It Was So So Soo Good… Heed The Tags, But Absolutely Give It A Read, K?

READ THIS NOW!!! Such a fantastic portrayal of these characters!!🥺😭💗

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy Characters: Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton Additional Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, Trauma Bonding, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Masturbation, Rape Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mixed Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Not Beta Read Summary:

Reek knew he didn’t deserve pleasure, but Ramsay never gave him a choice in the matter. Somehow that thought was comforting.

I drew Arya in the Smallwood acorn dress like a year ago and then I forgor about it.

So have Arya in the Smallwood acorn dress doodle

Seal

because posting on Instagram doesn’t feel safe from judgment, here’s my drawing of my favorite bastard, Ramsay <3

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.

Some book Ramsay, I have a sudden urgent to bite his belly

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.”

Worst pain

“a friend and brother” :’(

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. “Theon,” they seemed to whisper, “Theon.”

The old gods, he thought. They know me. They know my name. I was Theon of House Greyjoy. I was a ward of Eddard Stark, a friend and brother to his children. “Please.” He fell to his knees. “A sword, that’s all I ask. Let me die as Theon, not as Reek.” Tears trickled down his cheeks, impossibly warm. “I was ironborn. A son … a son of Pyke, of the islands.”

A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. “… Bran,” the tree murmured. 

They know. The gods know. They saw what I did. And for one strange moment it seemed as if it were Bran’s face carved into the pale trunk of the weirwood, staring down at him with eyes red and wise and sad. Bran’s ghost, he thought, but that was madness. Why should Bran want to haunt him? He had been fond of the boy, had never done him any harm. It was not Bran we killed. It was not Rickon. They were only miller’s sons, from the mill by the Acorn Water. “I had to have two heads, else they would have mocked me … laughed at me … they …”

A voice said, ”Who are you talking to?“

Theon spun, terrified that Ramsay had found him, but it was just the washerwomen—Holly, Rowan, and one whose name he did not know. ”The ghosts,“ he blurted. ”They whisper to me. They … they know my name.“

- A Ghost in Winterfell (ADWD)