#Bree writes

[breeistired]

All seven of the deadly sins embodied me. Repenting, and praying, maybe I could be free. But sometimes god doesn’t have faith in me”

-Bree Murillo, chapters of a teenage girl

[ship-ambrosia]

I’m just gonna pin a little promotion page for the Theon/Sansa fics I’ve posted & update as continued

Theon/Sansa fics (AO3)

Everything and Nothing Spoken

- Sansa mourns (Post-canon compliant)

The Iron Prince

- The Queen in the North waits for Theon to recover from his injuries (Theon lives AU, Post-canon)

The Red Wolf runs to the Sea

- Sansa almost lost Theon once. She’s faced with the possibility again (Angsty, hurt/comfort)

Prince of Diapers

- Goofy, fluffy, baby fever (modern AU)

Queen’s Fury

- Theon POV of The Red Wolf runs to the Sea (includes graphic injury)

The Shattered Remains of Theon Greyjoy

- Theon POV fic for Theonsa #soupversary2023 (Canon-compliant, ambiguous ending)

Iron and Ice

- Multichapter ongoing, Theon lives AU, Dark Dany AU (canon divergence)

Year of the OTP 2023

January: Theon in the Snow

- First Kiss, Snow

February: A Good Man

- Different

March: Strings of Pearls

- Fresh Starts, Mutual Pining, Acceptance

April: Wreath Me in Flames (Make Me Burn)

- (Seemingly) Unrequited Love, "No, I'm not dating your brother"

May: Bundled Sunshine

- Flower Language, Sunshine, Pet/child acquisition

June: A Night of Sea and Stars

- Wedding, Love confessions

[beaker1636]

Soo before I start posting any of the one story that’s gonna be hella long does anyone know how to make a master list or anything like that?

I’m technology dumb and have no clue, but figured it would be nice so as I add to it people can refer to that 🤔🤔🤔

[breezymichelle99]

Would y’all completely hate me if I wrote a fic about Brad Marchand???

Asking for a friend 😬

[dwarrowdams]

still I make the choice to bury my love (in the moondust)

Suddenly got in the mood to write something sad, so here’s one I’ve been chewing on for a minute.

Garrus finds out that Liv is missing (and likely dead) at the beginning of ME2.  Kind of a prequel/companion piece to this one, but they can be read separately.

CW: brief reference to dissociation

Garrus was more than a little surprised to see Ashley Williams standing at his office door.

The two of them had always been civil aboard the Normandy, but she certainly wasn’t the first crewmate he’d expect to stop by his workplace, particularly since he anticipated that she’d be chasing down the geth for another few weeks at least.

“Williams,” he said as he arose from his desk.  “What brings you here?”

She shut the door behind her, suddenly looking unsure of herself.  She was quiet for a moment, the beginning of a sentence coming out of her mouth, but she stopped herself before Garrus could understand what she was saying.

“There’s no good way to say this,” she said half to herself before turning to look at Garrus.  “The Normandy blew up.”

He was about to ask for further clarification, but Williams charged ahead before he could.

“Wasn’t long ago—less than a week,” she said.  “It hasn’t made it to the news circuits yet because they’re looking into things, but it was bad.  I’m not really supposed to say anything, but I felt like you should know.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and Garrus waited a moment before asking the thousand questions that were crossing his mind.  It was clearly difficult for her to relive this, and he didn’t want to make it more so.

“Did the crew make it out okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” she said, quickly swiping her fingers beneath her eyes.  “Most of us got into the escape pods, but Liv…”

She shook her head rapidly before turning away.  Garrus shifted slightly as well: while he was no stranger to human tears, he got the sense that Williams was trying desperately to hold herself together.

A few moments later, she pulled something from her pocket and pressed it into his hand, her face still carefully turned away. 

Garrus recognized it immediately as the pendant that Liv always wore.

“She was at the pods with me, but she went back to help Joker get out,” Williams said.  “She told me to give this to you.  Said you could give it back when you two talked.  I think she meant it as a promise that she’d follow through on whatever you two had planned, but…I don’t think she made it.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply in an attempt to keep his emotions in check.  “Is she…?” he asked, not able to bring himself to say the word “dead.”

“For now, she’s just missing in action,” she said.  “But Joker saw her get spaced so…I don’t know.  It doesn’t look good.”

Garrus nodded.  “Thanks,” he said.  “For telling me.  I’d rather find out now than have to wait till it hits the news circuits.”

“I tried to stop her,” Ashley said, her voice suddenly small.  “Should’ve known it wouldn’t do any good—after Akuze, she wouldn’t let someone else die if she could help it, even if it meant risking her own skin.”

Garrus said nothing, turning the pendant over in his hand a few more times before pocketing it.  The conversation he and Liv had when he was last aboard the Normandy passed through his head.  She’d been up front about her attraction to him, and he’d been eager to explore where that might go, spurred on by her assurance that she valued their friendship above all else.  She’d brought his life clearly into focus, and he’d wanted to integrate her into it in an ongoing way.  Perhaps they had started as no more than ships passing in the night, but over the months he’d spent aboard the Normandy, he’d come to crave a lasting relationship with her, whatever form that took.

But now, as he looked down at her pendant, he felt every hope he’d allowed himself to have being dashed to pieces.  Williams was a practical sort, and he suspected she wouldn’t have come to tell him if there was a reasonable hope that Liv might be alive somewhere.

Williams’ voice interrupted his thoughts.  “We’ll all miss her, but I know you two had something special,” she said.  “I don’t think she got close to many people, but the two of you…” she trailed off.

“Yeah,” Garrus said.  “Yeah, we were…close.”  His heart was too heavy at the loss of Liv to feel embarrassed that their relationship had been so noticeable to other members of the crew.

“I wish I could say something other than ‘I’m sorry,’ but that’s all I have,” Williams said, her voice breaking slightly.  “I’m so fucking sorry.  I wish…I don’t know.  I wish it wasn’t like this.”

Tentatively, Garrus put a hand on her shoulder, ready to pull it back if she objected, but she didn’t.  They stood like that for a few moments, both holding back a tide of emotions, when Garrus stepped back, removing his hand from Williams’s shoulder.

“I don’t really know what humans do in situations like this,” he said, “but if there’s a…ceremony or anything for her, I want to be there.”

Williams nodded.  “They’ll probably have a funeral if she’s…if they don’t find her in a few months,” she said.  “I know she’s Buddhist, so I don’t know if there’s anything special they do for that, but if any of the information’s not shared publicly, I’ll make sure it gets to you.”

“Thanks,” Garrus said softly.  “It’s not easy, going through something like that and then having to relive it. I appreciate you telling me.”

“It’s what she would’ve wanted,” Williams said, standing in silence for a moment before opening the door.  “I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

Garrus murmured something affirmative and bid her farewell, closing the door of his office behind her.  He walked back to his desk, feeling as though his body was no longer his own, as though someone else were controlling it.

She was gone, just like that.

A part of him hoped that they were able to recover her, but from what Williams had said, it sounded like that was a fool’s hope.

Now that he was alone, the loss hit him like a physical blow, setting the rest of his life off-kilter.  In a short time, Liv had become an important part of his life, and the thought of it without her seemed bleak, as though all the color had been drained out of it.

He withdrew the pendant from his pocket, setting it on the desk.  It was all he had left of Liv now, and having it within sight made the loss sting a little less.

Despite everything Williams had told him, there was still some part of him that hoped that, one day, he’d be able to return it to her.

But until that day—if it ever came—he’d hold onto this small piece of her for the rest of his life: a reminder of the human who had affected him so profoundly in such a short amount of time.

[newttxt]

and thats a wrapppppppp!!

from the 10th and final chapter of utilities included

masterpost

[dolladooley]

there was you | chase davenport

cw: spike

a/n: first time writing fr for this blog ! it was fun and i hope u enjoy :) this takes place in season two. gif credit goes to me 💯

-

chase was never the most... socially adept kid. he wasn't objectively cool, popular, or even likable. he was the odd kid. the nerdy one. even before he was allowed out of the lab, there was a clear and noticeable difference between how adam and bree behaved and how he did.

it had its consequences.

too many people had pushed his buttons, one of them being his very own brother, and he snapped. before he could process it, spike had come out to play.

it didn't take long for spike to start wreaking his havoc. cafeteria tables were flipped, the jocks were (once again, for some reason) covered in pudding. students were shouting both instigations and admissions of fear.

you could hear the commotion from the floor above. curious, you slowly wandered down the stairs, immediately taking notice of the panicked silhouettes beyond the cafeteria door's blurred glass. you looked around awkwardly as if anyone else was in the area before you continued your adventure towards the noise, gripping the handrails. and just as you were slowly reaching out to the cafeteria door open, it flung open and you were pushed back. laid out flat on the floor, you rubbed the back of your head and looked up, and the sight you were met with was not at all what you were expecting.

chase.

as if he didn't see or feel you, he aggressively walked toward a locker and ripped the door off its hinges. you squinted at him before you were startled by him throwing the blue metal on the ground. it slid beside you with a loud clang as he turned back to the cafeteria.

"who wants to join that pathetic piece of metal?!"

oh.

of course that wasn't chase. you knew better. you remember learning about this side of him.

the bionic side, that is.

how could you forget it? when you saw him nearly wax the floors with his own body at the sound of the school bell, you couldn't just turn a blind eye. no way. that's when leo just told you everything. he had new bionic siblings. you struggled to buy it, and thought maybe chase was just really autistic or something, but after they demonstrated with a feat of strength, speed, and a forcefield, you opened your mind a little more.

you'd heard of chase's hulk mode, but you never saw it first hand. you were unsure of what to do, but looking towards his siblings, it didn't seem like they had any ideas either. bree and adam were rather frantic. they never knew how to neutralize chase when his commando app was activated. leo tried to play hero and run at him with a chair but he got scared and dropped it, retreating to hide behind adam. you resisted an eye roll.

as for spike, he was on an absolute rampage. he felt great. but then he turned slightly to the right... and there was you.

in chase's eyes, you were a saving grace. an angel. yeah, he liked you. it was hard not to. fortunately for him, it wasn't obvious to you, only to everyone else.

he often thought about the day he met you. he freaked out at the bell, and you offered him your headphones for the day. he never realized people could be so kind. his whole life, he'd been belittled by his brother and his father, and even his sister would poke fun at him occasionally. but then there was you. you were there for him. you hadn't even known him, and you were there for him. the following days and weeks that ensued, you continued to be friendly, and thus continued to be a highlight of his life. deep down, in spike's subconscious, chase was there, and he knew you would be the one to release him from his mental prison.

he was so busy throwing stuff, he didn't notice when you started barreling toward him.

"chase?!" you stood up, running towards him and pulling him aside with all the strength you could muster. "chase! calm down, man-- breathe!"

he snarled at you, and you stepped back cautiously with an glint of fear in your eye.

he huffed.

commando app disengaged.

"...[name]?"

"yeah! yeah, it's me. are you okay?"

he pondered on the question. looking at you, he could see concern had replaced the fear in your eyes.

and now that you were here, he felt fine.

"yeah... yeah, i'm okay."

[gojorgeous]

Hello! I loved your Gojo vampire fanfic, so much that in the end I asked myself a question, I wanted to know, what would have happened if the reader had rejected Satoru? I would like to know what reaction he would have had if the reader had rejected his marriage request, and I would also like to know what he would have done if she had rejected him when she found out that he is a vampire, please. Of course, only if you want to do it. Thanks for write this story.

Oooooo!! bestie, I love this ask hehe <3

First of all, thank you so much for the kind words! I'm so glad you liked the fic! I'm gonna put a break here so that you can read the rest of my thoughts below! (dark/nsfw/yandere below the cut):

As for how vamp!gojo would react... i don't see it ending very well for reader. In this fic i viewed him as pretty much a yandere. If reader had refused to marry him, I don't think she would have stayed free very long. I think he def would have just scooped her up in the night and whisked her away. I think he would have just kept her locked up in his castle, visiting her everyday until he won her over.

If she had refused him when she figured out he was a vampire... I think he would have gotten angry, which would be extra terrifying because I think he's usually very gentle and careful with her. I can see him forcing his bite on her because he knows it will put her in a sort of euphoric state that would make her more pliable and more receptive to his desires.

In short, he is absolutely and totally obsessed with reader and I can't see a universe in which he doesn't have her, whether it's willingly or by force. However, I also think he has a sort of alluring quality that is a result of him being a vampire and also just his personality. Because of that, I don't think many humans are capable of resisting, including reader. I see her eventually falling for him, even if she fights it tooth and nail.

[black-is-beautiful18]

If your fav white character can have godhood status without anyone objecting and having to prove themself then so can characters of color.

If your fav white character can one shot somebody then so can characters of color.

If your fav white character can be angry then so can characters of color.

If your fav white character can be the savior then so can characters of color.

If your fav white character can be loved unconditionally THEN SO CAN CHARACTERS OF COLOR.

Y’all constantly want characters of color to struggle and that’s a problem. They can never just exist. They can never be powerful just because. They can’t be anything without y’all questioning why they have the right to be that way. It’s racism. Point blank period. Constantly questioning why marginalized characters aren’t struggling, why they get to show off their powers and just be is racist. The fact y’all don’t hesitate to do it either makes it even more obvious. Like what do you mean Storm not struggling does a disservice to marginalized characters??? Or that Hazel despite being super powerful doesn’t deserve to be in the seven??? Or that Bree is annoying when she is a grieving 16 year old???? What do you mean by that??????

[blindmagdalena]

how do you think homie would react to reader breaking up with him because they have very different morals (homie kills people, ik he's babygirl but he does just brutally kill people, reader is a pacifist)

-bree(sorry for multiple asks in short time :P)

cw gaslighting, imprisonment, manhandling. no more mr. nice homelander.

"Fine, listen, listen, if it means that much to you, I won't do it anymore," Homelander says, hands lifted placatingly. The way he says it makes it sound like he's doing you a favor. Like you're overreacting to a mild infraction. You stare, mouth agape. "This... This isn't some bad habit. You kill people."

"Yeah," he agrees, a slight strain creeping into his voice. "Yeah! Okay. And? Lots of people kill people. And typically, I only kill people who're also killing people." "Typically," you echo, at a loss. How can he be so flippant about this? It's like he hasn't heard a single word you've said. "You don't care. At all." "Why should I care? Why should you care? It's not like I'm killing people you like, or even know," he says, his exasperation with you intensifying. "But you love me. So just... Cool off, alright? Sleep on it. Before you do something you'll regret."

The shift in his voice when he says that runs a chill up your spine. "Are you threatening me?" "What?" Homelander laughs. "No! Of course not. Babe, listen to yourself. C'mon, I know you're upset-" he moves to take your hand, but for the first time, you yank it from his reach, crossing your arms. His hand hovers in the space yours had been for a moment, his eyes locked on the same spot. He inhales a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side.

When he looks at you, his gaze is bereft of any playfulness. Your denial of him has flipped a switch in him that you've never seen before.

"You're tired," he says, voice set low. Any traces of the lighthearted pretense from earlier has been dropped. "It's late. You have a lot to process. So, we are going to put this aside for tonight. You are going to come to bed with me, and we'll talk about it in the morning, when you're calm." "I am calm," you tell him, refusing to let him make you feel like you're the one being unreasonable. "Please move. I already told my friend I'm on my way," you lie. You wish you had. You wish you realized sooner you would need to. Homelander had always been so utterly devoted to you. He hung on your every word, met your every whim, loved you so thoroughly that he made you feel like his entire world. Only now have you realized the dangers of that kind of love.

His mouth twitches. "Which friend?"

You begin to answer, wanting to give validity to your fiction, but an awful thought occurs to you. Would he hurt them? "It doesn't matter," You reply instead, clutching your overnight bag. "I need space, and I don't want you coming to me before I'm ready. Please, move," you say, voice wavering. He was making this so much more painful than it already was. You do love him, but he's making you feel like you barely even know him.

Homelander taps his hands on his thighs, considering you. After a prolonged silence, just before you open your mouth to speak again, he claps his hands together. "Alright. Sure," he says, stepping forward. You step backwards. "Door's right there." You're immediately relieved, but there's a nagging feeling in your gut. "Thank you," you say softly, adjusting your grip on your bag. "I'll call, okay?" Homelander offers a sideways nod, seeming... resigned. You feel the guilt of it weigh heavily, and for a split second, you question yourself, whether what you're doing is right or fair. You have to steel yourself before your resolve falters. You need time away from him to collect yourself, and figure out what to do about the man you, as it turns out, know very little about.

Just as you pass him, you feel a sudden grip on your arm, and in a flash you're spun around, stumbling back into the penthouse. You stare wide-eyed for a moment, turning back around. Poised exactly as he had been before, Homelander stands in front of the door, hands on his hips. His brows lift slightly. "Well?" Your heart is racing now. "What are you doing?"

"Go on," he says, ignoring your question. "Door's right there."

Anger rolls through you in a heated wave. "I'm not playing this game with you," you say, moving to shove more forcibly passed him this time, but once again he catches you with a hand on your wrist, spinning you around with such ease, you may as well weigh nothing at all. Yet again you stumble back into the penthouse, tears welling in your eyes as you round on him. "Stop it! Get out of my way!" "Door's wide open, babe. All you have to do is get to it, and you can leave," he says, voice perfectly relaxed, devoid of any passion or empathy.

With a frustrated cry, you hurl your bag at him, and full on sprint towards the door. You get closer this time, but just as you reach for the knob, Homelander takes you by your shoulders and spins you right around. Your own momentum carries you further in. You barely catch yourself from falling, letting go a sob that's equal parts rage and heartbreak. Who is this man?

This time, you throw yourself bodily towards the door, screaming your distress, your anger. You do it again and again and again, and every time, Homelander spins you right back around. On the final attempt, as he once again redirects you, the force of your own momentum hurls you to the ground.

"Do you get it yet?" Homelander asks, cocking his head to the side, checking to see if you're picked up on this lesson in futility. "You don't call the shots here. You don't get to just decide we're done. Relationships go two ways, sweetheart," he says. That petname used to give you butterflies. It sounds sour on his tongue now. You hear him sigh, closer to you now.

"Didn't think you'd be that stubborn. But I guess I've always loved that about you when it wasn't pointed at me, huh?" He asks, a playful little lilt slipping back into his voice. You struggle when he scoops you up, you make an animalistic noise of pure aggravation, but it's as fruitless as ever. Homelander is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object, his grip on you like steel. He cannot be stopped, or even hindered, as he carries you towards the bedroom. He sets you down on the bed, and out of pure unthinking fury, you raise your hand to slap him across the face. The strike lands, but Homelander doesn't so much as twitch. Your hand smarts, you may as well have slapped a brick wall. You clutch your wrist, letting go another sob. It aches immediately, frail in comparison to his unyielding frame.

Cupping either side of your face, Homelander swipes away your tears with his thumbs, watching you impassively. There's patience in his expression, though it looks stretched thin.

"I know you're upset," he says, an echo of earlier, as if picking up right from where he'd left off. As if nothing of the last twenty minutes had even happened. "But we'll get through this. And hey, hey, I'm not even mad at you, okay? Because that's what it means when you love someone. You forgive them." You feel numbed by your own plethora of tumultuous emotions, strung out and exhausted. You close your eyes, unable to stomach the loving way he's gazing at you. He kisses your forehead, wringing a weak, hiccupped little noise out of you. "That's my girl. I love you more than anything. You know that, right? That I would never do anything to hurt you?" No matter how gentle his hold on you is, it's inescapable. You have no choice but to face him, bleary as he is through your tear-welled eyes. Unable to push an answer through the tightness in your throat, you just nod.

"That's right. Of course you do. Because if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. It would have been easy, huh?" Those words break something in you. You lose whatever bit of composure you had built back up, and you begin to sob anew, an agonized sound. Homelander's expression twists. He's never liked seeing you cry. He's also never been the source of it.

"Shhh, shhhh, hey, it's alright. You're okay. I would never let anything happen to you," he says, as if he wasn't the very thing happening to you in this moment. He kisses your forehead again, your tear-streaked cheeks, and finally your lips.

You don't have any fight left in you. Not against the press of his lips, and not against the way he brings you under the covers with him, clothes and all.

He pulls you against his chest the same way he has a hundred times before, as if this is any other night that the two of you have fallen asleep in each others embrace.

You hug your arms tight to your chest, crying hard, while he rubs your back, hushing you. Comforting you, as any good boyfriend should.

"It's alright. I've got you," he says, his arms an oppressive force around you. "I've got you."

[swordplease]

Merry Pippin and Sam from the books are actually the most hobbits ever. like. frodo having them help him in this elaborate scheme to have him move away to a house in Buckland, trying SO hard to pretend that it’s bc he’s losing money and he just feels like moving and he’s like agonizing over it to himself the whole way. They get there and merry is like go take baths you stinky shits and they’re like oh well who’s gonna go first and he’s like actually I personally arranged it so there’s THREE bathtubs because I KNEW you fucking gay assholes would fight over this. Frodo working up the courage to tell them that he can’t stay there and has to go further away and they’re straight up like “LOL dude we know, youre a shit liar also you literally kept talking to yourself about for months. Plus merry saw bilbo put the ring on and disappear so he could avoid a social interaction like YEARS ago dude. so yeah danger is whatever. Btw we’re coming with you.” like. truly epic bro moments

[ship-ambrosia]

The Shattered Remains of Theon Greyjoy

Theonsa Soupversary 2023

Happy Theonsa Soupversary 2023! This is dedicated to the wonderful fic writers and fans of Theon/Sansa for welcoming me into the fandom with open arms :) Here’s the link to the fic on AO3 as well!

Sansa made a noise that sounded like it could almost be a laugh. “That’s probably because of the soup.”

  It was very good soup.

  It really had no right to be, not when it was just a jumble of whatever ingredients they had in the stocks of Winterfell, the only thing feeding the meager army shivering in the cold as they waited for doom to sweep down on them. But then it also had every right to be, to give the people stationed in Winterfell any modicum of hope before the dead were at the gates; keep the flame of life alive and burning in every single one of them like pockets of warmth in the dark, even if it was just the thought of wanting to live so that they may have a taste of the soup again.

  Theon felt that alone might have been enough for him.

  Or so he told himself, even as his eyes wandered to watch as Sansa brought her spoon to her lips. He had spent the last few minutes in blissful silence with her, away from the suffocating presence of the crowds. Her very presence was enough to ease his weary soul, and he knew that she sought the silence of him, who expected nothing from her but her companionship. With Sansa, he curiously found that the world fell away and he only ever saw her; only his salvation, one he hardly deserved but wanted so desperately anyway. She was the reason he was here. He wanted to protect the living realm, sure, but he wanted to protect Sansa more.

  As if she sensed him staring, Sansa raised her face to meet his eyes across the top of her bowl. The torches lighting the courtyard cast a golden glow across her face, igniting her hair into a wreath of flames. There was a hollow, dull ache in his bones that he distantly knew was from the cold, and yet his body was burning. Time froze around him under her attention, enough that he could forget for a moment what they were doing, what was coming; but that was all just a child’s fancy, the wishes of a child who thought himself a man, one who had died long, long ago. The look on Sansa’s face, he thought, was as close to a smile as she could manage, and he knew the one he gave her back was the same.

  It was dark, and it was snowing lightly; both of which were probably due to the monster that was leading the army of the dead their way, but Theon found the scene comforting. He watched the drifting snowflakes, like cold soft kisses, swirling around her, landing in her red hair, catching on her eyelashes. How lovely it would be, to sit here forever and count each one. Unfortunately, the dead were on their way to steal this moment from him.

  “How are you feeling?” Sansa asked him, softly.

  Theon considered her question for a moment as he ate more of the pottage. It had been a long time since he had wanted to taste something so warm and good. “There’s no fear,” he answered, then added with a lighter tone. “And not even a lick of cold.”

  She made a noise that sounded like it could almost be a laugh. “That’s probably because of the soup.”

  Theon hummed his agreement as he brought the spoon to his lips again. It could be the fire that he saw in her hair, or the smile playing at the edge of her lips. The same lips that had given his name back to him, the same hands that had held his face and given him back his soul. His thoughts from that terrible night came rushing back to him suddenly, a cold hand twisting around his mangled heart.

   Not her. Anyone but her.

  He had wondered, for the longest time, what it must have been like for her after her anger had died away. Once she had learned he hadn’t killed Bran and Rickon, she stopped looking at him with hatred. She couldn’t have ever trusted him fully - not after he’d betrayed her first plan to Ramsay - even after he tossed Myranda off the battlements, pulled her along the outer wall, offered his hand to her, and jumped. Not at the very least until they had landed in the snow drift, and he’d wasted no time in pulling her to her feet and running as fast as he could limp away from Ramsay Bolton.

  ‘Light a candle in the broken tower,’ she had begged of him, when she had already done it herself.

  For years he’d been with that monster of a man. It took a full year before he broke, before Ramsay created Reek from the shattered remains of Theon Greyjoy. He had tried to save himself in the beginning, the very, very beginning, but in truth he had given up long before Ramsay ever let him down from the cross. The weight of his betrayal, the weight of what he’d done to the farm boys, had been too much for him. He lost the strength to save himself. But the moment she had arrived, Theon found the strength to make himself save her. Even if it killed him. He was the broken tower.

  He thought it wouldn’t mean a thing if he survived the battle for the dawn, but she didn’t, that a Winterfell without Sansa was just a castle made of snow. She breathed life into its halls. She carried the same memories he did, and corrupted as his were, she made them whole again. He realized it as soon as Maester Wolkan brought them both to greet him and his men upon his arrival. Daenerys may have been the queen he swore allegiance to, but that was for the Ironborn; he had barely spared her a glance the moment she entered the room as well. Sansa was the one he wanted to fight for.

  Theon could have said more. He could have said a million things to her at that moment, sitting and eating their soup together. Things that would hurt; things that would make her smile, or cry, maybe even things she knew already. They both knew what he had volunteered for.

  The bells of Winterfell rang into the night, drowning out the words he hadn’t realized had been rising in his throat.

  Sansa gathered up her skirts immediately, her face steeling over as she took on her role as lady of Winterfell once again. Panic was setting in amongst the courtyard around them, and he knew just as well as she did that she had to be the one to organize the elderly and the children into the crypts. She met his eyes suddenly, a blue fire lit by the torches and by a ferocity he had grown accustomed to.

  “Come back alive,” she told him, and Theon knew he couldn’t make that promise. He would be in the Godswood, protecting Bran. He would be where the Night King would be.

  But he couldn’t help himself. “I will, Lady Sansa.”

   If only to find out why you would want me to.

  He could swear he saw the way he felt mirrored in her eyes as they separated. A warmth spread across his chest, the feeling light and airy when her gaze lingered on him. It filled him with a strength unlike any he had ever felt before; crashing and surging through him, the strength of the sea finding purchase in an Ironborn. All for Winterfell. For Sansa Stark.

  Theon thought he might love her. He thought that he ought to tell her so when the sun rose again.

  But it was probably just the soup.

[beaker1636]

Working on a really fluffy Vinny/ reader first kiss together one shot 🥰 excited for this one!

[spikes-got-anger-issues]

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Keaton St. James boyhood // mid90s (2018) dir. Jonah Hill // Keaton St. James pretty boy // Kait Kerrigan & Bree Lowdermilk Miles to Go // แปลรักฉันด้วยใจเธอ I Told Sunset About You / I Promised You the Moon (2020-2021) dir. นฤเบศ กูโน Naruebet Kuno & Tossaphon Riantong // Keaton St. James

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Wednesday 100: to see the look on Claire’s face

The only news to rival the joy on Claire’s face when she learns of a new grandchild is when Marsali tells her they’ll return home to the ridge with them; this war has cost them so much — their safety, for one — and it almost cost them their children. Too close… They’d come too close to a nightmare they’d never return from.

She suspects Claire’s joy is actually greater now than months ago when Marsali shared the news of her fifth pregnancy — because they will be home for the birth, and altogether.

Marsali already knows the name, whether lass or laddie.