CATELYN
Being ghost divorced sucked.
It wasn't even the lack of sex, or the loneliness, or the knowledge that she'd broken Ned's dead heart so bad that he'd dumped her, his lady wife, the mother of his five trueborn children. The worst part was just how weird it was to find herself as a newly-single, dead, bachelorette. She'd gotten so entombed in her life with Ned at Winterfell that she hadn't even noticed the world and culture in general were continuing their onward march while she remained stationary, pumping out babies and writing furious diary entries about her hatred for Jon Snow.
Fucking Jon Snow, she thought suddenly, and kicked an ethereal rock into the stream. If I had my diary now I'd really let that little fucker have it.
The prospects for a ghost divorcee were dire, it seemed. Catelyn was still a fairly young ghost, and cute; but the men she had been meeting in the afterlife all seemed like children to her, like icky little boys with trendy haircuts and strange, casual views about romance. Even the ones who were older than her seemed like apathetic babies who only wanted their ghost roots sucked.
For a while Catelyn had turned inward and convinced herself there was no need to date in the afterlife. You couldn't reproduce anymore, after all. And there was no need for any sort of financial security or social safety net in the form of a husband since everything was free. No one slept; sleep was not a thing in the afterlife. After she was intimate with a ghost they would both simply lay there in bed, staring. Once she'd tried to cuddle, but her date had shrugged her off, claiming he had a headache. Bullshit, she had realized. None of us can feel pain. But she had just rolled over and stared at the wall for seven more hours until it was daylight again and it seemed acceptable for them both to depart for wherever it was ghosts were supposed to go during the day. Catelyn didn't really know where that was so she'd just gone back to the stream and ruminated on Jon Snow some more.
But that wouldn't get it, either. She was simply too bored to stay single. There had to be someone in this godforsaken heavenly plane with whom she could… do something. Paint pictures, play tennis, who the fuck knew? Maybe cook? Although food and eating weren't things, either.
Her days had slowly devolved into a very simple routine. She would wait by the stream until morning, when other ghosts would finally begin wandering the countryside. Then she'd catcall the cute ones. "Hey! Wanna fuck?" But many of the ghosts clearly wanted no part of Catelyn Stark, and they'd bound away like sheep or goats on the run from a pissed off German shepherd. If she managed to hook somebody, they'd usually just go for a weird little walk along the stream while Catelyn tried to make smalltalk, which she was terrible at.
"So, what's your… favorite… time of day…"
"Um…"
Et cetera.
She must've been dead for about a month when she finally met Sandor. He was tall, heavily-muscled, and had a roguish grin that always bared the teeth on the burned side of his face. Catelyn had found him as she found everyone, wandering past her stream. "Hey!" she'd cried. "You wanna fuck?"
Sandor had swiveled his head toward her, looked, dusted his hands off on his thighs, and jogged over.
"Yes, ma'am," he'd said.
After they were finished and staring in bed together, they got to talking about their lives. Sandor learned he had just shot ghost cum into the Lady of Winterfell, and Catelyn learned that Arya had tormented Sandor mercilessly before his death from an infected wound.
"She used to call me ugly and stupid," he admitted quietly. "And she used to beat me up."
"Arya?" Catelyn was in disbelief. "But she was only eight, or nine maybe. And like a sixth of your size."
"She was so fast though!" Sandor cried, balling his fists and rubbing viciously at his eyes. "Trying to swat her down was like trying to keep a swarm of wasps from stinging. She was everywhere. Her and that fucking Needle."
When Catelyn learned that Jon Snow had armed her young daughter with steel, she became so furious that she vomited. Sandor held her hair for her and told her it would be okay. He explained that surely Jon Snow would someday die, too, and then they could kick his ass, just like he deserved. This was the magic message Catelyn realized she had been waiting for: someday Jon Snow would die and be flung into this realm with her and Sandor. Someday she'd be able to get her revenge.
Sandor showed Catelyn a huge bruise on the side of his neck. "She karate chopped me here," he said. Catelyn kissed the bruise. "And here," he said, indicating his dick. She kissed that too.
"I love you, Catey," Sandor said.
"I love you, too, Sandy."
"Will you ghost marry me?"
"Oh, Sandy!" She wiped a last smudge of vomit from the side of her lip and kissed him full on the mouth. "You fuckin' know I will."
"Who will we invite to our ghost wedding?" Sandor asked. He was giddy. He'd never been married before. Or had sex. Today was full of firsts for him.
"Eddard Stark," Catelyn said.
