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fitmydaydream · 6 years

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Apologies

Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3

Prompt: The one where Y/N decides to give surprise to a stressed Shawn in studio but things don't quite turn out well.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Thanks for giving this a read. I appreciate each one of you. I say sorry if this sucks lmao bc I'm still an amateur. Feedback is always appreciated. Happy reading :)🌸

Making music isn't that easy as someone thinks it to be. Whichever song it is, it always has a lot of efforts, several sleepless nights and anxieties behind it which can never be seen. The worries of the song not hitting the exact right note you think of eats up your mind. Constant tugging at your hair, biting your nails out of stress, several mental breakdowns and waves of lack of self-confidence hits you making you unsure of everything.

This is what Shawn has been experiencing since the past three months. He was working on a new album which he expected to be the best one till now. It was in the process with 8 songs already prepared and 4 more to go which were taking a longer time than the previous ones and it was making a nervous wreck out of him. He wasn't sure where this was leading to and was really anxious about the album.

On the other hand, he was also not realising how distant he was being from you in the process. Your conversations have started to get shortened from day to day and the time you both used to spend together can be counted easily on fingers in minutes. This being another reason that was bothering Shawn. And you as well.

You started to observe Shawn getting so self absorbed to the fact that he sometimes didn't hear a word you say or purposely act like he unheard whatever you said. He sometimes forgot to eat or wake up just in the middle of the night and walk down to his personalized studio at your house. This was not bothering you for the first few months but now it was totally getting you.

But you, however, decided to stay calm about it anyway as you know what it feels like to have a deadline. Being an office manager yourself, you had a proper idea about how Shawn must be feeling. The stress eats you up slowly until you get the work done before you meet its deadline. You were surprisingly quite understanding about this issue.

Today you took an off from work since you wanted to give yourself a break. These past days you have been dealing with so much workload that you were feeling exhausted. Constant traveling and dealing with clients had made your legs and mouth sore.

Also, today was another one of those mornings in the past few months when you woke up to an empty bed and an empty house which meant Shawn left for the studio early without telling you, again.

Being used to this, you climbed out of the bed and decided to give yourself a good bath. You spent a good hour in your bathtub with some relaxing music and scented candles. You were pretty happy today and expected the day to go well. *whoops*

After having your breakfast, you settled on your couch to watch some Netflix and have a relaxing time. You checked your phone in between the scenes for any messages from Shawn but all in vain. You were wrong about even recieving a good morning text from your busy boyfriend. You sighed and shrugged it off.

After watching several hours of television, you felt the need to do something exciting and thought upon giving a surprise visit to Shawn.

You knew how stressed and distant he has been lately so why not. You planned that you would pick up his favourite food from Taco Bell and drop the food at his table, have a short conversation and leave him to his work.

So you put on your blue distressed boyfriend jeans, a black tank top which said "Bloom" and your black vans. You styled your hair in a half-bun half-down way and left the house with the car keys, a jacket and your purse.

You inserted the car keys, started the ignition and drove off to Taco Bell to grab the food for Shawn.

The drive to Taco Bell was meant to be a short one. You put on some music and hummed along to it while rolling the windows down. It was a pretty weather with the sun not shining that bright.

After about 20 mins you reached Taco Bell and ordered a soft Chicken Taco with some Nachos and Chilly fries. You picked up the order after about 5 minutes of waiting and drove off to the studio where Shawn was.

You parked your car and stepped in the studio. It was quieter than the usual times you've been here. After walking inside, you met with Brian and Andrew who asked you how you were doing followed by an exchange of smile. You were greeted with some assistants giving you some narrow eyed looks who have always been jealous of you being Shawn's girlfriend but you were now used to them.

You reached Shawn's room. You viewed your stressed yet beautiful boyfriend through the glass outlet of the door and smiled to yourself. He looked so pretty, with his brown curls all messed up with some of them falling on his forehead while his hands were in his hair, pulling on some strands of hair out of frustration. You wanted to let all his frustration and pain go so bad.

Your heart was racing thinking upon how he would react on seeing you here. Would he be happy? Would he be sad? Most of all, would he be angry? You shook off the thought from your mind, gulped and opened the door.

At first he didn't notice you because he was too engrossed in his work. He was scribbling something down with his headphones on. You didn't intend to disturb him in the midst of this so you just went behind his back and stood there and waited until he was done.

You watched him like he was an artwork. The way his beautiful brown eyes were so focused upon the sheet of paper in front of him. You missed him. You missed his touch. You missed how those eyes holding so much love in them, used to look at you. You missed how he used to peck your lips and gave the lame excuse that he forgot the last time he kissed them.

You didn't know how long you've been standing there looking at him but it but it has been about 10 minutes. You saw Shawn putting down the pencil he had and take off his headphones.

So you took the chance to let him know of your unexpected presence and wrapped your arms around his neck lovingly. Taking in the smell of the shampoo he washed his hair with last night.

Shawn was taken aback. He wasn't expecting you to be there. Not when he was in the studio in the middle of the process of making music. His forehead turned into a frown and he somehow felt angry. Felt angry at your casual presence in his workplace even though you've been there before a multiple times.

He pushed your hands off of him and turned around to look at you. You were a bit shock at the sudden aggressiveness but decided to put up a smile anyway. You thought he must be shocked to see you. In a good way. But you were wrong.

"Surprise baby!" you said in a low tone and stepped forward to hug Shawn. Shawn was quick to step back. You were now confused at his reaction. Didn't know what he was upto. You searched his face and there it was. The eyes that once used to shine at your sudden presence were now dark. Angry. In rage. And disappointment. You somehow you started to get a bit scared of him.

Shawn shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He then grabbed your hand aggressively, with quite a tight grip and lead you out of the room.

Once you were out of the room, he left your hand and asked you through gritted teeth "What are you doing here?". You were in shock by his sudden change of behaviour. This was not the person you recognised to be your lover. "God dammit Y/N! I fucking asked you something. Answer me would you?!" he said with his voice a bit higher than before. You flinched at his words.

"I-I meant to give you a surprise visit babe. Brought food for y-you" you stammered.

"And who bloody told you do that? Huh? Don't you know that I'm in my studio making music. Still in the process Y/N!" Shawn spoke to you in dark and loud voice that you've never heard off. Brian, Andrew and some of the assistants came running through the hall to see what was all this chaos about.

"You think you can walk in here whenever you want don't you? Being my girlfriend gives you every privilege to do what you want huh Y/N? This is such a careless attitude of yours! You're not a fucking queen. Snap out of your dream!"

Tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you were now preventing yourself from crying in front of the staff.

"Shawn stop it. I'm sorry okay. I'll go. Just don't yell please. If I knew you'd get this bothered, I would've never walked in here. I-I just wanted to make you happy." you said in a voice barely above a whisper. You were now avoiding yourself to look Shawn in the eye.

"Hey hey! Calm down brother. She was just here to check on you and give you your foo-" Brian said but Shawn was quick to interrupt.

"Oh fuck off Brian! This is between Y/N & me. You stay out of this." Shawn spat.

You nodded to tell Brian it's okay.

"And you Y/N. Do you think you can help me like you always think you do? Being the perfect person that you are huh? You managing your company well doesn't mean that you can manage me too Y/N! For fuck's sake get over yourself! You can't make everything right okay. All by yourself. Let other people do there work without your bloody magic!" Shawn was literally throwing words at your face like knives.

Your heart was breaking more and more with every word that was coming out of his mouth. Tears now streaming down your cheeks.

Andrew placed a hand over Shawn's shoulder to calm him down but he pushed his hand off.

"Oh right! Good. Now you'll cry and start with your little drama Y/N! Won't you? You're so wonderful. You're so perfect. Nobody can tell me otherwise or else I will cry. But guess what? I fucking said it. You always have to make everything about yourself don't you Y/N? You make me sick Y/N. You're so fucking selfish and self-absorbed that I can't even tell you. You thought you would walk in here, give your poor boyfriend a surprise and get another chance to make yourself look good in front of others. You're a genius by the way. You ar-"

"STOP!!! Just stop it Shawn. Just fucking stop it. Enough Shawn enough. You said too much. You've gone too far."

You've really had enough of him. He was talking rubbish. It was like someone else has taken over his body. He seemed so strange to you. You felt like you've never known him. But with the words he was saying, he was pushing off the limits. You felt angry now.

"I can't even look at you right now. It makes me sick. What happened to you? Who do you think you are Shawn? I don't have a perfect life. And I'm not perfect. If anything I've been miserable since the past months but you are becoming too ignorant to see that. I'm sorry for coming and giving you a surprise which I thought would make you feel bett-"

"Ahh! Now you're gonna play the good person aren't you?"

You were totally taken aback. The way things were coming out of his mouth were unrecognisable. You were exhausted. And broken. You can't let yourself get hurt by his words anymore. He has said enough. He has went way too far. This was not at all how you were expecting things to turn out. Your eyes were red now from being sad and angry. You looked around you and saw the staff. Some were giving you sympathetic looks while some looked pleased. This was making you sick to your stomach. The person standing in front off you was not the love of your life. You began to feel dizzy. Before it can get any worse, you decided to walk out of the studio.

"Fuck you Shawn" you said in a dark tone, not that loud not that low and threw the packet away which you brought with yourself and started walking out. Shawn was still uttering words which you were too emotionally exhausted to listen to. Tears were nowhere seen to be stopping anytime soon.

You walked to your car, opened the car door and sat there for a while. You expected Shawn to come out after realising what he had done and hug you forcefully and apologize but there were none of it.

You were now fully crying inside your car. You felt so pathetic. How could he say such things to you when all you've always been is supportive of him and looking out for him because he was your everything. You cringed at thinking about the fact that how long have Shawn been thinking about you like this. What have you really done to deserve such cruel words? Or were you really that selfish?

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked like a mess. A crying wreck. You weren't sure of what do to now. You cried even harder when you felt like the words Shawn said began playing again in your head.

Part 2 soon 💕 Let me know what you guys think about this xx MASTERLIST

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes text #imagines #fanfic

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coreytravelogue · 4 years

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May 18, 2020 - Burnaby, BC

I wasn’t planning on making anymore entries into this travelogue for some time, at least till the end of the summer or when this fucking pandemic is finally starting to look like it was going to be over.

However my frustrations on many first world problems in my life is leaving me with no real outlet that really satisfies me right now. I don’t feel like watching movies, I don’t feel like listening to music though I have been getting back into that a bit more these days, I don’t feel like having beer outside of the momentary highs I get from it. Don’t like being trapping a house that I don’t really want to be in anymore. Its no so much the people in it except for one shit bag but more so the house is just not good to be lived in anymore. Friends are gone or only come to me when they need something from me. I am fearing that I am going to stuck where I am working at, while I am lucky to still have a job at this time I feel like I am going back into the same problem I had when I worked at EA, basically stuck in one position and going nowhere. Though at least I am getting paid a decent wage where I am but it alone is not enough to be a living wage in Vancouver. I guess long story short is I am having a hard time keeping my mental health in check.

More so Patch died today. You don’t know him but he was my parents pet that they got not long after I moved away from Fort McMurray to start a new life in Vancouver. I can’t help but feel both are inter connected in some way. Patch was a dog I spent a lot of time with when I was visiting my parents or they were visiting me.

Before Patch I had 3 other dogs in my life. One was Fluffy who was a miniature husky at least from memory but the more I think about it I don’t know if she was. My only memories of her was that she never wanted to be with us. All she ever wanted to do was run away. My last memory of her was my mom and dad telling me she died which was basically a lie that they told me when I was older. The truth was they were tired of always trying to look for her that they basically let her run off. I don’t understand why she couldn't stay indoors with us but who knows.

A couple years later which seemed like an eternity as a kid, even now when I look back at it it seemed like a long time in-between my dad picked up an abandoned puppy whom I would call Kelly. Kelly was a big ball of love, though while she got to live a long and for the most part safe life I can’t help but feel regret that I never got to know her as much as I could have much less take care of her. I wound up thinking about her more when she died than when she was alive maybe because I felt I had a lot in common with her at that point in my loneliness and though taken care of when I needed or could use it I was neglected.

She lived form around 1993 til 2007 when she was put down because was in too much pain and could barely move. Her passing hit me hard, but i know it hurt my dad more given he was the one who found her on the side of the road and was there to see her pass at the vet. When he called me right before I was to start work at the spaghetti factory I can tell her was distraught. After the news I went into the bathroom and tried to get all my crying out before i had to work so I could not break in front of strangers for the most part. I did wind up snapping in front of them later on but that had more to do with sleep deprivation and depression than losing Kelly but I wouldn’t be surprised. I would post a picture of her here but the one that I got tumblr doesn’t seem to like. Instead I will post the video of the song that whenever I hear that song I always think of her. I don’t know why as the song and her don’t have much of a relation outside of the fact that when I hear it I think of her.

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Back at around 1997 I can’t really remember the year we adopted our third dog whom I would name Prince. it would be him that I would probably have the strongest bond with. Where Kelly was more my dad’s dog Prince was mine and took to me more than anyone else. I won’t say we were inseparable but when at home he was not too far from where I was most of the time. He was timid, shy and quiet, at least till someone was at the door then he would bark his ass off till the person came in. He would be there to nurture me during my initial heartbreaks and rejections as a kid when I had no one in my life who would.

In 2005 I decided to move away from Fort McMurray to start a new life in Vancouver. My dad trusted one of his brothers to take of Prince while we were gone much to my disapproval because I knew he wouldn’t be able to. By the the time we crossed the BC boarder we got a call him him saying he lost Prince and could not find him. May as well say Prince died that day because I would never see him ever again. I cried from the board all the way to Salmon Arm and resented my dad for not listening to me for many years after that. I wish I had a good song for Prince but I don’t.

Which brings us to Patch whom my parents adopted in the new year. I never got to know Patch like I knew Kelly and Prince. I would only really get to see Patch once or twice a year for the 14 years I known him. I remember when my parents told me they picked up a new dog I was still angry at my dad and felt there was no way I was going to take to Patch the way I did the others. Which seems cruel and selfish, what did Patch ever do to me but be chosen by my parents? In an immature fashion I feel this way towards Daisy who is the newest member and as of today the sole pet of our family.

However like in total Patch fashion he forced himself on me and forced me to warm up to him.

Patch was not like Kelly or Prince, to be honest Patch was bit of a grump if not an ass at times. Patch liked to have his way and that was that. Patch and my dad were inseparable most of the time as my dad would be the one to walk all the time and more importantly he would take Patch with him on rides to Tim Hortons. Patch would often sit on the passenger’s seat. Anyone who would try to sit on that seat instead of him (including me) would risk getting bit by Patch. Patch only got worse with that as years went.

Patch was a bit of a character, he loved the snow as much as me and loved it being thrown at him however for some reason he would bit the shovel while i was shovelling the snow as if tit hindered me from doing it yet seemed to love getting in front of anywhere I dumped the snow as if he was reminding me to give him the snow.

Even though he was not one to console you when you were sad like Prince and Kelly would he would at least be there for you nonetheless. During his early years Patch could not be left alone. If I was the only one in the house he would purposely go down the stairs and if I was laying on the couch he would lay right under me and put his paw up to touch me. He always had to touch me for some reason. He stopped doing that after a couple of years but I always remembered that.

One tick of Patch’s was that he would continuously lick and bite his own leg, a times to the point where he would lick the hair right off it and continue till an open wound and apparently right before he passed it was worse than it ever was before and the last time I saw it was pretty bad as it was. This was something me and my parents could never figure out how to keep him from doing. It could have been boredom but he was doing it even when I was around giving him consent attention and energy to burn off. Maybe this was a mental health issue of his own we will never know I guess.

Patch at least up until the last 3 years of his life was a ball of energy that you could not keep up with. Me and Patch would spend hours in the basement in Newfoundland chasing each other around the pool table. I would always be the first one too tired and had to stop while Patch was often just starting. Just given him a bowl of water and he would get right back on me as if he had the whole day to rest.

I have two very strong memories of Patch, sadly neither of them are very positive. One was during New Years Eve; I was deep into my depression and loneliness wishing to die. I had an emotional breakdown that felt so painful all I could do was scream and shout as loud as I could in blind anger and sadness. I remember vividly the look on Patch’s face that night, it was of fear and anger. He was afraid I was going to hurt him (though I wasn’t and didn’t) but anger. I would like to think it was anger that he could not do anything about what was making me so distraught but chances are he was just angry because he was annoyed at how loud of was screaming and yelling into nothing. Who knows.

The other memory was a year of two before my parents stopped coming to see me every summer. My dad was walking Patch along a trail he taken him in many times before when suddenly Patch ate something. it was something that was apparently poisonous to him and nearly killed him. Apparently for that day and the next he was fighting for his life. All I could remember during that time was how distraught my dad was. I could tell at that point in time and maybe till today Patch was probably the only real friend my dad had left outside of me maybe. I mean my dad has friends I know but I don’t know if they were as close as he was to Patch. Only one closer would be me I would assume. It was the first time I seen the look of sadness and concern in my dad’s face. He was always someone who hid everything whenever he could either behind alcohol or anything else. I guess I am no better than him in that regard.

Most of my other memories of Patch are rather repetitive. Like I have said before it would involve playing in the snow, chasing each other in the basement, playing tug of war with him, or just continuously give him belly rubs that he could never get enough of.

It has only been in the last three years that I started to see age in him. In the last 3 years it seemed like was suddenly more slower, more grumpier and more tired but he never stopped licking or wanting attention when he could get it. Over the last three years it became apparent to me that his time on this earth was coming close. I wasn’t and I am still not really ready for it. I feel like my problem here with Patch is the same as it was with Kelly and Prince. I felt like I never got to spend enough time with them. Where with Kelly I had every chance in the world to just go outside and play with Kelly but I didn’t because I felt I had better things to do like playing video games, watching and anime and doing anything else. I felt like I could have spent more time with Prince though I did spend lots of time with him. I could have taken him on more walks, both of them I could have actually.

With Patch while me and him have had our spats I tried my best to rectify those mistaken and even now I still feel like I failed though I don’t think it was entirely my fault. At the end of the day I only really got to spend time with Patch about maybe 19 times. From 2007 to 2014 I would see him twice a year, from 2015 to 2019 only once a year.

Patch’s passing me is making me aware of how quick time has went over the past 14 years. I am not going to go over how things have changed for me for the uptinth time, it seems like that is all I ever do is look back instead of looking forward.I can’t help but think Patch’s passing is an indication that maybe I should close the book on this period of my life and go somewhere else. Maybe be there till Daisy passes. Chances are by the time Daisy passes I will probably find my way to Newfoundland, a place that I am not quite sure I want to go to but find myself being drawn there otherwise. The thing is I don’t know what to do or where to go, Edmonton seems like the best choice but what to I know going back into the lion’s den in a world I wanted so badly to leave and not entirely enthralled about returning to. I really don’t know what to do anymore.

I miss Patch, I know my dad misses Patch, I was told Daisy misses Patch as well. Patch will be missed by many. I have a good feeling my dad will probably get another dog for himself soon. At his age he needs as many good things around him as possible. There is only so much I can do from here with my own problems and feeling I am nearly on my own to solve them.

I am starting to wonder what Christmas is going to look like with only Daisy there now. I enjoy playing with Daisy but like Patch she is a completely different breed of personality herself.

2020 has brought many interesting changes as well as challenges in my life that I must figure out. While I have come a long way I still have a long way to go and something must change. I can’t live in this run down house anymore, while I have enjoyed living with one person who I have seen as my big sister and has been one during the times I have needed one there is also another person whom I see as less of a man and more of a over grown child bully who needs to be stood up to. While I have a decent job I need to find a way to navigate my way up the ladder and not settle. I need to find new interests to spark me the way movies, music, video games and such once did. Music may still be one for me but I am starting to realize movies aren’t anymore. That and so much more I got to figure out. I look at being 35 as being half way through my life. If I am lucky I only have 35 more years before I really need to start worrying about my mortality.

A lot to think about, a lot to do. RIP Patch

Shazbot nanu nanu

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shakesonaplane · 6 years

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Being A Tourist For A Day In New York City

Happy New Year! As the holiday season has wound down and the 12 days of Christmas have come to an end here in London, I am finding myself getting back into the swing of everyday life. To start off the New Year, I thought I’d look back on my last “trip” of 2017. I say trip in quotes because before I went home for the holidays (and tried to get everyone in my house drunk on Christmas cocktails) I spent a few days working in New York. If you’re like me, you’ve visited NYC a lot but never really did the tourist thing bc, let’s face it, how terribly uncool would that be. Well, as part of this “moved across the world” bit that I’m doing, I figured I should take advantage of traveling to a new place and the relative freeness the time zone difference and holidays afforded me. What this meant was a day off tour of some of the more popular attractions in New York City that I had never seen. Having visited New York since I was 23 with regularity, I was embarrassed at how little of the city’s sights I had seen. So with that and my intrepid NYC friend Neel as my guide, I set off on what can only be described as “a day where I didn’t sit in a chair from 11am till 7pm” (honestly couldn’t think of a better name but that was an actual fact of our day).

Views like this can only be captured when your younger brother wants to walk you around his Google NYC office instead of getting any work done

Her Majesty, The Statue of Liberty

When Neel asked me what I wanted to do with my time in New York, I can almost guarantee he did not expect me to say “Let’s go to The Statue of Liberty”. That’s not exactly something a friend who has been sleeping on your couch for 1-2 weeks every year would chime in with. But, with incredibly vigor (and only two “are you sure?” questions), Neel made the arrangements for us to see Laboulaye’s masterpiece up close and personal. The ticket for the ferry to The Statue of Liberty includes a stop at Ellis Island, which I’ll cover in a bit, can be purchased for less than $20. This cost, after the experience was absolutely worth it, given the amazing experience, views and general serenity you’ll find in the midst of this massive metropolis. Upon catching the ferry at Battery Park, we were whisked away from the honking horns and tall buildings to catch a beautiful skyline view of New York and then, obviously, Lady Liberty. The ride over was short, enjoyable, scenic, and was accompanied by tourists feeding seagulls as they flocked over us (note: please don’t do this).

Neither of us could believe how utterly beautifully and aggressively American this picture turned out Upon landing on Liberty Island, a quick stroll (and for us, our first meal of the day) led us to some of the most enjoyable facts and scenes about the statue. For example, the forefinger holding the torch is only about 4 feet in diameter, which led us to the question: were either of us flexible enough to actually wrap ourselves around it? We never did find this out, but if you’ve managed to pull this feat off, please let me (and the local authorities) know. As you can imagine, this area was chock full of hundreds of (mostly international) tourists, so I felt right at home as we navigated the droves of selfie sticks and families posing with babies. There’s a lot to take in without heading to the base and crown tour (which is sold out months in advance), so after our views and photos, we ventured forth to catch the Immigration Museum at Ellis Island.

Shot with Neel’s incredibly superior iPhone X camera that also seems to shed 10lbs instead of adding them

Immigration: The Same Now as Then

Only a short ride from the Statue of Liberty is Ellis Island, a famous home of US immigration in the early 20th century. While you might recognize it from movies such at Hitch and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Ellis Island houses a fascinating US Immigration museum that, after a stroll through, left both of us feeling a little less cheery than before. What you can see after a quick read through of the exhibits is that, in the history of the US, immigration has never been an easy topic. The amount of times we read that the “home” team was less than excited about the new breed of immigrants arriving was astounding. It really put into perspective the current climate in the US around immigration, in that as a country, we’ve never really warmed up to outsiders, though the country is one of outsiders. I tend to avoid politics in these posts, but this was one of the few times I sat there and realized that open-mindedness is not a majority sentiment in the world today. That fact, and what I saw at that museum, made me sad. As a child of immigrants and as an expat, I’ve seen several sides of the process, from the acceptance to the bigotry. I just wonder, when, if ever, will we be happy when a group of people crosses one of these arbitrary lines we drew on the map.

Inside the Reconstructed Ellis Island Immigration Hall there are plaques that show various lineages of employees of this museum which I thought was wonderful

I didn’t mean for that last paragraph to get so pointed, but as I reminisce about day walking around these New York sights, I realized it was something important to put down somewhere, even if I’m the only one to read it in the future

Moving right along, after our jaunt to these beautiful sights, Neel and I figured we could do with some mainland-Manhattan exploration. Being so far south is rare for the both of us, so we checked out what was nearby and realized, wow, a whole lot. So, off we went to some more major New York landmarks.

Herre at the Wall, Gonads and Fearlessness

I wonder what really lies beneath Paddington Lane… Just a quick stroll from where the ferry dropped us off is Wall Street and the heart of the New York Financial district. In this area we caught three fairly awesome sites, some for the movie buff in me, like Trinity Church, the site of the climax of the movie National Treasure. Trinity Church is a beautiful site in the midst of the concrete jungle all around you, as it affords a little “lowness” to the rest of the enclosed feeling of this section of New York. A lovely old church, it warrants a walkthrough for a glimpse. Just a few steps from there is the famous Charging Bull of Wall Street. Completely covered by tourists and a queue to take a photo with it (and it’s incredibly unnecessary gonads), the bull represents…uh…actually I’m not sure? Maybe something about raging hormones or perseverance through obstacles or something? Fun fact, it was originally Guerilla artwork when it was installed in 1989 that got a permanent place bc the public enjoyed it so much.

Ugly holiday sweater day for the charging bull

Just in front of the bull is what I would deem an appropriate response in our times to this charging animal depiction: the fearless girl. While this artwork was actually commissioned by a fund who wanted to call out it’s gender diversity (less “from the people” and more “for advertising purposes”), the meaning and symbolism in our time is something I can appreciate. When you come by this area in New York, take a gander at both of these sculptures, as now neither can really be important without the other.

I don’t have anything really witty to say here, my apologies, I wrote this on a Monday

World Trade Center Memorial

When I was a kid and saw what happened on 9/11, New York felt incredibly far away. I’d never been and couldn’t relate to the city, though I knew the gravity of the situation that unfolded that Tuesday morning. Now having visited New York on so many occasions, I felt a strong desire to see the memorial that sits where the twin towers used to stand. Walking from Wall Street to the memorial is a short jaunt but a somber one, since you know years ago you’d see towering structures in the skyline guiding your way. Now, though Freedom Tower is there and a lovely, enormous reminder to the resilience of a city, you’ll find a lovely memorial to those whose lives were lost that day. This is a site that I feel is a perfect memoriam and a real, honest tribute; very few other places in downtown New York will you get such an awesome calm and near silence, generated out of a due respect from everyone visiting.

Lining the edges of the memorial are the names of the people who lost their lives on or due to 9/11 and if you spot a white flower, the day you’re there is that person’s birthday

Just next to the memorial is the most confusing addition to me for this area in New York. The Occulus, aka the World Trade Center Subway Station, is a $4 billion building that looks as though an evil sci-fi villains lair was turned into a Westfield. I stood in awe of this structure only to nearly lose it when walking inside to see the mass of shops, insane architecture and general sense of “so this is what living in an accordion would look like”. After a stop at the Apple store and a roam about the Holiday Market here, Neel and I were ventured forth.

Walking, The Best Grandma Slice, and Cookies x2

With that, our sight seeing tour of New York came to an end. Instead of hitting any particular tourist spots like the High Line or Chelsea Market or Times Square (all spots I’d seen earlier), we ventured through the neighborhoods around us, seeing a swath Tribeca and SoHo. Notable stops if you’re around SoHo (and highlights of my 2017 because I’m a fat person stuck in a skinny man’s body) were Prince Street Pizza (best grandma slice I’ve ever had) and Momofuku Milk Bar (cornflakes in a cookie!?). Also on the list of stops was a SoHo sample sale and Young Artists Market . Basically, if you’re ever bored when walking around New York, you’re doing it wrong.

Best place to buy cozy socks, beard wax, bow ties, totes bags, jewelry and…well, everything in between? As we left the lower side of Manhattan in search of more cookies (LeVain Bakery stole my heart this time round), I remembered why I missed New York so much. Like London, there’s always something to stumble upon in this bustling city, maybe more so here than anywhere in the world (though I can’t be sure). I always genuinely enjoy my time in New York, and this was no exception, but as an expat visiting the US after months away, this might’ve been my favorite trip. The friends, the activities, the food, the people…all these things bring a smile to my face as I write this sentence. Thanks a million to everyone I saw in NYC, but special shoutout to Neel, Such, Neha, Anjali and Aarti for opening their homes and schedules to me. If you find yourself in New York and are wondering, well, what else did I do there, you’re in luck! I put together a quick map below of all the spots I visited with my friends and family that I felt were worthy of note, including the stops on a raucous night in Brooklyn with my old college roommates. And, as always, here’s an album of the worthy photos I took on that trip

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But What About 2018…

Without diving into every other New Years Resolution on my list this year, travel (and subsequently this blog) are going to stay a big priority in life. What that means is that my travel dance card is slowly filling up with amazing trips to look forward to this year. So stay tuned as 2018 takes the travel of 2017 and turns it up to 11.

Until next time! Abhishek

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avatarsarny · 5 years

Text

and summer comes again

ao3

The finished version of this. How GoT ended in my head, because D&D's bad fanfic version can go in the dumpster where it belongs. For @gendrie, @gendrywatersseaworth, @gendryadempsie, and @starrynightshade, whose blogs and fics have kept me sane these past few weeks of clownery and terrible show writing lol. Thanks for feeding us so well with that good good Gendrya content throughout!

For context: In my head, everything ended similarly to the show version with some notable adjustments: Jon is not exiled to the (nonexistent) Night’s Watch; he decides against being king and goes to bring the Wildlings back down to the North with Tormund (bc the lands beyond the wall are a barren wasteland wtf) and thereafter settles at Winterfell to be Hand to Queen Sansa. Bran is made King of the 6 kingdoms as he was in the show, with Tyrion as his Hand and ruling with his council. Jaime did not turn on Brienne in the last moment, didn’t erase years of character development, and instead left to kill Cersei himself, finally realizing the disease she really was, and became Queenslayer for the good of the realm. He survives Daenerys’ attack on KL and is serving Bran in the new Kingsguard, under Brienne the Commander.

Finally, Arya does not randomly decide to become Christopher Columbarya and sail the ocean blue, erasing years of her own journey to finally be home with her family again, no sirs, she finds Gendry after the sack of KL, after she realizes what Sandor was trying to tell her to do, to choose life, and tells him to ask her again. You can guess the rest from what you read below :)

And in keeping with the pack survives narrative (bc that’s what good writing is about!! Consistency!!) the Starks remain closer than ever, visit each other often, and don’t end up alone and separated! Hope you guys enjoy.

P.S. - can you spot the Okoye reference? Definitely not straight outta black panther

“And reinforcements from the Stormlands will arrive tomorrow, Your Grace, if I’m not mistaken. Lord Buckler of Bronzegate sent me a raven saying twenty ships worth of food and supplies will be here just after sunrise.”

Bran nods in approval and looks up at the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the newly - reconstructed Royal Council solar. Daenerys’ rampage had left little of the Red Keep standing, but some of the personal chambers had remained mostly intact, so the new King and his council lived in close quarters for the past three months while they supervised the city’s recovery. There were still many injured and many more starving, so Bran called upon every Lord and leader in Westeros, high and low, to contribute whatever they could to the city’s smallfolk; who had suffered the most.

Bran glances over at the man across him. His blue eyes are bright with belonging and purpose, his dark hair is gradually breaking free of the short crop he had sported when Bran had first met him, and he wears fine leathers in same way his father and uncles had, only this time adorned with clawlike marks on the shoulders of his tunic.

The young King smiles at this observation. Stags don’t have claws. But he can think of another animal that does.

Gendry catches his gaze. “What is it, Your Grace?”

Bran’s smile grows ever so slightly. “When is my sister returning, my Lord? It’s been a fortnight since her last raven.”

Gendry sighs and looks out a window, where the city gates rise from the sea of ruined buildings far out in the distance on one end, and the azure waters of Blackwater Bay lay calm and still on the other. “I’m not sure. She said she wouldn’t leave Queen Sansa at Winterfell until she’s made sure she’ll be well protected.”

“Won’t Jon be there soon?”

Gendry blinks. “Yes - er - I didn’t know that until this morning - got a raven from Tormund. How’d you find out?”

Bran throws him an unimpressed glance. “Well I am the three eyed raven. I flew over Jon and Tormund’s group last night. They’ve settled the Wildlings in some unoccupied lands about a day’s ride from Winterfell. Sansa wants Jon to be her Hand, and it looks like Jon’s agreed to it.”

Gendry nods slowly, trying to process the King’s extraordinary statement in a way he can understand. “I’ve heard of your abilities, Your Grace, but forgive me, I’m not sure how one flies when they can’t even walk. But if what you say is true, then you can see where your sisters are, too, can’t you?” He grins then, and maybe in front of a different King he’d be punished for his audacity, but Bran is no ordinary King. And Gendry has never been one to worship the ground at a highborn’s feet.

But he’ll fight for any one of the Starks. Arya and her family time and again showed kindness and mercy to the common folk, and beneath their ferocious direwolf fangs they shared a gentleness for the innocent that Gendry had rarely seen among the rich and powerful. Even Sansa, the Red Wolf of the North, held a great tenderness concealed beneath her icy, calculating exterior, and people everywhere adored her for it.

Bran’s smile widens into a true grin, then - a feat so rare Gendry thinks he should get Grand Maester Samwell to check on their King’s health.

“Yes, I can see everything. Anything, anywhere, at any point in time. But sometimes it’s nice to put it all away for a while, and be a normal man. Or at least act like it,” he replies. “I did see Arya, by the way. It appears she’ll be staying in Winterfell for a few more weeks before she starts her journey back here.”

Gendry’s face falls, but he catches himself and hopes the King doesn’t notice. The least she could do is send a raven, but she’s been oddly silent since her last message to him, and he’s getting worried. If she doesn’t send more word soon, he’ll go off to Winterfell himself.

Bran quirks a brow at him. “Storm’s End needs someone like you, someone who will take care of the people. Your uncles left the Stormlands in such disarray, but the Stormlords are willing to follow your command. Don’t worry about my sister, she can handle herself.” He smiles serenely at the former blacksmith.

But what about me? Gendry thinks. Does she not understand that every day we’re separated feels like an eternity to me?

None of it will mean anything, if you aren’t with me, so be with me…

It will be nearly four months since Arya left to help Sansa settle into her role as Queen in the North. Four months since he last held her in his arms, since he tasted her on his lips and felt the warmth of her smile, since he saw the heat and tenderness in her gaze she reserved only for him.

She had sought him out after the Dragon Queen had stormed King’s Landing, after Jon drove a dagger through his aunt’s heart and liberated all who would come under her tyranny. She had been covered in ash and blood and he’d never felt more fear in his entire life, that he would have to watch her die like this, but she was mostly unhurt, the blood had not been hers, not all of it.

“Ask me again,” She’d rasped, coughing out grey soot and clutching at him for dear life. “I thought I wouldn’t come back from Kings Landing. I was going to die there, and I couldn’t do that to you, I had to refuse,” She whispered, tears falling from her eyes and down her grimy face. “I couldn’t hurt you.”

And oh, she had never looked more beautiful, he had never loved her more fiercely than he did in that moment, not even on that night they thought would be their last, when she had kissed him down in the Winterfell stores and made breathless, frantic love to him. “You could never hurt me, love,” he’d said, gently wiping her tears away and crushing her to his chest. “I know you don’t want to be a Lady, I’ve always known. We can go wherever you like. Do whatever you want. I’ll follow you anywhere you go, till the end of my days,” he promised, and released her so he could kneel before her in the ash and dust. “My life means nothing without my family. Please be my wife. Please be my family, Arya of House Stark.”

And with that, she’d tackled him into the rubble with all the strength she could muster, and kissed him senseless. “I love you,” She’d breathed against his lips,“I will be your family. Your - your wife,” she broke off in a quiet moan, as he moved to press searing kisses down her throat. She held his face in her hands, stilling his sweet movements to look earnestly up at him. “And I will lead by your side, Gendry of House Baratheon.”

He’d stared at her in shock, his hands coming up to bracket her own. “You - you want to rule the Stormlands with me?”

Arya smiled at him, even though it had hurt to do so and her face was bleeding. “I want to be here for the people who can’t protect themselves. I want to make our world a better place than the one we grew up in…I couldn’t save them in King’s Landing,” she’d paused as more tears tumbled down her cheeks, and he dutifully brushed them away with the pads of his calloused fingers. She would tell him about the girl and her mother, later. The little family that had saved her from the stampede, only to end up burnt beyond recognition in the end. “I have to make sure this never happens again.”

Gendry kissed her forehead, the bit of it that wasn’t cut open. “As M'lady commands,” he’d murmured, threading their fingers together. “Now let’s get you a maester.”

“I also need to teach you how to use a fork, none of those idiot lords will respect you otherwise.”

He'd laughed and scooped her up into his arms. “I’ll need all the help I can get. I don’t know any other rich girls willing to teach me.”

“Lord Gendry?” the King addresses him, drawing his attention away from the cloudless sky, out of his reverie.

Gendry starts. “Sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t catch that. I was just - thinking about how we could allocate the food to the city once it arrives tomorrow. I’m thinking we should just set up the distribution points along the docks, that way we won’t need to spend half a day hauling it all through the streets to get to everyone. Most of the needy are already down there, which makes our jobs easier.”

He said all this rather quickly.

Bran smirks. “Well, I hope this helps you see why you’re the best man for the job. You grew up here. You know the people. And you care, which is the only qualification that matters, in the end.”

Gendry turns to his King. “I still don’t know what I’m doing, not really. I know nothing of ruling or leading people, or throwing fancy feasts, or running castles.”

“But you remember what it’s like to live as an outcast, among the very worst of men, to live in the dirt and the muck, and what it’s like to go hungry for weeks on end. You want a world where the powerful protect the weak.” Bran says quietly. “My sister knows this, too. The realm could use more people like you.”

Gendry lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. “I..well, thank you, Your Grace.” He straightens up then, and smooths out the map of King’s Landing he’d been going over before King Bran had entered the room. “Then I will give the realm everything I have to make it a better place. I won’t hesitate.”

Bran nods in affirmative. “I’ll be depending on you a lot, Lord Baratheon.”

Someone knocks on the doors of the solar just then; Ser Brienne walks through the threshold and bows her head in greeting.

“Your guest is here to meet you, Your Grace. Shall I bring them in?” Her eyes slide over to rest on Gendry, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “It’s good to see you, Lord Gendry. You look well.”

“As well I could be, Ser Brienne,” he smiles at her. He nearly admits that he could look better, much better, if only his little she-wolf were here with him, and not a thousand miles beyond his reach. But given Brienne’s fierce protectiveness over Arya, he thinks better of it. He’s not sure he could best the formidable Lady Knight in a fight, even with a hammer.

He’d only gotten two days, just two measly days with Arya, before she’d gone north with Sansa. When he sees her again (if ever, he thinks just a little sourly, for she may decide to stay in Winterfell for good, and forget about him, and marry a handsome Northern Lord who knows exactly what he’s doing, especially how to eat with proper utensils.)

Seven hells, he is pathetic.

Bran nods, his smirk growing wider than ever. “Please bring them in.”

Gendry takes this as his cue to leave, and starts gathering up his things. Maybe he’ll seek out Ser Davos and convince him to grab a large jug of ale with him. The Onion Knight always knew what to say.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a small figure stroll into the solar, clad in a floor-length gown, with a sword at her hip.

“My King,” the young woman says softly, kneeling in front of Bran, before turning to Gendry. “My love.”

Gendry’s jaw drops to the floor, and so do the maps he holds in his arms.

He wheels around to see Arya Stark rushing forward to squeeze Bran in a tight hug.

“I missed you, little brother. Sansa is happy and safe, Jon is with her now.”

Bran seems to lighten up ever so slightly at the sight of her, a ghost of the boy he used to be flits across his normally blank features, the boy who had looked upon his warrior sister with awe and immense pride, who had wanted to be as good a fighter as she was, well before they knew what fighting really was. He wraps his arms around Arya to squeeze her back.

Gendry stands there, taking his betrothed in for the first time in months. She’s wearing a dress, Gods help him, the long skirts billow out from her waist and clings to her petite figure in a way that sharply forces him to remember he’s in the presence of civilized company, and he immediately tries to control his breathing.

Her hair is just a little longer than the last time he saw her, falling loosely down her back, save for the Northern braids woven at the crown of her head. For once, she looks like the warrior princess she is, and Gendry couldn’t tear his eyes from her if he tried.

Bran releases his sister. “I’m happy to hear. It’s been quiet here without you. Although I’m sure Lord Baratheon here felt that more than anyone.”

Arya turns to him then, raising one dark brow and raking her storm - grey eyes over him. Just as she’d done back in Winterfell, watching from the shadows as he worked the dragonglass into weapons against the dead, before she had made him hers forever. Gendry barely suppresses a shiver.

“Have I surprised you, my Lord?” She laughs, her eyes bright and glinting with mischief. “I’ll bet you thought you’d have a few more weeks of peace without me.”

Peace? He thinks incredulously. He’s felt anything but in her absence.

Gendry moves to open his mouth in a retort, but their King interrupts.

“Ser Brienne, I must go off to the upper floors and survey today’s reconstruction progress, and Lord Tyrion has called a council meeting after lunch. If you would be so kind as to take me there?”

Brienne looks from Arya to Gendry to the young King, and valiantly attempts to conceal her knowing grin. “Of course, Your Grace.”

On their way out, Bran pauses and looks to the pair still standing in the solar. “I’ll be waiting to hear all about Winterfell and how Queen Sansa is faring at dinner tonight. For now though, I suggest you take care of the pressing matter before you. See you in the Great Hall later.” He waves his sister goodbye, and Brienne hastily converts her snort into a cough as she pushes his wheelchair out the doors.

Gendry flushes beet - red as he stares after the King. Arya flashes her betrothed a wolfish grin and steps closer to him. As a girl, she’d loved to rile him up and annoy him till he’d chase her through the forest and muss her boyish locks in revenge. Now, she gets an even bigger thrill simply seeing him blush like a maiden, because of her.

She must do it more often.

“I like this,” she says, bringing her small hands up to run along the clawlike marks in his leather tunic. “What inspired this break from Baratheon clothing tradition?”

“What inspired yours?” He breathes, bringing his own hands to circle her waist, and pull her even closer. “Who forced you into wearing this?” He grins, gesturing to the garment that hugs her form and fans out from her hips, embroidered with leaves and direwolf motifs all over the sleeves and skirts.

Arya scowls just a little. “Sansa. She made it for me and ordered me to wear it on my journey home. Does my Lord like it?” She asks coyly, scanning his gaze for his reaction.

She needn’t have asked.

His eyes are dark and wanting as they travel over her form, and she suddenly feels so, so warm. Gendry, for his part, makes a mental note to send the Queen in the North a large pile of gold upon his return to Storm’s End.

“You’re always beautiful,” he murmurs, “No matter what you’re wearing. Or when you’re wearing nothing at all.” She presses herself flush against him at that, and he has to shut his eyes to keep his thoughts coherent. “I’m very thankful to your sister right now. Hail Queen Sansa, first of her name. May she make you many more dresses to wear. I’m a grateful man.”

“I’m glad. I have suffered so in this gown. At least one of us is pleased,” she quips, rolling her eyes.

Gendry can’t quite take it anymore, he moves to capture her lips with his own; he needs to taste her once again, needs to breathe in her scent of wildflowers and leather and the spring breeze of the outdoors. He’s just about to close the gap between them when she suddenly wriggles out of his arms.

Oh, Arya has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling at the utterly woebegone expression that crosses Gendry’s face as she pulls away.

“Arya,” he nearly whimpers in exasperation. He looks so forlorn that she almost loses her resolve, but she steels herself and moves away.

“Spar with me,” She asks breathlessly.

“What?” He blinks down at her, dumbstruck.

“I’ve gone four months without a worthy opponent. No one at Winterfell is good enough to best me, except perhaps Jon. And I managed to throw him on his back just before I left to come here.” She says, just a little smugly.

Gendry quirks a brow at her. “And you think I’m the one who could best you, my Lady? I’m not a soldier, as you know.”

She locks her dark gaze with his own and moves so that they’re mere inches apart, once again. “No,” She says softly, her hands come to cup his cheeks, stroking the rough stubble that grows there, “But you’re a fighter.”

He smiles at the reference, and leans into her touch. Her hands are soft and cool against his burning skin.

“Meet me in the garden courtyard later. The one with the view of the sea. Bring your hammer. But feel free to leave your leather shirt behind, as lovely as it is.” With that, she pulls his face down to her own, kissing him deeply, her sweet mouth hot and wet, melting against him and causing all sense to leak out of his mind.

Their kiss is over far too soon for Gendry’s liking, and she saunters out of the solar. “I’ll be waiting, Milord,” she says, grinning at him over her shoulder, and then she’s gone.

Gendry sighs and stares up at the high, vaulted ceiling. “I’m a dead man,” he chuckles to the empty room.

The sun is high overhead as Tyrion and Jaime stroll past the balconies overlooking the vast palace gardens. There’s a warm breeze coming off the sea, signaling the winter’s end, and the encroaching summer.

It’s enough to put a spring in nearly everyone’s step. After the wars ended and Bran was made King, peace descended upon Westeros, and people everywhere watched with cautious optimism in their hearts as the summer flowers began to bloom and the winter chills slowly faded away.

The charred remains of the Red Keep’s gardens had been replaced with exotic plants from every known part of the world, and were open to all who wished to enter, be they the poorest smallfolk or the King himself. But today, the paths and courtyards criss-crossing the greenery were mostly empty, with the rebuilding efforts taking up most of the city’s free time.

Tyrion pauses to look over a particularly scenic vantage point. “I’d say winter is well and truly over, brother.”

Jaime smirks, and nods. “Strange that the Starks, who never shut up about winter, would be the ones to end it.”

Tyrion chuckles. “I’m not in the least bit complaining.”

Jaime smiles down at his younger brother. “Neither am I.”

The relative quiet is broken then, by clashes of steel and shouts of triumph. Jaime and Tyrion throw each other bewildered glances, before starting off in the direction of the commotion.

“D’you think someone’s trying to break into the Red Keep again?” Tyrion wonders aloud.

“Just another day on the job,” Jaime drawls.

The Lannister brothers turn a corner before skidding to a halt on a landing overlooking a large circular courtyard.

“Well well! It appears our Lady Stark has returned from the North.” Tyrion pants, bending over to catch his breath. “I’m very glad I was informed beforehand of her arrival.” He deadpans. “I do love being in the know of what goes on in this city.”

Jaime squints curiously down into the courtyard. “It also appears she’s challenged her own betrothed to a duel.” His eyes widen at the sight below him.

A panting Arya Stark, brandishing that skinny little sword she refused to part with, circles a much larger - and barechested - Gendry Baratheon, who wields a warhammer and stares his future wife down, trying to calculate her next move.

Tyrion looks upon them with great interest. “It’s like looking at a pair of ghosts,” he says quietly.

Jaime throws his brother a questioning glance. “What d’you mean?”

“Look at them. Really look. Who do they remind you of?”

Jaime turns back to the sparring pair below them. And then it hits him.

“Robert and Lyanna,” he breathes. He doesn’t know how he missed it before, but now the resemblance is jarringly uncanny.

Gendry - broad shouldered and muscular, looks every bit like young Robert once did, with thick black hair that falls into trademark Baratheon blue eyes. He even wields a hammer in the same way his father did, though he’d never laid eyes on the former King, much less seen the way he’d fought.

Arya, with her dark hair falling wildly about her face, the gleam in her grey Stark eyes, and the grace with which she moves as she swerves away from Gendry’s blows with ease reminds Jaime sharply of how the late Lady Lyanna, the wild Northern beauty, had moved on horseback, with her bow and arrows.

Tyrion smiles sadly at the realization on his brother’s face. “They were a match doomed, and Robert began the war that changed the entire continent for his Lady Lyanna. But the future for these two appears much brighter. This Baratheon isn’t at all like his father, and she possesses the foresight her aunt never had. One generation had thousands die fighting in the wars they started, the next helped save many thousands more.” He says, watching them pensively.

Jaime only hums in agreement, still intently observing the pair below. The play-fight between the young couple is getting more intense by the second. Amid the flurry of steel and limbs, they’re clearly taking care not to actually hurt one another, but they’re just as certainly not going easy on each other, either.

Gendry swings his hammer at the girl with all the famed Baratheon strength he inherited from his father, but Arya is far too quick for him, and she laughs at his attempts to disarm her.

“You’re too slow,” she taunts, darting left and pretending to cut him across the belly with Needle. “Dead.” He swipes at her.

Arya dodges his blows again, then smacks her blade harmlessly against the back of his neck. “Dead again, Milord,” she grins up at him.

Gendry circles her, growling in frustration, catching her eye and nearly making her gasp at the raw desire she sees burning in his gaze.

She focuses her attention on the way his raven hair is long enough now to fall across his brow, and watches the play of muscles in his broad chest, slick with sweat, as he draws in rapid breaths and sneaks heated glances at her when he thinks she isn’t looking.

She’s missed him so much.

Her guard falls just long enough to be her downfall, as Gendry seizes her momentary pause to grab Needle from her hands and toss it aside, and proceeds to tackle her onto the painted mosaic floor of the courtyard.

Up on the terrace, Jaime and Tyrion look on in stunned silence. Arya Stark, the Princess that was Promised, the she-wolf who had slayed the Night King, taken down in a mock fight by non other than a former Baratheon bastard.

“What’s got you two so suddenly interested in the gardens?”

The Lannister brothers whirl around to see the new Master of Ships walking curiously toward them.

“His Grace is looking for you both to take lunch with him. Have either of you seen Lord Gendry? I’ve been meaning to ask the lad to come eat meals with me, he’s been looking a little - er - overwhelmed lately.”

Tyrion chortles. “Your lad has just managed to knock Azor Ahai herself to the ground in a duel, Ser Davos. It was quite a thing to see.”

The Onion Knight’s eyes widen in surprise. “So she’s back, then?” He looks down from the edge of the balcony to see Gendry pin Lady Arya beneath his arms. “I guess he won’t be eating with me, now.” He watches them wrestle with a fond, sad smile.

Jaime smirks down at the pair again. “I’m not sure this match is quite over yet.”

Gendry straddles one of her legs and lays an arm across her chest, securing her beneath him so that she can’t move from his grip. He grins cheekily down at her, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly as black as his hair. “You should’ve stood sideface, M’Lady.”

Arya stares defiantly up at him, before the mask is dropped completely, and she breaks into a giggle. “So I’ve heard.”

The sound of her bubbling laughter is the sweetest music to his ears. “Although I’m not sure how much smaller a target I could get than you,” he murmurs.

Their resounding laughter echoes across the deserted gardens, and while Arya’s got him distracted, she twists her hips and flips Gendry onto his back in a swift, deadly maneuver, her Valyrian steel dagger presses up against his throat in a flash.

Check and mate.

He blinks dazedly up at her, mesmerized by the way she straddles his waist, her triumphant victory gleaming in his she-wolf’s eyes. The sight brings back wonderful memories of that first night, when she’d pushed him atop those sacks of grain and made him lose himself over and over in her.

“I win,” she whispers, breathing hard, and she releases her hold on his wrists to sheath her dagger.

“You’ve won,” Gendry agrees. “Show me how you did that.”

She smirks down at him, crossing her arms over her chest, her legs still wrapped around his hips. “Not before I claim my prize,” she says, and the lilt in her voice makes his heart hammer in his chest. He suddenly remembers how long they’ve been apart. Too damn long.

“And what’s that?” He inquires softly, gazing up at her astride him.

Arya hums, innocently tilting her head and shifting her hips just so against him, and his eyes flutter shut in bliss.

Far above them, the three men watching quickly avert their eyes and turn away in varying degrees of mortification.

Jaime snickers, shaking his head. “That wasn’t a fight we were watching. That was foreplay.”

Tyrion loudly clears his throat. “Well, Ser Davos, you’re welcome to take lunch with us instead, seeing as Lord Gendry is rather occupied at the moment.”

The Onion Knight smiles ruefully down at the King’s Hand as the three of them make their way to the Great Hall. “They grow up too fast.”

Arya flicks her gaze up to the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Their adoring fans are gone.

Good, she thinks. Not that she will ever be ashamed to show her love for Gendry, to touch him freely in front of others, but this moment, here in the warm sunlight as the sea breeze ruffles through their hair, belongs to them and them alone.

She trails her hands slowly up over the hard planes of his glistening chest, biting her lip as she admires the sight of him flushed beneath her, in broad daylight.

“I missed you, love.” she admits in his ear, emitting a low gasp when Gendry reaches up to grasp her hips and press her down onto him.

He’s firm and throbbing against her belly, and the blush spreading over Arya’s face does nothing to help calm the fire coursing through his veins.

He tenderly brushes her hair away from her face. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back. That you were going to stay at Winterfell and forget me.”

She smiles softly and leans down to press her forehead against his. “As though I could ever forget you. Not even the House of Black and White could erase you from my memory. And they tried, believe me.”

He trails warm fingers against her cheeks, down to her chin, and guides her mouth to his. “My family, my wife,” he breathes against her lips, kissing her as though he were a man dying of thirst in a desert, and she’s the life-giving oasis that saved him.

Arya brings her fingers up to tangle in his hair. “Not yet,” she reminds him breathlessly between kisses. “A whole three months to go until I meet you in the godswood.”

“Aye, that’s true,” he mumbles, his tongue coaxing her lips apart and swallowing her moans, “but you’re my wife, even so. And you’ve been my only family for years now.”

Because Gendry can’t bring himself to give a shit about the ceremonies. He is hers, and she is his, and they’ve been married ever since she stumbled into his arms after the burning of King’s Landing, as far as he’s concerned.

She pulls away from their kiss to regard him with large eyes. Suddenly, Arya seems much more like a shy doe than the fierce she-wolf he’d been sparring with, and a wave of protectiveness washes over Gendry.

Arya swallows. “I never imagined I’d ever get married. I didn’t want to just be a womb for some stupid old lord to produce sons. So many women have been chained into it by our society, I didn’t want to be one of them. I never thought I’d fall in love, not before I met you.” She pauses.

Gendry nods, kisses her knuckles, and waits for her to continue.

She leans in to brush her lips against his. “You always protected me, you could’ve been a bully like all the rest but you were kind and good. I was just a scared little girl, but you made me feel less alone. You were such a stubborn bull, but you were my best friend in the whole world.” She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears welling up at the memories. “I would’ve died back then, had it not been for you.”

There’s a lump in Gendry’s throat. “Arya,” he breathes, and he surges forward to kiss her more fiercely than ever. “You saved me too, so many times,” he says roughly. “I never would’ve left you on your own, I should’ve listened to your distrust of the Brotherhood. After Davos helped me escape the Red Woman, I tried so hard to find out where you’d gone. A part of me did die that day, when I heard you’d been killed at the Twins. I never forgave myself for my stupidity.”

Arya hugs him close. “I’m here. I have you, now.”

Gendry holds her tight, and he’s never letting her go again. “You have me, now and always.” he promises.

Arya smiles against his mouth, and she pulls away to beam at him. “I need a bath.” She whispers, running her hands down his bare torso. “I’m very sweaty, and tired from my long journey. Help me wash, husband mine?” Her eyes grow large again as she looks at him imploringly.

Gendry moves to stand, but he keeps Arya in place when she tries to climb off him. He grips his hammer and holds his Lady in his arms, and she lets him carry her back to the Red Keep.

Hours later, Arya wakes up to the late afternoon sun streaming through the curtains of the chambers she’d lived in the last time she had been in King’s Landing, when her father was still Hand to King Robert Baratheon, and she and Sansa were still mortal enemies, back when she was still learning water dancing from Syrio Forel. Before her world and family were torn apart by Cersei, before she’d run into Hot Pie and Lommy, before Gendry had come to her aid and asked her where she’d stolen her Needle.

All of it seems like another lifetime ago, like the past few years have been a dream, like she’ll wake up any minute now, in the same bed, and she’ll be 11 again and still have a Father and a Mother, and Robb and Rickon.

Arya turns to her side; the sheets are cool against her bare skin, but she is very warm, thanks to Gendry who is wrapped around her, with his nose buried in her hair as he sleeps on.

Had she been told, years ago when they were still being hunted through the Riverlands by Lannister men, that she would be married to her stubborn Bull, and that she’d be waking up next to him in the Red Keep not as a prisoner waiting to be killed, but as the Princess (however much she loathed that title) of the Six Kingdoms and the North, and that her crippled little brother would be the Sovereign himself, she would have laughed in their face and pushed them into the dirt for spewing out such a nonsensical lie.

That Sansa would be Queen in the North, and love Arya enough to want her little sister to sleep in the same bed as her every night after they reunited, to make up for the years of lost time, the years when sisters become friends.

That she would see her beloved Jon again, her brother for always, no matter whose son he was, and that she’d see him happy at Winterfell, supporting Sansa’s rule as her most trusted advisor.

That Gendry would look at her like she’s his sun-and-stars, with gazes full of awe and love and unending hunger, instead of the grubby little girl he’d spent two years protecting, mussing up her hair and teasing her and perpetually getting on her nerves.

Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.

Gendry shifts in his sleep, and instinctively moves closer to her warmth, securing her fully in the circle of his arms.

Arya leans back, ever so slightly, so that she can get a better view of him. She reaches out to trace a finger lightly down the bridge of his nose, over his rough, stubbled jaw, over his lips, which are still pink from her kisses hours before.

Blue eyes, bluer than the famous Braavosi canals she’d spent so long near, crack open to regard her, and the lips she’s tracing press a gentle kiss to her fingers.

“Hello,” Gendry croaks, and he stretches a little before smiling tiredly down at her. “Did you sleep well?”

Arya flashes him a satisfied grin. “Better than I’ve had in four months.”

She sighs into his mouth when he leans down to capture her lips for perhaps the hundredth time that day, but it still feels as thrilling as the first time. She melts beneath him as he rolls over to gently press her into the sheets.

He’d been feverishly attentive to her during their bath, taking care to wash every inch of her skin and pressing searing kisses all over her. His strong hands had held her hips still as she sat in his lap and washed his hair for him, trying unsuccessfully to deter her sweet, torturous movements above him, but he’d groaned in defeat when Arya reached down between them.

“Wait,” Gendry had hissed when her fingers closed around him to take him inside her. He kissed down the side of her jaw to suckle her earlobe. “Want to take care of you,” he’d mumbled, his warm breath tickling her neck, his fingers reaching between her legs to stroke her slick heat, rubbing lazy circles around her clit and sending tidal waves of sweet pleasure coursing though her.

“Gendry…” she’d tossed her head back in pure bliss as he slipped a calloused finger into her, and then another. The hot coil in her belly wound tighter and tighter as he worked her, and she whimpered against his lips as he stroked against something that made her see stars.

He’d grinned up at her. “Yes, love?”

“Gendry, I want…” she’d panted, “I want…”

He kissed down her throat, curled his fingers inside her, and suddenly the tight coil deep in her belly snapped, and Arya fell over the edge crying out his name.

Gendry laughed softly, holding her quivering body against him, helping her come back down to earth. “That?”

She’d grabbed his chin to kiss the smirk from his lips, and he instantly melted into her mouth.

“You. I want you,” she’d corrected, “I’ve wanted nothing else but the feel of you inside me and your taste on my lips for months, husband.” She admitted sweetly, and he’d never been so damn hard in his life.

He’d flushed at her confession, and gazed up at her in pure adoration. He couldn’t deny her anything, not anymore.

“As M’Lady commands,” Gendry breathed, and made love to her over and over, until they collapsed into bed hours later, utterly spent and sated.

They’re just reacquainting themselves with each other when a low growl rumbles from Arya’s stomach, and they break apart, bursting into laughter.

“And here I was, thinking I’d finally satisfied you,” Gendry sighs, pushing himself off her and holding out a hand to pull her up with him.

“Nonsense. To gratify me in the way you’re insinuating, you’d have to have me like this three times a day, every day,” Arya smiles, her eyes glittering with mirth.

Gendry’s mouth falls open at her words. “Gods, Arya. Don’t tempt me.” His hands come up to trace the scars crossing her belly, the scars he’d spent ages lavishing his attention and his warm lips upon.

She hums in reply, and kisses his cheek before leaping off the bed to pull on her breeches.

He watches her from his perch against the pillows. “What would you like to eat? I’ll go bring whatever you want from the kitchens.”

Arya pauses to pull her tunic over her head. “Thanks, but I think my brother wanted us to take supper with him.”

Gendry nods, and looks out the windows to see the sun starting to sink closer to the edge of the horizon, casting deep orange bands of light over the sea in the distance. “Then we should get going.” He climbs off the bed in search of his discarded clothing.

He manages to find his breeches and his undershirt, but his leather tunic is nowhere in sight. He turns around to find Arya holding it, she's smoothing it out on the bed, running her fingers over the jagged slashes on its shoulders, an immensely soft expression on her face.

Gendry moves so that he’s pressed up behind her, and winds his arms around her middle. “Those weren’t there originally,” he says quietly, and he dips his head to kiss the back of her neck. “I wanted everyone to know I was yours without actually saying it. I think they got the message well enough, because the other Stormlords haven’t brought up marriage proposals ever since.”

Arya turns in his arms to peer up at him with tender eyes. “I should wear something of yours, then. Make it even.” She whispers.

Gendry kisses her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips. “Always trying to one-up me,” he teases, and dodges when she aims a smack at his head.

“You’re getting better at that, I see.”

“M’lady’s a good teacher,” Gendry quips back. He takes her hands in his own. “I’d give you my cloak to keep, but tradition says I must save it until our wedding.” He grins and tilts his head, considering her. “I’ll make you a new hilt for your Valyrian steel dagger. Make it black and yellow, if you like,” he murmurs.

Arya reaches up to plant one more lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll hold you to it.” She smiles, and pulls him by the hands out the door.

Daylight still lingers in the sky outside as Arya pushes open the large oak doors to the Great Hall, a clear sign of winter’s final death. The days during the last few years had steadily declined in length, growing shorter and shorter until the entire world had only a handful of hours in which their candles and lanterns remained unlit.

Until the end of the Long Night, when Arya thrust her dagger deep into the Night King's frozen heart, and destroyed Death himself.

Dawn had returned to shine down upon the world, and the warming rays of the sun brought life and greenery and hope back to Westeros.

Arya and Gendry walk in to find the newly-rebuilt Hall deserted, the long tables empty, save for a few members of the Royal court on the far end. Gendry glances at her, his brows knitting together in confusion. She wordlessly shrugs at him.

“Excuse me Milord, Princess Arya,” (the Princess in question grits her teeth at the title) says a kitchen boy carrying a large platter of fruits and cheese. “His Grace wished to take a private supper out on the upper terrace. He wants you to join him there. Please follow me.”

The kitchen boy leads them up through the castle, up many flights of new stairs, until they reach an unfamiliar landing that faces two intricately carved wooden doors.

Gendry pushes them open to help the kitchen boy pass through, and they find themselves standing on a vast open balcony, high over the rest of the Red Keep, with candles and lanterns glittering everywhere as the sunset turns the sky around them pink.

There’s a single long table in the middle of the terrace, and there Bran is seated, along with Brienne, Podrick, Davos, the Lannister brothers, Samwell Tarly and his Wildling wife Gilly, and (to no one’s great pleasure) Lord Bronn of Highgarden. The young King looks up and smiles at the newcomers.

“Welcome, sister,” he pats the empty seat next to him at the head of the table. “And Lord Gendry,” he nods. “We had a bit of a change in dinner plans, so I sent Terry here to fetch you.”

Arya smiles at her brother, and takes her place beside him, and Gendry seats himself on her other side. Terry the kitchen boy sets down the enormous platter with some difficulty, and for his effort, Arya slips him a large strawberry pastry from a nearby plate. “Thank you.” she tells him kindly, and the young lad blushes furiously at being directly addressed by the Bringer of the Dawn herself, taking the sweet from her with slightly shaking hands, and he all but flees from the room.

Gendry watches the exchange with a fond smile. “You highborns aren’t so bad after all,” he concedes. Arya elbows him in the ribs, and he laughs.

The bright orange-pink of the sinking sun fades to pale purple dusk, and the candlelight casts warm glows all around the table as they all tuck into their food, engaging each other in familiar conversation over the clatter of plates and cutlery.

Halfway through the first course of creamy soup Bran inquires Arya about their sister in the North.

“Is Sansa happy, there?” Bran asks slowly. “I know she didn’t want our family separated.”

“She is,” Arya assures him, “She’s already had Winterfell and Winter Town rebuilt, and she’s overseeing the allocation of lands to the Windlings, with Jon’s help. I think,” she pauses, looking out at the city over the edge of the balcony, “I think this is what she was always meant to be. A Queen. She’s never felt more at home than she does now.”

“She was,” Bran agrees. “I try to check up on her when I’m flying as a raven. She looked happy the last time I saw her, but also a little down. I’m sure it’s because she misses you.”

“She misses you too. She worries for her little brother down South, in what she describes as a rotten nest of vipers.”

Tyrion, who had been listening in ever since their conversation turned to Sansa, now spoke up. “She wasn’t wrong, Lady Arya,” he says with a sad smile, “She’d suffered the most while she was trapped here as my sister’s prisoner. It’s because of this that I, and the rest of us sitting here, are trying our best to rid this capital of those very snakes. We want to do our part to leave that world behind us, and amend for our pasts.”

Arya looks out over the others eating at their table. Once upon a time, she would have felt in danger among them, especially with Jaime Lannister, but so much has happened since then, so much has changed, that she not only feels comfortable sitting here with them, but at peace.

With a pang, she thinks of how scared Sansa must have felt, during those years she was held in this very castle, and what horrors she went through. Arya wishes her sister could see the Red Keep now, under their brother’s rule, and how it’s nearly unrecognizable from those days when it was ruled under tyranny and greed, and the Lannister Queen’s insatiable lust for power.

“Sansa didn’t want me to leave,” Arya whispers, then. Bran gives her a small smile, for he’d known this, too. “She didn’t want me to come back down here, she’d wanted me to stay in Winterfell with her and Jon.”

Gendry puts down his fork, and Arya feels his eyes on her. “I told her, that my family wasn’t just in Winterfell. I needed to come back and watch over you here,” She tells her brother softly, and reaches beneath the table to grip Gendry’s hand. “And I made a promise, to be Lord Baratheon’s wife. I’m his family, too.”

Gendry’s heart swells, and suddenly it’s too big for his chest, and he squeezes her fingers in return.

“We know,” drawls Jaime Lannister nearby. “No one here is in doubt of that. Incidentally, when is the happy day? We’re all dying for a bit of merriment, although this afternoon seemed plenty merry for you two.” His eyes flash with a hint of a smirk over his goblet of wine.

“Were you impressed by our fighting skills that much, Ser Jaime, to watch us for as long as you did?” Arya replies coolly. Jaime’s eyes widen in shock.

Gendry nearly spits out his ale. “He saw us?” He sputters. He hadn’t merely sparred with his Lady in those gardens, they’d also… he flushes at the thought. This gods-damned castle really did have eyes everywhere.

“Oh, it wasn’t just Ser Jaime,” Arya informs him brightly. “I believe Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos were present, too.”

Gendry whips his head around to throw Davos a look that could have roasted him.

The Onion Knight feverishly shakes his head in denial. “No no, my boy, I only happened to stumble upon you two by accident, believe me lad, I had no intention of - “

Arya leans across to place a hand on the old smuggler’s arm. “It’s alright, Ser Davos. Don’t worry about it.” When the anxious expression still doesn’t leave the Knight’s face, she smiles. “Come eat meals with us from now on, Ser. Gendry doesn’t admit it, but he’s missed you these past few weeks.” She’s grown rather fond of the man who had taken such good care of her beloved Jon and her Gendry.

Gendry drops the act at once, and nods at his now-father figure. “It’s true. I’ve been so busy running between here and Stormlands, but I’d be lying if I didn’t miss your company and your considerable wisdom.”

Davos bursts out into laughter, smiling at the best Baratheon he’s ever known, after his little Shireen. “Not sure about the wisdom part, but I’d be glad to provide you with my company and bad jokes for as long as you want.”

“Still, you haven’t told us when your happy day is,” wheedles Jaime, who has since recovered from his shock and has now gone right back to being a thorn in Arya's side.

“In about three months, Ser Jaime.” replies Gendry, looking at Arya. He squeezes her fingers again, her hand so small and warm in his own. “We’ll be married at Winterfell. When’s yours?” He shoots back.

The entire table hides their grins, and even the King himself spoons more stew into his mouth to keep his expression neutral.

Brienne turns pink, and Jaime’s face bypasses it entirely to burn scarlet. Arya decides to rescue them, if only because she loves the tall, blue-eyed Lady Knight across her.

“Sansa would be happy to see you married at Winterfell, too.” She gently tells Brienne. “She misses you a lot. Come North with us when we go.”

The Kingsguard Commander looks over at her King. “If Your Grace will allow, it will be my honor to see Queen Sansa again.” She turns to cast Jaime a shy smile, “and if you have no objection to it,” she says softly.

Arya swears she’s never seen Jaime look at anyone so tenderly. “I will go wherever you go, Ser Brienne,” he says simply. “Anywhere, as long as I get to marry you, and call you mine.”

Brienne blushes as red as Jaime does, unable to keep the joy off her face. Podrick pats her hand beside her. “Your Grace, I will be happy to remain here with the other Kingsguard while Sers Brienne and Jaime go North.” He pipes up.

Brienne swiftly turns to her former squire, now a young and capable Knight whom she loves like a little brother. “But I want you to be there too, Podrick,” she says quietly. “You can’t miss your own commander’s wedding, after all,” she declares, and Podrick beams at her.

Bran waves his assent. “You may come with us to Winterfell in three months’ time. The Grand Maester and our Master of Coin will manage affairs here until our return.”

Samwell nods eagerly. “Worry not, Your Grace, Lord Bronn and I will take care of everything.” He wilts a little then, as Bronn shoots him a withering look.

“Yes yes, you all go ahead and run off to your weddings and your celebrations, we’ll do all your work for you and run the Six Kingdoms in the meanwhile,” drawls the Master of Coin. “At least the North will be paying for these things, Highgarden can’t afford to be doling out gold for parties and funding the realm at the same time.” He grumbles under his breath.

The rest of the conversation fades into jumbled words in Arya’s ears, as she leans back in her seat to watch the twilight blanket the city and the sea in the distance in purple hues, and the stars are beginning to wink into existence far above them. The night air is cool, but the numerous candles provide warmth, and the weight of delicious food in her belly is a welcome feeling after nearly three weeks of riding down the Kingsroad from Winterfell.

Arya blinks slowly, her eyelids becoming heavier by the minute. She’s not sleepy, she will stay awake and alert to pay attention to the very important discussions taking place, she’s a damned Faceless assassin for gods’ sake…

Gendry feels something small and warm press into his side, and he looks down see his wife-to-be leaning against him as though he were a particularly comfortable pillow.

Arya’s pulled from her doze just long enough to register Gendry’s arm wrapping around her. “Shall I take you to bed, M’lady?” He whispers, his breath warm in her ear, his smile clear in his voice.

She hums softly in protest, her eyelids refusing to remain open any longer. “M’ awake,” she mumbles, “M’ just resting my eyes for a while.” A yawn promptly betrays her words.

Little Arya Stark would have never allowed herself to fall asleep in the company of anyone but her family, would rather have died than expose such vulnerability, but she isn’t worried tonight. The people at this table are her pack now, too. The Lannister lions sitting nearby are tame.

This place is no longer the den of venomous snakes where her family had suffered so much. It is a stronghold that protects the ones she loves the most, her old friends and new, and as long as she lives, she will honor her promise to Sandor Clegane. She will choose her family, her life, and give everything she has to ensure their happiness. But for now, Arya Stark will rest.

Gendry presses a kiss to the crown of her head, like her Lord father used to, every night before he tucked her into bed.

During moments like these, she can swear her Father sent Gendry to watch over her in his place.

“Awake. Of course.” Gendry chuckles into her hair. “With your eyes closed. Don’t start snoring on us, M’Lady.” Arya mumbles an incoherent retort, aiming a kick to his shin with all the accuracy of a drunken archer firing arrows into the night, and her leg meets nothing but air.

Gendry now laughs in earnest, the sound reverberates deep in his chest and gently lulls her to sleep, nestled in his arms.

The others at the table smile at the sight, and take care to speak in hushed tones for the rest of the evening.

#gendrya #arya stark #arya x gendry #gendry waters #braime #game of thrones #this is how got ended for me and i refuse to think otherwise #lord n lady of storms end come thruuu #also i apologize if this is garbage #but it's better than clownery i say #anyway d&d aren't valid #my fics

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