I am always sorely unhappy that the Oodie does not have an Ood design. I would wear the shit out of those spaghetti faced fuckers. Oodie company is just made up of cowards.

I'm a day late but if you're so inclined, E, L, S for the fandom asks 👀

A day late but my cat decided to keep me up all night so I’m awake and don’t need to be up just yet so this is perfect.

E - Have you added anything cracky/hilarious to your fandom? If so, what?

I don’t think so…? I do have a post saying the Oodie should make an Ood Oodie (Doctor Who) that occasionally gets a like or reblog and I think it’s a funny post. So maybe that?

L - Say something genuinely nice about a character who isn’t one of your faves.

Ted is a solid guy and I really like his character development. He’s like the one character who didn’t completely lose his arc in S5.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon

Brian admires confidence which is why he admires Emmett and they are closer than the show showed us. It’s why he’s attracted to Justin and not Michael. And also why he comes to like Ted.

I’m traveling today and I’ll probably have sitting around time. Send me asks.

 Sansa thought she had long since given up the idea marrying for love That was just a fantasy  for silly little girls was it not? she had good reason to think so but here on this snowy day the dream she thought shed lost forever was about to come true after all . This time it was the man she herself had chosen who stood beside her. He smiled at her through his broken teeth and let her hold his mangled hands .Just for this moment he is unashamed and that is because of her. 

Although he is hiding it well she can tell he is afraid. Not of her  she knows but of the future and of the past and of the ghosts that still haunt him and the shadows that still lurk in the murky corners of this place this ruin. She understands.  She shares those nightmares of his in the dark but right now it is day and this old place that turns nightmare in the dark it is now full of light and life and faith and cheer. It is her dearest home once again and she cannot hate it .She is safe and she is with all those she loves and it is snowing . It is her wedding day. Her last wedding day. Her best wedding day . She is not scared  She has never been less afraid in her whole life 

“I always used to dream of this day- before...” he confessed to her  “ I always used to dream of marrying you “

She blushes a deep red to match her flowing locks  “ Are you ready then, Lord Greyjoy?” 

He smiles so wide then and his eyes sparkle with mischief like they used to before... she hasnt seen that look in so long . She’d missed it sorely 

“You know I am. Are you?” 

Oh she isnt scared no but right now she is holding on to him so tightly like she thinks she’d wake any second and he’d be gone from her side 

Since he shared a confession she does too “You are my true knight.” she whispers “ The one I always looked for - waited for. There you were- right by my side  all along. you saved me- never forget that  -you saved me “ He squeezed her so tight then it was like he’d never let her go. She’d never felt safer   

He doesnt say “I love you” he never had done- not even before... and she had never expected it - not from him - but now he says “Sansa”  like her very name was a prayer for salvation and she understands . She understands that when he says Sansa like that he was also saying everything that he could not yet say but that he meant with his whole heart and also everything that could not ever be shared in words -not even between the two of them who had cemented their bond in hell. She understands. He has put his fragile faith in her and she is happy to return the favour                                                                                    

“I know .“she tells him  “Believe me I know” 

So she doesnt say “I love you”  either but this time it is not because she doesnt mean it .

She says instead simply “Theon.”

Theon Theon Theon  like its the only word she knows- the only word that makes any sense- the only one that matters . she knows that is what he needs to hear. she knows that he knows what she means . When she says Theon she means  I forgive you Theon Greyjoy     I trust you Theon Greyjoy    I understand you Theon Greyjoy’    I love you Theon Greyjoy  All of this and more. 

Theon Theon Theon

Sansa Sansa Sansa 

They are two already 

Oh no she isnt scared she is full of hope she is full of courage  she is full of pride

Moody old Jon snow is beaming at her Arya is wearing a dress and even Tyrion is there.  He catches her eye and raises a wine glass 

Good luck he mouths 

I dont need luck she mouths back not this time 

 She doesnt need luck because for once this is entirely her choice and yes she is ready come what may

For she has faced monsters and come out steel plated

She has faced monsters and she knows that Theon isnt one - whatever people may say 

They may say whatever they like 

They need not listen  words cannot cut them anymore 

and here on this snowy day Sansa Stark is ready

She is ready

to become 

Lady Greyjoy  

Voice of the Shadows

Starter for @deathsculptor​!

                       }}– 🌌  –{{

While that which presided over all busies itself with the constant monitoring and managing of the whole of existence, the Void was apt to lap against the protective shells of Reality Clusters. Some of which had hairline fractures which spiraled across their surfaces like a gossamer web, allowing spindly fingers of the whole to poke and prod through until its abyssal black essence crept through the highway of souls, the dreamscape. But it was not out of its own dogged determination that such an event occurred. Nay, it was always due to the mandate of the Almighty, That One Who Wove the Code--the duality of creation demanded there to be instances of existence in which the Void broke through and mingled with the contents of the realities within a Cluster.  One such Cluster, among the select few that developed an overall nondestructive bond with the Void, coexisted with the few invasive fingers it managed to fit into the precious pearl. Coexisted in such a way that their very presence became second nature as if they’d always been present. And as such, new realities began to pop into being in direct response to the whole new host of possibilities opened up to the Cluster.  These hosted worlds of extraordinary abilities and horrific creatures beyond the imaginings of mortal men--things that’d drive you mad with so much as a glance at them. Physics and the laws of the world bent the knee in response to the Void’s distorting presence, fabricating new rules to bind the nigh-magical properties that the abyss’ fingers brought with them. New civilizations rose up from the shadow-cast realities, ones of a bizarre alien nature that was dependent on the powers bestowed unto them by the Void. They developed technological feats of wonder, each fueled by its darkness and insanity.  Verily, these new entities employed what one might refer to as “magic” to do what science could not by its lonesome. And due to the chaotic nature of these “magics” and what fueled them, they spilled into and plagued the lives of worlds that did not spawn from their pitch-black touch. Pulling them into their sadistic games, breaking their minds, binding them and whatever else the writhing collective of the Void desired.  Our story begins in the middle of one such instance.

The dark of night encroached upon the waning daylight as shades of indigo and dark blue clashed with reds and oranges and yellows, interspersed with the darkening cottony clouds of the dusk sky. Avian chirps and caws were replaced with the symphony of crickets and other nocturnal insectoids, meanwhile, the chilly zephyr whistled between the leaves and needles of the surrounding woodlands. Every inch given up by the sun caused the shadows of the world to lengthen and stretch their wicked fingers across the verdant ground, all in a mindless scramble to prey upon those unprotected by some third-party source of illumination. These shadows danced and undulated in ways one might consider unnatural if they were not familiar with the realm they resided in. And they crept ever closer to the unlit campfire and those who stood around it.  Among these individuals was a prideful scientist, a pyromaniac of a petite woman, a man with a magnificent orange beard and a use-worn axe slung over his side and a little blonde girl. They’re names were Wilson, Willow, Woodie and Wendy respectively.  With the aid of Willow, Wilson was worrying away at a stick, some dried leaves, pine cones and a rock and flint. They’d lost the lighter the woman always kept on hand a day prior, so they needed to rely on more crude methods to start their only protection from nighttime. Each strike of the dulling tip of the flint against the rough surface of the rock begot a spittle of sparks that danced through the air and disappeared upon contact with one of the leaves and the stick.  One strike, two, three, and nothing.  The lengthening claws of the shadows reached ever closer to the group’s campsite.  Panic began to set in as Wilson frantically flicked the flint against the rock again and again. Each time produced a spurt of sparks, but the vivid motes of light simply refused to catch on the dry kindling. Was he doing something wrong? Had the showers of several days past left the surroundings still too damp to produce fire easily? No, that couldn’t be it--they managed to start one the night before without Willow’s lighter. So why wouldn’t--  Success!  After a particularly hard swipe across the white-scratched marred face of the stone, a spray of bright orange-red particles cascaded along the amassed leaves. They remained, though, whereas every other attempt succumbed to the cold elements and fizzled out. Then a wispy plume of gray smoke trailed up from several spots, the affected region of each leaf crackling and curling in as red and orange quickly waned to a charred black as it expanded outward.  Excitement spread across the scientist’s face for all of a moment before it contorted anew with worry. He cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed onto the aforementioned spots, trying to feed oxygen to the unborn flame.  “Willow, someone, help me!” the scientist exclaimed, glancing back for but a second before returning to nurse the now flickering tongue of heat that was quickly consuming its small pile of fuel.  Woodie stepped forward before Willow, faint annoyance on her face, jerked forward and dropped to her knees next to the ring of rocks encircling the campfire. She shouldered the lithe man aside with a firm, “Move aside,” before reaching forward and scooting the pile of pine cones and leaves forward, into the alcove made into the much larger arrangement of sticks. There wasn’t so much as a grimace as her fingers touched the flickering flame.  She then reached back, doing as Wilson had been doing meanwhile,  and took a clump of dead grass woven around a ball of queer pink sludge out from a pocket on her shirt’s breast. And without a moment of hesitation, she shoved the concoction in with the now dying tongue before covering the hole with both hands.  In an instant, there was a great fwoosh! and the once insignificant tongue roared to life as a monstrous inferno that was only just bridled by its dugout pit and perimeter of stones. The fire writhed around the hands and forearms of its mother, licking up past her elbow and enveloping the whole of the faggot in moments. Its light shunted away the creeping shadows as the flame crackled and popped in excitement.  “Good work, Willow, guess it’s just business as usual for you though, eh?” Woodie said with a chuckle.  “Not in the mood.” Willow’s tone was venomous and irate, had been ever since she lost her lighter. “You go rest for the night, I’ll stay up with the fire--that includes you, Wendy.”  She then jerked her head in the other direction and shot a glare at Wilson, who recoiled at the leer, “And let me work with the fire next time.”  “Alright, sorry...” he murmured while rubbing his arm.   Then Woodie and Wilson went to the nearby chests and pulled out their sleeping bags, Wilson bringing Wendy’s to her like the gentleman he perceived himself as.  “Hey, do you think you can tell me what you--”  “Tomorrow, Wilson--go to sleep!”  And with that, the man zipped his mouth shut and rolled out his bedroll some feet away from where Woodie, who was already sprawled out and snoring away whilst cuddling with his ax, was sleeping. He waved goodnight to Wendy and said goodnight to Willow, who responded with a huff, before laying his head down and closing his sunken and baggy eyes. Thus leaving Wendy and Willow by themselves with the only company being the flickering fire, which the woman kept a vigilant eye on, and the dancing margins of where the shadows were kept at bay.  But as the night progressed, it became overt that the fire was not the only thing that wanted to speak--nay, the shadows, too, they had something to say. Their voices, though, were incredulously faint, barely above a whisper. And there were so many of them, all conversing with one another at the very edge of the light’s radius as a hushed chorus of gibberish that, if one got closer and spent time truly listening, might be understood.