#Reek it rhymes with weak

[selkiewife]

She should not look to me for rescue. Theon Greyjoy might have tried to help her, once. But Theon had been ironborn, and a braver man than Reek. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak.

TWO WEEKS OF THEON ↳ What Ifs- What if OLIVA COOKE had been cast as JEYNE POOLE

[atopvisenyashill]

staying in the north because that’s home

we’re doing theon chapters next lads it’s about to get very sad in here. also theon has more chapters so this one is a little longer. tldr on theon’s adwd arc:

FIRSTLY I kept track of his reek rhymes it goes leek bleak meek leek squeak cheek leak weak freak sneak wreak peek freak shriek meek peek weak sneak

Secondly, just for reference, his chapter names are Reek I, Reek II, Reek III, The Prince of Winterfell, The Turncloack, A Ghost in Winterfell, and Theon. When I saw “Theon” I genuinely cheered out loud.

I like these chapters a lot because there’s a lot to analyze without (at least to me) being all that plot heavy. They just like, go to a wedding then hang out at Winterfell. Meanwhile Theon is losing his mind and also connecting spiritually with a nine year old.

I think it’s soooo funny that everyone is like “oh that Tully Temper” as if the northmen aren’t just as unpleasant as cat hoster lysa edmure and blackfish lol. like these are the bitchiest people in the world omg.

let’s goo

we are just opening with eating a alive rat let’s get into this shit.

kyra story is horrifying. the characterization for her is interesting as she introduces us to ramsay's little most dangerous game playground - ramsay truly sets her free to give her a headstart and she realizes she won't be able to find her way home on her own so she goes to the one person she knows is both skilled enough to help and likely willing to help, which is theon. but theon in that moment is still just steeped in his selfishness; he's almost more angry at kyra for not splitting up so he could get away than at ramsay for hunting them down and gruesomely murdering her.

Ramsay was clad in black and pink—black boots, black belt and scabbard, black leather jerkin over a pink velvet doublet slashed with dark red satin. In his right ear gleamed a garnet cut in the shape of a drop of blood.

the DRIP omg once again angry that the Northerners all wear the exact same ugly outfit when we could have gotten THIS

THEONSA QUOTE

but also his "she is only a girl" about arya marrying ramsay....that hurt me too

No. I never thought we would. They’re dead. Lord Wyman had them killed. That’s what I would have done if I was him.

first of all - i love this evil little kid lmao

second of all - i love that he very pragmatically is like "yeah those bitches should have realized they were gonna get got"

third of all - kinda love that he hangs around talking to theon. as i've been thinking about who will get the twins at the end, I think what's interesting here is that Little Walder, the "stupid" one, is the Frey that latches onto Ramsay while Big Walder, the "smart" one, seems to talk to everyone there, more intent on gathering information than purposefully currying favor with any one person, even from lowly, broken little Reek.

After the scratch the Young Wolf gave Lord Rickard, that may be somewhat less true than formerly. Be that as it may. Lord Stannis has taken Deepwood Motte from the ironmen and restored it to House Glover. Worse, the mountain clans have joined him, Wull and Norrey and Liddle and the rest. His strength is growing.

so we’re at Winterfell. This is how it shakes out-

WINTERFELL, STARK LOYALISTS: Manderly, Hornwood, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Locke, Hothor “Whoresbane” Umber WINTERFELL, BOLTON LOYALISTS: Bolton, Frey WINTERFELL, SHADY GROUPS: Ryswell, Dustin, FF Flints, Stout WITH STANNIS: Mors “Crowsfood” Umber, Mountain Clans (First Flints, Wulls, Liddles, Harclays, etc), Mormont, Glover, possibly WW Flints as well? IN THE WIND: Reed, Karstark, Skagosi

just listing that here so i have it somewhere.

"Has my bastard ever told you how I got him?” That he did know, to his relief. “Yes, my … m’lord. You met his mother whilst out riding and were smitten by her beauty.” “Smitten?” Bolton laughed. “Did he use that word? Why, the boy has a singer’s soul."

this one hurt my feelings. Especially in conjunction with Roose's "don't make me regret the day I raped your mother" and the way that's the comment that really gets under Ramsay's skin - I think he much prefers to tell himself that Roose was simply ~overcome with lust~ for his mother's beauty rather than Roose thinking she wasn't even worth the time it took to rape her

"You could be my man." "I'm no one's man."

screaming

interesting how both Barbrey and Wyman distrust Maesters

"And be quick about it. If she’s not wet by the time I’m done disrobing, I will cut off that tongue of yours and nail it to the wall.” Somewhere in the godswood, a raven screamed.

that's Bran btw

“Please,” he murmured through his broken teeth, “I never meant …” The words caught in his throat. “Save me,” he finally managed. “Give me …” What? Strength? Courage? Mercy? Snow fell around him, pale and silent, keeping its own counsel. The only sound was a faint soft sobbing. Jeyne, he thought. It is her, sobbing in her bridal bed. Who else could it be? Gods do not weep. Or do they? The sound was too painful to endure. Theon grabbed hold of a branch and pulled himself back to his feet, knocked the snow off his legs, and limped back toward the lights. There are ghosts in Winterfell, he thought, and I am one of them.

THAT'S BRAN TOO. GODS WEEP AND THEY WEEP FOR YOU AND JEYNE THEON!!!!

The girls were glad to see him. They knew him by his smell. Red Jeyne loped over to lick at his hand, and Helicent slipped under the table and curled up by his feet, gnawing at a bone. They were good dogs.

i'm curious if this will come up again - that Ramsay's dogs know Theon (because he sleeps with them) and they seem to like him, and they're fairly well behaved despite being raised by Ramsay.

The gods could not kill Bran any more than I could. It was a strange thought and stranger still to remember that Bran might still be alive.

screaming

so there's the murdery mystery plot. what's interesting to me here is that once we get to the Prince of Winterfell, Theon stops referring to himself as Reek (until Ramsay rapes Theon & Jeyne on their wedding night). But in the Turncloak, he goes back to being his usual prickly self; he's picking up on what people aren't saying, he starts with his "jeyne jeyne rhymes with pain" as a substitute for the reek bit, and even when he's doing the reek bit he's not just using random words, he's using insults for himself - meek, weak, freak, etc. By the murder mystery, he's straight up snapping at people, interacting with people, actively lying for no real reason, and he seems to start really resenting the idea that he'll have to go back to being Reek. There's a level of barely concealed rage more an anything but it's not directed at the people around him, it's directed at Ramsay for the first time and it's directed at himself.

anyways, there’s this clear shift as Theon starts breaking out of the brainwashing effect the torture has on him but it's not a shift into being mentally well it's just a shift back into being Theon Greyjoy and that means prickly, and that means weird magic stuff too.

The poetry. of theon’s chapters starting with his thoughts on kyra, mad at her for needing his help, to theon lying to get jeyne out of there, and grabbing her before he jumps, without even a thought in his head about leaving her behind.

[saigoat]

Going off the last anon, consider post- Reek Theon so disoriented by stockholm syndrome he finds himself jerking off to memories of Ramsay.

Happy Birthday <3

An accident. It was just an accident right? The blood painted his healing skin a dark crimson, catching on scars and dripping to the cold linoleum of Robb's bathroom floor. The pain burned in that old familiar way, the sting. As his pulse pushed more of the warm liquid out, his shaking palm weakly tried to keep the flow stifled.

The shame ate at him like a festering disease, he could feel the horrible scar at his groin throb with anticipation. Usually pleasure followed pain, well if you could call what Bolton did to him 'pleasurable'. Thrumming, his heart practically leapt around in his chest, stomach sinking and his mind foggy with old habits. He could feel the nagging voice return, blooming like a poisonous flower in the back of his mind. A broken longing for the prize he'd earned for enduring suffering.

Reek, rhymes with weak, bleak, tweek, sneak

Sneaky, he despised himself. Robb was on the other side of the door, knocking gently using that tender voice that made Theon feel small like some wounded animal in need of pity.

"Theon, are you alright in there?" He cooed "We could go to the clinic?"

"It-it's okay." He choked out, "I just need a minute it's no-not that bad."

The gash was still spewing blood but that wasn't the first thing on his mind, he needed relief. Theon waited for receding footsteps, once he was sure he was alone he dropped to the floor and shed his pants. Guilt, embarrassment, fear. Even without Ramsay here he had a tyrannical grip on Reeks mind and body.

Ramsay...

His thick fingers roaming his pet's body, tracing his scars and bruises like they were works of fine art. Digging nails into the healing ones to coax more cries from his captive. As his thoughts roamed to the mildewy basement, his remaining digits prodded at his healed entrance. The saltire, rotten with his bodily fluids, the shackles for when Master needed to leave for any extended period of time, his dirty little dog bed he earned after he swallowed his lords filthy cum without throwing up. Reek pushed the first finger inside hissing at the familiar feeling of being violated. Reek was a forgetful, dim little creature. But there's one thing he could never burn from his memory.

Ramsay's heavy body pinning him down, ripping open his nethers as his unkind hands rubbed at his scar mound like it was a cunt. Whispering horrid things in Reek's ear, vivid descriptions of what was to come. Theon added another finger, stretching and pushing into himself, he could have moaned unbidden if he wasn't worried about drawing attention to his ugly charade.

How bad would it be to return? He'd give anything to go back to his basement, beg for his Masters forgiveness... Try to explain his faithful dog would never leave his side of his own volition. Perhaps he'd just take another finger and then fuck him into the dirt until he couldn't breath. He fucked himself harder on the hard tile, heat pooling in his guts and his ruined cock throbbing in anticipation.

"Cum for me, Sweetling."

Reek spasmed, spilling his seed as tears streaked his face. The cut on his arm had stopped its bleeding, but there was worse pain to endure than physical damage. He cleaned himself up and tried to keep the shame from his face as he rejoined the Starks outside.

[serenanymph]

find the word tag

Tagged by @space-writes over here with the words take, lower, fine and dive!! Gently tagging uhhhh @macabremoons, @reneesbooks and @lyssa-ink with the words nest, just, revenge and identity!

take

There’s a pause, as the four of them look at each other – the Halfling full of distrust, unwilling to let his guard down even just to take a break; Icarus full of worry, not wanting to sit down until he’s made sure everyone really is resting. Crys, of course, is unreadable as always, expression impassive as a stone wall. If he didn’t reek of chaos magic – if Rhyme didn’t know to look for that slight twitch to his fingers, the way he clenches his fist at a flash of pain – she wouldn’t have known he was injured at all. She’d be impressed with his poker face if it wasn’t so damn annoying.

lower(s)

“She’s fine,” Zephyr coughs from where he’s leaning against Kas. Both of them look equally exhausted. “It was just – just a stupid disagreement with a few others. I panicked and overreacted.” He lowers his eyes – eye, he’d strapped the eyepatch back on – towards the ground. “Sorry.” And then he lifts his eyes again, looking past her, and freezes.

fine

It is an overcast day, when he sets out on his own – the sky clouded and gray, the sun weak and watery. The rain falls in a light drizzle, the water droplets fine as mist. He turns his dirt-smeared face up towards the sky, blinking rapidly. His split lip stings and tastes of copper when he licks it. The tunic and cloak he is wearing is made of rough sackcloth, torn and frayed and worn at the edges, half falling apart.

dive

Someone cuts through the air overhead – soundlessly swooping in before dropping into a sharp dive – and then there’s a Crow with a high ponytail falling into step right beside Kas with ease. He doesn’t flinch; evidently expecting this or used to it.

taglist (lmk if you want to be +/-): @deer-in-headlights-stare, @allianaavelinjackson, @arctic-oceans, @space-writes, @reneesbooks

[mayaswiterblog]

Beautiful Starry Night

The 8th of February 2020, then posted in Wattpad. Poems were made in sleep.

Beautiful Starry Night When the stars dipped deep Into clouds that quick leap, As the snow through seep, In the form of flakes, you see. The cold touch out reap, Lives of past and weak, Lays down the white sheet, Angels gather and seek. In the land of the Greeks, Unmatched, kind freaks, Speaks truth of sky deep, Full of talents he reeks, Brings a colossal fear. What a mess of lines, Trapped in wicked rhymes, Glitter secrets leak, To fret you shan't need, For Shining Stars grudges don't keep. As you see, magical, indeed, Of human relations; - What a wonderful read.

Softer version When the stars dipped deep into clouds that quickly leap, Angles peek from their soft sheets, Gather and start to seek For secrets that the Moon hides in her beam. The murmur of angel wings, Make stars giggle in their sleep. Where is the mystery, where are the stars? The Moon solely lights up the night sky. But if one man spots a glittering, leaping star He may take a peek at celestial secrets without any reason.

Finnish Version Kun tähdet uppoavat pehmeisiin pilviin Kuu hohtaa ja valaisee yksin yö-taivaalla. Enkelit siipiään suhisten etsivät hiljaa Salaisuuksia pilvistä, tähdistä ja mistä muusta. Tähdet nukkuvat pilvien lakanoiden alla Kaikki taivaan kilinä ja kikatus pysyy verhojen takana. Mutta jos vaikka näkee yhden loikkivan kirkkaan tähden Voi yhden salaisuuden kurkata ilman mitään syytä.

[peterjakes]

Theon x Sansa - 'I thought I saw the devil this morning'

Theon Greyjoy is not Theon Greyjoy, but Reek. Reek. Reek. He will always be Reek. He is contented with that. That is until Sansa Stark arrives back in Winterfell. She is here and she will find him. She won't find Reek, but Theon.

set during s5 when Sansa and theon meet at winterfell

split pov bc I'm quite enjoying that way of writing

thought it would be interesting to look at some of the moments we see in the show when Sansa and theon meet again

thanks as ever for reading x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45895981

Theon had seen her before she had seen him. He had gotten use to hiding in the shadows, cowering down to his master, being the obedient dog that he would always be. Something that his master wouldn’t be too please about was how well Theon had finessed his overhearing skills. He knew Sansa was coming to Winterfell before he saw her. Theon wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. How should he feel? Guilty, perhaps? Theon had lost track of time; he wasn’t sure how long he had been Reek, how long he had been under his master’s spell, how much time has passed since then.

Theon hadn’t seen a Stark since he took Winterfell, since he lost Bran and Rickon, and killed those two farm boys in their place. Robb and Lady Stark had been killed. Arya was missing. Ned Stark was still dead. Jon was at the Wall. Bran and Rickon were probably dead. Sansa was the only one left. Theon’s mind wandered to memories of Sansa, memories of Winterfell, of their childhood. So many of those had been blocked out, washed away, or altered. Who was this Theon Greyjoy who would spend time following Robb Stark around? Flirting with girls. Teasing Jon. Who was this Theon who had once wondered if Lord Stark would marry him to Sansa? He would have been part of them all, a real Stark. What a stupid thing to think. Theon Greyjoy thought this once.

But this Theon didn’t exist. It was Reek. Reek, Reek. Reek. But Reek didn’t know Sansa. Reek didn’t have something shared, something connected with Sansa. So why was he feeling this way? Why was he scared of her finding him? Why did he secretly want her to find him? It was Theon who knew Sansa. Theon who felt so much regret and guilt about what he had done to her family. Theon had known Sansa was coming. He knew he would have to face her eventually. Face what he had done to her family.

It was in the courtyard. Where Theon Greyjoy would practice his archery, where he would spar with Robb and Jon, where he would chase servant girls for a kiss. Where Theon Greyjoy had beheaded Ser Rodrick, where he had displayed the tiny burnt bodies for all to see, where Theon Greyjoy was no longer himself. Sansa looked different. Her usual kissed-by-fire auburn hair had been replaced with something dark. She was no longer a young girl; she had grown up.  She had walked by with her face full of confusion. Sansa hadn’t noticed him; she hadn’t even looked in his direction. A sense of relief waved through Theon, but he had to know it wouldn’t last. It would happen eventually and nothing Theon could do would prepare him for that. For once, he would have to face it. But that wasn’t what he did. That wasn’t Reek. Not without his master’s say so. Reek would hide, that is what Reek would do. Hide, hide away until it all stopped. Reek, reek it rhymes with meak. Weak. Meak. Meak Reek. Weak Reek. Not Theon. But it wasn’t Reek who knew Sansa, but Theon. Theon. Theon Greyjoy. Theon.

And so, he did. He hid, he waited. He took his place where he belonged, in the kennels. It wasn’t until later that he was disturbed. Theon could sense something was coming, someone. The dogs had started to howl, started to growl, they were riled up. They were hungry. Theon knew only too well what happened when these starving beasts were let out on a hunt. It couldn’t be Master, no, he was the only one the dogs obeyed. They were too loud for Master. Theon didn’t need to play a game of guessing; it could only be one person. Theon knew she would find him eventually. Maybe it was the Master, playing one of his tricks. Maybe he had forced her down here, wanting her to find him. Maybe it was punishment for listening in, for watching her from across the courtyard. Why, why?

Sansa couldn’t have heard what had happened to him, not by the look on her face. But most of Westeros must have known. They must have known how Balon Greyjoy’s last living son was a laughingstock to all of the Iron Islands. How he had tried and failed to take Winterfell, how he had handed it over to the Bolton’s and got Robb killed, the King in the North. His King. How he had betrayed his so-called captors, betrayed the people he knew best. How he had allowed his sister, Yara, and her soldiers to rescue him, only for Theon to refuse, only for him to stay Ramsey’s prisoner, to stay as Reek.

Theon grew up believing his was prisoner of the Starks, and maybe he was. But he was far more than that. He was the Starks children’s friend. He was Robb’s brother. He was part of their family. Maybe not in the way he had wished, the way he had secretly wanted. But as he had once said, his real father died in King’s Landing. The Starks were more of a family than the Greyjoy’s ever were. And he betrayed them. He could never make up for that. He would live as Reek for all of his days, serving his Master, feeling that guilt forever.

“Theon.” Sansa’s voice was relatively unchanged. Theon knew that voice. He had heard it many times. But the tone, that was different. Sansa didn’t see someone she knew. She didn’t see her brother’s friend. She saw a traitor. Theon wanted to curl up in that moment, get as far away as he could. If only Master would come. He would stop it. He might even get angry at Theon, yes, he would be angry. Would he end it all there? No, he would not. He didn’t want to die in that moment, he couldn’t. But the Godswood, that was different. He had sneanked away once, not so long ago. He had asked, he had prayed, he had even begged, to die as Theon, not as Reek. Never as Reek. But Master had found out. He has been angry. Master had done things…things he hadn’t before. He had punished Theon. No, Reek. Reek.

There she was, glaring down at him. Her eyebrows were furrowed, her breath shaky, her hands gripping tightly onto her dress. Theon had some idea what she was thinking, what she was feeling. Here sat the one person who had ruined everything, destroyed everything, anything that Sansa held dear was gone because of him. Sansa couldn’t have known who she would have found in the kennels. Who would have thought it, Theon Greyjoy, the once heir to the Iron Islands, would be a weak, prisoner? Would be Reek. Would no longer be himself.

Avoiding her eye, Theon could only shake his head. He couldn’t manage any words. What would he say? It was not Theon but Reek. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with weak. She had found Reek huddling in the corner, not Theon. Reek, Reek. Reek the freak. He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t defend what he had done. Not even Theon could do that. He couldn’t do anything.

Sansa’s gaze stayed on Theon, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. As if she couldn’t look away. She needed to know whether this was real, whether Theon was truly sitting below her, looking like that. Her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, surely not. Theon was there. Theon. Not Reek to her, Sansa didn’t even know who Reek was.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Theon gulped; his eyes glazed over. Sansa shouldn’t have come down to the kennels, it wasn’t right. But Sansa shouldn’t be in Winterfell. A Stark should always be at Winterfell. But it had changed. This was not the place Sansa had once known. Not the place she had dreamt her dreams. Argued with her sister. Learnt to sew. Sansa couldn’t be here, no, no, no. Not with the Master, she couldn’t. What would he do to her? No, no, no. He didn’t want to think about that, that couldn’t happen. Not to Sansa. She needed to be as far away as possible. She couldn’t. Theon couldn’t let that happen. But Reek? Would Reek? Could he?

This only seemed to anger Sansa more, she let her hand drop from the gate, edging closer to him. No, no, no. Master wouldn’t like it, her getting so close. Would she strike him? She’d have every right. The slumped body down below quickly scattered closer to the edge of the cell, trying to get as far away from her as possible. She stopped in her tracks, looking him up and down. How pathetic did he look in this moment? How was this Theon Greyjoy?

Theon had been beaten, mutilated, stripped away. Theon Greyjoy, the Theon that Sansa knew, the Theon that grew up in Winterfell with the Starks, the Theon that betrayed them, no longer existed. Master had made sure of that. He’d taken him away, cast him aside, thrown him in the snow. But Sansa…Eddard Stark’s oldest daughter. Sansa Stark. Lady Sansa. This couldn’t be her end. She didn’t deserve it.

She would always be Sansa, she had to be. What had happened to Theon Greyjoy, it couldn’t happen to her. What the master had done to Theon Greyjoy, the cutting, the pulling, the knifing, the stripping, the pulling – all of it, that wasn’t going to happen to Sansa. Theon couldn’t let it. He wouldn’t.

*

Winterfell was Sansa’s home. That was what she would tell Myranda. She was a Stark, this was where she belonged. It just didn’t feel like it. She was surrounded by strangers, Bolton soldiers, northerners who had betrayed her family. And him, someone she hadn’t thought of for many years. Theon Greyjoy. A once valued member of Winterfell. Her father’s ward. Her brother’s friend. Maybe even her friend. She hadn’t expected to find him here. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. The last time she was at Winterfell, it felt like a different world. Sansa had no idea what horrors would visit her family. She knew of Theon’s betrayal. How the Frey’s had killed her brother and mother. How the Bolton’s had taken over her family home. But she had heard no word of Theon Greyjoy. It seemed Theon Greyjoy didn’t exist.

That was until she saw him, cowering them in the kennels. Sansa felt an intense wave of anger when she saw him. Followed by some confusion and even sadness. There sat the person who had ruined so much. Who had killed her two baby brothers, innocents. Why was he here? What was he doing?

The family was eating, and Sansa supposed she was included in that now. A relatively boring affair until Ramsey called out for some more wine. Sansa’s eyes flicked towards the door as this figure slowly walked into the room. It wasn’t the swagger she remembered when she was a child. He would often flounce around Winterfell’s grounds, as if he was so much better than everyone else. For a time, Sansa could see why he thought that. He was rather handsome. But now, he was anything but. She could see him more clearly now, than she had in the darkness of the kennels. Those once chestnut curls were now matted, his face was barely visible with the dirt and dust and the smell. Well, the smell was riper now. It was clear he hadn’t had a wash in a long time. What was Ramsey doing with him? The rags he was wearing engulfed him, as if they had always been too big.

The figure had avoided Sansa’s eye, as he had earlier. It was as if she wasn’t even in the room. It was clearly intended, to not look at her. This only angered Sansa more. How could he be here at Winterfell, to know she was here and just plainly ignore her? It seemed as if an eternity had passed before he arrived at the table, pouring Ramsey’s portion of wine first. Sansa assumed it was mainly due to what injury he had. His body seemed so small in comparison to the one she had seen practising archery and sparring with her brothers. He was hunched over, making no attempt to rise his head. The way he walked, that was different too. He was hobbling, as if he couldn’t walk straight.

“I heard you two had been reunited. A fitting place for it. I like to imagine that the last time you spoke was in this very room.” Sansa imagined Myranda, that girl, had told him. Reunited, she could have laughed if she wasn’t so angry.

Theon had stopped before pouring Sansa’s wine. It was only for a moment, a second, but Sansa had noticed. Sansa couldn’t help but move herself away from him as he poured. Not only was the smell almost unbearable, but she also didn’t want him to come any closer. Theon still hadn’t made an attempt to look at her, but Sansa made sure to watch him as he slowly walked around the table, pouring wine into the last remaining glasses.

Ramsey had started speaking, but Sansa wasn’t listening. All her energy, all her focus, all her anger was on one person. He had turned around now, focusing on something far away. But Sansa wouldn’t let herself turn. She couldn’t. There was a mention of punishment. Ramsey had punished Theon. Yes, that was evidently clear to Sansa. She didn’t need to know the details, but she could tell, it was not Theon standing there. He had been changed. Theon was looking at the ground, he seemed so intent on not looking at any of them. Even Ramsey. What had he done to him? How had he changed him? The Theon Greyjoy Sansa remembered, the one who had sworn loyalty to House Stark, to her brother Robb, he was not here. He was hidden. He was gone, perhaps.

But that was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t Theon Greyjoy anymore. That was clear to Sansa. Ramsey began to explain himself, using that bizarre name. Reek. Theon turned around quickly at the call of his so-called new name. He looked at Ramsey now, the first time had had focused his eyes on anyone in the room. He looked at only his master.

“Yes, Master.” This was the first time Sansa had heard him speak, properly speak. That voice, it sounded so strange. Sansa wasn’t familiar with it. She didn’t like it. How it scraped across her ears.

Reek. Reek. Ramsey kept using this new name. And Theon responded to that. She had called him Theon when she first saw him again. But no, it wasn’t Theon but Reek. Reek. Gods, it even sounded revolting. Ramsey knew what he was doing, by using this name. But Sansa didn’t understand. What was Ramsey doing? What was he trying to achieve? It was clear that it wasn’t just Sansa who was feeling uncomfortable. The atmosphere before this awful conversation wasn’t exactly pleasant, but Sansa didn’t care. She had gotten used to ignoring things, only listening to what was important. But now, it was too strange.

Frowning, Sansa spoke up. “Why are you doing this?” It was unlikely that she would receive a proper answer from Ramsey. Or at least a truthful one. She was used to being lied to. Being tricked.

Ramsey smiled, stating Reek had something to say. What could he say to make this any better? His eyes flickered around the room, not staying in one place. He didn’t move, not until he was forced to follow Ramsey’s finger, turning to face his master. Limping along, he only look at Ramsey in that moment. His eyes were not focused, as if he was transported somewhere else.

Ramsey was losing his patience with his servant, that was clear to Sansa. Asking for an apology. She didn’t want him to apologise. She didn’t want him to be here. She didn’t want anything from him. But it seemed Ramsey Bolton always got what he wanted. He wanted to kill Theon Greyjoy, and clearly, he had. Theon wasn’t there. His mouth moved ever so slightly, but no words appeared. A quiver, and then he managed a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Look at her, Reek. An apology doesn’t mean anything if you’re not looking the person in the eye.” He still only looked at Ramsey. He couldn’t even look at her. He was forced to look at her, but he knew she was there. He knew she was looking at him with so much feeling. Sansa took a deep breath, her eyes still focused on him, trying to gauge what he was going to do.

“I’m sorry.” Theon didn’t whisper this time. His voiced echoed the room. But this still wasn’t Theon’s voice, but Reek’s. Theon had finally looked at her. It didn’t give Sansa the satisfaction she had wanted, only made her feel worse.

And what was he sorry for? Ramsey didn’t miss a beat, as if he had planned this. For killing her brothers, yes, Theon. But that wasn’t all Theon had done. Ser Rodrik. Bran. Rickon. Maester Luwin. Robb. Her mother. Betraying her father. Winterfell. The North.

He had stopped looking at her now and Sansa in turn broke her gaze with him, feeling Ramsey’s eyes on her. Did he want a reaction from Sansa? Did he want her to shout out? That wasn’t going to happen. No matter how angry Sansa was, how broken she was even just thinking about her family, she wouldn’t give anyone that satisfaction. Not now. Not after everything. Theon’s breathing became sharp, and he had resumed his previous position of avoiding her eye.

Ramsey laughed, like it was all just a game. Sansa didn’t like games. She’d had enough experience of games in the capitol. But this was different. The games Cersei, Joffrey, even Tyrion would play, they were not the same as Ramsey Bolton’s games. Not one bit. Ramsey was speaking again, Sansa only caught so much of what he was saying. The figure had this back turned once again, but Sansa was still looking at him. It was as if she couldn’t stop looking at him. She wanted him to feel her eyes on him, the hairs on his neck to raise.

But Ramsey had not finished. Theon, or rather, Reek, was the closest thing Sansa had to family. Family? Her family was dead. Her brothers, dead. Her father, dead. Her mother, dead. Her sister, probably dead. She had no one. Not even Littlefinger. Theon was not here, but Reek. And Reek would give Sansa away.

There was a part of Sansa who looked at Theon as he was now and felt validation. He deserved this, he deserved all of this. For what he did to her, to her family, her home. But that part of Sansa was angry, she was angry at her father, at his death, at the Lannisters, and now the Boltons. She almost felt sorry for him, almost. She felt sorry for the person she had once known. Sorry for the Theon Greyjoy, who had grown up with the Stark children. Theon Greyjoy, who had laughed at Robb’s bad jokes. Theon Greyjoy, who was always a part of their life growing up. But then he destroyed it all.

Theon should have died. He should have died with Robb. But he didn’t. He was here with Sansa at Winterfell. He was the last connection she had to her childhood. As Ramsey had put it, the closest thing she had to living kin. How sad that was. Or maybe he should have died for his crimes. A traitor of the North. Beheaded, as her father once was. Felt the pain, as she had. The sadness, as the North had. But he didn’t do any of that. Whatever had happened to Theon, he was here at Winterfell, with Sansa.

Theon didn’t look like Theon. He didn’t walk like Theon, talk like Theon. It was if he was someone else completely. Reek, as Ramsey had said. His name was now Reek. Sansa didn’t entirely understand Ramsey at first. He was…odd. He said and did strange things. And that devilish smile, Sansa did not believe any good would come for her here. After that conversation, Sansa seemed to have an idea about what Ramsey was like, but not fully. She would not realise what kind of man Ramsey Bolton was until her wedding night.

[averyriddle]

Twenty Years of Finding Peace.

It was more than twenty years ago,

The Bed time stories that was always on replay,

From the words that was from hardened clay.

I felt everything was clearer than the old water-way,

That always over flowed into the parkway of memories.

I felt all alone when my blood was on the benches,

Not seeing I was swinging on the edge of my trenches.

Eleven, I was preaching the old stained pages,

Trying to find the safe path of righteousness.

I believed the illness needed to be restrain,

So, I tired to paint a rainbow over the pain.

Asking for a glimpse out of the window for a dying typhoon,

Looking for more colors to cover my own gray tomb,

Feeling the monsoon,

Of the bedtime play that made me sheltered,

From the truth of the four letter rhyme,

That I didn’t know how to utter, but only stutter.

The squall of the past bed time song that was sung to me,

Reminds me the lyrics of the nights I plead to be free.

Sacrificing the thoughts of the four letters I couldn’t see,

To abandon myself,

For I can’t speak what the world had shown to me.

The words said from my blood thats spoiling me from smiling,

Spreads the virus of memories,

Of the life worth not rejoicing.

The pitches of the notes of the nights keep on hunting me,

It keeps on taunting me to look for shelter,

From the shivers of voices,

That come back to haunt me from my choices.

Sixteen, believing I was reeking of sickness,

Trying to hide from all the debris of my own weakness.

At my worse holding onto the last fraying line,

Trying not to see the wrath of the divine.

Asking for water to feed into this dying vine,

That’s looking for shelter from the grace of my decline,

Feeling that I was a-straying,

From the bed stories that made water into wine,

On the nights of rumbling cries, and wanting to hide.

Still asking for remedies for this disease,

Feeling the pull of wanting to believe the words.

Still feeling the long cold road tease,

Feeling the pull of wanting the four letter word.

Still whizzing through the freezing seas,

Wanting to believe that the stories was told,

Was only bedtime stories.

[kitathyy]

Soft Thramsay AU for a fic I’m writing :)))

This scene will only take place in the future but I couldn’t stop myself from making this.

Here is the link to it if you want to take a look: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792228/chapters/46857790

[meleyys]

I know we all collectively chose to forget this show existed but these are fun to make.

[theonsource]

THEON MONTH 2022 || Time Doesn't Exist : Favorite Chapters

I have come this way before. It was a dangerous thought, and he regretted it at once. "No," he said, "no that was some other man, that was before you knew your name." His name was Reek. He had to remember that. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with leek.

Reek passed the rotted carcass of a horse, an arrow jutting from its neck. A long white snake slithered into its empty eye socket at his approach. Behind the horse he spied the rider, or what remained of him. The crows had stripped the flesh from the man's face, and a feral dog had burrowed beneath his mail to get at his entrails. Farther on, another corpse had sunk so deep into the muck that only his face and fingers showed.

He pulled down the kraken banner with his own two hands, fumbling some because of his missing fingers but thankful for the fingers that Lord Ramsay had allowed him to keep.

"I thought there would be more. We came at them three times, and three times they threw us back."

We are ironborn, he thought, with a sudden flash of pride, and for half a heartbeat he was a prince again, Lord Balon's son, the blood of Pyke. Even thinking was dangerous, though. He had to remember his name. Reek, my name is Reek, it rhymes with weak.

When the last of them were gone, Ramsay Bolton turned his smile on Reek. He clasped him by the back of the head, pulled his face close, kissed him on his cheek, and whispered, "My old friend Reek, Did they really take you for their prince? What bloody fools, these ironmen. The gods are laughing."

"All they want is to go home, my lord."

A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, REEK II

[squidprince420]

Honestly I think in both the books and the show the scene where Reek has to take moat cailin will always be my favorite thramsay scene. Because for 1, in the books we get to see Ramsay kiss him on the cheek afterwards (and forced intimacy is just the best) and 2, that's also the same day he got his collar, which also should've been in the show at least. But it's also my favorite show scene between them because its literally so intimate, with Ramsay helping reek put on his gloves, and armor and whatever then also like carresing his cheek afterwards and Reek just looks so stressed out the whole time- and we get to hear Ramsay mocking theon with his speech about how 'strong' the kraken was til you take it out of the water and "they fall into a heap of nothing" because obviously anything with Ramsay mocking theon is obviously the best,,,,and then we get to hear Reek muttering his "reek, reek it rhymes with weak" mantra during the scene with the ironborn and that was one of the things I really liked in the books so in glad they included him saying that at least once in the show.

Plus, afterwards Ramsays like got his arm around Reek, and Reeks just so obviously uncomfortable while rams is going on about how 'traditions are important' and 'where are we without our history' right after forcing theon to betray his own history. Ahhhh and then afterwards Reek just quietly asking if they can go home is literally the best thing like- the fact that he thought of Ramsay and the dreadfort as home now is just so sad but ahhh i love it,,, and then afterwards whenever their riding back, Ramsay just so casually says he needs Reek for a bath-

(Aksjsjjdjd sorry if this is worded weirdly, I'm just really high rn so obviously the first thing that comes to my mind is to talk abt thramsay-)

[orionares]

BTHB: Ambush

BTHB: Ambush

NCIS: Los Angeles

@badthingshappenbingo

-------------------------------------------------

Deeks

Weakness.

That's the best way he can describe the feeling that's been permanently scarred in his psyche since he was a child. The feeling that's drowning him every passing moment Kessler isn't in jail or preferably dead, the same feeling on the twelve hour flight to rescue Kensi in Afghanistan or the times he hid under his bed during Gordon John Brandel's numerous abuse towards his mother.

It's also what he feels now, lying on his back bloodied and barely conscious under the low flapping of an approaching helicopter . As Investigator Marty Deeks takes painful, sharp breaths , he recounts the four bodies scattered throughout the cabin around him who had ambushed him on a drive back from a surf and kidnapped him.

Two by the door, downed by two shots from the Smith & Wesson semi automatic Deeks had wrestled away from a third figure, laying in a heap near the door.

The fourth, laying at Deeks' feet with the ghost of the greedy, smug smile on his face.

"H'lp," He chokes through the blood and spit he can't bring himself to swallow. He can feel his eye swelling by the second along with the burning sharp pain with every inhale and exhale.

"....Federal agents!"

Relief at rescue should be the emotion he feels. Relief should annihilate the weakness he feels after being kicked, punched and dragged, dragged , like a worthless doll across the floor to be tortured further.

Relief at the recognition of Sam's commanding voice and the cabin door flying open doesn't erase being clobbered by shared hits across the face from his kidnappers.

"Jesus Christ."

"Oh my God- Baby!"

Tears burn in the corner of his eyes and finally fall when his wife's hands gently pat a lock of blonde hair matted with dried blood. Kensi's face is blurry in the small slit of vision in his right and eye.

"I'm going to end Westfield. Deeks, can you hear me? We're here! You're safe."

Safe can't cover the dehumanizing snarl from the three humans he had fought tooth and nail to survive. It definitely cannot cover the smirk from the scruffy mid sixties man sitting handcuffed at the boatshed.

The leader of the small back of drug runners responsible for moving shipments across the state and killing two Petty officers.

The man with blue eyes that match his, although decades older.

His father.

---------------------------------------

Callen

"You do know," Admiral Killbride warns via video call,"that you will not go in and harm our suspect the moment Blye and Hanna check in."

He sighs as the team's lead continues to pace the length 9f the table in the boatshed like a hungry cheetah circling its prey. The lack of reaction doesn't bode well for the admiral sending Fatima to 'support' Callen, also known as preventing a possible murder.

A not entirely blameless murder based on Westfield's a.k.a Gordon John-back-from-the-dead Brandel, orchestration of Deeks' ambush and kidnapping.

On the other end of the call, Grisha Callen glares at the small hall leading to the interrogation room, protected by two agents. The leadership ingrained in him screams that assaulting two fellow agents to get to the 'father'- the man that's supposed to protect and care for his child- won't help Deeks.

His phone goes off with a loud chime that grabs his attention. A text from Sam arrives with short, brief statements- Got him. Hospital. It's bad. They beat him.

Callen shoves his phone across the table and plops down in his chair. His leg bounces violently as he scowls down the closed interrogation room once more.

He cannot go in there and beat the life out of that man for nearly killing Deeks, he cannot-

"Mr. Callen."

Hetty's voice appears on his right and he nearly jumps out of skin, a rarity for a season agent. She stands in the open space in front of the stairs in her trademark dark suit, hands crossed and an unreadable peer at her agent.

"They got Deeks but Sam said-" Callen spits out before Jetty finishes for him, " it appears that they beat him. Badly. "

"How are you so calm?" He snaps and then sighs. Henrietta Lange walks to his side and pats his shoulders in a comforting manner that neither comforts nor fuels the homicidal mood he's in towards Brandel. Her expressions remain stoic and a touch pensive as she states,"Things are never what they seem, Mr. Callen. Head to Providence Saint Joseph in Burbank and meet the others there. "

Callen's shoulders sag at Hetty's answer-intertwined on riddles, hidden message and on a suspicion fueled by his gut, a warning resembling the old spy game. He pushes himself from the table and forces the calculations needed to drive the thirty miles to Burbank.

And how to feign ignorance to whatever Hetty decides to do next.

-----------------------------------------

Kensi

Flying over Los Angeles is supposed to be beautiful.

Once, Deeks had rented a helicopter ride over the city at night ten months into their marriage to fly over the downtown area. There had been no rhyme or reason for the sudden trip until they had landed with an overly chatty pilot and Deeks had sighed and told her seeing the city without death hovering over them was a nice change.

Now, the twinkle of lights towering over the sea of travelers heading home on the interstate don't register for Kensi. Even over the loud chopping blades, all Kensi can hear is Deeks' painful, whistling breaths.

She's supposed to think when this is over and he's safe, she'll admit that running across a warehouse floor past and dropping to her knees at his battered, bloodied body rivaled Mexico.

But the shared conclusion amongst the pilot, the medic, Sam and herself is that his father hired three men to beat and torture his only child.

The child that shot him three decades ago.

And that alone brings the fear- did Brandel tell these men secrets about Deeks? Did they tear into him between the kicks to the ribs, the strikes to every part of his body?

Kensi looks up to the monitor hooked up above the hospital cot. Ten minutes out- the pilot had yelled sometime ago. Deeks' heart beats relatively steady considering the wheezing under the broken ribs and the undetermined tremors that pass every moment or so.

He's still alive, drifting in and out of consciousness , based on what she hopes to be movement from his cupped hand and not a hallucination.

It's the after- Deeks' support and love doesn't hide the fear of Kessler, the fear of not being able to provide her a family and the lingering self criticism from training at FLETC. After this is over and Brandel never sees the light of day, they will sit down and talk and truly check in.

And she'll wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

------------------------------------------------

Sam

“Move.”

“Agent Hanna, I can’t -” the young NCIS agent that stands in front of the interrogation room with both hands up in defense. The man is about six inches shorter than Sam, fresh faced and younger than Sam by at least a decade. Sam raises an eyebrow when the young man quickly scans him for anything in hand or waistband that could be used to ‘talk’ with the man handcuffed behind the door.

“I will move you,” Sam growls in a low voice, “ if I need to. That man needs to answer questions regarding kidnapping and torture of a federal agent-”

The young agent briefly straightens as if mustering a bit of strength before sighing, “I have my orders from Admiral Killbride.”

Approaching footsteps stop him from snapping at the young agent. A hand tugs at his bicep before Callen’s voice breaks the tension between the two. “Sam,” the lead agent directs, “Come on- we can’t.”

Sam scowls and backs away from the now wide-eyed agent. He follows Callen to the end of the hallway before snapping, “You okay with this?”

“You know damn well I’m not,” Callen replies exasperatedly. He scratches the back of his neck and glances back to the large video screen. “You strangling an agent isn’t going to help things.”

“If it gets me closer to Brandel, I don’t care!” Sam hisses. He eyes Callen’s impassive expression and recalls part of the creed he had taken to be a Navy SEAL.

I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates.

“That man went after my little brother,” Sam admits in a softer voice. Westfield’s absolute disregard for his only child reignites the desire to ‘chat’ with the suspect. “They beat the hell out of him, G.”

Calllen’s jaw tightens but he manages to maintain a calm voice as he says, “I know. As much as I’d like...the best thing we can do right now is be at the hospital for Deeks. Sam, we will do everything to make sure that Brandel doesn’t get anywhere near Deeks again. Alright?”

He should agree and move forward, but until Brandel is behind bars, secured and suffering, he won't settle.

He can't.

------------------------------------

Brandel

Somehow, somehow, the brat is still alive.

Gordon John Brandel, now Westfield, scoffs at the innocent looking NCIS agents driving the transportation van that he's handcuffed in. The wooden bench in the back of the van reeks of wet dog, oddly reminding himself of the last time he'd been engaged in anything auto related with the police.

Car accident- Faking a death in a sparsely populated area is much easier than it should be.

The van lurches forward onto a gravel road, rocking the van slightly side to side. The rest of the drive lasts a minute before the vehicle jerks to a stop and both agents slide out of the driver and passenger door without a word.

"Is this supposed to be some sort of theatrics?" Brandel laughs. He is answered with silence for a long moment before the side door opens and a small, older woman with a leather purse over her shoulder peers up at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Brandel snaps. The woman's face is unreadable in an oddly eerie way.

"My name is Henrietta Lange, the operations manager at the Office of Special Projects," the woman replies. Brandel quickly glances beyond the small woman for the other agents and comes up empty.

Did they disappear like a ghost?

"You took one of my people," Hetty adds with a hint of anger in her voice. "You hurt one of my people."

"I took the little sh-"

"That's Investigator Deeks to you," Hetty cuts him off quickly. Brandel settles back against the side of the van. On any other day, he's sure he'd flick the tiny woman and go on his merry way.

Hetty steps closer to the van, enough for her purse to rest on the van floor. "I wanted to alert you that you lost. You tried to break him apart but Mr. Deeks is one of the strongest people I know. He is a husband, a brother, a future father and one of the many who protect this country. You, Mr. Brandel are nothing."

Brandel cocks his head to the right and growls," You don't get to speak to me like that."

"That requires respect, Mr. Brandel." Hetty slides the purse strap off of her shoulder and pulls out a red soft material wrapped by black string. "Which you lost the moment you first hurt your child.You are nothing and I want you to remember that during what happens next."

Brandel watches Hetty lift out a small vial from her bag. His stomach begins to tie into knots. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Henrietta Lange's expression finally changes into a calculated smile.

Oh. He is so dead.

-----------------------------------------

Hetty

Her little ones are all sleeping scattered in Deeks' hospital room .

Hetty Lange approaches the foot of the bed and sighs at the heaviness in her shoulder blades, metaphorically and realistically. Callen and Sam are sleeping side-by-side in chairs against the wall, both with arms crossed and chin tucked down into their chests.

Kensi sleeps soundly with her head resting on the edge of the bed with her hand extended out to her husband's side. Just as she had in Mexico, she keeps watch over her husband with the same vigil he had after Syria and Afghanistan.

Each protecting the other. For life.

Hetty walks to the opposite side of the bed in a small opening between Sam’s outstretched legs and the edge of the bed. Her view of her once detective now investigator is limited but enough to paint a picture of his injuries.

Bruises line the Investigator's jaw and across his shoulder blades. Above his left swollen eye, a large gash is covered by white bandage.

She can't even imagine the bruises and cuts on the rest of his body.

Hetty rests her hand on his and feels the anxiousness subside slightly when his finger twitches slightly in response. The operations manager chuckles softly," Oh, rest, Mr. Deeks. You've had a nightmare of a day. Rest.”

Hetty takes another glance around the room at her resting agents, inhales slowly before adding, “Your father has lost, Martin. Don’t forget that. And he will never, ever, lay a hand on you again. I should have made sure of that last time, but now, I’ve righted my wrongs. He won’t touch you- that’s a promise.”

[shinogii]

Joy for Struggle: Dotsuitare Hompo vs Buster Bros!!!

JP -> EN Rhyme/rhythm based translation

spotify

Yo! How goes it, three brothers? 

Reality is tough, too many what-ifs

Get up and fight, rage on

Even then you still haven’t seen much

You’re half-assed and undeveloped

I’ll prove that you’re an unblooming flower

Open those eyes, the past is no more

You’ll have to build up again from age 2

Party-crashing lowest of the low swindler

Running your mouth all the time, I’d rather you die

Shellfish only burns, go back to the boonies

You reek like hell, I’ll rebel, avoiding your trap with ease

Your words are totally unnecessary 

I’ll rip off that fake-ass disguise leaving you nowhere to hide

Our bond is legendary, we won’t be stomped out

Ignoring the trash to proceed with no effort

You’re pissing me off, your blood sugar must be low

You should afford to at least have breakfast

If you spend all that time yapping, why not study?

You ought to learn real academism

Jiro, Jiro, are you okay with low intelligence?

To be humble I’ll at least whisper

According to my calculations you should learn to count

You’d fit right in at an elementary school

Shut it, teach! You’re hella strict

Wait, what was your name? I forgot already

Feeling nervous? Whatever man

Listen here, you’re way too haughty

That’s it for class? You’re outta your mind

You’d better go back to kindergarten

You’re a chihuahua against a siberian tiger

We’ll take you down in one blow, just watch

CHORUS

JOY (JOY) BATTLE (BATTLE) 

Higher and higher, everyone get up now

JOY (JOY) This fever won’t cool down

An exciting battle of words for show

Come on now GO OSAKA, GO OSAKA, GO

Quit the fussing and put your hands up

Let’s get it GO BUKURO, GO BUKURO, GO

Raise your voice from the pit of your gut

High time to enter stage as the lead role

Your right-hand men are nothing to sneeze at

You’re too uptight and super boring

It’s for the better that you have no talent

Ichiro, you might have blood ties but still

Your bonds are weak and not quite enough

Tempo, in time, get in with the line

Bring it on 5,000 times with us three manzai

What you said is just plain wrong

I’ll change reality with words

You’re so flippant, being a street clown would suit you

Getting right to it, just take our requiem

Floaty words like that won’t sting us at all

My hard-earned skills keep up the fight

I’ll prove it to you right here and now

You won’t even be able to reach us

America’s tears, Japan’s laughter

The perfect trio appears in a flash

Setting the precedent, thanks for the WUS UP

King of amusement, you’re in the right place

Money making on and on little by little

Light a fire in your heart BABY

Osaka’s forecast is 1000% clear

We make the ultimate entertainment

Spirit, skill, strength, watch and learn

Of course you need awareness too

3, 6, 0, right, left

Look forward to which bro’s up next

Noisy idiots come on get out of the way

Blood is thicker than water as brothers

We’ll blow you clear outta the park

Get hyped up it’s our SHOWTIME

CHORUS

“Teacher, how’s our Jiro doing in school?”

“He’s dying from homework and his classmates would rather die too.” 

“That’ll show badly on his record, won’t it?”

“He’s gotta be held back a year, but I think that’s what he wants.”

“Then what should we do about Saburo?”

“His big bro is like a dog, yanno. He’s nervous and bites off more than he can chew, right?”

“Just a dog, huh… Well, whatever!”

Don’t make me laugh, I’ll put up a fight

You trashy lot really have no style

Vulgar comedian and shitty professor

Hot water level rising, you can’t get further

Sounds just like you farted in the water

A slimy and plain ol’ boring opera

You asked for it once you made us foes

Fighting our target, invincible danger

Well Ichiro, you’re against me

Will you live through it this time?

Take it to heart, I’m telling you the truth

Answer me, how far does your own trust go?

No regrets, doesn’t matter who

If you stand in the way I’ll crush you too

I’ll show you the difference in our experience

You’re still a kid and have a ways to go

Certain victory is my sense of justice

I’ll stick with it and suggest the same to you

Old man, only thinking of yourself is no way to live

Living each day for my bros is an accomplishment

I’ll crush you with no holds barred

Battle ready Buster Bros with full mastery

Limitless potential and unified power

From me to you that’s my best answer

JOY (JOY) BATTLE (BATTLE) 

Higher and higher, everyone get up now

JOY (JOY) This fever won’t cool down

An exciting battle of words for show

Come on now GO OSAKA, GO OSAKA, GO

Quit the fussing and put your hands up

Let’s get it GO BUKURO, GO BUKURO, GO

Higher and higher, everyone get up now

JOY (JOY) JOY (JOY)

JOY (JOY) JOY (JOY)

An exciting battle of words for show 

Everybody say

JOY (JOY) JOY (JOY)

JOY (JOY) JOY (JOY)

[tmblrdream]

restraint was never my finesse

so once again we duel with rhyme

you claim the piss asks lie untouched

yet you respond near every time.

for someone claiming to be calm

and far above such childish ploys

this battle seems to be a balm

as if the fighting you enjoy

i said before and will once more,

your presence reeks of swamp and axe

for while your words are riveting

your rhyme scheme, dream, is rather lax

i drop my keyboard, end my psalm

this battle's won (just like your mom)

The battle’s won, about that you are right. But to know my weakness you only wish. Victor decided well before the fight, said Sun Tzu, now you are boxed like a fish.

You say I reek of swamp, just call me Shrek. I'll kill your knights then I'll fuck your princess. Not too hard beating your syllabic wreck, where you neglected to rhyme with "finesse."

I like to fight cause I know I can win. Call yourself Tree but you act like a stick. Wanting replies from a fucking Dream kin, just like how George wants to suck on my dick.

Lie about asks, but your numbers are flawed. Call me your piss king, but know I'm a god.

[garylloyd]

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Whenever it was that his Lord father felt the need to journey south into England, responding to the call of his Dark Lord, no doubt, Ramsay was left as castellan of the Dreadfort, set to supervise the domestic staff and, as his father liked to say, maintain “a peaceful land, a quiet people.” It was a particularly boring responsibility that could hardly even be considered a responsibility at all – Ramsay did not even have to lift a finger to keep the house-elves in order – they kept themselves in order out of fear of Ramsay, with Reek acting as quite an effective cautionary tale. Reek, the pathetic little creature, sat always at Ramsay’s feet like a loyal dog, feeding off scraps thrown to him from the dining table and flinching away from Ramsay’s touches while obeying every order. No one wanted to end up like Reek. But it was during weeks like this, when Lord Roose Bolton was away, that the house-elves feared the worst – Reek had been tortured out of boredom for the entertainment value it had brought Ramsay, and with nothing to do but sit about the Dreadfort, every house-elf knew it was only a matter of time before something horrible was to happen.

It had begun as nothing more than drunken debauchery – Ramsay never drank anything other than water, but the Bastard’s Boys drank enough for Ramsay and more. The chaos that the seven men were able to create in a single night was particularly notorious, and the house-elves had found themselves all in a panic to try to keep Damon Dance-for-Me, named for his skill with the Whip Spell, from knocking out the remainder of Sour Alyn’s teeth while Luton urged him on and Ramsay laughed. But all too quickly, this mayhem became no longer enough to hold Ramsay’s attention. With a gesture of his hand, he brought the great hall to peace and silence, the Bastard’s Boys wanting to hear Ramsay when he spoke.

“Reek,” Ramsay addressed the house-elf, causing it to nearly jump out of what remaining skin it still had, “how many days has it been since our last hunt?” he asked, a smirk set upon his lips as he watched grins settle over the faces of the Bastard’s Boys.

Reek was prompt to respond, “s-seven, m’lord,” it stuttered out, shaking like a leaf. It jumped near a foot in the air when Ramsay barked out a laugh.

“Seven days?” he repeated, “well, that’s just been too long, hasn’t it boys?” and the Bastard’s Boys all raised their voices in agreement, “there’ll be a reward of fifteen Galleons to whoever brings me back the best sport,” Ramsay declared – and the moment he had finished, the hall was filled with bursts of sound and light as all of the Bastard’s Boys apparated off to their mission.

Skinner ended up in Muggle London, arguably the best place to find someone worth hunting – and, determined to win, he waited. Unlike the others, who would undoubtedly grab the first girl with a pretty face they could find, Skinner was a torturer – he found a benefit in the long game. He stood on a street corner and watched, waiting for the perfect girl to pass him by – and after three days, he had finally found her. It took him only seconds to stun her and apparate back to the Dreadfort, setting her down in an unlocked dungeon cell and sending word for Ramsay. Skinner would warm her up for Ramsay – all he had to do was wait for the girl to wake. Then the fun could begin.