#thramsay fic

[soup-in-my-fly]

UGH I COULDNT HELP but draw art for my own Thramsay fic (show & book versions)

They consume my every waking thought.

Also show!Theon with a purifier :3

Fic is literally just shameless smut with a sprinkle of plot and cringe writing. Read at ur own risk and DONT judge me for it IM VERY SELF AWARE!!!!!!!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[wetcarcass]

May the Morrow Not Bring You

A little short, drabble? Ramsay nails skinned faces of men in the godswood. He thinks it's funny to scare children with them.

Little ones had found it first. An ugly one, pinned high upon jagged splits of bark. It's mouth stretched over the tree burl, as if he was screaming it out.

Surely the same as it were when the slip of blade pierced behind his ear. This someone's son of the North.

Sap had run and dried over his edges. Encasing blood and fascia, bonding him to the trunk.

A face among the godswood, bedeviled eyes of hollow-husk amongst the hallowed wailings of the Old.

Forced to bare the sight of men's faces, hung upon their sacred bodies.

Made a mockery, offerings of insult and offense. Epithets of his games left to soil their holy bark. Decay in the morning sun and wither in the silence of night.

There are no more Red Kings, but there is Ramsay Bolton. He'll have his glory known. His lands marked and feared.

"Beware, beware the barks of men. Tanning over trees, smothered over the Old. It is no godsland" Sang the bards in the inn's and in the squares.

The little ones are the only ones to surely survive his presence. Stupid young things, never minding the warning from above their heads.

They heed Ramsay's.

With a smile and a wave, he escorts them out of his woods. Bundles wrapped in scrap leather. Their arms filled with gifts to deliver back to the towns folk.

Kneeling before a child, fixing their arms around those loose wrappings, he coos at them. Amused, endeared to their crying.

"Now, now. Hold this up! Well and sure! We can't have you returning home with missing pieces." His laugh jostles his shoulders.

To the children, those shoulders look like boulders about to fall off a mountain. The hardy slap Ramsay deals to his own knee cracks in their ears, making them flinch and pinch their eyes shut.

He stands, smile intact, teeth railing under his round, grin-stretched lips.

"Good, good. And for the main prize." The ground is soft under his feet. Grass and soft-soil give under his boots. Ramsay rips the face-skin from the tree with horrific ease.

Charging forward, he make to place the stiffened mask upon a little one. "You should be proud! You've made it all this way through my woods. You'll wear this prize like a crown —"

"M'lord, please." Comes a gentle, shaking plea.

Ramsay stops, eye glowing a halo as he rolls them. His grin spreads, unfettered by the interruption. He doesn't look behind him, as he hears the whisperings of ragged ends of that special cloak, slowly dragging from behind.

"What was that, Beloved?" His eyes don't leave the scared blinking of the children.

"They're, they're just children. Let this be enough, please, M'lord."

"They'll be on their way, once they have this on."

Hobbled steps and weeping little moans catch the children's eyes. To look passed the black and pink Bolton cloak.

Hunching and slow, like gliding from the tree, he comes forward. Thin and sallow, his face hangs from his shoulders and blends into the long dressing of the cloak.

The children cry harder. The sight of this sunken sylph haunting the shadow of monster. Covered in the hides of his Master's victims. Skin stitched like a scrap-sewn smock.

There is no mistaking the raining pattern of circles, nipples cascading over the slopes of thine shoulders. Blushing dots of pinks, a dusting of color to bring the skins to....life.

Ramsay hums delightfully, ready to ignore his creature.

"I'll sing, Master."

He stops. Mouth closing into an 'O', with lifting eyebrows. Ramsay's interest caught.

"All the way home? No complaining?"

"Yes, of course, my lord."

He huffs, nonchalant with his contemplation. The face is then chucked onto the bundle being held by little arms.

"Alright then. Shoo." Flapping hands dismiss the little ones, his interest in their torment gone in the billowing of his cloak meeting them.

Theon sees their freight has them rooted and gnarled to the dirt.

"Go on, and never return. By moon or under sun, these woods are not safe. Go."

His face is snatched between the enormity of his Lord's palms. He doesn't try to speak more, the scampering of little feet running away is enough.

"Nag. It would have been so funny to see the brat wear one of my faces."

"They're just children—"

"Quiet." Ramsay releases one cheek and flutters his fingers playfully. "Now what note would I like to hear from this sweet, mouth."

He cups Theon's chin, slides his fingers down the thin column of the sullen neck. His knuckles brushing up against the rippling texture of nipple skin ribbing the collar of the cloak.

"Ah, here."

The bite is sharp and deep. Right under the jawline and jutting Theon up to an aching angle. Up to face a canopy of screaming mouths. A silent choir to echo his pain.

Hollow eyes join his own, but he is alone. Alone to sing. Alone to weep and wail for his Master's sole enjoyment.

A moaning of pleasure meets the wretched song.

Theon is wrong, as he so often is. His Lord is here, and is the only face to matter amongst the rest.

[theeironprice]

It’s been a bit since I posted a fic so I wanted to share my Photographer Ramsay x Model Theon AU 📸🎀

With each shutter click, Theon is sure the photos look worse and worse. “This isn’t working,” he says petulantly, dropping the pose and turning around to face Ramsay.

The photographer lowers the camera, clearly amused if the lopsided grin was anything to go by. “Just try something else then, babe. You’d look great in every position.” The crude remark is punctuated with a look of disconcerting hunger.

Any smile that had a hope of living for the camera died on Theon’s lips.

[lsdandkizuki]

Focus

tw: abuse, panic attacks

Written aeons ago for the Theon fic exchange, at incblackbird’s prompting: Theon gets a panic attack and Ramsay tries to soothe him. Thought I might as well have it here too

Summary: Theon just needs something to focus on. Word count, 1130

“Have you been stealing from me again, Reek?”

He slid it terrifyingly into conversation, a hidden thorn in the down. There was always conversation, or at least one half of it; Ramsay was talkative and energetic when he was not enraged or depressed. He would go on and on, talking with the same mild pleasure about a delicious pie they had for lunch, or a particularly loud hunting victim. It was easy for Reek to tune it out, at the same time as responding when needed: “Oh, yes, master. Don’t know, master. Of course, master.”

Reek had been left alone for a long time in the dark. He could not say whether it was days or months, but each second had crawled by like a century with no food, no light, no human company. When Ramsay had finally cracked open the big bolted door, a blurry crimson streak to Reek’s tear-blocked eyes, he couldn’t remember seeing so relieving a sight. The events had gone hazy in his memory, but he could recall breaking down at Ramsay’s feet and begging him not to leave him in the dark ever again. He remembered Ramsay’s fingers entwined in his matted hair, delicate but sturdy. And the words no one likes a beggar, Reek.

And now. “Have you been stealing from me again, Reek?” He finally understood why he had been left so. This was the punishment for theft. It had only been a tiny morsel of bread, sneaked off the edge of the dining table – he was serving wine for some of Ramsay’s friends at the time, he remembered – and Ramsay had never mentioned it. How could he have thought he would let him get away with it? To steal from the hand that fed him, what greater betrayal was there? He choked in a breath. Have you been stealing? Again? Reek? Stealing again?

But… He didn’t. He couldn’t have. He was only released from the dark so recently.

“No,” Reek’s tongue moved of its own accord, as the horror of it struck him. He was doomed to the dark once more, and this time, Ramsay would not be so forgiving as to let him out.

He looked up from his serving cup to Ramsay’s face. The man was not smiling, and Reek felt an odd jolt inside. Ramsay’s lips were moving now, he could see that, but he couldn’t hear the words. They seemed to be blocked, or drowned out by a scream in his head that said, he’s going to put you back. He’s going to put you back in the dark. He’s going to put you back in the dark and he’ll never let you out.

He was rooted to the spot, his tongue was locked in place, and he could not breathe.

Something that helped him to muscle through the mess was focussing. He would take a thought – usually My name is Reek – or a single object, and let that be the default for his consciousness, a base camp for the terrifying journeys his mind took. Now, the base seemed to have disappeared. He could not remember what he had been focussing on before, and the tangle in his head was not allowing for anything solid now; it was crumbling, it was melting down, it was dying.

The wine cup fell to the floor from his hands, and the clatter restarted a few senses.

“Reek? What’s happening?”

Ramsay’s voice. Ramsay, who would – oh, no –

“Reek, calm down. I just asked you a question.” There was anger in the tone, even though his face was invisible, and there were fleshy hands around his wrists. Reek felt the silver ring on his master’s left hand dig insistently into his skin. He still could not seem to breathe.

“Stop crying, damn it… Open your eyes, Reek. Look at me.” An order, undeniably. Reek opened his eyes. The sting in them surprised him, before he remembered Ramsay’s other order. I’m crying? He hates it when I cry. I stopped doing that long ago, because he hates it…

“Please,” again, his mouth was working for someone else, because hadn’t Ramsay ordered him to stop begging – “I’m sorry, please, don’t send me back there, not to the dark, I’ll, I’ll die, please…”

“Stop that. You know I hate that, Reek. Come on, calm down.”

He couldn’t. Why was Ramsay always ordering him to do things beyond his power?

“That’s it, Reek. Eyes on me, now.” Two ice eyes stared greyly at him. “You’re not breathing. Breathe, Reek!” The hands were on his cheeks now, and their coldness seemed to send a hook into Reek’s thought-process, tethering it bit by bit to earth. “Slowly, now. You can do it.”

The words awakened a pink memory, one with the faces scribbled out, and the names rotted away, but the sounds of the words still clear as day: Come on… You can do it… Breathe, that’s it, in, out, in, out, in, out… He remembered the panic causing his vision to fail him, leaving him only with the voice of a child, a strong-armed, red-haired child, to guide him through it. All he had to do was follow instructions, as always. You’re doing it, well done. That’s it! That’s it, Th-

No. Ramsay was looking at him, every line on his face in acerbic detail, etching a picture of concern. He gave Reek an experimental slap on the cheek. “Are you with me now?” The pounding of his heart was slowing. The fear rampaged on in his mind, but his lungs seemed to be working. He nodded. “You were asking about the dark, Reek. Are you afraid of the dark?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes, master,” he whispered.

“Well,” Ramsay said in a soft voice, curling a tendril of Reek’s hair around his finger, “There is nothing to be afraid of, is there? Look around us.”

Had the world ever seemed so bright? It was a black castle in and out, but light poured in through its every orifice, bathing the room and filling Reek’s senses. He couldn’t remember why he might have ever feared the dark in the first place. He sank into a warm embrace, thankful and reverent. Ramsay whispered into his ear. “You needn’t be afraid, dear Reek. You get distracted, that’s all. You just need to focus.” Wine crawled across the stones from the fallen cup, spreading warmth into the worn heels of Reek’s feet. “Focus on me. Any time you should have fear, focus on me.”

Focus on me, Theon.

Reek smiled at the voices of child, of brother, of master. “Yes.” Doubt would return. Fear would return, but for now there was nothing but the warmth of protection on which to focus, nothing but the light in which to drown.

[soup-in-my-fly]

Fanart for this thramsay fic!!!!!!!!

[theeironprice]

I am still working on my Blockbuster AU but I went on a little side mission and whipped up this self-indulgent short one-shot of Ramsay having to meet with Roose.

Now, before you decide if you want to check it out I will say if you’re not a fan of fat Ramsay this might not be your jam as it is a bit of an extreme fic revolving around that subject matter.

The preview is in text below the cut as well as the link if you think you’d want to take a gander at it 🎀

The Fattened Lord

Early morning sun shone through every window of Ramsay’s ascent. Though the light was pale and dulled by a sparse covering of clouds, it still served to agitate the young lord. Across the muddy yard, the tower with his sleeping chambers is calling to him in a siren's song most tempting.

Alas, Ramsay is forced to turn a blind eye to it.

When in want of something, he is hardly one to deny himself—at present his desire was to return to his soft feather bed with his Reek to warm it. Alas, his lord father had returned to the Dreadfort, so he was unable to do as he pleased. The visitation was no minor inconvenience; it rotted Ramsay’s mood to the very core.

Praying to the old gods was never something he had done with any real conviction; there was no favor that could be bestowed upon him that he need beg for. Asking for shallow things mocks their alleged ancient power, which amused him greatly. Ramsay prays that his father will take his leave quickly.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66384814

*The fic is set to registered users only*

[theeironprice]

Chapter twelve of my Blockbuster employee Theon, Thramsay fic is up—I really appreciate everyone who’s given it a look 🖤 I’m so excited to continue this story next year.

Thank you for reading~! Happy New Year’s.

[wetcarcass]

I am *very* late, but might I ask you about ‘Sleeping In The Snare’?👀 I do not recall hearing a whole lot about this, and even if I did, I want more!! Please? Whenever you’ve got time 🙏

Never late, nor early, you've arrived precisely when you could! 🫶 A well placed snare snatches prey by surprise. Usually while the animal is running through a well used game trail, or tempted with bait under the trap itself. But the perfect snare? The perfect one would be made right where the prey sleeps, where it nests and comes back to every night. They never notice that somethings wrong, that twigs have been changed for wires. That's the premise of this fic. Theon has been dating Ramsay for a while. And just recently he's given up his well paying nightshift bartending job for the morning hours as a barista. Trading the club scene for the early commuter rush. It's not so bad, and he doesn't have to drive to work anymore. Saves him gas money and he can stop feeling so guilty every time Ramsay insisted on picking him up on those late nights. Now they work in the same building! Of course Ramsay works in an actual office. Somewhere floors and floors above Theon's albeit bougie little cafe. Things are going good. Theon thinks everything is on the up and up; this relationship thing is working out. New job, new schedule. People just don't get Ramsay like Theon does. He's really a nice guy, people just misunderstand his directness and unfiltered confident-personality for something mean. He just likes a tight routine and to know whats going on. Oh, he also likes to keep his privacy, so should Theon isn't hiding anything from his friends. He's just respecting.... maintaining his and Ramsay's privacy. It's a date night. Ramsay comes down the office building to pick up Theon. He said tonight was going to be a little bit special, so they go back to Ramsay's place. He wants to open up to Theron, to share something personal and intimate. Ramsay's kinks are something Theon at first feels privileged to know and excited to try, to fulfill that for his boyfriend. Feeling privileged turns into feeling disgust and then guilt. He's trapped, laying under Ramsay, realizing just how special he is.