my father and his women

VICTIMS OF FREE-MIXING
Umm Muhammad, a mature woman over the age of 40, tells her story.

I lived a life of modest means with my husband. There was never any closeness and harmony, and my husband did not have the kind of strong personality that a woman would hope for, but his good nature made me overlook the fact that I was the one who was responsible for most of the decision making in the family.

My husband often used to mention the name of his friend and business partner, and he would talk about him in my presence, and I often used to meet with him in his office which was originally part of our apartment. This went on for many years, until circumstances led to us exchanging visits with this person and his family. These family visits were repeated and because of his close friendship with my husband, we did not notice how the number of visits increased and how many hours a single visit would last. He often used to come on his own to sit with us, me and my husband, for long visits. My husband’s trust in him knew no bounds, and as days passed I got to know this person very well, and saw how wonderful and decent he was. I began to feel a strong attraction towards this man, and at the same time I began to sense that the feeling was mutual.

Things took a strange turn after that, when I realized that this man was the kind of person I had always dreamed about. Why had he come along now, after all these years? The more this man’s status increased in my eyes, the more my husband’s status diminished. It was as if I had needed to see the beauty of his character in order to discover how ugly my husband’s character was.

The matter between this person and myself did not go beyond these persistent thoughts which were occupying my mind night and day. Neither he nor I ever voiced what we felt in our hearts… until today. Yet despite that my life is over and my husband is little more than a weak man with no self-esteem. I hate him and I do not know how all this hatred towards him started to boil over. I wonder how I put up with him all these years, bearing all these burdens by myself, facing life’s problems on my own.

Things got so bad that I asked him for a divorce, and he divorced me at my request. After that he became a broken man. Even worse than that is that after my marriage was wrecked and my children and husband were devastated, problems arose in this man’s family. His wife, with her feminine intuition, realized what had been going on in his heart of hearts, and his life became hell. She was overwhelmed with jealousy to the extent that one night she left her house at 2 a.m. and came to attack my house, screaming, weeping and hurling accusations. His marriage was also about to collapse.

I admit that the lovely gatherings which we used to enjoy gave us the opportunity to get to know one another at a time that was not appropriate at this stage in our lives.

His marriage has been wrecked and so has mine. I have lost everything, and now I know that my circumstances and his will not permit us to take any positive step towards coming together. Now I am more miserable than I have ever been, and I am looking for illusionary happiness and lost hopes.

Tit-for-tat

Umm Ahmad tells us:

My husband had a group of married friends, and because of our close friendship with them, we used to get together with them once a week in one of our houses, to enjoy an evening of chat.

Deep down in my heart I was never really comfortable with the atmosphere in which we would have dinner, sweets, snacks and drinks of juice accompanied by waves of laughter because of the jokes and chit-chats that often went beyond the bounds of good manners.

In the name of friendship, the barriers were lifted and every now and then one would hear suppressed laughter between a woman and the husband of another woman. The jokes were too much, dealing – with no sense of shyness –with sensitive topics such as sex and women’s private matters. This was usual and was even accepted and regarded as desirable.

Although I indulged in these things along with them, my conscience made me feel guilty. Then the day came when it became quite clear just how ugly and filthy this atmosphere was.

The telephone rang, and I heard the voice of one of the friends in this group. I said hello to him and apologized that my husband was not home. He replied that he knew that, and that he was calling to speak to me! After he suggested starting a relationship with me, I got very angry and spoke harshly to him and cursed him. All he could do was laugh and say, “Don’t try and show these good manners to me; go and check on your husband’s good manners and see what he is doing…” I was devastated by what he said, but I pulled myself together and said to myself, this person is only trying to cause the break up of your marriage. But he succeeded in planting the seeds of doubt concerning my husband.

Shortly after that, the major disaster struck. I discovered that my husband was cheating on me with another woman. It was the matter of life or death as far as I was concerned. I found my husband out and I confronted him, saying: “You are not the only one who can have a relationship. I have received a similar proposition.” And I told him all about his friend. He was stunned and absolutely shocked. (I said:) “If you want me to respond in kind to your relationship with that woman, then this is for that, tit-for-tat.” This was a huge slap in the face for him. He knew that I did not intend to do that in reality, but he realized the great disaster that had befallen our lives and the immoral atmosphere in which we were living. I suffered a great deal until my husband finally left that loose woman with whom he was having a relationship, as he admitted to me. Yes, he left her and came back to his family and children, but how can I ever feel the same towards him as I used to? Who will restore respect for him in my heart? This huge wound in my heart is still bleeding out of regret and rage at that filthy atmosphere; it still bears testimony to the fact that what they call innocent get-togethers are in reality anything but innocent. My heart still begs for mercy from the Lord of Glory.

Intelligence can also be a temptation (fitnah)

‘Abd al-Fattaah says:

I work as the head of department in one of the big companies. For a long time I admired one of my female colleagues, not for her beauty, but for her serious attitude towards her work, her intelligence and her excellent achievements – in addition to the fact that she was a decent and modest person who focused only on her work. This admiration turned into attachment, and I am a married man who fears Allaah and never misses any obligatory prayer. I expressed my feelings to her and she rebuffed me. She is married and has children as well. She sees no reason why I should have any kind of relationship with her, whether it be friendship, as work colleagues or based on admiration… etc. Evil thoughts come to me sometimes, and deep down I wish that her husband would divorce her so that I could get her.

I started to put pressure on her at work and put her down in front of my bosses. Perhaps this was a form of revenge on my part, but she accepted it with good manners and did not complain or comment. She works and works; her performance speaks of her quality, and she knows this well. The more she resisted me, the stronger my infatuation grew.

I am not a person who is easily tempted by women, because I fear Allaah and I do not overstep the mark with them and go beyond what is required by my work. But this woman attracted me. What is the solution?… I do not know.

Baby ducks know how to swim

N.A.A., a nineteen-year-old girl, tells us:

At that time I was a little girl. My innocent eyes watched those evening get-togethers when family friends would meet in the house. What I remember is that I could only see one man, who was my father. I watched him as he moved about the room, how his glances would devour the women present, looking at their thighs and chests, admiring this one’s eyes, that one’s hair, the other’s hips. My poor mother had no choice but to take care of these get-togethers. She was a very simple lady.

Among the women present there was one woman who would deliberately try to attract my father’s attention, sometimes by coming close to him, and sometimes by making enticing movements. I would watch this with concern, whilst my mother was busy in the kitchen for the sake of her guests.

These gatherings stopped suddenly and I tried, young as I was, to understand and make sense of what had happened, but I could not.

What I remember was that my mother collapsed completely at that time, and she could not stand to hear my father’s name mentioned in the house. I used to hear mysterious words whispered by the adults around me: “Betrayal… bedroom… she saw them with her own eyes… despicable woman… in a very shameful position…” etc. These were the key words which only the adults could understand.

I grew up and came to understand, and I bore a grudge against all men. All of them were treacherous. My mother was a broken woman and accused every woman who came to us of being a man-snatcher who wanted to make my father fall into her trap. My father hasn’t changed. He is still practising his favourite hobby of chasing women, but now he does it outside the home. Now I am nineteen years old and I know lots of young men. I feel great pleasure in taking revenge on them, because every one of them is an exact copy of my father. I tempt them and entice them, without letting them get anywhere near me. They follow me in gatherings and in the marketplaces because of my movements and deliberate gestures. Sometimes my phone never stops ringing and I feel proud of what I do to avenge the sex of Hawwa’ and my mother. But sometimes I feel so miserable and such a failure that it almost chokes me. My life is shadowed by a huge dark cloud, and its name is my father.

Before it is too late

S.N.A. tells of her experience:

I never imagined that my work circumstances would force me to be in contact with the opposite sex (men), but this in fact is what happened…

In the beginning, I used to cover and screen myself from men by wearing niqaab (face-veil), but some of the sisters advised me that this dress was attracting more attention to my presence, and it would be better for me to take off the niqaab, especially since my eyes were somewhat attractive. So I removed the cover from my face, thinking that this was better. But by continuing to mix with my colleagues, I discovered that I was the odd one out because of my antisocial attitude and my insistence on not joining in the conversation and chatting with others. Everyone was wary of this “lone-wolf” woman (as they saw me), and this is what was stated clearly by one person who affirmed that he would not want to deal with such a snooty and stand-offish character. But I knew that I was the opposite, in fact, and I decided that I would not oppress myself and put myself in a difficult position with my colleagues. So I started to join in their chats and exchanges of anecdotes, and they all discovered that I could speak eloquently and persuasively, and that I could influence others. I could also speak in a manner that was determined yet at the same time was attractive to some of my colleagues. It was not long before I noticed some changes in the expression of my direct supervisor; with some embarrassment, he was enjoying the way I spoke and moved, and he would deliberately bring up topics in the conversation where I would see that hateful look in his eyes. I do not deny the fact that I started to entertain some thoughts about this man. I found it astonishing that a man could fall so easily into the trap of a woman who was religiously committed, so how must it be in the case of women who adorn themselves and invite men to commit immoral actions? In fact, I did not think of him in any way which went beyond the bounds of sharee’ah, but he did occupy a space in my thoughts for quite some time. But soon my self-respect made me reject the idea of being a source of enjoyment for this man in any way, shape or form, even if it was only psychological in nature, and I stopped getting involved in any kind of work that would force me to sit alone with him. In the end, I reached the following conclusions:

1- 1) Attraction between the sexes can occur in any circumstances, no matter how much men and women may deny that. The attraction may start within the bounds of sharee’ah and end up going beyond those bounds.

2) Even if a person protects himself (by marriage), he is not safe from the snares of the Shaytaan.

3) Even though a person may be able to guarantee himself and he works with the opposite sex within reasonable limits, he cannot guarantee the feelings of the other party.

4) Finally, there is nothing good in mixing and it does not bear fruit as they claim. On the contrary, it corrupts sound thinking.

anonymous asked:

hi! I was wondering if I could request an angsty turned to nsfw Jumin scenario/imagine/hc (whatever you prefer for it) where he gets back from a business trip and MC is mad at him because he barely called her the entire time he was gone and they argue a little but she ultimately ends up teasing him as a "punishment" I need frustrated Jumin in my life (omg I'm so embarrassed requesting this hahaha)

Hello, anon! I couldn’t angst for the life of me, but I think I got a little carried away with this one. 

I know I’m cutting this at a crucial part, but should I make a part two, or just be a tease and leave it at that? Teehee.

~Nao

Reversing Roles (Jumin x MC)

It’s quiet and a little unsettling.

I’m tired and sleepy, but I don’t think she would appreciate it if I dozed off.

She told me to wait for her, but it’s already been a couple of minutes. Where did she go?

These were some of the thoughts that raced inside C&R director Jumin Han’s mind as he was blindfolded and tied to the bed. He was starting to feel queasy and frustrated, and his stomach churned at the thought of you cruelly leaving him in this condition all night as punishment.

He was used to always being the one giving orders and tying you to the bed, but how exactly did your roles reverse?


2 hours earlier…

“I’m home, my love,“ Jumin greeted as he opened the door to the new home that you and him started to share until recently. However, instead of you welcoming him, it was Elizabeth the 3rd who greeted him alone at the entrance. 

“Meow~“ 

“Hello, Elizabeth,“ Jumin carefully placed the paper bags he had been carrying onto the floor and bent to stroke under Elizabeth the 3rd’s chin. He smiled, as he was rewarded by a series of purrs.

That’s strange. MC and Elizabeth the 3rd usually greet me together, but it’s only Elizabeth who welcomed me home this time.

“Where could MC be?“ Jumin thought out loud. As if answering his question, Elizabeth the 3rd started to make her way to where you were. 

Picking up the bags, he followed her, and as he neared the living room, he heard you talking to somebody on the phone. “…no, he hasn’t called ever since. All I’m left with was a handwritten note from the day he left for his business trip, and I’m worried…..it’s been a week, but he said he’d only be gone for three days…“ 

You were facing the window overlooking the nightscape. There was also an empty bottle of wine and a half full wine goblet on the side table. How long had she been drinking alone? 

“No, we didn’t fight or anything….yes, I tried calling him multiple times, and all I got was voicemail. I even asked Jaehee to have him call me back if he calls her, but she couldn’t get a hold of him either….I miss him, Zen….yes, yes, I know, thank you for worrying. I’ll call you back when he gets home. Bye,“ you ended the call and started to cry. Jumin couldn’t bear that he’d unexpectedly made you upset, so he dropped the bags, crossed the room in a few strides, and embraced you from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry to have worried you MC, but I’m home now my love,“

“J-Jumin??? How— how long have you been there? “

You dried your tears, broke away from his embrace, and observed him. Aside from the sad look he gave you, he was put together and clean shaven. At least he came home safe…

“Why didn’t you return any of my calls and messages? Didn’t you know how lonely and worried I was?!?“

“Oh, about that, I—-”

“I try to understand how busy you are with work, but sometimes, I wonder if you’re just using that as an excuse to ignore me.“

“MC—“

“Am I not worth your time anymore, Mr. Jumin Han?“

“ENOUGH!!! You were talking with Zen earlier, shouldn’t I be the one getting angry instead?“

“What? Am I not allowed to talk to anybody anymore? Zen was only trying to reassure me that you’d be coming back, Jumin! Who knows what you’ve been up to in that trip? Even Jaehee couldn’t contact you!“

“If you’re trying to accuse me of cheating on you, then you’re mistaken, MC! You know how I hate that my father changed women as if he were just changing his clothes! I would never do that to you! You know how much I love you; how could you suspect me like that?“

His broken tone had you coming to your senses, and you stood there in stunned silence as Jumin pinched the bridge of his nose, a frown marring his handsome face.It took him a while to calm himself, and he looked straight at you when it seemed like he had regained his composure. 

“Sit down, dear,” he motioned for you to sit down on the loveseat. He sat beside you and attempted to embrace you, but you were still sulking, so he settled for holding your hand instead. “Will you let me explain, my love?“ you were pointedly avoiding eye contact, but you nodded.  

“The reason the trip got extended was because the negotiations almost didn’t go through. I thought I was only there to finalize the deal with the client, but I found out that somebody on our side messed up, and I had to fix it somehow,“ “…but the lack of phone calls?“ Jumin chuckled and sheepishly rubbed his nape. 

“Well…that was because part of the condition was to spend time with the client’s 3-year old child, and the brat somehow got hold of my phone and he threw it in a lake. By the time we found the phone, it was already unsalvageable even when one of the staff thought to put it in a bag of rice overnight,“ by this time, you could tell that he was distressed because he wouldn’t normally use such words as “brat“, but you couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the thought of the C&R Director chasing a toddler around.

“Oh you poor thing! So that’s why. But you could have asked to borrow somebody else’s phone and called Jaehee at least. She was also worried because her calls wouldn’t go through either,“ you almost wanted to forgive him, but you were still holding out.   

“If I could call somebody at that time, I would have called you first… but then, all my contacts were in that phone, and I didn’t have any numbers memorized. I’m sorry, MC. Please let me make it up to you,“ he looked hopefully at you, like a child expecting to get a present that he always wanted.

“Hmm… I don’t know, Jumin. I told you to carry a copy of your contacts list in a small notebook before, but you never listened.“

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll order Assistant Kang to make me a copy of my contacts first thing in the morning.“

You shook your head. “No dear, you have to do it by yourself. Jaehee was already neck deep in work the last time I checked. You could at least lessen the projects that you give her.“

“Alright, no more unnecessary projects. Please forgive me, I’ll do anything you want.“

You perked up at the thought of your husband offering to do anything for you. “Really? Anything?“

“Yes, my love, anything.“

“Well, there IS something I’ve been meaning to try…“


Jumin heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of somebody moving around the room. “MC, is that you?“ “Did I permit you to talk?“ “No ma’am,“ he had used that tone on you a couple of times, so he knew not to address you casually.

There was a soft thunk by the bedside table, and he felt the bed dip, and the smell of your citrus and green tea shower gel permeated his nostrils as you sat beside him. “So, what shall I do to you first, Mr. Han?“ your tone was seductive, like honey smoothly gliding over his soul. “You do know that I intend to get payback in full after this, don’t you… ma’am?“ there was a sound of rummaging from his right side.

“Cheeky bastard. If you’re going to get payback after this, then I might as well make it count. I wonder though, should I just take off that blindfold and eat a sandwich in front of you? Or should I build a block tower instead?“ “MC…“ there was a hint of warning in his voice, and a tick in his jaw. It was  fun teasing him like this, but you knew not to push your luck.

anonymous asked:

Hello, ladies! I know lately you've been getting a lot of hate because of stories that aren't exactly happy and I truly don't understand. And not only I want to give you another "uncomfortable" prompt but I also want to show you my support. The stories may be angst filled but our couple will always find their way. "Do you wish for us to live separately?" What if Claire wasn't ready to forgive Jamie yet? How would he gain back her trust? Thank you! ❤ (do it only if you want of course)

“Claire please don’t! You dinna ken what kind of woman she truly is! Dinna go there!” Jamie begged, blocking my exit.

“Can you honestly tell me that what happened on the road won’t happen again? Can you promise me that you’d never beat me into submission?”

His mouth gaped like a fish, words forming and disappearing without a sound.

“That’s what I thought.” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Now get out of my way!” I tried to shove past him to no avail.

“No! Please, Claire! Just stay here for the night. I promise I’ll no touch you if that’s what you want but please don’t leave. If ye still wish to live separate from me come morning, I’ll take ye to Mistress Duncan in the morning.”

I glared at him, my resolve not wavering even at his desperate pleas and look.

“Fine. Just tonight, and you’ll be on the floor!”

Jamie nodded in acceptance. I tossed a pillow and a blanket to the ground, before curling myself up onto the bed unable to relax. Anger filled my body to the point I couldn’t breathe properly. My head ached, and my body was tense; every move and sound Jamie made, caused my muscles to tense up even more.

Is this what living in the eighteenth century would be like? Beaten any time a mistake was made and made the fool in front of everyone present? I will not go on like this. I thought, for the briefest of moments, my life would be happy here, that Jamie did truly love and respect me, but I was wrong. He’s a wife beater, and nothing can change that.

I watched the fire as it died down, my eyes gradually unfocusing on the flickering of the flames until the world went dark and sleep fitfully came.


Claire slept rigidly, lines marring her face, even sleep didn’t bring her peace. What had I done wrong? I did as my father had before me, and his before him; what men did when their women stepped out of line, and now I may lose her before I truly had her. I couldn’t keep my promise if she decides to go to Mistress Duncan in the morning, I’d have to change her mind somehow, some way. She didn’t need to be branded a witch or encourage even more suspicions that she wasna meant to be here.

The fire nearly died before I finally threw a log on. The renewed light threw the room into a warm glow, giving the illusion of comfort. I could find none in the fire, nor the meager pallet on the floor. I wanted to be with my wife, I wanted her warmth and body melded to mine. Our marriage hasn’t been long, but already I ache for her comfort at night; a feeling I don’t think I’ll ever rid myself of. If she truly wishes to live separate it would be one of the ultimate punishments. To not have her beside me, arguing, smiling, loving… could I go back to the way things were before she blew into my life like a storm? Could she really be gone just as quick?

I rolled over, letting my undesirable thoughts consume me when I saw it. A bundle placed directly beneath where Claire lay. A thorn pricked my thumb as I groped and pulled the unholy bundle out from it’s hiding place. My stomach churned and dread crawled through my veins like ice.

An ill wish. A device of evil and meant to send harm to those it was sent to. Could the reason Claire’s anger still boiled be from this monstrosity? And who–Laoghaire.  My own anger now flared with vigor. Before the sun rises I’ll find who created the ill wish, and heaven help whoever it is.

Colors (Part 10) [MinYoongi x Reader]

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 /Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13  / Part 14 / Part 15  / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18 / Part 19 / Part 20

Genre: Mafia - Gang AU (M)

Originally posted by monetterie



Part 10 : BLOOD TIES

She was like the warmth of winter sun on a cold December night. Her smile was bright and mellow, like embers burning brightly in the dark and keeping you warm. Her beauty was remarkable, the way she hid her scars so perfectly behind those happy eyes and that toothy grin. But the heavy bags beneath her eyes and the red nose told a much different story.

Yoongi was reliving that day again, behind his closed eyes, just like he did every other night.

He stood in a corner, watching, observing. A boy of 10, sat near the table, playing around with his food on the plate. A Woman stood with her back facing towards him, washing dishes. She turned and glanced at the young boy. The rays of sun, peeking through the window, gleamed in her eyes softly making her look almost angelic.

“Yoongi-ah! Stop playing around with your food and eat it quickly. Your father will be here any minute” she said in a stern yet gentle voice.

The boy looked up at her sadly.“Why is he coming back?” he asked, “I thought he was never going to come back”

The women sighed, wiped her hands on a towel and turned around smiling softly. “He’s coming to take you,” she said while taking a seat beside the boy.

The boy huffed angrily and pushed the plate to the other side. “I DON’T WANT TO GO WITH HIM!” he yelled and the women took his hands in hers.“He’s your father. He’s taking you because he cares for you. You’ll go to a much better school-”

“I HATE HIM” the younger one yelled with tears in his eyes and the women cupped his cheeks. “He’s not my father! I hate him-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that in front of him” she said and wiped his tears away with her thumb.

“Listen to me Yoongi, whatever your father asks you to do. You listen to him! If you don’t do it, if you don’t learn, he’ll-” She paused for a moment before speaking.“He’ll send us away, you and me. You can’t show weakness in front of him. You have to be strong! You’ll be strong right? Be strong Yoongi. This is a cruel world and it will swallow you whole if you don’t fight back.”

Teardrops fell on the boy’s forehead as the women placed his head on her chest and sobbed softly“Be strong Yoongi-ah! Unlike your mother and always be kind to others. Be what your mother and father could never be..”

Yoongi watched the women as she got up from her seat after some time and walked over to him. She stood in front of him, placed a hand on his cheek and smiled.

 “Eomma is so proud of you Yoongi-ah. But it’s time to go now”

“Can I stay?” Yoongi always asked his mother the same question. And she always gave the same answer.

“It’s time to go Yoongi; it’s time to Wake up”


“YOONGI WAKE UP” you nudged the pale boy again when he went unconscious. His pupils moved rapidly under his closed eyelids, making you wonder what he was dreaming about. He opened his eyes slowly and glanced at you.

Keep reading

Maybe this is a bit different, but...

Never trust women who justify abuse from male members of your family by saying shit like, ‘Oh, he must be stressed out from work". This is enabling their abuse and massively unhelpful. Never trust women who abuse you/refuse to help you when you’re being abused by anyone else.


I have one abusive male in my family (my father) and his shit wouldn’t have flown if the women in my family, specially my mother had put a stop to it.

Game Of Thrones: Soulmate AU

Tittle: Game of Thrones: Soulmate AU

Pairing: Jon Snow x Reader

Requested: No

Warning: Fluff

Rating: G

A/N: So I have been loving the soulmate AU and finally decided to write one, only I want to do it TV show style. These will focus on some of the main characters, if you have any you want to see, hit me up. I’m starting with Game of Thrones, and will be doing a Walking Dead series too!! I hope you all enjoy it! Also please let me know if you want a Harry Potter one?? I’m still kinda debating on that one. Also for the sake of these imagines, and to make it much easier on me, I have given the character a name, tho no description.

Originally posted by kinginthenorthjonsnow


   It is said that the first men all had a small carefully written name on the inside of their wrist. That name is said to be that of their soulmate. Back then I was a common thing, as common as arms and legs. They say that when they met their soulmates the names burned before turning into a bright gold. For many years they lived by this, by people marrying their soulmates because it was said that the Gods choose for you.

   Like most things though, things changed. As time went on men became more greedy, valuing a house name and a tittle more than the Gods wants. This lead to marriages being arranged, children being born without the tiny little name written carefully on their wrists. The old ones say it’s the God’s way of showing their displeasure that we had stopped listening. By the time brothels and whores appeared the names and soulmates were left to be rare, most times nothing but a story to tell your children.

   When they do pop up, it’s because fate came into play. Four people met their soulmates and bedded, giving birth to a child. That child would have a small name written neatly on their wrist, a single name. Those children, depending on where they were born and whom they were born too, were either celebrated and kept hidden. I am one of the few whom were celebrated. My parents, Lord Carson and his Lady wife Katherina of White Castle, each had a name on their wrist that still shone gold. This fact made me even more rare.

    My grandmother and parents both promised me I would find my soulmate and that we would wed. At first I believed them. I spent the first 16 years of summer waiting with anxious breath for my beloved to arrive. I even made sure to check the wrist of every boy in White Castle that was named Jon, to see if they had my name carefully written on them. When I found none, I began to lose hope. I had started to believe that my soulmate was dead, or married to another. That single thought haunted my mind from the I woke in the morning, to when I went to bed. Each day was spent in fear that I was doomed to a life without him.

      “Lady Jessica.” Septa Rosemary  called out, pulling me from my troubling thoughts. I smiled as I turned towards her. The Septa had been around since before I was born, the daughter of the Septa to my mother. She was a kind lady, gentle and full knowledge. She had a answer to everything and if she didn’t she knew who would. It was her that taught me the majority of my knowledge of soulmates.

   “Yes Septa.” I asked as I watched her move steadily towards me, a hesitant smile on her face.

   “I am afraid I come with bad news, my little lady. King Robert is dead and Eddard Stark has been named a traitor. As we speak Lannister men are riding towards the north. As you know we have kept you a secret from the King and The Lannister’s, they frown upon those with the names. With that being said your parents have decided that for you own safety, you shall be sent to the wall. The men of black have kept many like you safe as they serve no one but the realm, they will protect you sweet one.”

   “The wall?” I stammered, fear making my voice thick. “Why the wall. What about the Others? The Wildlings? I fear I will be in more danger there Septa. There are more risks.”

   “Hush now sweet one, your Lord Father has made his mind up on this matter, it does you no good to argue. You shall listen to him and go to the wall this evening. He would not send you if he did not feel like the men of black could not protect you from any and all threats.” The Septa said sternly, only her eyes showing me any sign of sympathy. “Pack now young one and with speed. You leave at dusk.”




  

   Jon’s P.o.v


   Jessica I stared at the name on my wrist in silence, my thumb brushing over it now and again. Seven little letters that told my whole future. Since I had them, I was not made an official brother of the Nights Watch. They believed, despite everything, that a man with a soulmate could not be an official brother. They may not take the vows, but if they desire, they could work for the Nights Watch. I choose to work.

   My father’s lady wife Cateyln hated me from the moment my father brought me home. It wasn’t, as I had believed for years, because I was a bastard, a talking reminder that her husband slept with another. No, she hated me because of the tiny little name on my wrist. It meant that I was the child of true love, of soulmates. Since she was not my mother, that meant that her own children, my half siblings, did not have it. That fact angered her and forced her to act out on me. She hated the fact that the nameless women my father slept with held his heart completely.

   “Jon.” Sam said softly, pulling me from my thoughts. When I glanced at my friend, he was sending me a shy smile. “It’s time. The lady is here. The one we will be protecting.”

   “Lead the way then Sam.” I answered, following my friend as he lead me from the castle. As we walked the brothers in black whispered of the lady. The reason behind her stay, why she would need to be hidden from the Lannister men. The Lord Commander was the only one who knew, why she was here. When asked, he would assure us all that we did not need to know that information, just that we were to keep her safe. We severed the realm and therefore we severed her.

   Sam lead me to the courtyard, where ten horses and their riders still mounted stood in the middle. They formed a circle, all of the surrounding the girl in the middle. She rode a pure back stallion, the blue and silver flags of her house laying along it’s halter.   She had the hood of deep emerald green cloak up, hiding her face and hair from view. A small gap between her and her men, showed that she was wearing a dark blue dress, only the hem of it showing under her cloak. They stayed on their horses until the Lord Commander came out. Then they all dismounted, one man turning to help his lady off her horse. 

   “Brothers and boys, may I please introduce you to Lady Jessica of White Castle.” The moment I heard her name, I sucked in my breath, my hand instantly flying to the name on my wrist. My focus was now on her, watching as she lowered her hood to show long hair that fell in curls down her back. Her face was slim and features pinched with fear, her eyes darting around the place as she took everything in.

   “Jon.” The lord commander barked, the sound of my name causing the young girl to become more alert, her fear becoming curiosity as she looked for the man who would walk towards the Lord Commander. When I stepped forward, she sucked in a breath, a smile dancing across her face.

   “Yes ser?”

   “You shall be in charged of the Ladies safety and insure that she feels at home during her stay. Lady Jessica, I can assure you that you are in good hands.” He explained, gesturing me towards the lady. I moved towards her slowly, each breath causing my heart to beat faster in my chest. This could be her, my wife, the mother of my children, my true love. She could be it all, despite her tittle and I could only hope her father would not mind my marrying her.

   “My lady I am Jon Snow of Winterfell.” I said once I was in front of her, offering her my hand. She giggled and let her hand fall softly into my own, smiling as I leaned down to press a kiss to it.

   “It’s a pleasure to meet you Jon. My name is Jessica.” The moment the words left her mouth, the name on my wrist began to burn. Instantly I hissed, barely gesturing the fact that she too was hissing in pain. It felt like someone was pressing a red hot poker to the inside of my wrist, burning my flesh down to the bone.

    It stopped as quickly as it had began, and a quick glance showed that letters were now a vibrant gold instead of a black. Slowly I lifted my gaze to hers, smiling when I noticed that she was smiling at her hand. I opened my mouth to say something but was cut off as she jumped into my arms, her lips instantly pressing themselves against my lips. The moment our lips touched, I could feel my whole world change. All at once she became the only thing in the world that matter, everything else taking a back seat. Her smile, her laugh and her touch was what would be needed to fuel me.

   “I finally found you Jon.” She breathed out as she pulled back, a smile on her face. “I finally found you and I can assure you, I am not letting you go.”

   “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you my lady.” I answered, smiling as I leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “I have waited for you too long, to leave you.”

Forever and Always-Part 2

Originally posted by klaussgifs

Summary: For thousands of years I have done nothing but run. It appears as though everyone I love dies and I didn’t want the same for him. My love for him grows stronger and stronger with each passing day. I just wish that he knew, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N) and I fell in love with Niklaus Mikaelson.

Reader x Niklaus Mikaelson

(Y/N) = Your Name
(Y/L/N) = Your Last Name

Word Count: Get your coffee and popcorn ready once again because this is going to be a long one.

Part One

Request: Yes, just a part two of the first request.

Characters: Reader, Klaus Mikaelson, Elijah Mikaelson, Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore, Damon Salvatore, Mikael Mikaelson
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

Keep reading

  • "teach men not to rape"
  • My rapist was a woman
  • "men advance professionally over their woman colleagues simply for their gender"
  • All of my bosses have been female
  • "men are free of consequences when they harass women"
  • my male friends have been violated by women and was never taken seriously because guys are expected to be sex crazy monsters so they're up for it anytime right? If they don't feel comfortable? How pathetic right?
  • "men harass and mistreat women"
  • my bullies in school were girls, and my worst colleagues were women
  • My friend was beaten by his father until he was 16 years old. You know what his teacher told him when he finally had the courage to reveal it?
  • "why don't you just hit him back?"
  • The way feminist rhetoric displays the majority men as these heartless swines while women are these poor victims piss me off so god damn much i'm about to blow.
  • Women can be heartless, they can be perverted pedophiles. A woman can be a murderer, a bully. Not because she is the victim, a poor fractured soul led to darkness by the patriarchy. no no.
  • Men however, can be fucking heartless as well. They can be just as bad. Is it not funny though, that then its just "boys being boys"?
  • or "men being dipped in their own created toxic hyper masculine patriarchy soup"?
  • Why is it always
  • always
  • always
  • that women are the victims?
  • Fucking stop it.
  • Why is it that men
  • are always
  • always
  • always
  • somehow inherently evil?
  • We're fucking people.
  • We are human-fucking-beings.
  • I'm not more angry with Simon in 8th grade who stuck a pen into my ear than I am with Angie who stuck a pen up my skirt in 9th grade just because he was a dude and she was a girl. I hate them both equally.
  • We women are not fucking oppressed. We're not inherently "sisters" and i don't owe you jack shit just cause we both have a pussy or identify as female. If you want to earn my respect and friendship then fine but fucking stop with this whole "us girls versus the big bad men and the patriarchy" bullshit.
  • Fuck.
3

DID SHE SUFFER?

Untitled

Like my father, 

I hate tieing things round my wrists and neck

I also like women

Like his father,

I like touching people, and living

I also hate dying

Time and truth are dripping through the walls

Melting my faiths along the way

My Angel’s Breath is dying

But the colours in my room are matching

The wall, too, has started dripping.

@augustwriting

——————————

Review: While I love the personal touch, I wish you were a little more descriptive, as some of your thoughts feel unfinished. What are the colors in your room and what do they match? The wall has started dripping what - time and truth? Otherwise, lovely job; keep on writing. <3

☆☆FANART☆☆

C: I’m getting really sick and tired of older people saying our generation is messed up and lost. Especially when it comes to baby mama/daddy stuff. They always say we’re all messed up because women will have multiple kids with different fathers or men getting lots of women pregnant. But this isn’t a new phenomenon by a long shot. My 64 year old father was telling me how his father had multiple women and how he has a whole lot of half brothers and sisters. He said he probably has some he hasn’t even met before. And I’ve heard other older people tell similar stories about their parents or other people they knew. I mean that isn’t a positive thing but don’t harp on the younger generation about things y’all have already done. 

That Shit You Preach isn't Enough

Dad told me to not to fall in love. But what does he know? Did he not fall for my mother? Who wasn’t his wife?

Step-Father told me that all women were crazy and all they’re after is your wallet. Yet he spares no expense in spoiling my mother with material things, thinking that makes her happy. It doesn’t.

Uncle told me that women can be manipulated with the right moves. He’s been married 4 times. Now he’s a homosexual.

My bestfriend’s father told me after i came to him crying about this girl i couldn’t shake, that Black women are stubborn, and White women are submissive more suitable wives.

My peers tell me that women are not really worth much more than a night on the town. That i should be out moving and shaking through women so i can add notch after notch on my belt.

My homie showed me his wall, which was filled with used condom wrappers. I saw no wall space.

But I said fuck that.

My mother carried me for 9 months. 10lbs 3oz. SHE placed value in my brain on how a women should be treated. So why would i disrespect her?

I came from a Black woman so off the rip i wouldn’t disrespect NO OTHER BLACK WOMAN. Period. I stand up for them. Because NO ONE ELSE DOES.

And it makes me so fucking angry when someone talks down on another Black woman. I hear it all damn day. “Oh bro, she ain’t shit, she fucked the homie so why not call her a hoe bro?”

I have 4 sisters, 2 mothers, 1 soulmate. And i get very out of character when i even sense an ounce of disrespect coming their way.

And quite frankly it’s never going to change. I’ve defended women i don’t even know. I’ve seen the hurt in their eyes from words that came from men and their selfish ideologies. And it makes me ashamed to be a Black man.

Why? Because yall ain’t shit. You have blatantly ignored home training and decided to be someone you’re not. Pardon my ignorance but I’ve never seen or heard a woman tell their child to disrespect another woman, to hit another woman, to manipulate or marginalize another woman.

Would you hit your mama just because “you’re upset”?

The sad part about it all, I ain’t shit either. I’ve ignored every man in my life telling me something negative. And I lucked up and found this AMAZING girl.

She’s smart, outgoing, God-fearing, Beautiful, passionate,etc..I can go on all day about this girl.

But I’ve failed her.

I walk on eggshells, i watch what i say, i listen to anything she wants go speak on, and i genuinely listen. Yet I still offend her or make her uncomfortable with herself.

I shower her with compliments, i say things that i truly mean and she just shrugs them off.

She doesn’t believe me. Why would she. Look at this world. Irreversible damage has been done to our Black women. And it’s our fault.

My fault.

I’ve preached and preached on how I’m so different, yet i hurt her in the same way. No matter how hard i try. I fuck it up. I’m not ready for her. And she’s probably knows it, but she loves me anyway, throughout my bullshit.

I’m not good enough for her, or for anyone for that matter. And I’m tired of not being enough.

We should be too. (Black Men)

p.s. Fuck yall for making this so hard.

I don’t ever talk about this because it’s SUPER HARD but my father considered himself an MRA. He blamed women for everything wrong in his life.

He learned to hate and blame women the same way racism teaches people to hate and blame minorities.

My mother saved us from his abuse but my father insisted that it was misandry that the court wouldn’t grant him custody.

He wanted to write a book about how to bankrupt your ex wife in court like he had done.

He carved the words “bitch” and “slut” into my mother’s car that she used to take us to school. He refused to pay child support.

He kidnapped me twice, he threatened my aunt’s life for trying to stop him. I was terrified to walk home alone for years.

After all this, my sister and I told the judge we didn’t want to see him anymore, the judge told us “children need a father”.

Despite all of this I still value and love the men in my life. I still listen to men.

My father once told me he didn’t think there were any women who were great artists, I told him other wise.

I told him about sexism, about the systematic exclusion of women artists throughout history.

That women had to use male names in order to be published or taken seriously.
He was surprised, he’d never thought of this.

I said “but dad, I’m an artist and a woman” and he said “yes well, you were raised by ME so you are different.”

Yes he was emotionally unstable, but he believed in ideas that are extremely hateful and harmful even for a stable person.

That is what makes a hate crime different from insanity.

That is why it’s important to talk about sexism, racism, homophobia and transphobia.

That is why it’s important to talk about how sexism effects all people, across the board.

These are human lives and human rights at risk. Stand up against toxic ideas, listen to people who are hurt by them.

The Practice of Forgiveness

‘Buddhist psychology offers specific teachings and practices for the development of forgiveness.  Like the practice of compassion, forgiveness does not ignore the truth of our suffering.  Forgiveness is not weak.  It demands courage and integrity.  Yet only forgiveness and love can bring about the peace we long for. As the Indian sage Meher Baba explains, “True love is not for the faint-hearted.”

We have all betrayed and hurt others, just as we have knowingly or unknowingly been harmed by them.  It is inevitable in this human realm. Sometimes our betrayals are small, sometimes terrible.  Extending and receiving forgiveness is essential for redemption from our past.  To forgive does not mean we condone the misdeeds of another. We can dedicate ourselves to make sure they never happen again. But without forgiveness the world can never be released from the sorrows of the past.  Someone quipped, “Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a better past.” Forgiveness is a way to move on.

In Buddhist psychology, forgiveness is not presented as a moral commandment; thou shalt forgive. It is understood as a way to end suffering, to bring dignity and harmony to our life. Forgiveness is fundamentally for our own sake, for our own mental health. It is a way to let go of the pain we carry.  This is illustrated by the story of two ex-prisoners of war who meet after many years. When the first one asks, “Have you forgiven your captors yet?” the second man answers, “No, never.”  “Well then,” the first man replies, “they still have you in prison.”  For most people, the work of forgiveness is a process. Practicing forgiveness, we may go through stages of grief, rage, sorrow, fear and confusion.  As we let ourself feel the pain we still hold, forgiveness comes as a relief, a release for our heart in the end.  Forgiveness acknowledges that no matter how much we may have suffered, we will not put another human being out of our heart.

The practice of forgiveness grows through generosity and repetition.One of my teachers instructed me to practice five minutes of forgiveness for myself and others, twice a day for six months, which meant 360 times. Practicing with small misdeeds, such as my uncaring treatment of a friend, I repeatedly asked her forgiveness and gradually forgave myself. That experience encouraged me, but when I turned to my father, the process was much more difficult. Forgiveness took many years. It was only when he lay dying that I could look back and reflect on what had released me from our family suffering.  When, at age 75, ten years after his first heart attack, my father was near death from congestive heart failure, frightened and in pain. I sat with him over long days and late nights. He kept asking me to stay. Because I had sat with my own pain and fear in meditation, I was not afraid. Because I had sat in the charnel grounds and with others as they died, I was able to offer the steady presence he needed. By now I also knew enough not to blurt out that I loved him, but I also knew that he could feel that I did.

Years of meditation, therapy and forgiveness practices had come with me into that room. I’d worked with my rage at my father and my sorrow and frustration as a frightened, impotent child. One day I pictured the yellow linoleum floor in the backroom where my father was beating my mother. I wanted to beat him and to rescue her. I felt sorry for and angry at my mother for her weakness, and for her collusion with his brutal arrogance. I struggled to release my father and all his rigid, paranoid violence. I relived the nighttime scenes where his eyes would become glazed and crazed looking, and the old bastard would curse and hit and hurt us, his family.

As I meditated and wept, I felt the pain of my own closed heart and wondered how I could forgive him. I breathed and practiced forgiveness and got inside his own wretched history, and my mother’s paralyzing fear. I saw him as a young teen when his father died. My father and his father were both caught between two women who hated each other. His coldly polished and controlling mother and his tight-fisted and iron-willed grandmother who lived just across the street and ran the family business.  I saw his paranoia and fear and how hard his uncontrollable rage must have been for him. I saw his inexcusable acts and his unmanageable pain. It helped when I discovered that my own rage was not so different from his. I learned to respect the anger, depression, cynicism and humor that my brothers and I had used to survive.  I saw that we were not alone. I felt connected to a million fathers and estranged sons, to generations of family wounds, many greater than my own.  Then I gradually saw, too, his creative and loving side, along with his capacity to hurt those he loved, and finally his humanity, all our humanity. And in the last days in the hospital, I could sit with him in all his complexity and forgive.

When students come to Buddhist practice, they learn the blessings of the path of forgiveness. Josh’s half brothers had legally cheated him out of part of his inheritance. He knew that through his own inattention he was complicit as well. Over five years he had tried to straighten things out with them, with only a little success. Still he carried the suffering and betrayal like a weight in his body. He had not been a regular meditator but to release his suffering, he undertook a systematic forgiveness practice. He knew that finding compassion and forgiveness were crucial for his well being. At first he struggled, and whenever his bitterness arose, I suggested he pay attention to his body. He could feel a familiar block of rigid tension in his shoulders and upper arms and a constricted pain in his chest.  The clenched hurt and anger were a painful sign. He didn’t want to live this way. Even though he didn’t get the money, he did not want to live hating his brothers. Josh knew he had to release them. Over several months of repeated practice, the spirit of forgiveness came in, and little by little he learned to let go.

Forgiveness was also important for Julie, a college biosciences professor who worked as an ecological activist in Brazil and Guatemala.  On retreat she told me how she had recently seduced a graduate student, and two young women in the field.  She had mixed her love needs with the good work she was doing and her activism became a kind of self justification for these relationships.  It all came up in her meditation. Julie was not sorry for her attempts at love and connection, but she deeply regretted the pain and betrayal she had caused.

I suggested that Julie write the whole set of stories down.  They poured out of her.  Then I asked her permission to read them.  She gave them to me, and when I had done so we met together.  I asked her what she felt we should do next.  Her eyes watered and she said she wanted to ask forgiveness.  I offered her my own, and told her that she had to consciously understand and feel the impact of her actions to commit to not harming.  She thought she would write to these women. Then she had to find a way to forgive herself so she could be released from the past and let it go.

Even in extreme cases, the Buddhist teachings counsel forgiveness. In the Dhammapada, the Buddha gives an instruction that is both fierce and compassionate. “If someone has abused you, beat you, robbed you, abandon your thoughts of anger. Soon you will die. Life is too short to live with hatred.”  With forgiveness we become unwilling to wish harm to another.  Whenever we forgive, in small ways at home, or in great ways between nations, we free ourselves from the past.  This is necessary for the Bosnians and Serbs, the Irish Catholics and Protestants, the Hutus and Tutsis.  It is necessary to us all to find ways to forgive.

Laura grew up with a lot of shame about being poor.  Outwardly she tied to overcome this by hard work.  Laura was the first in her extended family to go to college, struggling with feeling insecure, like an outcast. After she graduated, she worked in the city for the Department of Public Safety. Sixteen years later she transferred to a farming community just in from the coast near Oxnard.  She said, “Now that I’ve lived in the city, when I go into the coffee shop and see the old clothes, the uneducated farmers, it’s so easy to judge them and feel myself as different.  We may be different in education and politics, but these are false ways we separate ourselves.  Then when I really look, I just want to drop my judgments and be with them, with us.”

“My father was like them. He drank too much. He berated us, his daughters.  He was terrible to his sons.  I was desperate to get free of him, of our family.  But my shame, anger and resentment stayed with me.  When I began Buddhist practice, it was hard to sit still.  After awhile I realized how sad I was, how much hurt was in my body.  I was just trying to cope.  I was grateful to be taught the loving-kindness and forgiveness practices. I did them twice a day for two years.  I needed to forgive myself for being so angry and ashamed, as much as to forgive my father.  Practicing forgiveness was like learning to stand and walk and feel good about myself.  Then I was able to go home, to see my family, even my father, without hurting so much.  Seven years later when my father got sick, it wasn’t hard to go back.  I saw his slow decline until finally he was a weak old man on his bed.  I knew that I loved him.  I had forgiven us all.”  With virtue and forgiveness we repair the world.’

- Jack Kornfield, The Wise Heart, Buddhist Psychology for the West.

Confession

Being black means spending your whole life from the moment you are born to the moment you die facing white people and their fucking racism. My parents and I are all pretty close. I went driving with my dad, and I told him some of racist things that had happened to me all my life. I told him about the time in middle school when I had said I was going to go to college when the teacher asked which one of us wanted to go to college. Then one of the stupid white kids in my class asked if I honestly thought I was going to go that far. Doesn’t matter that everyone in my family has gone to college on both sides and have successful careers. I clearly won’t make it because I’m black. And then another time a girl in my class back in middle school said that she thought the chocolate people should stay with chocolate people and the vanilla people should stay with the vanilla people all the while looking at me because I don’t ‘visually’ fit into one of those places in her mind. The same girl goes on to date a black guy. Then a black guy told me how he faced racism from a teacher because the teacher called him a monkey. And a whole lot more. While I was ranting to my dad in the car, he goes on to tell me about all the racism he faced in school and as an adult. He said his teachers didn’t expect him to get anywhere and that he should drop out of school because black people cant get anywhere. He told me about one time he was crossing the street and a white man in a truck pushing on the gas of his truck and basically chased him down the road and how he could see them laughing because “They like to make niggers run.” And the best one- how he was serving the country, and he was working an a hospital and had to tend to this old white lady. He would have to clean her vomit and shit and what did she turn around and do? She almost got him fired. She went and told one of the heads that my father was throwing vomit of her and a bunch of other graphic details. They had a hearing and my father was almost kicked out of his unit before other women came in at the last minute and said that the old women was lying. She said that the white women was a racist, and confessed to lying to her, and just didn’t want a black person to take care of her dying ass. They luckily didn’t fire my father, but he ended up leaving the unit not long anyway. Hearing that story, I hope all those people who tortured and gave my father a hard time when he was younger (early 20’s)- I hope they all had a painful death. They need a painful death. And I hope that’s what they got.

4

Sandor Clegane Survives ~ GoT Theory: Masterpost

 1.) Quiet Isle: “Why do they call it the Quiet Isle?” asked Podrick. “Those who dwell here are penitents, who seek to atone for their sins through contemplation, prayer, and silence. Only the Elder Brother and his proctors are permitted to speak, and the proctors for only one day of every seven.” And later another quote, “Many of our brothers came here to escape the horrors of the world, not dwell upon them. Brother Clement was not the only wounded man among us.” What better place to hide away than a place whose inhabitants takes vows not to speak? And he might be repenting for something, since he character showed some signs of guilt during the last scene with Arya. 

 2.) Meribald’s Dog: “The brothers always have a bone to spare for Dog.” I don’t think I need to explain why the dog that has no name is important. George RR Martin does nothing by mistake and he could have easily named the dog. Instead, he chose to use something that might remind you of a certain hound. (”I’m a dog, remember?” “Your Joffrey’s dog” “My own dog now.”)

 3.) Meeting Brother Narbert: When first Brienne and Podrick meet Brother Narbert, she asks if they have women on the island. “Not at present,” said Narbert. “Those women who do visit come to us sick or hurt, or heavy with child. The Seven have blessed out Elder Brother with healing hands. He has restored many a man to health that even the maesters could not cure, and many a women too.”

 4.) Other important Narbert quotes: “Lady Brienne is a warrior maid,” confided Meribald, “hunting for the Hound.” “Aye?” Narbert seemed taken aback. “To what end?” (Brienne touches her swordhilt) “His.” The proctor studied her. “You are… brawny for a woman, it is true, but… mayhaps I should take you up to the Elder Brother. He will have seen you corssing the mud. Come.” Once he knows that Brienne means to harm the Hound, he changes the topic and George uses some “…” to show that he is either hesitant or hiding something. 

 5.) Stranger: Way down at the far end, well away from the other animals, a huge black stallion trumpeted at the sound of their voices and kicked at the door of his stall. “Handsome he may be, but Driftwood was surely whelped in hell… Driftwood is a beast of burden.” And later the Elder Brother, “You may have seen a big black stallion in our stables. That was his warhorse, Stranger.” 

6.) The Gravedigger: (Probably the most well known theory, but I’ll do it anyway.) Higher still they passed a lichyard where a brother bigger than Brienne was struggling to dig a grave. From the way he moved, it was plain to see that he was lame… When dog went to sniff him, he dropped his spade and scratched his ear.” (And later when they are eating) “there were grown men as well, among them the big gravedigger they had encountered on the hill, who walked with an awkward lurching gait of one half-crippled.” A large man that likes dogs and walks seem lame, which may have been from the injury he took to his leg, the one Arya said was the worse of all his injuries. 

7.) Relevance in Sansa chapters: “You sad old hound.” In the Vale, there is an Old Blind Dog that Sansa meets. During the encounters with the dog, either before or after, the Hound is immediately mentioned. Sansa is with the dog when Marillion tries to rape her. He hits the dog and it runs away and then Lothor comes and saves her, who she thinks is the hound. And later,  “…only he was bigger than Tyrion had any right to be, and when he climbed into the bed his face was scarred only on one side. “I’ll have a song from you,” he rasped, and Sansa woke and found the old blind dog beside her once again. And of course, how often he mentions her even after he has left King’s Landing. “I wish the Hound were here.” “Not the Hound’s, no, how could it be? Of course it had to be Lothor…” “The Lord of Runestone stood as tall as the Hound.”“When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound had carried her to safety, not Littlefinger.”  “She could almost hear the rough rasp of his voice… she wondered what had become of Sandor Clegane. Did he know that they’d killed Joffrey? Would he care? He had been the prince’s sworn shield for years.” “As the boy’s lips touched her own, she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.” “She thought of Tyrion, and of the Hound and how he’d kissed her, and gave a nod.” Sandor stays super relevant in almost every Sansa chapter, despite the fact that she hasn’t seen him in a very long time. 

8.) The Elder Brother: Described by Brienne as a man not unlike Sandor, “He looks more like a man made to break bones than heal them.” The Elder Brother greets them and says, “New faces are always welcome. We see so few of them.” (And even more importantly,) The Elder Brother did not seemed dismayed by Brienne’s sex, but his smile did flicker and fade when the septon told him why she and Ser Hyle had come. “I see,” was all he said, before he turned away… Yet another person being shifty and changing the subject when the Hound is mentioned. Then, when they are alone, he sits down to talk with her. “The man you hunt is dead.” “I buried him myself.” (Talking about the raids at Saltpans) “Wolves are nobler than that… and so are dogs, I think.” “I know little of this man, Sandor Clegane… he fought, but found no joy in victory. He drank, to drown his pain in a sea of wine. He did not love, nor was he loved himself. Though he committed many sins, he never sought forgiveness… ignoble as it was, the hope of seeing his brother’s blood upon his blade was all this sad and angry creature lived for… and even that was taken from him.” All odd things to say about someone he didn’t know long, who was delirious and dying when first they met. AND THE MOST TALKED ABOUT “It is true then,” (Brienne) said dully, “Sandor Clegane is dead.” “He is at rest.” The elder brother paused, and then goes on to tell her a story, which is … 

9.) The Elder Brother’s Story: (So this is one that not a lot of people talk about. Actually I haven’t seen any posts about it, which is odd cause I got a lot from it. Basically just remember that for him to tell this story, something had to have reminded him of it, and they were just talking about Sandor. And again ends it with something about Sandor, which means he was thinking of him while he told the story) “Would it surprise you to learn that I was once a knight? … I never chose it. My father was a knight, and his before him… I had women and there I did disgrace myself, for some I took by force. There was a woman I wished to marry, the younger daughter of a petty lord, but I was my father’s third born son and had neither land nor wealth to offer her… only a sword, a horse, a shield. I was a sad man. When I was not fighting, I was drunk. My life was writ in red, in blood and wine.” (pretty much the exact description of Sandor, so he sees something of himself in the Hound) He goes on to say that he died in the Battle of the Trident. “I took an arrow through the thigh (Sandor also took a wound to the thigh) and my horse was killed from under me. I can still remember how desperate I was to find another horse, for I had no coin to buy one, and without a horse I would no longer be a knight. That was all I was thinking of, if truth be told.” He then says he was knocked out and should have died, but he didn’t. “I woke up on the Quiet Isle.. I can only think that someone found me in the shallows (dying, alone, and with nothing, just like he found Sandor) He then says that he came into his second life and took a vow of silence. Now, is there a point to this story? Brienne says “I see.” “Do you?” He leaned forward. “If so, give up this quest of yours. The Hound is dead, and in any case he never had your Sansa Stark… go home, child. You have a home, which is more than many can say in these dark days.” 

Now, if Sandor Clegane really was dead, then his story was seemingly pointless. Sandor’s death shouldn’t have reminded him of his second chance at life unless he himself (Sandor) had been given one. The fact that he had nothing, had even lost his horse and taken a wound to the thigh (just like the Elder Brother had) means that the brother probably did for the Hound as some stranger did for him. He knows that Brienne doesn’t understand and drives the point home by telling her to stop looking and to leave, so that Sandor can live his second life as the Elder Brother lived his. I don’t know why more people don’t talk about this conversation, but it makes me feel the most confident out of anything else. 

10.) Bonus The Volonqar: (So I don’t really believe this one but I’ve heard it multiple times and it is a masterpost so I wanted to mention it) There’s a theory that says Sandor may in fact by Cersei’s volonqar instead of Tyrion. Basically, since we never actually saw the hound’s brother, Gregor die and since Qyburn was experimenting on him to save his life, the idea is that Robert the Strong is Gregor Clegane. Qyburn says when he begins the experiments that he will not be the same, which may be the reason for his vow of silence, he might not even be able to speak. Plus the fact that Qyburn is the one to bring him to Cersei says a lot. The idea is that Gregor Clegane will stand for Cersei if there is ever a trial by battle, and Sandor will come to represent the faith, since he has been doing penitence at the Quiet Isle and hates his brother (as proved by Meribald saying the idea of killing his brother is all Sandor lived for and he thought that that was taken from him.) Valonqar means “little brother” in high valyrian… so the theory is it’s not Cersei’s little brother, but instead Gregor’s. So the Mountain’s little brother, the Hound, kills him in trial by battle, sentencing Cersei to death and making Maggy the Frog’s prophecy come true.   

I did this post once before, but I deleted it by accident so this is a second version with a little added. Enjoy & thanks for reading. 

-AWhisperofWorlds