#maybe theon is take from her briefly and we meet the starks (maybe they offer to lend her a hand while she gets herself together)

[dirtytransmasc]

modern got au in which asha is a "teen parent"

or more accurately, asha and theon have a much larger age gap, 10/15-ish years, type of age gap (she's at least 18/19 and theon's only like 4/5), and in a series of freak events, their lives are turned on its head.

their brothers were dead. their mother and father were ruled incompetent, the former left a shell of herself after the loss of her sons, no longer able to care for her remaining children, the latter was never a father to begin with and he didn't seem to have any wish to become one now.

she was an adult by law, meaning she was free from the hell that was the system. her kid brother - the one who smiled at her for seemingly no reason, the one who crawled into her bed when thunder rattled the house, the brother who held her hand on their rare family outings - was not.

she couldn't leave him there, even if she wanted to, even if it would make her life so much easier. she wouldn't abandon him like the rest of their shitty family. he was blood for fucks sake, she'd die before she let's him get taken away from her and given away to strangers to be used and exploited or treated like a shelter puppy to be pitied and fawned over.

cue asha fighting for custody of her baby brother, doing whatever it takes to be deemed a suitable guardian, and the two of them taking on the world together.

more thoughts:

they have to find an apartment cause they can't afford to keep their family home. moving into the cheapest place they can find with only the stuff they can fit in asha's truck, sharing an air matress and eating off of a coffee table while watching movies they rented from the library.

asha cleaning her brother up before his first day at his new school, trying to get him to look suitable, but not really knowing what suitable means for a kid going into kindergarten/first grade

theon comforting his sister when she gets overwhelmed with it all, doing his best to ease her tears. the night ending with them both curled around each other, just two scared little kids trying their best.

asha fighting anyone she has to to keep custody of theon, whether it be the social worker, the judge, people who called cps to report her. she doesn't care, no one will take away her baby brother.

asha taking theon to work with her (she works in a boat shop cause she already knows what she's doing) and having to keep him entertained while she works so they don't get sent home.

their first christmas/birthdays by themselves. theon putting together gifts at school (finger paintings or paper mache or something of the like) and asha cherishing it forever. asha spending all the money left to her name each time to get him something nice so eh can feel like a normal kid.

theon doing sports in school (little league or something) and asha making sure she goes to every damn game, being the loudest in the stands.

asha getting more and more used to being physically affectionate with her brother at time goes on. before everything she'd tense up when he'd hug her legs or hold her hand, but now she scoops him up like a rag doll, ruffles his hair, kisses his forehead, without a second thought.

{I'm so normal about them I swear}

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

The Coming War for the North, Part 2: The Lost Wolves

In part 1, I talked about the coming battle of ice with Stannis fighting against the Boltons to take Winterfell. I discussed the situation there, the pink letter, and briefly speculated what the battle of ice will entail and who I thought would emerge victorious. If you read that, you know I argued Stannis would lose and the true battle for the North would be fought by Jon against Ramsay. In part 2, I'll dive into setting up the different factions left in the North (and beyond!) that I think will be integral to the northern storyline in TWOW.

A Trip to Skagos

Last we saw of Davos, he was not executed by Wyman Manderly, and Lord Manderly has sent him to retrieve Rickon from Skagos. Davos in TWOW is definitely going to be fun to read, as Skagos sounds like a very sinister place (or is it all that sinister?) and seeing Rickon again should be interesting. At the beginning of ADWD Davos was sent to parley with the Manderlys by Stannis, but the Manderlys imprisoned him, and per what we hear from in AFFC, executed him.

Of course, they didn't, and instead put him into the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle that is now used as a prison. Then Davos is freed and meets with Wyman in private, with Robett Glover in attendance, who say they are not with the Boltons, and were merely playing up the ruse so that Wyman's son Wylis would be returned safely without a hint of disloyalty towards the Lannisters. Instead, they are plotting revenge against the Red Wedding, and inform Davos that they found Wex Pyke, Theon's mute squire, who eventually revealed that Rickon has gone to Skagos. Wyman will support Stannis if Davos successfully brings Rickon back.

We don't know a lot about Skagos, and the little we do know paints it as a very sinister, savage place. They are rumoured to practice human sacrifice to the weirwoods and cannibalism in winter, and luring passing ships with false lights, more like tribes of raiders not too dissimilar to wildlings. They also rose in rebellion against the Starks during the reign of King Daeron II, which lasted years and claimed the lives of thousands, Lord Barthogan Stark among them, before it was finally put down. Also they ride unicorns, one horned shaggy goats.

I'm not sure what Skagos will ultimately be like, but I think it's probably going to be a weird mix of wildlings and northmen. There is also the question of their relationship with both. The northmen hate them and view them as savages, and they are built up as sinister people, but perhaps they only play it up in order to be left alone. Their historical connection to the North isn't very positive, so they might enjoy being isolated from the rest of the North, so long as they aren't disturbed.

That said, it is interesting that Osha chose Skagos to hide with Rickon. Anywhere in the North is dangerous for a loose wildling and a young Stark to be in... except Skagos, apparently. Do the Skagosi have good relations with the free folk? They seem to live more like the free folk and the island is further north than the rest of the North (bordering on the lands of the Night's Watch & even stretching beyond the Wall). Plus, Osha went there with Rickon to keep him safe, so the idea that the free folk and Skagosi have connections isn't too unikely.

The real question I am wondering is; how is Rickon doing? Last we saw him, he was only 4 years old, wild and untamed. I somewhat subscribe to the theory that the names of the direwolves hint at their future, and while there is a theory that Rickon is a shaggydog story (a long winded, complicated anecdote that goes nowhere), I think Shaggydog more or less foreshadows Rickon's wild nature. There is nobody training his warging abilities, and he was already wild to begin with, and now he's on a remote island in the middle of nowhere, so I only think he's going to grow more and more wild.

And, how are the Skagosi treating Rickon? Do they like him? They don't have good historical connections with the Starks, so they may not like Rickon when they first met him. Maybe they revere him since he is a warg? Or perhaps nobody truly knows who he is, but some kid with a giant wolf who knows lives on the island, and people give him offerings? Since we have little to nothing to go off, we have no idea what exactly Rickon has been up to since his exit from the pages in ACOK.

Regardless, Davos might find himself in a difficult position to convince Rickon to return. He's a complete stranger and nobody is going to trust his agenda, least of all Osha who was tasked with keeping Rickon safe. Given George has "important plans" for Rickon, I doubt Davos will fail to bring Rickon back, but it won't be easy, and probably will take some time.

From there, I see two possible places for Davos to go. While he would be tasked with returning Rickon to White Harbor, there is a possibility that the storms will force him to land in Eastwatch. Rickon could have a reunion with Jon Snow if that is the case, but I tend to favour Rickon being returned to White Harbor and used to rally Manderly and their allies against Ramsay. Wyman tells Davos all the value of having his House as an ally against the Boltons.

"I have been building warships for more than a year. Some you saw, but there are as many more hidden up the White Knife. Even with the losses I have suffered, I still command more heavy horse than any other lord north of the Neck. My walls are strong, and my vaults are full of silver. Oldcastle and Widow's Watch will take their lead from me. My bannermen include a dozen petty lords and a hundred landed knights. I can deliver King Stannis the allegiance of all the lands east of the White Knife, from Widow's Watch and Ramsgate to the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch."

Stannis Baratheon

One thing to note is what Stannis will be doing. Say he, as I think happened, was defeated by the Boltons and faked his death. What is his next move? It's entirely possible that Stannis just retreats to the Nightfort, a location that he intends on sitting at one day, and in his desperation, burns Shireen to wake dragons out of stone (apparently people hate this take but it's a possibility in my mind). However, this isn't to say he is completely out of the game yet.

The Manderlys are open to allying with Stannis (should Davos be successful in retrieving Rickon), and they are part of the army sent in the battle of ice to do battle with Stannis. Could they possibly help fake Stannis's death in battle and have him retreat to a secret location? There is potential foreshadowing for this.

"White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need."

Could they have him retreat to the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle turned prison? There is a secret passageway connecting the Wolf's Den to the New Castle that Davos was shown.

While it might just be simpler for Stannis to retreat and die, this story is anything but simple, and I feel George is still having him around for a reason. He did send Justin Massey to Braavos to hire sellswords and sent them to him through Eastwatch (which is how I believe Arya will return to Westeros), so those might come in handy in the future. So while I believe the Starks will be the centre of defeating the Boltons and retaking Winterfell, Stannis could still have a role in this. One idea is that he actually takes the Dreadfort.

While the original idea posed by Arnolf was to merely siege it, and was supposed to undermine Stannis, interrogating Theon would be of some great use, as could the fleet of warships Lord Manderly has been building. Theon once escaped the Dreadfort through a postern gate that is either lightly or not guarded at all, with the help of Kyra, only for this to all be a game devised by Ramsay to hunt them back down. His knowledge of the Dreadfort could prove useful for Stannis to take it, while the Manderly fleet rows up the Weeping Water and lays siege to it.

A Blaze of Boltons

Now it's time to look at the Boltons. Say Roose is successful in holding Winterfell and defeating Stannis, and he gets rid of the Freys and Manderlys. What then? The northern houses are still only tentatively loyal to him, and he knows it. But the danger that poses to him is temporarily dealt with. The true danger was the fact that there was an option to join a new side against the Boltons, but once Stannis defeated, they are back to being all by themselves, knowing the Iron Throne is backing the Boltons and not risking their ire.

However, there is a distinct possibility that the Boltons will still lose support eventually, and by none other than their own hands, specifically Ramsay's. As a psychopath, Ramsay has an enormous ego, and is very concerned about his birthright, hoping he will one day be Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort.

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons." "And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

Roose is aware of just how unhinged Ramsay is. He knows Ramsay will be upset if Walda gives birth to a boy, and knows Theon is reporting back to Ramsay. But Roose doesn't really seem to care all that much. Perhaps he would be amused if this did happen. Or perhaps he's just trying to comfort Ramsay to prevent this happening. Regardless, he also knows that Ramsay was responsible for his half-brother Domeric's death.

"Yes, m'lord. Domeric. I … I have heard his name …" "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

It seems clear that Ramsay's murder of his half-brother Domeric is foreshadowing, not just for the eventual death of Walda's child, but for Roose as well. Ramsay is very close to one day snapping and doing something so horrible that he cannot go back from. And to make it more clear, there is a line at the end of ADWD that I completely overlooked that shows Walda is actually pregnant.

Roose Bolton entered, pale-eyed and yawning, accompanied by his plump and pregnant wife, Fat Walda.

Later Ramsay and Roose are seen arguing, and Walda seems very frightened, but Theon doesn't hear what they say. It's possible they were arguing about Ramsay's inheritance given that Walda is now pregnant (although I think they were more likely arguing about what to do with Stannis). Regardless, I think that Walda giving birth to a boy would drive Ramsay over the edge. Despite him being impulsive and angry, he's still quite capable of covering up what he does. So I think, just as he did with Domeric, he will poison Roose, Walda, and his newborn half-brother, leaving him the only Bolton left and asserting his dominance over the North.

Of course, this is going to have serious consequences for Ramsay, something I will get into in part 3, where I will talk at length about the coming Bastardbowl.

[hypomone535]

truth

The lonely halls are quiet, depleted, and mourning.

Tasting like ash, the smell of dirty ruin fills the day making the castle feel empty. And it is, like a tomb of ghosts, scattering Winterfell with used up faces and haunted eyes.  

Tomorrow, when dawn awakens over winter, they’ll gather to burn the dead.  Today’s light was used to stack the bodies and find those they’d loved.  Lyanna. Jorah.  Theon.  Edd.

Jon hates today but tomorrow he hates even more.

A shifting log pops in the hearth when the gentle rap shakes the door.  Remarkably, awfully, fully- Jon watches the violent curl of the flame, his gut quickening in heated response.  A sudden ache to know his mother adds to his grief and he instantly looks down at his hands.  He doesn’t recognize his hands.

“Jon?”

The door swings inward, her tall frame filling his sight, breaking apart his thoughts.  Looking to the whisper, he avoids the drag of her deep eyes.  Bereft from the events of the day, his brow scrunches down hard and his mouth sits in a firm line.  Not knowing what to feel, he looks down at his hands.  They come together in front of him forming a tight knot of twisted fingers.

“Can I come in?”

Those fingers drag over the outside of his palm but he nods, lonely and surrounded by the silence hoping for solitude but thirsty for something that has never passed between his lips.  Though in the light of this day, he isn’t sure if what he desires actually exists in this world.

She’s careful when she approaches him, her soft footsteps and long chain only making a subtle click.  No furs grace her elegant shoulders and he has a thought for the cloak she gifted him.

A part of him is glad it’s gone; he didn’t deserve to ever wear it.  However, the louder side of him mourns, the weight of it on his shoulders painfully absent. It was always a constant reminder of who he was, and even more because she was the one to say it. And that part of him has gone too, hasn’t it?  His identify dismantled by the truth.

“Are you alright?” Sansa speaks directly, her kindness still in the proper place as she looks over him.  “That cut?” She points to the one below his eye, “Has the maester seen it?”

“Dead.” He grunts out like a stupid oaf.  “He’s dead, I mean.  Sam’s the closest we have to a maester now.”

Eyes traveling down, her pink lips part and she steps forward completely into his room and shuts the door.  Making a quick look around, it takes her a moment to find what she needs to satisfy her plan.  

Retrieving her supplies, she steps into his space.  The tip of cloth dips into a mug of water and Sansa smiles gently, “Will you let me?”

His hands unfurl and he shuffles his feet, but offers no other objections to her care. It turns out her hands are as delicate as her fingers are long.  While she cleans off the dried blood just below his eye, the small pinch settles between her brows.  She is focused in, dedicated to her task, and works without offering him a taste of her eyes…   Clenching his jaw, the spark that she exclusively kindles fills him now.

They stay like this for a moment with the fire and wind moaning a dirge for the recently departed.  She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and the action makes the flash ignite, tingling under his leather.  Instead of flexing into her touch he slightly flinches away from her, whatever madness that exists between them making his blood boil rather than settle.

It’s easy for her to sense, his moods and tactless mannerisms.  And she’s brave with him so there is no hesitation when she asks, “Won’t you tell me what you’re keeping from me?”  She brushes against his cheek again, the cloth light on his skin.

“I’m not your brother.”

It just pops out like a bad bite of fruit.  It tastes bitter and unfair and for a moment it’s so painful to say, that all he wants is for her to lament with him and feel his loss.

Yet this is Sansa.  And Sansa rarely reacts the way he wants.

Sansa frustrates him.

Before she has a chance to respond he can already feel his hackles rise higher.  The flares now flames, muscles quivering and his heartbeat pulsing unevenly.  In contrast, her face remains so calm, emotionless even and completely under control. Jon pulls in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring and releases it all in a huff.  

Looking down only briefly, her eyes sweep back up into his storm.  She licks her perfect lips, wetting them thoroughly and simply responds with a cocked head, “Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar…”

His face must look incredulous because she doesn’t wait for his answer, “I heard Sam whispering something to Gilly and then we saw you on the green dragon and…” Her eyes flash as if he is riding one now and her voice drops resembling the howling wind, “It all makes terrible sense.”

When he swallows he pulls his eyes away from her, knowing he’s just confirmed her already keen suspicion.  And why wouldn’t she already know?

She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met.

Speaking gently her monotone tenor stumbles and cracks on the last word, “You should have told me.”

More clouds cover his eyes and he knows she’s right, but her hurt makes his already edgy fingers drip with guilt.  The pitch sinks into his gut and he can hear the descent of his voice, “There was no time Sansa.”

A lonely wind screams again, the room suddenly feeling colder.  Sansa’s hands fall slightly and hover over his chest. Looking down she shifts to the side, her gray skirt brushing against his legs.  He can’t take his eyes away from her, still trying to determine what she thinks about the truth he so carelessly laid at her feet.

“Davos and Varys today in the Great Hall?” She asks the question as if she was simply speaking about which food he would prefer.  

He grinds his teeth in the face of her calm, “What about it?”

“They were talking about a union to unite the North and South.  Did they mean you and Daenerys?” She puts the cloth on the side of his face, holding his cheek and waiting for his reply.

Suddenly the room is so warm and she is so soft, he steps forward so full of regret. The leather on his chest must be squeezing the life from him, because he can’t breathe. “Maybe they did, but I won’t,” he manages to whisper.  “I can’t.”

Now the look comes across her face, his failure to mask his anger seeps into her, affecting her own breath.  “So what happens afterward?” Her chin rises slightly, “When the wars are won?”

He can do nothing but shrug his shoulders, and her hand falls away.  The relief is instant and he sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m afraid to think about it.”

With a small curve of her lips her hands fall and rest against his chest.  She looks down and examines her hands on his body. “You’ve been consumed with this war for so long,” her voice softens a sunset pink setting on her cheeks.  “You deserve a little rest.”  

Warmth stirs, trembling out over his body.  Lips parting, he feels her step closer, his already heightened senses opening up the abyss of all his suppressed longings.  He thinks she grabs his leather but he can’t tell because all he feels are the confident words that sound like madness and delicious sin.

“We could marry now.”

Falling into the chasm, his head spins; his fists open and close pumping at his sides. The look on her face is glowing, inviting and filled with an eagerness his body could match readily.  He practiced for so long his body unable to thwart its training and instead just reacts to his suppression.  Falling back into his pattern with her, he lets the look infuriate him, and he knows he will regret it as soon as he opens his mouth but he can’t breathe with her so close so he just whispers, “Did you learn that from Cersei too?”  

A wave of something breaks over her face but it is only there a moment.  Almost instantly her mask is back and her brow hardens but her eyes fill with tears.

In his gut, the shame burns hot and fast.  Around his neck his gorget is a vice, choking the life out of him, though it is what he deserves.

Releasing a breath, she takes a step away, her face impossibly serene and just stares.

It hinders his rejection, her reserve and calm when he’s just spit in her face. “I’m sorry,” he says honestly despite the edge still present in his voice.

“So am I,” she agrees with narrowed eyes. She connects her wrists behind her back and tilts her head, “I was so sure…” Swallowed up in a whimper that he knows would shame her, the rest of her words never meet the air.

He can’t just leave it there, his body slowly waking up from months of averted desires expressed as annoyed exasperation.  So he stutters out something that sounds like a whine, “What were you sure about?”

That gentle curve of her lips is back, and she releases her hands from behind her back. Eyeing him from heavy eyes she speaks softly, “I don’t have a sword Jon… Or a dagger.  I don’t have powers to see the past.  But I do have the name Stark and I would give it to you.”

A rattled breath leaves him, shaking his chest and he doesn’t know if its relief, or guilt or joy that makes him ache.  But longing for this unimaginable truth begins to burn away his anger and his hands fall loose from their tight grip, hovering at his sides.  Her hips are inches away and he wants to grab them but he’s not brave enough, not like her.  And so he looks down, and sees his battle scarred fingers.  Are they Stark hands or Targaryen? The world blurs again, thinking about everything else that surrounds them.  

“I can’t take it,” he hears himself croak, but he doesn’t mean it.  How could he mean it?

The fire reflects off the glass in her eyes, now suddenly far away.  “I understand,” she says with more kindness than he deserves. Her hands flutter aimlessly and she steps back, “Of course you can’t.”

When she turns away, it’s smooth and void of any malice.  Slumping slightly, her shoulders sag and he hates the distance between them, lengthening, tearing him in pieces from the inside out.

“Wait.”

She stops when she hears the pleading in his voice and he stares at her back for several heartbeats.  His own blood stirs as the walls of his solar seem to close in tight around them.  Why shouldn’t he?  

“Sansa…”

He doesn’t know who makes the first leap towards the other, but in a blistering flush of leather and wool he finds himself close to her again.  This time, his hand reaches out to her waist, and slides down over her hips, tugging their bodies together.  When they collide into each other, with a gasp from her pretty mouth and a groan from his throat, he is angry again but it’s the kind of insanity that makes a man burn and not strike.  So this time, instead of sharp words to hide behind, he softens too. Meeting her gaze, his eyes search this wonderful unspoken truth between them.  Their lips simultaneously part, sharing the air as the red seeps up from their necks and oozes onto cheekbones.

Weaving up his chest, her hands travel along his shoulder and hesitantly fall at the back of his neck, twisting in his curls.  The blues of her eyes are hushed; the sea pulling him under, “You fought for me once. Let me fight for you now.”

Just words, but precise and faithful, and they sound like the hope he needs.  Gently taking her lips, the darkness of today lightens and he has never tasted anything else so sweet.

Jon doesn’t hate tomorrow.

It sounds so complicated and so simple.

But the truth always is.

[crowkingwrites]

Bang Bang! (Ch.12)

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Summary:  The Red Wedding happened a week ago. Your boss, Petyr, insists on celebrating the men who “won” this victory, the Red Kings, an assassination group run by the sour-looking Roose Bolton. You, one of Petyr’s favorites, is tasked to find out more about these Red Kings. Who are they? Who are their clients? Who is next?You’re very good at what you do until you meet him. What do you do? Girls like you can’t fall in love. Does the Pretty Bird fly away with him? Or does she ruin the Bloody Bastard and everything he has?

Words: 2817

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11108982/chapters/27755796

You laid your head back and exhaled. Ramsay stood up and threw your clothes at you.

“We need to leave,” he told you. “Put them on and let’s go.” You felt a punch in your stomach. Both of you just had sex, and he didn’t look too happy about it. You half-expected to cuddle for two minutes, but this was Ramsay. You should’ve known better.

You slipped your dress back on and carried your heels through the parking lot. Ramsay rushed inside the large van. You watched his eyes grow wide with passion when he laid his eyes on Theon. Theon sat in the back of the van, gagged and slightly frightened.

“Greyjoy,” his voice sounded out every letter in his name as if he was about to eat him alive. “We are going to have so much fun together. I want you to know that.” Theon muffled through the cloth tied tightly around his mouth.

Ben started to drive the van out of the area. It always amazed you how no one saw any of Red Kings or seemed to notice what just happened.

“Ramsay, how come you never get caught?” You asked him.

“I’m smarter than you think, pretty bird,” he brought you closer to him. “Red Kings have influence everywhere in Chicago. This is our home.”

“I thought Chicago was run by gangs and paid off politicians?”

“Most of it is, but my family has our ways,” he explained. “Those girls you saw standing on the corner knew who we were when we pulled up. We’re not a gang. We’re not paid off by the government. We’re assassins. Hitmen. I can make people go away.” Ramsay’s eyes landed back on Theon.

“Who paid for Theon?” You whispered in Ramsay’s ear. Theon’s eyes traced your body. You wondered what kind of thoughts went through his head.

“Knock him out,” Ramsay told one of his men. One man in a suit knocked him out with a punch to the side of the head. “You know the Lannisters. They like to pay off their debts. However, this wasn’t a debt, more of a gift to Sansa.”

“The Lannisters gave a gift to Sansa Stark?” That couldn’t be right.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Ramsay scoffed. “Tyrion Lannister thought it would be a good engagement gift to her if he had us get rid of Theon for her. As a way of justice and good fortune.”

“Engagement gift? They’re going to get married?”

“I know. When my father told my brother and me, we didn’t believe it either. It all seems so odd. Sometimes I wonder if they’re all going to marry each other and soon it will be incestuous, rich circle of bastards and cunts.”

“Ramsay!” I giggled. “But seriously, is all that true? I mean, Tyrion’s a…person of smaller—

“He’s a midget. Say it. He’s a midget.”

“Right, and she’s so beautiful and tall. I mean, I’ve never met her, but I have seen pictures of her. She’s a top model heiress if I ever seen one. What is she doing with him?”

“If you had to ask for my opinion, it’s a set up,” Ramsay pulled out his phone and you watched him type in the phone code: 1017. His phone flashed pictures of Sansa Stark and Tyrion Lannister at various events. “They’ve been showing up a different events together and separately now for months, giving the illusion that they are a couple, but not public yet. Tyrion’s not in the family business like Cersei and Jaime are. He’s a political consultant. He helped Joffery become one the youngest mayors in history.”

That was true. When Joffery Lannister entered the political race to become the mayor of New York City, nobody expected him to actually win. The media saw him as a spoiled, wealthy rat until Tyrion took control. Every speech and appearance was a calculated move by his uncle. Tyrion had everyone believing that not only was Joffery capable at doing the job, but that he was the best one for it.

Tyrion even had Sansa appear at Joffery’s side numerous times. She was loved and admired. If Sansa liked him, so could other voters. You didn’t particularly like the Lannister family, but you had to admit, they were good at their jobs.

“Tyrion is too good at his job. Sansa may be beautiful, but she has a lot of anger against the Lannisters and what happened with the Red Wedding,” Ramsay put his phone away. “Something is happening there between the two of them. I don’t know what.”

The van pulled up to an unmarked office building. Ramsay’s men carried Theon inside. His arms dangled. You watched his eyes roll back again before following Ramsay to the elevator. The lights flickered inside and the last inspection was done seven years ago.

“Where are we?” you looked at the dirty floor and noticed a pee stain in the corner.

“Headquarters,” Ramsay pushed the 7th floor button and up you went. “My father bought this building before Dom and I were born. He’s been using it as an ‘office’ for some time. Now, we use these rooms for investigation, questioning, research, and other things.”

Something told you ‘other things’ didn’t mean office work.

The elevator shook and it came to a stop. The doors opened to a half-furnished floor. It was clear there was beds, but their condition looked like as if they had been there collecting dust for years. Several side tables were scattered around. A sectional couch was spread apart, and in the corner was a coffee machine that looked in perfect order.

“That’s new,” Ramsay commented, gesturing to the coffee machine. “Ben must have put that there.” Ramsay shrugged and turned it on. “You can stay here if you wish. Make yourself comfortable. We’ll be here for a while.”

The streetlights streamed in the room, highlighting the rips of the fabric on the couches and beds. A musty smell rose up to my nose. You thought about Sansa’s little brothers. If they are alive, would they be in a place like this? What did Theon do with them? And why?

“Those boys,” you began to say.

“The Red Kings have nothing to do with that,” Ramsay poured himself a black coffee. “I don’t have a high opinion of the Starks, but loyalty is loyalty.”

“Loyalty? You’re not doing this for the money?” you questioned him.

“Of course I’m doing this for the money, you sweet idiot,” Ramsay chuckled. “But I can’t ignore the political works of it all. The Red Kings have worked for all sides. The Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Starks, the Martells. All of them. The more we work for one, the more benefits we reap. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but the Starks will reward us for Theon.”

Ramsay put down the cup and walked towards you.

“Stay here, pet,” he kissed your cheek briefly. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.”

You don’t know what possessed you. You don’t know why you did it. You don’t know why you asked. Maybe because you were growing morbid. Maybe because you felt awful about those two young Starks boys. They were children. Or maybe you let Ramsay into your head. “What are you going to do to him?” you asked. Ramsay turned and cocked his head.

“What do you me—

“I want to see. I want to watch,” you said all too confident. It fell out of your mouth and it was too late to take it back. Ramsay shut his mouth and opened it again.

“Weeks ago, you could barely handle the thought of assisting me. Now, you want to watch?” you could see a shadow of Ramsay’s smile on his face.

“Yes,” you told him. You were sure this time, so you stood your ground. Ramsay’s smile crept to his ears.

“Well, that’s interesting,” he offered you his hand. “Come here.” What were you even thinking? He was right. He was a hitman. An assassin specializing in torture and pain. He enjoyed his job, and here you were holding his hand about to watch him do what he does best.

This was wrong. You were going to witness a brutal crime.

Ramsay never let go of your hand as the elevator descended to the basement of ‘headquarters’. His thumb caressed your knuckles. You glanced over at him. He bit his lip to hide his smile. His foot tapped on the floor repeatedly.

The doors opened to a dimly lit hallway. Drops of water leaked in the hallway. It dripped and dripped and dripped. It was a constant. It felt like a slow torture, but you knew Ramsay could do worse than just leaky water. Other doors led to different people locked up in the other rooms. You could hear pained groans coming through the wooden doors.

“Who else is here?” you asked.

“None of your concern, Y/N,” Ramsay told you. His hand led you to the last door in the hallway. It looked no different from the others, but you could hear Theon’s ragged breathing on the other side. Ramsay opened the door and let you in first, almost like a gentleman.

The room had a bit more lighting than the hallway. Theon was in the middle of the room tied down to a table, like a death row prisoner. His arms were constricted by leather straps. Beads of sweat came from his forehead. Above him was a two headed surgery ceiling light that illuminated his body as if this was Ramsay’s show and Theon was the main event.

You wanted to be disgusted, but you couldn’t let go of the thoughts. He deserved this.

Ramsay stepped up to Theon and closed in on his face. His fingers spread out on his chest and he caressed him.

“Well, well, well,” he began. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asked him. Theon provided no answer. He only looked at Ramsay, and he turned his head to you. “No, no. Don’t look at her. Look at me.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered out.

“You don’t know,” Ramsay tsked. “How about we make it a game? If you can guess who I am, where we are, and why you are here, I’ll let you go. If you can’t, you lose the game.” Ramsay walked around him. You saw a flaying knife in his fingers.

“Please.”

“Please is not a place or a person, Theon. Come on, now.”

“If I win this game, you’ll let me go?” Theon asked him. You turned to Ramsay to watch his response. Ramsay closed in on Theon’s face again.

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention,” Ramsay chuckled at him. Theon started to choke out sobs. You’ve never seen a weaker man in your life. You felt a smile creep up on your face.

“Pl—

“Say please again, and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t,” Ramsay held the flaying knife close to his chest. Theon took a deep breath and silenced himself.

“You first,” Ramsay readied his knife at Theon’s fingers. “Where are we?”

“Chicago,” Theon said.

“No, too broad, be more specific.”

“Downtown, by the lake,” Theon guessed. Ramsay laughed out loud. You heard one of his associates laugh as well. They stood in the dark away from the light.

“Terrible guess!” Ramsay took his knife and dug it deep into Theon’s pinky finger. You watched Theon writhe and hold in his pain. “Now, where?”

“East Chicago, in Indiana,” Theon’s back moved against the table.

“Do I look like a fucking Umber to you?” Ramsay went at his pinky finger again. The knife went down the middle of the finger, slicing it open. Blood oozed out in streams. The table shook and creaked as Theon moved against it harder.

“The Loop!” Theon shouted out. Ramsay stopped.

“How did you know that? Did you see anything when you came in? Any signs or markings?” Theon shook his head.

“No,” he breathed out. “Just a guess.” Ramsay walked away from him and towards you. Confused, you opened your mouth to say something. Ramsay put a finger to his mouth.

“Are you enjoying the show?” he whispered to you. “No your head for yes. Shake for no.” You nodded your head. Theon was in pain, not too much pain, but he was distressed.

“Do you like watching him like this?” You nodded your head again. You felt Ramsay’s hand settle on your back. He brought you closer to him. “Do you want to see more?”

Your mind flashed back to the club where he was cocky and slightly drunk. And then at the hotel where you felt him against you. He had no remorse about those boys. He was celebrating life knowing those boys could be dead and that it was his fault.

Theon looked back at you, trying to puzzle-piece together who you were and why you were with his torturer.

“No, I know who you are,” Theon’s eyes went to Ramsay’s. “You’re a Red King. You’re hired assassins. We’re at the headquarters. Somewhere near the harbor and the steel mills.”

“Very good, Theon,” Ramsay turned back to him. “How did you know?”

“You tattoo, the X,” Theon’s eyes pointed out Ramsay’s left hand. “I’ve seen it before. You were hired to torture me. The Stark boys. I killed them. I betrayed Robb Stark. That’s why you’re torturing me.” Ramsay frowned.

“Yes,” he sounded displeased. He played his flaying knife. “You win.” Theon gave out a big sigh of relief. He let his head rest on the table and closed his eyes. Ramsay twirled the knife down and looked to the ground for a moment. Silence filled the room.

You frowned too. The game was over just like that. Ramsay made a deal. He had to let Theon go. He won the game. You felt a scowl form on your face. He was going to get away with it. Little did you know, Ramsay watched you slowly go from a smile to a scowl.

“Of course, you forgot something,” Ramsay said looking at you. His eyes smiled at you. “You’re guilty for so much more than that. Aren’t you Theon?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You went and touched something that wasn’t yours,” Ramsay said and turned to Theon. “Was she yours to touch?” He pointed at you. Theon scoffed.

“She was throwing herself at me! Like some slut!” Theon shouted. That word. It was caught in your throat. Ramsay watched you go from serious to hurt in seconds. You crossed your arms and looked away from Theon. Ramsay met your eyes, and something clicked.

“Wrong,” Ramsay lowered his voice. “She doesn’t belong to you. She doesn’t want you, and you were forcing yourself on her. Weren’t you?” Ramsay dug the knife into the same finger. Theon shouted in pain.

“She wanted me! Ask her! She was throwing herself at me!”

“I don’t need to,” Ramsay said. He looked at you. “I don’t need to ask her because I trust her.” He said it again. You weren’t sure the first time, but he said it again. This time in front of other people. He meant it. He did trust you. “Half the reason this is happening to you is because of the Stark boys, do you want to know that other half?”

“Because of her?” Theon groaned in pain. Ramsay squeezed his pinky finger, releasing more blood.

“Because she enjoys it,” Ramsay watched you smile, and for the first time you felt happy because someone else was in pain. You started to realize why Ramsay liked his job.

“Hurt him,” you blurted out, uncrossing your arms. Ramsay’s fingers dug inside Theon’s finger. Ramsay started to pull at a nerve. Theon cried out in pain.

“Beg him!” you shouted. “Beg him to cut it off!”

“Fuck!” Theon screamed.

“Do it! Beg him to cut it off!” you screamed at him. Ramsay twisted the nerve. Tears trailed down Theon’s face.

“Cut it off! Cut it off! Make it stop!” Theon pleaded. Ramsay cut Theon’s pinky finger off. It fell to the floor with a small thud. You made your way to satisfied Ramsay. Your mouth found his and your hands found his hair. He kissed you back with the same enthusiasm. You broke the kiss first, almost gasping for breath. He leaned his forehead against yours.

“Satisfied, pretty bird?” he asked you. His blue eyes bore into yours. He wanted an honest answer. Your hand found his and you held it there.

“You could do worse,” you felt your creepy smile go to your ears and it felt good. Ramsay turned back to Theon, flaying knife in hand.

“You’re right,” Ramsay trailed the flaying knife down Theon’s chest.

“I want you to show me,” you demanded. Theon choked out a few sobs.

“As you wish, Y/N.”

[anaomynous]

Jon Snow Part 1

This wasn’t a request, I was just reading a few x readers, fanfics, smuts, etc. Where… It ABSOLUTELY does not capture Jon Snow’s gentle, kind, sweet, shy, anxious, and insecure parts of his personality when it comes to women, am I the only person that bothers? Maybe… Haha. It is just Tumblr after all. I also have always had a desire to write a Jon Snow fanfic. Anyways, enjoy!

For years now, I have lived in Winterfell with the Starks, after Eddard Stark was a giving man, who offered a Lord his most precious gem, his daughter, safety, after his city had been overthrown, and attacked by The Lannisters. This was a betrayal to house Lannister, since the Starks and Lannisters have been alies for many years. However, Eddard was never one to sit back and let baby girls be murdered by knights. That is all I knew… I never knew what my true name was, or what name to call my noble father. My family knew I wasn’t a Stark, and Lady Catelyn truly loathed me, telling her daughters to stay leery of me. Same with Eddard’s bastard: Jon. However, she covered my identity up, as though they had found me, abandoned by peasant parents, left at the gates of Winterfell. Catelyn would never let me share their name, so I too was given the name: Snow. Growing up being less than everyone else, was so hard, but it wasn’t so bad, having Jon. At least I was never alone. Theon Greyjoy who was another child like myself, from another house was treated as if he was one of the Stark children. I was jealous of him, oh how I craved the guidance of a parent. The worst memory, was when we were all little, they would horrendously, pick on Jon. Which, Lady Catelyn would often look on, not a word, no intervention being just 7 years old, both Jon and I.

“Robb, stop it! You’re hurting him! Get off!” I yelled, stopping him from kicking Jon in the ribs as he and Theon sang “No one wants to play with bastards!” By shoving him to the ground. After Jon would just try to attempt at bonding with his half brother, and Theon by asking to play. “Look at this, Snow. You got a girlfriend, another Snow!” Theon yelled out, as they both laughed. Jon, embarrassed often wanted to be left alone, rather than consoled, which was quite often what would happen, after I would get them off him. It frustrated me, because he would only let me in, to a point. I would always follow him, then coax him out of his frustration in due time. Until he dried his tears on his sleeves, and came back out to meet me, I would hold out my hand with a smile “It’s okay, Jon. I’ll play with you,” As he grasped it. It would always make me sick… All he wanted was to play with them.

The night that the Lannisters came to Winterfell, 10 years later, to call upon Eddard Stark to become the King’s hand, they had a party. The handmaidens placed me in the most beautiful dress, showing Stark colors, made of velvet, doing my long, black hair in long curls that spilled over it. My skin was pale as snow, which suited the name that I had. My eyes a dark blue, looked so bright when wearing the grey colors in this dress. “Where did you get this beautiful dress?!” I exclaimed. “Lord Stark requested each Stark girl, wear one.” My heart pounded, and I smiled happily. He wanted me to be seen as a Stark girl. I felt so pretty, so full of confidence, as I went to seat myself to the table, Ed looked upon me, with a huge smile. “You look so beautiful, I forget how much of a woman you become every day!” He said with pride in his smile. Taking a piece of my hair and putting it behind my ear. “I am so happy to see you in that dress, it looks wonderful. Your father would be so proud to see the lady that you have become, my dear.” Lady Catelyn, glared over to me, and her mouth dropped “This is a table for only the Stark family, this party is not a place for parentless children, and bastards!” She yelled. Causing the party to quiet briefly to look at her, her face fiery red, gritting her teeth at me. I sighed deeply, wanting so badly to just fit in “You are no Stark, how dare you wear our colors, leave at once, you are an embarrassment!” I looked to Eddard, who looked at me apologeticly. Everyone stared, whispered, and scoffed. Giggling to themselves at what a sight I was. I got up, and ran out the door, to the balcony, to be alone. As I did I began to sob, loudly. Thinking the music would drown me out. I fell to my knees, just wishing I could be… for just one moment: accepted. I stayed there, for a while, until I then realized I was most definitely NOT alone. I paused and looked up to see Jon, staring at me, a sword in his hand, after he had been attacking a sack of hay. I see we both take out our frustrations in different ways. We both stared at each other for a long period of time in silence, before I collected myself. “Sorry… Jon… I figured. No one… Was out here,” I stammered, going to go back up to my room. He watched me, his expression confused. He looked at his sword, and balanced it against the wall of the balcony, following me; to where I was going. I slammed my door, and pulled off, the beautiful velvet dress, tossing it to the floor, and putting on my regular clothes, of those that looked like a commoner. I heard a quiet knock on my door “Please, leave me be,” I cried not knowing who it was. “It’s Jon,” I heard him say from behind the door. I hesitated, staring at it, not knowing if I wanted to answer or not. “I’m not leaving, Jewel,” He said finally. I sighed deeply, and walked to the door and opened it. I looked up at him, he looked nothing like any almost 17 year old I had ever seen. His physique, his height, his dark facial hair, and thick, curls of black hair, almost like dark waves of the ocean, swirling wildly around his beautiful face. I opened the door wider for him to come in. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his tone soft and concerned. “I cannot stand being here anymore, they all hate me, because of Lady Catelyn.” I said, feeling almost numb from all the crying I had done. “You’re not the only one, she wouldn’t let embarrass her at the party, Jewel.” He said with a sad chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side and smirking “Maybe it isn’t all bad, if you and I are together. We have always had each other, remember?” He said holding out his hand to me. I slowly placed my hand in his. “It’s okay, Jewel, I’ll play with you,” He said with a look of reassurance. Making me think, that how I was with him as we were children, may have meant something to him. I smiled at him, a tear rolling down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away, and smiled at him, sweetly. We both stayed silent, our hands still holding onto each other. Before we both realized how long we had just been standing there. “Sorry,” we both said, dropping our hands, to our sides. He sat down on my bed, and I followed, sitting next to him. “I… Need to tell you something, Jewel.” He spook, looking down at the ground. “What?” I asked, wondering what the sudden change of mood, was warranted by. He exhaled deeply, avoiding my gaze. “I am leaving… Tomorrow,” “To… Where?” I asked, thinking he may be going on a hunting trip, or to Kings Landing with Ed. “I am going to join the men of The Nightwatch, at the wall.” He said with a sad tone. It took a few moments to register what exactly he had said to me. I shook my head, “No, you’re… Joking?” I said biting my lip… Going to The Nightwatch meant forever… Which meant… Never seeing him… Again. My heart was breaking inside of my chest. My… One and only friend, was going to leave me. “No, Jewel. I want to become something greater, I am tired of being known as Ed Stark’s bastard. My uncle is there… I feel like it’s what I am meant to do.” He spoke, trying to explain himself “But… Without you, nothing will be holding me to Winterfell, Jon. Please, don’t leave me here,” I said, feeling almost guilty for my selfishness. “I know, and I can never express what having someone who actually cares about me, in this horrible place, means to me, truly. I have to do this. It feels right…” “But, Jon, I-” “My decision has been made. I want to do this.” “Jon, You’re so much more than just someone’s bastard. You’re a man, with so much kindness in his heart. You don’t need to join The Nightwatch to show anyone your worth, because I see it, everyday what you are worth. You are worth more than all the riches, and gold that someone could have,” I said trying to reason with what he was saying to me. That’s when my mind started to really process my emotions… Did I… Love him? Was I feeling this heart break, because I knew he could never be with me, after he made his vow to The Nightwatch, and became a crow. He grew quiet, closing his eyes to allow my words to flow through him, I could tell how deep it was sinking into his mind. He opened them slowly, his large, dark, intense eyes, looking at me through his eyelashes. “It’s nice to know I mean something to someone,” He said with a sad smile. I didn’t know if it was a reflex, or a reaction to what he said. I looked at his lips longingly and back into his eyes, inching closer to him. He watched every move I made pressing his brows together. I hesitated, as I moved one hand towards him, moving hair from his face, I bit my lip moving my face slowly towards him. He stiffened up, like a statue, didn’t say a word, his breathing changing and becoming shaken. Mine did too, I had never kissed a person before… Neither did he. “Jewel, what… Are you doing?” He said quietly, in almost a whisper, his voice sounding nervous. I just kept getting closer, first I felt the tickle of his lips grazing mine, until my lips were fully pressed against his. He froze, not knowing what to do and not kissing back, I began to think this was a bad idea, until I felt him locking his in with mine. He placed his hands on my face and deepened the kiss, pulling me closer to him. I tangled my fingers into his curls. We then pulled away from each other, our eyes locked into a stare, not knowing what else to say. He then pulled me into another kiss, before I could really react to it. This time, it was longer, and more passionate, his tongue sliding his way into my mouth, both of us inexperienced and awkward, as we attempted to go with it. We finally figured out what it is we were doing, his lips pushing harder onto mine, his breathing deep, and intense. Then, we once again parted. He inched his hand closer to mine, until he had my hand in his, my hand so much smaller compared to his own, rough, and large hands. We did not speak verbally for a while, only in touch, smiles, and glances. Until he finally broke it. “Jewel, I remember thinking when I was real young, from as long as I could remember ‘I will wed her some day, she’ll be mine. And I will be hers.’” My face grew confused, as it registered what it was, he was telling me right now. “I think I have always been in love with you, I just… couldn’t get myself to say it,” my heart felt so full, and I wanted to wrap my arms around him. Tell him how much I loved him too, however that all grew to sadness as I realized, Jon was leaving… Forever… Tomorrow. “Why, did you wait, until you would be gone Forever, to tell me?” I said, feeling confused, angry, and hurt. “Are you just trying to fuck someone like a common whore, before you are gone forever surrounded by criminals, rapists, thieves, for the rest of your life?” I stood up, trying to not freak out, avoiding his gaze. He stood up, touching my shoulder. “Jewel, you have every right to feel that. I am so, sorry I never told you sooner… So… Much wasted time. I’m not here to bed you, that was never my intention. Kissing you was not my intention… I just felt finally explaining my feelings would be better this way.” I turned to face him. He placed his hands on my face, and kissed my forehead, the tip of my nose, then my lips, gently. He then pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly for what felt like hours…

The next day, I watched him leave. Watched him get onto his horse, taking Ghost to his side, then stopping for a moment to stare up at me. He stayed there, as if he was waiting for me to come down, but… I needed to heal the wound as soon as possible. As did he. I kissed my hand and gestered my hand towards him. He did the same back to me, not caring who it was that was watching. In that moment, all I saw was him, no one else matter. I prayed, to the Gods. Bring Jon Snow back to me…