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biblio-smia · 1 year

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at the top of my list [ethan landry x reader]

pre-ghostface / no ghostface alternate - no spoilers for scream vi

masterlist | requests are open!

warnings: underage drinking (brief), brief angst but mostly fluff

pairing: fem!carpenter!reader x ethan landry

Rooming with Mindy Meeks-Martin came with its pros: for one, she got you out of having to room with your two sisters — as much as you loved them, you couldn't bear the thought of having to live a tiny, cramped apartment with them, — plus, she was your gateway to the "full college experience" (her words). Then, there were things that came with Mindy that you hadn't decided were pros or cons; after all, she was the reason you met Ethan Landry.

It wasn't entirely her fault — but Mindy was Chad's sister and Ethan was Chad's roommate and in no time, he was part of the group.

It was strange, allowing new people into your lives, but first came Ethan, then Quinn, then Anika and eventually you got used to the feeling.

You warmed up to Ethan first and the fastest, despite making the worst first impression. You'd misheard his name as Ethan Laundry and laughed little too loud for a little too long at a joke only you were in on.

Ethan looked past this; he was far too focused on not stumbling over his own words even to recall the event that mortified you for weeks.

Your relationship with Ethan grew steadily as he came around more and more. It was always in a group setting and usually alongside Chad, but as the months grew on you engaged in more conversations by yourselves. Always somehow left alone with him, you felt yourself becoming increasingly comfortable around Ethan.

Anytime Mindy attempted to make a comment on you and Ethan, she was shutdown immediately, sometimes even before she could get a single word out.

You enjoyed Ethan’s company and he enjoyed yours — the dynamic you had now didn’t need to be changed.

Moreover, you certainly didn’t need Mindy messing things up.

You were adamant enough in your position that Ethan and you were just friends and you didn’t want anything more to Mindy that she cooled down on the would-be comments at least to your face.

“I just know they like each other. I can feel it.” Mindy argued.

“Jeez, I thought Chad was the matchmaker here.” Sam joked.

“Hey, it runs in our blood.” Mindy grinned. “But seriously, all I hear is ‘Ethan this, Ethan that.’ It’d be cute if the two of them weren’t so painfully clueless.”

“Well, why don’t we let them figure it out on their own?” Tara suggested, taking a sip of her drink. She knew how you felt about others meddling into your life, even if it was people you loved — she and Sam learned that the hard way.

Mindy groaned. “That’ll take months. Maybe even years. Do you really want to watch these idiots pine for each other for that long?”

Sam let out a “Hey!” in your defense, while Mindy and Tara looked around for support, both sets of eyes falling on the only person who could clue them into Ethan’s perspective: Chad.

“Well,” Chad glanced nervously from his sister to both of yours, eyes settling on to Tara’s warm brown ones. “He does talk about your sister a lot. Like… a lot.”

“That doesn’t mean we should do anything.” Sam said before Mindy could say anything. “She really wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Even if it would get them together?” Mindy pleaded desperately.

“Let’s leave them be for now,” Sam stated decisively, offering Mindy a small smile. “Let them figure it out on their own.”

「 ... 」

Knowing Ethan Landry was the best thing that’d ever happened to you in moments like these; it was another group movie night in the apartment your sisters shared with the usual seating arrangements — Mindy, Anika, Chad, and Tara were comfortably squished on the couch meant for three while Sam stretched out her legs on the second couch; effectively shunning you and Ethan to the love seat.

At first, it was awkward — you and Ethan crashed into your respective, opposite, sides of the couch, trying to create as much space between the two of you as possible. Then, as time went on, the distance between you grew smaller; as Ethan grew more comfortable in your presence, he began a habit of whispering random movie trivia into your ear, always carefully watching for your reaction, whether it was a gasp of shock or a cute string of giggles. You weren't sure when it started; despite your tendency to hate people talking during movies, you began to look forward to Ethan's voice in your ear more than the actual movie. By the midway point of each movie, you would always end up leaning against Ethan's warm chest with his arm wrapped around you, insisting it was so Ethan didn't have to work hard to whisper in your ear.

Tonight, Ethan was huddled next to you, the fluffiest blanket you owned draped over the two of you. His hands found yours, playing with your fingers. The movie started around fifteen minutes ago; a fact from Ethan was overdue now. However, as you looked over you realized that Ethan's fidgeting with your hands was nervous and accompanied by frequent glances toward his phone.

"What's up?" You were the one whispering now, a look of concern on your face.

"Hm? Nothing..." Ethan trailed off, distracted, his eyes never leaving his phone.

Ethan wasn't much of a phone guy — especially not during movie nights.

However, you didn't press further, leaning back to try to watch the movie for once.

It wasn't until Ethan's phone dinged, and he reached for it faster than you'd ever seen — breaking the only contact you had with him —, that your suspicion began to grow. Ethan's phone was always on do not disturb, a habit you'd chided him for when he was unresponsive in the group chat — though you were the only exception, the only one he always responded immediately to.

It was surprising to see — you wondered if he was waiting for a grade to be submitted; but as far as you knew, Ethan had no big assignments due recently.

The notification was just an email and the disappointment was clear on Ethan's face. As soon as his phone screen turned black — his home screen photo of you and him disappearing — the screen lit up again, as did Ethan's expression. You averted your eyes. Whatever Ethan was excited about, he'd tell you. On his own time.

You were painfully aware of the minutes that ticked on and on as Ethan typed, waited, stopped to think, then typed again. The sounds of a text conversation suddenly seemed like the biggest interruption to the movie you could have experienced.

Just as your curiosity reached its peak, Ethan turned to you with one of the biggest smiles on his face.

"So, there's this girl..." He went on, eyes bright as you felt your heart drop. You weren't paying attention to his words, only mustering up smiles and nods at the appropriate times to make it seem like you were.

Just like that, the sacredness of movie nights, the hour and a half you intimately shared with Ethan, was gone. It was tainted by the prospect of another girl on Ethan's mind and you suddenly couldn't stand being within five feet of him, an unfamiliar ache sprouting in your chest. The pain only worsened the longer you sat there, processing as the sound of your heart pound drowned out everything else.

You got up suddenly, clutching the spot that screamed in agony. "I don't... feel good." You looked around, cheeks heating up as you realized you caused a scene, glancing at the one now paused on the television.

"Are you okay? Do you need medicine?" Sam asked, suddenly sitting up. She made a motion to get up and you waved her off; if she came up to you know you knew you'd cry.

"No, no, I'm just gonna... go lie down. I'll be fine." You stood true to your word, making your way through the small apartment to the closest room — Tara's — before anyone could say anything more. With your back turned to the living room and your quick exit, you missed the way Ethan sprang up, only discouraged from following you with a shake of Tara's head.

「 ... 」

Being alone with your thoughts in the dark might have been your worst idea yet — but at least you had no audience.

Ethan was talking to a girl. They weren't dating — he would've told you that immediately — but they were talking. Worst of all, there was no reason for Ethan not to talk to other girls. It wasn't like you were dating.

You began to analyze the entirety of your relationship with Ethan, trying to pinpoint where everything went wrong. Somewhere along the way, Ethan had climbed his way up and became the person you cared about the most — sometimes even more than yourself. You'd tried so hard to convince yourself that the love you felt for him was platonic, but you weren't sure platonic friends felt so strongly when there was a romantic involvement with someone else. This was jealously in its purest form.

You groaned, hands on your head as it began to pound. The sudden thought that Mindy was right popped into your head, making you groan even harder.

Knowing Ethan Landry had suddenly become the worst thing that ever happened to you as you realized, too late, that you were hopelessly in love with him.

「 ... 」

Tara and Sam came in after the movie ended, much sooner than expected. Tara instinctively flipped the light switch on, flooding the room with bright yellow light. The sudden irritation led you to cover your eyes with a pillow and groan once more.

"Do you still feel bad? What hurts?" You felt Sam take a seat on the bed, pulling your hands away from your face. You squinted, your eyes still not adjusting to the sudden light when Tara spoke up.

"You're crying."

Your eyes opened and saw the looks of concern on Sam's and Tara's faces, hands reaching for your cheeks where, as correctly observed, tears had streamed down.

"I didn't realize." You said softly, wiping your face quickly. An uncomfortable silence laid upon the three of you, unsure of what to say. Tara and Sam exchanged glances before Tara took a seat on the other side of you, placing her hand on your leg comfortingly.

"Did... Ethan do something?" She asked cautiously.

"What? No!" You shook your head to emphasize. "Well... not purposely."

Sam took your hand in hers, a knowing look on her face.

"He's... talking to someone. It's stupid, I know. It's my fault I didn't give him a reason to... I just didn't realize I..." Tears welled up in your eyes again as you trailed off. You didn't need to finish. Your sisters knew exactly what you were feeling.

「 ... 」

Mindy was next to find out about your feelings toward Ethan and the situation you found yourself in. To your surprise, you weren't met with the "I told you so" or other celebration you expected. Mindy accepted your statement quietly as the two of you lay on your separate beds, dark encompassing your shared dorm.

"What are you going to do about it?" Mindy asked.

"Nothing." Your voice came out shakier than you'd expected. "What can I do now?"

「 ... 」

Chad was the last to find out, after your permission to let him in was granted. You would've told himself if you didn't think it was useless to. There was no point in admitting something that was too late to act on. To say you were hopeless was an understatement; you no longer left your dorm for anything other than class. You hadn't hung out with your friends in days, including Ethan. You were running out of excuses to throw at him and you knew you were running out of time to be upset. You'd have to pick yourself back up eventually — but for now you let yourself be sad.

This decision, however, was not supported by your friends. Tara and Sam's position on their involvement in your life changed drastically. It started as a plan to get you out of bed, they swore, but ended up changing as they realized who the girl Ethan was talking to was.

Chad had reported back to the group everything Ethan had told him about her; Tara recognized her as the girl you sat next to in your English class. You'd mentioned her a few times in passing; she was a friend of a friend of Tara's.

"She's weird," Tara said, eyebrows furrowing as Chad pulled up her instagram profile. "Not in a mean way. As in, she's kind of obsessed with my sister way." Tara crossed her arms, suddenly defensive.

"So what do we do? I mean, I don't think she actually likes Ethan?" Chad asked, looking back and forth.

Sam shrugged. "She might. If we gave her the benefit of the doubt. But it's starting to sound more like something else..."

The four exchanged solemn glances, all understanding what had to happen.

"We have to break them up."

「 ... 」

It was a party that got you out of your room (after days of pleading from Mindy). You were warned beforehand that Ethan and that girl would be showing up. You were only attending, despite this fact, due to the promise of alcohol that you knew would help you get through the inevitable. It was going to happen eventually. Why postpone it?

You separated from Mindy immediately, downing a cup of whatever drink was available — that and a refill was the only prerequisite you had before you forced yourself to find Ethan. Though, it seemed to be the other way around as you turned and were met with an overly-enthusiastic girl on an uncomfortable looking Ethan's arm. It took you a moment to recognize the girl in the dim party lights, but when you did, you didn't bother hiding the shock on your face.

"Madeline?" You almost dropped your cup in surprise, recalling an interaction that had occurred a few weeks ago.

Your teacher was running late, and you were unsure if he was going to show up. You pulled out your laptop to try and take advantage of the hour and a half you had of your lost lecture to get some work done.

Madeline, who was always late, took a seat next to you, as she usually did. She was sweet enough from your limited interactions with her, though the class you were taking didn't leave much room for you to talk.

Though, as there was no excuse not to now, Madeline had the opportunity to engage in small talk with you.

You responded politely but shortly, a little irritated that she continued trying to talk to you despite your obvious desire to get work done. You quickly concluded that Madeline was one of those people who enjoyed the sound of their own voice; a normal person would've stopped talking by now at your short replies.

Your phone lit up out of the corner of your eye and you knew it was Ethan; his class had just ended and the two of you had plans after you got out of this one. You'd always told him to head back to his dorm and wait out the rest of the 45 minutes you had of class there; but he always insisted on waiting for you and walking back together.

"Ooh, who's this?" Madeline giggled, snatching up your phone, much to your surprise. You thought you'd left people like her back in high school.

"Your boyfriend?" She inquired suggestively, pointing at your lock screen — a picture of you and Ethan celebrating his birthday exactly at midnight.

You shook your head, grabbing your phone back a little aggressively.

"No." You responded. It was none of her business; but you weren't assertive enough to say that to her face.

Madeline gasped exaggeratedly. "But he's your lock screen? You sure you're not dating?" She asked as innocently as she could muster.

"No." You repeated, harder this time. "We're just friends."

It was weird enough of an interaction to make sure you were never in a situation where you had to sit near her in that class again, but you chose not to say anything. It was a standalone, isolated event. But now, she was here with Ethan and you weren't sure what to think anymore. However, you were certain you did not like her.

"Oh my God! Isn't this the biggest coincidence?" Madeline exclaimed, though the tone of her voice suggested it wasn't.

"Wait, you two know each other?" Ethan asked, his own surprise evident.

"Of course we do!" Madeline said, letting go of Ethan and bumping her shoulder with yours, your drink dangerously close to sloshing onto your shirt. "We're like, best friends!"

You couldn't help but scoff.

"Really? You've never mentioned her..." You weren't sure if Ethan was talking to you or Madeline, but it pissed you off regardless. Maybe the alcohol had been a mistake.

"Well, have fun." You said curtly, taking one last look at Ethan before walking off. You quickly found Mindy, Chad, and Tara hovering close enough to watch the interaction but far enough that you hopefully wouldn't notice; too late.

You made your way over to them, sighing as you took another sip of your drink.

"What are you guys up to?" You asked suspiciously.

Mindy and Tara looked around at anywhere but you; Chad, however, was not so fast. Your eyes landed on his and you could see the fear in them.

"Nothing!" He insisted too quickly. "Just waiting for her to make a fool of herself so Ethan hates her?" It came out more of a question, but a smile grew on your face. You'd caught them.

Mindy groaned, smacking Chad's arm. "Seriously, you are the weakest link."

"Guys, seriously, it's fine. I'm fine. Can we stop worrying about it and just have fun?" You insisted.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Chad asked, eyes looking at something behind you.

You turned just in time to see Ethan storming away from his date and to the kitchen where he poured himself a drink. Ethan never drank.

"I'll go... check on him." Your words were quiet but the rest of the group nodded anyway, pushing you towards Ethan.

"Slow down, there," you said, a little hypocritically as Ethan chugged the mystery contents of his cup. He reached for a refill but you placed your hands on his, stopping him. That was more than enough alcohol for someone who barely tolerated it.

He was agitated, you could tell, but not at you.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Ethan asked boldly despite the hurt in his voice. Maybe a little at you.

You sighed, stepping closer to him. "Let's go home?"

He hesitated, but nodded, letting his hand fall in yours as you motioned to Mindy across the room.

「 ... 」

You didn't let go of his hand even after you left the crowded sea of warm bodies and were met with the cool air outside. You glanced at him from time to time, though for the first time since you'd known him, his expression was unreadable.

"I wasn't avoiding you. I mean, I didn't mean to. I mean, I just... wasn't in the right mindset to see anyone." You attempted to explain, feeling ashamed all over again.

"You should've told me. I wouldn't have been mad."

"I know. I just didn't want you to think it was your fault."

You continued in silence, though you took your still interlocked hands as a good sign.

"Are you mad now?" You asked carefully.

Ethan shook his head. "I could never be mad at you."

Though instead of relief, you felt guilty.

"She said you were weird." Ethan started after a while. You raised your eyebrows, but kept quiet. "She said it was weird I'm your lock screen. And that you were obsessed with me." Ethan paused and laughed a little, as if acknowledging how ridiculous the accusation was. "She didn't realize you're mine." Ethan flashed his phone up to prove it as if you weren't well aware of the picture. But isn't it weird how she knew we knew each other? And she didn't say anything to me? I thought so." Ethan didn't give you a chance to reply, but he didn't need to; he made his decision, on his own. Though, you couldn't help the relief you felt at it.

It wasn't a long walk back to your building, and the two of you made your way up to your room quietly. Ethan habitually kicked off his shoes as he entered, making his way to your bed and taking a seat. You joined him and sat there, staring at your hands. The two of you looked at each other and opened your mouths to speak at the same time, suddenly stumbling over your words to try and let the other go first.

"You. Go." You said a little awkwardly.

"I love you. I'm in love with you." Ethan started.

"Ethan—"

"Let me finish, please. If I don't say this now I don't think I ever will." He looked to you and you nodded your encouragement.

"I love you so much it's terrifying. I don't know how to date or what any of that is like... but I know how I feel. I love you and I know you're my best friend and I don't know what to do anymore..." Tears were beginning to pool in his eyes as Ethan sighed. "Your turn?"

You couldn't help but laugh.

"I love you, Ethan. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize and even more to accept it... I think I picked the worst possible moment to realize..." You took a shaky breath. "But I think it worked out?"

"Yeah. It most definitely worked out." And with that, Ethan's lips clumsily crashed onto yours, your hands immediately moving to his face to guide him. You could taste the last hints of liquid courage on his lips and you were suddenly grateful he'd had that spiked punch; there was no way you'd gotten a confession out of him otherwise.

You separated to catch your breath, taking a chance to admire Ethan as you ran your thumb over his cheek. He grinned toothily, placing his hands on yours. You kissed him, softer this time, savoring the feeling of his soft lips on yours.

"I knew it!" A voice exclaimed from the doorway, causing you and Ethan to jump approximately five feet from each other, cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

There they were: Mindy, Chad, Sam, and Tara with smiles on their faces as they high-fived each other proudly.

"This was all my idea," Mindy said excitedly. "I said we should make a plan—"

"That's enough out of you." Tara said, placing her arms around Mindy and beginning to drag Mindy out.

"You two should be thanking me!"

"We'll leave you two alone now." Chad said with a smile and a wink, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

"Remember, it's my room too!" Mindy's voice carried from the hall as Chad shut the door behind him, leaving you and Ethan alone in the quiet once again. You groaned at Mindy's comment while Ethan laughed.

Ethan flopped down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. You joined him and he wrapped his arm around like he loved to do.

The comfortable silence was broken by Ethan — it was a whisper so quiet you almost missed it.

"You're my number one," Ethan confessed. "You always have been."

"Good," you replied with a smile as you leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. "Because you're mine, too."

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry fluff #scream #scream x reader #scream vi #scream 6 #v writes #v + ethan

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 10 months

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Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 7: Father and Daughter (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 7: Father and Daughter

A hunt, a reunion, and a conflict. A normal day in Westeros then.

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist |

Warnings: Nothing of note, save for parental trauma and a notable lack of Daemon shenanigans.

Word Count: 5.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: OH MY GOD IM ALIVE???? Yeah, it appears I am 😭 I'm so sorry about the long wait on this chapter, the past two weeks have been wild for me ever since I came back from my vacation. 1. My dad crashed his car? 2. I had like five projects due during the past two weeks and I had to write in a report and evaluation about my project groupmate who essentially did nothing 😐 if I could beat someone's ass without getting suspended, istg... 3. I've been suffering from a lot of chest pains recently, which kinda stopped me from doing my thing for a while 4. I had insane writers block for like a week and it was horrid 😖 but luckily, I'm back now, and hopefully updating more often! And also I've learnt that my classmate is following me on tumblr, I am a little mortified, but hello regardless. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 💕 no Daemon cameo unfortunately, but he'll be back next chapter, and messier than ever.

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

109 years after Aegon's Conquest

The doors to the room burst open, and you stepped in, a little out of breath. Lord Hobert Hightower and the Hand, who were standing closest to the doorway, were engrossed deep in conversation when you walked in, and you heard something along the lines of “It’s only a matter of time before Viserys names him heir.” You try not to frown at that, nodding politely to them before heading over to the crowd gathered over at the other side of the room, cooing at the heir in question: little Aegon, who was celebrating his second nameday.

“Ah, Y/N!” Viserys exclaimed happily, gesturing for you to come and stand between him and Alicent, whose face was radiant with happiness. Viserys signalled for the wet nurse to step forward, and before you knew it, little Aegon was in your arms, babbling in that toddler frenzy of his. The assemblage of lords and ladies stepped closer to you, much to your discomfort, as you forced a cheerful smile and bounced Aegon up and down in your arms, which made him squeal with delight. “I fear that Aegon might come to see you as his mother sooner or late, Y/N, given how much he adores you.” Viserys claimed. You flush at his words, and Alicent soon steps in, smiling, “Tis true. Aegon always perks up when he’s in your arms.” You were sure you would melt into a puddle if you were subject to any more of their compliments. “You flatter me, Your Graces.”

In the periphery of your vision, you saw Ser Tyland Lannister attempt to get Viserys’ attention, and you handed back a now fussing Aegon to his nursemaid. Alicent shuffled over to the feast table, and she smiled brightly as you approached. Placing a hand on her swollen belly, your heart fluttered with delight when you felt a slight kick. Though the horrors of childbirth still plagued your mind, being there for Alicent’s relatively smooth birth with Aegon had made your fears lessen a little.

“How’s the babe?” you ask. “Only active when you’re here, it seems,” Alicent laughed. “They never seem to kick for anyone else other than you. I think they will adore you as much as Aegon does.” You chuckle, stroking Alicent’s belly gently. “What if the kicking is a sign that the babe will dislike me?” Alicent patted your hand, “Definitely not. I have no doubt in my mind that you will be dear to the babe.” she said with conviction. You blush at her words, “You flatter me, Your Grace.”

“Can someone tell me where in the Seven Hells Rhaenyra might be?” Viserys’ frustrated bellow drew you and Alicent out of your tender moment. Alicent’s face twisted with worry, and you were sure your face was a mirror image of hers. “You came in later than the rest of us. Did you see Rhaenyra anywhere?” You shake your head glumly, “She wasn’t in her chambers, or her apartments.” Alicent sighed in exasperation, “Viserys has questioned nearly every courtier in the room, and not a single one of them has a clue. Where might she be?” You chewed your lip, thinking back to the snippet of conversation you had overheard between the Hand and Lord Hobert. “She’s upset right now. The two of you were…” You refrained from finishing the sentence when you saw Alicent wince. “Do you have any inkling on where she might go to cool off?” “I don’t belie-” A look of realisation dawned in Alicent’s eyes. “You know somewhere?” You ask her urgently. Alicent nodded, “I’ll go find her. You should stay and satiate yourself before the journey.” “Are you sure?” You ask her, concerned. Alicent squeezed your hand gently. “Don’t worry about me. I think I can get Rhaenyra to see reason.”

You glance pensively at Alicent’s retreating figure. Sighing, you approached the refreshments table, smiling gratefully as a servant handed you a plate with some slices of roast pork. You heard your name being called, and turned around to find Viserys. “Your Grace-” you moved to curtsy, but Viserys stopped you, “I told you, no need for such stuffy courtesies when you are with me.” You smiled wryly, “I thought it wouldn’t apply in a room full of courtiers.” Viserys waved away your words, “You are my family, Y/N. There are no such constraints within your own kin.” You smile sadly at the word ‘family’. It was a little sad to say, but you definitely did feel more of a kinship with the current members of House Targaryen over those of your own house.

“Speaking of kin,” Viserys’ voice turned serious. “I am in need of a favour from you, Y/N.” You snapped to attention. “Whatever you need, Viserys.” He sighed, looking mournful and irritated at the same time. “It has been nigh three years since I have wedded Alicent. Time after time, I have tried to approach Rhaenyra, but she shuns me away every single time. The rare chances she actually sits down and listens, she sulks like a child and only provides me with short responses.” Viserys sighed again, whatever sadness he had turning into disappointment and exasperation. “This is not the way the heir to the Iron Throne should behave.” He looked at you beseechingly, “I implore you, Y/N. I believe what Rhaenyra needs is for a motherly figure to talk to her, and persuade her to abandon such foolish antics. I fear Alicent would not be able to serve such a role, since Rhaenyra’s ire is directed at the both of us. But you,” You swallowed nervously. “I’ve seen how close Rhaenyra kept you after Aemma’s death. For months, apart from Alicent, you were her closest confidant. I know naught of what has transpired between the two of you, but I believe you to be the best person for this tiresome task. Will you do methis favour?”

Your expression was resigned, but you forced out a smile nonetheless. “But of course. I will do my best, Viserys.” He closed his eyes in relief, clapping you on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, Y/N. Thank you.” You gave a tentative smile back, painfully aware of the numerous eyes glued to the both of you. What you failed to notice, however, were the heavy gazes of Otto and Hobert Hightower on you.

An awkward silence weighed upon the royal wheelhouse as it made its way to the Kingswood. You glance uncomfortably between Viserys, Alicent, and Rhaenyra, watching with some pity as Viserys attempted to make conversation with his irascible and sullen daughter. A miniature dragon thrust in your face soon drew your attention however, and you looked down to frown admonishingly at little Aegon, who blinked his wide violet eyes at you innocently. The little devil, you were sure he was trying to garner your attention on purpose. Earlier, he had been weeping inconsolably, much to the nursemaid’s and Alicent’s distress. But when you had taken him into your arms, he had ceased his tears immediately and gave you a cherubic smile, which made Alicent give you a knowing smile and Rhaenyra to look at the both of you in disdain. The expression of disdain had yet to depart from Rhaenyra, as you played patiently with Aegon, flying his dragon miniature around him and smiling as the toddler spun his head around to follow the motions of the dragon with rapt fascination.

The tension in the wheelhouse was not lightening in the slightest bit, as Viserys began talking about Rhaenyra giving him grandchildren, of all things. You had to stop yourself from groaning in exasperation. If Viserys truly wanted to reconnect with Rhaenyra again, why was he digging himself into an even bigger hole? He should know that after Aemma, Rhaenyra would be disinclined to entertain notions of childbirth. You wanted to put your head in your hands, but Aegon poked you in the cheek.

“No one’s here for me!” Rhaenyra’s angry outburst halted all activity in the wheelhouse, including Aegon’s. You froze, looking up at Rhaenyra, but her bitter gaze was focused solely on her father. All of you endured the rest of the ride in silence.

The rocking of the wheelhouse soon came to an end. You remained seated as Viserys and Alicent stepped out to the raucous cheers of the crowd, allowing Aegon’s nursemaid to take him from your arms. You remembered Viserys’ plea, and took in Rhaenyra’s wistful expression. “Hail, hail! Aegon the Conqueror babe, Second of His Name!” You grimace when you hear the tasteless remark.

Rhaenyra’s fists were clenched at her sides, and her eyes were shut. With frustration, or with sadness, she didn’t know. Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand taking her fisted hand and unclenching it. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see who it was. “I don’t need your pity.” Rhaenyra tried to sound snappy, but her voice was hoarse. You didn’t answer, instead intertwining your fingers with Rhaenyra. She reluctantly opened her eyes, only to see you directing a hostile glare to the outside commotion, as more and more voices heralded Aegon as the Second of His Name. Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at that, letting some of the tension seep out of her muscles.

At least there was someone in her dark and lonely corner, even if that someone’s trustworthiness had yet to be ascertained.

You were sitting next to Alicent, as she held court with the various noble ladies who had attended the hunt. You listened, silently sipping from your goblet as they conversed about the ongoing war in the Stepstones. You watched as Larys Strong and Rhaenyra soon joined in the conversation, though a slight frown of distaste was soon visible on your face, when Lady Lannister and Lady Redwyne in particular, began picking on Rhaenyra. You had to hide a smirk when Rhaenyra made a well-directed jab at Lady Redwyne, and the smirk only widened when you saw her pig-faced dog gobble greedily at the cake on her plate. How fitting.

“You know, Lady Y/N.” Your head snapped up as Lady Redwyne addressed you. She had a displeased look on her face: clearly she hadn’t missed your smirk at her expense. “I was…pleasantly surprised to hear Her Grace appointed you as her chief lady-in-waiting.” Your eyes narrowed, your dormant prickly nature coming to life once more. “It was a great honour, Lady Joselyn. One that I am greatly grateful to Her Grace for.”

Lady Redwyne gave you a smile, that you knew from all your years of court politics, was filled with ill intent. “I must say, if you were out in the battlefield fighting on the Stepstones, the war would be won by now.” You felt Alicent stiffen next to you, and you instinctively reached out to put your hand on hers. “What are you insinuating, Lady Redwyne?” Alicent’s tone was sharper than usual. Lady Redwyne attempted to school her features back to deference, but her lips were curved upwards. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I was not attempting to insinuate anything. It was a compliment to Lady Y/N.” You levelled a fierce glare at her, but she seemed unaffected, looking at you straight in the eye. “It is a well known fact that she and Prince Daemon had tempers that rivalled each other. With such willfulness, she would make a formidable opponent on the battlefield, would she not?”

You were about to deliver an equally cutting and backhanded response, but you were surprised when you heard Rhaenyra speak up once more, “Yes, Lady Redwyne. But as luck would have it, she is the Queen’s lady-in-waiting now.” Rhaenyra’s tone was acidic. “And I am certain that she will carry out her duties with skill and grace. The Queen will not be able to find someone as capable as her.”

The ladies were stunned that Rhaenyra had spoken up for you, none more so than you and Alicent. “The princess is right. Lady Y/N has been a dutiful lady-in-waiting and companion. The Seven have truly blessed me with her.” Your eyes water with gratitude, as Lady Redwyne and the other ladies fall silent after both the princess and the queen’s swift defence of you.

So this was what kinship felt like.

Night had fallen, and the air was ablaze with the smell of smoke. You had sat faithfully by Alicent all day, as she entertained lords and ladies alike. You had not seen Rhaenyra in quite some time though, and you worry about where she could have wandered off to. Your anxiety only increased tenfold when you saw Viserys’ goblet never straying from his hand, and he had been lifting it to his lips moreso after his conversations with the Hand, Jason Lannister, and Lyonel Strong, in particular. Alicent was clearly on edge as well, her brown eyes watchful as she witnessed her husband lose himself in his cups. When Viserys abruptly left the tent after a brief, yet intense conversation with Lyonel Strong, Alicent got up to go after him, but you gently pushed her back down to her seat, giving her a reassuring look. She should not need to see her husband in such a misbegotten state, while in her pregnancy, you thought to yourself, as you wrapped your shawl around you, shivering in the cold night air.

You eventually found Viserys by the huge bonfire, downing yet another goblet of wine, while being guarded by two Kingsguard. They nodded at you as you passed. You went straight to Viserys, taking the cup whilst he was distracted. “I think that’s enough for you tonight, Viserys.” Your voice was soft, yet firm. He gave you an enervated smile. “The night is cold, you shouldn’t be out here.” You hand the goblet over to a Kingsguard. “Who will look after you, then? And make sure you do not drink yourself into a stupor?” Viserys laughed heartily, before he coughed. You reach for him, concerned. He stared into the flames, looking like he wanted to step into them himself. “Y/N.” “Hmm?” Viserys took a deep breath, trying to control the slurring in his voice. “What do you think is the foundation of House Targaryen’s strength?”

You tilt your head to the side questioningly, “That is a trick question, right? Of course, the answer is House Targaryen’s dragons.” Viserys smiled ruefully, turning over to face you. You were taken aback by the blazing intensity, perhaps even madness in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Y/N. It began with a dream.” He turned back to face the fire. “When Daenys the Dreamer had the dream that prophesied the end of the Valyrian Freehold, that dream saved House Targaryen. While all the other dragonlords were destroyed, it was only us who survived.” “I know of that tale. Your grandsire told us that tale when we were younger.”

Viserys didn’t seem to hear you, however, his bleak gaze still on the fire. “In my line, many had been dragonriders. Very few among us have been dreamers. What is the power of dragons, next to the power of prophecy?” You shivered, and not because of the cold. Yet you continue listening. “When Rhaenyra was a child, I saw it in a dream. As vivid as these flames, I saw it. A male babe, born to me, wearing the Conqueror’s crown. And I so wanted it to be true, to be a dreamer myself. I sought that vision again, night after night…but it never came again. I poured all my thought and will into it. And my obsession killed Aemma.” You looked away at that, your heart wrenched with grief. “I thought Rhaenyra was the way out of my abyss of grief and regret. That naming her heir would set things right.”

“Are you saying you regret naming Rhaenyra heir then?” Viserys looked grieved. “Oftentimes, yes…I have. I worried that I had named Rhaenyra out of anger towards Daemon, not out of love, or for the good of the realm.” He moved to grip your shoulders, tears in his eyes. “Y/N, I never imagined that I would remarry. That I would have a son. What if…what if I was wrong all along?”

You stared into his despair-filled eyes. “I cannot tell you if you’re wrong, Viserys. There are only two paths ahead of you now, and as King, you must be prepared to take one, and soon.” Viserys chuckles, drooping his head. “What if I’m not sure what path I should take?” Your voice was quiet. “Then the realm will descend into chaos.”

The both of you were silent, staring at each other in the firelight. While you couldn’t say that you approved of Viserys’ decisions in the past three years, after all this, he was your friend, and he was just a mere mortal, plagued by regrets, grief, and hesitation. Just like you, and everyone else. Even kings were not infallible to weakness, you surmised. And in that moment, there was a mutual understanding and grievance shared between the both of you: the burden of choice.

The morrow brought about clear skies and sun, much to the delight of the lords partaking in the hunt. It did not alleviate your worries however, as Rhaenyra still had not returned to the encampment. You found yourself milling about today, much too tired to suffer the thinly veiled jabs the fellow noblewomen were directing at you about your infamous temper.

You were dressed in a simpler riding outfit today, to mingle around with the various smallfolk and merchants that had set up stalls in the encampment, hoping eagerly to attract some lord’s attention and earn a few gold dragons. You beamed as you sampled a rather delicious roast pork skewer, giving the stall owner - a rather plump woman - two golden dragons, much to her glee. You strode back to the main tent, feeling satisfied, when you suddenly heard the sound of hooves. You turned your head as a palomino horse skidded to a halt, and a familiar man, with more grey hairs than he had the last time you saw him, dismount from the horse and take off his riding gloves. His eyes light up as soon as he catches sight of you, and without giving you a window to escape, he strode towards you. You chew your lip in dread as he approached.

“Father.”

“Y/N.” He beams at you, his eyes crinkled at the corners. You smile awkwardly at him, fidgeting with your fingers. His smile falters a little when he notices your hesitation. “I haven’t seen you in years, daughter. Does this momentous occasion not warrant a hug?” You inwardly sigh, and reach out to embrace your father. Your father grins at you as you pull away after an awkward pause. “You have grown, daughter. You look beautiful.” “You flatter me, Father.” “Come, walk with me. We have much to talk about.” You swallowed, but followed as he set out for the forested edge of the campground.

The both of you strode in silence for a while, before you ventured to break the silence. “The King didn’t mention you would be joining us for the hunt, Father. Why the sudden change of heart?” He sighed. “Can an old man not choose to be in nature once in a while?” “Of course you can, father. I was just concerned: you are no longer in the pink of health, and riding all the way from Highgarden to the Kingswood is a gruelling journey.” Your father waved his hand dismissively. “Twas nothing. I might be getting on in my years, but I recently found a new source of reinvigoration.”

“Oh?” you cocked your head curiously. You sincerely hoped the new source of reinvigoration was not a new bid for your hand. Your father smiled, “I recently remarried to Lady Clarice of House Fossoway.” Seeing your confused look, he hurried to clarify. “Of Cider Hall.” Surprise creased your features. “But…wasn’t that Mother’s maiden house? Lady Clarice was her cousin, was she not?” Your father’s smile was beginning to look strained. “Does it matter, daughter? What matters is that I am happy with her, is it not? And I am certain she will give me strong sons soon.” You regard him with a degree of caution, noting the shift in his voice. In your years of dealing with court politics, you could instinctively tell when a situation was about to go from bad to worse. “I did not know you had any plans on remarrying after Mother’s death.”

“And whose fault is that, daughter?” Your father’s tone turned chiding. “I know you’ve been ignoring all the ravens I’ve sent to you over the past few years. Specifically, those with letters attached from me pleading for you to just find yourself a match at court or select one of the eligible lords in the lists I sent you.” You blushed, looking sheepish. Matthos sighed. “Daughter, you are no longer young. It is past time you are wed. I only want what’s best for you.”

“But-” you blurted out, “What if I don’t think getting married is what’s best for me, Father?” Your father looked askance at that. “What else could a young lady such as yourself desire other than marriage?” You bit your lip, “Father, the truth is…I do not think I have a desire to wed now…or ever.” You were beginning to get anxious as your father’s face lost some of his paternal tenderness. “Five years. I had hoped that our time apart had given you some time to reflect on your…misconceptions.” He gripped your shoulders, an intense blaze in his eyes as your heart began to thud with dread. “The matter of marriage is not one that you can dismiss so easily anymore, Y/N. It entails the survival and future of House Tyrell. You must do your duty and wed a respectable lord, for the sake of our house.” Though you had heard those words aplenty, today, it was like something uninhibited had seized control of you, as you burst out. “Why should I care about doing my duty to House Tyrell?” you snapped. “I have made it clear that it is not my intention to ever take a husband, now and in the foreseeable future. You claim this is all done for my own happiness. So why can’t you just respect my wishes?”

“Because you are not just some poxy peasant who can gallivant about as you please. You are my daughter!” You were shocked when your father suddenly raised his voice. Trepidation had dimmed your previous righteousness. He tightens his grip on your shoulders, his expression filled with an anger you had never glimpsed before. This…this was not the father you remember. The father you knew had never once raised his voice at you, always treating you with patience as his only child. Though he was prone to bouts of frustrated pleading when you did not acquiesce to his wishes to get married, he had never once shouted at you like that. Or even gripped your shoulders with such forcefulness you feared he might strike you. “You are just as useless as your late mother.” You were stunned, your eyes searing with hot tears. “Do not insult Mother like that. She was the most wonderful woman-” “Wonderful, you say?” your father snorted. “If she were so wonderful, then she would have provided me with a strong and healthy son to succeed me! Instead, she left me with a daughter who is ungrateful and strangely determined to remain a spinster all her life.” he spat out the words with such vitriol that you were taken aback. “If she were so wonderful,” your father continued with his rant. “Then would House Tyrell be in imminent danger of collapsing, all because the only heirs I have are your incompetent, doltish cousins who will run the legacy our ancestors and I have built to the ground?” He moved to clasp your hand tightly in his, looking desperate and angry all at once. “Daughter, your father is imploring you. You must get wed, and provide me with a grandson. You cannot let House Tyrell go to ruin.” You stare at him, feeling beleaguered. “Do my wishes mean nothing to you?” “This is because your wishes are obscenely unreasonable, Y/N.” your father snaps. “It is practically unheard of for a woman of your status to not wed.” “It is not!” you insisted, “I am the chief lady-in-waiting to the Queen now, I have duties I must perform. And there have been histories of lords whose daughters were largely spinsters. Moreover, you have remarried.” Your voice became desperate as you tried to make your father see reason. “Lady Clarice is young, she will give you many sons in due time. Suitable heirs to Highgarden. I do not understand why you are putting all this pressure on me.” You took a deep breath, preparing to make your final stand. “I want to enjoy the rest of my youth, Father. Not to sit in a castle, entrapped in a loveless marriage and pumping out potential heirs for my husband and for you. I want to live my life, free of constraints.” You looked at him, unshed tears in your eyes. “Please, father. This is the one thing I have ever asked of you, and that is to respect my wishes.”

Matthos was silent for a long while, and you held hope, briefly, that you might have gotten through to him with your pleading. “Foolish, insolent girl!” Your hopes were dashed as your father flung off your hand, shouting at you. “How can you be so selfish? To not take responsibility in ensuring the continuation of our house’s line?” “That is your responsibility, not mine!” you shouted back. Seeing that pleas would not get to your father now, you resorted to fighting fire with fire instead. “Had you really cared about continuing our house’s bloodline, you would’ve remarried years ago!” You could see how your shouts were drawing the attention of some courtiers, given how close the both of you were to the camp for royals. You heard the faint sound of hooves behind you, but you ignored them, too engrossed in your argument with your father. “Producing heirs is a lord’s responsibility. So if you are accusing me of not doing my duty, you should first be reprimanding yourself.”

Your father’s face grew red. “You little brat! How dare you say these things about your father!” “I spoke only the truth,” you shot back. He raised his hand, and for a moment you were afraid he was going to slap you for your outburst. Instead, he went to grip your shoulders again, “For years, I have raised you, clothed you in the finest silks, fed you, and put up with your ridiculous whims and wants! I’ve been patient, I’ve been loving and understanding when you rejected all the marriage offers you received. I’ve pleaded, and even given you the time and freedom to find a more suitable match at court. Yet you cannot even perform your duty as my daughter. No longer.” Your heart stuttered a little. “What do you mean?” Your father gave you a cold look. “I’m saying, if you do not get married by the end of the year, you are no longer my daughter.” Your eyes widen with horror. ��I will effectively disown and disinherit you from House Tyrell, and if I sire any children by Lady Clarice, they shall not support you either.”

Your voice was tremulous, “Father, you…you cannot be serious. Do not let your anger cloud your judgement.” Matthos Tyrell looked at his daughter, his face one of disgust. “You wanted to enjoy your youth without constraints. And since you seem to enjoy being lady-in-waiting to the Queen so much, I’m only granting you what you wished for, am I not?”

You stepped back, feeling winded by your father’s words. However, you nearly jumped when you felt a familiar hand on your shoulder. “Ah, Y/N!” You were not sure whether you felt more mortified or relieved for Viserys’ timely presence. “Your Grace!” Immediately, your father’s distaste gave way to deference, as he straightened his posture and bowed before the King. You inclined your head respectfully, wondering if Viserys had overheard your conversation. “Forgive me for interrupting your conversation.” Oh, he definitely overheard.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Your Grace. I am delighted to be in your presence.” Your father gushed on profusely, as Viserys stepped toward him. You hung your head, still abashed by your father’s threats, when you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder once more. Alicent smiled at you understandingly, and you grimaced when you realised she had also overheard the unpleasant exchange. Still, you shot her a grateful look for her show of support.

“I must offer you my sincerest felicitations for Prince Aegon’s second nameday, Your Grace.” Viserys laughed, “Your felicitations are greatly appreciated, Lord Matthos. I must extend you mine as well, for your recent remarriage. I see it is treating you well.” Your father beamed, “You are too kind, Your Grace. And indeed, my lady wife pleases me so. Now, the only thing that would make me the happiest man in the realm would be my daughter finally settling down with a respectable match.” You stiffened at that, something Alicent took notice of, and she offered you a sympathetic look. Viserys chuckled, “That you and I can both agree on, Lord Matthos. There is nothing more I desire right now than seeing Rhaenyra being wed to a deserving man who will treat her right.”

“Oh, I am sure Her Grace will have her pick of men. She is ‘The Realm’s Delight’, after all. Any man who weds her will be a lucky one.” Your father’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone, as he glanced at you. “Moreover, Her Grace is young, comely, and lovely to behold.” Matthos sighed, shaking his head as he chuckled, “Mine own daughter is not in possess of such qualities, I’m afraid. She is getting on with her years, and though I love her deeply, as her father, I must admit she has quite a temper on her. She's not quite the attractice match, which gives me a headache,” Matthos jested with the King, causing you to wince and look away. Alicent looked disconcerted at your father’s tasteless jesting, tightening her hold on your shoulder. However, the both of you did not notice the flare of annoyance behind Viserys’ eyes, so his next words surprised the both of you.

“Lady Y/N has been nothing but a delight to have at court, Lord Matthos. In spite of her age, I’m sure she has no shortage of suitors.” Viserys’ voice was amiable, polite, yet it carried an undertone of firmness and reprimand such that Matthos looked a little stunned, worried that he had overstepped. You looked back to the pair, your eyes wide with disbelief. “And should Y/N ever find herself unwilling to marry, the Red Keep will always welcome her. She is like family to me, after all.” Your father fell silent, and you locked eyes with Viserys, looking lost, yet appreciative all the same. Viserys gave you a reassuring smile, and you could see the sincerity behind his intent. Your eyes prickled with touched tears, but the moment was interrupted when you heard shouts across the campground, startling your party. You turned around, only to behold the sight of Rhaenyra, stained head to toe with dried blood, a commanding aura in her swagger as her sworn shield, Ser Criston, trailed behind her, along with two servants carrying a dead boar. You lock eyes with her momentarily, and she gives a small nod of acknowledgement to you, although her eyes turned cold when they looked upon her father. You heard Viserys sigh, and you saw how Viserys looked both annoyed and relieved for Rhaenyra’s safety, while your father just looked bewildered, perhaps even a little scared. Despite yourself, you smiled a little at the scene.

Alicent and you were chatting in her chambers, laughing in hushed tones as you rocked Aegon to sleep in your arms, when the Hand entered the room, requesting to speak with Alicent. You handed a sleepy Aegon to his nursemaid, before curtsying and exiting the room, painfully aware of the Hand’s weighty gaze upon you as you did.

Alicent knew that her father had not visited her out of a gesture of goodwill, and as she listened to his rather maddening reasoning that Alicent should attempt to make her husband see reason and name Aegon heir, she only stayed silent. There was no point in countering back anyway - the Hand always seemed to have a dozen other reasons to quell her opposition. She felt uncomfortable, for speaking of this was treason, and the babe shifted in her belly, causing her to sigh.

Otto observed his daughter, noting with mild exasperation that she wasn’t paying heed to anything he was saying. So, he decided to change the subject. “About your lady-in-waiting…” he began. Alicent’s head snapped up, “What do you wish to discuss of Y/N?” Otto let a smile play over his lips: it was quite evident his daughter cared for the Tyrell lady, and from his further observations over the past three years, treated her akin to a maternal figure. Which might make it easier for her to accept what he proposed next. “I overheard a rather…interesting conversation she had, with Lord Matthos today.” Alicent showed no visible reaction, but she stared at her father, feeling an all-too-familiar feeling of dread settle in her gut. “I think half the campground overheard their argument. What of it?”

Otto hummed softly, “It seems her father is worrying about her marriage. Which is a reasonable worry - she is on the cusp of her twenty fifth nameday, is she not?” Alicent nodded slowly, eyeing her father with caution. She knew him all too well, how he was tapping his fingers on the armrests of his chair - he was scheming. She recalled how upset you were when you spoke with your father, citing your dreams to enjoy your youth and be freed of the constraints of marriage. In later years, she had come to both see you as a cherished companion and a parental figure of sorts, and she cared for you, deeply so. You were her only source of comfort in the Red Keep, one who did not expect or demand anything of her, someone she felt she could truly be open with. She glanced fearfully at her father.

She had to put an end to this. She must save you from suffering the same fate she did.

“Father…you are not planning on taking a new wife, are you?” Alicent fidgeted with her fingers nervously, her eyes fixed on Otto. He was quiet for a long while, and in response to her question, he only stood up and went over to his daughter, placing a hand on her swollen belly. His cryptic answer disturbed Alicent. “You worry too much over matters that do not need worrying about, daughter. Your concern now, should be Aegon. Raise him well, and raise him strong. He shall be an important man one day.”

Come the morrow, the Godswood was completely devoid of any life. Which proved to be a boon to you, who was seeking some reprieve from the busy atmosphere of the Red Keep and the somewhat maddening task of having to feed Aegon - due to his tendency of smooshing the food in the face of whomever had the misfortune of feeding him, most commonly you.

You sat on the stone bench, staring despondently at the Godswood tree. While you were never particularly religious, either to the Seven or to the Old Gods, the happenings of the hunt have driven you to pray with increasing fervency these days. What you prayed for, you did not know. Was it for the hope that your father’s heart might soften and he might be persuaded to leave you be for the rest of your life? You scoffed to yourself, knowing how improbable it was. Fiddling with the pendant - Aemma’s pendant, you sighed, tilting your head downwards to the ground.

You were startled when you heard movement next to you, of another soul taking a seat next to you on the bench, her posture ramrod straight, and her expression blank. Rhaenyra’s linen sleeves fluttered slightly in the breeze.

“I suppose neither of us are in the best of spirits,” Rhaenyra’s voice was stilted, like she was reluctant to break the silence first. You lifted your head upright, looking at her with a tentative smile, “No, I suppose we aren’t.” An awkward silence highlighted the chasm between the two of you. You wondered, had this truly been the girl of fourteen who confided in you about everything? Now, it seems there is a stark contrast to the Rhaenyra you once knew to the Rhaenyra before you. Though of course, you were to be blamed for that.

“My father has just ordered me to embark on a tour of the realm. A marriage tour.” Rhaenyra’s bitter tone roused you from your thoughts. “I do not know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps it’s because you are the only person in the Keep who might have the slightest sympathy for what I’m going through.” Rhaenyra’s voice lowered to a slightly malicious pitch, but there was no disguising the hurt behind her voice. “Or maybe it would be false sympathy. But it is better than none.”

You winced, wanting to reach out and take Rhaenyra’s hand, the way you knew she loved. Physical touch was Rhaenyra’s favourite way of receiving and expressing affection. A wane smile pulled at your lips as you heard her words, “You might be cynical, but I have more sympathies to your plight than you might think, Princess.” Rhaenyra was surprised by the resignation in your tone. She recalled the scene she had seen when she returned to the royal encampment at the hunt that day. “...does it have something to do with your father?”

You let out a sad laugh, “Indeed. I have been forced into a situation much more precarious than yours, I would say. My father has given me an ultimatum: I must wed by the end of this year, or I shall be effectively disinherited and disowned as a member of House Tyrell.” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, her stance immediately shifting to one of sympathy and guilt. “Does your father jest?” “I’m afraid not,” you remark with a despaired, cynical laugh, “Father’s patience has worn thin when it comes to me, I’m afraid. I should’ve known it foolish to think that I could escape from the ramifications of duty to my House.”

You were a little mortified to find your eyes prickling with tears. In truth, you were frightened to the bone. Two paths were set in stone before you now, and neither were pleasant. Rhaenyra hesitated for a while, before reaching out to take your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. You were startled by her sudden gesture, as the flood of familiarity rushed through your veins. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “This is a horrible situation to find yourself in.” She looked hesitant, “I know you’ve always been of your own mind, Y/N. I just want you to know…that you are not alone. Should the worst come…I’m sure that my father will not turn you away in your hour of need.” Her lips turned upwards wistfully, “I will not too. The both of us are stuck in similar predicaments, are we not? Daughters forced to marry off at our father’s behest. We must stick together.”

“...thank you,” you said quietly, touched, “I do not deserve your kindness, after all I have hidden from you.” Rhaenyra’s smile turns somewhat bitter, “What is done cannot be undone. What matters now is the future.”

The cool metal of Aemma’s pendant dug into the flesh of your palm, as an idea came to you. “I have something for you,” Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shot up and her eyes grew misty as you presented the ruby falcon pendant to her. “I think this belongs to you. I’ve been holding onto it for the past few years, but I think it’s time you have it back.” Rhaenyra takes the pendant, clasping it to her chest as she looked mournfully down at it. “I thought it was naught but ashes now.” You bit your lip, seeing how relieved yet pained Rhaenyra looked made you regret not giving it to her sooner. You had clung onto it for selfish reasons over the past few years, unwilling to let go of Aemma. But now, you felt it was time to let go of the past, and brave on into the future. “I hope that having this piece of Aemma would make you feel more comforted on your marriage tour.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were misty, as she clasped the pendant like it was worth all the spice and gold from the shores of Essos. “Y/N.” Rhaenyra said quietly. “Hmm?” “Do you think…that Mother would’ve been proud of the person I am today?” Rhaenyra swallowed, looking downcast. “...I fear that, ever since I was named heir, since…Aegon was born, Father’s disappointment in me has been growing by the day.” “And why would you think that?” you asked, concerned. Rhaenyra took a shaky inhale, “I know that Father did not name me heir out of choice. It was a critical time, after Daemon had left, and the Realm would be plunged into unease upon the disinheritance of my uncle from the line of succession.” She bit her lip. “Father even told me as much. He said he had wavered at the notion of making me heir.” Your eyes flickered with shock and a little bit of righteous anger. “He said that?” Rhaenyra nodded miserably, and you patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “He told me he would never waver again, but it is a little hard to put my faith in that, with….with Aegon’s shadow looming over me.” Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head upwards. ”I just…I wish I could do something to be better. To prove to Father that I’m not just the right choice to the throne because he named me heir when he had no choice. I want to show him that I possess the qualities to rule the throne. The marriage tour would be a start, but I just detest the idea of having to bind myself to some lord to prove my worthiness to the throne.”

“I understand how you feel,” you commiserated, and she rested her head on your shoulder. “The expectations of a woman’s duty often cast a shadow over our lives.” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, feeling at ease with you, even if it were just for a brief moment. “Mother was fond of saying that marriage is a woman’s duty, and childbed is our battlefield. Especially as royal women,” Rhaenyra’s voice was thick with emotion. “I understand I must do this, for the good of the realm, but…why is it so terrifying? To have my worth determined on my husband and the number of children I can bear in service to him and the realm.” The setting sun glistened off a tear slowly making its way down Rhaenyra’s cheek. “Y/N, do you think my mother would be proud, watching me doubt her teachings?”

You reached out to wipe her tear away, your other hand’s thumb gently stroking her hand that you still held. “You are her daughter, Rhaenyra. I have no doubt that you could be the most dastardly miscreant, and she would be proud of you nonetheless.” That got a bleak smile from Rhaenyra, “Truly?” You nodded your confirmation, smiling fondly down at her. “Truly. Though luckily, your moral character is rather upright.” Rhaenyra laughed, and you smiled, happy to have made her laugh. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. You have no idea how much that means to me.” Rhaenyra whispered to you.

The two women stayed like this in the Godswood for a while, each swarmed by their own thoughts. So different, yet so similar in their impending doom, and duty.

Taglist: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes @salembridger @itszzmoon @kmmg98 @travelingmypassion @zae5 @norestfortheshelbywicked @soleilgrec @anehkael @midnightprincess18 @lilith--666

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy @kmmg98 @norestfortheshelbywicked @hb8301

those who are bolded are those who couldn’t be tagged! let me know if you wish to be added to the taglist in the comments or through this form!

A/N: All I gotta say is: ruh roh, trouble is brewing. If you have made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. I aim to release chapter 8 by next Wednesday, hopefully something unprecedented doesn't happen before then though.

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lightgaswaterelectricityrent · 3 months

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Reporters tantalized their readers with stories about the “plutocratic Osage” and the “red millionaires,” with their brick-and-terra-cotta mansions and chandeliers, with their diamond rings and fur coats and chauffeured cars. One writer marveled at Osage girls who attended the best boarding schools and wore sumptuous French clothing, as if “une très jolie demoiselle of the Paris boulevards had inadvertently strayed into this little reservation town.”

Many of the Osage would rush to see a gusher when it erupted, scrambling for the best view, making sure not to cause a spark, their eyes following the oil as it shot fifty, sixty, sometimes a hundred feet in the air. With its great black wings of spray, arcing above the rigging, it rose before them like an angel of death. The spray coated the fields and the flowers and smeared the faces of the workers and the spectators. Still, people hugged and tossed their hats in celebration. Bigheart, who had died not long after the imposition of allotment, was hailed as the “Osage Moses.” And the dark, slimy, smelly mineral substance seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world.

A short, stout man, with a luxuriant mustache and a shock of red hair, Burns had once aspired to be an actor, and he cultivated a mystique, in part by writing pulp detective stories about his cases. In one such book, he declared, “My name is William J. Burns, and my address is New York, London, Paris, Montreal, Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, New Orleans, Boston, Philadelphia, Cleveland, and wherever else a law-abiding citizen may find need of men who know how to go quietly about throwing out of ambush a hidden assassin or drawing from cover criminals who prey upon those who walk straight.”

Meanwhile, Ernest’s aunt was muttering, loud enough for all to hear, about how mortified she was that her nephew had married a redskin. It was easy for Mollie to subtly strike back because one of the servants attending to the aunt was white—a blunt reminder of the town’s social order.

Hoover demanded that his staff wear dark suits and sober neckties and black shoes polished to a gloss. He wanted his agents to be a specific American type: Caucasian, lawyerly, professional. Every day, he seemed to issue a new directive—a new Thou Shall Not—and White put on his big cowboy hat with an air of defiance.

Blackie, evidently enjoying himself, looked squarely at Burkhart and said, “Ernest, I have told them everything.”

The judge advised the jury members that they must set aside sympathies or prejudices for either side. He warned, “There never has been a country on this earth that has fallen except when that point was reached…where the citizens would say, ‘We cannot get justice in our courts.’ ”

In 1932, the bureau began working with the radio program The Lucky Strike Hour to dramatize its cases. One of the first episodes was based on the murders of the Osage...The broadcasted radio program concluded, “So another story ends and the moral is identical with that set forth in all the others of this series….[The criminal] was no match for the Federal Agent of Washington in a battle of wits.”

The historian Burns once wrote, “To believe that the Osages survived intact from their ordeal is a delusion of the mind. What has been possible to salvage has been saved and is dearer to our hearts because it survived. What is gone is treasured because it was what we once were. We gather our past and present into the depths of our being and face tomorrow. We are still Osage. We live and we reach old age for our forefathers.”

Killers of the Flower Moon, dir. Martin Scorsese // Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann (3/3)

#killers of the flower moon #martin scorsese #lily gladstone #leonardo dicaprio #kotfmcomp #kotfm #david grann

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daziechane · 2 years

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The First Rule of Fanfiction

1983

2nd period Social Studies class. I slid the notebook to my friend Bethann, hoping the teacher wouldn’t notice. Scratchy writing in cheap ballpoint pen interspersed with amateurish drawings of elaborate wedding dresses.

“Nick asked me last night,” it started. The writing was my first fanfiction, Real Person Fiction (RPF), detailing Nick Rhodes’ proposal of marriage and my subsequent wedding planning. There was going to be lots of lace, lots of giant sleeves, lots of eyeliner, and lots of hairspray. And it was all going to be teal. To offset Nick’s (at the time) bright orange hair.

While I was proud of my story, and of the accompanying illustrations, there was no way I wanted anyone but a select few people to see it. I took a huge risk in showing Bethann during class, what if the teacher had taken it and read it? Instant death by mortification.

***

2013

Sherlock S3 preview event, with a Q&A led by Caitlin Moran. Cast and crew were in attendance, and Moran pulled out some fanfiction for the leads to read. “Moran reportedly tricked stars Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman into reading aloud an explicit work of erotic Johnlock fanfic that Moran had gleaned (read: taken without permission) from the fan-run Archive of Our Own. Moran assured the two actors that the excerpt she wanted them to read was purely innocent. But as the actors read the scene aloud, as london-reviews reported, “it was clear it wasn’t as innocent as she kept making out.” (https://www.dailydot.com/unclick/sherlock-fanfic-caitlin-moran/) (emphasis mine)

But it was all in good fun, right?

Except it wasn’t.

"As for mildredandbobbin, the author of the now-famous fanfic, she was mortified. As condolences and support from horrified fans poured in, mildredandbobbin reacted in a heartfelt post on her Tumblr. 'I hope Caitlin Moran understands that she was hurtful and unprofessional, that in fact she used her position of privilege to belittle and humiliate,' she wrote. '[T]he one bit of contact I have with them, and it’s about humiliation and mockery.' She also deleted her fanart Tumblr out of fear that it would be more widely seen."

"Mildredandbobbin told the Daily Dot via Tumblr that she was 'appalled' that Moran had used her work 'for cheap laughs.' "

It was a highly inappropriate thing to do to them, it was extremely hurtful to me and it was terrifying for a lot of other writers in fandom to think it could have been their work being paraded around for ridicule and criticism. Fandom is supposed to be a safe space for women and we would appreciate it if journalists could respect the fourth wall and stop using our work to get a laugh during interviews.

(ibid)

Mildredandbobbin hasn’t shared any writing on Archive of Our Own since her work was stolen by Caitlin Moran.

In addition to the author being mortified, it appeared that the stars were as well. Photos and video taken after the event show a distraught looking Cumberbatch being comforted by both Freeman and Amanda Abbington. (video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLCpPUpBWPk)

***

2022

In an announcement released on June 24, 2022, Channel 4 (@C4Press on Twitter) announced that it “has commissioned a new comedy entertainment series from RDF seeing celebrities reading steamy fan fiction acted out by a cast of lookalike puppets.” (https://www.channel4.com/press/news/mel-giedroyc-invites-celebrities-really-really-rude-puppet-show-wt-channel-4)

While details are scarce, Ao3 users report having been contacted through comments like “Hi there, I’m currently working on a new TV show for all about fanfiction for a major UK broadcaster. We really enjoyed reading your work, and would love to speak to you about it, and explain a bit more about our show and see if you’d be interested in being involved.”

There are so many things wrong with that, starting with the fact that soliciting works in that manner violates Ao3’s terms of service. Other fans have questioned whether or not permission will be given to use existing works, or if authors of the “commissioned” works (see C4 press release, linked above) will be paid.

Many fanfiction authors are young, or queer, or identify as female, or are young, queer AND identify as female, and that adds another layer of wrongness to this proposed “collaboration.” Youth is a time for exploration and discovery, and writing fanfiction is a great way to figure out who you are and how you occupy your place in the world. Having your exploration put on a national stage like that can be devastating. Thinking back to my own youthful and innocent wedding planning- I never in a million years pictured a scenario where Nick Rhodes himself would read it. I would have burst into flames, and it would have caused embarrassment for him too I’m imagining. No matter that I allowed Bethann to read it- I did not give permission for someone else to take it and show it around.

Additionally, having seen Cumberbatch and Freeman’s reactions to “steamy fan fiction” about their characters, I can’t imagine it would have gone much better had they read “steamy fan fiction” about themselves (ie: mature or explicit RPF). While it is widely believed that some stars (like Michael Sheen and Taika Waititi) seek out and read fan works in private, that’s a different dynamic than celebrities acting out stories with puppets on national TV. According to The Sun, “viewers should bank on plenty of laughs, with celebs including Harry Styles and The Chase’s Anne Hegerty at the forefront of fans’ fantasies.” (https://www.thesun.ie/tv/8995543/really-really-rude-puppet-show-erotic-fan-fiction/)

Oh. Harry. NOOOOOOO.

As I shared in response to a recent post about this topic, Fight Club rules apply. The first rule of fanfic about actors is you never talk about fanfic to the actors. Here’s hoping Channel 4 remembers the rule before it’s too late.

#fanfiction #Channel 4 #Mel Giedroyc #fanfic #ao3fic #ao3 #C4Press

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lyledebeast · 10 months

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One aspect of Gladiator that has stuck with me since my rewatch earlier this month and through subsequent discussions with @malicious-compliance-esq is how well the opposition of the hero and villain works. Part of the reason, ironically, is how much they have in common. Maximus and Commodus are not only both Roman men. they are both sons of Marcus Aurelius, which allows comparison from multiple points of view within the story: Marcus himself, Lucilla, and the Roman people collectively. Commodus references the list of Roman Virtues his father wrote to him about, confessing that he has none of them. Marcus agrees, describing Commodus as "not a moral man" and telling Maximus, "You are the son I should have had." Lucilla tells Maximus that she is terrified every hour of what Commodus will do to her and her son and that "The only time I ever felt safe was with you." The more Maximus defies Commodus as a gladiator, the more the people love him. Their proximity is used to highlight their opposing traits, making for clear, clean, simple, effective storytelling.

The Patriot's opposition of Benjamin Martin and William Tavington is far murkier. One reason is the jingoism that lies in the film's framing of difference in terms of binary opposition. The British and American Patriot characters are on opposing sides in a war but are more alike than different. They share the same language, religion, even military customs as we see when Martin attempts to school Tavington on the rules of war. Martin is himself a former officer of a Colonial British regiment. A slightly more effective, but still questionable binary the film sets up is gentleman/rustic. Cornwallis extolls the virtues of "gentleman in command" to both lead and restrain their men and is mortified at the end of the film to find himself defeated by an army of "peasants." Martin, however, manages to be both at the same time. He is equally comfortable in a rowdy tavern and an assembly of South Carolina landowners, or even a meeting with a British general: a man for all seasons. When Gabriel has reservations about the men his father has recruited, Martin says. "They're exactly the sort of men we need. They've fought this kind of war before." He is not referring to their uncouth appearance and manners but the ferocity and unconventional approach to warfare that made them effective guerilla fighters. Who else has these traits?

Though Cornwallis describes Tavington as coming from an esteemed family, his fellow officers clearly do not recognize him as a peer. We see this when he arrives at a gathering with blood on his cravat from the battle the British just won and they look at him like he forgot to wear pink on Wednesday. Cornwallis reprimands him for executing surrendering enemy soldiers, the same thing Martin forbids his men from doing (also after it's too late to stop them). While Martin being neither gentleman nor rustic but somehow both at once wins him the respect of both sides, the traits Tavington shares in common with rustics make him a pariah among gentlemen, but this is less a difference between the two men than between British and Patriot values. That Martin and Tavington both collapse this binary means not only are they more alike than different, but they have more in common with each other than either one has with anyone on his own side.

No one in the film can comment on this similarity because no one has enough proximity to Martin and Tavington to notice it. The focus of the few scenes they share is on a third binary the film attempts to construct: child killer/father. Again, these things are not opposites. For one, the two are not mutually exclusive. Whether through intent, accident, or negligence, fathers are regularly responsible for the deaths of their own children. The opposite of a child killer would be a child protector. Does Martin fit the bill? Well, let's see. In the scenes immediately following Tavington's murder of his son Thomas, he abandons his youngest children in a field by his burning house, orders his next youngest sons to shoot British officers, and when the son he did all this to free is used as a human shield, Martin throws a tomahawk at his head to take out his captor. The only scene where Martin may be said to protect his children comes when he lures the Green Dragoons away from the burning plantation. However, the dragoons are only there in the first place because Martin blew his cover at Fort Carolina to save his captured men. The majority of Martin's children survive his negligence, but those of his men are not so lucky. He has no qualms about both making them targets of British aggression and eliminating their main source of protection from that aggression by recruiting their fathers. So much for "I am a parent; I can't afford principles."

Gladiator's comparison of Maximus and Commodus is effective because they are judged by the same standard: Maximus meets, even exceeds it, while Commodus does not. The Patriot, however, applies very different standards to strikingly similar characters. All of Tavington's reprehensible choices are made with an end goal of British victory, yet neither he nor anyone else can imagine a future for him in England in which those choices are not harshly condemned. Meanwhile, Martin's past war crimes and more recent abandonment/endangerment of his children are presented asforgivable, even laudable, because of the results he achieves. "The honor is in the ends, not the means," or something like that.

#gladiator 2000 #the patriot #general maximus #emperor commodus #benjamin martin #william tavington #the villain and hero two-step once again #villain discourse #2000 what a crazy year

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aevumgames · 2 months

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YAY! Congrats on the Twine demo release!!! 🩵🩵🩵🩵I was so pleasantly surprised to see it extended a bit past the original demo! And I love the formatting/ option setup it’s so sleek! But I gotta say- Kaine, our big sweet protector 🥹🥹 missed him.

It made me think: how did/does a crushing on MC Kaine deal with any potential suitors who come around the tavern to get an eyeful of MC or try to court them?

Also: is Martin aware that (bff+crush!) Kaine has feelings for his kid? And vice versa?

Again, amazing job and patiently looking forward to more! 🩵🩵

Thank you so much B! And yeah, I was hoping the little bit of extra content would get noticed!

Ah, Kaine... as the first character I made for this IF story he holds a special place in my heart. Also, as for a Kaine that's been crushing on MC, unfortunately the answer is that he doesn't deal with it, LOL. Kaine who has been best friends with the MC since they were younger has, well... things that have held him back from ever confessing how he felt. And those same things are a source of a bit of self-loathing for him, so I think if someone were to flirt with MC in front of him, he would simply feel like he didn't deserve to intervene. But, that said, if MC seemed uncomfortable at any point with the flirtation, Kaine would be swooping in so fast to get the person to back off! The guy very much has protective instincts, he just currently has... some unresolved conflicts holding him back from his romantic feelings.

Also, in the BFF+Crush path? Martin totally knows MC and Kaine have feelings for each other. He's been watching them slowly begin to pine for each other for most their lives, to the point where Martin and Gregory discuss the two of them regularly and make wagers on them. They've both decided it's best to "let them figure it out themselves", but at the same time it's driving everyone MC and Kaine both know slowly insane, LOL. I also think Kaine knows that Martin knows, a fact which mortifies him to no end, I'd say. It's all very funny, honestly.

Thank you again! And I really hope I can get more of the story done and out there soon!!

#ask.txt #kingdom-dance #kaine breckem

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jjsstars · 11 months

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tw rarepair week 23: day 3, soulmates au cora/scott/lydia

|| for @teenwolfrarepairevents event

|| this is in the same au as this post with bartender!lydia & mechanic!scott

|| tags: soulmates au, bartender!lydia, mechanic!scott, set after canon

Cora takes a second to steady herself once she steps out of the old rusted truck she bought with the little money she saved up, refusing to spend any of Derek’s or Peters. They don’t know she’s coming back to Beacon Hills, nobody does, not that she keeps in touch with anyone but her family but still. She’ll be surprising everyone.

The gas station/mechanic shop/bar she stops at makes her cringe, it’s run down and dusty from the sand under her feet, the sign for the mechanic shop is turned off in the late hour but the bar is still open. Technically all Cora needed was gas but she’s half an hour away from Beacon Hills and unsure if she’s really ready to show up on her brothers door step, she decides getting a drink from the bar will ease her.

Stepping into the bar is announced by a loud squeak of the doors, which catches the attention of the two people inside. The bartender is hard to see behind the guy who’s sat on a bar stool with an empty glass in front of him, they’ve both stopped talking, not turning towards Cora but probably listening to every move she makes. She steps to the bar and slides herself onto a stool despite it, it’s too late in the night to care about strangers judging her.

“What can I get for you—?” The bartenders voice dies with an abrupt suck in of air, Cora’s head lifts to look up and- Lydia Martin?- shit.

“Uh- sorry, uh, what can I get for you?” Lydia throws on a quick smile and tries to act like she doesn’t know who’s sitting in front of her, part of Cora appreciates it, she probably knows Cora’s not supposed to be here.

“Just a soda.” She croaks out before Lydia’s turning on her heels to grab a cup that she quickly fills with sprite, it’s what Cora would’ve ordered but she doesn’t know why or how Lydia would know that.

“Here you go, uh- I- I think Scott recognizes you.” Lydia’s head nods towards the other side of the bar, and sure enough Scott McCall is sitting there, mouth dropped open and eyes wide like he just saw a ghost. Cora could laugh at how he still resembles a puppy dog if she wasn’t halfway mortified that he’s about to call Derek.

“Hi there.” She says with a small quirked brow when Scott’s mouth slams shut and he starts to fumble with the mechanic uniform jacket he has on. Cora glances back to Lydia, she shrugs to say she has no idea what he’s doing either, and just as Cora goes to ask, Scott’s suddenly shoving himself into the seat beside her.

“You’re you- or- I knew that but- but it’s you, both of you.” He rambles and Hale has the sudden realization of what the hell he’s talking about. What they said, what Scott just said, it’s scrawled across her ribs right below what Lydia said. It’s them.

“Look, look.” Her eyes land on Scott’s ribs where he lifts the grease covered tank top he has on, sure enough, it all matches. The same spot and same words.

“Fuck me.” Lydia says in a half laugh as she holds her own shirt up. They all match, the three of them, Cora doesn’t even need to check, she just knows. She’s memorized those words since they appeared on her fifth birthday, she always dreamed about meeting her soulmates. The idea of have two only making her want to meet them more, made her long deeper.

“Wait but I’ve met you two before.” It obviously doesn’t matter but she still has to say it.

“But we’ve never been in the same place all at once.” Scott says with an affirming nod from Lydia that yes, he’s right, Cora smiles with it. She knows Lydia’s a genius of some sort and Scott looking to her makes her heart warm.

“What’re you even doing here?” Shit, she has to say it.

“Uh- I’m going to Derek’s, I left where I was and have kinda been aimlessly driving around. Ended up here.” Maybe it was the universe pulling her towards her soulmates, fate of some type. Maybe it’s not the fucked up early twenties breakdown she thought it was.

“You should come home with us.” Scott jumps to say, that half cracked grin on his face that Cora’s only see in the pictures Derek’s shared with her. There was too much chaos and life or death going on for her to see it in person, till now, it’s definitely better in person.

“You two live together?” They nod.

“We started working here together back when Scott was first bit, now we have an apartment together, it’s in the same building as Derek’s loft.” The redhead summarizes as she pours a drink, presumably for herself since neither Scott or Cora can get drunk.

“Are you dating?” Another nod.

“We figured we’d break up when we finally met our soulmates but it’s you so we don’t have to. And- and we don’t have to start dating right away, there’s a second bedroom in the apartment and it’s there rent free if you want it.” Scott smells of nerves and a small bit of hope, Cora hesitates just a moment but leans to kiss his cheek. His skin warms her lips, she can feel how he smiles with the action and it brings a sense of comfort to her.

“You are very cute. And yes, I will come stay with you guys. The longer I avoid Derek and Peter the better.” She huffs once she pulls back, ignoring that Lydia’s typing away on her phone and might’ve just taken a picture of them.

“Well let’s go, we were supposed to close an hour ago anyways. And we can talk more on the ride home.” Lydia finishes her glass off before flipping the switch to turn off the neon sign that sits above the bar. She takes both Cora and Scott’s hand as they walk out, Cora happily lets her and lets Scott pile them all into Cora’s truck while saying they’ll be back here tomorrow to work anyways so leaving Scott’s car isn’t a big deal.

#twrarepairweek #lydia x cora x scott #I’m making this a ship #their ship name will be #scydiora #bartender!lydia #mechanic!scott #scott mccall #lydia martin #cora hale #teen wolf #jj moodboards #jj writes

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formulinos · 9 months

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in all seriousness cheers to max verstappen for breaking the record, a less competent driver wouldn’t be able to at the end of the day. but considering how it’s been barely the second year of the current regulations, i would be mortified if i was mercedes and ferrari for letting red bull run a gap as wide as they have been. absolute amateurism, no planning whatsoever. mercedes needed the beginning of this year to find out the concept that was already decrepit last year didn’t work. strategies have been mind-boggling. and then you have ferrari who went backwards with their car and lack fundamental discipline all around to make the team work seamlessly. even this weekend when the crew itself was at their best and there wasn’t much strategy wise to go wrong, charles and carlos are completely unable to help one another to hold the red bulls, much focusing on their own dispute. carlos did a very good job of holding for 29 laps to red bulls and yet it feels like shit because you know it could have been better. charles was in a league of his own in terms of wtf choices at times. i’m not even gonna say anything about aston martin because if they don’t bother with the best chance they get since 2019 why would i.

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t00thpasteface · 1 year

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I did not know how much I needed Marcien in my life until I came across your blog

You make them look like the cutest homosexuals ever

MARCIEN™: the ship so good i've accidentally gaslit people into thinking the characters actually meet in-game!!

i'm always delighted to hear people love them because i ALSO love them... but admittedly i kinda want my hok to be mortified by it. as a lesbian she has no skin in the love-triangle game, but i think she would still be totally blindsided. sure, she works for Lucien (she still addresses him as a superior because he has a decade or two of seniority) and she considers him a close friend, but she knows on some level that it's bad for Martin to be seen with, or even be in the same room as, Lucien. one of them could get arrested/kidnapped at best or executed at worst. even in her unhinged half-daedra brain she knows royalty and murder-cultists don't mix...

#i have like five or ten different overlapping/competing headcanons for how marcien happens and plays out in my everyone lives au #and they change depending on what i think is funniest in the moment for a specific drawing or fic #shebbz shoutz #sketch #tes #marcien #oc suzy #meme redraw #we got another one lads #ask

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justsome-di · 1 year

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Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs: Chapter 13

Summary: Alex is an ordinary, highly-introverted office worker. He clocks in and out and goes home to his little apartment he shares with his younger sister. He hasn’t dated in years. Until his co-workers set him up on a blind date.

The only issue is he and his date are not on the same page. At all.

While Alex thinks it’s a normal date, Damián is under the impression Alex is a client who paid to be there. No-so-quickly, they realize something is up. It’s all a prank. Damián is a sex worker Alex’s co-workers hired as a sick joke.

After reassuring that they’re both okay, Alex decides he wants revenge for both him and Damián. The plan is to use the stigma of sex work and start a 6-week, scandalous fake dating scheme with a big finale at the office Halloween party. Alex’s co-workers will be too horrified to try to prank him again. At least, that’s the plan.

You can also read this on AO3, or Patreon (patrons also get chapters a week early along with bonus content). If you’re enjoying the story and want to support me in other ways, I do have a ko-fi! Or consider dropping me a message in my inbox or reblogging this post!

Martin and Sam picked up the check. Alex assumed they did it out of guilt and for a quick escape. They excused themselves as soon as the waiter returned their credit card, saying something about their dog getting restless in their apartment.

Alex and Damián stayed behind at the table after their exit. Alex finished his wine and thought about what Martin would report back to the guys. There were a few possibilities. He could either tell the other Douche Bags that Marcus was a totally chill guy and hide the fact that he had been mortified. Or he would say he got bad vibes from Marcus—that he intentionally embarrassed his wife. Or he would say nothing at all, too embarrassed that he had spent the evening with a sex worker and wanting to avoid all the jokes that would get hurled at him.

Alex could just imagine what the guys would say. Andrew would probably make a quip like, “You spent a whole evening with a prostitute and didn’t get laid? How’d you manage that?”

Or there would probably be worse, whispered comments. Questions about what Marcus was like, how he dressed, how he acted. It made Alex angry just thinking about it.

Maybe, he thought generously, Martin was going to say nothing because he was genuinely trying to make up for the prank. The dinner, after all, was his and Sam’s attempt at an olive branch. Sam did seem to actually disapprove of her husband’s actions. Martin had seemed genuinely remorseful.

It could have been safe to assume that Martin meant no further harm.

Alex turned to Damián, ready to ask if he wanted to head out. Damián was staring off again. He was watching everyone around him and picking at the skin around his nails. His plate had sat mostly untouched through the evening. By the time it was picked up, Alex was sure he had barely eaten.

“Hey,” Alex said quietly. He put his hand on Damián’s elbow. It brought Damián back. “I know I keep asking, but are you okay?”

Damián opened his mouth but closed it again. Alex kept his hand on his elbow. It felt like the right thing to do. Like Damián needed a tether to the world.

“Yeah, I’ve just been a bit out of it this week,” Damián said.

“And this dinner probably didn’t help. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d start asking questions—“

“It’s not your fault.”

His friend crush was hitting him at full force. He wanted to make Damián feel better. He wanted to bring Damián back to himself.

“Can I do anything?” Alex asked. “To help cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’d like to. If you’d let me.”

He wanted to worry about Damián because it was a privilege to have someone to worry about. They had laughed so well an hour before. He thought, maybe, that was a sign they could take another step towards being friends. Friends, after all, was all Alex could hope for.

Damián’s face softened. His frame weakened. “Okay.”

“Do you want to do anything else tonight? A shitty dinner seems like a bad way to end the night.”

“I was being serious about Pretty Women. If that’s not too much. I’d like to watch it with you.”

Alex’s heart sped up. “It’s not too much. Do you want to go back to my apartment?”

“If it’s not imposing—“

“I just don’t want to send you home as you are.”

“Alright. Okay.”

“Just a heads up, though, my sister might be home. If you’re not up for more company, I can probably shoo her away.”

“No!” Damián sat up a little straighter. “That’s fine. You don’t have to hide her. But does—who does she think you’re with right now?”

“She thinks I’m on a normal date with a guy named Marcus.”

Damián nodded. “Got it.”

“I can pay you since it’ll be like working—”

“It will be nothing like working. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Really. It’s fine.”

They donned their coats and pushed their chairs in. Had Alex left his apartment clean? Was Eve going to be asleep by the time they got home, passed out on her couch? Would Alex have to shuffle his little sister off to his own bed and ask Damián to keep it down while they watched a movie? No, it was far too early for Eve to be asleep. She was going to be conscious and annoying.

The most he could do was try to be a good host with what he knew he could offer.

“I can you make something to eat, too,” Alex said.

Damián blinked at him, almost like he was forcing himself to look confused. “What?”

“I noticed you didn’t eat much.”

Maybe Sam’s questions rattled him too much that he couldn’t eat. Maybe it was whatever it was that put him in a fog that also took away his appetite. Alex wasn’t going to push, but he did feel like he owed Damián something.

“I’ll make you something at home,” Alex said. “Fair warning, it won’t be fancy or anything.”

Damián put his hands in his pockets. He bit his lip. Finally, he nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

And they left together, Damián insisting on paying for an Uber. Alex protested once, to be polite. When he saw the surge prices, he felt a touch guilty. But Damián said that it wasn’t a big deal. If Alex was going to host him for a couple of hours, then Damián could pay for them to get to his apartment. Damián booked the car without even flinching.

Waiting on the sidewalk, Damián slipped his hand into Alex’s elbow again. Alex’s stomach flipped over. He hadn’t been touched in so long. Just having Damián’s hand on him twice in one night was making him feel all sorts of things.

Damián pulled away when the Uber pulled up, and they sat in comfortable silence through the drive. Alex sent Eve a warning text that he was bringing home a guest. It went unread.

“It’s not the nicest building,” Alex said when the Uber came to a stop at the curb.

“No, it looks like every other building in the city,” Damián said.

“That’s my point. It’s an average New York apartment.”

“Well, my point is, I wasn’t expecting The Dakota or Hudson Yards. I’m sure the building is very underwhelming.”

Alex got them into the building and suggested they take the stairs rather than the rickety elevator. It was probably fine, but Alex was starting to feel more and more nervous on it as it came to increasingly jolting stops.

He apologized for the hallways which were dim and currently carried a smell of weed. Damián asked him if he thought he had never seen an apartment building before. Damián just seemed so bougie, Alex thought, that it would be odd to picture him in any apartment that wasn’t brightly lit with nice potted trees and new wallpaper in the corridors.

They reached Alex’s door which had no personality just like every other unit in the building. There was a deep, slow voice coming from inside. Alex shoved his keys in the lock and gave them the little jiggle they needed to actually unlock the door.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “That’s my sister. She listens to her podcasts too loud.”

Damián wasn’t bothered by it.

The door opened. The sound of the podcast flooded into the hallway. Damián stepped inside so Alex could shut the sound out again, giving their neighbors across the hall a little relief.

The voice, so familiar that it felt like Damián and Alex were walking in on an old friend, was clear now.

“Oh!” Damián said. His shoulders lost a little tension. “Night Vale. Nice.”

“She’s getting caught up,” Alex said. “She’s two years behind and got upset that I spoiled something.”

“That’s valid. I’m months behind.”

Alex stepped further into the apartment. He pulled off his coat and threw it over a bar chair that sat on the edge of the living room and the kitchenette.

He was regretting bringing Damián home already. Eve had left dirty dishes on the counters and stove. There was a pan with crumbs from, probably, vegetarian chicken nuggets. Alex knew the familiar smell. A pot with a colander sitting on top. The fist-sized speaker that played Welcome to Night Vale sat in the middle of it all.

The bathroom door was open. Alex shoved his head in. Eve had her hair pulled up in a bun, showing off her undercut. She was in pajamas—a baggy shirt she had stolen from Alex and sweatpants—brushing her teeth. The bathroom was a mess, as well. Her clothes from the day were on the floor. A bottle of face wash and moisturizer sat out on the counter surrounded by little globs of their own contents.

Just as Eve turned to Alex and Alex readied a stern request for her to clean up, Cecil Palmer announced the weather. Twice as loud as he was speaking, a guitar began strumming something fast.

“Turn it down,” Alex snapped, trying to raise his voice above the music. “We’re going to get noise complaints again.”

“They should be thankful,” Eve said around toothpaste foam. “It’s premium gay culture.”

“Just turn it down.”

She rolled her eyes, but she grabbed her phone and turned down the volume until the music coming from the kitchen could barely be heard.

“And clean up a little, we have a guest,” Alex said.

Eve’s eyes widened. She pulled her toothbrush out of her mouth and spit.

“Am I meeting him? I’m meeting this guy?” She smiled, and Alex thought it looked evil.

But then she looked down at herself, shoved Alex out of the bathroom and closed the door.

Damián was still standing around, hanging up his coat on the coat rack and unlacing his boots. Of course he was a polite house guest who took off his shoes before fully entering someone’s trashed apartment.

“She’ll be out in a second if you want to say hi,” Alex said. “But I’ll shove her in my room for the night.”

“It’s really okay. You don’t have to shove her anywhere if she doesn’t mind being around us.”

Alex looked at the mess surrounding him. How did one girl manage to do so much damage in one hour? He started folding the throw blanket Eve had crumpled up and thrown to the floor and made a move to open a window to air out the smell of slightly-burnt fake meat.

“I’m sorry it’s so messy,” he said. “If I had known a tornado passed through when we were gone, I wouldn’t have suggested we come back here.”

“It’s okay! It’s an apartment. It’s supposed to be lived in.”

Damián started to help tidy, and Alex felt awful about it. If Alex’s mother had seen his guest was cleaning, she would have killed both him and Eve. Damián picked throw pillows off the floor and put them back on the couch. Alex gathered a dirty water glass and plate from the coffee table and rushed them to the sink.

The bathroom door opened. Eve stepped out, fully dressed in her jeans and a different baggy t-shirt. She walked awkwardly towards the living room where Damián was still crouched over and picking up a book off the floor. He had stopped to look at the cover and examine the bookmark placed halfway through. It was Giovanni’s Room.

“Marcus, this is my sister, Eve,” Alex said.

He dug his nail into a cuticle. Eve was a good kid, he knew. She would know better. She would be on her best behavior.

Damián turned around. As soon as he saw Eve, his face lit up brighter than it had all evening. He set the book down on the coffee table.

“No way!” he said. “This is crazy.”

Eve stared at him and then at Alex. She pointed to Damián. Alex didn’t know what was happening.

“Uh. Alex? I don’t know how to tell you this.” She looked at Damián again. “This guy isn’t Marcus. His name is Damián.”

“Fuck,” Alex breathed.

“This is wild.” Damián looked back and forth between Alex and Eve. “You two look exactly alike. How did I not notice?”

“How do you two know each other?” Alex asked.

“He’s been coming to my book club for a year,” Eve said. “He’s the one that helped me ask my professor if I could retake my midterm.”

“How did that go, by the way?” Damián asked. He took Eve by the hand, and Alex tried not to feel jealous of the sudden yet comfortable physical contact between them. “I’ve been meaning to swing by the bookstore and ask.”

“He agreed to let me make it up,” Eve said. “And I found a tutor!”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I asked Academic Resources if they had any special hours because I thought it was something you would tell me to do, and they set me up with this one guy who said he’d stay late with me. His name’s Leo.”

Damián gasped. “Leo?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is freaky.” Damián held up his hands, palms out. Alex was still confused. “Leo’s my brother.”

“No shit!” Eve shouted.

“Noise complaints,” Alex reminded her.

“This,” Damian said, “is the most insane string of coincidences. This is—this complicates things, doesn’t it?”

He put his hands on his hip and pursed his lips at Alex. Alex sighed.

It wasn’t good. He didn’t want Eve to know. He didn’t want her caught up in it. He didn’t want her to have reasons to think he was a sleazy guy. His guilt was back, thinking about how he must have looked from someone else’s perspective.

“Why are you calling him Marcus?” Eve asked. She turned to Damián. “Did you tell him your name is Marcus?”

Damián and Alex shared a look.

“She doesn’t know about my job,” Damián said. “Do you want her to know?”

“It’s up to you,” Alex said. “It’s your life.”

Damián looked to Eve. “Yeah. You’re cool, kiddo. Let’s talk for a minute.”

Kiddo. Alex never gave Eve a cute nickname. She wouldn’t have allowed it. She would have said he was trying too hard to make up for their age gap.

Damián led her to the couch. They sat next to each other, and Alex perched on the arm behind Damián. The apartment was too small for three people. It was already cramped when it was just Alex living in it.

“So, I’ve never told you what I’ve done for a living,” Damián said.

“I’ve always assumed you had some super cool job,” Eve said.

“I do.” Damián patted her knee. “I’m an escort and a sex worker.”

Eve looked at him, unfazed. “Okay. What else?”

Damián looked over his shoulder to Alex. “Why can’t everyone react like that?”

Yeah. Alex had had a fucking panic attack when he found out. Sam had conducted a violating interview. The Douche Bags had made it all a prank.

“So, the date we had a couple of weeks ago, it wasn’t a real date,” Alex said.

Eve’s mouth opened into an O shape. Her eyebrows scrunched together in disgust, and she pressed her hands to her ears. “I don’t need to know that you hired a sex worker. I respect it, Damián, but that’s my brother. I don’t want to know about his sex life.”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” Alex said.

“It was a set-up,” Damián said. He explained it so calmly to Eve as if he hadn’t backed himself up in a corner like a scared animal when it was happening. “It was a prank. Neither of us knew what was happening. And now we’re in a bit of a revenge situation.”

Damián continued to explain their plot, detailing everything from the diner dates to the office party at the end of the month. Eve stared Alex down with a nasty glare. He shrunk in on himself. His feelings of guilt came back threefold. If Eve didn’t approve of the whole scheme, it had to be wrong.

She knew Damián better than he did. And fuck. That was heartbreaking on its own. He thought Damián was his own little thing. But now he had to share him with his sister. And she was already so much closer to him.

“You’re using a sex worker for your own personal gain?” Eve asked.

“No, it’s not like that,” Damián said. “This is what I do. I’m an escort. I do this every single week.”

“But it is kind of like using you, isn’t it?” Alex said.

Damián threw his hands in the air. There was a flash of annoyance that Alex had never seen before. “I can’t explain enough that this is my job. I pretend to be a partner for people. It’s just like if Eve got hired to do write a code for someone. Or if you, Alex, got asked to. I don’t know. Buy better candy for your office?”

“I do more than that.”

“Make an Excel sheet?”

“Yeah. That works.”

“So you see my point? It’s all a business transaction.”

He was talking directly to Alex which only made him feel worse. But he did see Damián’s point. He was just working.

“Yeah.”

“When you feel like you’re using me,” Damián went on, “it feels like you’re pitying me and my career.”

“Oh.”

Alex supposed he understood now. When Damián put it like that, he saw it how Damián saw it. But it also felt like Damián was implying Alex was strictly a client, and it was all strictly work. Not that Alex should have let himself believe that they were ever going to be anything more.

“And I have autonomy. You’re not forcing me to do this. I take the jobs I want, and I hang out with the people I want to hang out with.”

“No one wants to hang with Alex, though,” Eve said. “He hasn’t gone out in years.”

“I like hanging out with him,” Damián said. “And excuse you, little miss, you were home alone on a Friday night listening to Night Vale. Don’t throw stones.”

Eve crossed her arms over her chest. “I was also reading.”

Smugness swelled in Alex. Finally. Someone took his side. Years of little Eve getting away with everything had come to an end. And did Damián say he liked hanging out with Alex?

His emotions were all over the place. He couldn’t handle it. He had never felt such a rush before. He wished Damián would touch his elbow again.

“All I’m saying is, I do what I want to do,” Damián said.

“Okay,” Alex said.

“And right now, I really want to watch Pretty Women.”

“We can find Pretty Woman. But I did promise you I’d make you dinner.”

Damián waved his hand. “You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s fine. Let me see what we have.”

Damián’s fingernails scraped against his jeans. “Only if you want to.”

“Wow, the table turned quickly, didn’t they?” Alex said. “I also do what I want.”

Alex didn’t. He did what his anxiety told him to do. Or not do.

Damián turned his head away. He looked forward at the television’s blank screen. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you? I should have known you and Eve were related.”

It would also make Alex feel better if Damián ate just for the sake of eating something. He would feel better if Damián got a little bit of color to his cheeks and stopped his shivering that had persisted. And if Damián needed to be coaxed into eating after a rough week, then Alex would be honored to be the one to do it.

He would feel better if he could make Damián dinner as a sort of apology. He was itching to do something that could prove he was a good potential friend and that he valued the time they were spending together. That even if it was just a job for Damián, Alex still appreciated all the effort Damián was putting into it. Making him dinner at home felt almost embarrassingly intimate, but Alex was going to allow himself to do it.

#Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub Everyone Keeps Their Organs #Nobody Ends Up Dead #writeblr #writblr #original writing #writing community #this chapter is special to me only bc of the welcome to night vale references

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