#avaricebled

bronn, who is barely fucking literate: hahaha

Rolling her eyes, Trysta rose from her seat near the two men practicing and strolled over, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “I believe you are thinking of my sister, I have quite a bit more free time on my hands than she does at the moment.” 

                   SLENDER  FINGERS  fidgeted  with  one  another  ,  a  nervous  tick  developed  as  a  distraction  for  the  carelessness  of  the  words  she  spoke.  “  you  were  only  there  for  your  conscience  ,  “  she  mentioned  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  be  a  reminder  (  seemingly  to  herself  and  not  him  ).  once  more  ,  she  didn’t  look  at  bronn.  erisly  did  not  believe  she  had  the  tolerance  to  view  him  after  witnessing  him  slay  a  child.  he  had  only  done  so  for  her  sake  ,  after  all.  this  knowledge  made  regret  swell.

                  something  that  paralleled  anger  resided  in  the  pits  of  her  stomach  -----  a  resemblance  to  vexation  ,  more  so  since  she  had  been  forced  to  accommodate  for  the  sake  of  the  other’s  actions.  of  course  ,  when  bronn  had  saved  her  the  right  to  be  angry  was  stripped  from  her  possession.  &&  yet  ,  here  she  was  ,  all  pouted  lips  ,  crossed  arms  ,  and  awkward  silences  one  with  a  distaste  for  verbal  confrontation  could  provide.

oh gee whiz there’s a lot of people i love here

@agooddog first of all, i’m so in love with this representation of sandor, second, sending and receiving sansan posts to/from the mun is actually a new hobby of mine. and the mun is a total sweetie

@avaricebled this is my irl sibling and kit is e x t r e m e l y helpful when i have n00b questions so i am forever in debt

@wolfgiirl a.k.a. “wolfgrill” is as big of a fan of sansa+arya kicking ass as i am, also just super cool in general, also is perfect

@thelightninglord is VERY NICE AND TALENTED and when i get a message from her my heart is warmer, and on a more specific note she uses the best verbs when she writes (when i write replies i try to remember to use verbs like she does)

@therealricksanchezpleasestandup always puts up with my SCREAMING about rick and morty and their blog is off the fucking chain

When Robb had reluctantly agreed to the exchange, he knew the Lannisters would never send his sisters along with a simple guard, that they would want to see for themselves that the Kingslayer was returned into their care unharmed, just as he would not allow his sisters be transferred to a lord or squire or anyone but himself. Still, he had not expected the imp to be the one doing the delivery. Under the (false) impression (that his mother had given him) that Tyrion was responsible for Bran’s fall (and had only tried to help him in some show of guilt), Robb felt the hatred inside him beginning to boil up at first sight--and that was before he’d seen that they’d failed to bring Arya. 

The arguing had gone on for hours. Robb was in half a mind to kill Tyrion then and there for this trickery, but the man was always surrounded by half a dozen guards, the same number Robb had brought with him--as had been the agreement. But the Lannisters had hardly upheld their end of the bargain, and they were no nearer an agreement now than when they’d begun this bickering. Then the imp had insisted on wine, and that at least Robb could agree to.

@avaricebled

The practice yard stood empty, footprints in the dirt, clear. Evenfall has seen little in the way of training the past few months. Her father’s castellan Ser Grandon Tyde had done what he could for the castle since her father had passed in the months before her return, but the wars had put it’s mark on entire realm, and the Sapphire Isle had been no different. At least the castle itself stood remarkably unchanged, and the small port town below carried on as usual. Small folk seemingly the same as ever, unaffected by the same worries that lords and ladies had when it came to picking up the pieces of their way of life, and what was left of once grand houses. It was strange to think she was the last of hers.

It had been simpler before, despite the death that had filled every space around her. Before when she had oaths to keep at the end of her sword, and others made the decisions. But she had always known that she had a duty to fulfill at home, despite all she had avoided it. Now it seemed that it was all that was left to her. She might have easily stayed in the north, or served the queen, but Brienne had taken a long hard look at what remained, and there was only one promise and duty that she had left undone. The only thing her father had ever asked of her.

@avaricebled

The Riverlands was just starting to suffer the coming of winter, little fat snowflakes fluttering from the sky, and landing upon his brow. The drops melted on his hair, slivering between his locks, and sent an icy shock down his spine. The sky was all mist and bleak, dark clouds that circled one another, consuming in a cycle that never ended, but fed the coming storm.

The Blackfish never thought he’d stoop so low. Literally. And… figuratively. One snide comment too far and look at where he was now: one hand in black hair, mussing the slicked back strands, the other roughly gripping a hip, and lips harshly pressed over another man’s mouth. They slanted, tongue piercing straighter than an arrow, swiping over molar and down, to nigh suffocate him. He had it bloody coming. That was what he told himself, anyway, as he nipped at the lips as course and blistered at his own, till he felt them nearly pearl with crimson. Always making jabs, flinging flirts left and right, and he was just so damn tired of his snark.

@avaricebled

Sansa stared at the brilliant reflection of the sun on the water, with light scattered like tiny shards of glass across the great and turbulent ocean. In her drab gray gown of the North, she sat upon a rocky ledge with her legs folded underneath her in the ladylike fashion she was taught, though it had a hint of youthful awkwardness.

Her eyes were glazed with the tears she had been keeping in all morning. All morning, she had played Joffrey’s little games. But they weren’t fun. In front of the court, Joffrey had commanded her to curtsy every time he spoke to her, which he made a point of doing excessively. She counted - 46 curtsies in 3 hours. Her legs ached. It was always after particularly draining games of his that she wished she could cross that sea the most. She’d even considered swimming across, even though she knew she wouldn’t make it 100 meters.