I Engage With Fiction In A Normal Way. Don’t Look At My Blog

reblog with a spoiler for your wip with zero context. no context allowed.

Commission done by cereza365.

Theon stared at the flames over the rim of his wine goblet, brooding on the injustice of it all. “I rode beside Robb Stark in the Whispering Wood,” he muttered. He had been frightened that night, but not like this. It was one thing to go into battle surrounded by friends, and another to perish alone and despised. Mercy, he thought miserably.

— ACOK, THEON VI.

Through The Woods

A mythology Thramsay fic inspired by this quote;

"Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again... and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time... But the wolf... the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once" — Emily Carroll

Theon’s village is plagued by a creature which lures young women to the forest, never to be seen again. Seeking fame and perhaps a chance to restore his pride, Theon alone ventures out in hopes of conquering this beast. For surely where others failed, he would succeed.

But these woods are not the ones of his youth; these are darker, more sinister. The very air beneath the leaves feels wrong. He finds help in his quest in the form of a man who lives in these woods. A man obviously keeping his own secrets, though what they could be, Theon is yet to find.

He will learn though… What it truly means to hunt. And what is required to guard himself from being hunted.

*Text below the cut. Small mention of a bloody knife.*

It had been perhaps twelve hours since he first set out when Theon felt a presence like a ghost at his back. The air itself seemed to still all of a sudden. There was no wind to cool the sweat on his brow. The density of the trees began to close in around him, their branches reaching down like gnarled fingers, as if hoping to snatch him.

“Need some help?”

Spinning around, his hand reflexively flew to his quiver in the same motion. His fingers stilled, resting atop one of the arrows. He froze, staring. Waiting.

A man stood before him, dressed in fitted black breeches and boots, with a deep red shirt—red like blood—which hung open across his pale chest, seemingly to account for the sheer girth of it. A dark smattering of chest hair trailed up to his throat. The hair on his head was black as night without stars or moon. Black as the shadows behind him. It hung below his broad shoulders.

But his eyes seemed to steal the breath from Theon’s lungs the same as if he had taken a plunge into the shrieking river. They watched him, meeting his stare.

Theon shivered; the bright blue of them glowed in stark contrast to the darkness of the forest. Like fallen stars. Stars that could sear the very flesh from his bones.

As if the man could read his thoughts, his wide lips curled up into the smallest of smiles. He was leaning up against a tree. A casual pose if ever there was one.

Were it not for the blood on his clothes and knife in his hand.

“My sincerest apologies for scaring you.”

The words were considerate enough, but the tone which danced at the edges of them, had Theon’s hackles rising despite the pounding of his heart and suspicion brewing in the back of his mind.

Theon’s arm dropped back to his side, his other gloved hand tightening around the handle of his bow.

“I was not scared,” he huffed, shifting his feet. “I was… startled.”

The smile grew on the other man’s face, exposing glinting white teeth. “Forgive me; my apologies for startling you.”

Where before there was perhaps the hint of mockery, now there was no mistaking it sliming the tone.

Theon glared fiercely. “I wouldn’t be so disrespectful if I were you,”

A dark brow raised. “No disrespect was meant, I assure you.” He pushed off the tree, taking two steps closer. Their proximity brought to light just how much wider and taller he was than Theon; he looked down at him as if observing a particularly interesting rock he had found lying in his path. “But might I inquire as to why you’re above being disrespected?”

The smell of him engulfed Theon like a cloud. A heady mix of spice, wet soil, greasy pork… and a metallic scent that had Theon’s stomach turning.

Theon’s eyes flitted between the knife in his hand and those eager eyes. He swallowed thickly. Suddenly his station in life seemed unimportant and weak when alone in the wilderness.

But no, he was an important person. And this low-life needed to learn just how beneath him he was.

The words somehow came to him as strong and firm as he intended for them to come out. “I’m a lord.”

Something sparked in the other man’s gaze, but it was gone so quickly that Theon almost thought he’d imagined it.

“A lord? Of course, I understand; you deserve your proper respect.” He sheathed his knife, blood and all, inclined his head and grasped his cloak in one hand before giving a small bow.

Yet again, despite the deference the action showed, the tone with which he spoke, even his motions, felt off.

“Indeed,” Theon sniffed, haughty and irritated for reasons he couldn’t fully place.

The man straightened with a playful smile. “Don’t you care to know my name?” He sounded petulant, like a child, despite his prodigious size, which only served to annoy Theon further.

He eyed him in a way that he hoped portrayed his disinterest. “Not particularly.”

The other man’s smile fell. “That’s very rude, you know.” Theon sensed a faint, venomous note

“A lord can afford to be rude to someone beneath his station.” Even as he said that, Theon’s eyes found the knife again. A warning flared to life in the depths of his being, like a candle deep within a cave. His foot inched backward beneath the sharp look of the other man. “What were you doing out here anyway?” He looked back up into the man’s face.

A thin smile met him. “Hunting.”

Theon examined the bottom of Smiler’s hoof with a practiced eye. The frog looked well-formed still, his flare of thrush seeming to have receded fully after the regular treatments.

Smiler shifted against his shoulder, strong muscles quivering beneath smooth, sleek hair.

“Easy,” Theon soothed, reaching to run a hand across the underside of his horse’s stomach in hopes of comforting him. “Almost done.”

Before he could even reach for his hoof pick, a harsh, stinging smack to his right ass cheek nearly had him sprawled face-first into the dung-covered dirt.

He dropped Smiler’s foot abruptly in a way he never normally would, but the force of the slap, even through his riding breeches, had him staggering forward with a yelp.

With his left hand braced on his horse’s flank, he quickly regained his balance. He stood motionless for a moment, and resolved that whoever had the nerve to do that, had approximately three seconds to come up with a fantastic reason, before his fist met their face.

“Need some help?” A voice all but purred from close behind him.

Wait… he knew that voice.

Shit fucker.

He turned around and sure enough; Ramsay Bolton. Clad in his blue jeans, rough leather chaps and light pink button up shirt. Half the buttons were left open showcasing thick dark hair painted across his broad chest. Long, black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. A signature teasing smirk curling half of his thick lips.

Theon fought to stifle his groan. He’d gotten his hopes up that Ramsay wouldn’t be at this rodeo- he hadn’t seen his name on any of the sign-in sheets.

“What are you doing here?”

Ramsay raised his brows, his expression sardonic. “Well, you may be aware that this is a competition, and I happen to be a top competitor in it.”

“I mean harassing me in my horse’s stall, obviously,” Theon snapped, irritation thick in his tone.

The larger man put on an exaggerated, faux-wounded expression. “‘Harassing’? I only came to wish you luck.”

“Well, you did, so goodbye.” Theon made a point to turn his back, pick up a curry comb and start brushing the dirt off of Smiler’s back. It was pointless; he took immaculate care of him and nary a speck of dust could be brought up. He just needed something to occupy himself with and make it look like he was busy.

He jumped and dropped the comb when a large hand cupped his ass, spanning almost all the way across the entirety of it. Fingers dug into his flesh, kneading and bringing a throbbing warmth to the sore, abused cheek.

Theon shied away, pulling free of the grip and turning a glare on Ramsay. “Don’t touch me.”

The other man cocked his head, an amused, if slightly incredulous look on his face. “We’ve fucked, and you have a problem with me touching your ass?”

“First of all,” Theon said, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, “we fucked once, and it was only because I was drunk and you took advantage.” He walked over to his black English saddle with gold accents, hefting it easily. “It hurt to take a shit for a week, in case you were wondering.” Ignoring the other man’s snicker at that, he tossed the saddle onto Smiler’s back and began fastening the girth and breast collar. “Second,” he purposely kept his back to Ramsay, “you didn’t just ‘touch’, you hit me.”

“It was a love-tap.”

“It. Hurt,” Theon grit out.

“Aw, want me to kiss it better?” He sounded far too eager for that; Theon could picture his eyes lighting up.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Your loss,” Ramsay hummed.

UM. UHHH…… I, like, need this as a whole fic. Like, yesterday. Freaking brilliant.

Au where theon is a pup play/nsfw Twitter account, and Ramsay being the biggest incel gooner, is his biggest fan,so he starts chatting up theon and eventually becomes his master/handler, and theon post about it, proudly shows his collar etc, until after a while he stops posting at all, one of his mutuals and friend, Kyra, notices after two months of inactivity, she DMS him curious, then worried, because Theon doesn't spend longer then and hour away from his phone and he hasn't replied to her, after a week after she starts dming, theons account disappears, she freaks out at first but it's not like she can do much she didn't even know his actual name, and after a while she just figures that maybe theons new master didn't like him posting, so she convinces herself everything is fine and moves on

Based off of this tweet

5 Pieces of Media to Describe Me

Thank you for the tag @5005weep and @pseudonym-s !! So fun!

Tagging @cola-fiend @theeironprice No pressure! I’d love to see y’all’s picks though<33

Hmmmmg, it was spectacular. Absolute must read. *Especially* if you love For Rent, as you should. But regardless, give it a go. You won’t be disappointed.

Happy (late) Valentine’s Day ♥️ Because Ramsay couldn’t be normal and celebrate the holiday on the actual day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63107371

Preview text:

At the door, the girls ambush him; whatever meat had gotten on the pizza and the wings were making them especially rowdy. Theon’s grown used to the dogs knocking into him; he knew just how to brace his knees so that they don’t push him over in their excitement. When he’d first visited, their owner had made some flimsy attempt at calling them off; now he did no such thing.

It’s as if Theon was just another one of his bitches.

Toeing off his sneakers, he takes the few stairs up to the living room and finds The X Files playing on the TV. “Took you long enough,” Ramsay says in lieu of a greeting. “I was getting hungry,” he complains.

“You’re always hungry,” Theon reminds him, setting the boxes on the coffee table's edge. Ramsay shoots him an annoyed look, not much liking the response.

There’s a variety of things spread out over the wood. “What’s going on here?” Theon asks. There’s a packed bong with sparkling clean water, an obnoxious amount of candy, two champagne flutes and a VHS box 💞

Got you!🎃

Word Count:.. too long..:10811. Title: “All Bets Are Off.” (Thank you for the title and the fic graphic, @theeironprice!! You’re the absolute bestest!!) Modern AU, Rodeo Thramsay. It’s Thramsay… but they’re both competing in a rodeo. The most lighthearted I have ever written… but it’s still Thramsay. Rating: Explicit. For downright raunchiness. Link if you wanna see where this strange tale takes us: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/62885251"

Theon examined the bottom of Smiler’s hoof with a practiced eye. The frog looked well-formed still, his flare of thrush seeming to have receded fully after the regular treatments.

Smiler shifted against his shoulder, strong muscles quivering beneath smooth, sleek hair.

“Easy,” Theon soothed, reaching to run a hand across the underside of his horse’s stomach in hopes of comforting him. “Almost done.”

Before he could even reach for his hoof pick, a harsh, stinging smack to his right ass cheek nearly had him sprawled face-first into the dung-covered dirt.

He dropped Smiler’s foot abruptly in a way he never normally would, but the force of the slap, even through his riding breeches, had him staggering forward with a yelp.

With his left hand braced on his horse’s flank, he quickly regained his balance. He stood motionless for a moment in stunned disbelief and resolved that whoever had the nerve to do that, had approximately three seconds to cobble together a fantastic reason, before his fist made its connection with their face.

“Need some help?” A voice all but purred from close behind him.

Wait… he knew that voice.

Shit fucker.

He turned around and sure enough, Ramsay Bolton. Clad in his blue jeans, rough leather chaps and light pink button-up shirt. Half the buttons were left open showcasing thick dark hair painted across his broad chest. Long, black hair pulled back into a low ponytail. A signature teasing smirk curling half of his thick lips.

Theon fought to stifle his groan. He had gotten his hopes up that Ramsay wouldn’t be at this rodeo- he hadn’t seen his name on any of the sign-in sheets.

“What are you doing here?”

Ramsay raised his brows, his expression sardonic. “Well, you may be aware that this is a competition, and I happen to be a top competitor in it.”

“I mean harassing me in my horse’s stall, obviously,” Theon snapped, irritation thick in his tone.

The larger man put on an exaggerated, faux-wounded expression and placed a hand on his chest. “‘Harassing’? I only came to wish you luck.”

“Well, you have now, so goodbye.” Theon made a point to turn his back, pick up a curry comb and start brushing the dirt off Smiler. It was pointless; he took immaculate care of him and nary a speck of dust could be brought up. He just needed something to occupy himself with and make it look like he was busy.

He jumped and dropped the comb when a large hand cupped his ass, spanning almost all the way across the entirety of it. Fingers dug into his flesh, kneading, and bringing a throbbing warmth to the sore, abused cheek.

Theon shied away, pulling free of the grip and turning a glare on Ramsay. “Don’t touch me.”

The other man cocked his head, an amused, if slightly incredulous look on his face. “We’ve fucked, and you have a problem with me touching your ass?”

“First of all,” Theon said, drawing himself up with as much dignity as he could muster, “we fucked once, and it was only because I was drunk, and you took advantage.” He walked over to his black English saddle with gold accents, hefting it easily. “It hurt to take a shit for a week after, in case you were wondering.” Ignoring the other man’s snicker at that, he tossed the saddle onto Smiler’s back and began fastening the girth and breast collar. “Second,” he purposely kept his back to Ramsay, “you didn’t just ‘touch,’ you hit me.”

“It was a love-tap.”

“It. Hurt,” Theon grit out.

“Aw, want me to kiss it better?” He sounded far too eager for that; Theon could picture his eyes lighting up.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Your loss,” Ramsay hummed.