#bowfailed

I DON’T WANNA GO CLUBBING W/ UNCLE EDMURE

send  help.

he would do it he would strip and streak till he found water

fight me old man

excuse you, i have great sense of fashion

❛ the hitchhiker’s guide to the galaxy ❜ sentence starters

“are you jealous of them?” wednesday asks, dryly. “i assure you, being a dolphin is nothing to be all cracked up about.”

@bowfailed

FIRST THREEIN MY INBOX GET KISSES.

He wasn’t a boy for very long. Second born son of aLord, one might think he grew up more privileged than his brother, especiallywith how wild he’d grown up to be. No wife, no children, no true title to callhis own. And yet it couldn’t be further from the truth, for their father hadgroomed both his sons, if just in different ways. Sometimes he wondered if itwasn’t partially their Lord father’s fault for how he and his brother turned out,for Hoster had too much of his overbearing nature, but Brynden had inheritednothing if not his brash, reckless one, both on and off the field of battle.

He lamented the fact that Hoster fell so easily intothe trapping of Lord rather than father, forsaking the comfort of his childrenfor those bloody words: Family, Duty,Honor. Brynden would have them stricken from his own grave before he’d havethem written there, not half so Tully as the rest, despite the name and sigilhe wore.

Now, the Blackfish sighed, toting the heir to Riverrunagainst his shoulder with a scowl. Catelyn was growing into her own,practically already engaged to Brandon Stark, Lysa still pined for Petyr, whosesmiles had long since become lost, and neither truly had time for their brotheranymore. He was too old for this sort of thing, both he and Edmure, but thatdidn’t stop the silly lad from sobbing like a child when Hoster had removed hisdog from him. Silly thing, with long, curled hair, and two big, sweet eyes.Poor beast had caught something, made his mouth foam and body itch till hescratched off his fur. His teeth became known as well, when before he was onlya sweet thing with licks to give to the hand that patted him.

Hoster had told the boy to put him down, be done withit, for it was his own fault for not watching him. Then again, how could he?Sick with cold as he had been, the servants were truly to blame for not havingput him in his pen, even though Brynden wasn’t so prone to blaming the help. Stillweak from sickness and shaky with the deed that must be done, the heir hadbarely been able to lift his sword, breaking into tears when the creature had amoment of recognition and tried to lick him. The Blackfish had separated thembefore it could lose its mind once more, ushering Edmure away, and passed thesentence himself.

@bowfailed

Send “💋” to kiss my muse out of nowhere.

The Blackfish had no need for thosescars, worn upon the flesh and soul of every Tully, but filled with more malicethan all the generations of their war-torn ancestors put together: Family, Duty, Honor. He’d spit onthem, burned the last banners above their pyres, and fed the wind with theirashes. Now all that remained were the midnight scales, emblazoned upon hisarmor and now his face, in the form of a twisted monster. The one the SevenKingdoms would remember when they found his name, in the nightmarish storiesthat were only told when the cold was too thick, and death was so close.

But in return, he wore his own,mottled across his flesh, a reminder to never trust. Betrayal was far frombitter, it didn’t even taste of ash, no – it was the bloom of agony across hisshoulders and the sickening tug of something deep within his skull. The corddangling, thick and twisted with the same iron he could taste on his tongue,too black in the dark that surrounded him as the torch flickered overhead.

But all wars were over, were theynot? From the one the hordes of undead had brought to their doorstep, farbeyond in The North, to the Kings who numbered five, but were now all buriedbeneath marble and stone. Some would not even be remembered, stricken fromtheir archives, slandered and shamed for as long as those tomes lived on. Andeven they too, someday, would turn to ash.

The Blackfish continued to sharpenthe serrated edge of the blade, nicked and mended, broken and splintered afterso many uses. Too sharp, too dull sometimes, but just enough to make a manscream for mercy. He didn’t remember being this cruel, but neither could he thesweet smell of the grass, nor the lovely chime of Cat’s laugh. He rose, thewolf pelt adorned atop his cloak scraping the puckered flesh of his cheek, loneriver trained upon the flicker of the fire within the hearth.