i wasn’t even going to acknowledge it…is it really something to be proud of? yep, there’s 2,000 quotes related to one of the finest stories ever written (with me succumbing to the tv version of events on occasion, i admit). so to celebrate, i thought i’d post a selfie (HEH! yeah, this place really exists!) with a fine choice of words…and now, i’m going back to bed to hide under my comforter for a long, hard reflection about my life choices. lol…cheers, darlings…i hope you’ve found at least a few of them enjoyable/enlightening/funny/heartbreaking…i know i have…thanks for indulging me and sticking around, i’ve got the best people hanging around here–> YOU.
other villains origin stories:
betrayal, heartbreak, death, sorrow and suffering.
my villain origin story:
In her final years on Pyke, Lady Alannys could not sleep. She would wander the halls at night with a candle, looking for her sons. “Maron?” she would call shrilly. “Rodrik, where are you? Theon, my baby, come to Mother.” Many a time Asha had watched the maester draw splinters from her mother’s heels of a morning, after she had crossed the swaying plank bridge to the Sea Tower on bare feet.
Author’s Note: welcome to part 2! again, please note this is not meant to be historically accurate lmao i cant seem to stress this enough Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: drama; historical au; romance; suspense Rating (this chapter): PG Word Count: 1,722
It has never escaped my attention that Monsieur Park had, from the time I was child, better perceptions of my future and interests than I have ever been able to decipher. From the moment he saw me, singing to God and to the mass, he seemed to know me, seemed to see inside my soul, or, perhaps, heard my soul, and divined my needs before I could voice them.
Here and there a torch burned hungrily, casting its ruddy glow over the faces of the wedding guests.
The way the mists threw back the shifting light made their features seem bestial, half-human, twisted. Lord Stout became a mastiff, old Lord Locke a vulture, Whoresbane Umber a gargoyle, Big Walder Frey a fox, Little Walder a red bull, lacking only a ring for his nose. Roose Bolton’s own face was a pale grey mask, with two chips of dirty ice where his eyes should be.
Above their heads the trees were full of ravens, their feathers fluffed as they hunched on bare brown branches, staring down at the pageantry below. Maester Luwin’s birds. Luwin was dead, and his maester’s tower had been put to the torch, yet the ravens lingered. This is their home. Theon wondered what that would be like, to have a home.
Her words cut through the winds of Targon, almost as much as the spear cut through his chest. Blood pooled from the warriors form. Any mortal man had been dead soon after the spear struck. Her aim was true, honed by years of service and combat. But he was no mortal man he was the god of war upon this world. That did not diminish the searing pain that jolted through his body as the amazon asserted her dominance.
Little left his cold lips but groans and grunts of pain as she held her grip true upon him. There was a cold sense of pride in the fact that it had been her to best him. But he had been bested none the less, at his own game. The anger of his own defeat boiled in his chest mending the flesh as he drew strength from his own agony.
I think about Theon and Winterfell: how this home of Stark was a cage at first, a cold and foreign place that did not want him. He had to wear gold and black inside her walls, not Stark grey.
I think of the uncanny attraction Winterfell has. How it lingers in Theon’s heart. A warm home for the Winters to come. Which city could hope to resist the freezing winds and all the invasions?
Speaking of which….what a feat for the unwanted son of Winterfell, for the stranger they aspired to tame, to conquer the unbreakable Winterfell. Oh, how short lived was that childish, selfish joy as the very walls of Winterfell rejected him.
They too seemed to hate him, just like the statues of Old Stark ancestors he dared not look in the eyes.
I think about Winterfell, collapsing with Theon. I think about Winterfell, the place where he is named again - a lost boy of the Islands, finding courage in the Godswood of Stark.
I think of Winterfell…
Almost welcoming. Almost home.
So I'm thinking about writing somethin for a practically nonexistent fandom/pairing cause I feel it needs content, but I'm not really a writer and I don't really know how to get past the outline stage to the Just Fucking Post It stage. Any advice?
words on the page, my dude. i think it’s nanowrimo that says it best: quantity over quality. it sounds like terrible advice, but just getting words on the page is where you start. maybe they’re garbage words and you’ll wind up deleting them, but you gotta start somewhere. even if you hate the words on the page, you still now know one iteration of how you don’t want them be on the page. move on to the next iteration. it’ll take less time than you think to find the one that works and then more after that and then you’ll have something you can post!
and props to you, btw, for creating content for a minor pairing! be the change etc etc. a+ all around.
“You think I am always sexy, clothes on or clothes off, hot, cold, anything between. “Nedra giggled and waited at him on the bed. “I’d be sexy even with messy hair and mud on my face” She stretched a bit and looked at him with hooded gaze “ But what are you going to do about it, about my hot and bothered state?”