#feeling is mutual for arya

[fromtheseventhhell]

Every time I see people talk about Sansa and Arya's relationship as "just sisters being sisters" I think about that one girl on TikTok who was basically stalking her sister who went no-contact and kept responding to comments criticizing her with "it's just a sister thing, you wouldn't get it". Like! Being shitty to someone isn't okay just cause you're related to them. Personally thinking a certain behavior is normal/harmless does not mean the person affected by it feels the same way! Arya being mocked and having self-esteem issues is referenced often throughout the story, all the way into ADwD. How people read that (jk I know you guys don't actually read her chapters) and think their issues will magically disappear is beyond me. "Stark sisters lover" but the only time you talk about them is when you're centering Sansa and her feelings 🤨

[thaliajoy-blog]

The Arya & Sansa discussion over who gets to rule Winterfell in kind of hilarious cause it's both team either wanting to cart off one of the sisters far from the North so the remaining one can have the house all to herself or complaining that the other side wants to cart off one of the sisters far away from the North so the remaining one can have the house all to herself. They do not want these girls to reconcile they want one of these girls to do admin work at home while the other fucks off wherever (somewhere exotic or insignificant likely).

[rax-writes]

↬ when night falls

Tywin Lannister x Reader

intended to be a sequel to the morning after, but it's not necessary that you read it prior to this

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, 18+ ONLY ⇆ P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap, nipple play, bit of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, pregnant!reader

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing took considerably longer than necessary, given the Queen's insistence that she travel in that godsforsaken carriage of hers. As such, five weeks after your marriage to Tywin Lannister, you were spending one final night in a lavish red and gold tent alongside your lord husband.

For the entirety of the journey, the two of you spent the entire day apart – your horse trotting behind your father and King Robert, and Tywin a short distance behind, alongside Ser Jamie. Occasionally, Arya would pester you into allowing her to sit in front of you on the saddle, as you quietly conversed with her and taught her how to control the horse. But, aside from that, you were alone with your thoughts all day, every day.

The nights, however, were spent in the arms of your lord husband.

The two of you quite quickly developed a very… peculiar dynamic. You had quickly learned and adapted to the way the fearsome Tywin Lannister operates – preferring you speak concisely and directly, vehemently uninterested in anything otherwise. Additionally, there was a degree of mutual respect, as well as a vaguely guarded openness to one another – but certainly no love, or any semblance of romantic feelings at all. In truth, you assumed there never would be.

But gods was there lust.

On your end, it was your first and only experience with sex, and it was undeniably good, so you were eager for it. On his end… you couldn't be sure. It could be that the man was pent up from years as a bachelor, but it would be safe to assume he had simply sent for a whore when the mood struck him. A more likely reason would be his pursuit of an heir, but surely he wouldn't have needed to fill your cunt nightly to achieve that goal. No, you were almost certain that he was simply enjoying fucking you – just as much as you were enjoying fucking him.

When Tywin entered the tent, you were sitting on the edge of the cot, toying with the goblet in your hands, already undressed to your shift. He met your eyes as he entered, but said nothing, that unreadable (but somehow always leaning toward annoyed) expression on his face. He silently began taking off his boots, then removed his sword and placed it beside the cot. He was in the middle of pouring wine into his goblet when you found the courage to ask your question.

"Will you stop bedding me when I become pregnant?"

Tywin said nothing, setting the pitcher down and turning to face you as he took a sip of his wine. He wore that calm, calculating expression as he stared at you – but you could swear there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. The golden goblet made a faint clank as he set it down before speaking.

"Do you ask because you wish for me to stop? Or because you wish for me to continue?"

"I wish for you to continue."

"Then I shall continue," Tywin stated, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good," you replied, then added, "Because I am."

"You are what?"

"Pregnant."

The smile dropped and Tywin's eyebrows raised, making his forehead crinkle.

"Already?" he inquired dryly, surprised. Then, incredulous, he asked, "How do you know?"

It was a fair question. You had never been pregnant before, so perhaps you were mistaking soreness and fatigue from travel as signs of pregnancy. But no. You knew.

"I should have bled three weeks ago, but I have not. My breasts are extremely tender, and certain smells make my stomach turn."

Tywin nodded, then stated, "I do not doubt that you are right, but we will have a Maester provide his confirmation and look you over when we arrive in King's Landing. In the meantime, is there anything you need?"

A faint but wicked smile spread across your face, and you stood from the bed, setting the goblet down as you slowly made your way over to him. The metal of his armor was cold beneath your fingers as you idly ran your hands over his chest, before toying with the belt around his hips, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You," was your simple answer. But both of you knew that it wasn't meant in a romantic, sweet sort of way.

Tywin's hand reached up to cradle your face, somewhat harshly, hooking his thumb under your jaw to tilt your head up and kiss you. It was lustful and full of desire, accompanied by the scratch of his beard upon the delicate skin of your face.

When he pulled away, Tywin smiled quite faintly, then hummed lowly and said, "Well, what sort of man would I be to deny his pregnant lady wife her wish?"

The old lion made quick work of removing his armor and smallclothes, and relieving you of the thin linen shift you wore, before guiding you to the luxurious cot. Tywin continued to kiss you, eventually trailing kisses down your neck, until he reached your chest, unexpectedly taking one of your breasts into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

The sensation nearly made you shout, opting to take in a sharp breath instead as your back arched off the blankets. Eyes squeezed shut, you heard a low chuckle, and looked down to see a set of very amused, crystalline eyes staring up at you.

"Hm, I see you were not exaggerating about the sensitivity."

Electing to ignore him, you let your head fall back onto the pillow. However, it seemed he did not intend to grant you any reprieve, moving to the other breast and doing the same thing – prompting you to dig your nails into his shoulders and bite your lip to avoid crying out. Unfortunately, that made matters worse, as Tywin let out a low groan with his lips still wrapped around your nipple, earning a loud, pitiful whine from you.

Seemingly enjoying himself, Tywin began peppering your chest with gentle bites, which he soothed with his tongue afterwards, sure to become small little bruises by morning. Breathy moans and sighs of pleasure filled the tent, as he then resumed his ministrations on the hardened peaks of your breasts before snaking one hand down to toy with your clit, expertly rubbing it in small, steady circles. Astoundingly fast, your release washed over you, soaking his hand as you moaned and writhed beneath the Warden of the West – who only chuckled darkly at your quick climax.

Noticing that the continued kisses and licks upon your breasts began to make you twitch, Tywin captured your lips in a brief, rough kiss, before rolling onto his back. He then pulled you into his lap, with a strength one wouldn’t assume the older man to still possess – which was, admittedly, arousing. Your mind was still foggy from the orgasm, and your movements were not unlike a rag doll, eyes half-lidded and jaw slack, moving somewhat limply as you allowed him to maneuver you. He gripped his hard, leaking cock in one hand, then reached behind you to urge you forward with a flat palm on the small of your back.

A hiss through gritted teeth escaped Tywin, and you gasped lightly, head thrown back and hands flat on his chest. Although you’d already lost count of how many times he’d taken you, it still felt more incredible than anything you’d ever experienced. A passing thought reminded you of the fact that he seemed to share the sentiment, always hissing or groaning when he first sheathed himself inside you.

Tywin’s grip moved to your hips, prompting you to begin rocking them against his own, keeping your pace steady. However, he made no move to halt you when you eventually began to move faster, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs as you fucked yourself on his long, thick cock. The sound of it alone would have made a Septa drop dead – a symphony composed of wet skin upon skin and gruff grunts intermingling with breathy moans.

He reached up to grasp and knead your breasts in his rough, calloused hands – but he then surprised you, his hands drifting lower, until they rested flat against your lower stomach. You thought perhaps he was focusing on the movement of your hips, but then his thumbs began to stroke across the soft skin of your belly.

At first, it seemed very sweet and sentimental. You thought that perhaps he was basking in the joy of another child being on the way – until you felt the way his cock throbbed, deep inside of you, as he stared intently at your belly. Immediately, you came to the realization that it must be arousing for a man to have successfully fucked a babe into his wife – stroking their ego and their pride to have done their husbandly duty, as well as show everyone that you belong to them.

Truth be told, you were surprised to learn that it aroused you just as much.

Tywin groaned as you clenched around him, and when his eyes flicked up to meet yours, it felt as though he knew you had been thinking the very same thing he was.

That seemed to ignite something within your husband, and in the blink of an eye, Tywin flipped you onto your back and began driving into your soaked cunt with a newfound ferocity. You bit down on your knuckle to keep quiet, but Tywin pinned both of your wrists down, his arms on either side of your head. The act did not last much longer beyond that point, both parties having already been too near the precipice of climax, and the pair of you met your releases in unison.

Tywin rolled off of you, breathing heavily, a light layer of sweat covering his chest, along with the small patches of silver hair. You allowed yourself a few moments of recovery, before moving to leave the cot in order to extinguish the candles, as well as tidy yourself up. However, Tywin grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Where are you going?”

“The candles –”

“Can wait,” Tywin interrupted, voice sounding unbothered as always, albeit with a hint of fatigue. He exhaled slowly, as he gently pulled you back down to lay upon the cot beside him. “One of the guards outside can see to the candles in a moment. You are carrying my heir, so you are to rest. As much as is feasible, from now until the babe is born. And if anyone questions it, they are to discuss it with me.”

Anyone possessing the sense the gods gave a mule knows “discussing” something with Tywin Lannister was just the opposite – it was not to be addressed at all, because what Tywin Lannister says, goes. A fact which made you smile softly.

“As my lord husband commands,” you replied, a hint of sarcasm in your tone, but you did exactly as he bade you, pulling some of the blankets over you and nestling into the pillows. You were already yawning by the time Tywin called for a guard, who extinguished the candles, and bathed the room in darkness as you drifted into a deep, contented sleep.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 9 ✿:+ Moon Tea.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-_-10

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, NSFW themes, VIOLENCE, misogyny, angst, forced use of a contraceptive, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, 

Word Count: 3851 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊

As the Hound lounged on the Hog farmers' stolen wagon as he ate a pig's foot. He looked over to the Stark girl who’d been peering over towards the Twins every five minutes. 

The Hound huffed, “It’s not going anywhere.” He said as he took a large bite of a pig's foot.

“I know that,” Arya said, almost as if she were offended, still not taking her eyes away from the Twins.

“You keep looking back at it… like you’re afraid of it’s going to disappear.” He said going back to chewing on the fatty meat of the pigs feet.

“I’m not afraid.” She said, turning her pointed and angry attention towards him.

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, a knowing smirk slightly appearing. “Yes you are, I know the look. I’ve seen it a lot. The closer you get the worse the fear gets.” He spoke almost from experience.

Arya turned to face him completely, her eyes hateful “I know what you’re afraid of… You’re afraid of fire.” She stepped closer, “And I know why too, your brother pressed your face to the fire like it was a nice juicy mutton chop.” She smiled slightly, mockingly.

The hounds' cold demeanor buckled from under him. “Your cousin tell you that?” 

“She never talked about you.” Her brows furrowed, confused by the question. His predisposed feelings of betrayal went away.

He shrugged, going back to the pigs feet in his hand, “That give you some ideas?” He asked in a gruff tone.

She turned away from him, “Might do.” she said stoically. 

He scoffed, “Go ahead then. You might even make it there on your own. It’s just over the river. Closest you’ve been to family since Illyne Payne snipped your daddy’s neck.” He said mockingly, his best way of deflecting any kind of pain.

Arya turned back to him, stepping closer. “Someday I’m going to put a sword through your eye and out the back of your skull.” Her eyes emotionless, her voice cold.

The sudden, abrupt, and seemingly not empty threat made him halt his chewing. He stared at the girl with eyes of shock. 

He could see you in this girl somewhat. Stubborn and willful. But with this one it was more annoying, and less forgiving of his shit attitude. 

He huffed, and went back to eating as the girl went back to staring at the river that divided them and her family.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t seen or spoken to Petyr about the killing of your aunt. 

That morning you felt sick, sicker than usual. 

You had grown to appreciate the gesture of murdering someone who posed a threat to you. But with him it didn’t feel as unconditional as when your dog did it. When he did it, he did not want something in return. He did it because he wanted- no he needed you safe. With Petyr it felt as though it was something he would use, a new string tying to a limb of a puppet. 

You spent most of your time avoiding him, in the high tower where the falconers keep their birds.

There were less birds than when you left. But your favorite was still there, Lenarea. The one your mother gave you.

“A hawk, a beautiful creature isn’t she? “ Your mother said, as she pointed to the flying creature, soaring above you.

“Yes, she is.” You said, somewhat disinterested, staring off at the falconers who were teaching their birds to hunt.

“A hawk is a forgiving animal. You could make mistake after mistake and she’d forgive you at the end of each day because she knows you’ve chicken feet in your pocket.” Your mother said, petting your hair. “A falcon however, doesn’t forgive so easily. She remembers what you did. and she’s not keen on letting you forget either. No matter how many chicken feet you try to shove at her.” She said as she poked at your nose, making you giggle. “So, what bird should you start with?”

“A hawk, but I want a falcon.” You said with no second guessing, you always knew what you wanted.

“You’ll have many birds, sweet dove. But your first should be one of a forgiving nature.”

“I won’t make a mistake.”

Your mother giggled, “You are a stubborn thing aren’t you? Alright then.” She said, just as she began to lead you to the high tower you were in now. There was a beautiful falcon whose chicks had just hatched. You pointed to the one you wanted.

As she placed the babe within your palms you caressed it, feeling its warmth as it chirped in your hands. Her feathers still fluffy, sparse, and white.

“Lenarea.” You named her quietly. 

The memory soon faded from your mind. 

Memory is merciless, ruthless. And this white prison evoked so much of it.

You put on that thick leather gauntlet, and you took Lenarea out of her cage. Her black eyes examined you fondly. You smiled at her. Until you saw the reflection of a short pale black haired sickly looking boy in her glassy eyes. 

“Sister,” He said, his voice shaky. 

“Hello Robin.” You said, turning to face him, “I am sorry about your mother. I was only a little older than you are now when mine died.” You said, you weren’t sorry for her, but for him. 

“You hated mother,” He said, slightly confused. 

“Even still, you shouldn’t feel pain. Too young for such pain.” You said, petting Lenarea’s shining feathers with your finger.

“My mother said, when you marry the baby man and I get old enough, I'll be lord of the vale.” He said childishly, 

“I didn’t marry Lord Tyrion. I won’t be marrying him… ever.” You spoke to him with an intensity you wouldn’t normally speak to a child with. 

“So, what will that mean?” He was confused, uncertain, as he was with most things now.

“Robin, you and I share blood. That means a great deal to me.” It did, somewhat… “I know you don’t care about what i am going to say but it would be wise for you to listen to it and remember it. I was born with this land as a promise. I was born with the titles of Lady of the Eyrie, Warden of the East, Defender of the Vale, Keeper of the Moon Door, and Head of House Arryn. I was born to it. And at certain moments of my life I would have given it to you. But I made a promise to my own mother. To keep this house safe.” It was somewhat a threat, but not quite. 

“My mother said-” He began as Lenarea let out a short but sharp and shrill chirp.

 “Your mother did not understand me well. I hope you do.”  You said coldly, not proudly. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As Sandor rode the cart up to the entrance of the Frey’s gates. The men surrounding drinked and shouted, He stopped a man walking passed.

“You, have the Starks arrived?” He asked gruffly, Arya looked at the man with hopeful eyes

“Oh yes they have,” The drunken man said, smirking and letting out a devious chuckle. The man began to walk passed when Sandor reached out and grabbed the man by the arm stopping him. 

“What of any Arryns?” He asked, a bit more gruff than the last question. Arya raised a brow at the question.

The man looked at the Hound's hand on his arm, surprised by how large it was “No Arryns here, big fellow.” The drunk man said with a hiccup as the Hound let him go.

He rode on, further up to the gate's entrance. He and Arya were stopped by the Frey’s guardsmen.

“Hog meat for the feast.” The Hound said, tilting his head towards the cart behind him.

“Feasts over.” The Guard said,

Hound looked over to the men singing and celebrating, “Doesn’t sound over.” He said looking back 

“It’s over when I say it is.” The man said gripping onto his swords handle, 

The Hound huffed and looked back at Arya only to see she was gone. 

By the time the Hound was able to abandon the cart, and finish unhitching Stranger from it the loudness of the bannermen grew.

It wasn’t celebratory, no this was victorious, and brutal. A battle, he knew it well. 

His thoughts immediately went to you, but satisfied with that drunk man's answer to his question earlier his mind went to Arya. 

He couldn’t let her die, not when he knew how much she’d meant to you. Also the money. And he could try to deny he didn’t care for her even a bit but he did… only a bit. 

As he hit the guards man hard, partially to move him out of the way and partially for his tone earlier. 

Once inside he saw Arya, about to run into the wedding, as if the little girl could do anything. 

“It’s too late.” The Hound said harshly, grabbing the girl by her shoulder. 

Arya tried once more to run inside, unwilling to let her take her chances in a room full of savage, drunk, stark hating men, he hit her. Hard enough to knock her unconscious. He picked the girl up, tossing her over his shoulder and carried her to Stranger. 

The Hound grabbed the Freys Banner as he rode on, to better disguise him and the girl he carried. Soon the banner men’s war cries rang out throughout the courtyard, Sandor held the unconscious girl close to his chest. The cries grew louder and louder, until a crowd emerged from the Freys gates. As Sandor looked closer at what they were dragging out behind them he felt something he didn’t often feel.

Disgust.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As your dreaming ended, you opened your eyes as a cloud passed your window bringing the sun, filling your room in its warm light. Its warmth cutting through the cold air of the mountains. 

It shined in your eyes, you winced as you stretched your limbs and breathed in deeply. 

You averted your eyes from the sun, directing them towards the dagger Sandor gave you. You kept it on a small table by your bed. Now that your bruises were beginning to fade it was the becoming the only thing you had to remind you of him aside for the memories that haunted your dreams. 

You reached over and grabbed it. You held it in your hand, the handle had a weight to it. You ran your fingertip over the engravings on the handle. You kissed the tip of it, the way you would have if it were his cock.

You closed your eyes, and imagined as if it were. You imagined his groans that he’d let out. Deep and low, so low it’d rattle in his chest. And you imagined his teeth biting down on your sides, on your breasts, your neck. 

You ran your fingers down to your cunt. You played with your clit the way he did, circling and rubbing your clit. You used two fingers, which was almost the equivalent of one of his. 

You remembered the way his hands would grasp your thighs when he pushed inside you. How the heat felt pouring out of him and into you. You pressed two fingers inside you, using your palm to tease your clit. It was not nearly as satisfying or fulfilling as his cock but it was enough for now. You began to moan out, breathlessly. Wanting nothing more than to feel his hot breath against your neck, his beard against your skin. His tongue in your cunt. 

You were closing in on your high, when suddenly-

“My lady-” Ser Cole said as he opened your chamber door, He saw you, with your hand in your small clothes. He turned his body away instantly, “My apologies.” He blurted out

You reasonably startled, removed your hand, sat up in your bed and covered yourself with your blanket, “Men should not sneak into a ladies' chambers!” You spat at him.

Still not looking at you, “Of course not, please, I beg you to forgive my rudeness. It is only I’ve a message of critical urgency.” 

“Then tell it quickly!” You said, furious. Sandor would have taken this man's eyes, maybe hanged him by his guts as he liked to threaten often. 

He began to turn back towards you, “Your aunt, Catelyn, and your cousin Robb. They were murdered last night.” His voice sorrowful

“What?” You asked softly, in disbelief.

His eyes finally fell on you, cautiously, “The Frey’s massacred them at the wedding of your Uncle.” He looked at you, waiting for a response “My Lady?”

“Leave me.” You said, stoically. 

“My lady” He began

“I said leave me!” You commanded, and finally he left. 

Alone, alone in your room, and alone in this world now finally. The last remaining bit of your family that weren’t political hostages were murdered. And your one chance at regaining your birthrights without an arranged marriage along with them.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Later that morning, you hadn’t washed, or changed. You found little point in it. 

You began to walk down the marble steps of the Eyrie as Ser Cole stopped you, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the stairs.  

Assuming he was going to beg for forgiveness for catching you with your fingers in your cunt you pushed away with a huff, “Please, I do not need any more apologies-” You began before he pulled you into a hallway and covered your mouth with his hand. You began to struggle when you heard a familiar voice coming from the throne room. 

“My condolences. Lady Lysa was a woman of strong character.” Tyrion said, you could tell it was disingenuous. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you felt yourself tense. Your eyes went wide, as Ser Cole pulled his hand away from your mouth. 

“She was. My own condolences of your own lady.” Petyr said in response. You listened intensely. 

“condolences are not needed.” Tyrion said, offendedly. 

“Of course,” Petyr said, pretending to be sympathetic. 

“She's not been found, is all.” Tyrion said, uncomfortably. 

“It has been many nights.” Petyr began “You’re a smart man, you are aware of the terrible things that happen inside castle walls. Half her family was killed within them. Your walls and the Frey’s. And you know the kind of world that lies outside of castle walls. You know the terrible things that could happen to a girl-” 

“(Y/N) Arryn is a woman of great intelligence, strong will, and a clever nature. I believe she’s alive, taken, but alive.” Tyrion stated, with confidence. The same confidence he always had.

“Another theory.” Petyr said, as if he were tired of hearing his constant wailing about you.

“She’s my betrothed. It is my duty to see to it that she is safe.” hearing him say those words made you feel sick. Or at least you thought it was those words that did it.

“It hasn’t crossed your mind she’s fled. Escaped upon her own free will?” Petyr said, why would he say that? You thought. 

“It only crossed it for a moment. I’d be a fool not to consider it, but I would be a fool to consider it longer than a moment. She’s no reason to want to flee.” Tyrion was sweet to be so unaware of how disloyal you were to him.

“She didn’t?”

“She doesn’t.” 

“Betrothed to the least desirable Lannister. A man accused of murdering her father-“

“Ah yes, and thank you for informing her of that.”

“You’d have rather kept her blinded to the truth?”

“There was no truth to the accusations. Only thing to come from such knowledge would be pain.” Tyrion stopped himself, taking a breath and reminding himself of what he came to the Eyrie for, “I want to ally our forces, The Knights of the Vale should be searching for her. She is their Lady-“ 

“They are looking for her. You act as though we want her gone.” Petyr acted like he was offended.

“You don’t? It would be convenient.” Tyrion's tone was pointed. 

“I love my niece,” Petyr said and you felt vomit begin to rise in your throat.

“We all know that. You ceaselessly reminded her father of your affections when he rejected your proposals.” 

“This is not about me, or you. I am willing to join our forces with one another. Though I believe it is wise for the both of us to anticipate… disappointment.”  He talked about you like you were dead. It calmed you somewhat, “It has been how many days since she was seen alive?”  

“I say that Dog took her.” A man's voice said, and you recognized it, the cut throat that Tyrion paid as his own bodyguard. Your body tensed, and you felt a wave of heat crash against you. 

“Enough,” Tyrion said, tired of his words, as if he’d heard this theory before.

“I mean really, am I the only person with two eyes who could see how cunt struck that bloody dog was?” The cut throat said, it made the vomit rise even higher. You pressed two fingers to your lips to keep them shut.

“I said enough.” 

“A theory you don’t like?” Petyr questioned. 

“A theory not worth considering. It is blood and ash in my mouth. There is no reason for her to have left with him, no reason for her to have left me willingly.” Tyrion tried so hard to defend what he thought was your love for him. You felt the guilt in your stomach mix with the nausea.

“I’m not saying she went with the fucker smiling. Can’t imagine any lass especially one like her going with a man like that. That fucker never cared if anyone but the king lived or died. But the fucker went against his own king to save that girl from the riots.” The cut throat’s words only pushed you to gag slightly. You covered your mouth with your hand fully.  

“There is a bounty on his head and people looking for him. But we are here to discuss (Y/N), finding her.” Tyrion said as a final and swift effort to shut the man up. 

“We will ally our efforts to seek her out. They will work in tandem under the one objective of finding her.” Petyr said 

With your hand covering your mouth you pushed Ser Cole away with your other hand, walking passed him. Lightly, making sure not to make a sound as you rushed towards the privy as you vomited.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You hadn’t left your chamber all day. That night Petyr came in. He had a tray of dinner for you. And a tea. 

“You’ve not dressed at all?” Petyr asked, concerned. You looked back at him with tear stained cheeks and annoyed eyes. “I am sorry. What the Frey have done…” 

“I don’t wish to discuss it.” You said looking over at the food on the tray. You pulled it towards you and began to eat. Your stomach was empty from the sickness earlier. 

“I believe we’ve matters of importance to discuss.” Petyr said softly as he watched you eat. 

“The killing of my aunt?” You asked sardonically.

“Your aunt had made some worrying allegations against you, my dearest one. And the cut throat that accompanied your betrothed raised an interesting theory.” His eyes were filled with concern.

“You believe them?” You asked stoically

“I don’t know. That’s why I am bringing them to you. For your answers. I could bring you to a Maester and have you checked, but I don’t wish that for you. Nor can we afford the risk of any more people knowing you are here.” 

“Lord Tyrion did not touch me. I’ve said it already-“ You began, sneeringly.

“I am not concerned with Lord Tyrion.” Petyr said, it made all the words you’d planned vanish. “Ser Cole might have found you alone but that doesn’t mean you were. It would take a great deal of protection to make it that far on your own.” His accusations were heavy but his voice was nurturing.

“I am intact.” You spoke like a mouse.

“Even still, I’ve prepared a tea… or rather a maester has upon my command.” He picked up the chalice and handed it to you.

“Tea?” You smelt it, it smelt bitter and ugly. 

“Only to be sure. It will rid you of any unwanted consequences.” Petyr said as he petted your hair, it reminded you of your mothers touch, your eyes stayed on the tea and away from him. You pretended that it was. 

“Moon tea. I know it.” You said, nodding. Your voice was raspy. 

“If you are intact, as you say you are, there will be no effect. However, if you are not, and if you are with child, it shall save you the shame.” He continued to pet your hair,

“You don’t believe me?” You still didn’t look at him. You sniffled, your face heating up, eyes watering. 

“It doesn’t matter what I believe, or what you say. What matters is that you drink this.” 

You felt tears coming, you knew that feeling well… sorrow. “Will it hurt?” You felt submissive, that was new. Even when you had no power you knew a way to find your own power. But not here. 

“Drink it, my dear.” He commanded softly. 

“As you command it.” You said as you drank it. All of it, within one gulp. It was revolting. 

“You are not as good of a liar as you might think, my dear.” Petyr said, he pulled you into a hug, you closed your eyes and pretended it was your mother, and hugged back. “Do not lie to me again, there is no need for it. I am your only ally now.” He threatened you sweetly, and softly. You hated that he was right.

He left you.

You thought about what Sandor would do. You thought about that often but right now you really wanted him. Not for his violence, but you wanted his touch. His arms around you. You wanted him to hold you. 

But you didn’t have him, so you held onto your stomach, feeling the possibility of what could be slip away. You’d not know for certain if you were, or were not with child but now it was certain you were not. You day dreamed so often of what could have been. But now no more. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor had seen every kind of brutalization. There was little that ever shocked him, even littler things sickened him. But what he saw that night truly did. 

The Frey’s are animals… 

It was early morning as Sandor sat beside a dying fire with the Stark girl still sleeping, his thoughts only turned to you. 

Where the fuck were you?

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE:

Hey all you cool cats and kittens, 

I’m sorry that this chapter took so long (again lol), but I aced my finals! 

Also I wanted to tease that these two are probably going to be crossing paths again soon…

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Beloved Tags:  @dontfollowjuststuff  @helpmeescapethisreality  @merfic @broadsdrinkwhisky @the-queen-of-sorrows  @eddiesbongwater @not-neverland06  @symonedoesart @wyvernnest @bdudette @frosch-thefrog @patrick-hockstutter @drymushroomfics

[emblazons]

forewarning: this is the longest "this is mike's arc and I'm tired of denying it" breakdown i've done in a min (it's def about gay mike bar none so. skip if you want)

I keep reading posts about "where Mike is with his feelings for Will" all across the dash now, and...while I get the idea of wanting a Mike as devastated by not hearing from Will as Will was because Mike's aware he has romantic feelings, *Arya Stark Voice* that's not him?

In the show, Mike Wheeler wears his heart on his sleeve. He is prone to emotionality and doesn't really track his feelings within himself the way Will does—is "less interior," for a lack of a better phrase, which both plays dramatically into how things are playing out with both El and Will and makes it (dare I say it) out of character to believe he's as "hurt by his own hope" as Will is when it comes to mutual feelings.

Let me see if I can explain.

First: I think it's important to keep in mind that, at least with Mike, you get someone who will subconsciously act on "inner truths" before he even realizes they're true about him—and someone who will behave according to whatever external reality deems "correct" until he realizes 1) its bullshit or 2) its not true for him personally. We see this season over season:

First with how he willfully breaks rank with authority (his parents, the police, even the community) first to find Will and then again breaks rank with even his friends to protect Eleven in season 1

Then in S2 when he throws "proper" behavior to the wind (which is even slightly acknowledged in Will's 'don't tell the others' / 'crazy together) to be there for + lowkey confess the depth of his feelings to Will (everyone say thank you shed scene)

Again (though slightly different) in S3, with how there's this bubbling thing being gay he doesn't realize has started to manifest itself—cue that comment the duffer's made forever ago about S3 being about "the monster of puberty," aka when people start to understand their own attractions—until the very end of the season with how he realizes he's not attracted to El

And finally in S4, when he consciouslly knows for a fact he's not into El and tries to hide it—quite poorly, because, as I said, he can only abide a "lie" when he doesn't realize it is one—but hasn't yet realized that the thing bubbling up inside him THIS season (that keeps slipping out without him realizing it) is his attraction to/romantic feelings for Will.

In Season 4 especially, its easy to track how this "I can lie...until I know it is one" affects Mike's romantic prospects; we see plainly that his lying about his feelings to El during the monologue was a failure because the power of Mike's whole character is rooted in the importance of him being true to himself and his heart. Season over season, we've seen that Mike has to be honest with people once he knows what he feels in order for his leadership to be effective—and by S4, he knows he doesn't love El romantically (+ has known for a HOT minute, aka since his little S3 post-kiss revelation)—which is why he tries to skirt around the issue with that "I care for you so much" rather than lie to El's face about his lack of romantic feelings.

Basically: once Mike consciously knows something is not right in either the world or inside himself, he has to act on it...or suffer the consequences of his lack of honesty. But then....what does that have to do with him not being the one "not trying to be in love" with Will?

Despite the fandom urge to deny it even in the wake of The Duffers and Finn Wolfhard themselves telling them it's true: Mike being oblivious to his own feelings, or at least consciously unaware, of his own romantic feelings for Will is a solid amount of what's driving his character's growth right now. Mike "friends don't lie" Wheeler has spent the entirety of this show trying to be as honest as possible with the people around him, and we've clearly seen as of S4 what happens when he isn't honest—the world (quite literally) falls apart.

When it comes to his romantic arc especially, it's important to remember this is true, because it means, through logical deduction, that Mike isn't hiding the fact that he has feelings for Will throughout season 4—he's hiding the fact that he's not in love with his girlfriend the way he's supposed to be, which both plays into the whole forced conforming through-line of the season and explains the crux of his narrative even as we are primarily shown that experience through Will's eyes—unreliable as they are. The thing leaking out of Mike without his knowledge is the fact that he likes boys—but the thing he's consciously hiding and lying about is the fact that he doesn't like girls the way he knows he's supposed to.

Now: does that mean he doesn't have a million subconscious responses to things regarding Will—one's rooted both in his attraction to men and his friendly/romantic/evolving feelings for him? Absolutely not. Half of what drives Mike's S4 narrative was built into his wordless/subconscious actions throughout S3, from the way we see him look disgusted with girls when they're mentioned, the way he take's El's hands off him when she tries to kiss him, and even the way he looks conflicted by her kiss at the very end of the season. Just because Mike is consciously unaware that something is happening to him doesn't mean the thing isn't happening—it just means that Mike himself is oblivious to it.

Even so: Mike being oblivious to the fact that he's attracted to men/in love with Will means he isn't consciously trying to keep himself away from Will—which is clear, if you pay attention to every moment before he gets guilted into remembering he has a GF by Argyle.

Basically, the crux of Mike's own experience with his problems is—

"I don't love El the way I'm supposed to, and it's going to cause problems if I can't do that for everyone I care for,"

not

"I am trying to hide my feelings for boys/Will and have to pretend they aren't there to be normal."

—which is a subtle but critical distinction in understanding both where he is by the end of S4 and where he's headed moving into S5.

Now: I get that it's more fun to imagine a Mike fighting his feelings for Will consciously throughout S4, but....that's Will's story and experience of his feelings, not Mike's. Mike is fighting with his lack of attraction to women more than his attraction to men/Will—which is also why you see it slip out so much despite the time/era/what he knows of what happens to gay men in Hawkins.

If Mike knew he loved Will/boys consciously, he'd be much more afraid of himself and Will than he is even as of the last shot of S4—but he's not, which is shockingly telling if you consider how he already knows what he doesn't feel for Eleven. Once he does know what he feels—his "a-ha" moment about liking Will, the same as his consciously realizing he didn't love El "like that" as of end of S3—it will be impossible for him not to address it in himself...and finally be honest/undo the damage of The Lie he told El (he loved her) during the monologue.

That's the (canonical) trajectory of Mike "The Heart" Wheeler—and why him being oblivious to his feelings for Will, not just "secretly longing without wanting to indulge hope he might have the boy he loves" the way Will is experiencing moving into S5. 🤷🏽‍♀️

[daenerysstormreborn]

Time to ramble. I’m thinking about the way Arya and Sansa fans seem to get into this debate about who was more lonely and neglected in Winterfell. Which is kind of funny because then the arguments get totally reversed when debating other aspects of the characters. But anyway. The general arguments seem to be:

1. Arya was clearly the neglected outcast. This is clear in the meta narrative because of her connection to Jon and the fact that she doesn’t look like her true born siblings. The more direct evidence comes from the way Sansa and Jeyne teased her, the harshness of Septa Mordane, and Catelyn’s exasperation. It can be inferred that Arya feels a sense of insecurity wrt to her family ties as she wonders if her own mother would want her back after everything that happened. It can be assumed that she was a bit of an outcast based on her disinterest in the things expected of her as a girl, and we see the way many characters look down upon non-conforming women and girls in-universe. Sansa, on the other hand, receives praise from her mother and the septa and has two named close friends in Winterfell. She happily conforms to what is expected of her as a highborn girl and we can assume she would fit in in Winterfell.

2. Sansa was clearly the neglected outcast. This is clear in the meta narrative because she is the only one to lose her direwolf, which is the family symbol. The more direct evidence comes from contrast with Arya, whom Sansa observes can “make friends with anybody,” seemingly in contrast to herself. Ned agreed to kill Lady despite knowing she was innocent and indulged Arya’s interest in swordplay whilst being unenthusiastic about indulging Sansa’s interest in tourneys. Arya is demonstrated to be beloved by Ned’s men in a way we do not observe with Sansa. We can assume that Sansa didn’t feel like she belonged because of her interest in sothron culture, something none of her siblings share. Arya, on the other hand, is extroverted, makes friends easily, is northern in appearance, and has no interest in sothron culture, so we can assume she fit in in Winterfell.

I actually don’t think a lot of the points in the two arguments is mutually exclusive. We also have to remember POV bias. Arya doesn’t reflect on Any friends her age she had at Winterfell (I am not including Mycah because I am under the impression they became friends on the way to King’s Landing), but Arya is not one to reflect and reminisce. Sansa notices that Arya can make friends with anyone, but she doesn’t experience Arya’s inner world. What does Sansa mean by making friends? Does she see Arya having fun and being at ease talking to anyone and feel envy, since she herself feels like is performing, always minding her manners, when she’s socializing with most people? Could it be that Arya is friendly but struggles to find long term close friends like Jeyne and Beth, attributing this disparity to Sansa’s “ladylike” interests? Could it be that being teased by Sansa and her friends and scolded by Catelyn and Mordane has made Arya assume that other girls wouldn’t be interested in close friendship with her, causing her to be friendly but keep a certain distance? (**please note I am not trying to make a case for nlog Arya. I think keeping a distance because you assume you’ll be rejected is different and does not require that she looks down upon other girls, because there is no evidence for that here**)

I don’t have a good conclusion I just think it’s interesting that this is something that gets debated because the truth is probably somewhere in the middle. We can’t know because we get very few flashbacks and the story picks up when their normal lives in Winterfell end. I can’t speak to George’s intentions but if we pretend they’re real people I’d speculate that both would have felt misplaced within Winterfell at times, envying certain traits about the other

[spxllcxstxr]

Being Eddard Stark’s Second Wife • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: Eddard Stark second wife headcanon? ❤️❤️❤️ -m — anon

Warnings: fem!reader, heavy canon divergence, mention of dying in childbirth (not reader, no other mention of pregnancy/having children), assumed age gap? Ned stark being THE man <3

A.N: I feel like these are a little short but I actually like this one! I love Ned so much so these were also just fun to write…I hope you like them! :) also I always struggle to find more diverse gifs along these romantic lines and I’m so sorry about that, my works are always inclusive

•

You marry Ned Stark after Catelyn dies delivering Rickon, her youngest

Ned certainly did not believe that he would marry again, he was incredibly heartbroken by the death of his wife

Additionally, he now had to look after 6 children and be the Lord of Winterfell

Even though he had servants and teachers and maesters to look after his children and keep them preoccupied, he was still stretched very thin due to stress and lack of sleep

You had been a close friend to the Starks even before Robb was born; some daughter of a lesser known Northern house who had come to Winterfell for a change of scenery

Despite your lower ranking, Ned and Catelyn became close friends of yours

When Catelyn died Ned’s grief almost consumed him; but you were his light in the deep and dangerous darkness that had fallen over his life

While throughout the many years of knowing Ned you occasionally felt a spark, not love, but it certainly wasn’t platonic, you pushed it down, never rushing anything that would harm your friendship and Catelyn in particular

Becoming Ned’s second wife is a gradual process

Ned comes to you almost every day, whether it is due to his grief or to ask your opinion on something, you become even closer than you were before

It takes maybe around 2 or 3 years of mutual pining for the two of you to really acknowledge what’s going on

Robb, Jon, and Arya definitely have a hand in this, they’re old enough to see what’s going on, they certainly drop hints to the two of you

“Tell me, my Lady, why I cannot stop thinking about you…”. He takes off his gloves, just to place his rough palm gently on your cheek. “You are the first thing in my mind when I wake, and the last thing when I finally succumb to sleep.”

“Ned…”

“If you do not feel the same tell me now, before I kiss you,”

The kiss is obviously what starts it, and the wedding comes very quick after that

Ned is very protective of you

With anything

He knows how harsh the Northern wind is, so he makes sure you have the finest furs and the warmest boots

Even if you say you’re fine he will insistently add another layer onto you

He does it with a grin on his face and a kiss on the forehead

Ned loves you so much

He will also teach you how to defend yourself

He is already teaching his children so training you isn’t a problem, he doesn’t like to think about it, but he knows there might come a day where he may not be able to protect you from the evil things of Westeros (or beyond)

His kids are mostly used to you before you end up marrying him

Sansa is really the only one to have a bigger issue with her father taking a second wife but she quickly warms up to you

You know you aren’t their mother and you try not to smother them like you are, but you are protective of them as if they were your own

Ned loves watching you help them with their studies or their interests

He’s seen you sneakily teach Arya how to punch properly

And Sansa’s needlework has improved since you moved into the castle

He adores how you treat Jon no differently than the others, Catelyn always did. He doesn’t blame her, he had to lie to her, but it warms his heart to see you act so kind to him

Ned is a loving husband and he shows that to you every day

He’s always gentle towards you and respects your opinions and what you have to say

He’s truly #NotLikeOtherMen lmao

•

[g0lightly]

i saw a screenshot reposted on twitter of a j0nsa explaining how to find j0nsa “foreshadowing” and genuinely at first i thought it was a parody of how some j0nsas post on here because it was so …💀

i’m not sharing the screenshot here bc no one deserves harassment or to feel bullied for what they ship. however, seeing that post helped crystallize a long-held observation of mine about a ship that i do not like yet cannot fully avoid due to the fact that it is one of the biggest in the fandom and it involves one of my favorite characters. no hate no shade to my j0nsa mutuals, my filters and i love you for tagging your posts (and also for not posting weird murder fantasies about dany!).

because j0nsa is so popular, it can set the tone for discussions about sansa on here. often times that tone comes across … god how do i say this nicely … weirdly gender essentialist. this is an observation that i’ve struggled to articulate for a while but the post in question inadvertently helped me put my finger on the reason why i am so put off by these theories (and the ship in general if i’m honest).

basically, the post claims that there is a pattern of opposite-sex characters around jon and sansa that have the traits of the other. jon and sansa are both kind of the traditional fantasy hero/heroine ideals so like … of course sansa is going to encounter men who are conventionally masculine in the same way that jon is and of course jon is going to encounter women who are conventionally feminine in the way that sansa is. and of course they'll meet people who aren't that feminine/masculine ideal. the post also says that it can still be j0nsa foreshadowing if the person in question had “opposite” traits from jon or sansa — apparently jon thinking about arya means he’s actually thinking about sansa? uh… i think you just made up circular logic so that you can claim every woman jon interacts with or thinks about is a sansa stand in and vis-versa!

in the actual text, meanwhile, jon finds himself drawn to warrior women like ygritte. in a way, sansa is too – she seems to have a fascination with mya stone. an actual parallel between jon and sansa is the fact that they each have a fascination with a dark-haired androgynous bastard of their same sex that they call pretty in their respective remote snowy locations (satin and mya). they also both remark on the beauty of the lannister twins — only, jon remarks on jaime’s beauty and sansa remarks on cersei’s beauty.

now, these examples are some of the reasons why i personally read jon and sansa as characters who are likely queer in some capacity. frankly a lot of sansa’s thoughts remind me of myself as a closeted preteen. because i read both characters as not straight, however, i find it especially restrictive when the conversation around these characters is reduced to how well they fit their masculine/feminine ideals and why that means they must be soulmates. it doesn't give them room to defy the gender ideals that define them in some fans' minds. in a series about subverting conventional tropes in fantasy, i just don’t believe that the feminine ideal girl and the masculine ideal boy are going to ride off into the sunset together.

yet, you could use the same passages from the text to say that jon and sansa’s admiration of cersei and jaime means that they’ll also do sibling incest (i don’t care that they’re cousins by blood, they were raised as siblings). jon comments on the fact that jaime looks the way a king should and sansa looks up to cersei because she wants to be queen one day – again, you could also use this to argue jon will be king and sansa will be queen. i mean, i would disagree with you, but it still makes a hell of a lot more sense than reducing every woman jon interacts with into a sansa stand-in and reducing every man sansa interacts with to a jon stand-in.

[agentrouka-blog]

Dany fan here: I think other Dany fans think Jonsas are over the top with Dany hate because of pol!Jon. I follow many Jonsas because I’m perfectly fine with Jonsa. It’s not for me but I see the vision. That said I’m a bit of an unusual Dany fan in the sense that I’m a big fan of the Meereenese Knot essays and think the interpretation of Dany presented there is pretty spot on. I personally think Dany has a good heart but that circumstance and experience and terrible coping mechanisms have led her to act in villainous ways and whether or not a character is a villain is determined by their actions regardless of whatever goodness is in their heart. But anyway I do not like the pol!Jon theory. I think it’s out of character for Jon and needlessly cruel to Dany. I think it’s possible that he ultimately kills her and that could be fine and I don’t reject that theory, but I think the idea of Jon deceiving and sexually abusing Dany and then killing her for the sake of Sansa is what Dany fans think of when they think of over the top hate because they assume every Jonsa shipper also believes in pol!Jon.

I do understand why people thought Jon was deceiving Dany in the show though because their relationship was just so poorly executed and Kit and Emilia had no chemistry on screen. Imagine fucking up your show’s romance so badly that people think the script confirming that the love was mutual must have been tampered with.

Hi there!

(I think Dany is a compelling tragic villain, and it's lovely seeing someone loving her for it!)

I do think that pol!Jon (under duress, esentially) is a not unreasonable theory that grew out of the way the show presented their relationship. If there was sexual abuse I think it's fair to say it was in the hands of the more powerful party, though.

That said, I don't see it happening that way in the books at all and I think all characters will be better off for it. I agree it wouldn't feel right.

Certainly not in a punitive "you thought he would love you but he really loves Sansa, now die!!!" way. That cheapens jonsa as much as it cheapens the complexity of the conflict between Dany and Jon.

It's just a deeply uninteresting way to explore their existing conflict or their respective strengths. Not to be a hater but it's not exactly riveting literature watching Dany be manipulated by Daario and it's unlikely to be more so in a repeat performance with Jon who isn't even her type. Same as watching Jon go through a repeat of the abusive Ygritte plotline would be less than compelling.

We'll have instances of romantic manipulation. Littlefinger is practically begging Sansa to use his own obsession against him, and Arya gives us a preview when she lures Raff to his death wearing "Mercy's" face. That's been set up since the first book, and it works as a satisfying response to the way everyone has been telling Sansa how weak and simple she is. It's very personal, very steeped in their respective histories, very poetic.

But for Jon and Dany I think we can expect something more universal and even-handed than that. They are both at varying points manipulative and earnest, highly clever or unexpectly outmaneuvered. And neither will be in this conflict all alone and without advice. Not to mention, we have both of their POVs and watching one just miss all the clues of the other manipulating them would be flat. This only ever works with one POV withheld. The show tried that with Jon Snow live on the screen, to disastrous results. No way is that GRRM's plan.

I'd rather watch two clever adversaries play a big game of chess. And given GRRM's love for that game, I am certain it's also what he would prefer to write.

[nessataleweaver]

FIC: You and I are like the ink staining all the other pages (Game of Thrones, Jon/Sansa)

RATING: Explicit (m/f sex); step-incest; possible dubious consent; underage sex

SUMMARY: (modern AU) Step-siblings Jon and Sansa have been in denial about their mutual attraction for a long time. When the Stark-Tully kids head out to the Halloween carnival, Jon is the only one willing to go through the ‘lame’ Ghost tunnel with Sansa. But they don’t know it’s been re-purposed from a Tunnel of Love, that’s been given an extra kick via magic...

PROMPT: For jonsa-halloween for their 2024 event, using the October 30th prompt ‘Magic’. 

NOTE: I originally had this idea for ‘curse’, but that would have involved Joffrey being stupid and vengeful, and I don’t really want to give his royal skidmark any page time, so I switched tracks somewhat.  While doing so, I realised I was actually writing a prequel to one of my stories from the 2020 event, ‘What you are in the dark’. So to clarify: this is a modern AU, where the Starks are a blended family.  Jon and Arya are Ned’s children, while Robb, Sansa and Bran are Catelyn’s kids.  Rickon is theirs, and is still a toddler. Theon, Robb, Jon and Sansa are all in high school. Arya and Bran are thirteen and twelve.

Can also be read on AO3

ONE YEAR EARLIER

“Agatha... what are those symbols you’re painting?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Well, from here they look like several examples of ‘surrender to your desires’, ‘increase affection’, and ‘increase libido’.”

“So why did you ask?”

(sigh) “Agatha, I was asking with the sub-text “Why in Hecate’s name are you painting magic symbols inside our carnival attraction, which we will be exposing many members of the public to?” Do you want us to get sued? Or called in by the Misuse of Magic Office?”

“Don’t be silly!  It’s not mind-altering or anything, it’s just giving things a little... push.  This is going to be a ‘Tunnel of Love’, so the couples that go through it will come out feeling lovey-dovey and horny.  Just think about the Yelp reviews we’ll get!”

“And what about people who aren’t couples, who are just going through it for laughs? Or people who are going on this because they get sick on other rides, and who’s significant others are on the coaster?  Or tweenage girls going through with their besties because it’s so romantic?”

(eyeroll) “It’s like you think I’m stupid or something. All the boats are floating on water, so the customers won’t be around any of the symbols long enough for anything to happen inside the ride. If anything, their partners will have a good time when they get home, or they get to discover the joys of masturbation. Honestly, the worst that will happen is that a few of the security guards might bust some couples fucking in the parking lot because they don’t want to wait to get home.  So what?”

(deeper sigh) “If something goes wrong, I’m throwing you off the flying carpet.”

“Fine, Miss Scaredy-cat!  And when we get asked to hire it out all over the North, I get all the bragging rights!”

ONE MONTH EARLIER

“Agatha, did you hire out our Tunnel of Love to a Halloween carnival?”

“Yep!  Their Ghost train got derailed somewhere in the Neck, and they’re paying us triple the usual hire fee plus ten per cent of the gate!  It’s easy to re-decorate – the whole tunnel looks like a cave anyway.  We put Halloween costumes on all the dummies, add in a few fake coffins and bubbling cauldrons and maybe put in a mad scientist lab or zombie graveyard to replace the masqued ballroom?  We hang fake spider-webs and black drop-cloths from the ceiling with ghost outlines, and instead of the love songs we play spooky sound effects over the sound system.  We haven’t painted the spare set of boats yet, so we make them black and use stencils for skulls and bones over that. Hey, if we keep them that way maybe we can add a pirate cave option?”

PRESENT DAY - LAST FRIDAY BEFORE HALLOWEEN

“Sheesh, Sansa, you’re such a scaredy-cat. We wait any longer to hit the really good rides, we’ll be stuck in line for ages.  All the college students will hit the carnival soon – trust me, I know.”

“I’m not scared, Arya,” Sansa told her step-sister.  “I just get motion-sick easily, remember?  I ride the roller-coaster, the Hurricane and the Zipper within an hour, and I’ll be bringing up dinner with a vengeance.  Just go without me.”

Arya made an expressive face.  “I forgot about all those meds you had to take for our family honeymoon.  But seriously, what was the point of getting to leave Rickon and the parentals at home if not to go on all the rides?”

Jon ruffled her hair affectionately. “You can still go on all the rides.  At least the ones you’re tall enough for.”

Arya scowled and hit her older brother in the side. “I haven’t had my growth spurt yet! That’s why Sansa found me these platform combat boots.”

Jon smiled, not even feeling Arya’s punch.  While Sansa had corralled Arya and Bran through the shooting games and stashing Arya’s armful of prizes in the car, Theon had split a joint with him and Robb.  As a result, Jon was feeling as chilled as a capybara.

“Robb and Theon are coming back now,” Sansa pointed down the midway.  “Robb loves those rides, too.  If he hesitates, tell him it’ll be a sibling bonding moment – that always gets him.”

Bran snickered. “Sansa, the mastermind.  But seriously, Theon loves the arcade but hates admitting it.  I’ll ask him to go through it with me and that’ll leave Robb for you.”

Sansa grinned.  “That leaves Jon to go through the haunted house with me.”

“No it doesn’t!  I want to go through the haunted house too!” Arya protested.

“And me!” Bran added.  “What about the mirror maze, or the Ghost Tunnel?  I think you’re the only ones who wanted those.”

“Um, maybe not the maze,” Jon mumbled.  “Reminds me of my ex.”

“The one who shot you with an arrow or the one who’s now running that cult?” Sansa asked.

“Dany,” Jon replied. He hadn’t even told his best friend Sam, or Robb, that his narcissistic to the point of God-complex girlfriend had once hired out the entire mirror maze for an hour so she could make him fuck her while she watched their reflections in about ten different mirrors. There were reasons he’d stayed with her as long as he had - almost all of them sexual.

“Ghost Tunnel then?” Sansa asked brightly.

“Sure,” Jon said agreeably. “It hasn’t been here before, so I’m up for the new experience.”

Leaving their younger siblings in Robb and Theon’s sometimes-capable hands, Jon and Sansa headed across the fairgrounds.

Sansa looked up at the night sky, and smiled.  “I love full moons, and this one’s special, did you know?”

“Wasn’t Bran talking about this at breakfast the other day?” Jon asked.  “It’s a blue moon, yeah? The second in a month?”

“Exactly.  It’s very good for charging spells and ceremonies.”

“You don’t talk much about your magic studies,” Jon remarked curiously. “Even when I helped you study for the botany section.”

“It tends to upset Mother.  I inherited the talent from her, but she’s so devoted to the Seven she always refused to do anything with it.  At least she’s never tried to keep me from it.  Though I think it’s partly because Uncle Brynden and Aunt Lysa had a discussion – the kind with a capital D - with her about it when I was younger.”

“So you’re not doing any of those spells or ceremonies?”

Sansa shook her head. “My mentor’s doing something tomorrow, but as a solo practitioner I’m not at the stage yet where it would be useful for me. At my level, without a circle or coven, I might even do myself some damage.”

Arriving at the head of the line, Sansa and Jon tore some tickets off their pre-bought roll, and handed them over to the attendant, dressed in what looked like a Shakespeare heroine costume with a fake vampire bite dribbling down her throat and pale sparkly face paint.

“A water ride? I haven’t seen one of those in a Ghost tunnel before,” Sansa remarked, as Jon handed her into the boat.  She stashed her messenger bag in a cage underneath the prow, before she settled into the seat.

The boat’s shape forced them to sit very close together and it took several attempts to find a comfortable position, Jon having to put his arm around Sansa as they headed off into the dark.

A lifelong connoisseur of haunted attractions, Sansa murmured comments to Jon as they slowly floated along.

“Glow in the dark paint usually looks a bit tacky, but these ghosts are painted really well.”

“Oooh, that’s a lovely effect on those floating candelabra!  Maybe there’s some actual magic being used here?”

 “I wonder why there are no scare actors?  There should have been at least one by now if this ride has them.”

 “Can you hear a crackle? You think there’s a set-piece up ahead with lightning effects?”

Just as Jon muttered his agreement, they rounded the curve and saw a large alcove holding what looked to be Frankenstein’s laboratory, complete with a semi-covered body on a lab table, and even a pseudo-skylight above showing lightning constantly flashing.  Their boat settled to a halt, either to change passengers at the beginning or to let them admire the showpiece, when a particularly large thunderclap made them jump.

Then the already dim lighting went out, leaving them in pitch darkness.

“What the hell?”

Silver runes glowed at several points along the wall, and Sansa exclaimed, “So they are using real magic!”

A soothing voice echoed through the darkness. “We are currently experiencing a power failure, and are working to restore the lights and movement of the boats.  In the meantime, we are providing an alternative soundtrack.”

Piano music echoed in the tunnel, and Jon absently identified, “Tchaikovsky. Kind of romantic for a haunted tunnel.”

“Still better than the creepy sound effects, given the situation,” Sansa murmured.

Sansa wasn’t sure how long they floated in the dark, before she found herself snuggling closer to Jon.  His arm tightened around her in response.

“Cold?” he asked quietly.

“Not exactly.”

Actually, she was feeling quite warm. Sansa opened up her zippered hoodie and pulled her sweater out from the waistband of her short skirt. She turned her head sideways to bury her face in Jon’s neck.  He smelled really good, and Sansa absently pressed her thighs together, enjoying the sensation.

Jon rested his head on top of Sansa’s, as his hand curved around her hip, his thumb at just the right angle to dip under the hem of her sweater to stroke her soft skin just above the waistband of her skirt. It felt really good, holding her close; her slim form fit perfectly into the angles of his own. He felt her lips on the sensitive skin on his throat, and bit back a groan as his cock stirred. Now was probably a bad time to remember all the times he’d fisted his cock to thoughts of his lovely step-sister. Even if those pretty tits of hers were pressed softly against his chest, and he was fairly sure that he could feel her hardened nipples through her sweater and his shirt.

Sansa could admit to herself, here in the dark, that her panties were wet and her breasts ached with need.  That she wanted to be even closer to Jon.  She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers, and to wrap her arms and legs around him. Her heart pounding, Sansa let her hand drift along the contours of his torso and down, until she could feel the hard bulge between his legs.  She sighed as she curved her hand around it, then gasped as she felt Jon’s lips against her ear.

“Let me,” Jon murmured, his voice almost soundless as he brought his free hand down to cover the fingers rubbing at him through his jeans.  He moved them aside just enough to undo the button and zip, and groaned in relief as he parted the slit in his boxers to free his erection.  Had Theon added something to that joint?  He was so horny he was pretty sure he could hammer nails with his dick.

Jon couldn’t see Sansa’s fingers gently, tentatively wrap around his rampant cock, gingerly fisting and stroking him, but it was really working for him. The hand he’d latched around her hip slid up and under her sweater, until he could feel the lace of her bra.  He ran his fingertips along the curve of her breast until he found the hem of the cup, gently tugging until her now-exposed breast fell into his palm, where his fingers could rub and flick at her nipple. She was half-way in his lap, her knee hooked over his thigh, and Jon used it as a guide for his other hand, gliding his fingers along her inner thigh until he found her mound.

Sansa whimpered as he stroked and rubbed her pussy through the soaking wet fabric of her underwear, but he wanted more.  Jon pulled and fumbled until he felt her bare folds, and expertly found her clit.  Sansa moaned, and Jon’s cock all but jumped in her grip in response.

Sansa’s head was spinning, and in the dark she was blind to everything but Jon.  His touch on her breast and between her legs, and the hot throbbing rod of muscle in her hand.  She felt so good, and she loved it.  Why had no one ever told her she could feel so good? She moved her hips against Jon’s hand, and his thick fingers slid in her slick folds until one slipped right inside her. She felt herself squeeze down on him in reaction.

“More. Jon, I want more,” she whispered.  Another finger pushed it’s way inside her, and they both wriggled and curved, and when Jon touched a certain spot Sansa slammed her hand over her mouth as she shivered and writhed through her first climax.

Jon had never fucked a virgin before, but Sansa was so tight around his fingers he was sure he was about to.  She was so wet she was dripping onto his hand, and he wouldn’t have any issues working his dick into Sansa’s cunt even though he was on the larger side and she was so tight.

“You need to sit on my lap,” he murmured.  It took some manoeuvring, untangling their legs by feel, but both Jon’s hands latched on Sansa’s hips, and he pulled her body flush to his with her knees bracketing his hips. His cock rubbed against her soaked underwear, and Sansa sighed and rocked her pelvis to increase the friction.  Jon could already feel the pressure building along his spine; he needed to move quickly. “Sansa? If I lift you up, can you put me in the right place?”

Sansa reached down and gripped his cock in answer. He felt her pull her underwear aside with one hand as the tip of cock brushed against her folds. As it notched into her opening, Jon eased Sansa down, groaning as he sank into her tight, slick cunt.

Was it her delectable pussy that felt so good, or was it because he’d never fucked raw before? Either way, Jon was pretty sure he was having the best sex of his life.

 “Your thing is inside me!” Sansa whimpered.  “It’s so big, I’m so full.”

“Are you hurting?” Jon rumbled softly in her ear.

“Mmmph, ah!  It feels really good, though,” Sansa gasped. She wriggled and squirmed, not sure whether she was trying to get Jon deeper inside her or find a position that didn’t feel like she was going to burst.  She pushed her sweater up to her armpits, and wrenched at the front hooks of her bra.  As Jon’s grip on her hips urged her to rock back and forth, Sansa slid her arms around his neck and rubbed her bare breasts against the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“Lean back a little,” Jon ordered.

Sansa arched her back, mourning the loss of stimulation to her breasts, but Jon somehow shifted his hips, changing the angle of his hardness and Sansa yelped as he rubbed against the place inside his fingers had found earlier, making her feel like a lightning-bolt, sizzling and ready to strike. He did it again and again, and Sansa felt herself explode.

“That’s it, sweetheart, clench down hard on my cock,” Jon growled in her ear, and Sansa convulsed, her inner muscles trying to squeeze the delicious intrusion that already stretched her open without remorse.

Jon moved his hands to her tits, just the right size to fill his hands, and clutched them as his own climax slammed into him.

“Ah!  I can feel your hot stuff coming out, it’s squirting inside me,” moaned Sansa.

Thing? Hot stuff?  In the fragment of his mind that wasn’t drowning in pleasure, Jon wondered just what version of The Talk his stepmother had given the girl taking his dick like she was made for it. At least he could cum inside her without reservation; having helped Sansa study for her herbalist lessons, he knew she was licensed to brew moon tea.

Sansa pressed her forehead against Jon’s as she gasped for breath, and his tight grip on her breasts softened, gently cradling them in his big hands.

The rattling of chains broke their silence, and the boat jerked.  Sansa sat bolt upright as the boat started to move.

“Fuck, we’re moving! You need to get off me!” Jon yelped.

Sansa nearly fell out to the boat, trying to disentangle herself from Jon and sit back down while shifting her panties back into place.  At the same time, Jon was cursing beside her; Sansa caught a glimpse of his still-hard cock as he pushed it back into his jeans, and a swift after-shock of need ran through her. The dim light grew brighter, and Sansa gave up fumbling with her bra to yank her sweater down, hurriedly zipping up her hoodie, glad she’d borrowed it from Jon earlier in the evening and it was thus two sizes too big.

Their boat cruised through a curtain of strings of moss, and bumped into the dock.  Blinking away after-images of the bright carnival lights, Sansa ignored the ride attendant’s droning voice.

Looking down at the bottom of the boat, Sansa’s eyes widened in horror at the obvious stains surrounding Jon’s fly. His leather jacket wasn’t long enough to cover them.

“Hang on, I need my bag!” she exclaimed.  Bending forward, half-over Jon’s lap, Sansa groped for her messenger bag with one hand.  With the other, she passed her fingertips, faintly glowing river-blue, over Jon’s crotch while she whispered a key-phrase.

Jon had to help her out of the boat, too – her legs could barely hold her up.

Jon’s fingers circled her wrist, as he led her away from the ride, the attendant’s smirk not hidden by the fangs of his B-movie Dracula costume.

“There’s bathrooms under the stairs to the grandstand, hardly anyone should be there until it’s time for the fireworks,” Jon told her.  “Meet you outside once we’ve both cleaned up.”

Keeping his body turned away from the man at urinals, Jon shut himself into the farthest cubicle with a sigh of relief.  What in the seven hells had Sansa been playing at, fondling his crotch like that in front of that vampire jerkass?

Jon grabbed a fistful of toilet tissue and looked down to assess the damage.  In the bright light of the bathroom, he could see no tell-tale stains. Looking in the direction of the ladies’ room, Jon sent a mental apology to Sansa.  She’d been using her favorite cleaning spell; if he’d been paying attention to her words instead of her touch he’d have recognised it.  She’d certainly used it on Arya and Bran to help them avoid Catelyn’s wrath enough times.

In the only available stall in the ladies’ room, Sansa hung her messenger bag and hoodie on the hook on the back of the door.  Reaching underneath her sweater, she pulled the cups of her bra back into place but couldn’t quite fasten it.  With a sigh of exasperation, Sansa pulled off her sweater, static electricity making her hair crackle, and shrugged out of her bra.

Standing topless in the small concrete-walled building, Sansa felt her nipples harden again from the chilly air as she inspected her bra.  She’d somehow managed to pop the stitching that kept the hooks in place.  It would be quite uncomfortable if she tried to wear it now and she was sure to lose at least one set of hook-and-eyes. Folding the garment carefully, Sansa slipped it into the laptop sleeve of her messenger bag. Sitting down on the toilet, Sansa needed three lots of tissue to clean Jon’s spend from between her legs, and two castings of the ‘neaten-up’ spell to make her sodden panties wearable again.

Dragging her sweater back over her head, Sansa inhaled sharply as she tugged it into place over her hips.  The soft wool felt so good against her still-sensitized breasts, and the place between her legs ached with longing.  Even though she was sore down there from being forced wide open, she missed the fullness.  Shrugging on the hoodie, she left it open. After washing her hands at the communal sinks, Sansa settled the strap of her messenger bag in a cross-body position between her breasts.  Looking at her reflection, Sansa could see her hard nipples ever so slightly distorting the surface of her sweater, her unencumbered breasts framed by Jon’s hoodie at the sides and the bag-strap pulling the wool flat between them and taut across them. How easy would it be, for Jon to slide his hand under the hem of her sweater and feel her bare breasts?

Sansa smiled at her reflection as she smoothed the static from her hair.

When they met outside the bathrooms, Jon and Sansa were almost as immaculate as when they went into the Ghost tunnel. Maybe Jon’s curls were a little wilder, and Sansa’s lips were so red it looked like she’d been drinking the smoothie van’s ‘Bloody Brew’.  But so what?

Jon’s eyes traced along the curves of his step-sister’s breasts, which he was certain were bare beneath the jack-o-lantern patterned sweater.  He had to fight the urge to drop to his knees and bury his face between her thighs.  He’d come inside her fifteen minutes ago, and all he could think of was getting Sansa somewhere private enough that he could see her naked before driving balls-deep inside her.

Sansa licked her lips as her gaze flickered from his eyes to his crotch and back, and Jon knew without a doubt that she wanted the exact same thing.

“We could say that you’re not feeling well.  Theon can fit everyone else into his Rover, and we can take the car and find somewhere to park on the way home.”

Sansa shook her head, her face regretful.  “If I’m sick, Robb would insist on taking me home himself.  We’ll have to wait.”

“How long?” Jon asked, his voice gravelly with need.

“I’ll get Theon to invite Robb to stay over, so we can drive Bran and Arya home. Once they’re in bed, come to my room.  I can close the curtains around my four-poster so no one can see in even if they open the door.”

“Keep the curtains open to the window,” Jon ran his eyes slowly, deliberately over her breasts, tracing every covered curve with his gaze.  “I want to see you naked by moonlight.”

Sansa moved closer, until he could feel the heat of her body against the bare skin of his hand.

“Same here.”

ONE WEEK LATER

���I have to admit, Agatha, that ghost caves idea made us a mint.  Maybe we should look into leveling up the spooky decorations, and offering it as a permanent alternative option?  Could be in more demand than the Tunnel of Love for things like school carnivals.”

“Ha!”

“Agatha, what are you doing?”

“I’m doing the ‘Agatha was right and she’s telling you so!’ dance.”

“Well, could you please point your booty that way,” (point) “before you shake it?” (mutter) “Like I don’t see enough of your ass during sky-clad ceremonies.” (paper rustling) “The switch from romance to spooky takes, what, a day? And that’s mostly covered during set-up anyway.  The only thing I don’t have a cost breakdown for is the spell-paint and spell-removal.”

(full-body pause) “Spell-removal?”

“Yeah, what did it cost to erase the lovey-dovey and horny spells?  And what will it cost to re-apply them for the Tunnel of Love?  It’s not like that shit works off decals.”

(silence)

“Agatha... you did remember to remove the lovey-dovey and horny spells, right?”

“Um...”

“RIGHT?”

DISCLAIMER: Neither Kathryn Hahn or Elizabeth Olsen were fan-cast in this fic. Aubrey Plaza maybe.

Title comes from the song ‘Counterpane’ by The Birthday Massacre; mostly because I didn’t like the original title, and I was listening to the song during final edits.

[fromtheseventhhell]

They're so twins-coded

[stheresya]

i think it’s a little bit of a stretch to say that sandor is in love with sansa? like, he’s definitely attracted to her! but we don’t have enough material to label his feelings as "love"…

indeed we don't have enough material to state such a thing for certain. and i believe that what both sansa and sandor feel for each other right now hasn't quite matured into our notions of "love" because neither were in the right headspace to think of each other in a self-acknowledged romantic way, with sansa still being a child living in difficult circumstances and sandor having a lot of issues of his own to deal with. however, it's known that their dynamic is meant to play heavily into the beauty & the beast motif, with sansa as the beauty that inspires sandor who's been animalized his entire life into making himself a man again. if the batb trope being romantic in nature isn't enough, sansa and sandor's dynamic on its own also has romantic elements that one can't simply ignore: the cloaking symbolism which is the most important element of wedding ceremonies in westeros, or the fact that sansa remembers a kiss between her and sandor that never happened, or that she sometimes likes to compare men around her with sandor as if he is the standard, or even that sandor is the person with whom sansa has some of her most emotionally charged interactions. as to sandor, well, we don't have access to his thoughts but we know that sansa has made a great impact in his life, she helped him come to the realization that he deserved dignity, that there were things worth fighting for in the world other than himself. in the arya chapters that he appears in asos it's quite clear how much sansa is often on his mind in the way that he's always talking about her. even his dying thoughts are about her so...

is sandor in love with sansa? not quite, yet. at least i think he hasn't rationalized his current feelings for her as "love" with a capital L. his memories of her are too riddled with guilt for him to think of anything beyond how much he failed her in king's landing. but the seeds have been planted. it's undeniable that his knowing her has shifted the course of his entire life, and i've said before that he had a sense of devotion to sansa that he never had for anyone else, not even joffrey. so considering all the mutual impact that sandor and sansa had on each other, and the romantic trope that their dynamic is meant to play into, all that's left for us is to wonder if the author plans on doing something with that. maybe they'll reunite and their relationship will fully develop into romantic love, maybe they never meet again and sansa will only have the memory of his protection and a kiss that never happened to hold on to. i guess we'll see.

[vivacissimx]

well anyway i don't see adwd!theon's time in winterfell as a reckoning to the tune of too late does this heedless villain see the error of his ways or any such narrative justice. personally i find it the most thematically interesting and, stay with me here, hopeful of theon's three "returns" i.e. his return to pyke, his acok return to winterfell, and finally the adwd return in question. this probably hinges on how of late i've grown more comfortable identifying winterfell as a decimated metropolis, yet a thriving necropolis—a place where the dead have been dead longer than the living have been living. without getting too much into that, i'll leave it with how siri hustvedt paraphrases lewis mumford: "people want to live close to the burial places of their ancestors, to whom they are drawn with mingled feelings of worship and dread, and that is how the city is born."

in acok, winterfell died when it was divested of starks (a symbolic death of winterfell as there are none left to inherit it) and burnt to the ground (a physical death). my point in all this is to say there is mutuality, a symbiosis that characterizes theon's third and final "return." he comes as reek, horrified to hell by ramsay and roose. theon's dehumanization has taken from him both a physical identity—his looks have changed so drastically that he is unrecognizable—and a metaphysical one—he is no longer afforded even the nominal identity of theon greyjoy. the reason i keep putting return in quotes, which i will now stop doing, is because obviously that's a myth. in reality, return occurs in the memory, and if memories contradict then returns cannot happen even there. theon cannot go back to a time prior to his torture. on pyke his family rejects him ("your blood and your heir." lord balon grunted. "we shall see."), in acok winterfell refuses any memory of him in lieu of classifying him as an invader (she gaped at him as if he were some stranger), and in adwd he remarks that winterfell is no longer "the castle he remembered from the summer of his youth." there are no homecomings.

however, a big thing that occurs in adwd is that we see both theon and winterfell being raised back to life. these two plots are connected or perhaps even the same. reek is forced to reclaim theon greyjoy in order to renew the stark claim via jeyne-as-arya. by doing this, by becoming theon, the stark return is recognized, and winterfell is revived. the proof is in the pudding: winterfell rapidly becomes a site of conflict thanks to it's value being restored. we see that jon is unwilling to renounce his vows in order to be named lord stark until the situation with ramsay and jeyne-as-arya comes to a head. elsewhere in the north, it's suddenly time to dust off those banners and rescue valiant ned's precious little girl. wyman manderly makes his way to winterfell only after sending davos on a quest to retrieve rickon stark. in each case, it requires a living stark to make winterfell any sort of prize.

back to theon. thanks to a nifty sidequest with barbrey, theon is also the one to find the entryway to the crypts, which represents a limb of sorts to the structure of winterfell. he is the one the heart tree speaks to. two bodies destroyed yet they know one another / know each other's names. what does the beating heart of winterfell say to him? "theon." what does he say back? "the old gods... know me." okay. self-recognition through the other. love it. love it so much in the face of that whole spiel tyrion once gave:

Tyrion had only the vaguest memory of Theon Greyjoy from his time with the Starks. A callow youth, always smiling, skilled with a bow; it was hard to imagine him as Lord of Winterfell. The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark.

He remembered their godswood; the tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines, and at the center the heart tree standing like some pale giant frozen in time. He could almost smell the place, earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries, and he remembered how dark the wood had been even by day. That wood was Winterfell. It was the north. I never felt so out of place as I did when I walked there, so much an unwelcome intruder. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too. The castle might well be theirs, but never that godswood.

so yes. i am contextualizing theon's final return as a rebirth, actually. worship and dread.

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Triggered by a conversation between mutuals that I wasn't able to partake in because I read it when it was already over but it still left me with a feeling of wanting to talk.

Many of my recent issues with this series and some of the characters in it come from coming to terms with the fact that people like me were never the intended demographic for it and thus many of my expectations and beliefs are unrealistic. I'm very much aware that every person who ever reads a text will understand it differently based on their experiences and emotions, we can see the most clear examples of it when it comes to the eternal debates on whether Jeyne & Sansa really bullied Arya or whether Catelyn's treatment of Jon should be considered abuse, but at least in my case the projection is based more on political situations that have strongly affected me and my loved ones and that are difficult to talk about in the open without feeling like my concerns are exaggerated and are also ruining other people's fun.

This is a fun series that has given my solace written by a white usan democrat who writes orientalist tropes and gives no real personality to any of his fully-canon-not-up-to-interpretation characters of colour and uses a half assed excuse to not have any of the main characters be a not-up-to-interpretation character of colour.

An example that is lighthearted and makes me chuckle could be my perception of the Vale. To me Mya Stone wears heavy colourful ponchos while Myranda wears a sanq'apa, Domeric Bolton played not only the harp but also the charango, maté is a common drink, and at least some of Sweetrobyn's lacking health comes from soroche. None of this is contradictory to the canon but I know that if I were to meet grrm and tell him of these concepts, he would probably think I'm on crack but would smile in false sympathy while Liiiiiiindaaaaaaaaa (and some readers, fans and tumblerinas) would just straight up tell me to go read something from my shithole country instead of tarnishing the beautiful and perfect European-based world of ice and fire./sar

And I am aware that the ironborn are perceived by most and are somewhat intended to be perceived as pseudo-historic "vikings but in the late Middle Ages" but I read these books when I was 12 and still thought that vikings were just a Hollywood invention, like the orange filter they put on Latin America or white saviours.

With this long introduction here are some random headcanons regarding ironborn lore and culture that aren't contradictory to canon but would probably clash against the more common fandom-built conceptions (many of which I do not like), sometimes accompanied by explanations and reasoning, often sentimental or based on personal experiences.

Nagga, the other unnamed dragon and the geographical formation of the islands

Heavily inspired by the myth of Trentren Vilu and Caicai Vilu. In the original real life mapuche myth the two giant snakes were enemies and after Caicai Vilu (sea snake) awoke form his slumber he caused a flood to bring down mankind because he considered them ungrateful brats who didn't appreciate the gifts offered by the sea. Trentren Vilu (land snake) helped the humans escape by raising the hills and turning those who drowned into sea creatures (fish, sea mammals and the mapuche equivalent to mermaids included) and those who were about to be engulfed by the waters into sea birds. Due to the long fighting and constant floods the land developed into thousands (not an exaggeration) islands.

My ironborn version of this isn't very different from the myth narrated above with Caicai Vilu's role becoming Nagga's and Trentren Vilu's being given to another sort of dragon that was it's oponent. The major difference in my headcanons is that said opponent perished, unlike Trentren, and Nagga kept on living and causing havoc until the Grey King finally killed it off. And if I am allowed to reach out even more with all this, the mermaid that the Grey King married could have been one of Nagga's victims saved by the other dragon but, taking into account what we know from Strange Stone this would mean that the formation of the Islands and the existence of merlings and the sea dragon would precede the Drowned God. That would be interesting.

Architectonic decoration

Some of my happiest memories take place in a small and poor fisher town in my home country that was usually damp and covered in fog. The beach was not a pleasant one. A remarkable thing about it was it's architecture that wasn't very particular in it's structure but still remains striking to me. The houses near the coast were all typical colourful, wooden stilt houses, but the further you got into land the houses would change and suddenly you found yourself in small and dirty alleys and streets between concrete houses that were rather plain in shape and old but the walls were covered in sea shells, and sometimes starfish and sea urchin carcasses, that had been plastered on the concrete. When I was 12 and had just moved to another country my class was tasked with making a dissertation about what we associate with the word "home". My teacher was a xenophobe who delighted in tormenting me and she laughed at the pictures and referred to them as tacky, my fellow classmates liked emulating her. I however still find them beautiful and that entire sentiment is something I mildly associate to the iron islands in a way.

It is my home. Flawed and meagre, but mine.

I also think that since sea shells are cheap and common it would fit into their more utilitarian tendencies; giving a purpose to what little they have instead of overspending (gold price) on aesthetics. For some reason this is something I like imagining at Harlaw and Lordsport in particular. Here are pictures

Music

Feel weird about this because music in the entirety of Westeros is very generic and that makes it a little boring in my opinion. When it comes to Ironborn we are told of two reaving songs ("Steel Rain" and "The Bloody Cup") and it's mentioned quite often by ironborn characters that getting a song about them is something they should strive for. There might even be some religious reasons behind it too but that wasn't expanded on:

The Drowned God had made them to reave and rape, to carve out kingdoms and write their names in fire and blood and song. - Theon I, ACOK

Makes me wonder if Theon's "Let Abel make a song of that, we flew." could have been influenced by ironborn culture too instead of just his usual romanticism and the chivalric connotations of him "saving the girl". I haven't compared this to the other characters so I can't be sure about this but from my notes Theon seems to think quite a lot about wanting to be in/not being fit for a song.

We also have Loron Greyjoy, "the Bard", and we know very little of him except for that he used to have a gay ol' time with Desmond Mallister, but there's nothing that points to him being looked down on by the other ironborn and the nickname "the bard" feels significant but there's no info so what am I to make up with that? Well, I like to think he was a bit of a patron of the arts and maybe even a composer. The two reaving songs have no mentioned origins so maybe he was involved in their creation.

The thralls were pouring ale, and there was music, fiddles and skins and drums. - Theon II, ACOK

I like all of those instruments but grrm you are a bore. Westeros is about the size of South America and yet they have a total of nine instruments named. Loved the mention of kettledrums during the kingsmoot though.

The largest kettledrum in the world finds itself in Bali and serves religious purposes. I like to believe that perhaps the kettledrums during the kingsmoot also had some religious reasons for their use. Perhaps traditional melodies used to announce the different contenders for the seastone chair.

Drums make sense for reaving songs and truth be told I'm not sure to what he was referring with "skins" but I was surprised by the fiddles because they seemed like a wink at the just as anachronistic golden age piracy, even if fiddles have been around since the 10th century. This makes me think of more folkloric oriented music made more for dancing in taverns and harbours than for rowing.

When being deranged I became aware that percussion and string instruments can be played underwater as they don’t rely solely on air to transfer sound (they would still be very difficult to play and the sound would be weird). Dragging a bow across a fiddle would probably be easier than strumming a harp or lyre though. I don’t think the ironborn are deranged enough to try to play music under water but it makes for a fun picture to imagine them being more fond of sounds that can be transferred through it. I’m imagining them trying echolocation with dolphins.

For some reason I can’t really explain I like the idea of them playing the marimba and other percussion wood based instruments.

I like to believe that the finger dance can be somewhat compared to capoeira as in serving aesthetically pleasing and artistic purposes but also carrying a sort of danger and fighting spirit to it. It is something I can see as a pastime, acrobatic exercise and art and I like that.

Some mapiko dancers will bind sea shells in nets to their clothes and they will use them as bells and rattles when they dance. I like to think this could maybe be part of the finger dance when performed for artistic purposes, like perhaps a diplomatic visit or a national festivity, instead of just as a game.

(not ironborn lore related but as I went through my notes I realised that Theon is usually tense when thinking or witnessing happyish heroic sort of songs but he seems to be weirdly at peace/melancholic around "sad" and "soft" songs during ADWD and I find that very endearing. Go listen to Chris Garneau's between the bars and castle time you sad sulking ghost I love you I wish I could have seen you thrive but we are all doomed : ) )

Priestesses of the drowned god

I am heavily against the fandom notion that the Ironborn built a culture out of toxic masculinity that is particularly misogynistic when in canon women in the island (or at least ironborn women) have more liberties than in most of Westeros (with Dorne as an exception and maaaaaybe the North). The only female stewards we see in the series are all iron islanders and Asha being allowed to reave and raid and engage in spaces usually reserved to men isn't the exception to the rule. Theon mentions that women like her aren't uncommon in the isles, Asha is said to have resembled her mother in spirit and Hagen's beautiful red headed daughter, who is so low on the socio-economical hierarchy that she doesn't even get her own name, is not only allowed to behave similarly to Asha, but her sexual freedom is never questioned or criticised either. I honestly think that their most problematic issues come from feelings of ethnic superiority, not a personal vendetta against women.

So, I find it disappointing and lazy that we haven't gotten any female spaces in the faith of the drowned god. I remember someone mentioning on a Tumblr post that on one of the asoiaf based video games drowned priestesses were a thing. Sadly I have never played any of the video games and I can't find any further sources for this so I don't know if I should trust that. But! I like that idea. Drowned priests are restless; they have no home and are made to basically pilgrim their life away; they travel around the islands and also accompany the men on raids. I think it would be cool if the priestesses of the drowned god had a more stable role in ironborn society. During the age of heroes we had salt and rock kings and in a way I could see the drowned priestesses as the rock to the drowned priests salt but with less authority.

Maesters are still somewhat recent in the Iron Islands and I don't think that Septas would have been appreciated by most ironborn women given their teachings and expectations around gender norms so I like believing that priestesses of the drowned god could occupy that space as educators of children and healers. History and religion seemed to be tied together in ironborn culture and their religion at least passed down orally so I can imagine them acting somewhat similar to mande jèli but with more of a focus on religion and less importance on the overall politics. I can also imagine them performing less important rites, like weddings, coming of age ceremonies or maybe fertility related acts. So basically a mixture between Maester and Septa with a lesser standing to their male counterparts.

Rafts as beds

Drowned priests, who have no homes, should sleep on rafts on nights that are more or less calm because that is a magical experience that I think everyone should go through at least once in their life but it's also fitting to their entire suffering theme because you will freeze to death and get a cold.

Dhows

I learnt how to row, sail, fish and use the night sky as a map before I learned how to ride a bike and my personal nitpicking issue with the world building in asoiaf is the nautical terms used. What do you mean longships and galleys that have decks and cabins????? Even if they have two levels of rowers (and most of the described ones don't) this rarely makes sense!

And you know what? I'm not even going to take my time to give them accurate Viking-like ships. In my head, they travel on dhows. "Dhow" is a generic term to refer to certain types of sailing boats that are mostly used around the Indian Ocean and I am in love with them.

They are precious to me and they allow me more variety when imagining the different ships mentioned in relation to the ironborn characters.

Sea Bitch for example looks more like a beden to me than like a typical Viking longship

but I can still imagine smaller, simpler looking galleys when needed, like a Dhoni. They can carry quite a lot of heavy stuff so they are usually good for trading (and probably raiding) too.

If I recall correctly, the Iron fleet has been identified by the text as some hybrid between dromonds and longships and I can be content with that definition. Personally I picture them more like Byzantine dromonds with a deck, cabins and more than one set of rowers.

Colloquialisms

I have always perceived colloquialisms as a subtle type of resistance to colonial and imperial forces, so I assume that the less integrated and maybe more separatist parts of Westeros (such as the Iron Islands, Dorne and maybe The North) would probably have a wider range of colloquialism as region based expressions. This is difficult to convey in fanworks of any sort and I can't think of any time I've made it noticeable in any of my fanworks but I like thinking about it. This could include idioms related to religious or geographical lore or more ambitious terms stemming from perhaps a former language spoken in the region or words taken and adapted from places they have sailed to, like the Summer Islands.

[modern-inheritance]

What are Eragon’s feelings on Fao?

So, Eragon does feel a little jealous of Fäolin after Arya reveals he was the one she was in love with and had a relationship with, very much akin to his reaction in canon.

However! Over time, as Arya, and Glen and Brom by extension, talk about Fäolin more, Eragon comes to realize that Fäolin loved Arya for much the same reasons that he does. He recognizes a lot of what Arya saw in Fäolin in himself!

And, most importantly, Eragon matures and sees that Fäolin and the relationship he had with Arya made her happy. That Arya had someone like that for her, in her corner in ways no one else could be, was so, so important. And he is so happy for that. He's happy that she had someone that made her happy! He understands that Fäolin was special, was a very important person in Arya's life, and damn it, if he were still alive then Eragon is pretty sure he and Fäolin would be pretty damn good friends!

Just like Paolini, I don't think the relationship between Fäolin and Arya would have survived post-Gil'ead. I think they both would have changed enough to still love each other, but not be in love with each other. It would have exposed some cracks that never would have come to light had they not been separated so violently without confirmation of the other's status. And I think Eragon, after a year or two, would have realized that as well. Arya confides in him that she sometimes finds herself 'getting angry at a dead man for questions he can't answer,' and he realizes that while a part of her will always love Fäolin...she is no longer in love with him, and is, in some ways, recognizing Eragon's feelings for her and that they may indeed be mutual. But because he has sworn to never pursue her without explicit consent on her part, he just continues on supporting her and loving her in the ways that he can.

Iunno. What stands out to me the most is that Eragon understands Fäolin is and always will be a big part of Arya's life, both pre-relationship and during the relationship. They can freely talk about him and Arya can make comparisons or quips about past interactions with Fäolin and have Eragon laugh at them without feeling jealous or angry or set aside. He knows what they have is in the now, and he has nothing to fear, and neither does she.

(Also, I don't know if anyone has picked it up, but to be perfectly blunt here lol: Fäolin is always compared to the sun, very bright, warm, never stopping that cheery, playful side. Eragon, increasingly so as we move along the timeline and Arya realizes {and both does not realize, being our dumb as rocks demi lmao} her feelings, is similarly compared to the sun, but in a slightly different way. Yes, he's got that sunny warmth, but his warmth is deeper and warmer toned. At least, that's what I've tried to do. I don't know if i've gone too subtle or if it's popped up in only like one or two stories that have made it to post but it's a running thing I've done, especially when in Arya's pov.)

I really hope this made sense, hit me up again if it didn't lol.

[in-my-feels-probably]

i love love looove how you write!

if possible, could we get a sweet Robb Stark growing up with the daughter of one of the Stark bannermen who gets in a bad riding accident as a kid leaving her face scarred up meaning she doesn't really have any suitors when they get older but Robb realizes he's been in love with her all along !!

Flaws

Request: if possible, could we get a sweet Robb Stark growing up with the daughter of one of the Stark bannermen who gets in a bad riding accident as a kid leaving her face scarred up meaning she doesn't really have any suitors when they get older but Robb realizes he's been in love with her all along !!

Hi! Thank you for the kind words. I really love this request, thank you for sending it in. This is the last request I currently have in my inbox, I’m glad it’s a good one. I’m sorry for the wait, hopefully this is what you were looking for. I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: slight mentions of gore, mentions of an attack, blood and scars, slight angst, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You had lived in Winterfell for most of your life. Your father, a Lord and bannerman of House Stark, sent you to Winterfell just after your ninth name day, so that you could properly be raised as a Lady. 

Lord Stark, Ned, happily welcomed you into his home. You immediately grew close to all of the Stark children as the years went on, each of them taking a liking to you in their own way. 

You’d sneak Arya out of her lessons with the Septa, letting her guide you around the castle instead. You weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty or muddy your skirts, and Arya liked that about you.

You’d sit with Sansa while she did her needlepoint, letting her ramble on about the recent gossip she had heard that day. She was much different than her sister, but you enjoyed her all the same. She enjoyed having another girl her age that had similar interests as her.

You’d read to Rickon during your free time, doing all the little voices that would make him giggle. He was too young to understand why you were there, but his face always lit up at the sight of you. 

You’d watch Bran during his archery lessons. Your father thought it pertinent to teach you the skill, and you had gotten quite proficient at archery by the time you were Bran’s age. He loved when you’d attend his lessons, helping him practice a new skill. 

Despite how often he brooded, Jon appreciated your company more than most people of the castle. He always felt like an outcast in his own home, aware that his status was lower than his family’s. When he was with you, accompanying you to whatever your plans were that day, it was easy to forget about his position. Your position was lower than the Stark children’s too, and Jon thought it was easy to be around you. The majority of smiles he’d crack throughout the day were with you. 

Of all of Lord and Lady Stark’s children, you enjoyed Robb the most. The feeling seemed to be mutual. You were closest in age, and had so much in common. He loved everything about you. The way you were with his siblings, how easy you were to be around, how happy you made him feel when he was around you. 

His favorite thing to do with you was going horseback riding. It was one of the times he felt freest, galloping through the forest with you, watching the wind blow through your hair. 

Unfortunately, it was that very activity the both of you loved, that got you hurt. 

It happened when you were ten, on an evening ride. There was a miscommunication, and a hunting party ran right into you and Robb’s path. One of the men shot an arrow, which grazed the side of your face and slid down on impact as it cut in, before it fell to the floor.

You were knocked off your horse, and you hit the ground with a thud, unmoving. Robb had quickly dismounted, screaming your name. 

He thought you were dead when he rolled you over, and was met with blood running down your face, your breath shallow. He let out a cry as you groaned, immediately yelling for Maester Luwin to be fetched. 

He helped you onto the back of his horse, riding back into Winterfell. Maester Luwin did what he could, suturing the skin together, but there wasn’t much else he could do besides give you an ointment to put on the wound daily to help it heal.

The arrow left a scar that ran from the top of your eyebrow to the bottom of your cheek, stopping just above your jaw. 

It had lightened over the years, but was still a pale pink, marked over raised and uneven skin. It was gruesome, to be sure. You hated it in the months that followed after the accident. 

It took Robb a while to be able to look at you again. You felt shame in your heart when you’d see him turn his head. 

Sansa tried to help you cover it up. But it was to no avail. Makeup couldn’t cover it, and eventually, you stopped trying. You grew to accept it, finally. By the time you reached maturity, it didn’t pain you nearly as much to look at it.

Occasionally, some of the boys in the courtyard would laugh when they saw you, pointing and giggling. 

That hurt. 

There was no denying that. But you learned to put on a brave face, not letting anyone’s words or stares affect you. You learned to be alone, needing nobody but yourself.

Aside from the scar, you were still a lovely girl. You were still close to the Stark children, and they treated you normally. Robb eventually stopped turning away from you, starting to smile again when he saw you. 

Over the years, it was hardly even a problem for you anymore. It didn’t bother you again, until this evening.

On the eve of Robb’s nameday, a celebration was held in his honor. 

Everyone dressed in their finest clothes, flocking to the banquet hall. A feast was first, where Lord Stark toasted his son. 

After, as the festivities continued, people flocked to the dance floor. You weren’t one for dancing, never enjoying being the center of attention, especially after the accident. But you did enjoy being with your friends, so you stuck to the outskirts of the crowd. 

Sansa stayed with you for a while, before being whisked away by her friends. That sucked away all the fun you were having. 

You looked around the room, deciding that you had quite enough partying for the evening. You went to leave and look for Jon, who had already left the banquet hall, when something caught your eye. 

Or rather, someone.

Robb was in the center of the dance floor, a girl on his arm. His smile was bright, enough so that you could see it from all the way across the room. She giggled at something he said, covering her mouth with her hand coyly. It was the Lady Jeyne from a neighboring castle, the eldest daughter of a Lord and bannerman to the Starks. 

You felt your heart crumble at the sight. 

You didn’t know why. You had already accepted the fact that it was likely you’d spend your life alone, or married off to some Lord who cared more about your dowry than the scar on your face. 

You knew you didn’t have a chance with Robb. He was the heir to Winterfell, the next Lord Stark. He’d never look at you as anything more than a friend. 

But if that was true, why did it hurt so bad to accept?

Feeling your eyes well with tears, you quickly hurried out of the banquet hall, trying your best to make sure nobody noticed your exit. You headed for the training yard, knowing it would be empty. 

You angrily wiped your tears as you picked up a bow, nocking an arrow and pointing it towards the straw target at the opposite end of the yard. You took a deep breath, sending the arrow flying. 

It must have been an hour out there in the cold. You could see your breath as you focused on the target, letting arrows fly one after the other. You grew more tired by the minute, but you refused to give up, going to retrieve all the hours you had shot. 

As you collected them, you heard someone clear their throat, and you turned around startled, raising your bow.

“It’s just me,” Robb said, raising his hands in surrender. 

You put the bow down, narrowing your eyes. “You’re missing your party, My Lord. You should go back.”

“Should I?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “Why would I do that? You’re out here. Can’t I spend my name day with you?”

“Your name day is tomorrow. You can spend it however you please, then. For now, you can return back to your companion. Jeyne, wasn’t it? I’m sure she’s missing you.”

Robb frowned, stepping closer to you. “Jeyne? I don’t want to spend my evening with her. I’m sure she’s found someone to occupy her time by now. Why are you out here, don’t you have someone to be with?”

You scoffed, further closing the gap between you both. “Like who, Robb? Sansa left with her friends, and I couldn’t find Jon. Who else is there?” 

“I heard the blacksmith’s boy has taken an interest in you. Why not him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, sighing. “You know he has no interest in me.”

Robb shook his head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re lovely, he’d be lucky to gain your affections.”

“You know why,” you muttered, turning your face from him. 

You felt shame creep into your chest, trying to fight the embarrassed flush that tinted your cheeks. Not enjoying your silence, Robb laid a hand on your shoulder to turn you back to him. 

“Know why? I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What’s going on, what happened?”

You couldn’t tell if he was feigning ignorance, or if he really was that oblivious. You fought the tears that welled up in your eyes, angrily clenching your fist. Your voice was thick with emotion, your tone harsh. 

“Just go, Robb. Enjoy your party.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” he said, determined. 

You groaned, finally relenting. “I’m jealous, alright? I’m jealous.”

“Of what? Of Jeyne? Why would you ever be jealous of her?”

Is he that clueless, you thought to yourself. Surely he’d have figured it out by now, bound to have caught you drooling over him at some point. You just thought he chose not to see it, so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

“Because she’s beautiful! She’s beautiful, and her face is flawless. No nasty scar marking half of her face that’s unbearable to look at. Maybe you’d look at me more if I looked more like her.”

He grew angry, his tone firm. “Y/N, don’t say that. You know that’s not true. You’re not hard to look at.”

You scoffed. “Don’t lie. I know how you felt. You’d turn your head every time you saw me in the months after. You couldn’t even look at me.”

“Is that what you think?” He asked, sounding hurt. “That couldn’t be less true.”

You were unsure now, but still angry, and you pressed the matter further. “Really? That’s what it seemed like to me. Couldn’t even get you to talk to me without flinching most of the time.”

Robb visibly bristled, taking a step back like your words had scalded him. He was quiet for a moment, taking deep breaths. Finally, his eyes met yours. 

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” You asked, shaking your head. 

“You’re wrong,” he reaffirmed. “I couldn’t stand to look at you, because every time I saw your scar, I was reminded that I did nothing to stop it.”

You felt like your breath had been knocked out of you as he spoke, you could tell that he was growing angrier by the second. He moved to stand right in front of you, eyes narrowed.

“When you were knocked from your horse, and you hit the ground…I thought you were dead. I thought they killed you, right in front of me. And every time I looked at you in the weeks after, I was reminded of how absolutely useless I felt. There’s nothing I could’ve done to help, I know that. But that didn’t make me feel any less bad about it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Robb. You know that,” you said, suddenly feeling like your feet were planted to the floor. You couldn’t get yourself to move.

Robb noticed. 

“Why are you out here? Are you really that jealous over Jeyne?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Go ahead, you can laugh, I can take it. I know you think it’s ridiculous I’d ever feel this way about you.”

“I’m not laughing.”

You glanced up at him to meet his eyes. Your voice was quiet. “Why are you out here? Why aren’t you with her right now, it’s your name say celebration. You should go enjoy it.”

“I’m not enjoying anything while you’re out here alone. Why aren’t you with someone, like the blacksmith’s boy? I’m sure he’s a better way to spend your time than out here in the cold.”

You could hear the annoyance in his tone, perplexed by it. You took a step closer to him, not taking your eyes off of his. 

“Is that jealousy I’m detecting? Say whatever it is you’re not saying, Robb, I’m not interested in dancing around this conversation anymore.”

Robb’s eyes softened on you. You suddenly realized how close you were, moving to take a step back, but he grabbed your wrist, not letting you go.

“Have you always been this fiery?”

“What?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper. 

“I know you can hold your own, I’ve seen you do it plenty of times. But there’s this fire to you I think I’m seeing for the first time. Has it always been there?”

You shook your head in confusion. You were burning under his stare, yet unable to look away. It was like he was seeing you in a whole new light, one he had never noticed before.

“I don’t understand—“

“To answer your question, no. No, I don’t want to be in there with Jeyne. I’d much rather be out here with you. It seems I’ve been a fool, taking so long to realize that.”

Your lips parted in shock, and he smiled, cupping your jaw. 

“I’m not making a fool of myself, am I? You’re not going to leave me for the blacksmith’s boy are you?”

You let out a laugh, one that widened his grin. “No, you idiot. I don’t even know his name, and I can promise you he wasn’t looking at me in any way you’d have to worry about.”

“Then he’s the fool,” Robb said, his tone firm. “You’re beautiful.”

“Stop—“ You said, blushing, but he cut you off.

“I don’t think so, My Lady. Someone has to tell you, since you see it fit to deny it. We’ll have to do something about that.”

He ran a light finger down the length of your scar, ghosting over the skin. You held your breath, and he grinned, cupping your face in his palms. His heart was beating a million miles a minute, and he felt like his stomach was doing flips. 

The feeling was mutual. 

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

You smiled. “You’re an idiot, Robb.”

His grin widened as he boasted. “That may be. But it seems I’ve won you over anyways. I must be doing something right.” 

“Gods, you’re so lucky I love you. Pride isn’t a good look on you.”

“Everything is a good look on me, darling,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “Seeing as I love you, too, you’re unfortunately stuck with me.”

You settled into his arms, holding him tight. Your smile was impossible to hide as you grinned into his chest. 

“Unfortunately.”

—

A/N - Hi! Sorry this is a little short. I don’t love the outcome, but I wanted to get it out to you anyways. I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you thought!