forever is the sweetest con (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
delacourtings) wrote2013-12-31 12:16 am
delacourtings) wrote2013-12-31 12:16 am
Entry tags:
[fic] a pistol, pointed at me; asoiaf, arya
a pistol, pointed at me. asoiaf. arya. pg-13. 502. assassin au.
she never thought she'd become addicted to it, this thirst for blood.
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hc_bingo, substance addiction square.
her heart turns to metal when her father receives a slit to the throat, in front of her very eyes.
---
"train me," she says.
she's walked fourteen blocks in the shivering cold, her small hands in the pockets of her jacket, one wrapped awkwardly around a knife, the other pepper spray.
"train me," she says with vehemence to this boy who is half her kin. she recalls the light in her father's now dead eyes. "train me to fight."
---
she soon outgrows him, learns the weight of death in her palm. she thinks she may like it.
---
her first kill is the one who unmade her father. he begs for mercy. she doesn't comply.
she likes the taste of vengeance.
---
she meets a boy and he can read her from the very start.
her eyes have long portrayed a lack of compassion.
he sees straight through them, into the memory of a nine year old girl, crying over her father, while petting her dog.
---
she thinks him stupid, in the most wonderful of ways.
he dies for her.
she buries him under a sycamore tree, recalls how she always imagined he'd taste like honey.
she doesn't cry.
---
her lips have long since known the taste of blood, like copper.
he doesn't taste like that. he leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
like sadness.
like guilt.
---
she meets a man and he sparks fury in her again.
they continue on together, trade kills for secrets, for lies.
she no longer dislikes the taste of blood on her tongue.
---
she never thought she'd become addicted to it, this thirst for blood.
---
she becomes bold, reckless.
she's driven by hunger, no longer fear.
it's what kills her in the end.
---
she lies on the ground, blood pouring out of her bones.
she wonders if it's spilling directly from her heart.
she closes her eyes, sees a kind eyed father and a boy who sacrificed too much.
they're waiting.
---
"arya," someone whispers. she feels pressure on her chest.
she isn't sure if it's someone's hands or her heart beating.
"stay with me," the voice sounds almost like her mother's.
---
she pictures her then, living in an empty house, her head held strong.
she pictures her sister with her lace and frills, and she laughs, imagining her reaction to the all the blood stains seeping into her clothes.
she pictures her brothers, the ones younger than her and old, the one who taught her how to fight. the one who unintentionally shaped her to kill.
she wonders what he would think if he could see her now.
---
the person is still hounding her, begging her to stay.
she thinks she may not want too.
---
if there is a god, she thinks, will he show me mercy?
the person cries. she must have spoken aloud.
---
if there is a god,she thinks again. will he?
her eyes close.
they don't open.
---
she never thought she'd become addicted to it, this thirst for blood.
for
hc_bingo, substance addiction square.her heart turns to metal when her father receives a slit to the throat, in front of her very eyes.
---
"train me," she says.
she's walked fourteen blocks in the shivering cold, her small hands in the pockets of her jacket, one wrapped awkwardly around a knife, the other pepper spray.
"train me," she says with vehemence to this boy who is half her kin. she recalls the light in her father's now dead eyes. "train me to fight."
---
she soon outgrows him, learns the weight of death in her palm. she thinks she may like it.
---
her first kill is the one who unmade her father. he begs for mercy. she doesn't comply.
she likes the taste of vengeance.
---
she meets a boy and he can read her from the very start.
her eyes have long portrayed a lack of compassion.
he sees straight through them, into the memory of a nine year old girl, crying over her father, while petting her dog.
---
she thinks him stupid, in the most wonderful of ways.
he dies for her.
she buries him under a sycamore tree, recalls how she always imagined he'd taste like honey.
she doesn't cry.
---
her lips have long since known the taste of blood, like copper.
he doesn't taste like that. he leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
like sadness.
like guilt.
---
she meets a man and he sparks fury in her again.
they continue on together, trade kills for secrets, for lies.
she no longer dislikes the taste of blood on her tongue.
---
she never thought she'd become addicted to it, this thirst for blood.
---
she becomes bold, reckless.
she's driven by hunger, no longer fear.
it's what kills her in the end.
---
she lies on the ground, blood pouring out of her bones.
she wonders if it's spilling directly from her heart.
she closes her eyes, sees a kind eyed father and a boy who sacrificed too much.
they're waiting.
---
"arya," someone whispers. she feels pressure on her chest.
she isn't sure if it's someone's hands or her heart beating.
"stay with me," the voice sounds almost like her mother's.
---
she pictures her then, living in an empty house, her head held strong.
she pictures her sister with her lace and frills, and she laughs, imagining her reaction to the all the blood stains seeping into her clothes.
she pictures her brothers, the ones younger than her and old, the one who taught her how to fight. the one who unintentionally shaped her to kill.
she wonders what he would think if he could see her now.
---
the person is still hounding her, begging her to stay.
she thinks she may not want too.
---
if there is a god, she thinks, will he show me mercy?
the person cries. she must have spoken aloud.
---
if there is a god,she thinks again. will he?
her eyes close.
they don't open.
---