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novaursa · 6 months ago

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Legacy (by his design)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: union of fire and gold

- Next part: alliances

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The morning sun streamed through the high windows of the Great Hall, casting golden light across the breakfast table where you sat beside Tywin. The previous night’s events lingered in the minds of everyone present, each face reflecting varying shades of curiosity, jealousy, and silent calculation. Courtiers filled the hall, their attention turning occasionally to you, their whispers only barely hushed beneath the formalities of breakfast.

Across from you, Cersei sat poised, her lips curved into a small, disdainful smile as she regarded you. Her gaze was piercing, her presence radiating a tense resentment, as though she still struggled to reconcile herself to the reality of your marriage to her father.

“Sleep well, Lady Y/N?” she inquired sweetly, her voice dripping with false politeness. Her gaze didn’t leave you as she picked up her goblet, taking a leisurely sip, her eyes glinting with amusement as she waited for your reaction.

You met her gaze, entirely composed, refusing to let her bait unsettle you. “I did, Lady Cersei. Thank you,” you replied smoothly, your voice calm, betraying none of the previous night’s intimacy. “The chambers you so kindly prepared were most… accommodating.”

Cersei’s lips tightened ever so slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She forced a thin smile, tilting her head. “I’m so pleased you found them to your satisfaction,” she replied, her tone laden with unspoken meanings. “After all, we wouldn’t want you to feel out of place here, as you must have felt in the North.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked sharply to his daughter, a warning glint in his eyes. “Enough, Cersei,” he said, his voice quiet but steely, cutting through her thinly veiled hostility. “Our family is united now, and any divisiveness will only serve to weaken us.”

Cersei’s jaw tightened, but she inclined her head in acknowledgment, though her eyes still simmered with resentment. “Of course, Father,” she murmured, her tone respectful but laced with an edge she couldn’t entirely hide.

At that moment, Tyrion approached, his expression one of mild amusement as he took in the scene. He offered you a polite nod before turning his attention to his father, raising his goblet in a casual salute. “A rather lively breakfast,” he remarked, his tone light. “It seems marriage has already brought new… energy to the family.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted to Tyrion, his face unreadable. “Indeed, Tyrion. Which brings me to the matter of responsibilities.” His voice carried a note of finality that left little room for discussion. “I will be resuming my duties as Hand of the King immediately. Your own position in court, however, will change.”

Tyrion’s brows lifted, intrigued. “A change, you say? I can hardly imagine anything more… interesting than being the acting Hand, but I’m curious.”

Tywin’s gaze was cold, unyielding. “You will take on the role of Master of Coin,” he declared, each word sharp and definitive. “Your… particular skills should prove useful in managing the crown’s finances.”

Tyrion’s expression shifted, his amusement fading to something more thoughtful. “Master of Coin?” he repeated, an edge of intrigue and perhaps slight irritation coloring his tone. “Well, I suppose numbers and ledgers are better company than some of the members of this court.”

You hid a smile at Tyrion’s irreverent tone, catching his quick, mischievous glance in your direction. The humor in his eyes was unmistakable, and it was clear that, despite his apparent compliance, he saw this shift as yet another move in Tywin’s intricate web of control.

“Do you find the arrangement satisfactory, Tyrion?” Tywin asked, his tone carrying a veiled warning.

Tyrion gave a small, mock bow. “As satisfactory as any command from my dear father, of course,” he replied smoothly, though his eyes held a glint of defiance. “I shall endeavor to make the crown’s coffers flourish in ways previously unimaginable.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t soften, but he nodded, acknowledging his son’s reluctant acceptance. “Ensure that you do. King’s Landing has become far too careless with its resources.” His gaze lingered on Tyrion a moment longer, as though daring him to argue, before shifting to you.

“You will come to understand that managing the affairs of this court requires… patience,” Tywin said, addressing you now, his voice low but intent. “Expect provocations, even from within our family.” His gaze flicked briefly to Cersei, a silent admonition that didn’t go unnoticed.

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with calm resolve. “I understand, Lord Tywin,” you replied, letting your voice carry an edge of quiet strength. “And I am prepared to act accordingly.”

Cersei’s lips thinned, her gaze narrowing at the subtle alliance forming between you and Tywin. “A loyal wife, then,” she murmured, her tone as cold as the steel beneath her courteous facade. “How fortunate for you, Father.”

Tyrion hid a smirk behind his goblet, clearly relishing the tension sparking between you and Cersei. “Indeed, dear sister,” he quipped, his voice laced with amusement. “It seems we’re all learning the virtue of loyalty these days.”

Cersei cast a withering look at Tyrion, her patience visibly fraying. “Loyalty, Tyrion,” she replied icily, “is something neither you nor our new… stepmother would understand.”

You met her gaze without flinching, refusing to let her words unsettle you. “Loyalty, Lady Cersei,” you replied calmly, “is about dedication to the family’s strength. If that strength requires patience and endurance, then I am more than willing to provide it.”

Tywin’s eyes flashed with approval, and he gave a brief, almost imperceptible nod, as though silently affirming the truth of your words. He reached out, placing a steadying hand over yours on the table, a subtle but undeniable show of support.

“Precisely,” Tywin said, his voice cutting through the tension. “And let us not forget that unity is the foundation of our house.” His gaze swept over each of his children, lingering on Cersei before moving back to you. “We have much to accomplish. There is no room for petty rivalries.”

Cersei’s jaw clenched, but she inclined her head, hiding her frustration behind a forced smile. Tyrion, on the other hand, raised his goblet in a silent toast to you, his eyes twinkling with shared amusement. You returned his look, feeling the weight of the power dynamics in the room shifting around you, like pieces on a board carefully maneuvered.

Tywin sat in his solar, the golden afternoon light casting a warm glow over the rich furnishings as he reviewed a stack of parchment, each one detailing matters both great and small within King’s Landing and beyond. Satisfied with the steady progress of his plans and the recent events surrounding his new marriage, he leaned back in his chair, his expression one of reserved satisfaction.

A quiet knock sounded at the door, and without looking up, he spoke, his voice carrying authority. "Enter."

Petyr Baelish slipped into the room, his customary smirk in place, eyes bright with curiosity and the glint of ambition. He approached Tywin’s desk, giving a respectful bow before straightening, his fingers lightly clasped together.

“Lord Tywin,” he greeted, his tone deferential but carrying a hint of intrigue. “It seems congratulations are in order. A successful union, indeed. One that’s certainly stirred interest across the capital.”

Tywin’s gaze remained steady, unreadable, though he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. “I trust you did not seek me out simply to offer congratulations, Lord Baelish,” he said, his tone clipped, laced with authority. “What do you wish to discuss?”

Baelish’s smirk widened a fraction as he inclined his head. “Always perceptive, my lord,” he replied smoothly. “In truth, I’ve been reflecting on this… union. I must confess, I find it a fascinating development. House Lannister uniting with the last Targaryen princess—it’s an image few would have predicted, especially given the history between your house and hers.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t waver, but a glint of satisfaction flickered in his eyes. “Curious as ever, I see, Lord Baelish,” he replied, his tone dry. “The union is advantageous to House Lannister. House Targaryen was but a shadow of itself—a name without strength. That name now serves my house.”

Littlefinger inclined his head, acknowledging Tywin’s logic. “A shadow, perhaps, but a shadow with an interesting past,” he mused. “I always found it curious how you managed to secure Lady Y/N’s safety during Robert’s Rebellion. Sending her to Winterfell of all places… an unusual choice. And yet, somehow, Lord Rickard Stark agreed to shelter a Targaryen princess amid a war he himself was embroiled in.”

Tywin’s gaze remained impassive, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not the first to wonder, Lord Baelish. However, the late Lord Stark was a man of duty. When presented with the safety of a princess, even one with Targaryen blood, he saw the importance of keeping her out of harm’s way.”

Baelish’s smile grew sly, his tone as smooth as ever. “No doubt, Lord Tywin. Though I can’t help but wonder what words you might have used to persuade him. After all, this was no ordinary princess… and it was hardly a time for compassion toward Targaryens, not after Prince Rhaegar… complicated things with Lyanna Stark.”

Tywin’s mouth tightened ever so slightly, though he maintained his composure. “Lord Rickard understood that politics and personal vendettas were separate matters. I simply reminded him of his duty as a nobleman—to protect those who could not protect themselves, even if they bore a name considered… unfavorable.”

Littlefinger chuckled softly, as though Tywin’s answer amused him. “Duty,” he murmured, as if tasting the word. “Ah, but I suspect your persuasion was… more nuanced than that, my lord. A quiet reminder, perhaps, that while Robert and the other rebels were keen on Targaryen blood, Lord Rickard’s house had enough to concern itself with. And that keeping Lady Y/N out of the capital may have served his own interests as well.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, a flicker of irritation beneath his steady composure. “You seem very interested in matters long settled, Lord Baelish. Rickard Stark knew the costs and made his decision. I hardly expect to justify it now to those who had no hand in it.”

Baelish raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk never fading. “Of course, of course. Merely curious, my lord. It’s rare to see such… foresight, after all, in dealing with such matters. Though I must admit, I find it impressive that you anticipated this marriage so far in advance. It seems the former princess has always been in your sights.”

Tywin’s eyes remained cold, though a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Anticipation is key to securing power, Lord Baelish. Only a fool waits for opportunity to knock on his door.”

Baelish tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with interest. “And yet, here she is, no longer a princess, but Lady Y/N Lannister. A fascinating journey for her, wouldn’t you agree? From Winterfell’s ward to your bride… one might say she’s found herself at the center of power once again.”

“Her place was determined the moment she entered House Lannister,” Tywin replied, his voice carrying a finality that suggested he would entertain no further inquiry on the matter. “And she has taken to it with dignity and purpose, as I expected.”

Baelish smiled, dipping his head. “Well, Lord Tywin, I wish you all the best in your endeavors with Lady Y/N. It seems you’ve woven yet another thread into the ever-complex tapestry of this realm.”

Tywin regarded him coolly, his gaze penetrating. “See that you remember that this tapestry, as you call it, is mine to shape. And that includes any… threads of your own devising, Lord Baelish.”

Baelish inclined his head, his expression as smooth as ever, though a flicker of something unreadable flashed in his eyes. “Naturally, my lord,” he replied, his tone deferential. “I am, as always, at your service.”

With a final nod, Baelish turned and departed, leaving Tywin to his thoughts, a faint shadow of satisfaction lingering on the older man’s face. Tywin knew his plans were progressing as intended, and with each move, his power only solidified. One of the last Targaryens was now a Lannister, bound by marriage and duty—and the realm, whether they understood it or not, would soon feel the impact of his carefully crafted plans.

The memory came unbidden, rising to the surface of Tywin’s mind with the vivid clarity of a scene replayed countless times. He could feel the cold bite of the northern air, the damp chill settling into his bones even as he stood stoic, unmoved by the elements, on that neutral stretch of land between Riverrun and the Riverlands. Across from him, Lord Rickard Stark stood tall and silent, his eyes as sharp as the wind that whipped around them. His guards flanked him, their expressions impassive, yet Tywin could see the flickers of curiosity and wariness in their eyes.

Rickard’s gaze held a glint of suspicion as he studied Tywin, his lips pressing into a tight line. He’d been silent for some time, weighing the implications of Tywin’s request—the proposal that he take Princess Y/N as his ward in Winterfell, far from the tumult of King’s Landing and the wrath of Aerys II.

After a prolonged silence, Rickard finally spoke, his voice low and cautious. “I can understand why you’d seek to remove her from the Red Keep, given… recent events. But forgive my bluntness, Lord Tywin. Why Winterfell? Why me?”

Tywin’s face remained impassive, his gaze steady as he regarded the northern lord. “Because Winterfell is far from the reach of the Mad King,” he replied, his tone calm, each word deliberate. “And because you, Lord Stark, are a man of honor. I trust you to protect her without question.”

Rickard’s eyes narrowed, studying Tywin carefully, searching for the motives behind the Lannister’s practiced facade. “You speak of trust, Lord Tywin, but we both know there is little of that in the capital these days. And we both know your… proposal was once rebuffed by Aerys himself.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Tywin’s face, though he masked it quickly. “You are correct,” he admitted, his tone clipped. “Aerys, in his madness, saw fit to mock the prospect of a union between my family and his. He believed my ambition too great, and my family unworthy of House Targaryen’s blood. But his refusal only served to highlight his foolishness.”

Rickard arched an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “So this is about vengeance, then? To deny Aerys something he could never foresee? To preserve what remains of his bloodline under your protection?”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, though he remained composed. “This is not about vengeance, Lord Stark. It is about survival. Aerys’s instability grows by the day, and I have no intention of allowing him to drag my family—or the realm—down with him. Princess Y/N deserves a chance at life beyond the twisted court of King’s Landing.”

Rickard considered this, but there was a glint in his eyes, a shrewdness that Tywin hadn’t expected. “And yet,” Rickard said slowly, “it seems to me that this is not merely about preserving her life. There’s more at play here, isn’t there, Lord Tywin?”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his face an unreadable mask as he held Rickard’s gaze. “If you’re suggesting that I harbor… personal motivations, Lord Stark, then you are mistaken.”

Rickard’s lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes narrowing with a knowing look. “I’m not suggesting, Lord Tywin. I’m observing. This is no ordinary act of duty; there’s a fire in your eyes when you speak of her, even now. It is as though you would burn King’s Landing to ashes just to ensure her safety.”

Tywin remained silent, his gaze icy as he considered his response. He prided himself on his restraint, his ability to control both his emotions and his ambitions with an iron will. And yet, Rickard Stark had seen through him, glimpsed a part of him he kept hidden from all but the most guarded corners of his mind.

Rickard continued, his tone softened, but his gaze unwavering. “The Mad King’s rejection of your proposal wounded you more deeply than you admit, Tywin. Perhaps it’s pride, or perhaps… something more.”

Tywin’s silence spoke volumes, and Rickard watched him, waiting for a response. When Tywin finally spoke, his voice was steady, though his words carried a barely restrained edge. “Aerys’s refusal did not wound me, Stark. It only served to remind me of his unfitness to rule.” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “But yes, perhaps there is more to this than duty. Princess Y/N is… exceptional, and she deserves a place where she can flourish. If that place cannot be with me, then I would see her placed somewhere worthy of her.”

Rickard inclined his head, his expression softening slightly. “Then why send her to Winterfell, Tywin? Why choose isolation over influence? Surely, there are others who would shelter her—houses closer to the capital, houses with less… strained histories.”

“Because Winterfell is where she will be safest,” Tywin replied, his tone final. “The North may be isolated, but it is also steadfast. It stands as a bastion against the chaos spreading from the South, a place where loyalty and honor still hold meaning. I know she will be protected here, away from the eyes of those who would seek to use her for their own ends.”

Rickard was silent for a moment, absorbing Tywin’s words, a hint of respect flickering in his gaze. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I’ll take her as my ward. She will be as one of my own, safe within the walls of Winterfell.”

Tywin nodded, his relief hidden behind a stoic mask. “Then I will ensure her safe passage. She’ll travel under the protection of my men and reach you by the end of the month. Varys has assured me that he can facilitate her discreet departure.”

Rickard’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what of her future, Lord Tywin? What do you envision for her after her time in the North?”

Tywin’s gaze turned contemplative, his voice softening for a moment. “The future… is uncertain. But she will have one, thanks to your willingness to protect her.” He hesitated, a rare moment of vulnerability surfacing as he continued, “And perhaps, one day, our paths will cross again.”

Rickard watched him closely, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of understanding. “Though I suspect, Lord Tywin, that she’ll never truly be far from your thoughts.”

With that, the two men exchanged a final nod, sealing the agreement. Tywin turned, his expression hardening once more as he prepared to depart, but Rickard’s words lingered in his mind, echoing in the quiet spaces of his thoughts.

The Mad King’s rejection had stung, that much was true. But it was more than pride that drove him to protect Princess Y/N—it was a feeling he dared not name, a rare softness he kept buried, even as it quietly shaped his every decision. And so, with the cold northern wind at his back, Tywin returned to King’s Landing, knowing that one day, he would bring her back—and that nothing, not even a king’s madness, would prevent it.

The garden was quiet, a rare sanctuary within the walls of the Red Keep. The morning sun filtered softly through the canopy of branches overhead, casting dappled light over the winding paths lined with flowering bushes and ivy-covered stone. You found yourself breathing a little easier here, away from the prying eyes and the weight of expectation that seemed to follow you in every hall and corridor. It was a place where you could almost forget the politics and games, where you could meet Sansa as her family had once met you—as a friend and confidant, not as the Lady of House Lannister.

By your side stood Ser Barristan Selmy, his white cloak draped over his armor, his presence a reassuring strength as he watched over you. Tywin had personally appointed him to serve as your guard, an act that had stirred whispers throughout the court. But Barristan had accepted the duty with a solemn grace, his loyalty as strong now as it had been in the days when he served your family.

The old knight turned to you, his gaze softening with a hint of nostalgia. "You look at ease here, my lady," he observed quietly, his voice warm with something akin to affection. “The gardens… remind me of your mother. She would often seek out quiet places like this.”

You smiled, touched by his words. "Thank you, Ser Barristan. I find it hard to feel truly at ease within these walls, but here… it feels a bit closer to home." You paused, glancing around at the greenery that softened the stone fortress. “It’s peaceful. It makes the past seem… not so distant.”

Barristan nodded, his eyes growing distant as he reminisced. “Your mother, your brother… they both had a way of bringing light wherever they went, even in the darkest of places.” He met your gaze, his expression serious. “I swore an oath to protect you all those years ago. And though the world has changed, I intend to keep that oath. Your father would be proud of you, my lady.”

A warmth filled your heart at his words, and you reached out to gently touch his arm. “Thank you, Ser Barristan. Knowing you’re here brings me comfort. My family is gone, but you… you keep their memory alive.”

Before Barristan could respond, a soft voice called your name. You turned to see Sansa approaching, her steps tentative but her eyes bright with a mixture of hope and relief. She wore a simple gown of pale blue, her red hair catching the sunlight as she moved, a fragile beauty tempered by the shadows of what she’d endured.

"Sansa," you greeted warmly, opening your arms as she reached you. She stepped forward, allowing you to embrace her, her arms wrapping around you tightly, as if seeking solace in your presence.

“It’s so good to see you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You held her for a moment longer, a quiet strength passing between you before you stepped back, keeping her hands in yours. “I thought we might speak more openly here,” you said softly, gesturing to the secluded spot beneath a flowering tree. “Away from prying ears.”

Sansa nodded, casting a cautious glance around the garden, and you guided her to a stone bench, gesturing for Barristan to give you some distance. He took a respectful step back, his presence still within sight, yet far enough to allow for a private conversation.

Settling onto the bench beside her, you looked into Sansa’s eyes, your gaze warm and steady. “Tell me, Sansa… how are you, truly?”

Her composure wavered, and she lowered her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her dress. For a moment, she was silent, gathering her thoughts, and when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with a mixture of pain and weariness.

“I… I don’t know how to answer that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “Every day feels like… like I’m holding my breath, waiting for something to go wrong.” She glanced up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It feels like I’m trapped, like there’s no way out.”

You reached over, gently placing a hand over hers, giving her a silent reassurance that you were listening, that you understood.

“There are times,” she continued, her voice breaking slightly, “when I think of home… of Winterfell. I close my eyes, and I can almost feel the snow, hear the sounds of the wolves. But then I open them, and I’m back here… alone, surrounded by people who see me as… as nothing more than a pawn.”

Her words hung in the air, a painful truth spoken with quiet resignation. You could see the toll it had taken on her, the way she seemed smaller, more fragile, as though the weight of her circumstances had pressed down upon her spirit.

“Sansa,” you said softly, squeezing her hand. “You’re not alone. I’m here, and I will do everything in my power to protect you. You are not just a pawn to me… you’re family. And family means something.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly, her gaze filled with a flicker of hope. “Thank you,” she whispered. “But… I don’t know how much longer I can endure this. Joffrey… he’s… cruel. I thought I knew what cruelty was, but he—” She broke off, her voice trembling with fear and anger. “Every moment I’m near him, I feel like a lamb before a lion.”

You felt a surge of anger on her behalf, a fire kindling within you as you looked at her. “Joffrey is a monster,” you said quietly, your voice filled with conviction. “And he’ll answer for his actions, one way or another. I will see to that.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, a mixture of hope and uncertainty flickering within them. “Do you really believe that?”

You nodded, your gaze steady. “Yes. He is not untouchable, Sansa. Remember that. And until then, you must hold onto your strength, even if it feels impossible. Your family is known for its resilience, its loyalty. You carry Winterfell with you, even here in King’s Landing.”

She managed a faint smile, a glimmer of the strength that lay dormant within her. “I want to believe that… to believe that there’s a part of me that’s still strong, still a Stark.”

You reached up, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “You are a Stark, Sansa. You may not feel it now, but the blood of your family runs through you, fierce and unbreakable. And one day, you will find yourself again. Until then, lean on those who care for you. You’re not alone.”

Sansa suddenly lowered her gaze, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry… here I am, pouring my heart out, when you’re the one married to Tywin Lannister,” she murmured, her voice laced with guilt. She glanced up, her blue eyes wide with concern. “Has he… has he hurt you?”

You felt the weight of her worry and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Sansa, don’t worry about me. I know how to handle Lord Tywin,” you replied softly, your voice steady. “It’s not easy, no. He’s a difficult man, but he’s… fair, in his own way. He values strength and purpose. He’s not cruel like Joffrey.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. “I just can’t help but worry. You’ve always been so kind, so gentle. And Tywin… he’s…” She trailed off, as if struggling to find the right words.

You chuckled lightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I assure you, Sansa, I am not as helpless as I may seem. The North taught me resilience, and that is something even Lord Tywin respects. He knows I’m not someone who can be easily broken or swayed.”

A small, grateful smile touched her lips, but her expression turned pensive, her gaze drifting as though lost in thought. “I think… I think Jon will be angry,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost wistful. “Once he hears what the Lannisters have done to us—to you.”

The mention of Jon stirred something deep within you, a warmth mixed with a pang of longing. Memories of Winterfell, of Jon as a small boy with wide, curious eyes, came rushing back to you—the boy you had taken under your wing, who looked up to you with trust and affection. You had been more than a guardian to him; you had been a mother, a protector.

“Jon…” you echoed, a faint smile crossing your lips. “He would be furious, wouldn’t he?” You could almost picture it: Jon’s jaw set in that stubborn way of his, his eyes dark with determination. “He has always been fiercely protective.”

Sansa nodded, her expression softening with a hint of fondness. “He adored you. You were the one who took him in when no one else would… When Father brought him home, Mother was… angry, but you didn’t hesitate. You cared for him as though he was your own.”

You met her gaze, a touch of sadness in your smile. “Jon was never a stranger to me, Sansa. I didn’t see a bastard or a complication. I saw a child, one who needed love and guidance. Winterfell taught us loyalty, honor, and kindness. He deserved that, no matter what anyone else thought.”

Sansa’s eyes shimmered with emotion, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “He’ll be forever grateful for that. I think… I think he misses you as much as he misses Winterfell.”

The thought of Jon, alone somewhere in the world, perhaps at the Wall as Eddard had once intended, filled you with a longing you had long buried. “I hope he knows he was always loved,” you murmured, your voice thick with unspoken memories. “That no matter where he goes or who he becomes, he’ll always be a part of me… a part of our family.”

Sansa nodded, her expression softened by understanding. “If there’s anyone who taught him love and loyalty, it was you. He’s stronger because of it. And I think… one day, he’ll find his way back to us, somehow.”

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sounds of the garden enveloping you, as the unspoken connection between you—your shared love for the family you’d left behind—settled between you. You felt a renewed sense of purpose, a reminder that despite the path your life had taken, you still held onto the values of the North, onto the bond with those you loved.

Squeezing her hand, you offered her a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll hold onto that hope, Sansa. We’ll carry Winterfell with us, even here in King’s Landing. And together, we’ll survive whatever comes our way.”

Sansa’s smile held a glimmer of strength, her eyes bright with the quiet resilience she was beginning to rediscover. “Yes… we will.”

Jaime found Tyrion lounging comfortably in one of the lesser-used rooms of the Red Keep, a glass of wine in his hand and an amused expression on his face as he looked up, noting his brother’s approach.

“Tyrion,” Jaime greeted, taking a seat opposite him and reaching for a goblet of his own. He poured himself a drink, his gaze thoughtful as he swirled the wine. “You seem particularly cheerful today.”

Tyrion grinned, raising his goblet in a mock toast. “How can I not be? The prospect of our father producing little silver-haired Lannisters, complete with violet eyes, is amusing beyond measure.” He took a sip, smirking as he watched Jaime’s reaction. “Imagine—our own half-siblings, Targaryens by blood, yet Lannisters by name.”

Jaime chuckled, though there was a hint of unease beneath his mirth. “The image is almost absurd, isn’t it? To think of Father raising a child who resembles a Targaryen rather than himself.” He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But honestly, I’m more curious about how we managed to bring her here in the first place.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Oh? I thought she’d been brought directly to Harrenhal.”

Jaime leaned back, folding his arms as he watched Tyrion carefully. “Not exactly. According to the reports, she was intercepted by our men as she traveled south, near High Heart.”

Tyrion’s eyes sharpened, his gaze turning contemplative. “High Heart? That’s an unusual route… Avoiding the main roads, no doubt, to keep a low profile.” He took another sip of wine, his expression thoughtful. “Why would she be traveling alone, and so far from any known strongholds?”

Jaime shrugged, though his expression betrayed his curiosity. “That’s precisely what I was wondering. She’d been staying far from the usual paths, as though she knew someone might be tracking her. It was only a stroke of luck that our men happened upon her party in the first place.”

Tyrion tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his goblet, his mind working through the implications. “She must have known, then. Known that someone—either Father or one of his allies—would be looking for her. Perhaps she thought she could outrun us or evade our scouts by staying off the roads.”

Jaime tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Or perhaps she had her own purpose. High Heart is a place of old magic, or so the tales say. There’s talk of visions, of those who are touched by prophecy.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “Why would she go there?”

Tyrion’s smirk faded, replaced by genuine intrigue. “Perhaps she sought counsel,” he murmured, his voice almost to himself. “Some advice from those who can see beyond what the rest of us can.” He looked up, meeting Jaime’s gaze with newfound interest. “If she’s spent time at High Heart, she’s no mere play peace being moved at our father’s discretion. She’s gathering knowledge, perhaps even positioning herself.”

Jaime’s gaze was steady, contemplative. “If that’s the case, then Father might be in for more than he bargained for.” He looked down at his wine, his expression thoughtful. “She could be a more complex player in this game than he realizes.”

Tyrion chuckled softly, though there was an edge to his laughter. “It seems our new stepmother might have ambitions of her own, ones that extend beyond being Lady of House Lannister. Father may think he has her in hand, but the blood of House Targaryen is not easily tempered.”

Jaime nodded, his expression solemn. “True enough. But there’s something about this that doesn’t sit right with me, Tyrion. Father’s convinced that she’ll submit, that she’s a pawn willing to play her part. But if she was willing to risk the dangers of High Heart, of traveling alone… then perhaps she’s not as willing to be controlled as he believes.”

Tyrion’s smile returned, a touch of admiration flickering in his eyes. “Perhaps she has her own plans, then. Plans that might even rival Father’s. I must say, I find the idea rather… refreshing.” He tilted his goblet in Jaime’s direction. “To a stepmother who might keep even our dear father on his toes.”

Jaime raised his own goblet, a shadow of doubt lingering in his gaze. “To our Lady Y/N Lannister. May she prove as unpredictable as the storm she’s brought into our family.”

They clinked their goblets, the quiet clinking of glass a subtle acknowledgment of the complexity that had settled into their family, brought about by the union their father had so carefully engineered.

At Castle Black, the cold wind swept through the narrow corridors as Jon Snow made his way to Maester Aemon’s chambers, the sealed raven scroll clutched in his hand. The morning had dawned gray and bleak, and the chill in the air seemed sharper than usual, biting into his skin even through his cloak.

When he entered, he found Maester Aemon seated by the fire, his milky, sightless eyes gazing into the flames, as though he could see something far beyond them. Despite his blindness and frailty, the old maester held a dignity and presence that commanded respect. Jon cleared his throat gently, announcing his arrival.

“Jon,” Maester Aemon greeted, a soft smile creasing his ancient face. “Come, sit with me. I sense you have news from the realm.”

Jon approached, pulling out the small stool beside the maester and handing him the sealed scroll. “A raven came from the capital,” he said, his voice low, the words heavy in his mouth. “It’s… recent news.”

Aemon turned his head slightly toward him, reaching out his frail hand. “Good. Open it, if you will, and read it to me,” he instructed, his voice calm but eager.

Jon broke the seal, his eyes scanning the contents of the letter quickly, but the moment he reached the heart of the message, his breath caught. His eyes widened in disbelief, his heart pounding as he read and re-read the words before him. “No… it can’t be,” he murmured, anger and shock simmering beneath the surface.

“Jon?” Maester Aemon prompted gently, his brow creased in concern. “What is it? What news from King’s Landing?”

Jon’s voice was thick with restrained fury as he continued, his hands shaking slightly. “It says… that Lady Y/N Targaryen has been wed to Tywin Lannister.” He forced the words out, his voice tight. “She… she married him.”

Aemon was silent for a moment, his sightless eyes reflecting the light of the fire. Finally, he sighed, a sound laced with an old sorrow and a weary understanding. “Continue, Jon. There may be more,” he urged softly, though he clearly sensed the gravity of the news already.

Jon swallowed hard, glancing back at the letter, his anger simmering with each word. He continued, voice taut, “It says she was received in King’s Landing as Lady Y/N Lannister, to be seated beside Tywin at the high table. The realm… they call it a powerful alliance, one that will ensure House Lannister’s influence.” He nearly spat the words, his jaw clenched. “It’s… it’s disgusting.”

Maester Aemon sat in silence, absorbing Jon’s words, his face unreadable. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice heavy with understanding but also sadness. “Her destiny has been twisted to serve another’s ambition,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… I cannot say I am surprised.”

Jon looked up, frowning. “What do you mean, Maester?”

Aemon’s sightless eyes were distant, as though looking back through the years. “This… marriage is not the first time Tywin Lannister sought a union with her bloodline.” He sighed, his frail hand resting on the arm of his chair. “Many years ago, before Robert’s Rebellion, Tywin asked for her hand from King Aerys—to bring their houses together in alliance. Tywin saw strength, ambition, in her blood… but Aerys, in his madness, mocked the offer.”

Jon’s fists clenched, his voice tight with anger. “So that’s why she was sent away? Why she had to grow up in Winterfell, with no family of her own?” He shook his head, struggling to contain his rage. “And now they’ve… forced her into this. She doesn’t belong with them, with those—those Lannisters.” His voice was thick, barely restrained, a mixture of fury and protectiveness.

Aemon’s face softened, a trace of empathy crossing his ancient features. “Yes, Jon. That rejection sent ripples through the years. And now, fate has come full circle in a twisted way. Tywin has finally achieved what he sought back then, though in different form.”

Jon shook his head, his voice breaking slightly. “She was… she was like a mother to me, Maester. When no one else would, she cared for me, treated me like family. And now they’ve made her… into this.”

Aemon reached out, his hand trembling as he placed it over Jon’s clenched fist, his touch gentle, his voice filled with quiet strength. “Jon, remember… she is strong. Her blood is ancient, powerful. The blood of Old Valyria, of dragons. She has endured much already. Do not underestimate her strength, even in this.”

Jon’s gaze dropped, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t feel right. She shouldn’t be forced to endure… to be bound to someone like him. After all she’s done for me, for all of us.”

Aemon nodded slowly, his expression resigned but compassionate. “Life often forces us into roles we do not choose, Jon. It’s a truth I have learned over many long years.” He took a deep breath, his tone laced with sadness. “Perhaps this marriage is a fate she did not want, but remember this—she is more than that. Her strength is her own. She will endure, as she always has.”

Jon closed his eyes, his mind racing with memories of you, the woman who had shown him kindness when he’d been a child alone in Winterfell, the one who had offered him understanding when he felt like an outsider. The thought of you in King’s Landing, surrounded by the Lannisters, weighed on him like a stone.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “If they hurt her… if they make her suffer…”

Maester Aemon’s hand tightened slightly on his. “Jon, you must let her walk her own path. She has made her choices, and we can only hope she finds peace within them. Our duty here… remains with the Night’s Watch.”

Jon nodded slowly, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to accept the old maester’s words. “I know, Maester,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I know.”

And as he rose to leave, he couldn’t shake the image of you—strong, resilient, and yet so far from the place where you belonged. The thought stayed with him, a heavy burden he carried silently, as he walked back through the cold halls of Castle Black

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #house of the dragon #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got tywin #tywin lannister #tywin x reader #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #house lannister #house targaryen #legacy

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lucyrose191 · 1 year ago

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Could you do Toto Wolff with wife reader? She was frustrated about work and couldn't stop herself from rambling and Toto just shuts her up with a kiss. They get caught by the team and they tease them about it. Just something fluff and comfort. Add something to it if you'd like. Thanks!! :))

CAUGHT IN THE ACT| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

Warnings; fluff, teasing.

Authors note; This is short but I hope this is okay!

F1 Master List

You’d never felt such a strong urge to throw your laptop across the room and tell everyone to go and fuck themselves.

Groaning, you pulled at your hair in frustration, why stupid men thought they were able to do your job better than you were able to was beyond you but clearly they had it in their abnormally large heads that they had the skill set for quite literally everything but if that was the case then they wouldn’t be paying you to take care of their finances.

Too many times have you been questioned today as though you hadn’t studied religiously for years to do this job.

"Can you double check your numbers? They don’t look correct."

"This can’t be right, there’s no possible way we’re losing money."

"I need you to review this again, I added it up myself and I got a much larger annual profit figure."

No you can’t double check his numbers because you had checked them a million times before you had sent it off.

He was losing money because he can’t get off his arse and actually run his company instead of forcing the responsibilities on his poor employees that have no idea how to run a company.

And of course he got a different number! He didn’t take the mathematical degree to work out these numbers and had no idea what he was meant to be multiplying and what he was meant to be dividing.

You slammed your laptop closed and pulled yourself up from Toto’s desk and left his office, coincidentally finding him walking towards his office the moment you stepped past the doorway.

He immediately took notice of the disgruntled look on your face and shot you a look that was a mixture between worry and confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Just work," you grunted.

His face contorted into a look of understanding. "Tell me about it," he told you and you moved to lean against the wall, prompting him to stand in front of you.

"I just don’t know why people feel the need to question my ability to do my job today-"

As you ranted off all of your issues to him, Toto simply stood there with a content smile on his face, listening to you venting your frustrations.

He thought you were adorable when you were angry.

He loved the way your forehead creased with the furrow of your brows and the way you moved your hands as you vented and how you’d aggressively force your hair behind your ear when it got in your face.

"-then this man thought that the smart thing for him to do was to include each thing he wanted me to do in like seventeen different emails, who even does that? So then I had to go through each individual one and make a list instead of-"

Toto leaned forward, cupped your cheek and smashed his lips against yours, muffling the sound of surprise you released. It took you a moment to register what was happening but once you did, you didn’t hesitate in kissing him back.

You reached up and grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you, he hummed into the kiss and walked forward, pressing you into the wall before moving his hand from your cheek into your hair, holding you in place.

You channeled all of your frustrations into the kiss, his closeness making it easy for them to fade away and soon you found yourself only consumed by him and nothing else.

The pair of you were so wrapped up in each other in that moment that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching, only realising people heading your way until it was too late.

"Woah!" Lewis’ high pitched voice had you scrambling away from each other with flushed cheeks and messy hair.

You both turned towards him, only it wasn’t just him, he and George were with about five or six other people, all staring at the pair of you with smirks on their faces.

"Save it for the hotel room, guys." George teased causing the group to laugh as Toto cleared his throat uncomfortably and you looked to the floor in embarrassment at being caught.

"We apologise-" Toto started but was interrupted by a mechanic, Ross.

"Oh no, don’t apologise for the free show, boss. People normally have to pay good money for that, I’m not one to complain."

You cringed at his words as you looked up, taking note of how some people were glancing at the floor to try and hide their laughs whilst others didn’t even try.

"We don’t even blame you," James, one of the teams strategists continued. "YN is looking mighty fine today," he winked causing you to roll your eyes with a smile on your face, knowing it was all in good nature.

"James," Toto stated bluntly, causing James to turn to him. "Yes, boss?"

"Turn around," your husband told him, straight faced.

"Yes, boss," James nodded and turned around, walking back down the hallway.

"We can leave if you want to get back to-" Lewis offered, a cheeky smile on his face.

"That’s not necessary, Lewis, thank you." Toto cut him off.

He shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’.

"I mean- you could’ve at least took it inside the office." George wasn’t one to let the situation go.

"Yes we get it, George, ha ha," you shot him an unimpressed look which didn’t falter the shit eating grin on his face.

The teasing didn’t end there, it seemed that the group who found you and Toto were eager to tell the rest of the team, George even went as far as mentioning what he does when ‘Toto is busy eating his wife’s face off’ in an interview so the rest of the day was filled with subtle comments leaving you and Toto with permanent flushed cheeks.

You both took accepted the teams teasing with smiles on your faces though, happy that you both had managed to create a dynamic that left them comfortable to make jokes around you both.

#formula one x reader #f1 fanfiction #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x oc #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff fanfiction

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devoutekuna · 11 months ago

Text

Matching their father's energy

Includes- Toji, Sukuna, Nanami, Gojo, Geto

Sukuna-

Sukuna's daughter definitely inherited the mouth that can move all around her body, normally her father would use it to bite her whenever she was acting like a brat, and she took that upon herself to do the same, finally mastering the movement of the small mouth, always keeping it on the palm of her hand. Using it to her advantage as she bit anyone she found annoying, especially her father, even trying to sharpen the teeth inside of it so that it would hurt more, but her father didn't even notice that he had been bitten since it was so weak to him. "Did you feel that?" Grinning at him, as her head stuck into his eyesight. "Feel what?" Pushing her head out of his way, he hadn't even noticed that she had bitten it. A distraught look appearing on her face as she heard his question. "But I bit you!" Waving her hand in his face. "Didn't feel a thing" smirking at her as he put her on the floor.

Nanami-

"Thank you love" kissing your cheek as you handed him a coffee. He was sat reading a book at the kitchen table, his daughter sat opposite him,marrying to copy his actions, first by reading a book, staring at it despite not understanding a word it said, it was about finances so of course she didn't get it, even putting on someone's glasses she found. "Can I have one too mummy?" Talking about the coffee as she pointed at it.

"No, I'm not giving you a coffee" a small chuckle being heard as he peered over his book, trying to cover it up with a cough. "Why not!?" Acting shocked as if she hadn't been told repeatedly that she wasn't to have caffeine. "Cause I said so." Defending your point and you poured yourself a cup, gloating in her face. "But dad gets one" mumbling under her breath as she slouched In her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Geto-

His daughter has seen him countlessly swallow the balls full of curses, watching her father's disgust appear as he washed it away and put on a smile for him daughter, later she had found out about the minty flavour of chewing gum, always going to the shop to buy some with you. Soon enough she wanted to try do what he was doing, finding a small button in the house and shoving it down her throat only to choke on it and fortunately he was there to save her, even though it ended in tears, she still tried again but with bigger objects.

Gojo-

Gojo has a thing for eating big meals, so when his son was born, he wasn't surprised that he had a big appetite just like him. Scoffing down nearly a full tub of ice-cream, it was 2am and Satoru had just woken up for a drink, walking into the kitchen only to find his 3 year old with a spoon in his mouth and a half empty tub of vanilla ice-cream, sat on the tile flooring. "Hi daddy" smiling at the man as he rook the spoon out of his mouth, going in for another spoonful before realising how rude it was not to offer some. Hand stuck out with a spoon attached to it. "Want some?" Oblivious to the fact that he had just eaten half a tub. Scratching his bare stomach as he wore only sweatpants, pondering if he should take the offer. "I'm good" patting the girl's head as he walked towards the fridge.

Toji-

He has a thing for killing people, that's why he was an assassin fortunately your daughter didn't know how to kill nor use her cursed technique. For her birthday she had been begging for a bat after seeing a group of kids playing with one.

"Hiyahh!" Hitting the man with the wooden bat, you didn't understand why she needed a wooden one and not a plastic one, but then again, it was the same bat that a professional baseball player used. "Go away",grabbing the bag and bringing it to his face. "Go use your ball if you want to use this" he didn't understand why she didn't use the ball that came with it, instead trying to smash up anything in her path, though it was normally just cushions.

#geto fluff #gojo fluff #nanami fluff #sukuna fluff #toji fluff #geto x reader #gojo x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader #nanami x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #sukuna ryomen #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader #jjk #𝙳𝚎𝚟��𝚞𝚝𝚎𝙺𝚞𝚗𝚊

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metamorphesque · 1 month ago

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I've yet again reached a low point in my life. I'm in my 30s currently 4 months unemployed, I have a bachelor's degree in lets's say something like linguistics and an associate's degree in IT. Years ago I left my master's degree unfinished because of an impulsive decision. Now in the middle of 30s I'm back at finishing my master's degree (have 4 exams left and the thesis). I can't get a job with my degree in "linguistics" because it's already not a profitable degree and I've made my situation worse by never finishing my master's degree. The college I went to get my IT degree was already bad (at least the government financed it) and because of mental health none of the knowledge I gained there stuck in my brain. I also have too few and limited experiences with working in IT (I only worked in IT support). And I'm so anxious and banging my head against the wall for making soooo many stupid decisions in my life.

Dear anon, my heart broke when I read your message because I see so much of myself in your words. It’s tough to carry the weight of past decisions and feel stuck in the aftermath, but please don’t be so harsh on yourself. Decisions often seem “stupid” only in hindsight, when we’re armed with the knowledge and experience we didn’t have back then. You did the best you could with what you knew at the time.

Instead of drowning in regret, let’s look at what you can do now to improve your situation. You have a linguistics degree — have you thought about becoming an English teacher or tutor? It can actually be quite profitable. You can get a TESOL or TEFL certificate online, and some people even teach without formal education. Once you’re certified, you can apply to language schools — many operate online, including foreign ones (if you're a native English speaker, they'll accept you in a heartbeat). Another option is to build a social media presence, on Instagram (for example), where you can share language tips and lessons and attract potential students. I've seen plenty of English tutors make good money doing this, and it gives you the freedom to work from anywhere. It might be worth looking into.

If you’re more inclined toward IT, there are many different online courses from reputable universities on platforms like Coursera and EdX. Getting accredited certificates can enhance your chances of getting a job (and useful knowledge in your chosen field), and many companies value hands-on skills and certifications just as much as formal degrees.

Please don’t let desperation cloud your vision. There’s always a way out, but you mustn't let regret hold you back. Learn from your past, but don’t live there. A mistake only turns into regret if we refuse to learn from it. I truly hope you find your path and build a future that makes you proud. Take care of yourself. I wish you all the best, dear anon🌻

#asks

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satyricplotter · 2 months ago

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kori x reader x dick 🤨🤨???!!!!!!!!? 🤲🤲🤲🤲 pls give it to me

here u go boss 🫡🫡

pairing: dick grayson x koriand'r x reader word count: 3k wtf rating: explicit warnings and tags: mentioned human trafficking ring + sleazy men involved appear briefly, misogyny from said men, drugs mentioned, reader is kept gender neutral but they have a pussy and i mention a chest spilling over, kori tops reader 👍, implied established polyamorous relationship notes: this got out of my hands like five times and if i didn't cut it there idk where it would've ended up. i also wrote a whole backstory for kori and reader that didnt make the cut jfshafdjs

Dick comes home late that night from work.

A hard day at work, if he does say so himself, though pushing around papers is hardly what anyone at the tower would call difficult. No, what's hard is all the posturing, the pretending Dick has to do in order not to blow his cover. He and his team have spent the last month infiltrating a company seemingly involved in a human trafficking ring, trying to dig up evidence on the men financing it. Dick's background means he's gotten stuck playing the part of young master trying his hand at accruing his own wealth through fast, if unsavory, methods, which means he's the one dealing most closely with the possible culprits. They seem to like him so far (eugh), and they're not shy about their exploits, which means the team's on the right track. But it also means that every night he clocks out, when the smoke of the cigars burns his throat and their booming laughter grates in his ears so badly he can feel it in his teeth, he can't help but wish someone had invented decontamination showers for after wading through moral filth.

They hoot and laugh when he gives his excuses, holler about him being pussy-whipped and won't he let them take that little foreign model of his for a ride, and Dick has to throw his head back and laugh instead of crushing their windpipe in his hand. He imagines it vividly, however, and that makes his fake glee a little sharper. Perhaps this is what does it.

"As if I'd ever let you lay a hand on my woman, Stevie," he snorts, and for once he means something he says within these walls. "I can tell you've got a heavy one."

"Damn right he does!" Someone laughs.

"I wouldn't do that with yours," Stevie insists, a little too brightly. Whatever they'd been snorting in the bathroom earlier is running his course through him. "I can tell she's good quality—a real T10. Not like the others."

Dick tilts his head, seemingly confused. T10—that's code. Tier 10s are the people they sell at the closed auctions for the elite. The man next to Stevie shoves him at the shoulder, displeased, and Stevie half sobers. Dick raises an eyebrow at the man—Fred is his name, he thinks.

"You know Stevie," Fred says, winding an arm around Stevie's neck and pressing his face to his shoulder. Stevie coughs, but if the mild asphyxiation bothers him, he doesn't make any other sound. The atmosphere's a little gelid now. "Can't trust what he says."

"Mm. That's still my wife he's going off about," Dick says coldly. That seems like the move. Fred's sizing him up.

"Of course." Fred smiles widely. His teeth are perfect. He grabs the back of Stevie's head and pulls it up so he's looking up at Dick, pupils blown wide. Dick can only hope he doesn't pee his pants. The day's been long enough. "You wanna say sorry, Steve?"

"S'rry," Stevie slurs.

Dick rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Keep him in check."

He turns to leave, not hiding this time how miffed he is as he gathers his jacket from the valet, and has almost given up on this interaction when Fred calls his name. Dick looks over his shoulder, impatient.

"You should stick around after work tomorrow," Fred says pleasantly. Eyes carefully bland. "Stevie and I will show you a little something to make up for today, yeah?"

Gotcha.

Dick shrugs, appeased. "Sure thing," he says, and books it back home.

Doing undercover work has a few upsides. The first of which is he doesn't run into anybody as he makes his way to the high rise apartment he's been leasing for him and Kori. The penthouse takes the whole floor, and nobody stays there past six on Dick's orders, so he doesn't have to worry about dropping his suit jacket on the floor, hanging his tie from a sconce as he goes. His dress shoes end up somewhere behind him, each in different places, and he's rolling up his sleeves, unbuttoning his shirt as he rounds the corner to the kitchen. Hanging out with these dudes always makes him feel filthy, and he can't wait to make use of the massive bathtub in the master bathroom. Second upside.

Here's the third:

Kori looks up at him, a beautiful, broad smile breaking on her face. "Hi, baby!"

She's dressed very prettily today. Her thick mane of fiery hair is gathered high in a pony, the visor she'd been wearing earlier in the morning nowhere to be seen. She'd switched the polo for a tank top that Dick eyes appreciatively for how low it sits on her chest, but she'd kept her tennis skirt and high socks on. The skirt, a beautiful baby pink, is pulled up enough by the movement of her hips that Dick can see the the straps of her harness peeking under the fabric. Pink to match.

You, in contrast, are wearing nothing. Bent over the kitchen island, hands clawing at the other edge, your face contorts in a dry sob as Kori drives her hips into yours, relentless. Dick can tell you've been at this for a while. Kori smooths a hand over your lower back, happily loving, and you make the weak effort to pull yourself to your elbows. This regales Dick with a glimpse of your chest, spilling over the marble and covered in little bruises. Experience means he can picture Kori pressing her glossy mouth to your skin, your brows knotting as she sucks, how you cradle her head in your arms like she's something precious. He imagines you held her there against you, trying to keep her entertained until Kori's patience ran out and she abandoned diner for a bite of you.

Dick admires the vision the two of you make, watching Kori bend over your body to press a kiss to your shoulder and then bite down over the same spot. The jostling must make the strap go deeper because you keen and kick your legs a little. Kori laughs, pets your hair, turns her face to Dick with a mischievous grin in her face. Dick's heart flutters a storm.

"Pretty, right?" She says proudly.

"Kori," you gasp, bending your arm back to grab at her. Kori grips your hand in hers, presses a kiss against it. "Ko—ah! Kori!"

Kori nuzzles against your neck. "More?"

Dick thinks it's quite the opposite—you look so spent—but then, like always, you go against his expectations. You nod, once, twice, in quick succession, altogether too desperately for someone who Dick is sure has to have come at least three times so far tonight. His mouth feels dry. Kori smiles again, and straightens up. She grips your hips, lithe fingers digging into the fat at your sides, and pulls out almost entirely. The strap is big, Starfire purple glossy with your slick. Kori smirks down at your lower back and slams back in. You cry out, head lolling down. Dick wants—wants to be there, to bite the flesh that spills over between them, wants to kiss Kori's knuckles, wants to join the both of you.

So he does. That's the easy thing about this. After all the hardship, he gets to join you.

He finishes unbuttoning his shirt but doesn't remove it. You like to take it off yourself, he remembers, though he doubts you'll have the strength. He walks over to Kori's side, heat simmering low in his belly. She perks up when she sees him approach, already leaning over you when he gets to her. Dick grins into the welcome kiss, taking Kori's face in his and licking into her mouth. Kori's response is immediate and enthusiastic, almost forceful—happy to see him. Happy to be with him. Dick's heart hammers in his chest. She makes him feel like a boy.

He tilts Kori's head back, fingers slotting under her jaw. Kori opens up with little resistance, going easy and pliant. Long gone is the taste of her lipstick, and instead all that remains is the familiar taste of Kori, a drink he would walk a desert for, and underneath, just a little bit of you. Dick chases the fading hint of your presence, the salt of your skin, the sweetness of your mouth, not to replace it with his own but to greet it. He is, perhaps, a little too forceful, but Kori moans when a hint of teeth makes its presence, and Dick likes the sound so much he feels his control slipping, trying desperately to be close, closer—

You whine beneath them. Kori hasn't exactly stopped, but the pace's all over the place and you clearly resent it. Dick breaks the kiss, forehead against Kori's, and they both chuckle. Glancing down, he sees you try to fuck yourself back onto the strap.

"That's hot," he says, voice thick.

Kori laughs, slaps him on the shoulder. "You're being a distraction."

"Sorry," he says, charming smile dancing in his face. "Let me watch?"

This close, the view is certainly engaging. Kori puts in a bit of flair for his benefit, drawing back a little so he can see the way her strap splits you apart. Dick holds up her skirt, peers down as she rocks into you in shallow, quick bursts. You're obscenely wet, folds glistening and fluttering around her. You hang your head down, a litany of Kori, Kori spilling out your mouth. The sticky film of your release webs over the strap as she pulls out and Dick knows Kori hasn't pulled out entirely since she first slid into you. If she didn't start fucking you here, then she must've carried you over here, the one place in the whole apartment where she could bend you over and have you teetering on your tiptoes. The strain on your legs means he'll have to massage them later and he feels himself throb with the thought of his hands on you.

Watching is a treat. Listening is almost better. You're never loud, at the beginning. All this began in shadowed corners and far off alcoves, hiding first from each other and then from everyone else. You're accustomed to reeling it in, not showing a reaction—the first few months of your relationship consisted of heated glances, passing brushes, and wandering hands under tables. Perhaps Dick and Kori did you a disservice, pulling you against shelves and pressing a hand over your mouth, enjoying far too much the way your eyes rolled back when your moans melted against their skin.

But if they work you enough, you stop caring. You let out your voice like you're doing now, a litany of delirious thought broken by choked moaning. He likes this about you, the way you always want to respond, to show that you're present. You fight so hard to be here with them. Kori shuffles on her feet, thinks better of it, and reaches down to grab one of your calves and fold your leg over the counter. You're halfway to falling, knuckles tight gripping onto the edge, and this new angle opens you up marvelously. Dick is hard as a rock and has to palm himself over his slacks not to lose it. He wants to taste. He wants to be inside you. He can barely form a thought.

You sob. It's real tears now. He feels lightheaded.

Kori presses deep and then goes almost all the way out, teasing. The flesh of your ass bounces when she thrusts back in, chasing you off the counter. Dick watches it jiggle, throbs in his pants. He reaches out, big hand splayed over a cheek, careful that his watch doesn't nick at your skin. Hm. Spreads you open a little more. His thumb rubs a little at your entrance, but Kori growls at him for butting in, and Dick moves his finger upward, to the little pucker there. You don't do this often, preferring to take them by turns, but he thinks…

He circles the rim, and then presses in. Just a little.

"Ah—!" You gasp, head thrown back. "Wait—ah!"

Mm. Dick thinks, throat thick with hunger. Maybe later.

"You said you were only going to watch," Kori chides. Might as well have told him to wait his turn.

Dick rolls his eyes, but acquiesces. Removes his thumb from your ass, not without a little squeeze, kisses Kori in the cheek and rounds the corner to the other side of the island.

You're holding on for dear life. Someone had the sense to take the spoon jar out of the way, but with the kitchen island empty, you have very little in which to find purchase. Dick approaches you slowly, carefully, so as not to spook you. He knows you're probably not all there right now. He settles in front of you, a move he imagines only seems to you as a shadow falling over you. You lift your head up, blinking out tears. This close he can see how wrecked you are. He moves into your space, cradling your face in his hands.

"Dick?" You croak. Your eyelashes stick together. Your cheeks are hot under his hands.

"Hello, sweetheart," he says.

"You're home," you say, moving as if to reach for him, but afraid to fall.

"I am," he hums. A wave of overwhelming affection passes over him. "Do you want a kiss?"

You nod obediently. Dick moves to kiss you, sweet and languid. You open up to him just as easily as Kori did, and Dick wonders at his luck, but he doesn't push you. He pulls back, strokes his thumbs over your cheeks. You close your eyes, and he presses a kiss to your eyelids, to your forehead, tilts your face and another to your cheek. You take his sweetness with a little gasp, and then return to search for his mouth.

The kiss lasts only a little, as you slip and have to grab onto his shoulders not to crash against the marble. Dick settles you against his chest, angles you so Kori can ram into you the way she likes it. Kori's really into it now, eyes closed, brows knotted. You grasp onto the front of his shirt, hide your face in the juncture of his neck. My sweet angel, he thinks, and kisses the top of your hair.

"You like it when Kori fucks you?" He asks, a whisper at your ear. Kori can probably hear, but he keeps his voice low anyway. You whine into his neck. Dick smooths a hand over the back of your hair. "You like it?"

"I— nhg—do," you struggle.

"It's good?" He strokes your temple. "Kori's cock is good, huh?"

You nod. "S'good." Your brow furrows, but there's a worrisome quality to it.

"Yeah?" Dick prompts.

"You—fuck, nh—you wanna…?" You trail off, but it's clear you're offering him to go next with Kori. Dick smiles, almost giggles. It's so like you to offer.

"I wanna see you cum," he says. The way you shiver against him tells him not only how you feel about that, but also that you're close. He rests his hand at your nape, holds you in place. "Want you in my arms, wanna feel you spasm against me. You look so good like this, do you know? I bet you feel amazing. Can't wait to be inside you."

"Want you too," you pant, legs spreading open just a little more. Like you'd take him too if he wanted to slip it in. Dick manages not to hump the island, but it's a very near thing. He has to kiss you, though. It's a sloppy kiss, a wet slide of mouths that turns into Dick swallowing the pretty sounds you make.

"You're gonna cum for me, right?" He says, petting your hair. He feels you tense in his arms, sees Kori piston into you in response. "You're gonna cum for me so I can taste it?"

"Dick, Dick—," you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm gonna—Kori, I'm—"

You come with a little whimper, a garbled mix of both their names in your mouth. Kori fucks you through it, while Dick smooths a hand down your back and presses kisses against your forehead. Enviable teamwork. Slowly, he feels your breath even out, and you pull yourself up and off him just a little. Coming back to yourself. Dick still hovers. You almost slump back against him when Kori finally, finally slips out of you.

"Good?" He says, stroking your shoulder. You nod. He smirks as he helps you cross your legs over to this side of the island. "Started early today, huh?"

"You were late," you say peevishly, taking care not to fall. "Are you gonna take a bath now?"

"What a polite way to say I smell."

"You do," Kori says, bouncing over to your side. You open your arms automatically, and she nuzzles against you like a happy kitten.

She hasn't taken the harness off, so it's a little funny. The hem of her skirt is wet with your release, which is a little less funny. In fact, seeing the two of you kiss, so sweet and pretty, the less funny it all feels. He's still so fucking hard in his pants he's a little surprised there isn't a wet spot through his boxers. He sticks to your other side, trades a few kisses with you and Kori and you again.

When his hand sneaks towards your clit, you part with Kori and smack his hand in irritation. "Let me catch my breath, won't you?"

"You said you'd let me taste you," he complains.

"You can have a taste," Kori says, pointing down at the strap hanging from her harness, still covered in your cum. The three of you share a look.

You cross your legs expectantly. Dick swallows.

"Guess the bath will take a little longer."

He sinks to his knees.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #koriand'r x reader #koriand'r x you #dc imagine #satplotdb #sp. ask

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legendofbernkastel · 2 months ago

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Mastering Debt Management: The Key to Financial Freedom

Introduction Mastering Debt Management: Debt can be a significant obstacle to achieving financial freedom. Whether it’s credit card debt, student loans, or a mortgage, managing debt effectively is crucial for financial success. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore powerful strategies to master debt management, regain control of your finances, and pave the way to financial independence.

Understanding Different Types of Debt:

#Mastering debt management #Debt management #Financial freedom #Debt repayment strategies #Credit card debt #Debt consolidation #Budgeting tips #Emergency fund #Financial planning #Master Your Finances course #Debt-free living

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merlyn-bane · 6 months ago

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Codywan Cuddling

I heard my friend @dontbelasagnax wasn't feeling good tonight so I asked her if I could write her a little drabble or something and she asked for Codywan cuddling. Lo! I have returned with approximately 550 words of Codywan having a nice domestic evening in when Cody isn't feeling too good himself featuring cuddling, the Galactic Public Broadcasting Service, and lineage soup recipes as a love language <3 Ficlet under the cut.

Obi-Wan had known that his poor former commander wasn't feeling well when he left that morning for a day of tedious–but necessary–Council meetings. Cody had already had a low-grade fever if the back of Obi-Wan's hand was any gauge, and the way he'd squinted against even the low light of their bedroom had spoken to at least the beginnings of a headache. But he'd insisted that he would be okay and that Obi-Wan should attend to his duties, and the Order's finances were certainly important if not necessarily glamorous, and so Obi-Wan had gone–after securing his partner's promise to rest.

He's quiet as he lets themselves into their quarters, careful not to let the door slam against its frame the way it's become wont to do in recent years in case Cody's migrated to the main room since he left. From the glow of the holoscreen, it seems likely. "Codylove?"

"On the sofa," Cody rasps, holding up one hand in a sort of half-wave over the back of the couch, and Obi-Wan softens even further with sympathy. He sets his armload down on the counter carefully and starts unpacking it.

"I picked up latemeal for us from the refectory, darling."

An inquisitive head pops up over the back of the couch like a grass weasel, clearly interested in whatever Obi-Wan has to offer. It makes Obi-Wan smile, even as he notes that Cody is still squinting and privately wonders just what–if anything–he's managed to eat today.

"What'd they have today?"

"Grandmaster Yoda's specialty, rootleaf stew." Obi-Wan carefully brings the two flimsifoam soup containers and a couple of spoons around to the living area, chuckling softly as he sees Cody's nose scrunch up rather adorably. "I promise it's not as bad as it sounds, my darling. And there's nothing better for chasing away a bug, believe you me." The Jedi's eyes crinkle at the corners with humor. "And best not tell Master Yoda that I snuck enough red sauce in yours to down a krayt dragon while his back was turned."

"I love you," Cody breathes out, all relief, and Obi-Wan deposits the soup containers on the caf table in front of the sofa before Cody can inevitably ensnare him around the waist and drag him back into the (wonderful) cage of his arms. He manages just in time and of course puts up no resistance, going lax in Cody's secure hold as a nose buries itself in his hair.

"I love you too, my darling, but I'm afraid we cannot actually eat the soup in this position." Cody grunts, making absolutely no effort to actually move anywhere, and Obi-Wan laughs softly before using the Force to draw the remote to himself. "Very well then. Shall we see what's playing on GPBS?"

"Alderaan Outdoors," Cody murmurs into his hair. "It's not as much fun to watch without special Kenobi Commentary."

Warmth blooms in Obi-Wan's chest at the light, unbearably fond teasing. Cody tends to have that affect on him. He takes one of Cody's hands in both of his own and brings it up to press a whiskery kiss to his palm. "Alderaan Outdoors it is, commentary and all."

"Then soup."

"Yes, darling. Then soup."

#gifts for moots #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #i guess this counts as sickfic?#he's only a little under the weather tho #and he's being taken very good care of

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cioud-berries · 5 months ago

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Mutual Benefit || Chapter 1

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Hello all! This is my first ever time posting a fanfic on tumblr so I apologize if things are not formatted correctly! If you have any questions or thoughts feel free to reach out to me!!

Summery:

Posts season 2: Spoiler warning!! Being forced into an arranged marriage, [Name] tried her hardest with her unreceptive husband Salo. After his death, she was forced to replace his council position, trying to figure out who she was as a person. Sevika never expected to get anywhere close to the council, let alone join them. As the stigma around people from Zaun still stood, she struggled to gain the respect from her new fellow councillors. With so many differences how could the two really help one another?

Category:

Sevika x Female Reader || 18+ themes

Chapter Warnings:

Season 2 Spoilers, Toxic relationship (with salo), Mostly a Salo x reader but that ends after this chapter

Word count: 2,411

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Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

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Arranged marriage. Such a depressing concept. Being sold for the benefit of others. The best outcome, you find love and are content with your life. Worst case scenario: you spend the rest of your life with someone you absolutely despise.

[Name] was sadly subjected to such a fate. After the civil war in her country ended, she was immediately shipped off to an unfamiliar country. Being the only female to survive, it was her ‘duty’. This would allow her country to obtain the resources needed to rebuild.

She was to marry Councillor member Salo in Piltover. To both her happiness and dismay, he too did not want this kind of arrangement. He was the head of his own clan in Piltover. His many advisors pushed him to agree to this.

Next thing they both knew, they were shoved in a room alone, left to get to know each other in such awkward circumstances. Things were silent between the two for a long time as Salo downed one glass of wine after another.

Finally, Salo was the first to speak. Asking the random question “Do you like the theatre?” He was only met with a hesitant nod. He chuckled with a small smile. “Things might work out.”

She walked down the aisle to marry the man she had only spoken a few words to. They both made it very clear how unhappy they were in the situation. Thankfully, they weren’t forced to engage with one another after the ceremony, separating from one another immediately.

They spend most of their time together watching performances, whispering back and forth their thoughts. After a few months, their relationship had turned into a friendship of some sort. Respecting one another while acknowledging that neither one of them wanted to be there.

For the most part he was bearable. Taking care of any finances she needed. He bought her a separate apartment, so she could live separately. Invited her to any party that was being held. Allowed her to have her own separate life if she wished.

She quickly fit into the higher society in Piltover, making friends with his fellow council members, often confiding to them about her current marital status. They didn’t have much to say, not having been in that situation.

He too had his own life. Finding love and physical intimacy outside of their marriage. She could care less. What she did care about is that he wouldn’t allow her the same freedom. “Something like that could ruin my reputation.” He lazily told her. She was beyond furious, yet couldn’t bring herself to defy his demand.

It didn’t take too long for Salo’s clan advisors to question the lack of heir. She of course agreed to it, but hated every second of it. She knew she was more attracted to women than men, but that moment had completely confirmed that she had no attraction to men.

He left her right after, not wanting to do anything else. She laid in her bed alone, crying and she hated the feeling of being left alone after having to be so vulnerable. She could only hope that it did the job and they would never have to interact in such a way again.

Thankfully, nine months later, she gave birth to their daughter Sasha. Salo seemed different with Sasha. She thought that Salo wouldn’t be a caring father, but to her surprise, he was for the beginning.

Sasha for the most part lived at [Name]’s apartment. Salo visited often until she was about three years old. [Name] realized their daughter needed to have both parents in one household to be raised properly.

Salo complained a lot about it, not wanting to live there. But the second he saw his daughter, his demeanor completely changed. In Sasha’s eye’s, they were a happy loving family. But things were so far from that. Salo often spent his nights elsewhere, always being back before breakfast.

There were sometimes happy moments in the home, making [Name] almost believing that this life was a happy one. Listening to music, they would sometimes dance in the living room, their daughter joining in, turning into them both dancing with her.

Most of the time, they fought, yelling back and forth about meaningless things. This made them realize that the only reason their relationship had worked for the past few years was because they were apart and there was no relationship.

Salo started coming to the house less and less, preferring the comfort of his theater and other women. He was completely moved out by the time that Sasha was six. [Name] had to start searching him out with their child in her arms, just so she didn’t have to explain why her father didn’t want to be around.

Her daughter was everything to her. Truthfully, the only good thing in her life. She despised Salo for making Sasha cry for his absence. When he did spend time with his daughter, everything was perfect. But those moments were fleeting.

At some point, [Name] began praying that something would happen to Salo. Some real excuse for why he couldn’t be around more often. When the explosion racked through Piltover, she ran over to the window, seeing the council room collapsing to the ground.

She hated to admit that her heart clenched in excitement. The only way she could get out of the marriage was if he died, and she wished that it was true. Dropping Sasha off at a neighbors, she ran as fast as she could to the building in nothing but her nightgown and robes, not even a shoe on her feet.

Arriving at the building, the guards immediately let her through, knowing who she was. Ambess, the mother of councilor Mel, led her to the victims. There were a few bodies covered with a white cloth.

Walking up to the dead bodies, she prayed to the Gods above to be free. Before she could view any of the dead, she heard her name be called out. She turned to see her husband laying in a cot, reaching out to her as he sobbed.

“My wife.” He called in a cry. “My legs-”

When she approached, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling her close enough to wrap his arms around her upper thighs and cry into them. He grieved over the loss of his mobility. It reminded her of the way her daughter would cry over the loss of her father that wasn’t even dead. The father that was merely down the street that could take an hour out of his day to play with his daughter.

[Name] felt no sympathy and wished the ruble had landed on his head instead. Yet she said nothing, she did nothing, letting him sob into her nightgown.

He finally moved back into her house. But not because he wanted to, but because he needed to. Being his wife, [Name] had to take care of him. ‘In sickness and in health’ was really testing her patience.

He was harder to take care of than Sasha, a literal child. Sasha was excited to have her father back, often jumping on him without realizing it hurt him. He would yell at her, pushing her off the wheelchair. Feeling rejected by her father, she would cry. [Name] was stuck with having to come up with a good excuse for his actions to make her feel better.

He was demanding. He was rude. He was hateful. But worst of all he was ungrateful. The only joy in her days was when Ambessa would come to take him to the council meetings and [Name] finally got to have alone time with her daughter.

Salo would come back from these meetings talking about war. Thankfully Sasha would already be in bed by this point so she could let her facade down. He wanted to wage a full fledged attack on the people of Zaun. She disagreed with him deeply, knowing the outcomes of the civil war.

“What do you know about war?” He spat at her without thinking.

She dropped the plate she was cleaning from dinner it shattered on impact with the ground. Snapping around at him she gave the most hateful look. He was stunned, never seeing that kind of expression on her before. “Ask my dead sister and brother.”

Stepping over the glass, she walked past Salo in his wheelchair, heading to her room. He called out to her, demanding she came back and at least helped him into bed. She was beyond thankful that her daughter was such a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t wake up to his pathetic cries.

After a while he stopped, and when she woke up, he was gone, living back at the theater. She was determined to never see him again. But after too many days off Sasha crying over her missing father, she finally caved.

Out front of his door, she told Sasha to wait there for a moment before entering into his private suite without knocking. He laid on the couch as a woman painted purple liquid onto his legs. They both jumped, startled at her entrance.

She didn’t even flinch at the sight. “Get dressed. Your daughter wants to see you.” Her tone was harsh and left no room for defiance from him. The woman swiftly packed her things, which Salo clearly didn’t agree with, grabbing her arm and forcing her to stay.

“She can come see me later, I’m in the middle of something.” He harshly replied back to his wife.

“No she can’t.” [Name] Said with finality, looking at the woman in hopes that she could convince Salo.

The woman ripped her wrist out of his grasp, hiding her face into her scarf. “I was done anyways.” She told Salo, before walking around the couch.

Y/N followed her out, going to grab Sasha and give him time to get dressed. She whispered a quiet “Thank you.” To the woman for helping her. The woman only gave a slight nod before walking off.

Sasha ran to her father, excited to see him. She rambled on about what happened the past few months that he was absent. He barely paid attention to her, replying vaguely while looking at the ceiling.

It didn’t take her long before she got tired from all of her excitement and fell asleep on the couch beside him. [Name] was quick to pick her up and head for the door. Before reaching the exit, Salo called out to her again.

She hesitated, stopping to listen to what he had to say. Deep down she wished it would be an apology. “I am going to get my legs fixed. Lest told me about a miracle worker in the undercity. I want you to take me.” He told.

“You can find your own way down there.” She mumbled, leaving him alone in his apartment.

Those were the last words she ever spoke to her husband. He had disappeared without a trace. Sasha was devastated to hear about her missing father. With her new found hope, [Name] comforted her daughter.

It wasn’t until Jayce came to her, confirming her prayers, admitting that he had murdered Salo. She had always liked Jayce, thinking that he was a bright mind and the personification of Piltover. He was distraught, not knowing how to tell a wife and child that he was the reason that their family was broken.

[Name] had cried, but not out of sadness, out of relief. Hugging him, she told him “Thank you.” He was shocked and didn’t understand why she would be thanking him for everything. Not knowing how to react, he only awkwardly mumbled “Your welcome?”

With the confirmation of Salo’s death, the next course of action was getting out of Piltover as quickly as possible, not wanting to experience another civil war. Boarding an airship with Sasha she went home.

Leaning off the edge of the airship, she played with her wedding ring. After everything that had happened with Salo, she still kept it on. With a deep, happy sigh, she took the ring off, and with as much power as she could muster, she threw it off the side of the airship watching it fall towards the ocean.

She smiled brightly. Finally free. [Name] looked down next to her to see Sasha sitting at her feet. She was sad of course, she had lost her father, but [Name] wanted to celebrate. Picking Sasha up, she twirled around, kissing Sasha all over her face. After putting Sasha back down, she cupped Sasha’s face, looking her in the eyes she promised. “Everything will be okay. I love you so much, you are my world, never forget that.”

Sasha nodded in response, smiling for the first time in weeks, hugging her mother.

The two spent time in her home nation for a few months. It was good for Sasha to be with her cousins that were around her age. And it was good for [Name] to be around a caring family.

She celebrated Salo’s death with her brother and sister in law many nights. They would crack open a bottle of wine and throw insults at him as they slowly emptied the bottle. By the end of the night they’d be screaming at the top of their lungs “Good riddance!”

While she thought she escaped Piltover, she was berated by letter after letter from Salo’s clan. They demanded she return to Piltover with their heir. They often brought up the contract that was created in their marriage pact, saying it was her ‘duty’.

They told her how she needed to be the stand in for Salo until Sasha came of age to take over. She couldn’t understand why they couldn’t just choose some other clan member to be head. Plus, she could never see her daughter becoming the head of a clan she knew nothing about. Salo taught her nothing, nor prepared her for the position.

After about a hundred letters, she caved. The clan didn’t want to lose the position of power they had in the council. Learning about the new government that has been formed, she was pushed to become a council member.

Sasha was devastated to leave her family that she grew so close to in the short amount of time that she was there. All [Name] could do was promise that she was going to build Sasha a better future in the new position.

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Mutual Benefit Master List || Next Chapter ->

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Overall Masterlist

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#arcane #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane s2 #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #sevika arcane #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn arcane #salo arcane #salo

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 11 days ago

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Comfort Zone--A 'Roll for Initiative' Blurb

I was texting @hoodharlow about Joe and Reader. And then I saw a reel of a couple doing a lego date night. And well, the rest sort of became this blurb.

Series Masterlist | Joe Burrow Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Joe did it to himself.

With you having to do a retake--though you’d gotten a good grade on the re-do for your finance assignment with Joe’s help, the midterm exam still tanked your grade--Joe knew you’d be home working. Your concerns about the finance professor did make their way up the chain, to the Dean, which you had to make an appointment to go speak with. Joe insisted on being there, a show of “moral and bicep support”. Joe’s distaste for the professor’s actions were clear. And you wondered, by the tic in his Joe the entire time he was present on campus, if Joe hoped to run into the professor. If moral support was akin to something more than just sitting outside the Dean’s office.

But Joe did it to himself.

When he agreed to the party, knowing you would still be at home. The retake pushed back your original plans, leaving you to be in courses during the height of the off season. But you couldn’t push off this assignment--the second half to the big paper in your master’s capstone course. The class really for all the marbles in a way--building upon everything you’d been doing in all your classes previously. The last course for you to graduate.

There’s no way you’d risk it. Not even for Joe.

Your phone shakes against the coffee table and you finish the sentence you’re on, fingers tapping and tapping away until you get to the end of the thought before you stretch out for the device.

I need you to call me in 30. I am on a -100/10 on the social battery. Besides, this party is lame without you threatening to dance on tables.

This is not the first time you’ve gotten a text like this from Joe and you doubt it will be the last time you get it. But it’s rather reassuring to know that he trusts you enough to bail him out of social situations. That he knows if he ever needed rescuing, you’d be the first one to his aid. You set a timer but don’t bother replying besides giving the message a thumbs up.

By the time you dig out the source you need and get the citation added to your bibliography, the timer’s going off. An incessant chime that lets you know it’s nearly time for Joe to turn into the pumpkin again. The phone rings and rings in your ear, device pressed up into your ear by your shoulder.

“Baby?” He greets. The background is loud, voices and music all swimming its way into the receiver. “No, no, I have to take this.”

“I need rescuing,” you pout. And there’s no reason to have an explanation. It merely only needs to be convincing enough.

“Yeah, I can rescue you. Where are you?” The background grows quiet bit by bit. Someone calls out his name, that much you catch but you don’t hear the rest until Joe speaks, “No, no, I gotta go. Good seeing you. Sure, man. Sure.”

There’s a bit of a clack, something like the phone shaking and then Joe speaks again, loud but he has to be in order to be heard over the music. “You still there?”

“Still here,” you hum, half your mind focused again on the paper in front of you.

More voices float in from the background, Joe’s name among the words you can make out clearly yet again. “Nah, you can’t leave, man! You just got here!”

“It’s my fiancée. I gotta go.”

“Damn, next time.” There’s a clapped echo that rings through the phone.

“Now, where did you say you were again?”

You know the drill. Know that Joe will keep you on the line until he’s tucked safely into either his car or the Uber. And he’ll commit. Make it look real all the while--questions you don’t need to answer, reassurance about him being on his way. The thumps quiet, making the crackle and static lessen with each step Joe takes. You don’t really need to respond.

“Well, I might be lost on a road somewhere or I might be…” you pause, catching now as the music cuts out, replaced with just a faint whisper, “rescuing my future husband from sure fated social death.”

“I’m never going to a party without you ever again.”

“Soon, you won’t need to.”

“How’s the paper going?”

“It’s going.”

“I’m almost to my car. Driving here was a good idea, baby.”

Joe looked tired the second he descended the steps, fiddling with his phone as he did so. You gently suggested that he could take his car, if he wanted. The Uber there would probably get costly. Yet, it’s not about the money. Never was and never would be. He saw it, the preemptive care, and took his keys with ease.

“I have them from time to time,” you hum, fingers working still over your keyboard. Storm’s stretched out next to you, one paw ever so slightly tapping at your arm. “Bubbas, you want attention too, hmm?” you laugh. Your pause is just long enough to stroke at the top of his head.

“I’ll be home in like twenty minutes. I might make one pit stop.”

It’s not so much that Joe sounds low. You can just hear now how exhausted he is. In the coming weeks, he’ll be back onto his regiment, back to preparing for the season, a sometimes grueling task to witness and an even more grueling task to undertake. There’s not been a lot of time for the two of you together--between school and Joe’s work in California, time has been stretched too thin for all the things it needs to accommodate. Getting Joe out of the house seemed like a good idea at the time but now, now it just seems a bit too cruel.

“I might’ve hidden your favorite dairy free ice cream in the freezer earlier today,” you offer. “But you’ll only know when you come home to me.”

“Goddamn, I love you,” Joe laughs. “Just what I needed to hear. Because I love coming home to you.”

You can’t deny the flutter of your chest, how soft his voice is over the phone. You can see it now, how his head’s probably reclined back against the headrest, eyes closed and the skin around them wrinkling because of his soft, warm grin. The lights outside casting a cool glow over him, the light few brushstrokes of the bleach softening his brown hair into a thick golden glow--a curl or two resting against his forehead. An angle of Joe you’ve witnessed a thousand times at this point, but that never really gets old to look at or even imagine.

He is a home to you and god, do you love hearing him say that he finds a home in you too.

“When you get home, change and hidden in the sock drawer on my side of the closet is a present for you. I was going to save it for our date night next weekend, but I think you need it now.”

“That--that I can do.”

“Do you want me to stay on with you while you drive?”

“Hm, no, you should focus on that paper. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Okay, hon. I’ll be here.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Words that punctuate the end of the conversation; they echo even after the call’s ended. Storm brings his other paws into the mixture, now that you’ve returned to your work. His teeth working ever so gently at the skin of your elbow. “Storm,” you warn and he ceases, but keeps nuzzling at you.

When the whir of the garage door starts, you’re a little shocked that the time’s gone by that fast. And according to the clock, it’s been closer to half a hour, maybe a hair over than his original twenty minute estimate. You listen from the living room to the side door opening and then close. The door that leads into kitchen eeks open and there’s a rustling, the distinct shake of plastic bags.

Joe rounds the corner into the living room, dropping the gas station bags onto the coffee table. “Hey, baby,” he greets, voice low like he’s trying not to interrupt.

You stretch up, jutting your chin for the kiss that comes to your cheek. “Welcome back.”

“There’s some snacks for you too. If you need a brain break.”

“Thanks.”

Then he’s off, drops his keys onto the dish resting on the DIY’d bookshelf, now decor holder and then eases his way up the steps. The house remains quiet, even with Joe, there’s few echoed stomps, the sink runs for a minute maybe even less than that, and when Joe resurfaces, he’s in sweatpants--the staple blue Seinfeld ones and a well worn t-shirt, the graphic on it faded to the point the shirt is nearly the sole ashen gray on its base.

He’s smiling though, hand full of the mini Millennium Falcon Lego ship you ordered. It arrived late into the evening and you tucked it away the second Joe left the house. “You really do love me,” he laughs. “Thank you.”

“Of course I do.”

Joe presses another kiss to your cheek, after putting the box down next to the snacks. Joe scoops Storm up who protests for only a second before he accepts his fate in Joe’s arm. “I’ll return you in a second, bud. Just one cuddle, please?”

Storm closes his eyes at the press of Joe’s lips to his head but when he looks back at you, you can’t help but laugh at the hot gaze, the intention clear: I’m doing this because I love you not him. “Oh, bubs. You like Joe, don’t do him like that,” you reprimand to the small creature around your laughter.

And if he could talk, you think his slow blink up at Joe and then back down to you would be accompanied by: I like him on my own terms. But he relents, with a silent grumpy stare as Joe slips him in closer and off to the kitchen.

They return a few moments later, a bowl in Joe’s other hand. The spoon clinks softly as the bowl is set down and Joe dumps Storm back to the couch cushions. “I’m wearing him down.”

“Only been two and a half years,” you giggle in return.

“But I’m not going to give up.” His hands are a little cold at the touch. It makes you jolt but his lips are warm when they settle onto yours, a slow kiss. Not worried about a rush, or whatever’s to come next. A kiss that’s languid as your lips move, Joe’s exhale becoming your inhale. A kiss full of everything that’s not said: I’m glad to come home to you. I’m glad to be away from the party. I’m glad for the bowl of ice cream. I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad it’s Storm. I’m glad it’s us.

“Thank you,” Joe starts as he eases out of the kiss, “for thinking of me earlier and for the ice cream.”

“Some may say thinking of you is the easiest thing I’ve had to do.”

“But I’ll always say I’m grateful.”

Joe settles at your feet, between your legs and tears into the box. The pieces never seem to end, you hear pack after pack of the tiny plastic hitting the table. The sound seems to intrigue Storm and you push you back. “No. Don’t disturb him now.”

Storm presses forward, but doesn’t make any moves to leave the couch, just perches now, folding his paws underneath his body. You return back to your laptop, finding your place again--adding the coma that was missed, inserting the rest of the quote you need. And the noise, the clinking of the spoon, the snapping, the turning of pages, the soft hum of the TV that you didn’t realize was even turned on all fade into a harmonious hum.

“Can you take these and put them together for me?” You look up from your laptop, noticing now that about an hour or so has passed. And there’s Joe, still sitting in front of you, but now holding two gray pieces directly up over his head. “I’m struggling with this other section right now.”

“Sure. Small one on top, right?”

“Yeah.”

You snap the pieces together and ease it back onto the table next to Joe’s work as he wiggles something into place. “Thanks,” Joe returns, grabbing the pieces you assembled before returning his focus to the diagrams on the floor next to him.

The evening passes, slowly now, after you’ve finalized your paper--you’ll do one more pass tomorrow morning before you submit--with Joe’s quiet work on the ship. He occasionally passes you pieces--easy ones to snap together and then collects them again after you’ve assembled them.

“You know this kit is for you,” you laugh, taking another set of pieces from Joe. It’s nearly eleven, much later than either one of you usually stays up, but tomorrow’s Sunday--the kind of day that doesn’t demand urgency from the start. You two can take more time now, enjoy the company of each other even in the quiet.

“I like building them with you,” Joe answers, dropping his head back to look at you. “And you don’t have the patience for a full kit yourself. So, that leaves us here.”

And you don’t. There’s too many pieces, so many of them tiny and so many steps. The sight of a Lego kit grates your nerves, makes your stomach swirl just thinking about having to build one yourself. “As long as you’re sure. If those Legos ever start to give you a fuss, you tag me in though. I’ll give them a piece of my mind.”

“They are inanimate objects. But I appreciate you being so willing to subject yourself to the throws of plastic.”

“Anytime for you.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fic #joe burrow fluff #h writes #roll for initiative #roll for initiative blurb

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centrally-unplanned · 1 year ago

Text

Adam Tooze giving some pitch-perfect pornography targeted at me specifically with Israel's "Gaza 2035: A three-step master plan to build what they call the Gaza-Arish-Sderot Free Trade Zone", capped with an AI generated Gaza-Dubai:

I'm in love, this is so glorious. "The world if Israel could play around with Gaza like a little set of Legos" tell me this is not identical energy:

Except its not a shitpost its an actual report from the Office of the Prime Minister. And folks we have got it all! The most convoluted administration system you could possibly imagine for no reason:

The new free trade zone would be administered by Israel, Egypt, and what the Israeli Prime Minister calls the Gaza Rehabilitation Authority (GRA)—a proposed Palestinian-run agency that would oversee reconstruction in Gaza and “manage the Strip’s finances.”

A cutesy little minimalist graphic of all the brand new industries that will magically become globally competitive in export markets because Israel says so:

The beach resorts are in my beloved!! But what are the little factories you ask? Oh nothing, just electric car production facilities!

Remember, before building your first factory, you need 18 Burj Khalifas. We economists call this "infrastructure development", take notes.

It will have high-speed rail through its center, oil projects on the coast, and of course, I'm saving the best for last - a rail project to NEOM:

🥳The 🥳Line 🥳Mentioned 🥳

The legend on the map literally just says "a mega project" like, oh yeah, one of those! See em all the time.

Now, you might be asking - Ash, if this is your goal wouldn't you have not destroyed every square inch of habitable urban infrastructure in Gaza and shredded their economy into scraps of paper soaked in blood if your plan was to Singapore-on-the-Sea the place? You sweet summer child, those apartments? They are apartments of the past, darling, you don't need organically developed urban ecologies built over time to compliment human habitation. That is for fucking libs. All of this "war" thing was just set-up to create a blank slate for the construction of The Line 2: Its Definitely Real This Time!

I am going to murder James C Scott myself just so I can hover this plan over his corpse and watch the sheer hubris of this monument to the state's desire for legibility and technocratic solutionism resurrect him from the goddamn grave.

"Well....at least after all this they would have to recognize Palestine as a stat-" Woah woah woah woah, hold on:

The final stage would be when Palestine signs the Abraham Accords signaling “Palestinian self-rule,” albeit without statehood

Lets not...lets not get overambitious here. Baby steps, you know? We have to be careful.

Anyway this is the most ludicrously ill-considered and ill-presented reconstruction plan I have ever seen in my life and I shudder to think that, instead of it being an off-hand drip of propaganda intended solely to brush off nosey reporters and diplomats, it might actually be serious. Bibi hasn't let me down yet on the "thinking things through" front!

But tbc if this was fiction - instead of a ruthlessly grim reality - the Regional Deputy Minister of Trade charged with implementing this technocratic abortion would be my precious little blorbo and I would stan her to hell and back.

#i/p conflict #technocracy '''''fanblog'''''

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merbear25 · 4 months ago

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Can you write something where Caesar gets tortured relentlessly by someone, then the f!reader character is like his knight in shining armor, trying to free him from captivity? (Of course without actual armor, I'm talking figuratively)

Basically whump/hurt-comfort, I've seen similar from you before but with the reader as the role of the torturer instead.

I'm in a whump hyperfixation and I there isn't really much whump with Caesar yet.

Ohhhh, how exciting to have another request involving torture and with Caesar?? What a nice bonus 🤩 Thank you for sending this in, I had fun writing it! I hope you like it 💜💜

With weapons as top grade as his, world leaders were all too willing to throw their money at the genius fueling war-stricken countries. Lavish parties that got out of hand had investors forking over much more than they intended, leading some to suspect the legitimacy of his promises. A sea of green hid the potential dangers of his bad habits, which was exactly what some dissatisfied customers were banking on.

CW: fem!reader, reader works for Caesar, torture mentioned, hurt-comfort, some fluff, kidnapping, no sexual themes.

A/n: the em dash is used to signal a short time skip

His saving grace (Caesar)

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” He snapped when your footsteps grew nearer. You’d stumbled upon him planning yet another party which appeared as if it was going to follow the trend of each one being more extravagant than the last.

“My apologies, Master, but I’m afraid that you may be getting too comfortable with how much you’re…” a chill went down your spine when you saw him straightening his posture.

“Funny, I don’t recall ever asking your opinion. Besides, I can always squeeze more money out of those fools if need be.” He swatted away your pesky comment before flipping through more catalogs of women.

“Well, that’s exactly what I came to talk to you about.” You informed him of one of the investors that called. “They were threatening to come and collect if they didn’t hear from you within the hour, and they demanded for you to be the one to call them.” After all the excuses you made for him, your constant covering was clearly seen through as a lack of professionalism on his part.

“Tell them I’m busy.” The disregard in his voice stung more than you thought it would, since he knew full well you were dealing with the brunt of all his faults.

You did your best to remain composed, knowing it was a moot point that would get you nowhere. “Yes, Master.”

Similar to all the other festivities he threw, you were stowed away behind a desk trying to sort out the finances he seemed determined to set ablaze. With this party costing more than the others combined, you’d have no choice but to request more money to fund his projects. The pen fell from your cramped hand as you buried your exhausted face in it. He could be such a headache at times that it made you lose sight of why you came there in the first place.

Now faded memories, your excitement to work under one of the greatest scientific minds seemed so distant after you were reduced to balancing his checkbooks. Propping yourself up, you dug deep to unearth the passion that was sinking more into the abyss with each passing day. You told yourself that it was only during benders like these when you were left to clean up his mess. Being here gave you opportunities others could only dream of, some which he was beginning to entrust you with. An exasperated sigh passed your lips, supposing that this treatment was a small price to pay.

Sudden screams barreling down the hall jolted you out of your chair. Panicked cries of your boss pierced your ears as your feet failed to carry you any faster. The room was trashed with empty liquor bottles and glasses as women cowered behind furniture from the violent encounter. You chased the trail left behind as far as you could, but it ran cold. The blizzard was picking up again and the footsteps were covered by the gail force winds.

Swiftly, you turned back to question the remaining women, believing that at least one of them could be of use.

—

A flickering light and the lingering scent of mildew was an assault on his senses. Caesar winced and scoffed, while his captor remained just out reach of the fluorescent rays. “You little wench,” he seethed.

She stepped closer with pure revulsion plastered to her face. “You should have trusted your gut, but you were probably too hammered to notice there was one more than you ordered.” The raging waves of the sea crashed against the side of the ship, making the low sitting lamp sway eerily. “I’ll make this real easy for you. You give me the product you owe us and I’ll let you go.”

The color draining from his face gave her little hope of this being anything but a quick job. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“No, no! I have it! Yes, I distinctly remember handing it to my assistant! If you could just…take me back, I’m sure we could get you taken care of.”

She slowly worked her way across the room. Running her finger along the mallet, she recalled her direct orders. “You see, I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“W-Why not?”

“Because I just don’t believe you.” With a swift movement, the shattering of his knee cap commenced blood curdling screams. She spoke firmly and with conviction, “And I’m sure your other business partners would love to know what you’ve been doing with their money.”

His choked begs were cut off as another collision caused the bone to splinter in his mangled leg. With crimson streaming down his shin, the light in his eyes faded before he inevitably slumped in the chair. She slapped him across the face to wake him up, but it was no use. “How pathetic.” The slamming of the heavy door shook the wooden walls, sprinkling dust from the floorboards above.

—

The vague description of Caesar’s kidnapper led you to believe that she was tied to those who chewed you out earlier that day. They couldn’t have gotten far, but with the sea maintaining its relentless current, catching up to them any time soon was feeling less and less likely. You cursed at the razorblade-like flakes as you caught a few lucky waves. Painfully numb, your face and hands were urging you to call off the search, but you pressed on. With how many times your own stubbornness had caused some rifts between you and Caesar, you were hell bent on letting that side of you be the beacon of hope you needed to get him back.

Through squinting eyes, a large wooden frame was tilting back and forth just ahead. Every fiber of your being was pumping with adrenaline the closer you got. Hastily, you scaled the side and infiltrated the lower deck.

It was dark and clammy, but you could see a light peeking under a door down the corridor. The closer you crept, the more distinct the voices got.

“How many times are you going to use that excuse?” The feminine voice was muffled behind the thick wooden door. The high-pitched cries of agony that followed made you break out in goosebumps. Your breath caught in your throat when the door swung open, revealing a brief glimpse of the state Caesar was in. Scuffing of the woman’s shoes carried around the corner, and the dragging of her heels up the stairs ignited the bravery needed to break into the room.

You couldn’t help averting your gaze when your eyes properly settled on him. Bashed in nose, shattered knee and what looked to be burn marks scattered over his skin nearly made you forget who you were looking at. Never before witnessing the one you viewed as so powerful being reduced to a bloodied pulp, the pedestal you’d put him on was damn near obliterated.

As you stepped closer, you softly called out his name, “Caesar?”

A shaky smile appeared on his battered face when he noticed you. “You came to rescue me!” When you rushed to untie his restraints, the praise pouring out of him made your heart ache in ways you never thought it would when it came to him. “Good girl finding me. I knew I could count on you.”

When you got the last bit of rope off, you cursed at the sight of seastone. “Of course…”

You weren’t going to be able to lug him off the ship without getting those damn cuffs off first. A quick search around the room pointed to all signs that they were still on the captor’s person. You picked up the mallet left out on the desk to examine it, noticing the indents and cracks that were caked with dried blood. It felt as if something was sitting on your chest. Your heart was tightly restrained, each beat painfully struggling to break free from the chains it suddenly found itself in.

“What's wrong? Why did you freeze?” The hope was quickly dwindling from his voice.

With the dragging of heels making their way back, you took cover.behind stacks of wooden crates. Caesar’s fearful whimpers covered your slightly heavy breathing. When the door swung open, chills prickled up and down your spine. She was wearing low-rise jeans with a belt that was holding a sizeable knife. Instinctively, you gripped your weapon and kept your eyes on the back of her head.

The sound of Caesar’s chains rattling from fear lured you out of hiding. A squeak from your footing made your heart race as she turned around, leaving no room for hesitation. The collision of the wooden mallet against her temple sounded off a loud crack. Following the thud of her dead weight, your shaky hands pawed at her pockets. The sweat collecting on your forehead was seeping into your eyes, burning them in spite of your efforts of wiping the beads away. Each raspy word of encouragement from Caesar faded into the background until that jingle of metal graced your ears.

—

Trying efforts and risks for the boss who was falling into the habit of overlooking your value left you conflicted. A man whose grim nature feared by many was now a whimpering mess of gratitude, groveling as you tended to his wounds.

“You know, I always tell everyone how great of an assistant you are.” He sniffled, while you cleaned him up better than he thought you were capable of. You continued to exceed his expectations, letting your earlier conversation sit heavy on his shoulders. When you didn’t respond to his statement, he fiddled with the loose string on the couch cushion.

“This is going to sting a lot.” Your warning did little to prepare him. He struggled to choke back his pained sobs as you finished up tending to him. You sighed when the final dressing on his wounds was complete and looked up at him with that same ache from earlier clouding your better judgement. “You don’t have to worry. I’m not planning on leaving.”

His face flushed a bright pink and he laughed nervously. “Worry? I wasn’t worried about that at all! I think your head’s getting too big for your shoulders if you think I was concerned about that.”

Your expression softened under his flustered hand motions and unconvincing smile. He really was a bad actor, but now wasn’t the time to call him out on that. Nodding in agreement that you were simply getting carried away, you then got up. “I should start working on damage control before they have a chance to try something like this again. I’ll be back soon, though.”

“Yes, you do that!” He crossed his arms, beaming with an unnatural amount of pride in his underling. That quick smile you gave before departing made his heart race. He drummed his fingers in the uncomfortable silence he was left alone in, his thoughts wandering and getting away from him. The gentleness and care from your touch lingered on his body. He looked around quickly before resting his hand on that warmed spot, carefully rubbing his thumb over the part he could still feel your fingers.

#one piece #caesar clown #x reader #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #op #one piece x you #caesar clown x reader #one piece caesar clown #op x reader #op x you #op caesar clown #one piece fluff

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