15 texts that were never sent in Westeros.

When Tyrion neglects to impregnate Sansa with the heir to Winterfell, Tywin decides to take matters into his own hands. But Sansa is no longer a little Northern dove; she is a Lannister with nothing left to lose.

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly. And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

“My queen, I have found that great romances make for tragic endings.” “Your love for Brienne is no tragedy.” “Sansa, our story has not ended yet.” While Brienne is in Dorne, Jaime and Sansa discuss marriage, and tragic love.

in which the Stark sisters don't completely understand each other, but are locked, loaded, and playing Littlefinger for all he's worth.

Jon Snow has been having dreams. Of Old Valyria, of a girl with brown hair and grey eyes, of a silver haired woman with dragons. He spends his waking hours brooding and pretending he is not watching Tormund Giantsbane too closely and that Tormund is not watching back.

Stannis Baratheon flowers as an omega after the end of Storm End's siege, what will it mean for Westeros?

The ladies of the Red Keep take matters into their own hands.

If the gods were going to take him away from Cersei and everything he’d known, bind him to a boy half his age, Jaime almost would have preferred it if Robb Stark had been a fool, had been as dull and self-righteous as his father. Seven hells, he could at least have been ugly.

“Yes, Lord Stark has come to town to help his mother bring out his eldest sister,” Tyrion said, pouring Jaime a glass of wine. “I understand he also plans to take his seat in the House of the Law. His uncle Edmure has been gathering time for him to give his maiden speech.” “Yes, yes,” Jaime said irritably. “That’s not what matters and you know it. Well?” Tyrion sighed. “He's nineteen, well-favored, and as far as I know, neither demented nor stupid. And not a hint of a betrothal. Sorry.”

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival. —Thornton Wilder