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asbestosmouth · 7 years

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If you still do prompts- can you write me some Beric/Ramsay Halloween fluff? Please please please? (bonus points for Sansan or Lannistarth)

Author: AsbestosMouthShip(s): Beric/Ramsay, background SanSanTrigger Warning(s) if applicable: Fluffy Modern AU but with Ramsay. Not his own warning, for once.Brief Summary: Beric is new to Winterfell, and has never experienced a Hallow’een like it. It’s fun, and exhausting, but when a weird leather-clad bloke, accompanying a tiny little boy dressed as Darth Vader, turns up on his doorstep, the night get far more interesting.

A continuation of the Circle Time Universe. Thanks, Nonny, for the Beric/Ramsay prompt :D

Every year the town of Winterfell embraces Hallowe’en with an enthusiasm that southrons find adorable at best and slightly creepy at worst. It seems every house displays carved pumpkins, every owner putting on some sort of costume, every child visiting every door with a hopeful expression and the cry of ‘trick or treat!’ on their lips.

Beric has lived in Winterfell for almost eleven months. He moved up from the Storm Lands during the latest banking crisis, being ‘let go’ from his stressful and high-powered financial job for whistle blowing the whole rotten house of cards into international disrepute. The press still call him Robin Hood, still ask hopefully for interviews, but he politely shuts down every call and email and settles into this new life in the North.

He likes the North.

Winterfell was never an obvious choice, but when the shit hit the fan, it offered a thousand miles and more between him and the steaming pile of faeces of his past. Vague memories of visiting the North when he was a child, running through snowy dales and eating solid hearty food, still nestled in his head. Garlan, a friend from his army days, from before Beric ended up honorably discharged after the head injury that finished his promising career, recommended Dorne. Apparently his brother lives there, curates some museum, always needing someone trustworthy to help with ancient artifacts and, well, as Lieutenant - as he was way back when, he’s a Colonel now, and it is very well deserved - Tyrell said, who is more honest than a man who destroys a whole institution because he despises the crookedness inherent in the system?

Dorne. Too warm. Beric likes rain, and winter chill. He’s very much a child of the Storm Lands, even if he grew up near the Dornish border. Anyway, a complete break meant throwing off all ties, getting the hells out of Dodge as the cowboy films put it, and moving somewhere unknown.

He loves Winterfell.

It’s a pretty town, of grey granite and slate, narrow cobbled streets, the fortress giving the place its name lowering darkly over all. The North is massive skies. Endless walks. Nature study. Waterfalls. Basalt tors, and honestly grim people who warm up to you when you become ‘one of them.’ Providing enough amenities for never having to go anywhere larger unless very much needed, and, anyway, isn’t that what the internet is for? Winterfell is, in Beric’s opinion, pretty much perfect. He has friends. He has a community. He has a reputation for being quite eccentric, and since he doesn’t had to really work because of the pay out given by his employers for his quite illegal sacking, he’s become the wealthy oddball with a posh southern accent who gets involved with local people, and projects, and charities.

Clegane turns up with a pumpkin in hand, his small daughter in tow.

“Carve this,” he says unceremoniously as he dumps the orange vegetable - or are they fruit? Beric can never remember. He does have certain blips in his memory these days - onto the front step. “Hallowe’en’s bloody big around here, so dress up and shit.”

Sandor swears when Lyanna can’t see his mouth moving. The little girl bounces on her toes, pink-cheeked and beaming. She’s almost seven now, about to move up to junior school, and is frighteningly intelligent. Beric adores her, but then in general Beric adores kids. He’d like one of his own, one day, but he’s unsure how his single status and homosexuality would affect adopting. He lives slightly vicariously through Lyanna, who he’s learned sign language for, and the other little ones of Winterfell who turn up at the library he volunteers at on a weekly basis.

That is how he met Sansa, and then Sandor, and got himself a best friend. Not that the big oaf knows that, and their insults are very fond, but compared to the anonymity of the south, the North encourages closer relationships.

What are you wearing? Lyanna signs, small fingers like lightning. Today’s fingerless gloves, and they are as always knitted with love by Sansa, are pink and black stripes.

“I’m not sure yet, Little Bear. I’ll have a look in my wardrobe and see what I can find. If I struggle, can I come and see you, and you can help me decide?” Lyanna’s mother was a Mormont.

Daddy never dresses up because he says his face is scary. Sansa has a pretty witch dress. I am going to be a bear. Grrr. She spells the last part in letters, grey eyes so bright. Lyanna is all Sandor, though the other Mormonts they know are also dark-haired. For a man born in the Westerlands, Clegane is very Northern-looking, but then his mother came from White Harbour.

“Daddy is silly, because we both know he’s the most handsome man in Winterfell.” Beric gently flirts, because that’s what he does. He gently flirts with most people, and some inanimate objects, hence being known as that odd ginger southron with the really bloody nice cottage.

“Fuck off, you bastard.” But Sandor smiles, a glimmer of teeth, a faint redness to his unscarred side.

Sansa says they have a bromance.

Beric agrees.

In the end he doesn’t need to go and beg an almost seven year old for help. Beric drags on black jeans, a black dress shirt from his banking days, digs out his ceremonial sword and the eyepatch from when he got shot in the head, ties his hair back, and goes mad with a make up pallette from when he did amateur dramatics in military academy.

Sandor Lyanna wants a photo of what you’re wearing. Sending you one of her. Fuck. I’m not. Sansa will. Can’t work this bastard phone.

Sansa, who is more technologically aware than her fiance, does and Lyanna’s picture makes his heart tug deep in his chest. Little furry round ears, and an Ewok costume that’s been cunningly resewn by the even more cunning Sansa into a perfect little bear outfit. They’ve even painted a cute black nose and whiskers on her, and she is the most adorable child that Beric’s ever seen in his entire damned life.

He takes a quick mirror selfie of his zombie pirate effort, sends it off, and decants sweets into various bowls. Perhaps there are a few too many, but Beric will polish off the rest if any are left over.

Eight thirty, and the madness finally dies down. Any hope of leftover chocolate goes by the wayside as Beric makes an emergency shop run twice, and he’s still almost out of treats. At one point he began giving out his prized gingerbread men, to the delight of everyone, but now he’s down to a handful of Haribo packets, one gingerbread man, and three fun sized Mars Bars.

The door goes.

Beric opens it.

“I am the Zombie Pirate of Winterfell, and those who knock on my do-”

A very short and very pale man stares at him balefully.

“Oh. Hello. I thought-”“Domeric, for fuck’s sake. Say it.”

“…scary,” whimpers a tiny voice. Beric looks down even more. The pale man, and to be honest he’s never seen anyone dressed in so much black leather since that night at military academy, holds the hand of a very small child. Not that he’s particularly young, the boy, but Beric, presuming that the short leather wearing and quite sexy - he’s quite sexy with that intense pale-eyed glare and all that leather, that square-jawed face and stocky build - man is the child’s Dad, he’s not surprised that the height runs in the family.

“He’s a bloke who’s dressed up. I could kill him easily. He’s not scary.”“So tall,” the child squeaks, pressing closer to his unfairly well built and attractive Dad.

“I’d kneecap him, kick him in the balls, then rip his heart out if he tried anything,” the man says easily enough. “We can do flaying lessons on his corpse.” A pause, then the hand that isn’t being clutched at by a terrified five year old reaches out and caresses the pommel of Beric’s sword. “Real?”“Yes.”“Nice. Thought it was some stage shit, but that’s a passing-out sword.” Sexy Daddy squints - he isn’t dressed up, because to be perfectly frank he’s the sort of person who is quite terrifying to the majority - and taps the enamelling. “Sandhurst?”“For my sins. I’m Beric.”

“Ramsay.”Oh. That Ramsay.

Aware that he shouldn’t be thinking about the legendary local psychopath naked, Beric hunkers before Domeric, smiles, and holds out the bowl of sweets. “Your Dad is very sc-”“He’s not my Daddy. He’s my big brother!” Reducing the massive height difference seems to have helped the child’s confidence a little, though he still crams tight to Ramsay’s side. He’s dressed as Darth Vader, but the helmet dangles around his neck on a piece of cord.

Sexy Brother snickers at the awkwardness.

“If you’re Darth Vader, who is Ramsay?”Domeric glances up the not so considerable distance between himself and his brother. “He’s scary. He doesn’t need to dress up. Everyone’s scared of him. He’s cool!” Adoration radiates from the boy, boring into Ramsay, who shifts his weight in an oddly bashful gesture.“One day you’ll be as terrifying as me, Dom, and we’ll murder our way through the galaxy. You with a lightsabre and me with a flaying knife.”

Beric puts handfuls of sweets into the helmet, which acts as a bag, contemplates the last of the gingerbread men and then offers it up to Ramsay. The young man takes it, bites the head off with a murmur of pleasure; those pale eyes half-close and he licks crumbs off his frankly quite disturbingly nice lips.

“What d’you say, Dom?”

“Thank you. May the Force be with you. Our Blades Are Sharp.”

A nod, a gleaming evil sort of pride in Ramsay’s weird eyes, before he grins as sharp and white as any slavering hellhound. “Good look on you, by the way.”“Zombie?” They’re flirting. This is flirting. This isn’t just one-way between him and a random friend or colleague, but with someone actually responding.

“On your knees.”

Ten o’clock comes, and the doorstep has been quiet for the last hour. Unbuckling the sword, taking off the eyepatch, Beric settles down to have a beer and watch some random comedy panel show he’s taped off the telly weeks before but never got round to viewing. He’s almost at the first set of adverts when the doorbell goes.

“Bugger.”

He’s out of everything that might be construed as a treat in the entire house. Dammit.

“I am the evil Winterfell Zombie pi-”

Ramsay pretty much comes up to his nipples given the height difference and the few inches between the interior of the house and the outside ground level.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Is this like in Dany the Grumpkin Slayer, and if I willingly invite you into my house I’ll end up sucked and drained?”

Square fingers slide from thigh to throat, wrapping lightly around Beric’s neck. “Other way around, bitch, but I’m sure you’ll love it.”

The first kiss, while they’re frantically trying to strip off and Ramsay gets overexcited about the sheer scale of Beric’s scars, body, and everything else, tastes of gingerbread, beer, and something else that can’t quite be explained but is utterly, devastatingly, addictive.

The small boy with the pale eyes sits next to the small girl with the long dark hair and the forest green fingerless gloves. They’re on their bench in the playground, under the shelter. The snow drifts gently through the air, and it’s so pretty. January snow is the prettiest, definitely! They never have snow days here, because everyone is used to the snow. Later he and Lyanna are going to make a snowman with Sandor and Sansa, and Domeric’s going to have something to eat there, and then Mum’s going to come and get him, and then Ramsay’s taking him to see the new Star Wars film again because they both like it. Darth Vader is in it, and he loves Darth Vader, but Ramsay prefers Emperor Palpatine because he’s evil.

Ramsay likes evil things. Sometimes though, when no one’s around, he’ll sit and help Domeric with his schoolwork, or play, so even though everyone thinks his brother is really frightening, he can be nice. He’s just sworn to secrecy that he’s not allowed to tell anyone, on pain of flaying.

Domeric thinks Lyanna is so cool. Not cool like Ramsay, but not scary like him. She’s a bit scary because she can be grumpy like her Dad, and he’s so tall! Lyanna’s little, like him, and he likes that. She’s a year older, and is going up to big school next year, and he’ll miss her so much.

“Ramsay has a boyfriend, like Sandor has Sansa,” he says. He makes sure Lyanna can see his mouth, and understand, because he’s not good at signing yet. When they get married, when they’re bigger, he’s going to make sure he can talk to her with his hands. “He’s nice. He’s the nice man from the library, with the red hair.”

Beric is really nice. He is my friend.

The two children smile at how weird grown ups are, and Domeric, who is far more his mother’s child than his father’s, blushes. Mum blushes a lot, especially when Dad is near. Everyone says his parents are in love, and it’s so sad they can’t have another child as they’ve only got him, but they’ve got Ramsay, too! He isn’t Mum’s child, because Ramsay’s older than her, but she looks after him like he is. When Ramsay was younger, apparently he was not very nice, and had to go and live in a special school for quite a long time so he got better, but Mum said he should come home when she married Dad, and so he did.

Mum loves Ramsay, but sometimes she’s scared of him. Everyone is, apart from Domeric and Beric - even Dad! Beric makes sure Ramsay takes his tablets, and keeps him calm. They’re talking about moving into that nice house Beric lives in, and Domeric’s scared that he’ll miss his brother, but Beric told him that there will be a room for him, if he’d like to go for sleep overs, and they can paint it in whatever colour Dom wants, so he’s said yellow, because it reminds him of Mum, and sunshine, and daffodils, and spring.

Are they going to get married? Like Daddy and Sansa?

“Beric would look silly in a dress!”

He giggles, and Lyanna clamps her hands over her mouth, eyes dancing with amusement.

“When we’re big enough, can we get married? It’ll be fun! We can have a pet bear, and a dog, and we can eat loads of chocolate when we want, and go to sleep when we want, and watch telly all the time.”

Lyanna tilts her head, looking very much like her Dad, and then grins, nodding.

#prompts #tumblr fic #ramsay x beric #modern au #tooth rotting fluff

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