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03jyh23 · 14 days

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— a dance with danger || song mingi

night deepens, there’s nowhere to go with my heart. i can’t pretend to be strong anymore. i can’t be in this space where you left me.

nonidol!mingi ex!mingi x afab!reader; exes to (?);

genre: angst, suggestive

trigger warnings: break-up; physical violence; blood and injury; relationship conflict; emotional distress; mature language; alcohol use; toxic jealousy;

words: 3.3k

written while listening to: one of those nights by key

reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

minors do not interact

— hi there! the time has finally come for my first requested one-shot! to my lovely anon, thank you so much for being the first person ever to leave a request! i sincerely hope you will enjoy reading!

love, monika. ♡

It's been more than four months since you and Mingi broke up. You never exactly received an explanation for what caused him to end your relationship. You had told your friends that the breakup didn't affect you, but it was nothing more than a lie. You felt foolish that such a short relationship had affected you so deeply. The memory of Mingi leaving while you were starting to fall in love deep was a wound that still felt raw, despite the passing time. It was a brutal blow, one that shattered the fragile trust you had placed in him and left you questioning everything you thought you knew about love.

You haven’t been dating for long before he decided to leave, maybe that’s why it left you utterly shocked. You had entered the relationship with the expectation that your love would blossom tenderly, gradually unfolding. Mingi was the kind of boy that teenage you had dreamed of, he possessed an effortless charm that drew you in from the moment you two met, his smile igniting a spark within you that you couldn't ignore. With his tousled hair and mischievous grin, he embodied the very essence of youth and adventure. He was everything you had ever wanted and more, a living, breathing embodiment of all your teenage dreams.

In the early days of your relationship, you often found yourself lost in daydreams, imagining a future filled with shared laughter and stolen kisses. Mingi seemed to effortlessly fulfil all the fantasies you had as a lovesick teenager, his presence a constant source of joy and excitement.

The memory of Mingi breaking up with you still haunts you, though his demeanour was devoid of emotion as if he just wanted to get it done with.

"Please... say something," his voice was monotone, devoid of the passion or empathy you once knew, as he searched your eyes for a response. You stood there, stunned into silence by his cold detachment. How could you find the words to articulate the storm of emotions raging within you? How could he be so indifferent? As you opened your mouth to speak, the words caught in your throat, tangled in a mess of confusion and disbelief. What could you possibly say to someone who had already checked out, who had already made up their mind? At that moment, all you could do was meet his cold gaze with tear-filled eyes, silently begging him to take it all back, to tell you that it was just a cruel joke, a misunderstanding. The silence between you was heavy and suffocating, it became unbearable. As Mingi turned away, his expression unreadable, you knew that your chapter had come to a close. And though the silence he left you in was suffocating, it was also a relief, a release from the turmoil that had consumed you.

You haven’t seen him since.

It was a Saturday evening. You slipped into your favourite little black dress, taking extra care with your makeup. You were all dolled-up and ready to step out and begin living your life. Hitting a club occasionally with your best friend used to be your way of dealing with reality, but after the breakup, it took on a new significance.

As you made your way to the club, the vibrant lights and pulsing music greeted you, offering a temporary escape from the weight of your emotions. Among the crowd, you found solace in the anonymity, allowing yourself to lose control and dance away your troubles for a while. Each beat of the music seemed to wash away a layer of pain, leaving you feeling lighter, freer. Tonight, you were determined to embrace the present moment and reclaim your sense of joy and independence. You had never been the type to hit on guys at the club; you simply wanted to have fun with your girls, sipping on colourful drinks and feeling pretty. But tonight was different. You craved the sensation of being wanted.

As the pulsating lights illuminated the crowded club, you scanned the club eagerly, searching for someone to fill the void tonight. Unwilling to admit it but consumed by an undeniable desperation for closeness. Frustrated by the lack of intriguing prospects, you retreated to the familiar comfort of the bar, ordering your favorite drink. Downing it in one swift motion, along with a few shots of tequila for good measure, you felt a surge of determination coursing through your veins as you made your way back to the dancefloor. Once again you started to look around, hoping to spot somebody worth your attention when unexpectedly, you felt hands on your waist, gently turning you around. The boy before you weren't your usual type, but something about his touch ignited a spark within you. Without hesitation, you pulled him closer by his neck, ready to confront him.

"Don’t waste your time on me" you said directly to his ear. He looked at you surprised; a smirk appeared on his face.

"It’s not a waste of time when you are this pretty" you smiled in response, not expecting to hear such an endearing answer. Perhaps sparing him a moment wouldn't be such a bad idea after all. "Does this smile mean you’re down?" you nodded, arms linking around his neck, pulling him till the space between you was non-existent. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. With each movement, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. There was something exhilarating about surrendering yourself to the music, about losing yourself in the arms of someone whose name you didn't even know. Song after song passed, and you couldn't shake off the blissful feeling that accompanied you as you danced with the boy. It had been a while since you had been touched like this, and your body responded instinctively to the proximity of the boy. It was getting harder for you to resist the temptation building in your stomach. The music pulsed around you, drowning out the voice of reason as you allowed yourself to get lost in the moment. You couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the night had in store for you, as your bodies grinded against each other. With each passing second, you yearned for him to draw even closer. You exchanged breathless smiles, as the music continued to pulse around you, the stranger leaned in, his voice barely audible over the din of the club.

"Let me buy you a drink," he offered, a hint of warmth in his gaze. You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard, but then you nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "This might just get easier with a little more liquid courage," you thought to yourself, considering another drink to ease the tension.

"I'd like that," you replied, your voice tinged with a mixture of excitement. You navigated your way through the crowded dance floor, your hands brushing against each other as you made your way to the bar. As you settled onto bar stools, the boy ordered your drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something in his gaze, that left you yearning for more. And things took a turn as you leaned in for a kiss, a familiar face emerged from the dimly lit corner.

Mingi.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you two locked eyes. But as you glanced once again across the crowded club, your heart skipped a beat, and your breath caught in your throat. Everything unfolded so rapidly; Mingi came almost running to where you were sitting, and then he seized your companion by his collar, forcing him to stand up. The boy stood no chance, overshadowed by Mingi's towering presence. You sat on a bar stool, completely flabbergasted, your body refusing to budge. Mingi grabbed the poor boy hard, his legs started to dangle in the air.

"Who the fuck are you?" Mingi gritted his teeth, his gaze not meeting yours again. Four months had passed since you last laid eyes on your ex-boyfriend, and in that time, you had begun to believe that he had vanished from the world altogether.

"Why don't you just sit back and relax, man?" And as your companion uttered those words, you knew it was a bad move. Mingi's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tightly as he regarded your companion with a steely gaze. There was a dangerous edge to his demeanour, a simmering anger that threatened to boil over at any moment. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you placed it on your companion's arm, silently urging them to back down.

"Mingi, let him go" you finally interrupted, but it was too late; the damage had already been done. Mingi's grip tightened, his knuckles white as he held onto your companion's collar, his gaze piercing and unyielding. The tension in the air was palpable, a silent standoff between Mingi and your companion, with you caught in the middle.

"Are you fucking deaf? Who the fuck do you think you are, getting cozy with my girl?" Mingi's voice was low and menacing, his words laced with nothing but anger. Your heart pounded in your chest, torn between the shock of seeing Mingi again and the fear of what might happen next. You knew you had to defuse the situation before it escalated any further.

"Mingi, please," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let him go. It's over between us. I don't want any trouble." For a moment, Mingi's gaze softened, a flicker of regret crossing his features. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced once again by a steely resolve.

"Fine," he spat, releasing your companion and taking a step back. But the relief didn't last long, as Mingi reached for your glass. "Let me teach you a fucking lesson, so you won’t ever touch somebody else's girl ever again." As Mingi's hand tightened around the glass, a sense of dread washed over you, a premonition of the chaos about to unfold. Mingi hurled the glass with a forceful motion, aiming it at your companion. Instinct kicked in, and without a second thought, you lunged forward, placing yourself between Mingi and the boy, shielding him from the oncoming projectile. The glass struck your face, cutting your brow bone, with a sharp impact, shattering upon contact and sending fragments scattering across the floor.

“Y/N!” Mingi shouted, horrified by his action. Pain exploded through you, and an ache spread through your body. As you staggered backward, the club spinning around, you felt Mingi’s hands on you, catching you before you collapsed. A surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Mingi's actions had crossed a line, igniting a fire within you that burned with anger.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you spat the words out, voice laced with anger and disbelief. As you locked eyes with Mingi, you could see the shock and realization dawning in his expression, a stark contrast to the anger that had consumed him moments before. With every ounce of strength you could muster, you pushed Mingi away. The boy you were supposed to spend the night with was nowhere to be found, and you couldn’t blame him, you also wished you could disappear from this mess. Mingi had crossed a line. You straightened your spine, refusing to let the pain and the anger consume you. You stood before him, blood trickling down your face.

"Oh my god Y/N, is this blood? Is it yours?" Mingi's voice trembled with concern as he pulled you back into his arms, his touch surprisingly gentle as he rolled up his shirt and pressed it to your face to stop the bleeding. To say Mingi was shocked was an understatement; the disbelief in his eyes mirrored the turmoil swirling within you. You could feel the weight of his guilt and regret pressing down on you as he struggled to process the gravity of his actions.

"No shit, Mingi," you gritted through clenched teeth, the pain pulsating through you like a relentless drumbeat. Despite the anger simmering just beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of gratitude towards him for his attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Baby I am so sorry," your ex-boyfriend stuttered, tears falling down his face. Mingi's shirt absorbed the crimson stain of your blood. As you leaned into his embrace, a strange sense of resignation settled over you. "I never meant to hurt you, I’m so sorry," he was trembling "Let’s get you out of here" he murmured softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. You didn’t have it in you to refuse him. Mingi navigated your way through the crowded club, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

After you stepped out of the chaotic atmosphere of the club, a sense of calm enveloped you in the cool night air. Your ex-boyfriend led you away from the pulsating lights and thumping music, his arm still wrapped protectively around you. You walked in silence for a while, the weight of your history hanging heavy in the air between you. But despite the tension that lingered, there was also a palpable sense of relief in the space that had opened up between you. As you reached a quieter street, Mingi finally broke the silence, his voice tentative as he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he began, his words tinged with regret. "I never meant to hurt you like that. I don't know what came over me." you listened in silence, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate thread. It was clear that he was grappling with his own demons, struggling to make sense of the chaos that had unfolded.

"Mingi, we are not together anymore," you whispered softly, unable to meet his gaze, fearing that another look into his brown eyes would melt your heart completely. "I haven't seen you in four months, and now you finally decided to show up?" you continued, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and longing. Despite your attempts to maintain a facade of indifference, there was an undeniable ache in your words, a yearning for the closure that had eluded you for so long.

"I didn't know you were going to be here, Y/N," Mingi replied, his voice carrying a hint of remorse.

"It doesn't change anything," you said firmly, mustering all the strength you had to maintain your composure. "I was finally having a good time, and you decided to ruin it? I'm not yours anymore, and that's only on you." Each word dripped with the bitterness of unresolved pain, a reminder of the wounds that still lingered beneath the surface.

"Please don't say that you're not mine anymore," Mingi pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

"But it's the truth, Mingi!" you countered, your own voice trembling with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "You gave up on us, remember?" you shouted, the floodgates of emotion finally breaking open. "And then you left me alone to deal with the heartbreak." Each word carried the weight of months of pain, a reminder of the scars that still haunted you. "I didn't even get the chance to tell you that I loved you," you sobbed, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air. "...I still fucking do," you added, your voice barely above a whisper, but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions. You hid your face in the palm of your hands. You groaned in pain as your hands touched your cut brow, the sharp sting serving as a painful reminder of the chaos that had unfolded moments before.

"You love me?" Mingi's voice was tinged with disbelief, his eyes widening in shock at your confession. Even in his boldest dreams, he had never dared to imagine hearing those words from you.

"I do," you sobbed, your voice muffled by your hands. "But it doesn't change anything." The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the barriers that still stood between you, despite the depth of your feelings.

"It changes everything," Mingi whispered, as you felt his hand touching your back gently, urging you to look at him. With a shaky breath, you lowered your hands, meeting his gaze with tear-filled eyes, bracing yourself for what would come next.

"What do you mean?" you asked in disbelief. Mingi's gaze softened as he took a deep breath, his hand still resting gently on your back.

"I mean," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "that I've been a fool. I let my fear get in the way of what's most important to me, and I pushed you away when all I wanted was to hold you closer." His words washed over you like a gentle wave, stirring something deep within your heart. Mingi's expression softened further as he met your gaze, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I need you to know that I never stopped having feelings for you. In fact, all of this happened because I started to fall in love with you." his words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. You felt your heart skip a beat, a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside. "I was scared," he continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Scared of how much you meant to me, of how much power you had over my heart. I didn't know how to handle it, so I pushed you away." As he spoke, you could see the raw honesty in his eyes, the pain of his confession etched into the lines of his face. Despite the hurt he had caused, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him, a recognition of the struggles you both faced in navigating the complexities of love. And as Mingi reached out to take your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring, you felt a glimmer of hope stirring within you. "I love you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right again." Without a word, you reached up, gently cupping his face in your hands, your fingers tracing the contours of his jawline. At that moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there in the quiet night. Finally, Mingi connected your lips, and you met in a tender, tentative kiss. As you pulled away, breath mingling in the cool night air, you knew that this was just the beginning of your journey back to each other.

"You are a fucking idiot, Mingi" you giggled through your tears, your hand still resting on Mingi’s face. Despite the weight of the moment, a sense of lightness washed over you. Mingi intertwined your fingers, a smile never leaving his face.

"But can I be your fool?" he asked, a boyish smile gracing his lips. In that moment, you felt a surge of affection welling up within you, softening the edges of your heart and filling you with a sense of warmth.

"Yeah, I'd really like that," you replied, a genuine smile spreading across your face. Mingi pulled you in for another kiss, your hands linked behind his neck, his hands resting on your ass, igniting a fiery desire within you. The kiss quickly changed into a passionate, messy make-out session, both of you intoxicated by the intensity of your emotions. At that moment, you got lost in the heat, surrendered to the overwhelming rush of desire, knowing that you were exactly where you belonged, in Mingi's arms. As you started to lose your breath, you pulled back slightly, your lips brushing against Mingi's as you whispered, "Take me home."

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #03jyh23 #ateez au #ateez fic #mingi x y/n #mingi x reader #ateez angst #mingi angst

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ashesandhackles · 1 year

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Philosopher's Stone reread notes

This is originally done for TTB discord server rereads. Lot of these notes have ended up in my metas. So I am just going to put the extraneous notes that haven't appeared in stuff I have written.

Chapter 1, 2, 3,4,5

The flying motorbike is a recurring dream of his escape from Dursleys - and it is associated with Sirius and Hagrid.

Lot of exploration Harry and Dursleys is done in: Deconstructing Harry, Harry and the Dursleys

What a life changing moment it is for Harry that the moment Hagrid enters (which makes his bullies fearful). He removes the threat of the rifle from Vernon and the negates the feeling of Vernon as a threat and then proceeds to make delicious sausages.. There are so many associations of Hagrid with warmth and nurture.

Also Petunia's outburst about Lily indicates the more mischievous, rule bending streak in Lily - "came home with her pockets full of frog spawn and turning teacups into rats". We see an element of this in DH too - Petunia shrieking that Lily wasnt allowed, but Lily jumps off the swings anyway. The association of Lily with magic is a very happy, joyous thing. Frog spawn is also a Lily - Potions connection!

Since Harry feels safe with Hagrid, he is asking a lot more questions and allowing himself to be curious. It took him some time - because the first scene with Hagrid, there is almost a page gap between Harry asking "Who are you?" to "I am sorry, I still don't know who you are."

Harry not taking to Malfoy because of Dudley reminder (and this is how he assesses threats in environment). Malfoy going on about how Hagrid is a "savage" and asking for Harry's surname, what interesting ways to introduce social divisions.

Quidditch as a sport that holds social capital. Purebloods who have played it all their life vs Muggleborns who would just start to see what the sport is about (also endearing that Dean has a West Ham football poster up)

Also more characterization details for Lily and James: James gets a wand suited for transfiguration (pliable and powerful), and Lily gets a swishy wand that is good for charm work. I love how much themes of power surround James even in little details like this.

It is interesting that both James and Voldemort's wands are remarked as powerful ones here - while Lily a woman, get a wand that is good for Charms, that is seen as a "soft option" as per Augusta Longbottom, which McGonagall refutes in OOTP.

Wands are also expensive. It is also used for wizard's dominance over other creatures (which Griphook angrily tells the trio in DH). I see Snape's potion speech (also something Lily was good at) as another indication of wand magic as seen something inherently superior - he calls it "foolish wand waving" "silly incantations" as if to assert the superiority of Potions as a subject (because the general perception is otherwise).

@artemisia-black insight on wands and masculinity: Hegemonic masculinity (the ideal of masculinity that men within a given society attempt to aspire to and play masculine roles to emulate) is very context specific. In the literature by Connell (the scholar who proposed the idea based on their work looking at social power), wealth, dominance over women and non-gender conforming men, dominance over non-white men, and obligatory hetrosexuality are the key components. But in the wizarding world I hypothesise a different definition - magical power is one of the key traits of magical hegemonic masculinity. Particularly with the phallic symbol of the wand.

Chapter 6, 7

Harry takes the initiative Ron and Neville - he has the empathy for underdog. There is something about Ron and Neville's vulnerability that speaks to him. With the twins, they lead the way to set a dynamic for Harry.

With Hermione, she reminds him of an authority figure with her bossiness, so he doesn't talk to her unless she is directly addressing him. He has no model to talk to her. So this is very much something he is comfortable letting Ron take the lead. As his experience with authority figures are usually not good, it's a mixed thing where he can tell she is not a threat + but he also doesn't relate to her.

I was also very intrigued by how he offers Neville comfort and tries to distract Ron to comfort him (telling him that Scabbers whiskers may have turned yellow). I was thinking - who is he modelling this behaviour from? And it's Petunia. Petunia tries to distract Dudley when he is upset. (Also, Harry is a very observant kid. i was also interested in how he watches the Weasley family from his compartment)

Weasley family dynamics: Ron literally says nothing in the station scene, until he asks Molly to get off (from getting the spot of his nose). Fred, George, Ginny consistently talk and make themselves heard. Percy is already a bit removed - cos he is a prefect, but he also gets new robe (something twins comment on) and owl (something Ron comments on). Percy is rewarded by his mother in ways that makes other siblings notice. Ron, on the other hand, is the super accommodating middle child. There is a lot of care being made to point out all of his stuff is second hand.

"you don't want this. It's all dry. She doesn't have a lot of time" After a moment of complaint ("she always forgets I don't like corned beef"), Ron quickly contextualises it for Harry. He doesn't want Harry to think badly of Molly in any way, so he quickly explains. Loyalty is a such a strong defining trait for him.

Also I really like the glimpse of Ginny in the train chapter - she is a happy, indulged girl who cries and laughs easily. There is scope to develop her as the girl who stops crying easily after CoS (even though she does cry after CoS too)

Hermione: Hermione's reaction to her nervousness and insecurities is to double down on them. Her introduction speech is quite literally a "information information information I just hope it will be enough". She comes across as intimidating as a result xD Even in the Sorting hat scene, she babbles about what she read.

Harry immediately picks up on Snape's dislike of him from one look. Again, threat based mode activate.

Harry's anxiety about being sent back (there are at least 2 times in the chapter where he works himself into a panic about being sent back and not being chosen), and how he thinks back to time that no one would want Dudley to know they liked him is very clear allusion to his abandonment issues. This is important to how he handles conflict in interpersonal relationships in first few books.

The use of dream is interesting - I think it is both a fun literary device + speaks to Harry's intuition. The things that Harry associates as threats in this chapter all make an appearance - Draco, Snape. And curiously, Quirrel's turban and high cold laugh. Harry has similar dreams in POA where he can hear (but can't see) stag galloping in middle of a forest clearing.

Chapter 8, 9:

Harry once again becomes escape artist, throwing instructions in dangerous situation - "maybe we can lock in the troll" "confuse the troll" and when he sees anyone in trouble, he takes the lead action (running and grabbing troll by the neck because the troll started going after Ron - who did indeed try to confuse it)

Running and grabbing people by neck is Harry's go to move for bigger people, he did that to Vernon too in earlier chapters.

Also interesting note - Snape examines the troll and gives Harry a "piercing look". First indication of him trying leglimency? Harry immediately looks down in response.

also interesting: Parvati was heard telling Lavendar that Hermione was crying in the bathroom, and that Hermione asked to be left alone (points to Hermione's self-isolating tendencies). Once again, good insight into Hermione, Parvati and Lavender dynamics. It also makes like Parvati a lot more. It seems like she is the one who tried to reach out and got rebuffed. We get a version of this in HBP where she tries to make up to Hermione for laughing at her.

Chapter 10,11, 12, 13

Snape and Filch, the broTP of ages. The way he complains to Filch, "blasted thing. How are you supposed to pay attention to three heads at once?" XD and now I am curious about his dynamic with Filch. Do they hate on children together. "Stebbins is a fool" "Last week Mrs Norris caught him looking hangdog outside Fawcett's classroom. Lovesick beasts"

I had forgotten how protective the twins are with regard to Harry. When the broom is jinxed, the twins try to get Harry onto one of their brooms + and when they couldn't, they fly underneath him so that they can catch him when he falls. They display similar behavior in CoS where they both get angry at Wood for making Harry play against Rogue Bludger.

Ron and Hermione are in general so thoughtful. Ron mentions to Molly that Harry wasn't expecting any presents + he notices Harry's preoccupation with the mirror and just overall thinks it's a bad idea.

The detective element of Harry's character where he obsesses over a problem vs him obsessing over the mirror - I forgot the obsessive spells he has. It's more pronounced in HBP and DH.

Also he gets his father's cloak and he is unwilling to talk about it and share it. Interesting on how personal this entire experience is for Harry.

The first thing both twins and Ron notice is their lack of things. It doesn't even read like complaining, almost matter of fact, but that's the first thing they notice. "Harry's better than ours. She obviously makes more of an effort if you are not family". The twins notice these things and I wonder how much of their targeting of Percy is also bit of envy from receiving their mother's validation in a way they don't. "things you value, things our mother value is kinda stupid and we are cooler than that"

But frog marching of Percy also has an endearing light to it. Because they do it, and Percy follows after initial "i don't want" to "Christmas is time for family"

We see first indications of more deliberate manipulation by Hermione. She flatters Hagrid's ego and gets him to admit about which teachers also added protection for the stone. She did a smaller version of that with McGonagall 😂 used her good reputation to protect Harry and Ron and take the fall. Here she is precise with what she means to do

@bluethepineapple insight: Even here, she is already very aware of appearances and narrative and is willing to manipulate it for her purposes. It's something we see on a much grander scale with the DA and the Quibbler later on, but there are smaller instances of it here already. She's really a born politician lol.

Harry and Neville - Harry cheers him up by saying, "you are worth twelve of Malfoy" and Neville repeats it to Malfoy -" I am worth twelve of you". What a cutie 🥺 Neville really admires Harry's bravery and looks up to him, he says as much in DH.

Also, its wild that Harry sees James and Lily through Mirror of Erised first.

For last section of the book - Trio dynamics:

also love that Charlie has friends who are willing to do things for him illegally at moment's notice. "Who wouldn't risk jail for Charlie? The dude is that likable".

Neville really looks up to Harry. But when they were going to the forest, he is so scared, he grabs Harry's sleeve 🥺

I love the atmosphere of the entire forest section. There is an eerie beauty in what's written, and I love Harry is aware of being watched.

Hermione was so worried about Harry near the end of the chapter, she was running ahead of Hagrid to check on him. (this is when Harry comes back with Firenze) this is when it was established that Hermione was scared to go into the forest (and Hagrid addresses her gently), but the moment she knows Harry has been left alone by Malfoy, she panics and runs ahead. What a wonderful character detail.

The chapter also has the cloaked figure "slithering" - so it gives such strong associations.

Harry takes the lead (and goes headfirst everywhere). Takes the flute, offers to jump first and instructs - "if anything happens to me, don't follow."

Hermione the pyromaniac. Same bluebell flames against devil snare - the one she has in jar, and she also attacks Snape in Quidditch match with fire.

The Knight: Pointing to Ron's protective nature + loyalty.

Snape uses logic puzzle: another hint to his roots, things wizards aren't implied to be good at.

Death is a theme since early on - the books open with double murder, end with fight over elixir of life where the stone is destroyed.

#hp reread #harry james potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #philosopher's stone

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meryton-etc · 1 year

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directors commentary from any fic!!!! and also ⭐⭐⭐ please infodump about anything about your fics omg

Franziska is not a quiet person. She wishes she were, because it makes things easier for women, sometimes, to be in the corner.

That feeling when you realise that society prefers quiet women and you’re congenitally unable to shut up

Her brother is quiet, except for when he’s performing, be that at work or at home.

Miles Edgeworth would like to be left alone, although he’s showy. He and Franziska are both showy.

He’s constantly on at work, and then at home there are always people to reassure in some capacity or the other. Neighbours, or friends of dear friends, and so Miles Edgeworth is a part to be played.

He’s chosen an important role in an important profession, and there are pros and cons.

There are only a few people with whom he can be quiet. She’s one of them. The Defence Attorney is another.

Franziska doesn’t name Phoenix Wright at all in her internal monologue in this fic. This is because he annoys her, even as she recognizes that he's nothing but a positive presence.

Miles Edgeworth will sit and observe, sip his tea, and think whatever thoughts are filling his foolish brain at that point in time.

He’s thinking either about the steel samurai or tea or his dog or how pleased he is with the layout of his kitchen.

Franziska has never seen the point of observing if there is no corresponding action. Therefore, she comments on what she sees. If she doesn’t, then she is keeping the information for a more appropriate time. The key difference between herself and her brother is how and when they choose to verbalise what they see.

Sometimes Edgeworth sees things and lets them go. Franziska will live her entire life and never once do this.

But there is something about Maya Fey that silences her. They say, in English, tongue tied? Well, then, Maya Fey ties her tongue.

She’s hoping in more ways than one hahaha no but seriously Franzi has no game and doesn’t know how to speak if she’s not talking about work and maybe politics.

It’s not that the observation stops. Franziska’s powers of observation are active always. Even in dreams. Especially in dreams. But Franziska sees Maya, and everything is clear, all at once. Everything you could want to see, or know. She captures the attention – not because of the noise – not just because of the noise.

Homage to Sondheim’s Company – (“not because you’re bright / not just because you’re bright!”). I listened to Company a lot writing this. Bobby reminds me a lot of Franziska in this – learning you need a new language to start talking to people is difficult.

And Franziska doesn’t know how to start speaking. She falters, and lets herself follow trails that peter out into nothing. She tries to answer a simple question and ends up staggering around, spinning in circles, and choking out something nonsensical and foolish.

The Phoebe Bridgers song ICU includes the lyric “I used to light you up,” which is such a good description of how that it feels.

Oh, Franzi? How are you doing?

And Franziska laughs, and shakes her head, and says something that doesn’t answer the question.

This happened to me once. How are you? Oooh, you know, Haha, well, haha, not great!! I think the friend I was with at the time has forgotten. I pray that she has, anyway. I nearly died of embarrassment.

She is awed to be in this space, in the village that Maya leads so selflessly, so fearlessly;

Franziska is experiencing the awe of noticing just how competent someone is while also realising that they're very attractive

to be able to picture her here accurately now, gliding through the wooden hallways, blessing the small roads with her presence, her dedication, her fierce step.

“Rebel Girl!” plays loudly in the background.

#my fic #director's commentary #aa #franmaya

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proserpina-magnus · 3 years

Note

Hiii it’s me, the regulus simp again- back with another Regulus x fem!reader requestt where the reader has always wanted to play the piano, and the slytherin common room just happens to have one and Regulus just happens to know how to play the piano and she hears him playing so she comes to listen and she has synesthesia so she describes to him what she sees (like colors etc) andd maybe some ultra fluff where he tries to teach her to play it💖💖✨✨ also hope your day is going well and you’re drinking water and getting enough vitamin D because you’re important <3

I LOVED WRITING THIS, IT WAS SO CUTE. LITERALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING THIS ( it made me feel better after writing the angst fic ). Also, I hope you are eating and staying healthy and safe! xoxo.

One where he teaches you how to play the Piano

Word count: 2619

[ Warning: fem!reader, fluff, strangers to lovers, first kiss, some sexual tension (not really though), hand holding, petnames such as “love” and “pretty lady/girl” ]

You pressed your ear to the door, hearing the angelic music come from the piano in the Slytherin common room. You tried your best to stay away, but you somehow always made your way to listen outside the door.

The person who played always came to the piano after supper on Wednesday nights, occasionally they would come to play on the weekends as well. You never caught a glimpse of the person, you always ran off before they noticed you were there.

Here you were, ear pressing so close to the slightly opened room as you listened to the sweetest melody you have ever heard. Your brain fogged with clarity, it felt like paradise.

A smile tugged on your face, but it quickly fell when the door leaned forward and you came tumbling into the almost empty common room.

The walls were made of bricks, making you wonder what it would feel like to slide your fingers along the creases. Your knees hit the floor, hands extended as you hear a slight cracking noise. You cringe at this simple scenario you have fallen into, how could you have possibly been so naive and fall right through the door?

The piano came to a stop when you fell, the musician taking a look towards the intruder. You stare at the ground with wide eyes, feeling too embarrassed to look up at them.

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep and delicate, much how you imagined it would sound. You look up, realizing his voice wasn't the only thing delicate about him. His face was shaped like a god, high cheekbones with thinning plain lips. You took a moment to stare at his beauty, never knowing a person could look so lovely.

"Excuse me?" He repeated himself, standing from the oak bench. His hand came into view, you took his long fingers into yours, feeling him pull you up. His hand was cold to the touch, but it only reminded you of the snowy owls you see flying.

"I'm sorry, it's just you play the piano so well, I guess I got distracted and fell... through the door," you explained, embarrassed. You took your hand from his, looking around the space accompanying you both. Everyone was out for a Hogsmeade trip, but you had stayed because you heard the piano.

"Oh," he responded, you look back up towards him, noticing his taller height. You looked over his outfit, seeing his well-tailored fit. His shoes were sparkling, making you look at your own dusted ones.

"Do you play the piano?" The musician asked, trying to get you to stay and talk for a few more minutes. You looked back up, shaking your head sadly.

"I wish, I just never gotten the opportunity to learn," you tell him, looking towards the piano left unoccupied. He watched you, making you look up towards him.

"What is your name?" He asked, taking a step back to give you some room. You fiddled with your skirt.

" [ name ] [ last name ], and you?" You asked, your eyes continuing to look towards the empty piano. He followed your gaze, a small smile on his lips.

"I'm Regulus Black, would you like me to teach you how to play the piano?" Regulus asked, tilting his body to invite you towards the piano. You instantly took a step with him, both of you walking towards the bench. He sat first, patting the spot beside him.

"Will you?" You asked, an excited tone in your voice. He patted the seat again, giving you another small smile.

" Of course, I always have time for a pretty lady," Regulus replied, his words making your stomach flutter. You sank down onto the oak bench, your eyes never leaving his.

"I'm a complete amateur, I don't even know the chords," You reason with him, blinking your eyes as you look towards the piano keys.

"That's alright, we all start somewhere," Regulus says, his fingers placing themselves against the white keys, pressing them together to make an angelic sound. You're reminded of a viridian green from the nice tone.

"Here, place your fingers against these keys," Regulus explains, letting you raise your hands before taking your fingers and placing them against the keys. You eagerly press the key, a sage green colour filling your mind.

Regulus watched you with tender eyes, seeing as you got so fascinated with the small chord. You instantly pressed another one, trying to follow the same melodies he had showed you.

Your spine tingled when a horrible chord was pressed, making the melody remind you of the colour cinnamon brown. You scrunched your shoulders, pulling your fingers back.

"Hey, you've almost got it and I haven't even taught you yet, don't give up now," Regulus effused, his fingers gently grabbing yours as he placed them back over the keys.

He dragged your fingers through keys, playing the melody through you. You’re reminded of the viridian green again, seeing new colours flash through with each key being played.

"Your turn now," Regulus says, his fingers rest over yours for a while longer than normal, before tearing them away to place them on his knees. You give him a look, only being met with a comfortable expression.

You tap the keys slowly, remembering the colours and placements. Before you know it, you've completed a slowed version of the melody. Your heart jumps, excited to get it right.

"Yes, that's good! Your learning quicker than I thought, are you sure you've never played before?" He asked, leaning his head to the side. You watched his hair tilt with his head, gentle curls framing his face. You snap out of it, answering his question.

"I see colours, with each note. It's hard to explain, but when I hear things I get reminded of objects or colours, does that make sense?" You ask, feeling slightly exposed to admit your thought process. Regulus pressed his lips together, analyzing you. You feel stupid, but that feeling flows away with his next words.

"You have synesthesia?" Regulus concluded, but he asked it more like a question. You nodded your head, a small smile on your face.

"Yeah. You're familiar with the term?" You asked him, tilting your head back to the piano. Regulus kept looking at you, interpreting his final thoughts. Nothing terrible could ever possibly come from a person like her, Regulus concluded.

“I am. I heard a Professor mention it once, always stuck with me after,” Regulus explained, just as he finished talking, someone walked into the common room. You both turned your head to look, not realizing you had been infatuated with his eyes.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Slytherin teased, his eyes switching between the two of you in a suggested way. You turn your head slightly, a blush against your cheeks.

“Yes, you are,” Regulus stated plainly, flashing his eyes towards you. His hand came to your back, holding it gently. You couldn’t have flushed red any faster, your face felt like it was on fire.

“Oh,” The boy said, not expecting that response.

“It’s alright,” you chimed in, but the boy only waved his hand and walked towards the steps to the boy's dormitory. You felt foolish, you didn’t want to upset the boy.

“Don’t worry about him, he was teasing me, you’ve done nothing wrong, my love,” Regulus responded, turning his body back to face the piano, but he kept his gaze on you.

“You know him?” You perked up, looking up towards his eyes. He gave a smile, finding your embarrassed state adoring.

“Yes, he’s one of my dorm mates,” Regulus told you, leaning closer. His hand rubbed your lower back softly, soothing you.

“Oh, well that makes me feel better,” you retorted, eyes turning towards the piano. You placed your hands back onto the keys, giving him a side look. “May we continue?”

“Of course,” Regulus replied, his hand leaving your back. You felt cold without his hand but shook it off as you started to play the melody again. This time, you played it a bit quicker. You still missed some important keys, but Regulus just responded with a faint, “don’t worry, I know you’ll get it soon,”

“Can you explain what colours you see each note you play? He asked after you finished playing a slowed version of the melody. You nodded, moving your fingers to the first key.

“The thinner notes remind me of warm colours and the deeper notes are cold colours. For instance, this one reminds me of a pale yellow,” you say, pressing the higher sounding key. A ping sounded through the room before you moved your fingers to the second note.

“This one is... like a blue sky kind of colour,” You go on, explaining colour after colour. Before you know it, you reach the end of the melody.

“What does this note remind you of?” Regulus asked, pressing one of the deeper notes. You look at his dark green tie, wiggling your fingers to hold the thin material. You tug at his tie gently, signalling him to look towards it.

“It sounds like this colour,” You contort, smiling as you let go of his tie and use your palm to make it neat again. Regulus coughs from the back of his throat, shifting in his seat. You realize how insane you must be, touching the tie of a guy you just met.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you,” You say sheepishly. You look up towards Regulus, but he’s turned his head, you see the faint glow of a red on his cheeks. He brings his hand to hold his face, hiding it swiftly to try and calm himself.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles into his hand, he shivers before steadying himself. Regulus turns his head back, keeping his eyes away from yours.

A growing awkward silence fills the room, looking away from each other. You grab the oak bench cushions, pressing your feeling into it through your hands. You rock back slightly, but you feel him move closer to you, his arm brushed against yours.

“Do you think you’ve perfected the melody yet?” Regulus asked his sweaty hands on his knees. He rubbed his thighs, trying to wipe the sweat away. He felt like a nervous wreck.

“I think so,” you say, moving your hands as you place them against the starting keys. You wait for a second, before pressing the keys. You go on with the melody, getting each key right. Your fingers move over the white ivory keys, the viridian green filling your mind again.

“You’re so pretty,” Regulus lets the words slip out, his eyes filled with this type of adoration as he watches you. You snap your head to look towards him, gulping slightly. The melody falls short, your fingers stopping.

“I’m sorry, I should have said that,” Regulus quickly covers up, his ears red as he can’t keep his darkened eyes from yours.

“Not that you aren’t pretty, because you most definitely are! I just shouldn’t have told you, we’ve just met and I don’t want to be a creep,” Regulus goes onto explain, feeling embarrassed himself as he fumbled over his words.

“That’s okay! I don’t mind, I think you’re pretty as well,” You replied, looking over his sculpted features again. Regulus gave you a slanted look, he has never been called pretty before.

“I mean... handsome, you’re just really mesmerizing is what I mean,” you stumble over your words, feeling your ears start to heat up, the tips red.

“Thank you,” He responded, his body leaning closer to yours. He shakes out of it before he can lean any closer, your breath slipping from the shared moment. He turned back to the piano, placing his ring clasped fingers against the keys.

“Shall I teach you another melody?” Regulus asked, looking over. You nodded, sitting back into the backless bench. You watched as he looked towards the keys, eyes closed slightly. His eyelashes fell perfectly over his cheeks as he played the new melody.

Your mind flooded with the colour deep sea blue, the chords sounded so mellow. Once the melody came to an end, he turned to look towards you.

“It’s your turn now,” Regulus states, your fingers coming to replace his. You feel uncertain, you had been distracted by Regulus's beauty, you hadn’t watched his hand placement.

You press the first key, a deep sound flowing through you. The pleasant sounds didn't last long because you had played the wrong key, making the melody uneven. You give a sheepish look towards Regulus.

“It’s alright, let me take you through the placements again,” Regulus comforts quickly, his hands coming to rest over yours. He directs your fingers back to the starting keys. Regulus moves his body, tilting it weirdly.

“Here, let’s stand up,” He says, helping you stand before pushing the bench back to give you both room. His body comes behind yours, his hands placing yours back over the piano keys.

“Is this okay?” Regulus asks his whispers sending tingles through your spine. You nod slightly, your body leaning back into his. “Yes,”

Regulus starts to help you press the keys, taking you through the beautiful melody again. His hand are much bigger than yours, covering them from view. His cheek brushes against your hair, almost nuzzling closer to you.

When the melody ends, he stays still. You both don’t move, his hands over yours, his breath fanning over your ear in a calming way. Your heart beats faster, turning around slightly. Your lips part, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Can I kiss you?” Regulus whispered, his eyes switching between your eyes to your lips. You nod quickly, words getting stuck in your throat.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, watching as you close your eyes shut. You felt your face boil, feeling a nervous nausea wash over you.

His knuckle brushed your warm cheek, before his fingers cupping your jaw softly. You leaned up on your toes, your hand on his chest. Regulus pulled himself down, his lips meeting yours.

You leaned further on your toes, pressing yourself closer. It felt so new, being in this secret moment together made you pull him closer, wanting it to last forever.

He felt rich, the placement of his cold hands, the way his lips tasted like mint. you grabbed his coat, fingers squeezing around the fabric. You leaned back down, breaking the kiss. You let your eyes fall looking at his shiny shoes.

“Hey, look at me pretty girl,” Regulus said with a gentle voice, his fingers lifting your jaw. Your eyes met his again, your stomach filling with butterflies. He had a grin on his face, his once pale cheeks filled with colour.

“Would you like to go on a date with me? There is a wonderful restaurant just outside of Hogsmeade, I would like to converse with you more,” Regulus invited you. You nodded your head, feeling foolish once again for not using your words.

“I would love to,” you choked out, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling and neither could Regulus.

Regulus frowned when he took a look at his watch, he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“I have to go, I’m meeting up with a professor,” Regulus said sadly, holding you close before letting you slip away from his hands. “I’ll see you on our date?”

“of course,” you agreed, watching as he gave a small gorgeous smile before slipping out of the Slytherin common room.

You sat on the nearby couch, resting your head in your hands as you let out a satisfied squeal. This day, could not have gone any better.

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black blurb #regulus black fluff #marauders #marauders era #regulus black oneshot #regulus black headcanons #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era one shot

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing iii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 393

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“You’re bailing again?” Taehyung looks up from his stack of books for the first time in the last hour since the two of you have started your study date. Granted, he meant no spite but he didn’t understand what set you to flee. The name that was almost taboo to you; the name that brings more tugs to your heart that hurts than one that’s fond.

You glance up at him with meek eyes, “I have an office hour with my economics professor in half an hour.”

Taehyung purses his lips.

“This is the fourth time this week you’ve ditched.” Taehyung sounds mildly irritated and you don’t blame him. You made a promise months ago before mid-terms coming up that you’d help him with statistics. But before the two of you could ever get into the nitty-gritty details of math; somehow the forbidden name comes up.

“I know.” You say softly. “I’m sorry …” You don’t say anything else because your heart is speeding up in a way that is anxiety-inducing. Because Taehyung off-handedly mentioned that Jungkook would be dropping by in a few; and you didn’t know when he’d turn up and you rather not stick around to find out.

His words still linger in your mind and every time there was any prompt to remind you of his face, or his name—you remember the way his words sounded so assured in the context of the situation first. You remember the malevolence that lied behind his usually kind eyes. But it’s like the eyes filled with desire in a one-dimensional view of your body replaced the youthful mirth you grew up with.

“Look.” Taehyung sighs, pushing himself up to look at you with a stern stare. “If you don’t want to tutor me that’s fine. I can find another tutor. But I’d appreciate if you’d let me know beforehand so I don’t have to come all the way just for an hour then have you leave once the content begins to get tougher.”

Taehyung was by no means being rude or outwardly offensive. He was straightforward and you appreciated that he was honest with you. And rather, you feel guilty of the fact that you bailed for your own selfish reasons.

“I do want to tutor you.” You tell him, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes dart to the doors of the library. “It really just slipped my mind.”

It sounds lame, even to you; and Taehyung picks up on it too.

“You don’t forget things like this.” He says pointedly. “It’s like every time I mention—”

Taehyung stops himself and your eyes dart away, hands already tugging your bag over your shoulder. Maybe if you sped up, he wouldn’t stare at you with an inquisitive stare that looked similar to one of realisation.

“Did something happen between you and Kook?”

You wince. Taehyung is observant.

“Are the two of you—?”

“I’m fine.” You snap, tone defensive and on edge when you hear the bell of the library door ring. You don’t dare to turn to look. “We’re fine.”

“_____ …” Taehyung frowns.

“I gotta go. Okay?” You huff, offering one last apologetic look before you turn to leave. But in your haste, you bump into a solid figure and you’re terrified that it’s—

“Careful.” A deeper, unfamiliar but welcomed voice murmurs.

When your eyes look up, it’s just someone you recognise from Jungkook’s football games. You were sure he was a key player too. His stature was definitely one of an athlete. He was tall, broad, and firm; and the black shirt that hugged his chest only emphasised your guess.

“S-Sorry.” You squeak, looking down.

You brush past him before he can get another word in, and only when you slip past him do you see Jungkook lingering behind with a frown on his face.

“______—” He calls.

You’re able to leave before he can get a hold of you; and that only causes the frown on Jungkook’s face to harden.

When the door rings once more to signal your departure, Jungkook is already sat with Taehyung and the other person that bumped into you.

“What’s up with the two of you?” Taehyung asks.

Jungkook stiffens and responds with a grit of his teeth. “Nothing.”

Taehyung doesn’t look convinced and Namjoon—though recently enlightened with the fact that there was potentially something brewing between the two of you—was also observant enough to pick up on the tense atmosphere that you left with.

“Aren’t the two of you super close?” Namjoon says offhandedly, already shifting through his assignments while he lays them out.

Jungkook wants to let out a dry scoff at the assumption. Sure, the two of you were close. He isn’t so sure about that anymore.

“You’re clearly lying to me.” Taehyung snorts. “So whatever it is the two of you are keeping a secret please just sort it out because I need _____ here to tutor me and you’re getting in the way of my education.”

Taehyung mostly says this as a joke, but it strikes Jungkook straight where it’s vulnerable. He wasn’t going to be the first to break, nor will he indulge Taehyung into what he said to you in the same library they were in at this very moment.

So instead, Jungkook brushes it off like he’s been doing so more recently than ever.

“Whatever.” He mutters.

For some reason, you see Jungkook again on the same day—accompanied by the same person that you bumped into.

You realise that you’ve spent more time avoiding him than dealing with your feelings after what transpired. But you’re weak and you suppose you’ve always been weak when it came to Jungkook.

It was difficult … to say the least. Because while Jungkook’s words were malicious and filled with the intent to hurt and break you; the better (and foolish) part of you wanted to believe that he was angry. Driven by emotions that he wasn’t thinking straight. But while you were naive, you were also substantially aware that there had to be some form of truth to the words he’s thrown at you.

But this was the same Jungkook that you grew up with, the young boy you’ve somehow seen transition from awkward and endearing teen to … to the confident and assured man he was. You didn’t want to make any excuses for him but you’ve always been soft. And you hated that your eyes somehow still linger on his approaching figure when the rational side of your brain tells you to run away.

However, it’s not him who greets you. It’s his friend. The one you vaguely recognise but can’t quite put a name to a face.

“Hey!” He calls out to you.

His smile is easy with a dimple appearing on his cheeks. He looks kind and soft for someone that was easily a head taller than you were, and despite his height—there was something oddly comforting about the way he approaches you as if he knows you.

You try to ignore the coldness from Jungkook’s end and remind yourself that you should’ve felt angry—not the other way around.

“Hi?” You say, or more appropriately ask.

Jungkook’s expression is still blank; every time your eyes briefly linger on his face you wonder how it’d ended up this way.

“_____, right? I’ve seen you at a few of our games.” His friend enters a conversation so seamlessly. “Kook’s never introduced us, though.”

You clear your throat and you hope your face isn’t a dead giveaway of your discomfort. Especially when you blatantly ignore Jungkook’s piercing stare on the side of your temple.

“I don’t … mingle around that much.” You say softly,

And it’s parallel to the image that Jungkook has of you. The quiet, timid girl that’s free time is consumed with books and assignments than a social life to make up for it. You used to think that maybe you weren’t the type that enjoyed large or loud gatherings. But Jungkook’s voice only makes you wonder if you were the problem instead.

“Well, I’m Namjoon.” He smiles at you, offering a grin filled with teeth that you find yourself unconsciously returning, albeit awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you … uh … Namjoon.” You mumble, and your eyes nearly land on Jungkook’s face out of pure habit, but you stop yourself before you hurt yourself even more.

“It’s nice to formally meet you too. I’ve been asking Jungkook to introduce the two of us since forever ago but he seemed dead set on keeping you to himself.” Namjoon jokes lightly. And you almost miss it, but you swear Jungkook stiffens by his side.

“Ah …” You reply lamely, fingering your strap as you shift on your heels.

It feels awkward to not acknowledge Jungkook; you’re wondering if Namjoon picks up on the cold air between the both of you. Namjoon looks like he’s thinking of something, but before he can say anything—Jungkook is tugging his arm roughly.

“We have practice.” Jungkook grits, finally making himself known.

Your eyes dart to your feet, and you hate how small you feel in his presence. It should’ve been easy but this was the hardest part of it all. Pretending like you were objectively okay when his words constantly lingered at the back of your mind.

“Go ahead without me. I want to ask _____ something.” Namjoon shrugs Jungkook’s hand off of him. And this time you catch the venomous glare that he shoots his friend, accompanied by the clench of his jaw.

“Coach will—”

“I’m the captain, remember?” Namjoon snorts, but it’s not condescending. Just a reminder.

Jungkook purses his lips and his eyes dart between the two of you; and you know him well enough to know that there’s something on his mind, especially with the way he nibbles on his bottom lip.

“Don’t be late.” Jungkook grits, stomping off in the other direction without even sparing you a glance.

You frown at him because he was the one that came to you that day unwarranted; treating you like absolutely nothing as if there weren’t years of history behind the two of you.

But Namjoon is large enough to distract you because he quite literally blocks the view of Jungkook’s disappearing body with his own when he stands right in front of you.

“Sorry about that.” Namjoon looks sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind …” He trails off as he scratches the back of his neck.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head, “N-No! It’s fine. Just … uh … what’s up?” You wince inwardly at your horrible social skills and you have a slight understanding of why Jungkook pointed out the things he did. Maybe he was right—

“I—well …” Namjoon mumbles, and he seems less assured than he was earlier. “I think—you’re really—cool?—and smart—you seem nice so … sorry! God.” He rambles as he brushes his hands over his face.

You blink at him.

Namjoon takes your reaction as a bad one as he winces, chuckling lowly.

“I’m sorry. I’m not this … awkward.” He tells you.

You nod your head slowly trying to process his words. And you feel a little guilty knowing that your lack of response probably pushes Namjoon further into his shell. But he has a glare in his eye that shows that he won’t be affected so easily.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I follow your podcast. And I think it’s really great. You offer some really interesting perspectives on the War on Drugs—or as you mentioned—the disproportionate effects of racial tension that lead to unjustified or mass incarceration rates in the U.S.”

Somehow you know you’ve said the exact same words in the monthly podcast you do with the International Relations department for extra credit. But when Namjoon speaks, it’s as if he’s carefully picking apart the context and nuance of your words so carefully before he quotes it back to you; as if he treats your opinion with heavy regard and not one of the light matters.

You feel flattered.

“Oh.” You blink. “Thank you?”

Namjoon offers you an easy grin. And you recall: captain of the football team, he says? He doesn’t really … fit the stereotype. Besides the fact that he looked insanely fit. He was gentle, that much you could tell. But you also were a little biased when it came to footballers because you only had Jungkook to compare him with.

“Sorry for just springing that on you.” He apologises sheepishly and you’re even more confused as to why he feels the need to say sorry. “It’s just that Kook was always so bitchy about introducing me to you whenever I asked so … I thought why not take the chance myself?”

You gape at him. You don’t know what to do with the set of new information you’re presented with. Firstly, the fact that someone like Namjoon paid attention to a nobody like you? And secondly, the weird revelation that Jungkook somehow gate kept his friendship … or whatever the fuck it was … with you.

“No, no.” You shake your head, “I’m really flattered. Thank you. No one’s ever … told me that before.” You give him a gentle smile because that’s all you can muster.

Namjoon returns it tenfold as he hikes his bag across his shoulder.

“Well, I gotta go now. Practice calls.” He jokes, waving at you. For a moment, he stills; as if remembering something before he fishes out a piece of paper from his pocket and shoves it to you in a haste.

“What is—?”

“My number. You know—if you ever want to talk. About … stuff. I think you’re super smart—and intelligent. They’re synonymous but yeah. If you want.” He rambles.

You blink up at him and before you can muster a response, he’s darting away.

You watch his figure retreat and notice that Jungkook is waiting for him a good distance away. But his eyes aren’t on Namjoon’s somewhat giddy figure—but on you.

He stares at you long and hard, and you feel conflicted. The paper in your hand nearly chafes, but the feeling is easily forgotten when his expression hardens.

When Namjoon reaches him with a clasp to his back, the pair walks off. Not before he gives you one passing glance over his shoulder that leaves you feeling more restless than ever.

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raggaraddy · 3 years

Text

Discipline- Hyung Line

How and why would Yandere Bangtan punish you?

Trigger warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, descriptions of unhealthy relationships.

Alpha!Namjoon

You would find it hard to get Namjoon to react impulsively or rashly. There might be the odd look or feeling you get from him when you say or do something that he disapproves of, but he will never raise his voice or strike you. He is much too controlled for that.

However, that does not mean that your actions would not have repercussions. From the first day when he met you, he made sure to install a clear series of causes and effects. They came so gradually and his reasoning was so irrefutable that while the original you would have been disgusted at the idea of being treated like this, the you that Namjoon has crafted finds his rules and actions reasonable and necessary. They are set for your own well-being.

If you didn't eat well or drank too much, of course, Namjoon was going to scold you. He's just showing how much he cares.

You also need to be corrected when you're rude or disrespectful. Namjoon is an Alpha after all and he deserves your respect. A smart mouth, bad language, or disrespectful behaviour will earn you a time out to reflect on your choices.

And if you're bold enough to leave the house without him or without informing him, then he's made sure you know what consequences to expect. Sure, being bent over his lap like a petulant child is embarrassing, but Namjoon has shown you what kind of creatures exist in the world. It's your Mates' duty to remind you to be more mindful. Even If that means he covers you in bruises from time to time.

For every undesirable action, there exists a correction. All rules and guides are clear so you have no room to argue. If you happen to stumble into a grey area Namjoon will kindly explain your wrongdoing and inform you of the result should you re-offend. He always takes the time to make sure you fully see his reasoning as he would never want you to think he is unjust.

Although, there is one exception to this. Nobody touches you. No one makes any sort of advances towards you and you certainly do not reciprocate or tolerate those actions. That is absolute.

Like I said, he would never hit you out of rage. Another person however would not be so lucky. If you ever wanted to see the full extent of an Alpha's power, just blush or smile when that cute delivery boy asks for your number. Sure, he might lock you in a room and throw away the key, but seeing an Alpha shift in an open plan office is a once in a lifetime event.

King!Seokjin

This is a tricky one to answer because Seokjin isn't looking for a rhyme or reason to hurt you. He just will regardless of any behaviour.

If there are little failures or mistakes he will certainly utilize them for the chance to be extra cruel, however as mentioned, he doesn't need them as justification.

There is still plenty you could do to madden him. He is a King first and foremost and he will not tolerate any kind of disrespect or disobedience. Doing so would absolutely be an easy start to evoking his anger.

Jin is also not impetuous, everything he does, he does with purpose. So when he does hurt you in response to something you have done he can be truly poetic in the methods he chooses.

You dropped and smashed a cup? He'll use the pieces to cut you.

Did you interrupt him? He'll fill that mouth with one thing or another. Don't worry, he doesn't need you to speak anyway.

You did something as foolish as to refuse or fight him during one of your sessions? That's fine. The nearest servant will take your place. Let's see if you can endure their screams and cries, while he continually reminds them and you that their pain is your fault.

Assassin!Yoongi

How would he punish you? He has basically one method. Very simply, he would lock you away. He isn't looking to deal with any bullshit. So if you want to act up, fine. He'll just throw you in your room until he is ready to deal with you again. If you especially irritate him and he wants to make a point or really dissuade your behaviour from happening again he'll chain you in the basement. A two-meter chain, a toilet and a tap for water. With that and soundproof walls, he knows he'll have at least 2 weeks of quiet before you start to properly starve to death and he has to take you out.

Why would he punish you? That is less simple. His moods change too often for there to be any one answer.

You might have been too energetic, or maybe you weren't matching his excitement and it disappointed him. It could be that you were frustrating him by not participating and conversing when he wanted. Or maybe he was just feeling annoyed because he was hungry and tired.

Honestly, Yoongi doesn't know in the slightest what he wants, and while he doesn't truly expect you to be able to, he demands you anticipate his ever-shifting whims. He took you to be useful to him. So he sees it as your job to figure out what he wants, not his job to teach you.

Like when he told you he wanted you to be more proactive and initiate sex. That didn't mean that you could just choose any moment to come to him and offer to make the both of you feel good. No, it was important to wait until the exact moment Yoongi was also in the same temperament. And to make sure you approached him in the way he wanted. And to say the things he liked.

The only thing you can ever be sure of with Yoongi is that because you spend all your time trapped with only him, you will be locked away hating him while obsessing over ways to make him happy. Wishing you could be near him just to have some form of contact with another person.

On the rare occasions when you do see his true anger, it's good to keep in mind that he is a professional killer. He isn't phased with shooting you and leaving you to see if you survive.

Vampire!Hosoek

Like Jin, Hoseok is someone who revels in the pain and suffering of others. Hoseok however is less concerned with formality, obedience, or rules. Fight. Cry. Beg. Scream at him. Tell him how much you hate him, how much you wish he would die. He doesn't care. In fact, he enjoys it. It spurs him on.

There is nearly nothing you could do to truly anger him. Everything is a game for him, everything's fun. And you're his favourite toy. So when you fuck up, it's just another chance for him to play with you.

The only thing he is serious about, the only thing he is possessive of, is your blood. He has made it clear many, many times that that is his. His to drink and his to spill. Get so much as a papercut by yourself, or accidentally bite your tongue and he'll be utterly offended that you robbed him of something that should have been his. Not just the loss of blood either, but that he wasn't able to enjoy the sounds and faces you made as you injured yourself. And how dare you rob him of a moment that should have been his.

If any other person were to hurt you, purposefully or accidentally, or god forbid if any other Vampire tried to drink your blood.... well you would think Hoseok was downright gentle with you when you saw the things he did to them.

#yandere #yandere bts #yandere bangtan #yandere hoseok #yandere namjoon #yandere seokjin #yandere jin #yandere rm #yandere jhope #yandere yoongi #yandere suga #bangtan #bts #bts reactions

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

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I kinda find it funny how, if Ed didn't break up with Bella and then chase after Victoria in NM, we might not have gotten the events of Eclipse. Girl was just vibing with her makeshift "guards," and he had to mess it all up by having her see how newborn armies work and inspire her. Do you think Vic would've still would've gone after Bella if not for NM's events (and how it'd go down)? Cause low key I think it's funnier if she wasn't a danger but Ed made her into one jfksaldjf.-Sw

I think she would have.

True, Victoria comes up with the newborn army scheme after Edward chases her down to Mexico, but she also doesn't use it right away. She tests the waters in Forks for a very long time before she decides to invade.

In other words I, sigh, agree with Edward on this: Victoria was coming back to murder Bella Swan in vengeance no matter what was happening.

Without the newborn army, however, things would have played out very differently.

A Bit on the Romantic Tragedy Penned by Edward Cullen

First, a note, Edward had always intended to leave Bella. From the moment he realized he was in love with her he told himself that he would one day leave her. It was just a matter of when.

In Twilight, he's torn. He knows he shouldn't be a part of her life, that bringing her into his world almost necessitates her becoming a vampire, but he also really doesn't want to let her go. He doesn't think he's strong enough to do it.

And as Bella keeps getting herself into danger he gives himself more and more excuses.

If he's not there, then Bella will get crushed by a van or raped in an alley or eaten by bears. Her number's up, and Edward is single handedly fighting fate to keep this angel alive.

Bella needs Edward, therefore he can't possibly go.

The birthday party put things back into perspective. Edward's family is the most dangerous threat to Bella there is, Edward himself really may lose control one day and devour her, and unless she turns (which Edward absolutely does not want) then she has no future with him.

The family has to leave now.

However, if there's no birthday party, then Edward doesn't have that catalyst and reminder. He likely decides to himself that he will leave Bella after graduation, his family will move towns, Bella will attend whichever university she attends, and he will have had a few wonderful years with Bella pretending he's a regular high school boy dating a regular high school girl.

When Bella then dies a natural human death sometime later, Edward will go to Volterra and kill himself (and force the Volturi's hand when Aro refuses to do it).

Of course, he'd probably break here too, but that's a different story.

I do think without Jasper's slip up and the birthday party, that Edward would have stuck around for New Moon.

The World Without Bella's Birthday Party

Bella throws the fit she didn't in canon.

She doesn't want this birthday party, she never asked for this birthday party, AND WHY DOES BELLA ALWAYS HAVE TO HUMOR ALICE?!

Bella has had a summer filled with Alice. In canon, this was a delight, in this world Bella realizes that maybe they spend most of their time doing what Alice wants to do rather than what Bella wants to do.

Alice is clearly throwing this party for Alice's sake, everyone knows it, and Edward tells her, "Please humor my sister and be a good sport."

Isn't this party supposed to be about Bella?

Alice is terribly upset and does not handle any of this well, Edward tells Bella to be reasonable and be the better person and give Alice this party, Rosalie thinks this is all petty bullshit but has mild respect for Bella on calling Alice out on this, and Carlisle is rubbing his temples somewhere trying to let the children deal with this themselves.

In the end, they compromise, Bella's birthday is Edward taking her out to dinner at an expensive restaurant in Seattle of Alice's choice, Bella wearing a fancy Chanel dress that Alice selected for her.

Bella's still embarrassed and miserable, but at least there aren't a billion pink candles.

As a result, there's no birthday party, no papercut, and no dumping.

The next several months instead are spent with Bella and Alice in a battle of wills and a real rough spot in their friendship. Bella tries to explain to Edward that Alice treats her like a doll, not a person.

Edward, of course, has no idea what she's talking about.

Bella fails to realize that Edward also treats her like a doll and not a person.

Laurent's Scouting Mission

As in canon, Laurent is probably sent by Victoria to scout. Victoria probably never left the area which means (remember this is book universe where Riley was in California) that she never turned Riley.

Without being all over the Forks area killing hikers, probably fewer wolves are turned. Yes, the Cullens are in the area, but they've been there three years, are very non-threatening, and in that time only Sam shifted.

We don't see the deluge of shifting until after the Cullens have left and Victoria starts actively attacking the area.

(Yes, this is worthy of a meta but that meta is not this meta)

Regardless, Laurent shows up, Sam's not sure if he's one of those friends of the Cullens or not, and Laurent walks in to see that all the Cullens are there.

Just like he expected.

Because Victoria has sent him to die.

Carlisle feels a headache coming on but is not shocked to see that Laurent's eyes are red again after only a few months. (Though this explains the sobbing phone call that Carlisle got from Irina asking if he'd seen Laurent because that beautiful, perfect, man has gone missing!)

Laurent provides some weasley bullshit explanation anyway. He asks, though it's really more of a demand, that he join the Cullen coven (much larger than the Denali, very gifted, and very powerful). Carlisle says no, Laurent has to stick to the diet if he joins the coven and he has to mean it. Given Laurent's current appearance, it seems as if Laurent is not willing to do that.

Laurent then begs them to let him stay: Victoria will murder him otherwise (and oh by the way she's after your Lunchable Bella Swan). That gets Edward into action, he demands Laurent's death and that he then hunt down Victoria personally.

Carlisle politely suggests that Laurent, rather than seek shelter from them who he knows Victoria intends to cross paths with, go back to the Denali and give the diet another whirl.

Laurent flees back to the Denali, Irina is ecstatic to see him. Victoria's not even surprised.

The family discusses what to do about Victoria. Carlisle would rather not hunt this woman down on hearsay alone. Jasper thinks they should have killed her to start and letting her escape was foolishness, he told them she'd be back. Edward for once is with Jasper, Victoria must be destroyed before she can harm Bella. They look to Alice and, yeah, there's a good possibility that Victoria will be back.

Edward is torn between hunting down Victoria and protecting Bella in person. Jasper leaves before he can make the decision, which of course angers Edward beyond belief, but, well, he guesses it is what it is.

Edward decides to not tell Bella that a vampire is after her life: it'll just worry her.

Jasper's Hunting Mission

Jasper likely has a devil of a time catching Victoria, as he did the first time, because of her gift. He ends up having very long phone calls with Alice as he tries to coordinate a successful solution to this.

Because Edward never left Bella, she never sought out Jake. She never forms her friendship with Jake nor realizes the secret behind the shapeshifters.

Billy tries to give Bella a few more ominous warnings but there's no getting through to this girl.

Edward never proposes to Bella because he's intent on leaving her after graduation. He does not tell Bella this though she constantly worries about it.

He assures her they can have a long distance relationship at college (he has no such intentions).

Victoria is kept out of the Forks area by Jasper and likely takes the one obvious route left to her. She has nothing left to live for, and it doesn't matter how much terror she lives in the Volturi, if this means her death then so be it.

She goes to the Volturi and narks on the Cullens.

Victoria Narks

It... does not go as planned.

Aro placates Caius with many excuses: this girl is in her primary schooling, is the only daughter of a police chief, she cannot simply disappear.

Carlisle is likely waiting until after she graduates and can disappear across the country.

And yes, technically this James fellow had bit Bella and they had their perfect chance but... Well, Aro will talk to Carlisle, it is not breaking the law yet.

Aro travels to Forks in person with Renata, shows up on Carlisle's doorstep, and says, "We need to talk."

Aro lays down the law, this girl better be turned after graduation, and Aro can only stall Caius so long. Also, great to see you, you built yourself a coven and that's perfectly marvelous.

Edward, of course, throws a fit but the law is the law and the law just visited them for tea. Aro makes it very clear that either Bella is turned, she dies, or Aro will have no choice to take adverse action against Edward at the very least (if not Carlisle and the rest of the Cullens).

Aro also points out this is an unsustainable relationship that's not good for anybody. Yes, it's too bad the girl has no choice, but they really should have thought of that before Edward walked around strongly hinting he wasn't human.

Edward insists they vote.

The vote doesn't go the way he likes.

Esme doesn't want Edward to live in misery after Bella dies, Rosalie doesn't like the idea of turning Bella but it appears they have no choice, Jasper (via conference call) doesn't want to be the one to eat Bella and it's stupid given the VOLTURI IS IN THE ROOM FOR THIS VOTE, and Carlisle notes that it appears Bella has no other option and at least this seems to be what she wants?

They will turn Bella after graduation.

Edward smashes a TV.

They tell Edward to tell Bella, it should come from him, Edward never does.

Instead, out of nowhere, he asks her to marry him and elope. They can live on a deserted island somewhere.

Bella thinks this is stupid and says no.

Edward dies inside.

Victoria Chooses Death

Victoria is out of options, the Volturi did not come through, and she wanders out of Volterra in a daze.

She guns it for Forks with Jasper hot on her tail. If there's one thing left for her, she will murder this Bella Swan before she dies. She fails, Jasper catches up to her in Forks and murders her.

No one tells Bella.

Graduation

After graduation, Carlisle picks Bella up. Bella has no idea what's happening, Carlisle assumes she does. Carlisle lays down the game plan, she's going to take a summer abroad before school starts, travelling with Alice, then both she and Alice will disappear in an accident.

Bella asks him to hold up, what the hell is he talking about?

Carlisle realizes with dull horror that Edward never told Bella. He awkwardly explains that the Volturi personally came to visit and, well, they have to turn Bella into a vampire.

He's very sorry.

Bella's very on board with this, she asks if it can be Edward that does it.

Carlisle says no, that's not a good idea.

They stare at each other.

Carlisle cannot believe Edward didn't tell her.

Edward and Bella do not get married nor does she have sex with him as a human.

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folksaga-if · 11 months

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“It is a long story, and it does no credit to anyone: there is murder in it, and trickery, lies and foolishness, seduction and pursuit. Listen."

- Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology

You are a human. A totally normal one.

Honestly.

You’re a human. You’re a bartender, which is a very normal job for a human to have, and when you walk down the winding streets of Akureyri you can blend seamlessly into any crowd of people which is, without question, only something that a human could do.

The fact that you came here two years ago with nothing but the clothing on your back doesn’t mean anything; you’re hardly northern Iceland’s first wayfaring soul. That you had no money to your name, no friends or family to speak of — that’s a fairly average human thing, too. And that little craving you have, that quiet urge to dig your teeth into any passing stranger’s throat? It's completely, entirely mundane.

It’s manageable. You’re managing.

Or you were, until someone — someone who's decidedly not as good at this human thing as you are — begins leaving a trail of dead bodies at your doorstep, and a trio of god-like siblings take a seat at your bar.

(Ragnarök might have marked the end of the Norns, but that doesn't mean your fate died along with them.)

MAGNI THORSON .

No doubt the mightiest of his siblings, the eldest child of Thor is exactly the sort of person you would expect him to be: a giant (half-giant, in fact) asshole with a smoulder and a knife-sharp jawline to match. He’ll match your every word with a cocky grin and a joke that’s nowhere near as funny as he thinks, and he’ll look every inch the prince that he is all the while.

(Well, the prince that he was. Just don’t let him hear you say that.)

MODI THORSON .

For the supposed embodiment of his father’s wrath, the God of Thunder’s second son is surprisingly…not that. He’s no picnic, mind you — he’s broody, he’s secretive, and he's fucking intense, but that hardly equates to fury incarnate. You’re sure there’s something hiding under that moody surface; whether or not you want to uncover it is a different story entirely.

(Looks like even gods aren’t immune to middle-child syndrome. Who knew?)

THRÚD THORSDÓTTIR .

Valkyrie, seidhr, paragon of strength — with all of her mother’s best traits (and a few of her father’s worst), is it any wonder that Thor’s youngest child was also his favourite? Smarter than her half-brothers and more likeable by a longshot, you might find yourself forgetting how easily the fortune-telling goddess could break you in two. You might, but she’ll be happy to remind you if you do.

(Maybe a little too happy, in fact.)

KATLA B̶͍̏L̸̝͑O̵̟͠M̴̳̓Q̴̯̔V̵̺͆I̷̗͛S̵̠͒T̸̬̒ .

A fellow nomad and your coworker at Black Thunder, the first friend you made in Akureyri has remained your closest. Mischevious, magnetic, and often up to no small amount of trouble, there are times when you think you might know Katla better than you know yourself. You even know about her…well, you know that she…sorry, what were you talking about again?

(It's just that it’s nice, being close to someone who’s so very human.)

THE MARE .

There’s a voice in your head and a shadow in your dreams, and they’re telling you to run. You probably shouldn’t trust them.

(…Right?)

Customize your monster character. New life, new you! Choose your gender identity, change your name, cut your hair, and remember: if you’re starting to grow tired of running from your past, try on a new outfit and start running faster.

Play as one of three runway creatures from Norse mythology — a cunning keeper of the forest, a charming warden of the lake, or a formidable guardian of the mountains. Each has its quirks (would you prefer a hollowed-out tree for a back, or webbed fingers and forearms covered in scales?), but they all have two key things in common: they’ll kill to protect their homes, and you’re definitely not one of them.

Choose your own fate, out of the countless that are presented to you. Had oatmeal instead of skyr with your breakfast this morning? You might have just brought about Ragnarök 2.0. Nice one, asshole.

Multiple romance options, with each available to pursue regardless of your gender or background. Ever wanted to kiss a god under a starry sky? Now's your chance! Or maybe you’re through with immortal beings and desperate to ask the pretty server on a date? Go for it! She’s definitely a human too. Totally. You’d be able to tell if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t you?

Save the world — or don’t. It's your choice, and isn't that what true freedom is all about?

Folksaga is inspired by The Edda, Norse mythology, and Twin Peaks, with a bit of tweaking to the myths as needed for the sake of plot. MC backgrounds have been adjusted to fit for all players regardless of gender identity, and creative liberty has been taken with some smaller points for a smoother storytelling experience. All changes will be explained in an FAQ post (too be added in the links below ASAP!)

The current demo consists of the prologue (introductory lore + character creation), which is about 20k words. I plan to post it in the next few weeks, after some edits + the completion of chapter one!

I expect it to be somewhere in the range of 600,000 to 700,000 words, but this is subject to change (and likely will due to my propensity for rambling text. oops.).

I’ve written short and long-form original fiction as well as a lot of fanfic (say hello @ pentaghastly on AO3, and @kendallroynsfw on tumblr!), but this is my first IF! Bugs and coding issues may appear in the demo; please let me know if any issues arise during your playthroughs.

Folksaga is a work in progress. I would love constructive feedback when the demo is posted, as well as any bugs or grammar issues to be brought to my attention if I've missed them :) I would also love patience, because I'm a full time health care worker who gets sleepy lots xoxo

A Swedish farmer named Sven Andersson was executed in 1691 for having intercourse with a mountain nymph, or bergsrå. I will neither confirm or deny if his Wikipedia article was the inspiration for this IF, except I will confirm it and it definitely was.

MC ORIGINS | RO INTROS | demo coming soon!

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interact-if #choice of games #choicescript #cog #hosted games #hg #interactive game #text-based #norse mythology #twin peaks #romance #mystery #murder mystery #folksaga-if

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eddheadweirdo · 3 years

Text

/rp

I want to talk about the page Tommy wrote when he was in prison with Dream. I think a lot of people missed this detail, and it's easy to when you don't know what it could mean.

(Corrected Tommy's written mistakes)

"Dream is ugly - the novel:

He is fucking shit and I hate him and hes fucking ugly. He is stabbable. I want to stab him in the neck no joke.

Dream has a massive ego and he is probably bad."

Remember how Tommy said he felt conditioned to be Dream's friend even though he wanted to stab him? Even when Tommy escaped exile and he found refuge in Technoblade's cabin, he was unsure. Techno had asked: "Is Dream your friend or is he trying to kill you?" And Tommy didn't know how to respond, because he wasn't sure.

But I think apart of that is because he felt that it was possible Dream might have a chance at redemption. On his first prison visit he told Dream if he had a lot of therapy he could possibly change. He knows Dream has caused a lot of pain, but admitting that Dream was bad was like saying he couldn't be redeemed. Tommy THOUGHT dream couldn't be redeemed, but he wasn't sure.

I'm also reminded of the time Tommy and Foolish had a talk over the crater of L'manburg.

(Shortened their conversation but kept in the key points)

"There's still good in everyone Foolish. Even if they are all arseholes and wankers."

"Do you believe in second chances?"

"No I don't. I believe everyone's got a little bit of good in them. It's not about chances, Foolish. It's about making sure you don't give up on the people you care about. If you ever care about someone, do not give up on them. Don't give up on people, cause that's how you lose."

"You consider yourself to be the good guy or the bad guy?"

"That really depends on who you ask. If you asked Dream he'd say I'm his little play- his little toy that he plays with... Foolish, honestly I used to consider myself the good guy. The second in command going 'yeah let's do this!'. These past 6 months everything got so much harder than before. Because before it was us fighting the bad guys, but it was also clear. And it's not been clear for so long. Before it was like these are the bad guys these are the good guys. Now, it's like this guy is doing this and that makes him a little worse. It all got so complicated. So I don't know, it depends on who you ask."

Tommy has seen the ups and downs of a lot of people. He's seen Wilbur at his highest and he's seen the man reach his lowest. So to Tommy, Wilbur still has good in him, because he was good before. And I think that's also why Tommy is so confused when it comes to Dream.

He draws an axe when Quackity merely mentions Dream's name. His breath is unsteady whenever he goes near the prison. But he's had Dream fight along side him before. He's laughted with Dream before. Dream offered him goods and built church prime with him. He's seen good in Dream, and he's struggling to realize a lot of it was fake. He acknowledges that Dream sees him like a toy to play with, but he can't fully see Dream as completely evil.

Yes, Tommy has said Dream was evil countless times, but when we see his doubt we know those words were him trying to convince himself. He has conflicting feelings for Dream because at some point he genuinely saw him as a friend.

That's Tommy. A poor boy who can't help but believe people have atleast a semblance of good in them. Even if they wronged him the most. Hell he was mad at Technoblade for killing Tubbo and destroying L'manburg. AND TOMMY INVITED HIM TO HIS HOTEL OPENING.

#dream smp #dreamwastaken #tommyinnit #technoblade #dsmp #prison arc #foolish gamers #character analysis #c!tommy #c!dream #c!foolish #c!technoblade

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

Text

Dream SMP Recap (July 10/2021) - The Beets Episode

Tubbo, Sam and Foolish create a definitely-not-a-cult based around beets for the good of vegans, turning the newly cleared-out area by the Prime Path into one giant stretch of farmland.

---

VOD LINKS:

Awesamdude

Tubbo

Tommyinnit

Captain Puffy

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- While wandering around the server, Tubbo notices that he’s having trouble finding food and decides to create a farm

- He asks Sam for help, and Sam points out the cow farms. Tubbo tells him to think of the vegans. Tubbo suggests beetroots instead

- Foolish arrives, dressed as Mario, and they declare him “Beets Man”

- They turn Hutt’s Pizza into Hutt’s Beetza

- Tubbo reads Connor’s diary

- Tubbo wants to create an empire of beets all the way to the Community House. They shall be the Beets Trio, and after they create the beet farm, they will destroy every other source of food

- Sam learns that Fran has been stolen. Time to blow things up

- They go to Puffy’s temple and blow up her pictures. They debate killing one of the parrots, but instead return to beet farming

- Fundy logs on and they make him a Beets Brother. If he doesn’t join their initiative, it means he hates vegans. Fundy hesitantly agrees to join since he does not hate vegans

- Fundy arrives and is shocked by the amount of beets. He also notices they got rid of the Socializing Club, to which they respond that it is all for the beets

- If someone says they do not like beets, they will cut off their balls. “Anti-Beeters Lose a Ball.” How else will they supply for the war if they don’t have enough beets?

- Some people do hate vegans, so they will be going to war against them. There is already conflict between Toby Carvery and Vegan Pizza

- Fundy starts crying while planting beets

- Sam points out that beets are a very inefficient food source

Tubbo: “Sam, do you want kids when you’re older or am I gonna have to step in here? Like, you know imagine it, you’re in your what -- your fuckin’ thirties and you’re settling down, Sam, and you wanna have kids but then you’re like ‘oh wait! I forgot! I don’t like beetroot so I don’t have any balls!’ So, you know. ‘Cause I will step in. With force.”

Sam: “You’ll step in? With force? Would you say that you mean business almost?”

Tubbo: “No, I don’t mean business. I mean beets.”

- Their political party will be “the Beeties”

- Fundy is horrified to see that he has accidentally harvested a beet that was not ready to be harvested. He continues crying as he plants. If they take breaks, the vegans suffer. As they farm, Sam and Fundy whisper to each other:

Sam: let’s run away

Fundy: but I like vegans

Sam: so do I. They will understand.

Fundy: they want me to harvest the beets. I want them to like me. I like vegans they must like me back. I shall continue

Sam: I shall free you from this one day.

Fundy: plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat.. plant.. harvest.. repeat..

Sam: I will take you to a better place.

- Tubbo’s hoe breaks and they mark the block where it happened to remember the history. They decide to halt, finishing Stage 1. Fundy is the Chosen One and will play a key role in Stage 26

- Sam whispers to Fundy that it is time and leads Tubbo and Foolish to the other side of the hill. They admire their work and destroy Tommy’s fence, as it intrudes on the beets

- Tommy logs on. Tubbo tells Sam that Tommy stole his dog

- Sam whispers to Fundy that it’s time and they run. As Tommy comes over, Fundy and Sam run by and hand him steak. Fundy makes it away for now. Sam tells him to be free as he returns to the beet farm

- Tommy sees the beets. He isn’t pleased, and Fundy falls to his death

Tubbo: “Clearly you hate the vegans.”

Tommy: “Of course I hate vegans!”

- Tubbo draws his axe. As Tommy backs away, Tubbo shoots and kills him. Sam immediately starts running to the prison to get the revive book from Dream (but Tommy has already respawned)

- Tubbo tells Tommy that in time, he too will be a fan of the beets

- Fundy returns and they watch as he jumps into one of the beets watering hole before returning to work

- Tommy tells the beets men to get off his land and rebuilds the fence. Fundy comes up to them having stopped working. Sam says Fundy should quit. Fundy starts walking around, planting beets wherever he goes

- Sam wants to go find Fran and no longer wishes to continue with this. Tubbo protests

- They point out that even the bats are harvesting beets. Seeing this, Fundy realizes that if bats harvest beets, then Fundy does not have to harvest beets

Fundy: “FUNDY IS FREE!”

- He jumps from the path and dies

- Tommy has decided he wants to let go of the war items he no longer needs, since the server is peaceful now

- Tubbo tries to convince Sam to stay, offering every belonging he owns

- Sam turns and walks away, leaving Tubbo in anguish

- The rain goes away and Tubbo decides he actually can do it without Sam

- Tommy makes it to Pogtopia and visits the storage vault

- Tubbo and Foolish ponder what to do if not planting beets on the other side of the path...Pumpkins. They decide on pumpkins. Foolish becomes Yoshi

- Tommy reaches Logsted. He wants people in iron armor, not Netherite. He digs a hole with a chest and stores the gear, ending with the Axe of Peace

- Tommy has decided he doesn’t want to keep a stretch of the railway that’s connected to his house, as it reminds him of losing Henry. He gets rid of part of the railway

- Tubbo and Foolish decide to do beets again instead

- Tommy destroys his gravestone in Puffy’s graveyard

- Tommy does some cleaning up of the land

- Meanwhile, Sam successfully finds Fran and goes mining in the Nether

- Tommy goes back to Tubbo and tells him he has learned what a ‘cuck’ is at last. Tommy has also brought seeds and asks for a large portion of the farm to be dedicated to wheat. Tubbo doesn’t approve. They don’t want business, just beets

- Tommy starts running. They try to get Tommy to eat one beet, explaining that they can bypass pregnancy with beets

- Tommy pretends to eat one. He gates off his property and tells them they are now on gated territory

- He notices them return to his property after a bit, chasing a pig named Wiggles. Tommy decides to indoctrinate Wiggles

- Tubbo and Foolish bridge over above the roof of Tommy’s house, outside of the chunk

- Tommy’s landlord is Jesus Christ

- Tommy gets a saddle and puts it on Wiggles. He gets on the pig and logs out. Foolish and Tubbo find out that Wiggles has disappeared

- Sam goes to the prison. He shows a glimpse of the courtyard

- Tubbo and Foolish ask Sam if he ever found Fran. Sam says yes, and Tubbo explains about Tommy taking Wiggles

- Foolish suggests they get Tommy’s family and hold them hostage

- Sam says Tubbo’s dog needs to be put down. They start bickering until the dog gets pushed off the Power Tower and falls to his death

- Tubbo demands Sam be put in the prison. They go to the prison and Tubbo asks to be let in. Sam says Tubbo can only visit the entrance. He tries to bribe Sam and Sam says he’d be willing to do a tour for a shulker box

- Tubbo begs and begs until eventually Sam gives in. Tubbo immediately activates Sam’s stasis chambers and Sam says he’ll kill him...as soon as he mines through the glass with Mining Fatigue. After a minute of mining, Tubbo places concrete as soon as Sam finally breaks one block

- Sam finally gets out and Tubbo reluctantly leaves...and immediately breaks the portal mechanics by spawning a new portal in the entryway

- Tubbo actually leaves, with Sam now having to mine more obsidian

- Puffy is not happy about the new beet farm. Puffy replaces the beets with potatoes and talks with Foolish, who insists on the beets

- Foolish replaces the potatoes with beets, which Puffy destroys and tries to replace with potatoes, and this goes on for a while. Puffy complains that they could have had room for so many cool buildings, but Foolish doesn’t see why one would build instead of having beets

- Puffy tells Foolish he has a choice to make and watches as he eats a steak. She declares it “potato time”

- They wonder about which side Dream would be one. Puffy says that he would likely be more of a potato guy

- Puffy keeps planting potatoes, and Michael logs on as well. Puffy asks him which he prefers, potatoes or beets, and Michael says potatoes

- Michael sees the farm and Puffy explains what happened with L’Targay and the beets farm

- The three of them chat. Dream was sentenced to prison for being a silly goose

- They also talk about shirt-wearing koalas, maid outfits and plenty more and continue to chat for a while

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts #long post

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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Companions (DLC included) respond to the Courier getting drunk at their wedding.

Arcade Gannon: "What is wrong with you? You couldn't pick any other day to act like a brahmin who got into the broc patch?"

Super apologetic toward his new husband, he should've known the courier was going to make a scene, honestly, it's about the only thing they're good at, and gets so flustered he starts blushing and his newly-minted spouse has to reassure him that the courier isn't even the most inebriated person there. That award goes to Cass, who is pickling herself in a mixture of wedding joy and despair that the nerdy gay scientist of the friend group found love before she did. Arcade stops the courier from being a bad influence and forbids the bartender from pouring the pair of them any more shots. Will not hold the courier's hair if they throw up, but will slip them some Rebound for the inevitable hangover.

Craig Boone: "Take it easy. Here, I'll finish that one for you."

Ignores the courier's antics completely until they make their way up to congratulate him and his new partner personally, at which point his usual stony façade will crack a bit. He's well-acquainted with the courier's drunk personality by now, but hasn't let himself loosen up out of a strong sense of duty. Now, on this happy day, he's willing to relax an inch and share some extra drinks with them and the rest of the Lucky 38 crew. This is the one time the courier will be able to steal his beret and be able to hang onto it until after the festivities.

Lily Bowen: "Go sit in the corner until you can behave yourself, dearie!"

Embarrassed by her surrogate grandchild's actions, Lily would attempt to scold the courier back into sobriety. Eventually she would realize her efforts are fruitless and take a few minutes to sulk, before the whirlwind happiness of the day and the flounce of her dress win out and she lets her spouse, the courier and her Lucky 38 and Jacobstown friends lead her out to the middle of the dance floor. After that, well, there aren't many spectacles that can top seeing a bunch of super mutants dancing.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Hey, hey, slow down boss! Tenemos muchos años más to act like fools together, eh?"

As soon as the courier jumps up on a table to give an impromptu toast, Raul will unleash his best grito and toast them back with the nearest bottle of tequila. Once deep enough into the alcohol himself, Raul would get a little weepy and start thanking them profusely for their role in his recent years of life, leaning on them as much as they're leaning on him. Largely forgiving of messes caused by clumsiness or turned stomachs, unless any of them threaten to ruin his suit or his partner's outfit.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Well if this ain't an excuse to get wasted in the wastes, I don't know what is."

Cass lives up to her nickname "Whiskey Rose" and is probably just as deep into her cups as the courier. Through the laughter, stumbles, bumps and curse words, however, Cass is careful not to go past her point of no return, and cuts the courier off before they also slip over the edge. She's spent much of her later life trying to get blackout drunk, but today is not a day she wants either of them to forget. As such, she has a low tolerance for anyone who messes up something important in her eyes, and will toss them out on their ass. God help anyone who rips her dress.

Veronica Santangelo: "That's the first time I've seen anyone mix Jake Juice and ant nectar together. This should be interesting."

Rather than confront a drunken courier about their bad behavior, Veronica settles for blushing deeper and deeper shades of pink, until her new wife tells her to go outside and get some air. Like Cass, she is very protective of her dress, but mostly because she loves wearing it in general and wants to feel like a princess for as long as she can. Will definitely get lost in the bathroom with Cass and the courier at some point, complimenting everyone who walks in. Will hold the courier's hair back if they throw up.

BONUS!

Dean Domino: "Don't leave me out if you have plans for some grand finale. Marriage might've caught me, but this snake can still rattle."

As long as the courier doesn't start singing, Dean regards their drunken stunts with a charming smile and a wink or two. If the courier tries to start some impromptu karaoke, however, Dean will start heckling them and get the rest of the guests to join in. This is less about being offended by their singing and more about putting himself back in the center of the spotlight. If the song is a duet, though, he'll probably join in on the second part with some pre-war choreography.

Christine Royce: [scowls]

The Brotherhood assassin is quite good at piercing glares, which is exactly what the courier will get if they don't put the centerpiece down and melt back into the crowd around the bar. Christine is also unafraid of a confrontation, and if the courier's behavior doesn't improve after their first warning, they'll be kicked to the outskirts of the reception, or kicked out altogether. Veronica will take pity on them if this happens and sneak them some food, but Christine doesn't let her guard down easily anymore and removal from the party is permanent.

Dog/God: "Hrrrrrrn..."

Watching the courier overindulge is too much for the nightkin, who is painfully reminded of his own split personality. Still too polite to ask the courier to tone it down or leave though, he instead disappears until the courier leaves or until someone else deals with them.

Follows-Chalk: "Let's share a cup or two, then get back to things, neh?"

Though he's personally fine with the courier's lack of decorum, Follows-Chalk meets the disapproving glances from the rest of the Dead Horses with sheepish grins and hustles them to the back of the celebration if they get too loud. He'll share a few drinks with them though, and the alcohol will warm him up significantly toward letting them back into the center of things. Ultimately, he and the courier will wind up swaying together over a bonfire, singing songs off-key and reminiscing about their time together in Zion.

Waking Cloud: "Muddy your water if you must, but do not forget to let it run clean beneath the morning."

The tall, stately bride is polite and tolerant of the courier's drunken outbursts, but chooses not to partake herself when offered drinks. The Sorrows view mind-altering substances as something for serious, sacred purposes, and weddings are focused on celebration rather than ritual. Still, Waking Cloud can't help but smile when the courier tries their hand at the intricate, unending dances on the banks of the Virgin River. They might look foolish, and watching members of the tribe might wince, but the smile on their face is pure ecstasy.

Joshua Graham: "There is a fire that burns within the righteous, but that fire cannot prosper if you insist on quenching it."

As a Mormon, Joshua Graham doesn't drink, and he's very judgmental of those who overindulge. Seeing as it's the courier, his disdain is tempered into something more akin to disappointment, but he'll still take every opportunity to pull them aside and try to explain their faux pas in between their hiccups. Most likely to have a dry wedding in the first place, but we all know the courier has a trusty Vault 13 canteen and is great at breaking the rules.

Ulysses: "The Twin Mothers knew how to cure a wound with bitters, one drink at a time... some wounds need more. More bitters, and more drinks. There's enough bitterness already in our history."

Ulysses also doesn't drink, but he knows better than to try to separate the courier from a good time. He'll simply avoid them until they simmer down, grabbing his partner and ducking out of conversations right before the courier crashes them. He's so successful in this that the courier might start loudly complaining about how they "didn't know we were back in the Divide," and enlist ED-E to bob around the party in pursuit.

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

It's a bit angsty but could also have fuff, what about if Javi and f!reader (who are fuck buddies) were both present when Carillo shot that kid and reader is more visibly angry/upset than Javi shows and he tries to comfort her instead of going to Gabi? And he recognizes that he has feelings for her beyond their arrangement?

Pairing: Javier x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: language, mentions of death

MASTERLIST

JAVIER MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Javier paced around his apartment as he tried to make sense of everything that happened. It all seemed like a blur; it happened so quickly that at first he almost hadn't been sure it happened at all. But the bloody aftermath that was at his feet had reminded him that it had all been very real.

Your visceral reaction hadn't helped either. The look on your face, one of pure terror and agony, along with pain and upset and had been forever burned into his mind. You had yelled and screamed at Carillo, lashing out in shock and outrage, although you all knew that it wouldn't change anything. What was done was done.

Javier had been much calmer; in the moment anyway. Currently, he felt like he was slowly going out of his mind as he walked back and forth and tried to ground himself. If you were there he was sure that you would have made a joke about him wearing a hole into the floor. That was if things had been utterly different. But...they weren’t.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, reaching for the whiskey he’d poured himself. It had been sat on the counter, neglected and abandoned for some time; for once he didn’t have the heart to just down the alcohol. As he clutched the glass to his lips, which were trembling along with his hand, he decided against and set it back down.

He knew what he wanted to do, even though that might not have been the best idea: see you. You were...in a weird sense, everything to him. You were more than his partner, more than his part-time-no-strings-attached lover, more than his friend...you’d come into his life when you were the last thing he wanted or needed. But you’d quickly become everything he ever wanted and needed.

But you were both stubborn headed and foolish, some would say to a fault, and remained at the stage where you were definitely-only-maybe-just-friends. The harsh truth was that both of you definitely wanted and craved more than the increasingly common just fucks, but neither of you had admitted it just yet. Maybe one day, maybe when life was different, maybe...but for now, this was enough. It had to be...right?

Javier ran his hands over his exhausted face and let out a heavy sigh. He was going to find you, whether or not you wanted him there. He shouldn’t have left you alone in the first place, he should have offered you his support then and there. The normally indifferent and collected man had been rendered speechless and shell shocked earlier.

He stuffed his keys into his pocket and quickly left his apartment, climbing the few flights of stairs to yours with hurried ease.

»»————-　♡　————-««

He paused in front of your door, unsure of whether or not he should use his spare key and come in or knock. After a few moments of silent deliberation, he heard some shuffling inside, followed by what he knew to be sounds of muffled cries. He’d heard that sound countless times over the years, becoming an expert in them, learning to become immune to them. Yours, however, he was not able to just tune out.

Without a moment of hesitation, he slipped his key into the lock and came inside, finding you on the couch with tears rolling down your cheeks as you stared blankly at the television screen. The sound of his sudden entrance caught you off guard, and you turned to him with a frown.

“What are you doing here?” your voice was dry and cracking as you looked at him, hastily rubbing at your tear stained cheeks, “you really think I’m in the mood to fuck after today?”

“You really think that’s the only reason I’m here, cariño?” he closed the door and locked it, making his way over to you, despite the small scoff you afforded him. Javier sat down on the coffee table, not even caring that it was precariously rickety under his weight, “if that’s what you think, then you’re even more oblivious than I thought.”

“Javier,” something in how sweetly he looked at you, how tenderly he touched you with his calloused hand but still managed to be delicate on your cheek caused you to snap. You barely managed to choke back a sob before he got on his knees and wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, “Javi.”

“It’s okay,” he promised as you melted into him, tears already staining the fabric of his shirt as he held, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“I’m sorry,” it was a broken whisper that managed to shatter his heart as you clung onto him, “it’s my fault - today is all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, cariño,” he kissed the top of your head while stroking your back, “none of this is your fault. Please...don’t carry this burden too. Let me carry it. I...I’ll protect you.”

“I feel so…” you paused for a moment and breathed him in, letting his familiar scent ground and calm you, “I feel like nothing I do is right, and it keeps getting worse.”

“I know,” he reassured, “I feel the same way a lot - so does Steve - but it’s okay. It’ll get worse before it gets better, but it’ll get better. I swear it. You’ve got me, okay? However you need me...I love you, okay?”

His words caused a chill to run down your spine as you stiffened in his arms. A panic rose inside of him immediately as he wondered if he had overstepped his boundaries, and said the wrong thing. Pulling back, you looked at him with wide eyes, a confused expression clouding your features.

Javier remained silent as he touched the side of your face, prompting you to keen into his touch like a flower to the sun. Without saying a word, you leaned into him, your lips brushing against his, just not quite there. When neither of you pulled away, you closed the gap and kissed him; unlike your usual escapades, this wasn’t hurried or rushed, or searing - this was soft, and loving, needy in every sense of the word.

Only when rendered breathless did you separate, resting your forehead against his and studying his honeyed eyes. You weren’t sure what to quite say….but then again, you didn’t really need to say anything at all. You both knew. You’d always known.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered after a long bit of peaceful silence, “I’ve got you, cariño.”

“I know,” it was a promise of this and so much more, “I know.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian @phoenixhalliwell @lucifer @cosmoschick @kochamcie @linkpk88 @leaiorganas @nikkixostan @haley-the-comet @chibi-yuki @computeringturtle @4ng3lf43 @intu-witch-tion @wondergal2001 @gingerbreadandpaper @willowtheewisp @milkxxkookies @smollpinkgirl @zukoyonce @boomtownboy @velia27 @discowitchyy @kiss-evans @theorganasolo @mishasminion360 @its–fandom–darling @emmy626 @nyasiaaaaa

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

Text

Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

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