from her shoulders as she screamed for succor. – TWOIAF, The Vale

Ser Jon Tollett — In Fire & Blood, Jon Tollett is recorded as a member of King Maegor the Cruel's Kingsguard. After the king's mysterious death, his successor, King Jaeherys I, offered Maegor's surviving Kingsguard a choice between execution or taking the black. Jon Tollett chose the latter. This somewhat parallels Ned's decision to take the black, to a certain extent.

You could argue that there are more than a few similarities, or future foreshadowings, between these Tolletts and Jon Snow...

Ser Byron the Beautiful

Like you mentioned, Jon Snow has been described by GRRM as a "Byronic, romantic hero". I'm so annoyed with myself, because I had written up some good stuff on how Jon really does possess certain Byronic traits but as I was inserting a gif it ended up deleting most of what I wrote...so I'm still a bit bitter over that, but will rewrite it at some point soon. Take my word for it though, Jon Snow is 100% more of a Byronic Hero (a la Byron's own Manfred), than Sandor Clegane, for example:

GRRM: “Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love.” [source]

Ser Byron, as well as being described as beautiful, is also notably very gallant, the perfect knight:

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders. – AFFC, Alayne II

We all know that Sansa appreciates a bit of genuine courtesy, and in fact, she's taught Jon well in that regard:

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. – ACOK, Jon III

I think this Jon stand-in does rely mostly on Jon's connection to the Byronic Hero. So, if anyone is still a bit dubious on that (because Rochester and Heathcliff are trash), just hang in there for my eventual meta on the subject, which focuses on Lord Byron's OG Byronic Hero, rather than the later Brontë/Victorian iterations.

In fact, in terms of Jon's parentage and future romance with Sansa, there's one Byronic tale that may be a particular source of inspiration — The Bride of Abydos. This poem notably includes a romance in which half-siblings are revealed to be cousins...sound familiar?

Ser Morgarth the Merry

Another hedge knight, like Ser Byron, who is sworn into the service of Petyr Baelish. I've got to agree with you here, red-nosed Ser Morgarth's connection to Jon is quite a bit harder to decipher! I have done a little digging though, and it is possible that the Garth in Morgarth is a reference to several Garths that appear in Jon's chapters, as well as Garth Greenhand, the alleged ancestor of legendary House Stark founder...Brandon the Builder:

Garth of Oldtown

Garth of Greenaway

Garth Greyfeather

All of these Garths are rangers/members of the Night's Watch at the same time as Jon, though I think by Dance it is presumed that they are all dead, or at least missing — in fact, Garth of Greenaway kills Garth of Oldtown. Garth on Garth violence!!

Haha, oh god...I think I just got the pun...Morgarth = More Garth! More Garths the merrier! Get it?! More Garths everybody!

George, I hate you.

Ok, so that's what that is. It's literally just a dumb pun, yet it also connects Morgarth to the Night's Watch Garths, and therefore Jon.

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

I think you're right that Ser Shadrich's presence connects us to Brienne's quest, as well as foreshadowing potential shit hitting the fan at the tourney of the Winged Knights. But he also notably makes some interesting remarks, both to Brienne and Sansa, which we can connect to Jon Snow's secret Targaryen heritage:

"Where?" Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. "Someplace no stag ever found...though a dragon might." – AFFC, Brienne III

On the surface, in response to Brienne's questioning about the whereabouts of the Stark sisters, Shadrich is talking about a monetary bribe. However, beneath that explicit meaning, is an implicit reference to a stag (Joffrey) failing, where a dragon (Jon) will succeed. Others have talked about this line in more detail elsewhere, but it seems like a pretty good allusion to the foils, Joffrey (a prince who is really a bastard) and Jon (a bastard who is really a prince).

In this exact Winds chapter, however, we also see a conversation between Alayne and Shadrich, which hints at his possible plans to uncover and abduct Sansa Stark in return for a lucrative reward:

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

This "stumbl[ing] on a bag of dragons" could also be seen as an implicit nod towards stumbling upon Jon's Targaryen heritage later in the novel, something that is more "likely" than anyone would expect. That claim might be a reach, were it not for the implication that when Shadrich talks about money, i.e. dragons...he isn't actually talking about gold coins, he's talking about Targaryens, but more than that...he's talking specifically about Jon Snow.

Ser Albar Royce

"Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir." I think like Ser Morgarth, the physical appearance of these stand-ins doesn't always play a factor, because it would be kind of unnerving if they all had solemn long faces... So, what is important here is, like you say, the name Royce and his relation to Ser Waymar Royce, Sansa's first crush, who just happens to resemble and parallels Jon quite a bit:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. – AFFC, Alayne I

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. – AGOT, Prologue

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. – AGOT, Bran I

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are." – AGOT, Jon III

Although, it is worth noting that the Royces, as a whole, do somewhat resemble the Starks in appearance, at least in terms of their eye colour:

Bronze Yohn Royce, the current head of House Royce of Runestone, has "slate-grey eyes" as well as a "solemn face", (AFFC, Alayne I).

Ser Robar, his second son was "comely in a rough-hewn way" (ACOK, Catelyn III), with "pale" eyes (ACOK, Catelyn IV), possibly grey like his father's.

Ser Waymar, Yohn's third son, as mentioned, was "grey-eyed" (AGOT, Prologue).

It isn't as clear whether or not their cadet branch, which Albar belongs to, tend towards grey eyes as well, though we know that Myranda has brown hair, specifically "thick chestnut curls" (AFFC, Alayne II) — typical looking Starks, like Ned, Arya, and Jon, all have brown/dark hair.

As previously mentioned, the Royces are also descended from the First Men, have kinship links to the Starks, knew Ned when he fostered in the Vale, and Bronze Yohn even "knows" Sansa Stark:

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw...he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." – AFFC, Alayne I

His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me? The war is finished and Winterfell is fallen. "Lord Royce," she asked timidly, "will you have a cup of wine, to take the chill off?"

Bronze Yohn had slate-grey eyes, half-hidden beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. They crinkled when he looked down at her. "Do I know you, girl?" – AFFC, Alayne I

They also have the house words "We will remember", which somewhat evokes the recurring refrain "the north remembers" (ASOS, Catelyn, ADWD, Davos IV, ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell, TWOW, Theon I), as well as a possible remembrance of the Long Night, similar to the Starks’ and Tolletts’ words. All in all, as well as evoking a certain Starkness (and Jon-ness), the Royces seem set up to be staunch allies of the Starks going forward.

All Three Sunderlands

Since these Sunderland brothers aren't given names, we can assume what is significant about them, in relation to Jon and Sansa, is their Sunderland name. As you noted, the Sunderlands are the reigning lords of the Three Sisters, and in Dance, through Davos' pov, we hear about Ned's time there during Robert's Rebellion:

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true…but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' " – ADWD, Davos I

This passage has one of my favourite asoiaf quotes of all time..."In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true...but what if we prevail?" Truly iconic. So defiantly hopeful.

But, yes, you're right that this story, and the Sunderlands, connects us to Ned, but more importantly...to Jon Snow. Really, Jon has quite a few Vale connections, all things considered, and he is named after Jon Arryn after all!

Uther Shett

Well, along with his buddy Ossifer Lipps (ass for lips), Uther Shett (utter shit) is an example of George having some pretty lowbrow fun with punny names. During their dance, Uther paid Alayne "slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet"...so not the best partner!

But from one shit to another...I think you're probably right that Uther Shett is meant to recall Chett, indeed, if we take a look at his description in Winds:

The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.

His bad skin is somewhat comparable to Chett's boils:

Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon's egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry. – AGOT, Jon V

What is also noteworthy about Chett's prologue pov in ASOS, is that we get this linking of literal snow and Jon Snow:

Snow was falling.

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him [...] The snow's taken it all from me...the bloody snow...

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. – ASOS, Prologue

This makes any mention of snow beyond this point a bit more noteworthy, especially since Jon is referred to as "the Snow of Winterfell," (ASOS, Jon I), and we also have Sansa's famous "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses" whilst building Winterfell out of snow scene, also in ASOS, (Sansa VII). So, Chett is very important when it comes to establishing this connection.

Ser Targon the Halfwild

Targon is only mentioned once and it is in that list of dance partners. He's not connected to any particular house, all we know of him is that he is a knight and that he "proved to be the soul of courtesy." This detail is interesting because it sort goes against his "Halfwild" moniker — he is courteous in spite of his half-wildness. Likewise, Jon is also courteous, chivalrous and knightly even, in spite of the stigma attached to being a bastard:

They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. And he had made as many enemies as friends at Castle Black...Rast, for one. Jon had once threatened to have Ghost rip his throat out unless he stopped tormenting Samwell Tarly, and Rast did not forget things like that. – ASOS, Jon VII

As mentioned in comparison to Ser Byron, Jon behaves courteously towards Gilly, calling her name "pretty", just as Sansa taught him. He also often refers to Val as "my lady" despite her being a proud woman of the Free Folk. Jon also clearly looks up to and wishes to emulate legendary knights to a certain extent, and behaving with courtesy and honour is very much part of that:

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." – ASOS, Jon XII

Furthermore, Jon has this connection to the Free Folk, also known as the wildlings, having spent a fair amount of time with them:

"The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks [...]" – ASOS, Jon I

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?" – ADWD, Jon IV

Mully cleared his throat. "M'lord? The wildling princess, letting her go, the men may say—"

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. The worst part was, they were not wrong, not wholly. "Words are wind, and the wind is always blowing at the Wall. Come." – ADWD, Jon VIII

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's hands closed into fists. The gloves that covered them were leather, lined with fur to match the cloak that hung matted and stiff from his broad shoulders. His black wool surcoat was emblazoned with the white sunburst of his house. "I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow." – ADWD, Jon X

I am not the trusting fool you take me for...nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. – ADWD, Jon XI

If Stark blood is also essentially wildling blood, and Jon is half Stark on his mother's side...that would make him "Halfwild" in blood as well as in spirit. And like you said, Targon feels very close to Targaryen/Targ-Jon. So this name is there solely as a hint towards Jon's true parentage — half Targaryen and half Stark. But I think you could argue that the "Halfwild" element could allude to Jon's post-resurrection state as well. I do personally like the idea of Feral Jon™.

Ser Roland & Ser Wallace Waynwood

Like the Royces, and Dolorous Edd, the Waynwoods also bear some notable Stark physical traits, as noted by Myranda in this chapter:

“The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? [...]"

As we know, looking horse-faced, or in Edd's case, mule-faced, indicates a rather long visage:

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. – AGOT, Arya I

[Arya] even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. – AGOT, Sansa I

Interestingly though, Jon is never referred to as being called horse-faced, although we know he has a long Stark face. You'd think that Chett, in the ASOS Prologue would have made that kind of dig, since he says as much about Dolorous Edd? This is why I tentatively believe that, although long-faced, Jon isn't as apparently "homely" as these Stark looking Waynwood brothers:

Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

That being said, I don't think he's as "handsome" as Ser Waymar Royce, or "beautiful" like Ser Byron. But obviously, he's got something going for him because as GRRM says "all the girls love" him, and you know, he's got a good bod probably and if the Giant's Lance cake is anything to go by, as well as all Tormund's small penis jokes...um, well, maybe he's packing, I don't know! (Don't look at me like that guys...it's GRRM not me!)

But anyway! Like you said, Ser Wallace Waynwood is even of an age with Robb, and therefore also Jon:

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

There is also a teeny bit of Stark blood, though obviously potent stuff, in the mix with those Waynwoods:

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest...it might have been a Templeton, but..."

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons." – ASOS, Catelyn V

Shit — "all of whom wed Vale lordlings" — that's probably where all these Stark looking mother fudgers are coming from. So, all in all, I think there's some strong parallels.

And finally...Ser Harrold Hardyng

But let's not forget this bitch.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Prior to Harry, who notably fits into the Ashford pattern of Sansa's suitors, we have all these Jon stand-ins, or references to Jon. We can actually separate them out into their different functions, though there is some overlap with Andrew Tollett:

Those who reference Jon's Starkness/the Stark Look™:

Andrew Tollett

Albar Royce

Roland Waynwood

Wallace Waynwood

Those who reference his position/location at the Night's Watch:

Because in the Alayne chapter prior to this one, Sansa learns that Jon has been made Lord Commander:

[..] Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.” “Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised. “Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

So, it is interesting that you then have a number of dance partners connected to members of the Watch:

Ben Coldwater

Andrew Tollett

Morgarth the Merry

Uther Shett

This could be read as foreshadowing for Sansa's future journey north, and specifically to the Wall, where she believes Jon to be.

Those who reference his true/uncertain parentage:

Byron the Beautiful

Shadrich the Mad Mouse

The Three Sunderlands

Targon the Halfwild

All these guys get a dance, but when Harry asks? He is denied. It is only after some A+ dragging by Alayne, and begging by Harry that the latter gets his dance. Yet don't be fooled into thinking this is a win for Harrold:

"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

First off, we have this reminder of the betrothal, but there is a lack of certainty there — "should we wed" — and I would argue that's because...they ain't gonna. Remember all that wedding breakfast imagery, including an umcomfortably phallic lemon (wedding) cake, gift-giving and nod to a bridal cloak? Remember how that was followed by several dances with Jon stand-ins?

"[...] It is promised to… another."

Oh, I wonder who that could be? Honestly...GRRM has very clearly, for those who care to really look, stated someone else's claim here, and it ain't Harry's. In fact, it is the very same person who also evokes Valarr Targaryen in the Ashford pattern.

...it's our boi, Jon Snow.

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

You "suppose", Myranda? Honey, I'm certain.

[applejuizz]

laughter of youth.

the scout regiment has managed to rescue eren and recover annie’s crystal from their enemies, yet at the cost of many soldiers’ lives. levi learns a valuable lesson of trust. characters: levi ackerman x gn! reader (platonic!), historia reiss, sasha braus, jean kirstein, mikasa ackerman, eren jaeger, connie springer warnings: canon violence (vague descriptions), mentions of blood/wounds word count: 1.764 inspired by attack on titan 2: final battle and the story of “our man”, the customizable in-game character.

Paperwork after paperwork after all the paperwork...

Levi had come to dread the sound of hasty footsteps pacing up to his wooden office door and its prolonged creak as Miss Four Eyes allowed themselves in carrying yet another pile of experiment reports, barely containing their unreasonable excitement. While they fervently sought the tiniest free space to fit the monstrosity held in their arms, their flow of Titan anatomy ramblings never ceased.

Levi, you won’t believe what Eren managed to do today...!

Victor - who the hell is Victor? - stood awake the whole night and was as energetic as ever in the morning! This new breed of Titans is quite interesting!

I keep naming these Titans and I won’t shut up already and I should slap myself before you kick me across the fields, Levi! - he couldn’t possibly describe the joy these words would bring him coming out of Hange’s mouth. Too good to be true, unfortunately.

He shifted into his chair, straightening his back and shaking off the annoyance that had been constantly pulling on his nerves for three days already.

Thankfully, his office was quiet and the hallway was blissfully empty. Hange had taken a day off from experiments to let Eren rest. On that note, Jean and Eren had stopped arguing for once, Sasha had ceased her relentless search of meat and he could finally relish in the silence surrounding him. It wasn’t often that he got to have such quiet moments to himself.

And because they were so rare, only when he got the chance to savor them did he realize how much he actually hated them.

It wasn’t that he disliked being alone - on the contrary, he loved solitude a little too much for his own good. Instead, he found that whenever he allowed his mind to rest, he was assaulted by intrusive thoughts and memories that he’d rather bury deep in the back of his consciousness. Perks of being a soldier.

His eyes took in rows and columns of observations on the papers in front of him. His hand signed each and every one of them away promptly, yet his mind was drifting, conjuring up crimson fields, disgusting Titan flesh sliced in half, the blood-curdling screams of soldiers trampled off their horses or chewed to their demise. Nothing he wasn’t used to. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t make his skin crawl sometimes.

He thought back to commander Erwin, weak and thinning, laying in a hospital bed with only an arm left. Levi knew his superior was a strong man; he didn’t worry much about his recovery. What did plant the seed of doubt in his heart was the fact that somehow, the man he’d thought nearly invincible had been so badly wounded, and that alone was a strong indicator of the deep shit they all were in.

And of course, the one member in his squad that had never returned from the battlefield hung dark and heavy over his consciousness, a shadow of guilt, the same damn story repeating itself over and over again. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, it came crawling back like an awful nightmare, looming over him along with the deaths of all the other people he has trusted and cared for. Isabel and Farlan, Petra, Eld, Günther, Oruo… and now them too.

I won’t die on you, sir!

Like hell you won’t.

Their promise rang in his ears as if trying to mock him. The shadows of his consciousness sneered at him: look what happens when you decide to trust people, you twerp. Should’ve known better. Haven’t you learned your lesson?

“Tsk.” He set the cup he’d mindlessly lifted back on his desk. The tea had gone cold. He’d have to ask someone to brew him another. Not exactly pleasant, but enough to distract him from the dark path his thoughts had gone onto.

Before he could even stand up from his chair, though, loud voices boomed from downstairs through the whole hideout and caused the floor beneath his feet to vibrate. They were followed by clattering of pots and Jaeger’s unmistakable yelling, obnoxious and over dramatic as always.

So much for his quiet moment.

With an exasperated sigh, Levi picked up his cup again and left his desk and the piles of papers behind, shaking off the last of his melancholy. These damn brats can’t get anything done without wrecking havoc first…

The kitchen was right beneath his office, so all he had to do was climb down the short flight of stairs, put the cadets back in their place, ask horseface to brew him some more tea and go back upstairs. Simple enough.

He came to the sight of Eren, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, Sasha and Connie all hunched around in a compact group, chattering loudly and all over each other. Historia’s dulcet tone surprisingly prevailed amongst deeper voices, although she was nowhere to be seen.

“Wait! You need bandages before anything else! The gash in your side isn’t looking good…”

“Yeah! You’ve literally been through hell and back!” Jean marvelled.

“No, guys! They need food!” Sasha exclaimed as if she'd made a grand discovery, grabbing a half-boiled potato straight out of the pot.

“Sasha, no! The potatoes aren’t done yet-”

“Oi, what the hell is going on here?!”

“C-Captain Levi!” Jaeger stumbled back on his feet, broom in his hands, his headscarf sitting askew on his head. The huddle immediately dispersed, everyone had gone dead silent. Levi scanned the room quickly, not paying much attention to the soldiers’ faces and rolled his eyes.

“I thought I told you to clean up the kitchen, not turn it into a pigsty!” He passed a critical hand over the table, gathering up the dust in his palm and making a grimace. Cleaning supplies, pots and cups were scattered all over the floor and the table, as if the cadets had all come to a mutual agreement of dropping everything at once just to see how many white hairs Levi would gain in his hair.

“B-but-”

“Get back to work and stop yelping, you’re turning my brain into mush.”

But before he could open his mouth to bark another order at Jean, his eyes finally landed on who was once the centre of the huddle: Historia Reiss holding on to a hunched figure’s arm, obviously attempting to provide support, but ending up resembling more of a lost puppy clinging to someone’s sleeve.

“Captain Levi!” the petite girl exclaimed, a hint of relief present in her voice, “I-I went to get water from the fountain and I found them there! They seem stable, but I think they might need a doctor-”

His thoughts were running at light’s speed, yet he couldn’t get his body to wake up from its frozen state at the bottom of the stairs. What must’ve only been seconds felt like hours. As if time had decided to finally slow down, to finally stop the nonsensical blurry of days, months, years passing by only to give him a chance to breathe. A chance to understand. Was it just too good to be true?

“Captain…?” Springer trailed off, eyes bulging out of his little bald head, and quickly recoiled as Jean subtly elbowed him in the stomach. Only then did Levi notice that he had been standing among the shattered porcelain of what used to be his teacup, his hand still hanging in the air as if clinging to the ghost of the object.

The cadet finally raised their eyes from the floor, face bloodied and battered, yet still brightened by youth and devotion.

“Captain Levi… sir.” They saluted in a weak voice, raising two fingers to their temple.

Their last name rolled off Levi’s lips in a stronger tone than he thought he’d manage, yet still trailed off a bit in disbelief. Clearing his throat, he stepped over the broken porcelain.

“So. You came back, huh?” Out of all the words piled up on the tip of his tongue, begging to spill out, the best he could come up with was a rhetorical question. But the soldier still let out a dry chuckle, straightening their back as much as their wounds allowed them to. Their legs wobbled and the Ackerman girl, who had been quietly watching from the sidelines, immediately jumped in to offer extra support. Seeing the usually stone-faced Mikasa’s facial expression filled with a flurry of emotions similar to those churning in his heart allowed him to relax a bit.

“Of course.” The wounded cadet answered. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

Levi gave a slight nod, features stoic, yet he felt his heart grow with pride in his chest. The same glint of determination glowed in their eyes as it did back then, during their rookie days, when they had placed their fist over their heart and had sworn to stay alive. He had heard the same promise come out of so many of his dead comrades’ mouths that realistically, he shouldn’t have expected this particular soldier to honor it. Yet for some reason, unknown even to himself, he had chosen to place his fragile trust in them. Maybe it had been their thirst for revenge, or their sheer willpower which, dare he say, could surpass Eren’s; whatever it had been, he did not regret it.

He drew closer, steps light as feathers on the wooden floor and took advantage of their hunched position to card his fingers through their hair, ruffling it affectionately. These damn kids keep getting taller… he thought bitterly to himself. The gesture managed to transform their wince of pain into a look of total and innocent wonder. The look in the eyes of a kid who's just got the utmost gesture of validation from a parent.

“You’re a good kid,” he conceded, patting their scalp twice before letting his hand fall back to his side. He could barely recognize the gentle tone of his own voice. “Although were you not wounded, I’d have roundhouse kicked your ass for scaring everyone like this.”

The phrase hadn’t even been that funny, in his opinion, but they let out a joyous, loud laugh, contagious to the people around them. It even pulled a chuckle out of Mikasa.

And as he stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by the laughter of youth, he finally understood. Placing his trust in these kids, fighting alongside them, protecting them with the price of his life were worth all the risks because they were humanity’s last hope. And he would do anything to one day see their joyful faces wiped clean of crimson wounds and dirt and death. Anything.

[jackoshadows]

Jon:

“Then don’t.” Jon wondered which of his father’s bannermen had refused King Stannis homage this time. He was quick enough to spread the word when Karhold declared for him.

“But my father’s bannermen have wives and children to protect, and smallfolk who will die should they choose wrongly. His Grace asks much of them. Give them time, and you will have your answers.”

Lord Manderly is the richest of my lord father’s bannermen.”

“If Your Grace wishes to lose all of my lord father’s bannermen, there is no more certain way than by giving northern halls to southron lords.”

Your Grace, leave the wildlings here. Taking them will only serve to turn my lord father’s bannermen against you.”

Arya:

Arya looked. She knew all of her father’s men. The three in the grey cloaks were strangers.

Twin towers. Sunburst. Bloody man. Battle-axe. The battle-axe is for Cerwyn, and the white sun on black is Karstark. They’re northmen. My father’s men, and Robb’s.

“Vargo Hoat’s come back with prisoners. I saw their badges. There’s a Glover, from Deepwood Motte, he’s my father’s man. The rest too, mostly.”

All of a sudden, Arya knew why her feet had brought her here. “You have to help me get them out.”

Arya climbed. Up in the kingdom of the leaves, she unsheathed and for a time forgot them all, Ser Amory and the Mummers and her father’s men alike.

She bit her lip, groping for another name. Lommy had called her Lumpyhead, Sansa used Horseface, and her father’s men once dubbed her Arya Underfoot, but she did not think any of those were the sort of name he wanted.

“Harwin?” Arya whispered. It was! Under the beard and the tangled hair was the face of Hullen’s son, who used to lead her pony around the yard, ride at quintain with Jon and Robb, and drink too much on feast days. He was thinner, harder somehow, and at Winterfell he had never worn a beard, but it was him—her father’s man.

The look she gave him was full of hurt. “I thought you were my father’s man.”

“It was the Mad Huntsman caught these wolves.”Wolves. Arya went cold. Robb’s men, and my father’s.

“I bet there are Winterfell men too.” Her father’s men, the Young Wolf’s men, the direwolves of Stark.

[esther-dot]

I know many people ship Theon with Jeyne after he saved her life but I do have issues with this. Disregarding their ages as jeyne is still minor, I don't think they are in love. Jeyne did latch on Theon because she knew him from her childhood and she is seeing someone who she knew after long time. Theon basically projecting on her because they were going through similar phase. Jeyne seemed more grateful towards Theon considering not knowing he was rapist too. She deserves someone better.

A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. "… Bran," the tree murmured.

They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran's face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran's ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm. It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller's sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water. "I had to have two heads, else they would have mocked me … laughed at me … they …" (ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell)

If Martin is making a point about how no one cares about Jeyne because she is not the daughter of a great house, than as part of consistency, these miller's sons will need their justice too. I feel a lot of sympathy for Theon because who wouldn't after what he endured? But all the same, I do think certain actions preclude characters from happy endings.

I still feel like I don't have a good grasp on what Martin is doing with Jeyne, why he keeps bringing up the horseface thing, but I hope she and Sansa will be reunited and that she will be able to live in peace and safety thereafter.

I think the romantic connotations to Theon and Jeyne interactions are foreshadowing for some Jonsa beats, but Martin said that Theon is a foil for Jon, so I assume their fates will be the logical fallout of their different choices. I know that is criticized by fans, the idea that Theon's culpability isn't lessened even though he was a hostage, but it doesn’t look like Martin agrees. 

[captainelliecomb]

AGOT Arya I

Late to the Party: ASOIAF

Summary: Arya’s introduced with her dismay over her crooked stitches and that sets the tone for the entire chapter. She’s caught in rules that do not fit her, the restrictions of ladyhood that does not fit her, and she’s miserable and hurt and angry and sad over it all. Her humour is a little snarky and pointed, and it’s a nice balance to the wry humour we saw from Jon and Cat. Arya gives us a look at how Joffrey is spoilt and how unfair life is for girls and bastard boys alike.

I love that the first real look we have at Arya, besides her escorting Tommen from Jon’s POV, is that her stitches are crooked and she’s dismayed over them.

The septa saying Arya has the hands of a blacksmith is (a) interesting that she befriends a blacksmith soon, and (b) one of the first, if not the first, examples we get of even “good” septas being horrid to girls who step outside the rigidly designed way to be a lady. (SEPTA ROELLE.)

I’m not Catholic, and I don’t know much about Catholicism nor GRRM’s relationship with religion, but is this a criticism of Catholic school teacher nuns?

ARYA THINKS MYRCELLA’S STITCHES LOOK A LITTLE CROOKED TOO.

My kingdom for a happy adventure with Arya and Myrcella.

The lack of girls and ladies around our main characters is something I’d noticed in the show, but I didn’t feel the lack as strongly as I do now, seeing all these girls together. The show left women standing alone. The books do this, too, worse and worse as we go on, and it is just as frustrating.

Arya, don’t be rude toward Tommen, he’s a delight!

Arya telling Sansa what Jon said about Joffrey instead of what she herself thinks (which, we see a few paragraphs before, is that he’s handsome, much like Sansa thinks) made me laugh. And of course Arya thinks of Jon as their brother, not their bastard brother as we’ve seen Bran do and not the bastard half brother as we just saw Sansa do.

Arya feeling exposed and judged and hurt by the laughter from Jeyne and the pity from Myrcella is heartbreaking. I already love this dear, sweet girl. Go be friends with Brienne, dearheart! You can have sword adventures. Collect your hodge-podge of commoners as you go.

I HAVE TO GO SHOE A HORSE.

Arya with the snark! Jon’s and Cat’s humour has been dry wit. Arya’s fierce snark, and I love it too.

The only things Arya can do better than Sansa is ride a horse (shades of Lyanna,  yes) and manage a household. She’s smart and balanced and I hate that Arya feels so constrained by the world of being a lady and by the torment of the older girls. Arya Horseface. Bloody hell.

THE WOLF PUP LOVED HER, EVEN IF NO ONE ELSE DID.

Arya, my dear girl.

I can see why some readers cling to Arya and hate on Sansa, particularly readers who have felt out of place, ugly, talentless, awkward, etc., which a lot of people assume makes up all of fandom. (It doesn’t.)

Arya running with Nymeria at her heels is a great image and makes me want to see her running with the great wolf pack Nymeria builds in the Riverlands, to see Arya, the wild little wolf, the wolf girl with sharp teeth, running with them in defense of the north.

Jon and Arya both going to the covered walkway to watch Robb and Joffrey train with swords is a nice way to show how similar they are beyond the physical, how close they are as siblings, and how each of them is outside the bounds of life at Winterfell, outside what is expected of them.

Ghost already being larger than his litter mates is excellent. He was the runt, Theon swore he would die, and here he is, thriving where he shouldn’t. Hello, metaphor for Jon.

Little Bran and Tommen sparring with so much padding they are ridiculous is cute.

The Tully look, “easy smiles and fire in their hair.” Vivacious, friendly, charming, and yet ready to burn with righteousness and love.

“THE WOMAN IS IMPORTANT TOO!” ARYA PROTESTED.

If I didn’t already love her, this would be the point where she stole my heart completely. And YES, she should make her mother’s House equal in honour to her father’s. She’s a Tully and a Stark. Catelyn is still a Tully and a Stark for all she’s embraced her married House.

“[...] if a girl can’t fight, why should she have a coat of arms?”

Jon shrugged. “Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

Oh Arya. Oh Jon.

Makes me think of Brienne and the painted shield and earlier than that, Ser Duncan the Tall having his shield painted.

The Hound snarling at Ser Rodrik over Joffrey and Robb fighting with live steel, and Rodrik’s pointed slap about him training knights, which the Hound of course wouldn’t find an insult, because knighthood is a farce, I liked that introduction to him. So many people who see knighthood as an honour don’t also see the ways it can be an abusive system.

I feel for Robb, belittled by Joffrey (and would whether or not Joffrey was otherwise a shit) in his own home. It’s no surprise that Joffrey turned out terrible and following his worst impulses, he was never checked, told always that he should receive whatever he wanted as a prince, no matter how dangerous.

[alinaastarkov]

In response to that slayin', hair flippin', finger snappin' answer you just published, would you be so kind as to list moments that reference how cruel Sansa is to Arya? (If you want!)

Thank you so much!!! When I say this ask made me scream with delight!!! I believe this is the answer you’re referring to (if not soz please tell me which it is) and I really had fun with it tbf 😂

I’m very happy to list some of these, because it is so often overlooked. In this instance, I will not be including moments that show how deeply it affects Arya, unless that is present in the same quote, because Arya’s self-esteem and mental health is affected by a number of things and people, and Sansa is only one of those things.

Without further ado, let’s get down to it:

She looked at Arya. “What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?” “Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said. Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.” “He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. - Arya I AGOT

This is more generic cruelty than specifically to Arya, but it does show how little she thinks of two of her siblings. Especially as she knows how close Jon and Arya are, and she chose to say it anyway, perhaps just to get a rise out of her (which is why I think Arya thought Sansa attracted Septa Mordane’s attention) or simply not caring about her feelings. Unclear, but we can see that Sansa calling Jon a bastard or half-brother (as she always does) is clearly hurtful to Arya who sees him as her brother, and both sisters acknowledge she is more like Jon than anyone else, so it’s hard not to see this affecting Arya negatively.

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. It hurt that the one thing Arya could do better than her sister was ride a horse. Well, that and manage a household. Sansa had never had much of a head for figures. If she did marry Prince Joff, Arya hoped for his sake that he had a good steward. 

Nymeria was waiting for her in the guardroom at the base of the stairs. She bounded to her feet as soon as she caught sight of Arya. Arya grinned. The wolf pup loved her, even if no one else did. - Arya I AGOT

I know I said I wouldn’t look at how it affects Arya, but this quote in particular is specifically about Sansa. The misogyny of the society is inherent in this statement, as it’s what is making Arya feel inferior, but we know Sansa lords this over her in this quote. Arya even mentions things she is better at, and still thinks negatively because that is all she can do well. 

The only thing that scared her about today was Arya. Arya had a way of ruining everything. You never knew what she would do. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa regarded her scrawny little sister in disbelief. “You can’t look for rubies, the princess is expecting us. The queen invited us both.” “I don’t care,” Arya said. “The wheelhouse doesn’t even have windows, you can’t see a thing.” “What could you want to see?” Sansa said, annoyed. She had been thrilled by the invitation, and her stupid sister was going to ruin everything, just as she’d feared. “It’s all just fields and farms and holdfasts.” “It is not,” Arya said stubbornly. “If you came with us sometimes, you’d see.” “I hate riding,” Sansa said fervently. “All it does is get you soiled and dusty and sore.” - Sansa I AGOT

Here we see how poorly Sansa thinks of Arya, and this is her own POV so there’s nothing to say about bias either. She also disparages one of the few things Arya thinks she can do well, and thinks of Arya as stupid and “ruining everything” which is not kind, especially when Arya’s presence would not affect her time with the Queen. Also interesting that she says this later on:

Be with you, Sansa thought, but she said, “Whatever you’d like to do, my prince.” Joffrey reflected a moment. “We could go riding.” “Oh, I love riding,” Sansa said. - Sansa I AGOT

Riding isn’t so bad as soon as anyone else wants to do it, huh?

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse. 

Then it turned out the purple flowers were called poison kisses, and Arya got a rash on her arms. Sansa would have thought that might have taught her a lesson, but Arya laughed about it, and the next day she rubbed mud all over her arms like some ignorant bog woman just because her friend Mycah told her it would stop the itching. She had bruises on her arms and shoulders too, dark purple welts and faded green-and-yellow splotches; Sansa had seen them when her sister undressed for sleep. How she had gotten those only the seven gods knew. - Sansa I AGOT

Sansa knew all about the sorts of people Arya liked to talk to: squires and grooms and serving girls, old men and naked children, rough-spoken freeriders of uncertain birth. Arya would make friends with anybody. This Mycah was the worst; a butcher’s boy, thirteen and wild, he slept in the meat wagon and smelled of the slaughtering block. Just the sight of him was enough to make Sansa feel sick, but Arya seemed to prefer his company to hers. - Sansa I AGOT

Here we have an instance of Sansa thinking of Arya as “horsey”, so why are we trying to deny she called her that? She also looks down on all the people Arya makes friends with, which shows her classism and how low her opinion is of her sister and her sister’s friends.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little. The kennelmaster once told her that an animal takes after its master. She gave Lady a quick little hug. Lady licked her cheek. Sansa giggled. Arya heard and whirled around, glaring. “I don’t care what you say, I’m going out riding.” Her long horsey face got the stubborn look that meant she was going to do something willful. “Gods be true, Arya, sometimes you act like such a child,” Sansa said. “I’ll go by myself then. It will be ever so much nicer that way. Lady and I will eat all the lemon cakes and just have the best time without you.” - Sansa I AGOT

More of Sansa delighting in her sister’s misery. More of the “horsey” face. More Sansa telling her sister she isn’t wanted, which is something Arya is already deeply afraid of.

She was almost in tears. All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs. Why couldn’t Arya be sweet and delicate and kind, like Princess Myrcella? She would have liked a sister like that. 

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. And Jon’s mother had been common, or so people whispered. Once, when she was littler, Sansa had even asked Mother if perhaps there hadn’t been some mistake. Perhaps the grumkins had stolen her real sister. But Mother had only laughed and said no, Arya was her daughter and Sansa’s trueborn sister, blood of their blood. Sansa could not think why Mother would want to lie about it, so she supposed it had to be true. - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I’ve joked with my siblings about one or more of us being adopted, but I’ve never genuinely believed it, going so far as to ask my mum if it was true. This is worse, though. Sansa knows the kind of social ostracism and classism bastards are subjected to, and she genuinely wants that for her sister just to make life easier for her.

A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah’s flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy’s cheek. “Stop it!” Arya screamed. She grabbed up her fallen stick. Sansa was afraid. “Arya, you stay out of this.” “I won’t hurt him … much,” Prince Joffrey told Arya, never taking his eyes off the butcher’s boy. Arya went for him. - Sansa I AGOT

Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion’s Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, “No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you’re spoiling it,” but no one was listening. Arya scooped up a rock and hurled it at Joffrey’s head. She hit his horse instead, and the blood bay reared and went galloping off after Mycah. “Stop it, don’t, stop it!” Sansa screamed. Joffrey slashed at Arya with his sword, screaming obscenities, terrible words, filthy words. Arya darted back, frightened now, but Joffrey followed, hounding her toward the woods, backing her up against a tree. Sansa didn’t know what to do. She watched helplessly, almost blind from her tears. - Sansa I AGOT

Joffrey made a scared whimpery sound as he looked up at her. “No,” he said, “don’t hurt me. I’ll tell my mother.” “You leave him alone!” Sansa screamed at her sister. Arya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw. The blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water and vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off to her horse, Nymeria loping at her heels. After they had gone, Sansa went to Prince Joffrey. His eyes were closed in pain, his breath ragged. Sansa knelt beside him. “Joffrey,” she sobbed. “Oh, look what they did, look what they did. My poor prince. Don’t be afraid. I’ll ride to the holdfast and bring help for you.” - Sansa I AGOT

Now, I do not want to get into more crap about the Trident incident, but all of this is very telling, especially as it comes from Sansa’s POV so there is no bias. After watching Joffrey hurt an innocent boy, Sansa not only tells Arya to stay out of it and let the boy be mutilated, when Joffrey starts threatening her sister with a sword (remember, Arya only has a stick at best) she thinks that they are both ruining things. In this very dangerous and volatile situation where she should be defending her defenceless little sister, she not only blames them both, but is only annoyed because they are ruining her date. And then, she tells Arya to leave Joffrey alone. It’s pretty whack and I’d feel resentment too if I was Arya. And then, she abandons Arya and seemingly doesn’t care because she wants to be with Joffrey (remember that Arya goes missing for four fucking days) and opines about what they did to him, as Joffrey wasn’t the aggressor.

“They were not the only ones present,” Ned said. “Sansa, come here.” Ned had heard her version of the story the night Arya had vanished. He knew the truth. “Tell us what happened.” His eldest daughter stepped forward hesitantly. She was dressed in blue velvets trimmed with white, a silver chain around her neck. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see …” - Eddard III AGOT

We know she knows exactly what happened. This is a lie. Plain and simple. I don’t blame Sansa for this - we would probably all be her confronted with this intimidating situation - but that doesn’t make it any better for her sister.

That was when Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face. “No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good …” “Lady wasn’t there,” Arya shouted angrily. “You leave her alone!” “Stop them,” Sansa pleaded, “don’t let them do it, please, please, it wasn’t Lady, it was Nymeria, Arya did it, you can’t, it wasn’t Lady, don’t let them hurt Lady, I’ll make her be good, I promise, I promise …” She started to cry. - Eddard III AGOT

I feel for Sansa here, but she didn’t need to throw her sister under the bus, again.

The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansa blamed Arya and told her that it should have been Nymeria who died. And Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Sansa cried herself to sleep, Arya brooded silently all day long, and Eddard Stark dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfell. - Eddard IV AGOT

Sansa’s eyes had grown wide as the plates. “A tourney,” she breathed. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far from Arya as she could get without drawing a reproach from Father. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?” - Arya II AGOT

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. She knew Prince Joffrey would be there, and she hated Prince Joffrey. Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted.” Anger flashed across Father’s face. “Enough, Sansa. More of that and you will change my mind." - Arya II AGOT

So, she blames Arya for Lady when it wasn’t her fault (seemingly out loud to Arya’s face seeing as this is coming from Ned), distances herself from Arya and then insults her at breakfast. Me and my sister fight, but not like this. 

That was when Arya missed her brothers most. She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her “little sister” and finish her sentences with her. But all of them were gone. She had no one left but Sansa, and Sansa wouldn’t even talk to her unless Father made her. - Arya II AGOT

When Prince Joffrey seated himself to her right, she felt her throat tighten. He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him. At first she thought she hated him for what they’d done to Lady, but after Sansa had wept her eyes dry, she told herself that it had not been Joffrey’s doing, not truly. The queen had done it; she was the one to hate, her and Arya. Nothing bad would have happened except for Arya. - Sansa II AGOT

Again with the blaming when she is fully aware it was not her fault. I admire Sansa’s growth through the series. I enjoy reading her AFFC and TWOW chapters. But boy, did we truly start at the bottom.

She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn’t fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Arya had done. - Sansa III AGOT

Ironic, isn’t it?

“What did Gregor do?” Arya asked. “He burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too.” Arya screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaime Lannister murdered Jory and Heward and Wyl, and the Hound murdered Mycah. Somebody should have beheaded them.” “It’s not the same,” Sansa said. “The Hound is Joffrey’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy attacked the prince.” “Liar,” Arya said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers. “Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansa said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffrey. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Arya flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap. “You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Arya said. It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Lady!” - Sansa III AGOT

Sansa is the aggressor here, telling blatant lies, and it’s a bit of an overreaction to a stain on a dress.

“Arya started it,” Sansa said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cersei gave me when I was betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Father, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.” “Enough, Sansa.” Lord Eddard’s voice was sharp with impatience. Arya raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister’s forgiveness.” Sansa was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. “What about my dress?” “Maybe … I could wash it,” Arya said doubtfully. “Washing won’t do any good,” Sansa said. “Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined.” “Then I’ll … make you a new one,” Arya said. Sansa threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.” - Sansa III AGOT

The one time Arya tries to apologise and make amends, particularly by putting herself out there and offering to do something she hates to fix it, and Sansa says that. 

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back.” She loved King’s Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. “Send Arya away, she started it, Father, I swear it. I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.” - Sansa III AGOT

“It won’t be so bad, Sansa,” Arya said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we’ll be with Bran and Robb again, and Old Nan and Hodor and the rest.” She touched her on the arm. “Hodor!” Sansa yelled. “You ought to marry Hodor, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her. - Sansa III AGOT

Again with the unnecessary insults that prey on insecurities Arya already has. Especially seeing as Arya is trying to cheer her up. 

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.” - Sansa IV AGOT

Sansa found herself thinking of Lady again. She could smell out falsehood, she could, but she was dead, father had killed her, on account of Arya. She drew the knife and held it before her with both hands. - Sansa II ACOK

There are about 3 Arya mentions in Sansa’s ACOK chapters, and one was negative. And this is all while she thinks Arya is dead.

Lommy had called her Lumpyhead, Sansa used horseface, and her father’s men once dubbed her Arya Underfoot, but she did not think any of those were the sort of name he wanted. - Arya IX ACOK

Sister. Sansa had once dreamt of having a sister like Margaery; beautiful and gentle, with all the world’s graces at her command. Arya had been entirely unsatisfactory as sisters went. - Sansa II ASOS

Again, she thinks Arya is dead, and this is still how she sees her.

Her name, she had to know her name. “Arya Underfoot. Your sister used to call you Arya Horseface.” “It was me made up that name. Her face was long and horsey. Mine isn’t. I was pretty.” - The Prince of Winterfell ADWD

I know Jeyne said she made up the name, and I know you’re all gonna say that means Sansa didn’t use it. But it doesn’t matter that she made it up, because that doesn’t mean Sansa never said it. Arya and Theon, who has no bias or reason to lie, admit that. It seems pretty clear to me.

There are one or two positive mentions of Arya in Sansa’s thoughts, but that’s not what this ask was about. I hope I answered you nonny and thank you for the kind words!!

EDIT: forgot to add the link at the start. fixed now!

[tripleaxelmay]

can i request a fic where levi's first love from the Underground somehow manages to get themselves captured by the SC and reunites with levi in the hq? yet she becomes distant when she sees a female being so close to levi and she assumes he's moved on? idk please end it how you want to ^^

hey! this got kinda long so I'm sorry if it's too tedious to read!! But I had fun with this one, hope you enjoy!! ❤

Warnings: language, mentions of past abuse

It had been six years since he’d left.

You were only eleven when you had met Levi, two years your senior, but you were absolutely enamored with him from the start. You had stuck by his side from the moment you’d first encountered him, all that time ago when he was just a petty thief, and you were determined to free him from the Survey Corps.

You were the daughter of a barkeep; a terrible, angry drunk with no interest in fatherhood. He was the worst parent imaginable, to say the least; it made perfect sense that on that fateful night, when you burst out of the backdoor of the tavern with a black eye and bloodied lip to find Levi digging through the bar’s scraps, you begged to come with him. And to your absolute surprise, he obliged. He saw that bruised face, eyes filled with tears, and it tugged at his heartstrings. He knew how cruel the adults in the Underground could be, and you were a testament to that.

You had been his companion since that night, and as time pressed on, so did feelings. Levi had grown incredibly fond of you, and you returned the feeling. It was a silent agreement that you two were in love. 

So it was devastating when he, Farlan, and Isabel had been captured. Levi had done what he could to keep you out of the sights of the authorities, often insisting that you stay behind at their base as a sort of lookout, but this came at the cost of leaving you behind when Erwin Smith had offered him an ultimatum.

But you had devised a plan. You weren’t in the Underground, and you were going to rescue Levi. You had saved enough money from selling off stolen goods to buy your way out, and you had even managed to scrape a small fund together for resources on the surface.

So there you sat, hidden in the brush outside the Scouting Headquarters, cloaked by the darkness of the night and prepared for your infiltration. You had been surveying the base for a few nights now, learning patterns. 

So far, there was an evident schedule. Lights out, when all the soldiers presumably went to sleep. Then, a woman with glasses would leave through the main entrance of the headquarters for a short moment, check something in an out-building, and then return to the base.

Your plan was to advance from the brush to the dark area near the barracks, and then push forward and sneak inside during the time that woman was out. Was it a stupid and probably reckless plan? Absolutely. But what choice did you have?

On queue, the lights in the barracks went out. You waited for a short while to ensure that there was silence in the building before slowly sneaking forward. You crouched down in the shadows, simply biding your time until the entrance was available, and then you could --

“HORSEFACED BASTARD!” Came a loud voice from within the quarters. The lights flicked on immediately.

What the hell is going on?

“SUICIDAL IDIOT!” Came a reply. You froze for a moment, unsure of your next move. But then the door burst open.

“I’LL TAKE YOU ON RIGHT HERE, KIRSCHTEIN!”

“BRING IT, JAEGER!”

You panicked and shot backwards into the bushes, fight or flight completely taking over. You knew for a fact it was over; you were absolutely just noticed. It was inevitable.

“Hey! Who the hell are you?” Came a shout. 

Dammit.

---

The next twenty or so minutes was a blur. You had been chased down and promptly restrained by one of the soldiers, who marched you straight inside to the officers. All you could focus on was the fact that you were shaking badly. You were scared, and it was obvious. You only hoped the Survey Corps would be merciful.

The scout that restrained you had brought you to an office and sat you down in a chair before a familiar face. Erwin motherfucking Smith.

“Who are you? Why were you lurking around the headquarters?” He asked.

“Where’s Levi?” You spat.

This seemed to intrigue the Commander. He looked up to the Scout beside you and simply nodded, and then the kid took off.

“Where is Levi?” You repeated, more urgent this time.

“Come with me.”

More movement. More wandering the base. You were escorted to a door that presumably led to some sort of dining area, but Erwin would not allow you to enter. With a calm gaze, he had ordered you to wait outside for a minute. As much as you wanted to burst through and hold Levi, you were in no position to fight the Commander of the Scouting Regiment.

So you peered through the crack as Erwin entered first.

“There’s somebody looking for you, Levi.” You heard him say. 

“That’s a little ominous, Commander.” Came a female voice. You frowned, craning your neck to see inside the room. Sure enough, beside Levi sat a young woman with short ginger hair. She was beautiful, clearly charismatic, and to see Levi so close to her, so comfortable… It hurt.

Suddenly, you were doubting yourself. It had been six years… that was plenty of time to move on. You were just a girl from the Underground, just a peasant from a criminal city. He looked so content here… So who were you to come change that? You had never even stopped to consider that maybe Levi didn’t want to be rescued. Maybe Levi had settled here, fallen in love. Maybe Levi didn’t need you anymore.

Your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by a gruff voice commanding you in. You ignored it and turned on your heel, walking back down the corridor with tears threatening to spill over. What would you do now? You couldn’t return to the Underground; you would never go back to that god-awful place. But you had no experience in anything beyond organizing heists. You couldn’t just wander somewhere and expect a job. How were you going to survive on the surface without Levi’s guidance? What were you--

“(Y/N)?” 

You froze in your tracks. Turning your head slowly, you saw that handsome face, eyes fixed on you.

“Levi.” You murmured in return. He rushed forward, taking your hand in his and just holding it for a moment. You were alive. His flame, his hope, his love… you were alive. You were alive, and you had found him.

“I’m not leaving you again.” He assured, pulling you into a hug.

[theart2rock]

Civil War & Bloody Horseface

Tribute Night in der Met Bar! Civil War aus Italien huldigen Guns n' Roses während die Lokalhelden Bloody Horseface Klassiker von Dio, AC/DC, Metallica, Judas Priest u. a. covern! Doors: 20.00 Uhr Eintritt: 20.00 CHF Konzertende: ca. 23.30 Uhr Der Vorverkauf läuft bis 19.00 Uhr am Konzerttag. Die restlichen Tickets werden an der Abendkasse erhältlich sein. Reservationen nehmen wir aus organisatorischen Gründen nicht mehr entgegen. Civil War Born in 2018 in Genoa, Italy, we are an Italian band full of musical experience. We offer an all-round show that traces the history of Guns N' Roses, from the first "Appetite For Destruction" to the last "Chinese Democracy" https://www.facebook.com/civilwargnrtribute/ Bloody Horseface Seit der Gründung vor bald 30 Jahren ist Bloody Horseface ein Garant für eine zünftige Metal-Sause. Songperlen aus den 70ern bis heute schmücken die vielseitige Setliste. Es ist ein wilder Ritt aus Klassikern von Dio, AC/DC, Metallica, Danzig, Sepultura, Judas Priest, Megadeth und vielen mehr. Authentische Coverversionen, präsentiert mit viel Freude und Energie, verwandeln jede Konzertlocation in eine pulsierende Metal-Party! Do you wanna get rocked? https://m.facebook.com/.../Bloody-Horseface/100046434369195/ Quelle: Met-Bar   Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[howlljenkins]

At the Crossroads

Post 8.05. Arya is riding north. Gendry is riding south. By fate or chance, they meet in the middle. Read on AO3. 

The Inn at the Crossroads was only a few days ride from King’s Landing, yet it might as well have existed in a different world entirely.

Birds called overhead as the white horse picked its way past the low stone wall that surrounded the inn. Light dappled the ground, and in the distance Arya could hear a brook babbling as it wound its way toward the Trident.

Arya stopped in front of the stables and slid down from her horse.

The air smelled of hay and fresh baked bread, and for a moment she could almost pretend that she didn’t still smell the burnt hair and charred flesh of King’s Landing. Didn’t still hear children’s screams and old men’s dying gasps. Didn’t still see the ash falling like snow, settling in the hair of dead women and babes.

“It’s two crowns a night to stable ’im, and another one to feed ’im.”

Arya jerked around, hand falling to Needle, but it was only the stableboy—a buck toothed, be-freckled youth with ears too large for his face.

“I can take ’im for you, if you like,” the boy said, gesturing at the horse. “What’s ’is name?”

Arya gazed at the stallion as though seeing him for the first time. “I don’t know.”

She would have preferred not to stop, but the horse was foaming at the mouth and she knew she wouldn’t get far without it. She fished in her pocket for a moment and managed to come up with a single crown, which she held it out to the boy.

“I’ll give you this to wipe him down, feed him, and have him ready to leave within the hour.”

The boy’s face was skeptical. “You sure? He looks like he could use a good night’s rest. So do you, if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

“One hour,” Arya repeated. “Will you do it or not?”

The boy shrugged and pocketed the coin. “An hour, then.”

While he led the horse away, Arya ducked into the inn. The long, drafty common room was just as she remembered it, with kegs piled at one end and a large stone fireplace at the other. The ceilings were low and the walls dark with soot. A few dusty travelers sat at the narrow tables, conversing in low voices over mugs of ale and bowls of stew.

“Arry? It is you!”

Arya turned to find Hot Pie beaming behind her. His eyes widened as he took in her bruised face and bloodied clothes. “You must be coming from King’s Landing, then. I heard there was a battle—”

“It wasn’t a battle.” Images flashed before Arya’s eyes. Dead horses. Dead mothers. Dead brothers. Dead sons. “It was a massacre.”

Hot Pie nodded seriously. “That’s what we ’eard. Everyone’s talkin’ ’bout it. They’re saying the Dragon Queen razed the city. Couldn’t believe it when Gendry said he wanted to go there—”

Arya’s heart seized in her chest. “What?” She grabbed Hot Pie’s arm. “Gendry was here? When?”

“Still here, innit he? Showed up ’bout an hour ago. Only meant to stop for some food but he was falling off his horse, hadn’t slept in so long. Said he’d ridden down from Winterfell in five days, can you believe it? The mistress told ’im she wouldn’t give his horse back til he slept an hour or two, for the horse’s sake if not his, so he’s upstairs sleepin’ now—where you goin’, Arry?”

But Arya was already gone.

She took the stairs two at the time and crashed into the upstairs hallway just in time for the nearest door to open, for him to step out—

For a moment they just stared at each other, two moths caught in each other’s radiant flame. Then they were both moving. A cry wrenched from Arya’s throat as she launched herself into Gendry’s arms, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and sobbed.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Gendry gasped, fingers winding almost painfully into Arya’s hair. “I thought… When I heard what happened… And I wasn’t there—”

“I’m sorry,” Arya whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes burned with tears. What she was apologizing for, she wasn’t sure. For leaving him behind in Winterfell. For not saying goodbye. For being unable to save even a single child from the dragon’s flames. For being weak. For thinking love a weakness. For all of it and none of it all at the same time.

For several moments the two of them just clung to one another. Then, slowly, so slowly, Gendry set her down, his expression turning pained as his summer blue eyes took in her bruised and battered form.

His thumbs skimmed over the purple skin beneath her eyes, the gentleness of his touch at odds with his large, calloused hands. “Arya…”

“I thought I knew death,” Arya said softly. “I thought I knew—”

Gendry shook his head. “No one knows death, love. That’s why it’s Death.”

Arya let out a strangled laugh and scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “You’re mighty wise for a boy who doesn’t know how to use a fork.”

He offered her a small smile. “I have my moments.”

Arya’s eyes locked onto his, gaze imploring as her hand rose to cover his where it cupped her cheek. “Say it again.”

Gendry brow furrowed. “What?”

“My name. Please.”

Gendry’s expression softened. “Arya." Stooping down, he punctuated her name with a kiss. “Arya,” he said again, and again he kissed her. “Arya,” he murmured against her lips, and this time it was it wasn’t just her name he was saying. It was Arry, and Lanna, and Cat, and No One. Arya Horseface and the Nightslayer. All those parts of her that Arya had thought unlovable. All the parts of her that Gendry loved anyway.

How very wrong she been.

Rising up on her toes, Arya kissed him back.

[blehbleehhhh]

CPR Confessions ft. Eremika <3

Do one where Eren restarts Mikasa's heart!

Ask and you shall receive a piece that's super fluffyfluffs ❤️😭 it made me so happy to write it omg. Sorry about the spacing. Cheers! x

No no no no no no

"Mikasa!? Mikasa!?" Eren couldn't get to her side fast enough when his feet slammed down on the tiled roof, and he immediately turned the girl onto her back, enabling him the ability to press his ear over her heart to see if it's still beating. But his blood ran cold when he realized that it wasn't. "No..." He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up in order to open her airways. "No, no, no...." Pinching her nose, Eren leaned in and sealed his lips around hers to blow a large amount of air into her lungs. "Come on, Mikasa!" Every syllable he speaks points to him being racked with guilt, regret, fear, and heartbreaking sadness as he laced his fingers together and pressed the heels of his palms into her chest.

1...2...3...1...2...3

Again, he pinched her nose, gave two breaths, and waited for her chest to fall again. "LEVI! I FOUND HER!" Eren's voice echoed through the otherwise empty streets, reminding him exactly when she may have ended up on the roof in the first place, though it wasn't nearly this quiet at the time. Perhaps a titan pulled her 3DMG and slammed her body too hard on the roof? Suddenly, it hit him how he may never get the chance to tell her how much he loves her, or how often he dreams of kissing those lips of hers in a way he imagines her loosing control. That realization hit him hard in the gut like when a titan slams into him and knocks him on the ground, breathless, speechless.

1...2...3...1...2...3

Eren's cheeks felt wet and his eyes stung so badly he struggled to keep them open. "Mikasa, please, please," he pleaded, leaning down to give her two more breaths as a few of his tears fall on her face. "Please, come back to me!" This time she coughed, and her eyes rolled around as she struggled to keep her eyelids open. "M-Mikasa?! LEVI WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!! Fight Mika, fight for me! You're strong enough, I know you can do it!" Gently, very gently, Eren cradled her upper body in his arms and wiped his own tears off of her beautiful, porcelain skin, stained with blood from her oozing scrapes. But then, her barely open, half lidded gaze went away and Eren felt his heart sink. "No! No, no, no, Mikasa, look at me. Look at me!" He sucked in a deep breath and watched her eyes roll around, blinking in attempt to stay open. "There you are," he let out a chuckle and swallowed his tears, glancing around him for the team until he finally spotted a horse drawn cart, and some of the squad soaring by other abandoned, dilapidated homes. "See, Mikasa? You're gonna be okay! No! No! Keep your beautiful eyes open, please, god, Mikasa, don't fucking die..." Eren buried his face in her chest and resisted the overwhelming urge to scream. "I'm so sorry, Mikasa, I'm so sorry... I cant live without you, please don't die."

A slam of three pairs of boots on the roof.

"Oi, move over, Eren," Connie's voice was calm and reassuring, but it betrayed the horrified look on his face. There must be many fallen comrades from this battle. “We've got her." When Eren looked up from his now unconscious best friend, his eyes were red from fending off tears and he was very clearly quite distraught.

"Go to hell! I can carry her myself!"

"Dude!” Armin threw his arms in the air out of frustration. “We don't know what internal injuries she has, that could be a horrible idea!"

"Eren," Levi said with a stern tone, nodding in his general direction. "Come on. She needs to be seen by Hange." The boy knit his brows together and nearly growled, but his superior didn't flinch, only maintained that ever stoic exterior. Eren looked down at the frail woman in his arms and swallowed a frustrated scream, gently untangling the leaves and pine needles from her hair. Connie set his hand on Mikasa's foot and looked up at Eren like he was expecting an explosive reaction, but the man had conceded, sliding his arm under her knees as he stood to his feet.

"And I said, go to hell, I'm carrying her myself."

Armin sighed deeply at his best friend’s words and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Eren -"

"Where's the cart?"

"Eren, come on -"

"FUCK! WHERE IS THE FUCKING CART?!" The barely conscious woman in his arms groaned and attempted to lift her arm to grasp at his bloodied shirt. He's not even sure if it's his or hers. "Mikasa! Stay with me! I need you to hold onto me so we can get you to a cart, okay? Mikasa! There you are," It's getting harder to swallow his tears now, they're just showering her shirt, dropping from his chin while he follows after Connie as closely as possible. Mikasa looked up into Eren's dewy eyes through a half lidded gaze and felt her heart break when she registered the wet spot on her chest. “Okay, are you ready? I have to put you down - I'm so sorry, Mika.." Gently setting her on her feet, she let out a horrific cry of pain as Armin and Connie helped settle her arms around Eren's neck.

“I'm sorry, Mikasa. But we don’t have any choice." Armin sighed, wincing just watching her move because he cannot begin to fathom how severe, overwhelming, physical pain can shock your body, yet here they are, asking her to hold onto Eren so he can fly her to the ground. Eren swallowed hard and looked around to make sure the coast was clear before taking off with a semi-conscious Mikasa on his back, who let out an uncontrollable cry when they landed on the ground that broke his heart. Jean walked over on his horse and pulled the reins to make it stop.

"What the hell happened to her, Jaeger?!" Jean's voice truly sounded like nails on a chalkboard to him, especially at this moment when the most important person in his life is barely alive. Eren ignored him and carefully lay Mikasa on the makeshift bed and sat down beside her, gently pulling a blanket up to cover her body. “For someone who swore to protect her, you fucking suck at it."

"Go fuck yourself, horseface. I don't know what happened," Eren maintained his gaze on Mikasa and tucked a second blanket over her. "I found her on a roof. She needed CPR to restart her heart, but I don't know how long she was..." he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. "I don't know how long she was dead for. But since she's still alive after getting CPR, I'm choosing to be encouraged."

  ________________________________

The room is dark despite the candles that decorate the walls, offering a small amount of light with their warm glow. It's been about 13 hours since they brought her home, and Mikasa still hasn't woken up. Eren felt a pull on his heart and his stomach dropped, reaching a hand up to gently dust her hair out of her face. The first couple of hours that she was asleep were agonizing enough, simply because he's admittedly terrified she won't wake up again. Hange is coming in every hour to check on her and hasnt said anything to indicate any danger of Mikasa's heart stopping again.

Leaning forward in his chair, Eren buried his face in his hands and let out a long, drawn out sigh. How could this have happened? One minute, she was right behind him, slicing through the fingers of a titan who had them squeezed around a comrade, then in the next, she's unconscious on a dirty, broken roof. Eren was cutting the nape out of a titan's neck when the sound of her screaming flooded his senses, inspiring him to blow through every single titan that came at him, and then, just as suddenly, her cries were gone. Seeing her lifeless body laying on the roof was just as heartbreaking and gut wrenching as the day his mother was brutally murdered right in front of them. Seeing her beat up and broken body brings back memories of when she herself was squeezed in the hands of a titan, nearly bringing him to the point of throwing up. Which was, of course, a rescue mission for him. These feelings are all too much. The thought of her never waking up again is too much.

Taking her ever so petite, delicate hand in his, Eren leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on her cot as he laced their digits together. With a gentle touch, he set a hand on her cheek and allowed his thumb to glide across smooth flesh, finally cleaned off from any debris and crusty, dried up blood. Off the top of his head, Eren can't place a single time where he has ever touched her like this. On a typical day, he barely touches her at all except maybe if they train together or even the occasional hug, but nothing like holding her hand, and certainly not touching her skin.

"I always thought that you looked beautiful when you sleep," Eren whispered with a smile, gently smoothing her soft, raven hair out of her face. "Actually, I've -" He sighed and rested his forehead on their interlocked hands, carefully considering what to say next even though she's still asleep. "I've always thought that you're beautiful." It's true. Even with a bruised and broken body she still manages to take his breath away. His fingers lightly traced over her delicate facial features, careful not to bump any bruises along the way, taking in the sight with a whole new viewpoint of his best friend. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Mikasa's skin felt warm under his touch and it weirdly mystified him, because it's just as velvety smooth as he'd imagined.

"I'm sorry that I let you down, Mikasa," he whispered, finally cupping her cheek in his hand. "If I hadn't fucking ditched you to go off on my own, you'd be conscious right now." Eren sat back in his seat with a huff and shook his head in disdain because of the many horrible decisions he’s made that put her in danger. For a moment, Eren briefly considered crawling onto the cot to hold her like he always did when they were young and sharing a bed. Oh, just to feel her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, maybe that would soothe the crushing tightness in his chest. But he’s not going to do that. At least, not until she’s healed from her injuries. “Please, please wake up,” his voice is begging, pleading as he brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed the top. “I need you, Mikasa, I need you to fight. If you don’t fight, you can’t win, remember?” Eren leaned his forehead on their interlocked hands and slowly shook his head, remembering the sight of her lifeless body laying on the roof. It took his breath away, like someone had reached into his body and yanked all the air from his lungs. There was no sound, he had tunnel vision, because he cared about was getting to her as quickly as he could. “Look, I’m not good at this expression thing. I know I’m a dickhead. I know I don’t tend to act like I do, but I really do care about you. I care about you a lot, actually.” Eren kissed her hand again when he looked up and was so surprised to see a half-lidded gaze, that he almost sat up and kissed her on the lips. But he just smiled. “I love you.”

“W-what?” Mikasa whispered, confused by the sudden shift in his behavior. Inside, though, she was pretty stoked, especially when he leaned over the edge of the cot, careful not to bump into it or touch her too hard.

“I said,” Eren smiled as he got closer to her lips. “I love you. I’m sorry it took this happening to you for me to finally fucking say it.”

Then it finally happened, it was soft and gentle, so loving and romantic, she smiled, moaning softly into their first kiss that they are both certain won’t be their last.

[gotfanfics]

BTHB Fic #6

Bingo Fic #6 @badthingshappenbingo

Trope: Body image issues

Characters: Arya-centric, Arya/Gendry

Warnings: Threat of rape is alluded to, but does not take place.

Age 5

           “I’ll be the princess!” Sansa announced. “Robb will be the knight and Jeyne will be my handmaiden.”

           “I wanna be a knight too!” Arya exclaimed. Sansa laughed at her sister.

           “You can’t be a knight,” she told her. Arya made a face.

           “But being a princess is boring!” she whined. Now Jenye laughed.

           “You can’t be a princess either, Arya Horseface. Sansa is the princess because she’s the prettiest. You’re not pretty enough to be a princess. You could be the troll, though,” she suggested.

           “Jeyne!” Sansa exclaimed, pretending to be scandalized even as she laughed.

           “I don’t want to play your stupid game anyway,” Arya said, stomping off before anyone could see her tears.

           She put frog eggs in Sansa’s porridge the next morning, and never tried to play Princesses and Knights again.

 Age 6

           “Sansa, aren’t you the prettiest thing anyone has ever seen!” Aunt Lysa gushed. Rickon had been born a month ago, and Lysa was visiting for the first time since before Sansa had been born.

           “She looks just like you, Catelyn,” she said. Catelyn beamed. Then Lysa saw Arya and her face fell.

           “Oh. Oh dear. She’s all Stark, that one is,” Lysa said with an air of disdain. Arya tried not to flush with anger and embarrassment.

           “She takes after her father,” Catelyn agreed. Why didn’t her mother defend her? Catelyn loved Ned, and Arya had even heard her express disappointment that Jon, a bastard, took after his father while Robb, his trueborn son, didn’t. Arya didn’t much understand the difference between bastards and trueborns, but clearly looking like a Stark could be a good thing!

           As soon as she could, Arya skulked off and avoided her aunt as much as she could.

 Age 7

           “Arya Stark, sit down at once!” Septa Mordane ordered. Arya stuck her tongue out. She hated needlepoint, hated accidentally pricking her fingers, hated it all. She wanted to be outside with Robb, Jon, and Theon. They got to practice fun things, like archery and sword fighting. Right now, in fact, Robb and Jon were engaged in what appeared to be a tense battle with wooden swords.

           “I want to see who wins!” she argued, still looking out the window. Septa Mordane pinched Arya’s ear and dragged her back to her chair by the fireplace. Arya yelped.

           “Why can’t you be more like your sister?” she asked, exasperated. Arya swore Sansa looked positively gleeful.

           “Maybe Sansa should be more like me,” Arya said under her breath. The Septa continued, either ignoring or not hearing her words.

           “You’re never going to make a good match based on your looks. You’re going to need to be good all the things a wife is meant to be good at,” she said. Arya glared at her.

           “I’m never getting married!” she vowed.

 Age 9

           “I’m not a boy!” Arya exclaimed angrily. She’d been told her entire life that she wasn’t a pretty girl, so she didn’t know why being called a boy upset her so much.

           “Hush, child. You’re a boy now, at least if you want a chance of making it out of this city. Gold cloaks will be looking for a little girl, not a boy,” Yoren said. Arya considered.

           It was true, she had no doubt everyone in the city would be looking for her. Knowing Cersei, the woman would probably put a price on her head, so even the common folk would be looking for her. They might not know exactly what Arya Stark looked like, but they would know to look for a girl. If she was a boy, maybe no one would look her way. If she was a boy, she could travel with the Night’s Watch recruits. If she was a boy, maybe she could make it back to Winterfell.

           As Yoren chopped her hair off, she wished Sansa and Jeyne and Aunt Lysa and Septa Mordane could see her now. She’d be even uglier than Arya Horseface ever was.

 Age 13

           She was with Gendry and Hot Pie when it happened. She got her moon blood for the first time, and felt sick. Her survival depended on people thinking she’s a boy. She pulled Gendry aside and told him what had happened, trying not to sound panicked. He tore up an old shirt and gave the strips to her to line her small clothes. She flushed red, but took them, mumbling a quiet thanks.

           Later that night, she overheard Hot Pie talking to Gendry by the fire.

           “She really does look like a boy, doesn’t she?” Hot Pie asked. From her hiding spot behind a bush, Arya could see Gendry frown.

           “What?”

           “Well, I thought she was just really young. But I’m not stupid, I know what’s going on. She’s a woman already, but she still looks like a little boy, don’t you think? No one will ever guess she’s really a girl, what with her chest so flat.”

           Gendry opened his mouth to respond, but Arya ran away before she could hear what he says. Her body had been criticized by people her entire life, but for some reason the idea of Gendry agreeing with Hot Pie made Arya want to cry.

 Age 16

           She was living in the House of Black and White when her body really began to look womanly. She’d lost her moon blood for a while when she was travelling with the Hound—near starvation would do that to a girl—but it had returned, along with new curves, when her meals became regular again.

She took to wrapping her breasts, flattening them as much as she could. She wasn’t a pretty girl, she knew that, but she wasn’t stupid either. Men didn’t always care whether or not a girl was pretty. Maybe if she hid her womanly features she could keep men away. She could always kill them, but it would be a lot easier if they just didn’t approach her in the first place.

 Age 18

           “Those other girls you slept with. Were they pretty?” Arya asked. Gendry shrugged.

           “I suppose. Not as pretty as you, though,” he said. Arya scoffed.

           “Liar,” she said.

           “I’m not lying. Gods, Arya, you’re beautiful,” Gendry whispered. Arya froze.

           “Get dressed,” she snapped. Picking up her shirt and pulling it over her head. Gendry frowned, confused.

           “What’s wrong? What did I do?” he asked. She glared at him.

           “I’m smart. I’m fast. I’m deadly. I’m good with a bow, and I can survive in the woods on my own. If you want to compliment me, say those things,” she said. Gendry’s frown deepened.

           “You’re mad because I called you beautiful?” he asked.

           “I’m mad that you’re lying to try to get me in bed! I’m not beautiful, and we both know. If you want to fuck someone beautiful, go find Sansa or Daenerys. Maybe you can seduce one of them with your proclamations of beauty,” she said bitingly. Gendry stepped forward and, when Arya didn’t back away, kissed her.

           “I don’t want Sansa or Daenerys. I want you. Are they beautiful? Sure. But I meant what I said, they’re not as beautiful as you. And yes, you’re smart and you’re deadly and you’re absolutely bloody terrifying if I’m being honest. I didn’t say you’re beautiful because I’m trying to get you into bed. I’m saying it because I mean it,” he insisted. Arya stared at him, searching his eyes for a lie. She couldn’t find it.

           “Fine. You don’t have to put your clothes back on,” she said. Gendry laughed and kissed her again.

           She didn’t believe him. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, she’d heard it all her life. But for some reason, her stupid bull thought she was. And she wasn’t going to argue with him, not tonight.