#arya nightmare

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Nightmares (Ashes)

(A/N: Aaaaay, here's your reminder that they are platonic soulmates.

I also want a Glen plushie. With a little felt orange-and-grey arm. He has become my comfort person as well. I want a Glen plushie and a somewhat grumpy Arya plushie and a Brom plushie for when I need to talk out plotlines and an Eragon and Saphira plushie for when I need to feel warm fuzzies. TW for injuries, though I think I kept the description down this time.)

~~~

It was too hot. 

It wasn’t like the sun. The sun beats down. This was coming up, up through his already charred pants and the cotton shirt that stank of burned fibers. Wrapped around his head, his combat jacket was the only thing saving his face as he lay with his covered cheek pressed to the ground. Puffs of ash billowed up as he panted, clogging his nostrils and settling above his lip to trickle into his mouth when he tried to wet his lips. 

He reached out with his right hand, as far as he could, and growled. The blinding pain shocked up his other side as his limp arm dragged across the ground, heaved himself from flat on his belly to resting on his elbow. Shoved off, toes of his boots leaving gouges in the dirt as he pushed away. Screamed as the impact down again jolted his dead limb. 

The body slid forward with him. The belt tying them together dug deep into his shoulder. 

“You…You’d probably…” Glenwing spat out the grit that lined his teeth. “Probably make a joke about…about wishing you’d…skipped breakfast…about now.” Down here the smoke wasn’t as obliterating to his lungs. But the ash was just as bad. 

Fäolin lifted his head. His eyes were hollow. But that little smile, so annoying and endearing, he always had was still on his lips. “But I did skip it, remember?”

Glen grunted. Steeled himself for a moment before reaching out again. He could feel the cinders that caught in his skin burning deep at his left thigh. He had to move again, try and knock them loose with friction alone. If he rolled over and pulled them out, he wouldn’t start moving again. “Sure doesn't feel like it.”

The sniper laughed. “For a bruiser you’re acting like a lightweight.” He fell into silence at Glen’s repeated howl of agony as he hit the ground. Stayed that way for a few more repetitions. “Hey. Why aren’t you going back?” 

The medic didn’t answer. Set his teeth and breathed hard through his nose. 

“Glen. Where’s Arya?” A serious tone this time. Fäolin didn’t like sounding like that. Glen didn’t like it either. “She’s not here. Where is she?” He closed his eyes. “Hey!”

“She…” He had to stop. Just for a few seconds. Had to get a breath away from all the ash. Rolled on his side and lifted his head. Managed to suck in a single clear breath before his ruined arm lolled and bent in a direction it shouldn’t have been able to. 

He didn’t know he was able to sound like that. Never wanted to hear a scream, a screech, from anyone, so loud and ear shattering and guttural and wrong wrong everything is wrongeverythingiswrong!

“Hey, quit your bitching!” Fäolin was latched on to his leg, fingers digging into the burns on his thigh. “You didn’t even look! You just left her there, what the fuck, Glen!”

It took every ounce of his self control not to kick Fäolin in the face, let out the pain in a way other than screaming himself hoarse. He panted a few clear breaths before, with another scream, he rolled back onto his belly. “She knows…what she’s doing.” 

He couldn’t tell Fäolin the truth. That he had felt the surge of magic, bright and green and desperate, during a brief return to consciousness. Her magic. That spell practiced for decades, a spell that was one of the many reasons she was picked as courier. Felt that she was just…gone when he woke up again. And the shade was gone. The Urgals, gone. 

Arya was gone. 

Fäolin did not relent. “You left her there!” The other elf’s nails felt like claws digging into the back of his leg. “Go back! Go back, now!”

“Shut up!” With a burst of strength, Glenwing managed to heave himself over a fallen branch. The bark, ebony black and still clicking with heat expansion, raked across his chest. Fäolin took a firm yank to bring over. He landed on the medic, elbow digging into his side and face to face. “Fäolin, just…she knows,” The words out of his mouth tasted like carbonized pine, acrid and sticky and heavy. “we…we can’t save everyone.” 

He resecured the belt holding them together, one hand fumbling with the buckle. “I can…can at least save you.”

“No you can’t.” 

The words were nearly lost in the ragged yell of Glen’s next attempt to move forward. Alarmed, he looked back. He couldn’t let Fäolin give up now, not….

Fäolin’s empty eyes and cold face streaked with soot and ash stared back. His expression was locked in rigor, neck turned at an awkward angle. His mouth didn’t move.

“I’m already dead, Glen.” 

~

He could hear screaming when his eyes opened. Something was tight and suffocating around his chest, pinning his arm to his side while something else pressed into his face. Heat washed over his neck and under his chin. 

Glen thrashed, threw his weight, tried desperately to free himself from everything pressing down. He heard something slam, a crash, and suddenly there was light. The thing encasing him ripped away and fresh air burst across his overheated skin. 

He sucked in a deep breath, and in that moment of quiet he realized he was the one screaming. A gentle voice was hovering by him, a murmur in his ears as he dug his fingers into whatever was closest and–

Felt only his right hand close. The left was clenched into a fist so tight he could have crushed iron, wouldn’t open when he tried to flex his fingers and release the pain that was building. 

There wasn’t smoke. There wasn’t ash. His mouth felt tacky but still tasted like…like the mint from his toothpaste and the chamomile tea he had before bed. Tea he had drank with–

Glenwing bolted upright, scrambled as his left side dipped and threw his balance. He had to find her. He had to go back, had to find her.

He slammed into something, someone. 

“Where are you?” Glen stared at them blearily and pulled away. He had to go back. “Answer me, Glen. Where are you?”

The question brushed against his barriers, direct, firm. If anyone else had asked it that way, he wouldn’t have felt the buried undercurrent in their thoughts. The spidersilk thin thread of worry, recognition, the even thinner thread of pleading. 

She hated pleading, with anyone. He hated it too. 

The urge to bolt eased. 

“I’m…” It was hard to speak. Needed water. “Ellesméra.”

Relief just barely colored the next question. “What do you see?”

“You.” 

“Specifics. Who am I?”

He swallowed. “Arya.”

“Good. What do you hear?” 

He had to slow his breathing. Inhaled, held it. Exhaled. Again. Listened. “...Frogs. Chorus Frogs. From the creek by Tani’s.” Again. “Crickets.” Again. Picked up on something else. “Pulse…sixty two. Higher than usual.”

He saw her tight lips quirk up a bit. She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “What do you feel?”

Glen wriggled his toes and felt the cool moss rise up around them. The underlayer was damp. The top was soft like terry fleece. “Pincushion moss.” He paused. “Your hands. They’re cold. Don’t let go.” He was quick to add. 

She didn’t. “What do you smell?” 

“Pine. Lots of pine.” He didn’t add the undercurrent of gunpowder, gun oil and leather. That was just the scent she gave off. It calmed him down, just as his odd combination of cedar, vanilla, machine oil and antiseptic calmed her. Fäolin’s sharp notes of tea tree oil, gunpowder, ferns and well worn cotton had rounded them out. They each smelled like safety to each other. 

“What do you taste?” 

“Tea. Toothpaste.” 

Arya squeezed his shoulders again. He could see her completely now. Her eyebrows were knit in a concerned yet hopeful rise, that half smirk at her lips wavering. “Hey. You grounded?”

Glen breathed a shaky sigh. “I’m grounded.” 

Ritual complete, Arya led him to sit on the bed. “Do you want your arm?” At the medic’s mute nod she retrieved the prosthetic from the side table and helped him slide it on.

The moment the nerves connected all the fingers snapped into a tight fist, forearm shaking with the signals the crushing phantom pain was sending. Glenwing doubled over with a rough gasp, pressed the metal limb to his belly as the rebounding sensations increased in a feedback loop. It took everything he had to look down at his new hand and force it, slowly, to open. 

The relief wasn’t instant. And it wasn’t total. But seeing the fingers unfurl at the command of a brain that still hadn’t quite accepted the original limb’s loss…it helped. The pain eased away to the occasional pinprick, at least for the time being. 

He became aware of Arya’s hand on his back, not moving but there. He had always preferred a physical connection during his episodes, even before…all this. It grounded him more firmly. 

“Thank you.” Glen’s voice was still thick, and with a wordless pat to his shoulder Arya left the room only to return with two lukewarm mugs of the same chamomile tea the medic had made earlier. She held it out to him at his center, unsure of which hand to offer it to, and he took it with his right. The ceramic was warm against his palm. 

He took a sip and couldn’t help a little grin. “You added sugar.” It wasn’t a bad thing. He knocked back half the mug in three gulps. 

Arya gave him her own nearly hopeless smirk as she crossed her legs beside him. “Something sweet after that can’t hurt.” She took a sip of her own. “Helps the hangover.” They sat together in silence until their mugs were empty. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?” 

Glenwing turned the mug over in his hand, shifting it by bouncing it slightly in his palm. He didn’t trust his prosthetic with something fragile at the moment, something Rhunön would probably chastise him for when he told her about it in the morning. More tweaking to the nerve reaction path was in his future. “...Not really.” He felt the sweat drying on his skin. He had already taken his shirt off before bed, hoping it would alleviate the encroaching warmth of summer. “It’s too hot in here.” 

“I got the window.” Glen didn’t protest when Arya pushed the panes open, the screen sliding into place with a rustle. “Want one of the thinner blankets?” 

“No, thanks.” She returned to the bed and sat with him again. From the corner of his eye he took her in, practiced as he was from their decades fighting together. Her hair was still in the tighter braid she wore during the day, the loose fringes still wild as ever. Though she was wearing her usual sleep clothes of shorts and an old, torn up tshirt they didn’t look slept in. Her eyes were bright and alert, with no sign of shaking off sleep or even dozing. 

He hadn’t woken her up, at least. She had already been awake, probably the entire night.

It was a half hour before he could finally feel the tingling seep away. His burns, most healed before they could scar but a handful still splotched across his chest and legs, still buzzed with static after these episodes. He could sleep again, knowing for sure where, when, he was. 

But still.

“Hey.”  Arya paused at the door, one hand raised about to extinguish the werelight and the other holding both the mugs by their handles. “Watch my back?”

The smile she gave him was gentle, understanding. “Definitely. One sec.” She returned with one of her own blankets draped over her shoulders and climbed onto the bed beside where he lay. “Scoot over.”

They arranged themselves back-to-back, curled on their sides and shoulder blades pressed against each other through the blankets. They had spent nights like this before, out in the field, sitting up rather than laying down and braced against each other to catch some sleep while still remaining at the ready. It was less comfortable but more stable with a third when sitting up, but they had always made do before. 

It wasn’t the first time they slept in the same bed since finding each other again. The first time Arya had ripped herself from her nightmares straight into a Recall episode Glen had found her cowering in the hall, shivering and whimpering and unsure of what was real and what was in the past or if the past was even over. It took hours of coaxing, of grounding exercises and assurances, before she could even see him through the memories, the pent up stress and tumult and trauma of months finally releasing its first wave as her body and mind realized it was safe and still for the first time since the ambush. He made sure she was grounded and then, with all the care in the world, wrapped her in a fluffy blanket and carried her back to her room, curled around her protectively till she finally, finally fell into a dreamless sleep. He kept watch the last dregs of the night and into the midmorning hours, vigilantly kept his pistol and blades beside him despite knowing no one would come through the door. 

She paid him back for it. It was only a week before his own episode. He ran himself into his bedroom door, knocked flat on his back and thrashing, clawing at the electricity shooting down his phantom limb. Glen wasn’t even aware of when she had come in, just that someone was holding him and the smell of smoke was fading. The half open window and the gentle breeze carrying in the scent of pine burning from a distant lightning strike in the hills was shut and the air cleared. When Glen choked on his last mouthful of ash he could hear her again, grasped onto her hand where it held him up like she was going to disappear again if he let go. Arya wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight, physically grounding him and walked him through the questions he had taught her until he could answer them all over and over. Half carried him back to bed, pressed her back to his and promised to take watch the rest of the night. 

That she was still there in the morning, awake and alert, meant to him more than she would ever realize. It didn’t erase the thread of guilt Glen swore he never felt when she asked. But it did chase away the ghosts.

~~

(A/N: Because I'm not entirely sure it's clear. Fäolin was dead by the time he hit the ground in MIC. Glen was hallucinating and also sorta in denial. Fäolin was also voicing Glen's own thoughts, arguing against his own decision to leave the ambush site because he needed to get himself away to tell others what happened/help Fäolin when all he really wanted to do was go and find Arya and help her protect Saphira's egg.)

#eragon #inheritance cycle #the cyclists #the world of eragon #modern inheritance #ket's modern inheritance cycle #the inheritance cycle #glen (inheritance) #glenwing #arya #modern inheritance stories #arya drottningu #og elf squad #trauma babies #they have a tag now! #would Trauma Twins be better? #nightmares #flashbacks #ptsd #oh right faolin's dead #uh #tbh i dont much care about him anymore he's annoyed me with his development #i wish these two would stop chattering in my head they're so annoyingly fun #glen's issues started getting stronger after Arya returned because it brought everything back to the surface #but he's really comforted that she's actually HERE now like THAT WAS THE PROBLEM AND NOW YOU'RE HERE GOOD #I CAN GET OVER MY GUILT AND AW SHIT YOU WERE *DESTROYED* FOR SIX MONTHS WELL FUCK ME THERE IT GOES AGAIN #also please help rhunon keeps throwing wrenches at me and i can't understand her half the time #if you got this far in the tags hit me up for a cookie

[wishingupontheskyandstars]

Cuddling With You (Gendrya One Shot)

I needed to write something so here is a one-shot gendrya fic based on the following tumblr prompt: You woke me up screaming from a nightmare, and I’m tired, so let’s cuddle so the nightmares don’t come anymore.

Ao3 Link Here

Gendry Baratheon was sleeping on his side, dreaming that odd dream again where he’s slaying zombie-like creatures with something he heard himself saying was a Hammer. It was dark as night, and he could barely see anything in front of him when he heard something in the back of him. He turned quickly and saw a zombie creature running zigzag towards him when he heard a yell. It pulled him from his nightmarish dream as he turned on his right side and saw his fiancé, Arya Stark, yell in her sleep. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were on their sides, tightly gripping the duvet. 

“No!!” She continued to yell. 

“Arya? Arya?!” Gendry said as he tried shaking her awake. 

Arya moved her head, side to side, eyes still closed as she began to cry. 

“Sweetheart, please wake up!” Gendry said in her ear. He stopped shaking her when he saw her eyes start to flutter open. When her eyes stared back at his, he soothed her by gently rubbing up and down her arm. “There you are, beautiful.”

Arya tried to catch her breath as she saw Gendry’s concerning stare. “Gendry?” she questioned as she looked out and saw the sun was not out yet. It was still dark and cloudy. Other than her hard breathing, she heard the the falling rain from outside. Gendry’s voice brought her attention back to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, stroking her cheek with his index finger. 

Arya only nodded. She leaned into him, her lips feather-kissed his hand, down to his wrist. Gendry gently pulled her to him as he lay back down, placing her cheek on his naked chest. She kissed his warm smooth skin before cuddling next to him. 

“I dreamt of him, again.” Arya closed her eyes and took a deep breath before letting it out. 

Gendry sighed, knowing what she dreamt of, “I’m sorry you keep having that nightmare.”

“Me too,” Arya whispered. She kissed his skin again and then lightly traced her fingers along his skin. 

She closed her eyes and saw her father on that one summer morning by the lake, months past. One minute he was standing there, looking out at the woodland ahead, past the lake, and the next moment he collapsed in front of her, one hand over his heart, his other hand reached for hers. What she saw next in the nightmare that troubled her since that morning were images of her father that never happened. It was as if they were from another era. She saw him lose a swordfight and getting stabbed in the heart, a bow and arrow shooting him in the back, he on his knees, his hands shackled, as a sword point touched his neck before it was raised—Arya shuddered as she opened her eyes. “I was the only one with him,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.” 

“At least he wasn’t alone,” Gendry said as he gently massaged the base of her head. 

Arya needed to remember that. At least she was with him as he drew his last breath. Arya held his hand even after she felt his go slack in hers. She took a deep breath again and let it out as she continued to cuddle next to Gendry. “I miss him,” she whispered. 

“I know,” Gendry whispered back. He continued to soothe her as he ran his hand over her back to her hip and back up underneath the t-shirt she wore.

Arya was comforted by his touch as she felt sleepy again. “Thank you again for this.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said, and he meant it. 

Arya half-smiled and all of a sudden felt warm. She was wearing one of Gendry’s music band t-shirts. She needed to feel cool, so she abruptly lifted the t-shirt over her head and threw it on the ground. She sighed with relief, pushing her bare breasts out as she said, “That feels better.” She lied back down and reached for Gendry. 

He leaned over her, and before their lips touched, Arya whispered, “I love you.”

Gendry kissed her, sucking on her bottom lip. He gently kissed her as he brought Arya back to his side. “I love you, too,” he said. 

She ran her fingers through his dark hair. “Make me forget,” she said between kisses. 

Gendry moaned as he felt Arya’s hands down his waist, pushing down his boxers. The sleepiness he felt earlier was soon gone as he said, “I promise I’ll make you forget...I promise...Arya,” he said at last as he brought her on top of him. 

#gendrya #arya x gendry #one shot #fanfic #dreams and nightmares #cuddling & snuggling #loss of a parent #comfort #based on a tumblr prompt #my fanfic

[atopvisenyashill]

Harwin being sent by his liege lord on what was always meant to be a quick if difficult task, just stop the Mountain from reaving on the King's justice, that turns into this nightmare of a life where he spends years away from home, away from civilization, away from safety and stability and sanity, to watch everyone die around him, to watch magic he barely understands bring the man he's sworn to serve back to life again and again, because there's nothing else to do but keep fighting and hope you're making a difference and not fucking everything up and making it worse-

and then Arya shows up and she's just as precocious and wild and underfoot as she's always been, and she's alive and mostly safe and traumatized sure but she's in one piece, she's fared not that badly compared to some of the little girls he's seen, and I imagine it felt like a small miracle to have her there, just for a moment, proof that he can do what he was tasked with and keep people safe BUT

then Arya escapes and barely any time later, he's coming across Catelyn's naked, water logged body on the Trident and there's a direwolf guarding the body so it's not nibbled on that leaves the moment it hears them coming, and he's begging Thoros to bring her back, bring his liege's lady back, bring Arya's poor mother back, but all he can do is cry and watch as Beric kneels besides her, kisses her awake like something out of a fairy tale, then falls to the side, dead at last, as something much worse that wears Catelyn's face rises in his place. What can Harwin do?

He continues to serve.

#I HATE #valyrianscrolls #harwin of the hollow hill #rani liveblogs asoiaf #the brotherhood without banners

[lady-lye]

Alayne Stone / Princess Sansa Stark (2/?)

Uh.. hi! It has been a strong two months since I very brazenly announced my plan to draw every female ASOIAF character. Well, I never said I’d do it QUICKLY. Life happens! I won’t go into detail. So here is Alayne/Sansa. I also drew her in her Sansa era but it was kind of giving depression vibes so I probably won’t post it. Plus I don’t want to commit to having people appear twice in this series-- it would make the Arya situation a nightmare. Anyway. I appreciate all the lovely asks I’ve gotten about characters and YES I WILL DO THEM though I might be 93 by the time I finish. See you in 2023

ALso! I’m thinking of opening up a couple commissions this winter, let me know if you would be interested. <3

#sansa stark #Alayne Stone #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf art #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire art #petyr baelish #house stark #game of thrones #asoiaf fan art #hotd #A Feast for Crows #affc #the winds of winter #asoiaf girly-pops

[axelsagewrites]

Robb Stark*Cloak

Pairing: Robb x F!Reader

Platonic: all Starks x Reader, Sansa x Reader

Summary: When the reader returns to winterfell after being attacked she finds herself having night terrors again and only one person is able to make them stop.

Word count: 3486

Warnings: references to an attack but not explicit details, mentions of nightmares/terrors, mentions of bullying

Masterlist Here

Part two linked at bottom

Every summer or so your family travelled to Winterfell for the children to mingle and the fathers to talk business. It had been this way as long as you remembered. Being a couple of years older than Sansa meant she ran about after you, loving to copy after you and listen to your stories. You were also a year younger than Robb whom you had a complicated relationship over the years. As very young children you played together often, playing with toy soldiers and making up make believe games.

Once Sansa started tottering after you when she was seven, you ten, and him eleven he finally seemed to realise you were a girl and pushed you into the mud when you tried to join in with Theon, Jon, and him. When he was fourteen and you thirteen, he began to just avoid you mostly though when he was sixteen, he started to steal sideways glances and saying sweet words. Pretty words that were met with harsh words in return.

Somewhat to his credit Robb did try and apologise to you last summer for his actions as a child but you just smiled and told him it no longer mattered. There was now a civilness between you both but little more.

However, this summer and last were different by far. In between summers you had been out on a horse ride with your friend and a stable boy at your grounds, but you were not alone. When you rode deeper into the woods, your friends lagging behind, you felt someone pull you from the horse. The attack left you bruised and badly injured, but you had managed to survive it and that’s what people always told you. You’re okay, you’re fine, it could be much worse.

The stable boy had been the one to help you as your friend tore off on her horse to find help which luckily came in time. If not for the stable boy flinging himself on the man and helping your claw at him, you probably would not have survived.

Your parents offered to let you stay home this summer, but you figured maybe it would be good for you to roam a safer place. Winterfell had brought you so much comfort as a child that you looked forward to return.

The Starks had heard of the attack and sent letters at the time but when you climbed out your carriage you were met with Sansa running into your arms. “I’m so glad you’re alright,”

Your hands flew to stroke her hair, placing a kiss to her head, assuring her you were fine. It was ironic in a sense. Ever since the attack you felt the need to reassure everyone around you but yourself. Each Stark in turn including Jon offered their deepest sympathies and sweet words.

All but Robb. He was the last in the line to greet you, knowing you were here for his sisters more so than him. “Lady (Y/N),” he said as he took your hand to press a kiss to its knuckles. You bowed your head with a polite smile. You felt Robb give your hand a squeeze before he released it, “You look as radiant as last time I saw you,”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile curling into your lips, “Thank you my lord,” you said before continuing your duties. You weren’t sure if it was the normalcy of the comment, the compliment itself, or the fact that Robb didn’t feel the need to extend you pity or have you reassured him that made a warmth grow in you. You never realised how much you valued normalcy until he had said it.

The day was pleasant enough if not enjoyable. You ate lunch and dinner with the Starks, Sansa making sure to be beside you the whole time. You sat in with her and Arya’s lesson and watched Bran try teaching Rickon to hold his wooden sword. The only problem was everyone wanted to know what had happened.

Sansa had asked about the details, Arya seemed to get a kick out the idea of fighting a grown man. Catelyn kept constantly assuring you of your safety which while sweet wore on. Jon listed all the things he would’ve done to protect you. Even Ned had asked about what had happened, something you did your best to be vague about especially with the girls. Sansa because she was sweet, Arya because she seemed to be getting ideas. Not to mention your parents constantly checking in. it was exhausting.

Despite being mentally so tired you lay in your chambers unable to sleep that night. The next day you were mostly fine on the outside despite your groggy nature which you blamed on the excitement from the day before keeping you up. The next you managed to sleep but it was the nightmares that disturbed you.

You did your best not to remember the attack but at night you seemed to relive it. waking up shaking and panting, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to remind yourself you were so far from home but that didn’t seem to help. Perhaps it was talking about it that had brought these nightmares back. Or maybe fate was just cruel.

By your seventh day in Winterfell, you were exhausted. Of the six night you had slept four and of those four nightmares raged through them. Some woke you up for a few minutes while others kept you up for the rest of the night. Heavy lilac circles rung around your eyes which threatened to close in a moment’s notice.

“Perhaps some milk of the poppy would help?” Sansa suggested at breakfast after you finally confessed to your nightmares.

You shook your head at her words, “Last time that just made it worse. I still had the nightmares I just couldn’t wake up,” When the attack first happened nightmares happened almost daily for the first month, but it was different, “(Y/F/N) stayed in my chambers with me every night for two months until she was sure they had stopped,”

“Maybe I could stay with you,” Sansa offered, clutching onto your arm, “Lady could sleep there too and then she’d be able to protect you,”

You smiled at her but again shook your head, “Your sweet Sansa,” you told her, running a hand over her hair, “But I need to sleep on my own. I cannot have someone sleep with me every night,”

Sansa nodded as she turned back to her breakfast with a sigh, “I just wish I could help,”

While you loved her dearly Sansa’s version of helping was to tell practically her whole family who told yours who just questioned you more on the dreams. By lunch you had had enough and excused yourself to the only quiet place. The library.

There was a fireplace that you didn’t bother lighting and half the books seemed untouched. There were a few tables and chairs dotted around the room and two armchairs placed near the fireplace. You took up a spot in one of them, pulling a random book from a shelf. Your eyes threatened to close with every word you read, and you didn’t even notice that you had dropped the book as they finally fell closed.

You woke up to a crackling fire and fur nuzzling your nose. Sitting up from your slouched position, the cloak slipped down off your chest. Your hands traced the edge of the fur lined wool that someone had placed over you like a blanket. The book you had been reading was placed beside you, a bookmark in the page you were last reading, and someone had obviously taken the time to light the fire but not stay to enjoy it. no one else was in the library and you couldn’t notice any obvious signs of someone coming in.

the room was solely lit by the flames as you noticed the darkness out of the windows. Stretching your arms, you began to get out the chair, picking up the cloak when it fell. Its fur was ever so soft, and the wool was thick that you wondered how you had not overheated. The black leather detailing on his clasps and pockets were crisp and precise. This was not a cheap cloak, and someone had left it to keep you warm without even leaving a note.

You raised it to your face, the fur tickling your nose, and inhaled its scent. A warm feeling flooded your heart as the woodsy smell filled your nose. It smelled fresh and earthy while also having misty fragrance to it. the smell made your lips turn up as your hands stroked its fur.

As you walked back to your chambers you noticed the emptiness of the corridors on your way. It was clearly far later than your nap was supposed to be. When you entered your chambers, you saw a jug of wine and plate of bread and cheese on a table waiting for you. This was when you realised just how hungry you were as you devoured the food. You weren’t sure if the one who had left the cloak had sent it or whether your absence at dinner, which you were sure you had missed, had caused someone else to send it up.

After eating you laid in bed, the cloak sitting on a chair in your room, and tried to sleep. Despite the nap you were still tired, but your lids did not close as easily as last time. When you sat up you saw the cloak again. Without thinking you padded over to the chair, snatched up the cloak and returned to bed, laying on top of the covers and instead used the cloak as a blanket. It was warm and as toasty as the fire had been. The furs nuzzled into your face and coaxed you into your dream filled slumber.

The morning rays woke you for the first time in over a week. No nightmares plagued your sleep, and you woke up without screaming or tears. For once you finally felt well rested. The sleep had done you well and you enjoyed the morning, braiding your hair, putting on your favourite dress, before going on a walk of the grounds. All this before breakfast. And still in the cloak a stranger had left on you.

When you entered the hall for breakfast you were one of the last there, but you were in the best mood out of all of them. “Good morning sweet Sansa,” you hummed as you took your place beside her, taking the cloak off, and began to butter your toast.

“You’re happy,” Sansa said with a frown.

This made you laugh, mouth filled with toast, “Is that so wrong of me?” Sansa shrugged but kept her eyes on you, her eyes squinting, “If you must know I slept nearly sixteen hours, nightmare free might I add, and have never felt better,”

“Oh (Y/N) that’s wonderful!” She praised as she clutched your arm, “We were wondering what you were up to yesterday,”

“To be honest im surprised I never woke up to a search party,” You laughed, and Sansa rolled her eyes and removed her hands from your arms.

“As tempted as we were Robb told us you were fine,” she said and your eyebrows knitted in confusion, “What? He said he ran into you at the library reading then that you told him to tell us you would be taking dinner in your chambers so you could have an early night. Did something happen?”

“No, no its fine,” you said, shaking your head trying to think, “It must’ve slipped my mind. It was a very good sleep after all. Its left me dazed,” you said but you knew you had never spoken to her brother yesterday let alone tell him your dinner plans.

Your fingers trailed over the fur of the cloak that was sitting beside you as you realised whose scent had lulled you to sleep. Almost as if it were fate this was the moment Robb had decided to come in with Jon beside him. “Robb where’s your cloak? You’ll freeze to death,” Catelyn chastised her son who had snowflakes scattered along his shoulders. Robb glanced at you before telling his mother he was not cold, “You better not have lost that cloak Robb. I paid good money for that,”

“It’s in my chambers I just forgot to lift it and didn’t wanna go all the way back,” the lied effortless fell from his tongue but you felt his eyes on you moments after. Your hands instinctively clutched the fabric beside you.

As you, Robb, and Jon had been the last to arrive it was no shock that you were the last in the room. Sansa had waited for you initially, but you told her to hurry to her lessons, not wanting her to be late. While true it was also because you had been eating your toast ever so slow so you could hang back to speak to Robb.

When she finally agreed and left the room you waited a moment before crossing the room to where Robb and Jon sat. You held the cloak out to Robb who turned around to look at you. It was the first time you had noticed how soft his eyes were and how strong his jaw was from this angle. And how his hair curled, so soft and perfect looking, “Thank you lady (Y/N),” his words snapped you back from reality as he took the cloak from you. You felt the flush that crossed your cheeks but ignored it as you turned and walked away, feeling unable to even speak suddenly.

You couldn’t like Robb? Not Robb surely? Jon perhaps. Theon maybe. Not Robb? Your parents had suggested the match a hundred times and Catelyn herself even hinted. It would be too perfect to be true. But the way his eyes looked at you…

You did your best to ignore the feeling creeping into your stomach the rest of the day and decided to just try and enjoy the day. It was going well, and you even managed to enjoy dinner though the whole time you kept stealing glances at the eldest Stark who on occasion even caught your eye with a slight smirk. For whatever reason that stupid smirk made your skin tingle more.

Then finally it came time to sleep again. You were tired from the day which you had thoroughly enjoyed but you lay in bed for hours unable to sleep. Yet again. You felt like the gods were torturing you. You couldn’t handle another nightmare or another sleepless night. Swallowing your pride, you wrapped yourself in your own cloak and quickly walked the halls before finding yourself at Robb Starks chamber and knocking on the door.

Then the reality of the situation set in. how stupid you looked standing in front of a boy’s chamber you rarely spoke to ask for his cloak to help you sleep. Quickly you turned around and went to walk away when you heard the door creak open behind you. “(Y/N)?” Robb asked, his voice heavy with sleep that made the way he said your name even sweeter.

You turned around with a sheepish smile, “Hello,” you said, biting your lip, “I need a favour,”

Robb nodded before he ushered you into the room and closed the door behind him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he led you over to a chair which he pulled out for you before sitting on the edge of his bed across from you, “Is everything alright?” his words grabbed your attention.

You played with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “I know this is gonna sound really dumb but I couldn’t sleep and I was wondering if maybe I could borrow your cloak?” you said, looking up to meet his now awake eyes, “Also thank you for today well yesterday now or well the day before in the library and that it was the first good sleep I had in a while and yeah and like thanks I guess,” your words flew out without you thinking, your skin burning hot.

Robb sat up slightly, his arms resting on his thighs to prop him up, “Why do you need my cloak?” he asked.

“It helped me sleep,” you confessed, your eyes falling to your hands that began to pick at your skin.

The room sat in silent for a few moments and finally you braved yourself to look up at Robb who must think you were a total creep. Instead, he was smiling softly, “That’s cute,” he said as he gazed into your eyes. A smile crept onto your own lips as you looked at him. Robbs hand went forward to hold yours, stopping your picking, “You shouldn’t do that though,”

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,”

“I get nervous,”

“I know,” Robb said as his thumb began to rub over your hand, “Do you want to tell me about it? Or if you’d like we can just sit here,”

“I’d like that,” you confused as your hands squeezed his and he squeezed back. The comfortable silence washed over you both. “Thank you by the way,” you broke the silence moments later, “For the food and the cloak and that,”

“It’s okay,” Robb said as he took your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it, “You looked so peaceful in the library. I couldn’t help but stare a little,” he said with a slight chuckle, “You were so beautiful but then you began to shiver,”

The way Robb looked at you felt so genuine, so tender. His thumb running over your hand, his eyes gazing into yours. “Should I fetch my cloak then?” Robb asked, pulling away from you and already you missed his touch but nodded.

Robb stood and crossed the room to fetch his cloak to bring back to you where you stood by the door. Robb walked closer to you but made sure to leave enough room for you to move out his way if you wanted. He brushed a stray hair strand that had fallen out of place behind your ear. His fingers softly trailed your jaw after before falling from your face.

Without thinking or warning you sprang forward, your arms flinging round his shoulders as you buried your face into his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around your frame and pulled you closer, the cloak falling from his hands. You breathed in his fresh woodsy smell that burned your nose with a sweetness.

You felt one of his hands holding your head, the hand almost the size of it. yet it made you feel safer. He began to stroke your hair, the other hand wrapped around your back to pull you closer. Tears welled in your eyes, “I was so scared that day,” you confessed.

“It’s okay,” Robb murmured, “It’s okay ive got you. You don’t have to worry anymore. You’re safe now,” he assured you as he stroked your hair.

Soft sobs left your lips and Robb placed kisses to the top on your head and held you as you cried. “Everyone expected me to talk about it and explain- “

“You never have to explain anything to me,” Robb said as he pulled back and took your face in his hands. His hands were rough but held your face so gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Im here for you, okay?”

“Thank you,” your said as your voice croaked, “Do you think,” you started, your eyes flickering away from his for a moment, “Do you think I could stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Robb said, placing a kiss to your forehead. “I can sleep on the floor, or the chair and you can take the bed. Or I can go sleep with Jon or- “

“You don’t have to,” you interrupted him, “I mean if you don’t mind. I’d like you to stay in the bed with me,”

Robb nodded as he pulled back out of the embrace, he had held you in, “Of course I can. Whatever you need,”

You took your cloak off and Robb helped you into his bed in your night clothes before joining you under the sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder and his arm snaked under you, pulling you gently to lay on his chest. He held you in his arm, his hand resting on your waist. Without thinking you took his spare hand into yours. Your nose nuzzled into his chest, his scent making your eyes flutter shut. “Thank you again,” you murmured as your eyes grew heavier.

“Anything for you love,” Robb placed another kiss at the top of your head, “Just get some rest. I’ve got you okay. you’re safe now,”

Part Two Here

Taglist: @clairacassidy

#robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark fluff #robb stark angst #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #got #got imagine #robb got #robb stark x reader #game of thrones angst

[crownedtargaryen]

tear you apart. modern werewolf!cregan

pairing: modern werewolf!cregan x reader (a/n): i’ll be honest i really didn’t wanna write this cause i am in no way a cregan enjoyer (idk why i just cant get into him) so im sorry if this feels lazy CW: p in v sex, breeding kink, mentions of blood, overstimulation if you squint, kinda a lot tbh he’s a beast. prns: she/her words: 1.3k tag list: @clairacassidy @ad-astra-again @hopelesswritergall @howyouloveyourdragon @daenerysapologist @twizzy123

Being with Cregan Stark was both a treat and a nightmare. A popular hockey player with a more reserved girl seemed like an unexpected match. If his team wins a game, you sit on the couch at this party. You watch the sweaty and shaggy men loiter and flirt loosely, Cregan trying to include me. You stare at him and smile as you softly reject his request. Though, he was a bit of an idiot when it came to understanding others' feelings, completely blind to negative emotions.

He's lucky he's attractive.

You sit on the couch, idly sipping the alcoholic beverage that rests in the red cup between your fingers, staring at the boys. With his shaggy dark hair and beautifully shaped facial hair, Cregan stood out. His toned muscles gleamed in the minimal light around him. You couldn't help the swelling feeling between your legs. Every time sex was brought up, Cregan avoided urges like the plague. You were unsure why since he'd called you his "destined mate." If you both were so destined to be together, why does he avoid intimacy like a plague?

That is, until tonight.

Something in him changes as he comes down from some high, his chest heaving as his hands clench into fists. Robb is nearby and spots a behavioral change. Quickly, you watch as he rushes towards Jon, whose eyes widen in surprise. What's happening? Did he get hurt?

You get up, heading for Cregan to check on him. But, before you reach him, a strong hand pulls you back. You turn around, looking at Jon Snow's familiar face, Cregan's distant half-cousin.

"We're leaving," he says sternly, his voice smooth like silk. You shake your head looking at Cregan. You only see him as Robb drags him off, his eyes fiery and full of something you can't place. When he looks at you, he's practically clawing Robb to get to you, a power trip between the two.

"I came here with Cregan! I can't just leave him," you snap, Jon's brows furrowing as he grabs you tighter and forcefully drags you off to his car.

"I'll get your things, just stay here and behave," he says, pushing me into the back seat and getting into the front, not saying another word. Despite your abundance of questions, Jon stays silent and stern. Is Cregan okay? What's happening? Why can't I see him? This is unfair, you have to tell me! Jon doesn't budge, continuing his one-track mind as you fall quiet, not dwelling on what you've just seen.

When you walk into the Stark house, it's a scattered mess. Arya and Sansa are whispering to each other, which silences when you enter, Robb, Jon, and Ned are all rushing around from Cregan's room to the kitchen, and Catelyn is sitting with the girls in dead silence. You hear the women ushering you to join them, to stay downstairs, but you don't obey. Slowly, you walk up the stairs to Cregan's room.

A shaky hand touches the hot doorknob as you open it slowly, spotting Cregan tied to the bed with anything they can, his chest bare and heaving desperately as his eyes hold a soft yellow hue that glares into your soul. Your heart pounds, closing the door and locking it quickly, rushing to Cregan and furrowing your brows.

"What the fuck is this?! What's going on?" You say with pained confusion. Cregan whimpers under your eyes like a dog, his jaw clenching as his hips push into the air. That's when you notice. His hands hold claws, sharp like an animal’s, yellow-hued eyes staring eagerly into yours, and his raging hard-on that hurt in his pants. It all made sense; why he was tied down, why the women stayed away while the men went around.

He wasn't a human.

You take your hand, placing it on Cregan's cheek, his body blazing hot as he moans and nuzzles into your palm, taking in the scent of your wrist. His k-9 teeth seemed more prominent now as he nipped at your skin with a desperate look in his eyes. You shiver with delight, biting your lip and moving in to kiss him, a banging on the door trailing your thoughts away.

Fuck it.

You ignore the knock, untying Cregan. Within seconds he's on you, his arms cradling your torso and his clawed hands trailing up your shirt. He cups at your breasts through your bra's flimsy lace.

"Mine," he growls lowly, pressing his hard-on to your clothed cunt, grinding his hips slowly. "Breed. Please." He looks at you, only barely restraining himself from forcing this upon you.

You moan in delight, tilting your head back as you return his waist movements tenfold, nodding quickly. "Yes, your mate," you whisper, lips parting slightly as a pathetic whimper escapes your lips. "Take me, Cregan. Please." The plea barely escapes your lips as he pins you against the bed, hands ripping off your clothing like an animal. You ignore the banging on the door, shivering at the heat rushing onto your skin, Cregan tearing off your underwear and pants, tossing the torn-apart clothing to the floor as she sheds his trousers, underwear nowhere to be seen. He grabs your thighs, pulling you up roughly and his mouth immediately abusing your throbbing cunt, tongue lapping at your folds and rolling in circles on your swollen clit, a euphoric groan emerging from him as those yellow eyes glare into yours, forcing you to keep your gaze locked with his. His tongue plunges inside of you, juices squirting onto the muscle as he fists his cock eagerly, grinding into his palm. You sink into the sheets, panting desperately and rolling your hips into his mouth, your thighs trembling. His claws dig into your thighs, harsh enough to prick the skin and draw small bits of blood.

With a filthy pop, he moves off your cunt too early for your liking. But, his regard for your pleasure is now extinct. You can't speak before his cock plunges into you. It took everything out of him not to rail at you. His eyes stare into yours, pushing you into a mating press and his eyes attempting to not roll back in his skull, sweat dripping from his tan muscles and down his freckled shoulders and face, shaggy dark hair dangling in front of your face as his cross necklace dangles in your face, almost taunting you to sink into this sin. Slowly, you grind your hips to tell him to start moving, which he gladly does with an animalistic growl, keeping deep and lustful eye contact as he slams his hips to yours, filthy wet slapping noises filling the room as his lips move to your neck, nipping at the fragile skin.

"Could rip you apart," he whispers, excitement coursing through you. "Tear your pretty body to shreds if I wanted." He slams harder into your cunt, making you whimper and scream his name, clawing red swelling marks into his skin. Cregan loves it, pressing his forehead to yours and huffing loudly. Growls mixed with heavy grunts escaped him. Since this was your first time in ages, you knew you couldn't last anymore.

His hips snap into yours as you tell him you're getting closer to your blissful finale. He ignores you, pounding it just as hard, slamming into that spongy spot inside you, pounding it when you squeal his name. When you see white, you feel him bite in an oddly specific spot on your neck, hard enough to draw blood. He licks up the red metallic fluid eagerly.

"That's it... Fuckin' take my pups in that filthy cunt. Fuck..." He groans in your ear, body trembling in delight.

"Cre- Cregan, stop- I-I can't take any more." You cry, overwhelmed with pleasure. He ignores your pleas, riding out his orgasm just as rough as he started, bursting inside you. 

Gradually, he slows, looking into your eyes and panting heavily, keeping his cock stuffed in your cunt. With a loving kiss, he gently wipes away your tears.

"Don't pass out yet, I'm not done with you. You're all mine tonight, Cub. All. Mine."

#cregan x reader #cregan x y/n #cregan x you #cregan stark #hbo house of the dragon #house of the dragon #hotd smut #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #otto hightower #alicent hightower #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #prince aemond #aemond smut #house of the dragon aemond #game of thrones #got #house stark #hotd fandom #hotd fic #hotd x reader

[synesealedelivered]

i know for a fact that after finally reuniting the starklings sleep in bran’s room on a bunch of furs spread around for like a month because they’re freak out about losing each other. They all have insane nightmares and sleeping problems so they keep waking up to stare at each like owls and some how bran is always awake and jon wants to snuggle with ghost but he keeps abandoning him to sleep on bran’s bed or between the girls and when arya is listing her names they keep interrupting to talk about people they killed or saw die or people they want dead and she pretends to be pissed off but she enjoys being with her siblings and feeling understood. Initially she would be like: oh sansa won’t like if i keep talking about people i want to kill before bed every night and sansa is like: hey can you add a few names to your list for me? i have some people i want dead and detailed descriptions of the levels of suffering each of them deserve, do you want a spreadsheet? i can invent fantasy microsoft excel right now

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #starklings #sansa stark #jon snow #bran stark #arya stark #sofia shut up #this is based on the fact that after my brother left home the first time he came back to visit i would sleep on the end of his bed #bc i was afraid he would leave again while i was sleeping

[esther-dot]

That's a Pretty Name 1k @greenhikingboots

While dancing, Jon receives a lecture from Sansa on the importance of complimenting ladies when he meets them.

Courtesies 4k @softvniverse

Jon Snow is in love and Sansa is there to help him.

Memories 1k

“Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower.” “That’s pretty.” He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. Jon remembers a simpler and happier time with Sansa.

Dance With Me ficlet

"I told you that I can't dance!" he snapped. He didn't even know why he had agreed to this in the first place. Or Sansa's interest in his behaviour towards women. But ever sense she had seen him talking to the serving girl with a fierce blush and shy stammer she had taken it upon herself to teach him how to talk to girls. And how to dance with them apparently. "Nonsense," Sansa chirped, standing. She beckoned him forward. "Dance with me."

We Can Brave the Dark 2k by @thatgirlnevershutsup

When Arya dares Sansa to spend the night in the crypts, it’s Jon who comes to her rescue.

Nightmares ficlet

Sansa can't sleep, and normally she'd crawl into bed with Father or Robb, but they're not here. Jon is though, and he's even better with a sword than Robb, he can protect her from the monsters.

Games ficlet by @emberalchemist

Mother never likes it when Sansa talks to him, even though Sansa hardly ever talks to him.

First Dances, Feasts, and Other Fights 4k by @castaliareed

Winterfell has visitors from the Vale and Sansa couldn't be more excited. Her half-brother Jon is less enthralled.

Maybe in another lifetime ficlet by @ladywolfmd

Moments before they were to leave Winterfell, Ned goes up the battlements for a moment when he caught sight of a scene that always brought him sadness and yes, guilt. And sometimes with the same longing of things that could've been. But maybe in another lifetime.

Playing Pretend 1k

Robb never wanted to play Knights and Maidens with Sansa anymore - until Sansa asked Jon to be her knight instead.

Before She Knew Better 20k

Sansa Stark wasn't always so distant and cold to Jon Snow.

the half doesn't negate the brother by @thewolvescalledmehome

Jon learned early on in his life what bastard meant. He thought he was five years of age the first time he’d been told he was one. He couldn’t remember who it had been who called him that, but he remembered the heat and anger he’d felt, even though he didn’t actually know what it had meant. He just knew it was meant to hurt and hurt it did.

a moonsbreath from your side 3k by @simply-kelp

Jon has spent nights and days thinking what it would be like to crown Sansa the Queen of Love and Beauty himself, thinking of the kiss she’d given Robb and wondering what it might feel like if she pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

Nipped in the Bud ficlet

Little Sansa feels sorry for her half-brother Jon Snow… Until she finds the perfect solution for his problem!

Maiden in the Tower 2k by @greenhikingboots

While playing a game in the godswood, Sansa decides to teach Theon in a lesson in humility by choosing Jon to bestow with her maiden’s kiss. A story inspired by pre-canon theories.

We're all just songs in the end, if we're lucky 2k by @myrish-lace-love

“Sing me another song, Jon.” Sansa curled up next to Jon’s side. She tucked her head under his chin as the thunder boomed. Jon’s chambers were smaller than hers, but as soon as he saw the first flash of lightning he knew Sansa would be off and running, on her way to him. Sansa was proud of being a little lady at four, but Winterfell’s storms terrified her.  “What do you want to hear?” Jon stifled a yawn. Jon would stay up with her, as long as she needed. Robb would, too, of course, but Sansa had confided that Robb teased sometimes, about being afraid of the rain.  “Florian and Jonquil.” 

untitled ficlet by @allbrainsnosense

He tries not to get jealous—though at first Jon isn’t quite sure just what the knot in his stomach is when he watches Sansa bestow a gentle kiss to Robb’s cheek for saving her from the “ferocious dragon,” as portrayed by an energetic Bran. Sansa coos over Robb affectionately, keeping up her role as fair maiden, and Robb kneels before her like her noble knight. It’s a game the siblings had all played many times before—sans Arya, who refuses to be Robb’s “noble steed” as Sansa demands—and Jon has always found himself an onlooker to the merry play-acting that occurs in the godswood.

I've picked up the speed (to jump your palaces) 1k

Jon takes Sansa to the Godswood. She does a bit of thinking.

Blossoming Feelings 2k @hawkeyescoffee

Sansa studied Jon silently as he fell to his knees, particularly trying not to touch the blanket and smiling to Bran in front of him. It was a fond smile that stretched over his face and made his grey eyes sparkle in the sun. It was a smile that made Jon’s usually hard and sullen features soft and nice and handsome? Pretty even. Sansa pressed her lips harder together until they were just a bloodless line as she was biting the inside of her cheek. Did she just really think that?

In another perfect life 1k @captainbee89

Ned comes clean to cat and the rest of the family about Jon's true parentage and notice that things have changed between Jon and Sansa now that the truth is known.

I will ask you once. Please, will you give me my first kiss, Jon Snow? 2k @alczysz17

Sansa catches her cousin, Jon Snow kissing a girl and wonders what a kiss would be like. She can't get it out of her head so she mind as well go to the source!

kiss me on the mouth (and set me free) 5k

Sansa Stark hates her bastard half-brother. She hates his brooding stare, his dark, stranger’s eyes. She hates the way his very existence hurts her mother, that Robb and Arya love him all the same. And she hates that fire that sparks to life every time they argue. --- An AU of the secret, complicated relationship between Jon and Sansa pre-series.

WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

#jonsa #jonsa fic #pre canon #dot fic list

[thenorthsource]

AGOT, Arya IV

All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. […] Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

TWOW, Mercy

The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils...or was that her nightmare, lingering? She had dreamed of wolves again, of running […] hard on the scent of prey.

Half-light filled the room, grey and gloomy. Shivering, she sat up in bed and ran a hand across her scalp. Stubble bristled against her palm. I need to shave before Izembaro sees. Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered. Her true name was Mercedene, but Mercy was all anyone ever called her...

Except in dreams. She took a breath to quiet the howling in her heart, trying to remember more of what she'd dreamt, but most of it had gone already. There had been blood in it, though, […] and a tree that watched her as she ran.

[…] Braavos was lost in fog. She could see the green water of the little canal below, the cobbled stone street that ran beneath her building, two arches of the mossy bridge...but the far end of the bridge vanished in greyness, and of the buildings across the canal only a few vague lights remained. She heard a soft splash as a serpent boat emerged beneath the bridge's central arch. "What hour?" Mercy called down to the man who stood by the snake's uplifted tail, pushing her onward with his pole.

The waterman gazed up, searching for the voice. "Four, by the Titan's roar." His words echoed hollowly off the swirling green waters and the walls of unseen buildings.

[…] She had filled her basin from the canal last night before she went to sleep, preferring the brackish water to the slimy green rainwater stewing in the cistern out back. Dipping a rough cloth, she washed herself head to heel, standing on one leg at a time to scrub her calloused feet. After that she found her razor. A bare scalp helped the wigs fit better, Izembaro claimed.

She shaved, […] and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up.

[…]

“Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang sadly. […] She would miss her, and she would miss Daena and the Snapper and the rest, even Izembaro […]

She would think about that later, though. Just now, there was no time. I had best run. Mercy still had some lines to say, her first lines and her last, and Izembaro would have her pretty little empty head if she were late for her own rape.

#asoiafedit #valyrianscrolls #asoiafwomensource #valyriansource #aryastarkedit #thenorthedit #valyrianladies #direwolfdaily #arya stark #mercedene #mercy #braavos #asoiaf #*edits #ours #by jacoby #rape tw #nudity tw

[modern-inheritance]

Fäolin: A ramble post about the fallen member of the elf squad and why he wouldn't have remained one

While writing Reunion and realizing how much Arya and Glen care for each other as friends, I realized that I have done very little writing with Fäolin. Since then I established that he was the more lighthearted one of the group, confirmed he was their sniper, reestablished that he and Arya grew up together as kids and were friends long before Arya even left for the Varden, and confirmed that he and Arya were in love. 

That last bit, though. That last bit is what’s throwing everything up right now. See, Paolini said during some interviews that Arya and Faolin were indeed romantically involved, but in a way it was more for convenience (???) and they never were ‘romantic soulmate/true name’ material for each other. He has said several times that Arya wouldn’t have stayed with Fäolin as romantic partners had he lived.

And honestly? Thinking about him in MIC and how his character has (loosely) developed in my mind, I agree.

And I don’t think that, had he survived along with or instead of Glenwing, he would have returned to the Varden with Arya for the Battle of the Burning Plains and to officially become one of Eragon and Saphira’s bodyguards. Something would have changed. And I don’t think Arya could really accept it.

Here’s where I’m coming from. Fäolin agrees with Arya and Glen that the elves need to be doing more for the fight against Galbatorix. He believes in it, would fight for it, and did, but there’s something different. We’re gonna go like…way more in depth than I’ve gone before and again, this is a ramble, so don’t expect much to make sense. 

Let’s go back to The Medic, Glen’s first official appearance in MIC storylines. Glen was born in Ilirea and lived there for about 15 years before the 5 year war of the Fall of the Riders began. His mother and father both died in the final conflict at Ilirea while Glen was spirited off to Du Weldenvarden, possibly fighting alongside Evandar himself. He was old enough to see the world he knew falling apart around him and know why it was falling apart. He wanted to fight to get it back and knew he could make a difference. So he left.

Arya, meanwhile, was around probably 6-8 at the time the war ended. She grew up with war on the horizon and infiltrating everything. It was all she knew. Her father would explain everything to her he could, why he was leaving so often, why her mother was frequently sad or angry, explained Galbatorix to her. Rhunön swore up and down about the Wyrdfell and the injustices being committed, the insanity of it all. She grew up with this knotted feeling of anger and frustration at what was lost and what was being thrown away and fury that she was left without her father and, in a way, without her mother because of the war. She hated hearing how people were being hurt and dying when the elves could be out there making a difference. And damn it she knew she could make some difference. So she left.

Fäolin is different. He wasn’t as close to the conflict but still was affected by it. He wasn’t the son of a king or great warriors and healers, just regular elves who were drawn into the war. His father remained behind to watch him while his mother joined the fight out of a sense of duty. She fell during the conflict, and his father, unable to cope with the loss of the entire world he had known, his mate of centuries, and unable to look at his son who was so much a reminder of his loss, left Fäolin in the care of their village and disappeared into Du Weldenvarden’s depths. Fäolin was more shielded from the war than the others, and while he too grew up with an itch to change the world outside the forest, and to fight Galbatorix and his Forsworn, he didn’t feel the urgency that Arya and Glen did. He didn’t feel he had a reason to actually leave Du Weldenvarden. He had a whole family, his village, providing him with the attachment that the other two had difficulty feeling due to their circumstances. And he didn’t feel like he needed to leave until about 30 years before the first book, and only then because he felt that his friendship and feelings for Arya were what drove him. 

Arya and Fäolin were very, very close friends. Different from the way Arya and Glen were close (Arya frequently explained it as ‘Once you trust someone enough to hold your literal guts in while there’s bullets and blades and fire around you, and they’re not moving until they can move you despite all that, you get closer than any of that romantic crap could get you.’), they were childhood best friends. Fäolin was a bright spot that Arya felt the war would never touch, and while she wanted him by her side she absolutely did NOT want him joining the Varden. But he did, and he was still bright and the sun and he never lost that quirky little smile. He was, in a way, everything she was fighting for, the people back in Du Weldenvarden, the free races, Alagaësia, the innocent people who didn’t really choose this fight. 

I think they both loved each other. I think they loved each other romantically and I think, in a way, they loved each other because they needed each other. I can’t put it into words properly but that’s the vibe I have. It doesn’t change the fact that they were in love. 

When Arya was captured, Glen was distraught. After healing and adapting to his prosthetic he tried to leave Ellesméra and Du Weldenvarden to do two things: Find out if Arya was alive (and if so, get her back), and rejoin the Varden. Arya or no, he would have left anyway. The only reason he hadn’t by the time everyone got back was because Gilderien wouldn’t let him on the Queen’s orders.

Fäolin, though. He would have stayed. Maybe he would have had a reason, maybe he didn’t want to question if Arya was dead or alive and the implications of her living through the ambush and not being found, maybe he just couldn’t take any more of life in the warzone, maybe he had soured on the rebels when it was realized that someone in the Varden had to have leaked their location for the ambush. He would have given up on her being alive and possibly given up on defeating Galbatorix altogether. 

And despite his reasons or his lack of them, no matter how he would have or not have tried to explain it to Arya when she returned with Eragon and Saphira and Brom in tow, I don’t think she could have accepted them. I think she would have seen that he had changed, and she had changed. The changes from her time in the Varden had been gradual and more in line with who she was as a person, but the changes after her imprisonment, more hidden though they may be, are sharp and sudden and I don’t think Fäolin would have been able to cope with them either. They would have remained friends, still laughed and joked around, but there would be a noticeable distance. And they would just…drift apart. 

I don’t think Arya would have even asked him to come with her again. She would have just said goodbye. 

So. 

Yeah. 

I can’t think of anything else but that’s what it’s at right now. 

#eragon #inheritance cycle #the cyclists #the world of eragon #the inheritance cycle #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #faolin #Fäolin #elf squad #Arya/faolin #glenwing #glen #faolin is difficult for me to figure out #he...didn't get as much of the 'trauma' though he certainly had his fair share #i feel like he was more...i don't want to say resilient to it or that he didnt let it affect him #but he never manifested nearly as much ptsd/recall/nightmares as Glen and Arya did #he saw less direct combat due to not being there during the Surdan establishment conflicts #i donno he just didn't take as much on i guess #modern inheritance #arya #arya drottningu #modern inheritance lore #og elf squad

[buttercuparry]

I now know why the idea that courtesy is the answer to every conflict is so prevalent in the fandom. You have a handful of tumblr intellectuals who would rather discuss if Arya should have been feeling guilty about killing the Bolton guard or the degree of it ( he is just a guy standing around, we don't know anything about him, hey maybe he doesn't get paid enough to stop 3 prisoners from leaving!), rather than acknowledge that Arya had gone through hell to survive and she more than any other Stark kid knows the cost of war. Arya's list is called fucked up ( they add the "understandable" adjective immediately after but reiterate that it's fucked up). And the prevalent idea then, in use of all these words is equating Arya to violence. Which is why all those incorrect quote posts of 'Arya's every solution being violence' get so many notes.

Arya's list isn't the measure of her violence. It instead is the proof of her trauma. And she tries again and again to leave the nightmares behind: the countless times she tries to reach Jon, her feeling what good does Joffrey's death do if her mother and brothers are dead, her wanting to stay on with the crew of Titan's daughter.

They would talk about how fucked up her list is hence insinuate the tremendous capacity of violence and draw up theories after theories about Faceless Men but won't ever be conscious enough to recognize that Arya never truly wanted anything to do with the FM ( even after reaching Braavos she tries to stay on the ship).

So imagine knowing all these. To have read all these chapters and to get stuck on the ethics of murdering the Bolton guard. Mind you this is brought up because it has been admitted that previously Arya has had to kill in self defense and for others. There has been a reiteration that there these kills are pardonable since there had been an active threat on her. But the murder of the Bolton guard is a matter of ethics!

And you know what I am not even arguing about that. It is a grey area. But it's the extra scrutiny placed on the female character that gets to me. A clood blooded premeditated murder committed!! As if this murder exists in vacuum. As if this girl who the world around knows to be a commoner would have been allowed to leave Harrenhal by that guard just standing around. As if prisoners and slaves have a say on what is to be their fate. As if each day and every day Arya isn't surrounded by the violence wrought in Harrenhal. As if this violence wasn't necessary for her to make a safe escape.

They would argue it wasn't and here I realize that the issue goes deeper than that. Here is an excerpt of their dialogue:

They maintain that only Gendry and Hot Pie had been in danger here. That Arya was actually safe as she could have just revealed her identity anytime and apparently there were ways of proving it without one recognizing her face ( I doubt that).

Somehow this makes me realize that this sort of thinking is what dismisses Arya's entire arc. This is what had been going wrong in the tv show which reduced all of Arya's trauma to ✨adventure✨because they think all the suffering Arya went through was intentional and could have been stopped anytime! All she had to do was reveal her identity.

I honestly do not know what Arya could have done to prove she was a Stark. When they sent guards to hunt her down and Arya realized that maybe in convincing her two friends to run away with her, she has in turn condemned them- Arya makes a decision to reveal who she is and let herself taken hostage. But here's the thing and no matter how many so called intellectuals throw up shit that her identity could have easily been proven-there would always, always the matter of chance. They could believe or they won't. And what would happen if they won't? Arya would be killed.

Now let's see what would have happened if Roose had ahold of the real Arya? Wouldn't she be in the place of Jeyne Poole. Jeyne has had to suffer under a monster, under a sadist. And those cries that echo around Winterfell now, would have been Arya's. This is what the fandom wants. I mean to say this is what the fandom wants from its female characters. Be the passive recipient of all that is to happen. There is no admiration in taking yourself promptly out of a situation that can be dangerous by actively interfering in the storyline. Act only when an action has been committed against you. There would have been more sympathy for Arya if she bled the way they wanted her to. If her cries echoed through halls. If she wasn't an active participant in her own storyline.

The other thing is the matter of could have. There is always the matter of could have when it comes to Arya. Arya could have tried to be more courteous. Arya could have just let Joffrey cut Mycah's face. And now Arya could have hatched a plan keeping in mind the safety of not only her party but of everyone else ( the Bolton guard) and snuck past. Every decisive control Arya takes is countered with a could have. That Arya chose to simply eliminate the risk in a situation that begged a safe escape isn't taken well. There is always a could have even when the text itself provides us with no definitive answer to this alternative could have.

I never understood how people could judge Dany when she actively brings down an empire of slavery. But now I think I can. There is no passivity. There is unapologetic action against the slave masters. They too perhaps are just some guys standing around to many in this fandom. And every decisive move against them, every violence against them also brings about the compulsion of the could have.

These female characters refuse to be a part of the could have. Of passivity. Their grey actions are to take back control of their storyline. Hence are they vilified. And hence should there be guilt and remorse on their part.

#arya stark #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

[iaminfourthwing]

The Generals Daughter

Arya Melgren

From official documents it is stated that Arya Melgren was born in the night of the 22nd March 613 AU, the stormiest night of the month.

While it was claimed that General Melgren is her father, it is not known who the woman is, that has brought her into life. No one is allowed to ask the general anything about Aryas origin.

To limit questions, the general used all his power to keep her a secret for as long as possible to outsiders, beside the nannys that raised her, since her father was always busy with the safety of Navarre, and the teachers and trainers she had since she was of six and ten years.

She originally wanted to chose the path as a scribe in the Archieves but was strongly refused by her father, that claims she is born to be a rider, nothing else. She learned this the hard and painful way.

Arya has natural vibrant red hair, that earns her a lot of attention since it seems to be uncommon. Her eyes are of a blue-grey color that is described to be a dark blue, almost black when she gets angry and a sparkling blue when excited. She is described to be a little more curvy, but on a muscular side due to her long training. She is around 5'9'' tall. Her face is adorned with multiple scars around her right eye and two under her left one. Some of them around her right eye are deeper than the others but she was incredibly lucky that her eye itself was not damaged.

Though Arya seems cold and emotionless to outsiders, throughout her first year her squad mates realize how intelligent, friendly and selfless she really is. Although she wears her last name with nothing but disdain, her friends always remind her that she is more than just a name to them.

How she would be described, if you'd ask her squad mates:

clever, quiet, icy, polite, brave, serious, intelligent, wise, selfless, stubborn, sassy, sarcastic, dangerous

She doesn`t talk much but when, then she can be very humorous (with a big sprinkle of dark humor), dry, sassy and sarcastic. To the surprise of the other cadets (and as a nightmare for the professors) she finds a partner in crime in Ridoc (and sometimes Sawyer). She is heavily judged by her father for the choices she makes in her first year.

Many think that because she is the generals daughter, she will be as controlling, a strict rule follower, terrifying and heartless as the one everyone fears. She is suspected to step into her fathers footsteps and expected to be great and powerful. (You don‘t have it from me, but after the reveal of Arya, words travel fast and soon there are bets placed between the Navarrian Officers what dragon she`ll bond, what signet she could have and if she even has a chance of surviving.)

Throughout the story we will learn a lot more about her character and most importantly - where her loyalty lays.

#fourth wing x reader #bodhi durran #fourth wing #iron flame #bodhi durran x oc #bodhi durran x reader

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

The Y'all Hate Kids Tourney bracket

Here we have 32 kids who are unfairly hated by the fandom. Who has it worst? You decide!

Here are the matchups for the tournament. We tried our best, so please don't come at us for unfavorable matchups (/lh). This is double elimination, so there will be a loser bracket.

We have selected up to three propagandas for each entrant when necessary, and we will trigger tag them as needed.

Round 1 specifics under the cut.

The first round will be split into A and B. Round 1A will go live at midnight January 2, 2024 (PST), with each match being released in three-hour increments. You will have a week to vote, and then we will release round 1B on January 10.

The matchups for round 1A go as follows:

Mabel Pines (Gravity Falls) vs. Gregory (FNAF)

Amy Rose vs. Tails Nine (Sonic the Hedgehog)

Flandre Scarlet (Touhou Project) vs. Meiling Li (Cardcaptor Sakura)

Amane Momose (MILGRAM) vs. Six (Little Nightmares)

Ken Amada (Persona 3) vs. Carl Grimes (The Walking Dead)

Fleta (Pocket Mirror) vs. Mary (Ib)

Jason Todd vs. Damian Wayne (DC Comics)

Chara Dreemurr (Undertale) vs. Monaca Towa (Danganronpa)

Round 1B goes as follows:

Bailu (Honkai Star Rail) vs. Qiqi (Genshin Impact)

Eridan Ampora vs. Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Maria Ushiromiya (Umineko When They Cry) vs. Marcy Wu (Amphibia)

Momoe Nagisa (Madoka Magica) vs. Vincent (Stardew Valley)

Greg Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) vs. Nanami Kiryuu (Revolutionary Girl Utena)

Arya Stark vs. Sansa Stark (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Aang (ATLA) vs. Steven Universe (Steven Universe)

K.O. (O.K. KO! Let's Be Heros!) vs. Ray (The Promised Neverland)

#yall hate kids tourney #tournaments #announcements

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hey if you don't mind could you please do a robb stark x reader? Idk how but maybe they survive the Red Wedding and she feels anxious about everything and leading robb to express his trauma and then it's just them comforting each other

- thank you <3

Whatever May Come

Request: Hey if you don't mind could you please do a robb stark x reader? Idk how but maybe they survive the Red Wedding and she feels anxious about everything and leading robb to express his trauma and then it's just them comforting each other

Hi! I’m so sorry it took so long to get to this, thank you for being patient. Thank you for the request, this is my first time writing for Robb. To make sense of the story a little bit, the reader is a Tyrell. Her sister is Margaery and her grandmother is Olenna. Also, I’m referencing the Vale in this fic, please pretend that it’s close to Riverrun.

Also, I wrote out Talisa for this request, obviously. She’s replaced by the reader, but the reader isn’t pregnant. She and Robb get hurt, but escape. The rest of the events still unfold as seen in the show, but Robb survives and escapes before the end. Also, I know Arya was there when everything happened, but I’m not writing her in either so I can just focus on the request.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

(Warnings: swearing, death, blood and gore, weapons, guilt and trauma, slight mentions and allusions to sex, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You had grown up in Highgarden, with your sister Margaery. On Robb’s sixteenth nameday, he was informed of your Father’s and his father’s plans to eventually wed you both. You had met a few times before, when your Father would bring you along to the feasts at Winterfell. 

The North did not have many allies. They were an independent nation, content to govern themselves. But just as the Tully’s swore fealty to the Starks, resulting in Catelyn’s betrothal to Ned, the Tyrells did the same. 

As the second born daughter, and third child overall to the Tyrell family, your position was not as highly valued as your siblings. Loras was a knight, revered around the realm for his charm and skill in combat. Margaery was cunning and beautiful, sure to make for a lucky match with any deserving Lord of the realm. They were both destined for greatness.

You, however, didn’t have a fate as secure. Sure, your dowry was sizable, and your family valued. But you had no real promise for climbing the ladder. You’d eventually be the wife of a respectable Lord, and Mother to his children. It wasn’t a fate you wanted, but you endured it all the same. 

Robb would be Lord of Winterfell one day, and Warden of the North. Your Father had a soft spot for you, and wanted you to be happy, and marry well. Luckily, Ned had a respect for your House, and approved of you enough to court you with his son. He requested that you come to stay with his family, so he could see whether or not you were the right fit for marrying into his family.

You were sent from your home to Winterfell, arriving on Robb’s name day. 

You were scared, dreading the life ahead of you that you had been sold into. You hadn’t seen Robb in years, unable to make it to an annual feast since the two of you were mere children. 

But Robb was the perfect gentleman, instantly easing your fears the moment he greeted you at the gate with his father, a kind smile on his face. 

You instantly clicked, becoming best friends. Neither of your families ever confirmed it, but you both knew that one day, you’d be promised to each other forever. It was like a dream come true. You couldn’t have asked for better.

It turned into a nightmare the day Winterfell received word that Ned had been arrested on charges of treason, and would be sentenced to death. In just a few days, Lords from all over the realm sworn to House Stark flocked to support their new King, effectively bringing everyone into an all out war. 

Robb refused to let you come with him, wanting you and his mother safe and out of harm’s way. You and Catelyn had other plans, eventually leaving Winterfell and joining Robb in the fight. 

In the midst of a war, as the proclaimed King in the North, Robb was responsible for the planning and executing of battle strategies. He knew his enemies were strong, relentless, and viewed as invincible by the common people. 

If he could take Casterly Rock, it would prove to the people that Tywin Lannister was not as strong as he seemed, and that the North had a good chance of winning the war. In order to take Casterly Rock, Robb would have to march his army through the Twins, a piece of land owned by Walder Frey. 

In the chaos of battle after battle and the constant moving of camps, you and Robb had nearly forgotten your family’s plans of marrying you to each other. 

That is until Lord Frey asked Robb to marry one of his daughters, in exchange for passage through his land and the use of his men. 

You told Robb to agree to it. If it came down to choosing you, or choosing his men, you wanted him to choose his men. If it meant that he would win the war with the least amount of casualties on your side, it was the only option he had, at least in your mind. You loved Robb, that was clear to anyone who took more than a second to watch the pair of you together. But you’d settle for being a mistress, or go so far as to give him up entirely, if it meant keeping him alive. He had to win. 

Even if he had to do it without you.

As infuriating as it could be at times, Robb was an honorable man. He would not marry a woman if his heart belonged to another, and he refused to give you up. 

You had told him it was a stupid idea. But no amount of trying to convince him would change his mind once it was set. He was one of the most stubborn men you had ever met, and you knew it wasn’t worth wasting more breath arguing over. You were married in a small ceremony, after Robb decided he couldn’t wait any longer to be with you. 

Every day, he woke up and risked his life for a cause much bigger than himself. He told you that he couldn’t go on, knowing that he wasn’t savoring everything he held dear to him. He wouldn’t take you for granted for another day, not when each day could be his last.

Even his mother agreed, finally approving the match and allowing you to marry.

Afterwards, there was still the matter of Walder Frey, and Robb’s promise to him.

As a compromise, Lord Frey agreed to marry Robb’s uncle, Edmure, to one of his daughters, in exchange for passage through his land. Robb kept his promise, and convinced his uncle to marry one of the daughters.

You attended a celebration, in honor of Edmure and his betrothed. 

Lord Frey allowed you into his home, extending his hospitality to you and the Northmen. Robb gave his apologies to Lord Frey, his daughters, and his granddaughters. You gave your apologies for your part in it as well. It was dismissed as water under the bridge, and the festivities continued. 

That night, while the men made camp outside, a small group of you attended the wedding. 

You stood beside Robb during the ceremony, watching as Lord Frey led his daughter down the aisle, where Edmure anxiously waited at the end. When the bride reached the end of the aisle, her father removed her veil, revealing his daughter to the room.

You let out a quiet gasp, and Robb turned to you, whispering in your ear. 

“What is it?”

“She’s beautiful,” you said, keeping your eyes on her. “You may have missed an opportunity here, I regret to admit.”

Robb fought a smile, returning his gaze to the betrothed. “Don’t be daft. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room, and you know it.”

You felt the heat creep up to your cheeks, ever so slightly shaking your head.

“Hush. Pay attention.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice. “Yes, My Queen. As you command.”

—

After the ceremony, the festivities were moved into the banquet hall. Men lined the banisters overhead, playing tunes for the guests. People laughed, danced, and chattered while the servants came around with ale. A group in the middle had taken to dancing, or for a more accurate phrase, stumbling around drunk. 

Robb laughed as he watched them, making you smile. The war had kept his smile from him for so long, it had been ages since you'd seen it or heard him laugh.

Somewhere throughout the night, Lord Edmure and his new bride had been whisked away for the bedding ceremony, a sight that you rolled your eyes at.

“It’s tradition,” Robb said, grabbing your hand in his.

“A barbaric tradition. As if it isn’t already a humiliating enough experience for a girl to be with a man for the first time. Now she’ll have half of the party in there, drunk and watching.”

Robb smiled softly at you as you spoke, squeezing your hand. “I couldn’t say no, darling. Lord Frey is already quite cross with me, we have to give him his little joys. My Uncle and Lady Frey were smiling, it isn’t as if I’ve forced them to do anything they don’t want to do.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” you said, smiling back. “It doesn’t make it any less of a stupid tradition. I pity her.”

“Oh, what would you know? You didn’t have to do it,” he teased, grinning.

“And you were all the luckier for it. I wouldn’t have been as nice as I was, which if I recall correctly, you seemed to very much enjoy. You’d have left our chambers taking a few drunk Lords to the Maester and returned to a locked door. I do hope he knows how to properly heal broken noses.”

Robb let out a chuckle at your words, warming your heart at the sound of it. “Lucky I forbade it then, aren’t I? Saved a few people from a bloody evening.”

“And yourself from a rather unfortunate one, as well. I’d count us both lucky, Your Grace,” you teased back, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

The night continued on, the festivities still lively. Across the hall, Lady Catelyn was sitting with her uncle and Lord Bolton. A servant came over to fill their cups, when Lord Bolton abstained. 

You raised a brow, listening in on his words as best you could.

“I never drink, My Lady. It dulls the senses.”

“That’s the point,” the Blackfish said, standing to find a bathroom. 

You watched the path he took to walk out, stilling in your chair when you noticed that the hall doors had been shut just as he left. It was a wedding and a feast, people should have been able to come and go as they pleased. Why would the doors be shut? Lady Catelyn seemed to notice as well, standing up as a few stray men in armor entered the room.

The men on the balcony played a solemn tune, one you recognized to be The Rains of Castamere. 

You were not an idiot. You had heard that song before, you knew its origins. Your Grandmother, the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell, raised you and your sister well. She taught you to pay attention to every detail, and to never walk into a room without knowing every crevice of it. You had learned from the best. And you knew something was wrong. 

Lady Catelyn knew it, too.

You turned to your husband, grabbing his arm. “Robb–”

“Your Grace,” Lord Frey interrupted, standing up and silencing the room.

Robb stood up, walking to stand in front of Lord Frey’s table at the front of the room. You slowly and quietly backed your chair away from the table while everyone took their seats, giving yourself room to stand quickly. You tried to ignore the pit in your stomach, but it wouldn’t let you ignore it. Trusting your instincts, you slowly reached for your boot, where you kept a dagger inconspicuously strapped to it. 

That was another thing your Grandmother taught you. To always be prepared, to be one step ahead, and to always be the one to surprise.

“I feel I’ve been remiss, in my duties,” Lord Frey said, eyes on Robb. “I’ve given you meat and wine and music…but I haven’t shown you the hospitality you deserve. My King has married and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift.”

“Robb!” Catelyn suddenly called out, slapping Lord Bolton across the face, who bolted across the room the second he could get free. 

Robb turned just in time to see one of Walder Frey’s soldiers, coming at you with a dagger. Just as you felt a hand grab your shoulder and a sharp blade graze your throat, you dislodged the dagger from your boot, spinning around and plunging it into your attacker’s throat.

Robb moved to rush to you, but one of the men on the balcony shot an arrow at him, sticking him in the shoulder. He let out a groan, stumbling back. Across the room, his mother had been shot as well.

“No!” You screamed, diving to the floor as arrows began to fly, massacring the Northmen inside. 

Robb had been struck with another arrow, sending him tumbling to the ground. You grasped for him, hooking your arms under his and straining to pull him as close to you as you could. Shielded partially by the table, you held your blade’s hilt between your teeth, checking Robb’s wounds. He was bleeding, but luckily was still conscious, just in shock. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, dazed.

“Quiet,” you whispered, hushed. “I’m getting us out of here.”

Screams echoed throughout the hall, and you shielded Robb as men scrambled to get free. Chaos erupted around you, all while Walder Frey sat at his table, his goblet raised. 

You scanned around the room, looking for your best way out. You pulled Robb up, snapping the ends of the arrows off. If you pulled them out, he could bleed out. It was easier this way, and he’d make it long enough to be treated. He groaned in pain, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, cradling his face. “You have to help me. You have to stand up. We just have to get to that corridor, it’s unmanned. Walder’s son was guarding it earlier, he isn’t there anymore. Robb, please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Mother,” he whispered, leaning up. “Where is she?”

You looked around, spotting her under a table. She had pulled an arrow from her back, and was reaching for the blade of a dead man on the floor. Suddenly, she was grasped by her hair and pulled out from under the table.

“No–”

You covered Robb’s mouth with your hand, willing him to be quiet. “If they see us, we’ll both die. I can’t let you die, I won’t.”

He struggled in your grip, and you bent down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. You shifted him off your lap, gripping your blade tight. “I’ll help her, alright? Please stay here. Please.”

Before he could protest, you began crawling out from under the table. You eased your way as out of sight as you could, following where Catelyn had been dragged. She was doing her best to fight off her captor, and was successful, if only for a moment. 

Soldier’s came to the man’s aid, holding her still as they brought her in front of Lord Frey’s table. 

“What shall we do with her, sire?”

Lord Frey pondered it a moment, smirking. Lady Catelyn fought with her life, scratching and kicking her captors, drawing blood. They groaned and faltered as she screamed, clawing to get free. 

Finally, Lord Frey pointed to her, before calling over more of his men. “Kill the bitch.”

You watched in horror as her hair was grabbed by a man from behind, her head tilted back. In the end, it took five men to hold her still, hardly able to contain her. A blade was passed to the closest man, and her throat was slit. She crumpled to the floor in a pool of her own blood, her eyes still open and staring right through you. 

You scrambled to get back to Robb, who had pushed himself up to his knees. Tears were freely falling down his face, and he let out a sound of anguish as you slid to his side, pulling him into you. 

“Don’t look,” you said, holding him tight. “Don’t look. Listen to me, Robb. We have to get out of here. We have to keep fighting, alright? Are you hearing me?”

He nodded into your shoulder, pulling his head up. Your heart ached as you saw the look on his face, nothing but pure agony. He willed himself to be strong, to be strong for you. He shelved his emotions, his face growing cold as he looked around. Roose Bolton had reentered the room, presumably looking for the two of you. Robb turned his attention back to you, grabbing your hand.

“I’m hearing you. Where do we go?”

You pointed to the corridor in the corner of the room, still left unmanned. “We have to go that way. It will lead deeper into the castle, but away from the camps outside. He will have sent most of his men outside to kill our armies.”

Robb seethed, his eyes filled with rage and sorrow. You shook your head, squeezing his hand. 

“Robb, listen to me. We will avenge them. All of them. And we will get revenge for your Mother. The North will always remember, and they will never forgive. We’ll gather our armies. We’ll fight, and we’ll win. We have been betrayed, but we have not lost. We will win, I promise you that…but only if we get out of here. It will mean nothing, and they will have died for nothing, if we don’t get out of here.”

Robb hurriedly nodded, placing your dagger back in your boot. He reached for a dead man’s sword, passing it to you. He unsheathed his own sword, crawling out from beneath the table. He reached for your hand, quickly pulling you up. 

“You know how to use it, and you must. Hold on to my coat. Stay behind me, and whatever you do, don’t let go.”

You nodded, holding onto him. You gripped the sword tight in your free hand, the other clutched tightly to Robb’s coat. You wildly looked around, waiting for an opening. The second one cleared, you yelled for him to go, quickly following after him.

Robb cut down every man in your path that night.

Every soldier that got within a few feet of you both, he cut down without hesitation. You clung to him, stabbing and slicing whatever came near you. Together, you made it out of the hall and into the corridor, where you took the lead. 

You led the pair of you out the back of the castle, while the front was in battle. Together, you fled into the night, trying your hardest not to listen to the sound of your men’s screams. 

—

That night, you fled on foot. Robb was injured, and couldn’t travel fast. Luckily, a few bands of men had escaped the Frey’s attack, and found you on the road with a few horses. You rode through the night all the way to the Vale, where you arrived in the early morning. 

Robb’s Aunt, the Lady Arryn, allowed you and your men into her home, as you seeked asylum. 

You trusted her well enough. After all, she was Catelyn’s sister. While you were not particularly close with either woman, a familiar name brought you comfort. Stark, Arryn, Tully, it was all name to a house you and Robb would be welcome home in. 

Robb was seen by the Maester, who bandaged him up as best he could. He told you to keep Robb off his feet as best you could for the next few days. It was best to lie low anyways. Although the Eyrie was loyal to the North, and would protect the man named King in the North, there was still the possibility of spies and betrayal. 

Just as you got Robb into bed in your chambers, a raven arrived from Riverrun. You promised him you’d be back shortly, and went into the throne room to hear Lady Arryn deliver the message.

The Blackfish, Catelyn’s uncle, had escaped the Twins and returned to his home to prepare his army for a potential battle with the Lannister army. He would hold his fort, and await for further instruction. Edmure Tully had been captured. Roose Bolton had betrayed the North. Tywin Lannister offered to name him Warden of the North, only if he was successful in assassinating you and Robb. Your deaths and the death of your army would end the war, allowing the Lannister’s to pull their army back to King’s Landing. 

Although the attempts on your life were unsuccessful, others weren’t. Nearly three quarters of the combined army who had followed you to the Twins were slaughtered there. The rest narrowly escaped with their lives, and assumedly were fleeing back home. It was confirmed that Lady Catelyn, Robb’s mother, had been murdered. Greywind, Robb’s direwolf, had been slain as well.

When you returned to your chambers, the hour still early, Robb had sat up in bed, groaning in pain. You sat down next to him, gently laying your hand on his arm, With tears in your eyes, you informed him of the betrayal, and the confirmed deaths on your side. 

“The Blackfish sent word. Roose Bolton and Walder Frey betrayed us, paid off by the Lannisters. Over half the Northern army is dead, the rest captured or seen fleeing. Greywind was put down…and your mother.”

His face crumbled, and he broke down into tears. He slumped into your lap, desperately clutching at the fabric of your dress. He gripped you tight, sobs muffled into your stomach. You fought your own tears, wrapping Robb tight in your arms.

He cried himself to sleep, nearly making himself sick.

—

The next morning, Robb didn’t speak of the night before. 

In the following days, he didn’t utter a word about it to you, only speaking of it to the Lord’s who still supported the North. Ravens came back and forth to the Eyrie, and only a seldom number of houses knew you and Robb had seeked shelter in the Vale.

Robb spent much of his time distracting himself, in the training yard with his young cousin Robyn, or out on horseback. Lords came and went, speaking of battle plans.

You didn’t know much about them. You weren’t there to hear them, and Robb wouldn’t tell you when you asked. 

Unlike Robb, you could hardly leave your chambers.

You were not a weak person. You weren’t raised to be easily frightened or overwhelmed. You had been taught better than that, your Grandmother made sure of it. But when you awoke the morning after you arrived at the Vale, and your husband was able to get up and leave your chambers, you were simply frozen in bed. Petrified and paranoid, afraid that anyone who made it past the guards had come to collect for the price on your head.

It tormented you for days. Slowly, you were able to leave your chambers, but you couldn’t go far. Robb kept to himself, finding it hard to even look at you. He did his duties, and returned to your chambers every night, but he wasn’t really there. 

One evening, Lady Arryn called everyone to dinner, in memory of her sister. The thought of leaving your chambers made you sick, but you didn’t have it in your heart to say no to either Robb or Lady Arryn. You were obliged to attend, and you and Robb got ready in silence. You still wore black, as a sign of mourning. 

Across the room, Robb finally called for you. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you in days. But he finally did, standing in front of the mirror. 

“Y/N?” He asked, turning to you. “Could you help me?”

You stood up from sitting on the edge of the bed, moving to stand beside him. “What is it?”

He slowly handed you an embroidered black ribbon, the edges frayed. You furrowed a brow, looking up at him. His face was solemn. 

“It was my mothers,” he said, and your face softened. “I want to wear it tonight, but I don’t know where to put it. My Aunt said she used to tie it in her hair.”

His voice caught at the end of his sentence, and you rested your hand on his shoulder, easing him. 

“As pretty as you would look with a ribbon in your hair,” you grinned, making Robb crack a small smile. “I expect we can think of something more practical. How about we cuff your sleeves? We can tie it around your wrist. Hmm?”

He nodded, letting out a shaky breath. He held out his hand for you to take, and you gently rolled his sleeve before securing the ribbon around his wrist. You pulled a ribbon from your own hair, tying it around his other wrist.

“There. Are we ready?”

He nodded, holding his arm out for you to take. “We are. Thank you, love.”

He guided the pair of you to dinner, a pit settled in both your stomachs. A cloud of sadness hung over both your heads, casting its shadow over the rest of your evening. During the meal, Lady Arryn told stories of her childhood with her sister, with tears in her eyes. You laughed together, remembering Catelyn. Robb told a few stories of his own. 

“You’ll remember this, darling, you had already come to stay with us,” he said, turning to look at you. “It was the day we found the direwolves. One for each of us. Mother griped and griped at Father when we returned with them, a pup under each arm. It took us days to get her to accept them. She called them beasts, always tripping with them underfoot while they followed us around. I think the first time she accepted them was when Y/N and I were out in the courtyard. Mother was on the balcony, watching us play with Rickon.”

Robb smiled as he spoke, reaching for your hand. “Rickon was running after Y/N, and he accidentally stepped on the back of her dress. The end of it ripped, and they both fell. Nobody was hurt, they were laughing by the time they hit the ground. But Greywind bounded over, sniffing around. Making sure they were alright.”

Robb paused, looking at his lap, taking a minute to pull himself together. 

You squeezed his hand, running your thumb over the back of his knuckles. “I’ll finish the story, love.”

“No, no,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’m alright. I can do it. Anyway, I rushed over, making sure they were alright. Y/N was being dramatic, making a big fuss over her dress being ripped. She was trying to make Rickon laugh, he looked a little bewildered and guilty. The whole time, Greywind was standing over us all while we were sitting in the dirt. A guard came over, and he bent down to help Rickon and Y/N up. But Greywind, still only a small little thing, darted in front of them. All teeth and snarls, blocking the guard from getting to them. I doubt at that age he could have done much damage, but he sure was ready to try his best.”

Everyone chuckled, taking sips of their drinks around the table. You smiled at the memory, squeezing Robb’s hand again. He continued.

“I had to call Greywind off. Just like that, he was back at our sides, all content. As if he wasn’t ready to chew off that guard’s hand. He was so protective of us all, from the beginning. And he minded well. We got everyone up and headed to get cleaned up, and Mother whistled from the balcony. We all looked up, and she was grinning. ‘Bring me my son,’ she said. ‘And get that dog a bone.’ And she went inside. That was it.”

A tear streamed down Robb’s face, and he quickly wiped it away. “I’m really going to miss them.”

Lady Arryn nodded, wiping her own tears. “Me too, my boy. Me too.”

—

That evening after dinner, you guided Robb quietly back to your chambers. He didn’t say a word on the way back, only stopping to open the door for you. You both undressed, getting ready for bed. You had your back to him, only turning around once you had finished. When you finally turned around, your heart broke at the sight of him.

Robb stood in front of the mirror with his shirt off, pulling at the scars the two arrows left on his torso.

It was the first time Robb had left his shirt off long enough for you to see them in a while. The day he stopped needing you to help him dress, he kept them covered and out of your sight. But here he was, right before you. Vulnerable, and sad. 

You slowly walked over to him, laying your hand on his shoulder blade. His eyes met yours in the mirror, and his face crumbled once again. You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, resting your cheek in the middle of his back. He clutched at your arms, his head hung low. 

He turned around in your arms, bringing you into his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, pulling back to see his face. “Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“There is!” He said, angrily wiping at his tears. “I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t protect any of them!”

“It is not your fault,” you reassured, gripping his arms.

“It is! You’re cowering around the castle, barely able to leave our chambers. I can barely look at you without being eaten alive with guilt. I should have seen it coming. But I was selfish, and I let my men pay the price for it. And Greywind…my Mother…”

You threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you. He held you tightly, hiding his face in your neck. You could feel his tears land on your skin, and you felt a twinge in your heart.

“My sweet boy,” you said, moving to cradle his face in your palms. “You will not blame yourself. I won’t hear any more of it! It isn’t your fault, no more than it is mine. There was no way to see this coming. We did what we had to do, Robb. We couldn’t save them. But we could avenge them. And the only way to do that was ensuring we made it out alive. I’m so sorry we couldn’t do more.”

You gently ran your fingers along the scars on his torso, feeling him tense under your touch. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder. 

“I won’t lie to you, Robb. I was scared. I’m still scared. But hear me, and hear me well. It is not, and it will never be your fault. There is nothing you could have done. Nothing. But we will avenge them all, I promise you that. They didn’t die for nothing.”

Robb covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, nearly gasping for breath as he cried. He clutched at his chest, his voice raw. “It hurts. Make it stop, please.”

He looked small like this. Just a boy, thrust into the nasty grip of war. It was tearing him apart. You gently walked him back until you reached the foot of the bed, easing him down onto it. He sat, and you stood between his legs, cradling his face.

“I know, my love. I know.”

—

After a while, the air had calmed. You were now in bed, laying facing each other. Robb was running a finger up and down your arm, keeping his eyes low.

His voice was quiet. “I miss them. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing them.”

You nodded, settling into his chest. “That’s alright. I think you’ll always miss them. But it will get easier…it has to. They’ll always be with you.”

Your voice shook as you spoke. He protectively wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him. He pressed a kiss into your hair, holding you tight. It was quiet another moment, before he spoke again, whispering to you.

“You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but he didn’t feel assured. You didn’t, either.

“I mean it. You never have to worry about your safety with me. I’ll protect you with my life if I have to. And I plan on living a long and happy life, with you by my side. You’re stuck with me, alright? My girl. My Queen.”

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You closed your eyes to keep them from falling, pressing yourself further into Robb’s side.

“I believe you, my love. My King. We’ll be alright. I believe that, too.”

—

A/N - Hi! This one got a little long, sorry. I hope it was what you were looking for, and I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think!”

#game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #robb stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark imagine #robb stark x tyrell #robb stark x tyrell!reader #the red wedding #hotd #house of the dragon #house stark #requests open

[gazpachoandbooks]

Sansa: I thought you spent that part of your life trying not to draw attention to yourself. Why befriend Gendry in the first place?

Arya: long story short? I needed a friend that was taller than Jon

Sansa: that makes no sense

Bran: wait let her speak

*three hours later, in the crypts*

Jon: *screams for 30 seconds straight*

Gendry: *covered head to toe in flour, shifts awkwardly* umm Bran, Sansa and Arya say, and I'm only the messenger here, "payback bitch"

Jon: *stares at Gendry*

Jon: *screams again*

Gendry:

Jon:

Gendry: in case you're considering feeding me to Ghost bear in mind that you really need every blacksmith you can get your hands on

Gendry: the economy is in shambles

Gendry: blood is a nightmare to clean from white fur right?

Gendry: also Arya would be so mad at you

Jon: Get. Out.

#arya stark #bran stark #jon snow #arya and bran #gendry waters #sansa stark #starklings #house stark #asoiaf #gendrya

[axelsagewrites]

it'd be cool to see some theon fluff :) maybe from the era after he escapes from ramsey bc that boy deserves some comfort omg (also if you could use he/him pronouns that would be cool too!)

Theon*Dream of Sweet Memories

Pairing: Theon x m!reader

Platonic: Jon, Robb, Sansa, x reader

Summary: Reader helps Theon recover from a nightmare and reflects on their past

Tw: Theon having ptsd

Word count: 1474

Masterlist Here

Winterfell felt colder than before. The hollow halls of your childhood had been through so much the past few years. Now you were back, the war was over, Sansa was queen in the North, Bran in the south. Robb was dead, Jon was gone, Arya too. Sansa was kind but you had never been close. Your family was all but gone as well. There was one thing left though one thing that made all the pain, all the suffering, the war worth it.

Theon lay asleep on your bed, his face relaxed as he slumbered. The last candle that was burner illuminated a small portion of the room but enough for you to admire his features in the candlelight. His hair was soft under your touch as you stroked it gently.

Moments like this were rare. Theon was skittish, paranoid, quiet. He’d never been this quiet before. Robb was the loud one who knocked into everything and everyone, who’s barking laugh rang across the hall. Theon was the funny one, always a joke up his sleeve that he would loudly proclaim to anyone who would hear. Jon was quiet in public but when the four of you would hang out in the stables he was just as loud as Theon, and they would banter long into the night.

Theon had always joked you were practically a mute. You liked to listen and laugh along, adding in your own comments occasionally. Theon tried to drag the conversation out of you. He’d ask a million questions just to get you to speak. Tell jokes just to make you laugh. It was usual for you to be left out of discussions, but Theon had always made sure to drag you into them even when you didn’t want him too.

You opened up more in your chambers, laughing and cheering with him especially after a drink. You’d both gossip like it was nobodies’ business. Theon was shocked when he found out you were actually funny. He spent months, years, growing your confidence but even still you were always the quiet one.

Till now at least. Theon could barely look you in the eyes when you were reunited. He was ashamed. Ashamed of everything he had done, everything he had caused. Jon wanted to hate him, wanted you to hate him, but he couldn’t after he saved Sansa.  You wanted to hate him too, but you couldn’t. you had thought for months if you ever saw him again the first thing you would do was punch him. Then he walked through those gates.

He was meek, quiet, skittish. He looked like even walking was a battle for him. And gods were he skinny now. When he walked through the gates you weren’t angry. A warmth poured through your heart. Theon looked up and instantly away again when he saw you. he couldn’t face you.

You didn’t even realise you were walking, running even, till you had pulled him into your arms. Theon froze at first, stiff as ice but it soon melted. His head fell into your shoulder, his arms wrapping weakly around your waist. Your hand clamped against his head, holding it tight against you, “If you ever leave me again, I’ll fucking kill you Greyjoy, understand?”

He hadn’t left your side since. You had been so distracted by your thoughts you hadn’t noticed him stirring. You looked down at his face which was contorted with worry, his lips mouthing something you couldn’t fully hear. Leaning down, you tried to listen, “Please,” you managed to make out, “not please,” he mumbled, “no, no, no,” he began to rush out, you sat up about to shake him awake when a shrill shriek rang across the room.

Theon’s cried echoed around the cold chamber, his body stiff as a bored as his body flung himself up, backing away up the bed. “Theon!” you yelled, trying to grab his flailing arms, “It’s me! Its (Y/N)! You’re safe,” you said as you grabbed his shoulders.

Theon’s eyes danced crazily across the room till they settled on you, his hands grasping onto your shoulders, “(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s me my love,” you said as you held his face softly in your hands, “It’s just us you’re safe Theon,”

“No, Im not Theon im- “

“Reeks dead Theon,” you said, moving to kneel on either sides of his legs so you could face him straight on, “Ramsay’s dead Theon. Its okay. you’re safe I promise,”

Theon stopped for a moment, his eyes dazed as he stared into space before finally turning back to you, “I was so scared,” he whimpered, “it was like he was back,”

“He’s not coming back Theon,” you said, stroking his cheek, “I’m here sweetheart. I’ve got you,”

“You’ve got me,” he whispered, and you just nodded, smiling lightly at the terrified boy.

You moved to be laying on the bed again, bringing Theon into your arms as you cradled his shaking body, “Nothings gonna happen to you. I promise,” you said, kissing the back of his head.

Heavy sobs fell from his lips, shaking his body. The feeling brought tears to your own eyes but all you could do was hold him. “I wish I could be normal again,” Theon whispered.

“You will be,” you said as you began to stroke his hair, “but it’ll take time,”

Silence fell over the room for a moment, “Sometimes,” Theon began to croak out, “I wonder if I deserved it all, for what I did to Robb, to you,”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “No one deserves what Ramsay did to you. no one. It’s a fate worse than death but you survived it because you’re strong, because it’s your fate to go on. If things had went differently Robb would’ve forgiven, you. you know that”

“That just makes it worse,” he whispered, his voice horse from his whimpering, “I wish I had stayed with him. At least he treated me like family, he was my family,”

“We cannot change the past,” you said as you moved Theon to face you, stroking his cheek lightly, “But we can live for the future. You saved Sansa, you helped save Bran. Robb would be grateful for that. Now you must live for him, protect Winterfell for him,” you said, and Theon just nodded.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead and fell into a comfortable silence. Before the war Theon had just been a friend to you though you couldn’t help your stares after him. The way his laugh light up a room, his jokes never failing to cheer you up, how his smile curved. He fascinated you. he didn’t admit it, but he had always felt the same.

You grew even closer when you both rode off with Robb, sharing a tent to save on supplies. There had been a moment, one night after a particularly hard battle. The cold was settling in, and it was bitter.

******

“Your chattering so loud Tywin can hear,” Theon whispered from across the tent as he sat up beneath his thin furs. “Get over here,”

“I um but what if someone- “

“Get under these furs before we freeze to death,” he said rolling his eyes. You did as you had been told as slipped under the furs beside the boy. “See already better,” he whispered.

You rolled over to face the other side of the tent to try concealing the blush coating your cheeks. However, you were confused when you heard Theon shuffling then blushed even harder when you felt his arms reach around your body, “What are you doing?” you whispered back.

“I can’t have my best friend freezing to death,” he replied. At one point that night Theon had obviously figured you had fallen asleep, but you were still awake enough to feel the kiss he placed to your cheek, laying still as he settled back down until his soft snores filled the tent.

******

“We should visit the crypt tomorrow,” Theon said breaking the silence, “I want to see him again,”

“Okay,” you said, kissing his lips gently. He had visited Robbs statue many times since it had been placed in the crypts. Neither Robb nor Neds’ bodies had made it to the crypt, but Sansa had still ordered for their statues to be placed there. The last lord of Winterfell and its first king in this new dynasty. A statue of Catelyn and Rickon at either side. “We’ll go at first light but for now we must rest,”

“Okay,” Theon whispered as he placed his head on your chest. You had almost dozed off when he spoke again, “(Y/N)?” he asked, and you yawned a what. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” you murmured back as your eyelids grew heavy, “Sleep my love. Dream of sweet memories,”

General Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @fan-goddess @valeskafics

#theon #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #theon greyjoy x male reader #theon greyjoy x you #theon imagine #theon x reader #theon got #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fluff #game of thrones x reader #got #got imagine #got x you #got x reader #game of thrones x you #got fluff #theon greyjoy fluff #theon greyjoy angst