Arya waits until everyone had left the common room before she scrambles out of her armchair and went to kneel by the fire. She digs in her pocket for a moment, finding the pouch of floo powder and sprinkles it into the flame, then, without a moment of hesitation, says “The Smithy” and sticks her head in the fire and feels the familiar heat and twisty sensation as her head crosses through the fireplace.
She always waits until everyone’s asleep before she floos. She’s not allowed to, technically. It’s against Hogwarts Rules. She doesn’t understand why, and thinks it’s stupid, but the one time she wasn’t careful, Sansa caught her and they’d gotten into a huge fight because Arya should be allowed to talk to her friends whenever she wants and damn the rules. Sansa had docked points and gone off in a huff, and Arya had waited another hour before going and continuing her conversation with Gendry.
He is sitting in the cramped living room of his apartment and he grins at her, closing the book he’s reading.
"Was wondering if you’d come in the end," he says, crouching down.
“‘Course I would,” she says, smiling. ”How was your game with the Harpies?”
He groans. ”They’ve got a mean beater. That Dacey Mormont—she’s mean I tell you. She had four cobbing calls against her and still didn’t stop elbowing me when I got too close.”
"Serves you right, getting to close to Dacey Mormont," shrugs Arya. "Her little sister’s in my class."
"I remember," Gendry says darkly. "Is she on your team yet?"
"We have try-outs this weekend," Arya says. "I don’t know if she’s trying out."
"Well—make sure she knows that cobbing is illegal for a reason. I still have bruises." His hair looks ruffled, and his he grimaces, rubbing his ribs almost unconsciously.
"I’ll try," Arya says dryly. "We have a firstie in Broom Club this year."
Gendry raises his eyebrows, an interested expression crossing his face. ”He any good?”
Arya narrows her eyes. ”She’s not bad. And why do you assume she’s a boy?”
"I dunno—boys just like…" his voice trails, and he smiles at her, chagrinned. "Sorry."
"It’s not me you have to apologize to. I hope the Harpies throttle you this season.”
"They’ve already done it once, I don’t see why they wouldn’t again," he mutters. "Point taken. I promise."
"Good." Arya glares at him and intends to make sure he means it.
1. I hope your bruises are doing better. If they’re not, my mum has this cream that she used to use whenever I banged my knees. I think it was called Madame Marvel’s Bruise Removal Paste.
2. I am about to have quidditch practices again once we have a full team again, so I don’t know if Tuesday talks will work anymore. It’ll depend a bit on team scheduling, but it looks like Ravenclaw’s aiming for Monday nights this year because their captain is also a prefect and that’s when his patrols were scheduled, so we might trade nights with them. Does that make things hard on your end? Let me know.
3. Arithmancy is so hard but so cool but so hard and I am kind of scared of taking the OWL at the end of the year.
4. Hot Pie wants me to send you a cookie, so you will find it enclosed. I had one from the same batch and it is very good. You should prepare yourself accordingly.
5. Good luck against Wimbourne. You’ll need it after your match with the Harpies. I’ll try and listen if I’m not still working on Arithmancy.
1. Thank you. I’ll look into it. (The bruise cream, if you can’t remember what the order of things on that list was.)
2. I could maybe swing Thursdays, but I’ll probably be beat. We’ll try. (Isn’t your sister Head Girl? Couldn’t you use some sway to get her to shift around the Ravenclaw Captain’s patrol schedule?)
3. There’s a very good reason I did not take Arithmancy, and while you have my sympathy, please know that I’m also laughing a little bit that you keep calling me the idiot for not having taken it.
4. Tell Hot Pie I died eating that cookie and will need more for resurrection purposes.
On a visit to her uncle Tyrion, Lord Protector of Winterfell, Myrcella strays too far into the Wolfswood and encounters someone long thought dead.
Feel free to laugh at my posting of yet another WIP, but I’ve had the first chapter of this in a file for a ridiculously long time, so I thought I might as well post it and use that to gee me up for chapter 2.
This falls under the self-indulgent, wish fulfilment, crackplot category so hopefully that will not turn everyone off! Also, I’m crawling out of my happy Jon x Sansa hole, so hoping the Robb x Myrcella crowd are as friendly.
Trick or treat! gendrya: they're best friend and then Gendry sees Arya in a sexy costume at Sansa's Halloween party
Gendry knows the exact moment everything changed.
He was at Sansa Stark’s Halloween party with Tom and Lem and a few other guys from their apartment complex. He was in a stupid half-costume (a red cape he found at Goodwill that barely fit around his shoulders) that he only wore because Sansa’s invitation said costumes were mandatory.
It was only ten o’clock but it felt like he’d been at Sansa’s for hours already. Halloween had never been his thing. Gendry kept looking at his phone, wondering when he could leave without being rude. Because there just wasn’t enough alcohol here to make this party interesting.
Suddenly, the door to Sansa’s apartment flew open and Arya Stark — a girl he’d known for forever; Gendry’s best friend growing up, someone he used to go TPing with on Halloween back when she was still in high school — burst through it like something out of a dream. She wore a black cat costume that fit her like a glove, hugging all the curves she certainly didn’t have when she was a kid and leaving very little to Gendry’s imagination.
When she saw him standing in the corner with his Sam Adams she made a beeline right for him.
"Thank God you’re here," Arya muttered conspiratorially under her breath, grabbing a beer for herself out of the cooler. She put one hand on Gendry’s arm and shook her head. He could feel the heat of it through the thick fabric of his long-sleeved shirt and down to his skin. "I fucking hate Sansa’s parties."
"Yeah," Gendry said, though he hadn’t really heard her.
Arya continued to talk to him as though nothing had changed, apparently oblivious to the fact that Gendry couldn’t take his eyes off of her, and as though his universe hadn’t completely shifted on its axis when she’d walked through that door.
The Freys are demanding Arya Stark from the Brotherhood Without Banners in order to marry her to Elmar Frey. When the BWB refuse to oblige them, they realized some choices must be made in order to protect her.
There had been more winters since the terrible one, the one that took Beric and Lem and all the rest, but left the stupid, stubborn bastard boy from Flea Bottom who apprenticed on the Street of Steel. And summer was drawing to a close again, the trees around Winterfell and in its godswood already turned brown, their leaves scattered to the south to be replaced by frost and chill. It was warm in his forge, and for that, he was thankful, for Winterfell felt winter’s sting even in early autumn. For all the rest though …
He could feel himself grinding his teeth as he drove the hammer down over and over, the thick muscle in his arm — so used to the motion from years and years of hammering out steel — now beginning to ache in protest. With a growl, he threw the hammer down, deciding that this sword was beyond his repair. He ran a sooty hand through his shaggy black hair, letting out a growl.
A prisoner here when he’d once been a knight. Just a baseborn bastard with no last name and no, well, nothing.
He might’ve had her, but their interactions were marred by his own surliness and guilt and her anger. Too much had happened in their past, too many things that the one couldn’t forgive the other.
She hadn’t spoken six words to him since they’d made him come here. It was her doing, he knew it; he knew how she was, with her stubborn will to cling to those who were her pack, even if they’d long-since been lost. And her sister and that bastard brother of hers would’ve given her the Iron Throne had she asked it, and what work was a ‘prentice smith compared to that?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
After she goes on a rant about soulmates, Arya’s friends guilt her into downloading an app that allegedly counts down to the exact moment a person will meet their soulmate. Her mind gets the best of her and chaos ensues…
When her alarm goes off at 7:30, Arya rolls over in bed, her head a screaming agony.
Moaning a little, she fumbles around on her nightstand with clumsy hands. She vaguely remembers putting a glass of water there before drunkenly collapsing into bed last night. She decides it would probably be a good idea to drink some of it before heading off to work in an hour.
Finding the glass after what feels like an eternity, she gingerly sits up and leans against her headboard. She brings the water to her lips and takes several small sips, hoping to avoid upsetting her roiling stomach any further.
AU: Prince Gendry meets Arya Stark a year after she returns to Westeros after having run away from her family, dishonoring herself and them. She should be sent to the Silent Sisters, but her family still cares too much for her. With no marriage prospects in sight, Robb proudly proclaims that Arya will always have a place at Winterfell.
Gendry was gonna kill Hot Pie. He must’ve tried that stupid call button ten times and nothing. No entry into the building for Gendry tonight. Well fuck that, Gendry was just going to go around back and go through Hot Pie’s stupid window, because if he didn’t find a couch…
He watched her as she slept, curled up in a ball next to him, her head tucked into her chin so that he couldn’t tell if she was content or not. She’d certainly looked content after he’d licked that second orgasm into her, but it was sometimes hard to tell with Arya.
Was it though? Was it hard to tell? It had been—had been for a little while, but was it still? He’d certainly read her right tonight, and he had a couple of times since she’d gotten back and…
She hadn’t bolted. She hadn’t fled from him at any point, and she hadn’t even left when they’d finished, instead curling up in a ball the way she did when she fell asleep on his couch while they were watching TV, and surely she would have grabbed her clothes and run if she’d realized this wasn’t what she wanted at all.
She might do that still when she woke up. But instinct told him she wouldn’t. Instinct told him she’d probably ask him if he had more condoms, and she’d stay most of the next day.
And that thought made him grin, and wrap his arms around her.
Arya walked through the double doors, clutching her portfolio to her side as walked toward the front desk. She was going to nail this interview, she practically had their website memorized, she spoke with the recruiters extensively and knows exactly what they’re looking for. She even looked…
This one is technically just the AO3 upload of this, which was secretly in the stripper verse the whole time. It is also the drabble responsible for this bolding system thing, since it comes later in the ‘verse, timeline wise.
Arya hated King’s Landing, but with Sansa pregnant, and Rickon being even worst at social events than her, she couldn’t help but be the one going.
But King’s Landing was still better than before, the King was an old friend of Arya’s, when she had still been in Essos, and after all she had helped him win the Iron Throne, in exchange of letting Sansa be Queen in the North.
But the thing that haunted her mind, and she made the trip North again, was the newest proposition - a marriage to unite Baratheon and Stark. Shireen was a great girl, very different from Rickon, but she believed they could help balance each other - but there was a problem, she was the Hand of the King, that would mean Rickon would have to move to King’s Landing.
"Lady Arya, we’re here," one of her companions announced, and she remembered the most surprising thing that happened while she visited the capital - she met Thoros of Myr, who was once again trying to convince the King to adopt the Lord of Light (ignoring that the Hand had witnessed too many crimes made in name of the God of Light).