#and more importantly Don't Betray Allies In A Bad Way

[aphroditelovesu]

Ok, that was an interesting chapter. I especially liked seeing the interactions behind the scenes. And I have a feeling as to who will warm up to Reader quickly, and those who will need more time 👀.

That whole 'I'm here for you' bit with Perdiccas at the end was really sweet and touching. But now that I think about it, it could set the stage for a whole new level of angst and pain for reader down the road. I'm not talking so much about a love triangle (though that would be bad) but something waaaay worse imo. Let me try and explain:

More then anything else, Reader needs someone in her corner. She needs someone who will support her and act in her best interests and respect what she wants. Based on the prolog, I have a feeling that that ain't happening.

I see Perdiccas as the one Reader will come to trust fully. The one she may explain her situation to, and the one she asks for help to get back home. But a yandere is a yandere, and I can totally see Perdiccas tattling to Alexander if she shares her plans to escape with him. Anything to keep her safe. Worse still, say she figures out the magic that sent her back, and shares what she knows with him as a secret. He's liable to then share that knowledge with the others and use it to teather her to Alexander and to him across time and space. Again, all to keep her safe.

That kind of betrayal would be fucking excruciating. Knowing that the one person who you thought you could trust has betrayed you and is the reason you're trapped is just 😨😭😫☠️.

That's just my opinion though. Thanks again for reading my latest rant! Hopefully chapter 5 will be out soon because I want me some drama 😈.

-- O-

Sorry for the delay in responding, anon! I just found it now :(

Oh yes? And who would that be, in your opinion? I know who they're going to be, but I'd love to hear your thoughts…

I was pretty upset when I wrote this scene and needed some comfort, so why not write this into a yandere fanfic that will have drama and angst? Pleasure, my name is Larissa and you will find out how screwed I am in real life with this fanfic. I'm not a fan of love triangles so I'm hardly going to write. Y/n may have a crush on Perdiccas but I don't know if anything romantic will happen between them.

She needs friends, allies and, most importantly, a psychologist. I'll make her have friends, but those friends are tricky. Besides the generals, she'll have to deal with the other wives, Stateira and Parysatis will be fine, but Roxanna… Well, I can't say much but it's off to a tense start.

In my canon, Perdiccas is a gossip but he's a friend of Y/n, so… It's complicated. And he's going to be a yandere and he wants to protect her, take care of her and he believes that staying with them is the best way to do that. But we know this is not true.

Our poor Y/n is going to go through so much… And being betrayed in the way you described would just tear her apart from the inside out.

I'm happy to read! Sorry for the delay, but I will always answer! And chapter 5 comes out today with drama 😈😈

~ Lady L

[jennajaeger]

once you're stripped clean, what's at your core?

My good friend @damngoodbabysiitter got me to take the above uquiz for my self insert OCs and share the results for each of them!!

(if anyone else wants to do the same for their OCs, feel free to do so and say I tagged you!! <3)

Jenna, Persephone, Gigi

acerbic wit

you're a mentor — an old scarred wolf, an injured soldier, a disgraced paladin. your teachings read as shamelessly pretentious, speaking in rhymes and biting down hard into anyone stupid enough to make the wrong move. this isn't your first life, nor your second, nor your sixth — you'll make the most of your time shackled to this world, no matter how many loops it takes to get it right. with every defeat, you reincarnate; a little smarter, a little quicker, crueler and nastier. will you choose to be brutal, equalizing, that final strike in the face of your enemies? will you go soft, become tender and domesticated? the choice is yours. it's not like i can stop you.

Nyx

silent admission

in tarot, the fool is numbered 0 – the number of unlimited potential. as the protagonist, he is ever present and therefore needs no number as well as no introduction. the world revolves around you in ways that i can't begin to describe, though you'd shrug it off if i were to begin to explain. i need you to know that time is running out. if you want to get this done, you need to start now. sloth is your greatest enemy in this world, and you can only run so far from the opposition when you start with such a disadvantage. keep your head high, yeah? the kid you were is still in there somewhere. you need to show him that it was worth it.

Soraya, Nova

rippling sunset

you’re the nicest person i’ll ever meet, probably. with an undying passion to protect those who can’t protect themselves, you’re energetic and bubbly to a fault. it’s cute, watching you run around trying to tie up loose ends. i feel bad for you — out of everyone you know, you probably have some of the deepest trauma, more than anyone’s aware of. this isn’t something that you want attention for at all, and you’d really just rather forget it exists at all… even then, it seems like you can never escape it. i wish you a pleasant rest of your life, full of rippling sunsets and free of prying eyes.

Annette, Jacaera

fractured glass

no amount of orchestrated class is ever going to hide the fact that you’re doomed to be alone. you’re a puppet, you’re a weapon, but most importantly? you’re a fraud. your facade isn’t malicious, but that doesn’t change a thing. everything in your life is in your control now, and you chose to let yourself become stiff and distant. you’re guilty of everything you blame yourself for, and your misfortune is the fault of nobody but yourself. your selfish nature forges you into a man-made monster, so quick to blame and so desperate to escape consequence. i hope that you can become someone you’re proud of soon.

Liesel

sympathy for the devil

you try so hard to be a beacon of hope for everyone, but nobody’s a beacon of hope for you. most likely, someone’s betrayed you in the past. it’s not like you’re easy to walk over, you just believe(d) too much in the inherent good of people. that isn’t a bad thing, and there’s nothing wrong with being kind and forgiving… i just feel kind of bad for you. i hope you can get a friend who doesn’t fuck with your head and take advantage of your kindness for once.

Valkyrie, Naomi

animal intuition

loyalty is the saint you pray to. if you ever were stabbed in the back by your beloved, you'd probably apologize. to your enemies, you're fierce. to your allies, even fiercer. you cultivate a thick inner circle built on promises and devotion, fit only for the best of the best. it's impossible for most to even begin to dissect the type of person you are, owing to your unbreakable emotional walls and confusing philosophies. dream careers? body guard, movie star, unwitting pawn. don't let people get the best of that loyalty.

Melody

spun gossamer

the easiest thing to do is stay quiet when something’s up. you’re not bothered, and you know what? you shouldn’t be! it’s none of your business, even when it’s entirely your business. it’s difficult (read: impossible) to tell if your cheery demeanor is a cover-up for something sadder, or if it’s simply your natural state of mind. you see a lot of things: people coming through town, people leaving the house and never coming back, lies and deceit of the highest degree. what happened to you? will you ever be that kid again? your presence smells like cotton candy, and your fingertips sparkle like stars. whatever white rabbit you’re chasing isn’t going to lead you to wonderland if you don’t start reaching out when you’re not feeling okay.

Ianthe

behind the mask

you aren’t slick about whatever you think you’re hiding. glass shatters in your midst, blood spills, children scream. like some of your friends, your personality of choice is entirely artificial. the difference between you and them is that you can get away with it. you’re unknown, perhaps even to yourself, and your goals are complex and unknown. anyone stupid enough to fall for you is setting themselves up to be frustrated and confused, owing to your being ultimately unknowable. i hope you can find an identity that makes you comfortable.

Corie

benign culpability

everyone hates you because you are a facetious lying bitch. …kidding, i think. seriously, though! you try way too hard to look like a picturesque example of class and responsibility, but you use your position as a social butterfly to take advantage of those weaker than you. it’s rare for anything not to be your fault, and everyone thinks you’re crying wolf when you actually HAVEN’T done anything. it gets kind of tiring to have everyone on your dick all the time, but it’s less interesting to actually behave. good luck with the therapy?

[rhaenyradelights]

What is your take on why Rhaenyra pursues Daemon in 1x07? Is she being pragmatic and this is purely a political move on her part? Is she unknowingly continuing the cycle of abuse by going back to the man who has presumably been grooming her from a young age? Is she seeking out someone who has always understood her? Is she giving in to her desires by going after someone she wants? Is it all of the above?

What is your take, what do you think the narrative is trying to tell us and do those opinions diverge? Because in all honesty I don't know what my take away should be from their scenes. And more importantly I don't know if that was on purpose or bad directing.

personally i think it’s all of the above, it’s clearly meant to be read as simultaneously Romantic and Tragic…. rhaenyra is a deeply sad and lonely person, who has been told of her own exceptionalism her whole life, but then given no real outlet or authority through which she can Do Something with that. she’s clearly cherished by viserys but he’s not close with her… she and laenor share real affection but not their homes or their lives, she’s coddled and placated but not truly Seen by anyone, which means she’s essentially a dragon who’s been sleeping on her pile of gold for a decade and getting bitter and soft… daemon positioned himself as her closest confidant, the one person who would speak honestly to her and who saw her as she saw herself… not a woman or a princess but Of The Dragon…. that is absolutely grooming, his coveting of her is not something she can suddenly break the thrall of now that she’s an adult who’s been away from him. so her choosing him reads to me as romantic yes, HUGELY so, but not Good or Right or Healthy, which i think the show knows too. we also have to keep in mind daemon is the only one giving her true advice, and his advice is always going to push her towards the destructive part of her personality (“i will not be a tyrant” “you must be feared”) and at the time of her proposal, rhaenyra understands how close she is to drowning. there are countless better ways to solve her problems, but she chooses him, because she chooses herself, as she always has. she is deeply worshipful of him as the person who molded her into what she is and as the person she sees as being her True Self she cannot access, and she also knows that at this point he may be her best and truest ally - he is bound to her by blood, by obsession, by name, and now by ancient rites. she doesn’t want to be betrayed so she picks the person guaranteed to stay by her side (finally…. after a decade of abandonment… a forcible separation not only from him but from her own fire). everything they’re showing us leading up to the dance is calibrated to both humanize these people and show exactly how they are pushed to such extremes. so rhaenyra’s choice is a culmination of her childhood and her present circumstances/personality putting the chess pieces of team black into place. everything they both do in episode seven has a direct affect on their chances going forward.

for all that people are talking about “bad direction” i don’t think that’s the case at all. daemon returns to driftmark fully intending to run away again (he’s still Not Daemon, not returned to himself), and she is the one to go after him because she’s desperate, she’s had a decade to think about it, and her family is not secure. the grief and mourning, the tenderness and peace… those are all very intentional moves to show these two people right at the precipice… it’s the gentle calm before the storm, they have to start from a quieter place…. i think the violence and bloodshed and absolute irrational moves ahead wouldn’t land if we didn’t understand that there was never a path where these two didn’t end up bound together (by daemon’s grooming, by her own dragon blood, by the curse of their connection to valyria, whatever), and it’s a choice they make, both of them, based on love and strategy and fate and and and but always. always within the prison of their own fire, and always meant to burn them both.

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Ooooh that chapter was a 10/10.

The failed betrayal scene was so so satisfying to read. I knew that dagger would come into play again in a pivotal moment. It's almost funny how Oc supposedly knows Beomgyu better than anyone else in the world and still makes the mistake of taking him for dumb just because he is impulsive and viscerally emotional sometimes. He is devoted, not stupid. She has more than enough evidence to never forget his scheming ways and how far he is willing to go... and yet she does every once in a while. She keeps trying to outsmart him, but she is not smart enough for that.

I did however feel bad for Oc in some parts. The game has never been in her favor, but at this point she really is looking more like the ball than like one of the players. Nothing ever goes the way she wanted it too... either she gets the opposite of what she wanted, or she gets it only after paying a ridiculous price that makes her regret asking for it in the first place.

And don't get me started on the smut scenes! You kept saying it was too much for one chapter but it felt just right. It's hard to say which one was the best honestly - i am inclined to say it was the first one for how gone, just gone, he was and the bits of humiliation thrown his way. You're so good at painting such vivid mental images, I could imagine every detail of each scene. Such a smut artist ♡♡♡

Oh, and I still maintain my opinion on Soobin. I wouldn't call him spineless... it's just that while everyone else is playing a game of power, he is playing a game of survival. He does what he gotta do to save his skin and stay alive in the middle of all that madness. Not the most honorable modus operandi, but fuck honor when your is neck is on the line.

(sorry for disappearing, I was busy literally almost dying... again)

~♡anon

welcome back babe! i'm sorry to hear you're sick again 🥺 i hope you're better now ❤️

oc thinks she can pull the same tricks she used before on him (like when she escaped) but while gyu is obsessive and acts pitiful towards her, he's arguably the smartest character in the fic (though wony is also very smart). even though oc herself calls herself stupid for having believed he might leave tyun alone and for believing she could pull one over him, it was more wishful thinking on her part as evidenced by her attempting to have a backup plan if he betrays tyun. it's just that she doesn't have a lot at her disposal. she doesn't have allies. she doesn't have power. she doesn't have any influence. what can she really do? she wanted to believe that she could do something because the alternative is just so depressing. she knows gyu has been controlling her life all this time, even when she left with tyun, he was still controlling her life. she wanted to believe that she could stop him or even just make him falter for a second because fuck not even tyun can stop him? that's soul crushing

"either she gets the opposite of what she wanted, or she gets it only after paying a ridiculous price that makes her regret asking for it in the first place" that's basically the theme for the next chapter lol just oc realizing that it's hopeless and that she's just making it worse every time she tries 😬

thank you 😭 it definitely felt too much but i just couldn't sacrifice any of the scenes because first of all they're hot, and second of all i feel like each scene represents a different plot point. the first one is oc letting her anger out and attempting to dupe gyu by using his love for her, the second one is her letting him get his anger out to try to control him and also to demonstrate how angry gyu is still about her leaving him, and the third is her giving into him and him in turn trying to get her to just let him in

idk i feel like both are true. he is trying to survive and by doing so he is betraying the woman he is in a relationship with, and more importantly, his queen that he has sworn to protect. if that's not spineless idk what is.

[thepulta]

Westlie was not a stranger to rage. It enveloped her as she walked down the hallway, measuring her footsteps. When she focused on it, she could imagine holding it inside her clenched fist, feeling every muscle tense and loosen. The center burned deep in her chest like a flame, feeding off of the injustice of the day. Which was why she was here, now, after all. To be angry and to keep being angry; she was here to win on her terms. Westlie took a deep breath, stopping in the middle of the hallway to center herself again because it was important. This was easy. She could do this.

She could stand strong this time. Even her younger self wasn’t a stranger to rage, it was just her father’s rage. Arthur was often angry. If she searched far back to one of her first memories, he was hovering over a tutor while she tried to scratch out her letters. After some time she got to ‘p’ and wrote it backward. Was it a ‘p’? It could have been any letter really; but she wrote it backwards. She just remembered the sharp “Wrong!” barked over her head and the paper ripped out of her grasp. She pulled back from the desk, startled. Arthur crumpled it in his giant hands, scowling at her with sullen umber eyes. “Do it again.”

She could keenly remember the first seed of real fear planted in her heart as she shakily grabbed another page offered by the tutor and tried again. (And again, and again, and again while each time her hand got shakier.) After the fifth time she burst into tears and Arthur scoffed and walked away. The test was over. She failed.

That was important because she was still scared. Westlie closed her eyes and tried to ground herself, pushing down the immediate burn of anger at the memory.

She could remember when she was ten. (Stars, she’d been a such a small, terrified child by that point.) When Arthur instructed his secretary to give her a pair of breeches or some other non-skirt. (“I don’t care where you get them! Sew a pair yourself if you have to. She won’t set foot in that place without pants.”) She ended up with a pair of cast-off breeches that reeked of mushrooms. The secretary took her to the shop the next morning, nudging open the unfamiliar back door and handing her two fist-thick ledgers off a nearby shelf.

“Millie is out sick and Arthur wants you to do these.” The woman had the self-respect to give her a somewhat pitying look. “You can stay here in the back, or do them out front. The receipts are on the side wall. No- not-” She rolled her eyes. “Look. Side wall, by the crystal lilies. They’re alphabetized by date, but the more important customers come first, so you might have to check.”

Westlie remembered the room to the detail since she’d spent too much time there. Several small mail-like boxes of miscellaneous materials, crystal lilies near the receipts on the bottom, with some small preserved jars of blemmigans on top with a jar of eyeballs on the top right. The back was an assortment of supplies from mushrooms to coffee, giving the room a deep, heady scent that gave you migraines and nightmares if you stayed for more than 8 hours, and to the right of the back entrance, a storage room of engine parts. She learned later there was a fake shelf within the storage room that held several hours in case of unsavory events. There was a desk to the front covered with paperwork. There was a small chime connecting through the wall over the desk, then another door to the right of the desk that opened into the shop front.

Westlie remembered absorbing it all for the first time, struggling under the weight of the ledgers with a slightly horrified heart at the jar of preserved eyeballs floating and staring lucidly at her to the left. “Should- should I organize the receipts by date as I finish..?” There was the click of the door and she spun around, a pit in her stomach opening up. She was alone. There was vague chatter from the front room but it faded out to a murmur, only picking up as the door opened or closed five minutes later.

She'd done practice ledgers once, but never allowed to see the real thing 'because she wasn't good enough'. The weight of her situation - an injustice, because it was an injustice when she'd never done them before, wasn’t it? - landed on her shoulders and in her stomach and Westlie bit her lip, chest aching. She didn’t have the words for it, but Older-Westlie could feel the ice of fear crackle over her soul in the memory - that Arthur would come and tell her it was wrong, all wrong, that the tutor would drop in and switch her; that she wasn’t alone, just waiting for the mistakes to be hung over her head. There had to be some mistake. They wouldn’t just leave her here, would they? Memory after memory of similar situations with bad endings piled up in her mind and Westlie remembered choking in that moment, horrified in the room with the pair of eyeballs because they would. They just did. And there was that grave, grave injustice within all of it.

Westlie remembered climbing up on the desk stool and shoving the ledgers on the table, her shoulders shaking. It took a few minutes, a few candles flickering in the silence before the pit in her stomach and her throat broke, letting out a silent, terrified cry of pain as the tears started to drip down her cheeks. After a few minutes of gasping she buried her face in her arms. The secretaries were occasionally nice but this one didn’t care. Nobody cared. Nobody in the world cared. The heady, unfamiliar scent curled around her, making her cry harder in deep hypoxiating gulps. It might have been ten minutes or two hours later when her tears slowly dried up, she stopped hiccuping, and she slowly raised her head, opening the ledgers to their last entry. The pages turned with a thick lethargy. It was some captain selling a load of hours. She slid off the stool and grabbed the pile of receipts, sliding them off the nail they’d been impaled on and laying them slowly out on the table.

Each name had to be read slowly, carefully, corrected. Westlie bit her lip, concentrating on writing each letter cleanly and checking her sums. After an hour there was a thick heat in her head as question after question went unanswered. Where did this name go? How were ‘favorite captains’ ordered? Whose favorite captains were these? Should she give a sum after each item or only after the whole sale? She flipped back and forth through the thick pages, finding examples and teaching herself. After three painful hours, the ten-year-old was gritting her teeth and grasping a broken quill, stabbing the page with every lesson she had to recall and put to use. After four, she was somewhat faster at the sums with a new quill and her face matched her shade of hair. Her head and her heart burned.

Older-Westlie could remember the wordless, mindless, unintelligible chant of hatred that built through her younger’s mind, slowly feeding on every ounce of fear she stored of Arthur, of her tutor, of the ledger, of the eyeballs on the shelf, trying to digest the fact she didn’t matter, they didn’t care - nobody would ever care about her. It continued, growing, feeding, burning like fire until she saw red, ready to cry again but shoving away the tears. She couldn’t cry. She had to do this; needed to do this. Each sum got harder and harder to do until finally Westlie bit down on her arm with enough force to draw blood and let loose a muffled scream into her sleeve. Five seconds. Ten seconds. It hurt and she couldn’t breathe. It all hurt so, so much. And she remembered straightening up and sitting at the desk, panting, slightly less overcome but exhausted from that nameless emotion at the injustice and the cruelty and the pain of the sums. Her sleeve might have shown a few drops of blood; there was definitely a bruise. The memory tended to blank after that. It was fuzzy if she smashed the already broken quill against the desk until it splintered or she just doubled down on the notes until the secretary came to fetch her, but the emotion she didn’t have a name for yet was there and it burned a hole in her heart.

By the next day she’d calmed down; it no longer felt like the anger would consume her, but the spark was there, along with the feeling of power that it gave her to still hand over the ledgers at the end of the day - for them to be neat and finished and for Arthur’s approval to be grunt of acknowledgement. (Although that fanned the anger too. How dare that be all he gave her, she remembered thinking, after her fear and horror and aching left arm.) But Westlie remembered the satisfaction of conquering injustice and swearing she would again. The anger could fuel her.

Older-Westlie knew, after another fifteen or so years of experience, that anger wasn’t only fuel, but her very best friend. Closer than enigmatic Morgan and more powerful than sadness. With anger, she could wrap reigns around it and harness it to her bidding. She could defend against enemies and wrap it around her like a shield to endure.

And she had endured. But no more.

No more silence, no more pleasing, no more struggling, no more nights in the shop with burned out candles, no more crying to sleep over one of his calloused stupid decisions; no more rejection, no more refusals, no more begging to fly, no more begging to get out of the shop, no more sneers, no more pain. Respect would never appear; there would be no approval, no kindness, no reward. It didn’t have to be this way. No more suffering. 

With a second deep breath, Westlie stepped forward again, hardened her gaze, and reached the end of the hallway. She threw open the door so hard it bounced against the wall, paperwork in hand; teeth clenched, anger flaming. She willed its tendrils to extend beyond her five foot-five heighth and fill the room. She willed it, with all her power, to reach and throttle the neck of the man in front of her.

“How dare you.”

Arthur Faire looked nonchalantly up from his paperwork over his pince-nez spectacles. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just put a dent in the wall for the fourth time.”

“Fuck your dent. I told you I wouldn’t do your dirty work!”

“You don’t tell people shit.” Arthur snapped. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh as if the very explanation pained him. “Westlie,” he began, as if talking to a very small child. “There are, occasionally, things that must go missing to raise your status in the world.”

“Fuck that, I said I won’t! I won’t do it, and you cannot force my hand! Pick someone else!”

Arthur slammed his fist on the table and stood up, leaning forward over his desk. “You will do what I say!”

"Fuck what you say! You're wrong and I refuse!"

Arthur scoffed, sneering at the paperwork she clenched in her fist. “What is that? A list of Captains who turned you down for your incompetence? You can’t even take orders from me.”

Westlie threw the stack at his face. It burst into several pages fluttering unspectacularly throughout the room, the more important pages luckily settling on his desk. “I gave you three chances. Three chances to recind. But since your cuntish ass couldn’t handle a bit of legality; I’ve packed my bags and I leave tonight. Sign on the dotted line, you fiend.”

Arthur scoffed again, snatching the paper and staring at it. “Resignation? You’re resigning? You can’t resign. You’re my daughter.”

Westlie spit at his feet.

His face instinctively twitched with distaste and she relished the taste of the blood she’d drawn. Arthur sighed, and sat down again, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs with the motion of hatred he generally used for Captains he didn’t like - and her. When he used it Westlie generally knew to back down patch things over with a form of compromise but not today. Never today. He was never going to agree and this was why she prepared. She gathered her anger and pulled it closer, guarding herself.

“And what if I don’t sign?”

“I’m leaving anyway. You can’t stop me.”

His lip curled. “I know every Captain in the Reach and every shop in London knows your temper. None of them will take you.”

Westlie’s lip curled up in a dry, menacing grin. “I’ve already signed with a Captain.”

“As what?” He scoffed, reaching down into his desk and pulling out a tumbler and crystal glass of whiskey. She’d really ticked him off now. He poured a single glass and sneered when he saw her glance. “Sorry, I don’t give angry children liquor.”

Westlie's anger flared and she bit her tongue before responding. “Dont bother. I only drink with friends. I’m First Mate.” Arthur scoffed into his glass in disbelief and it fogged up. “Now sign my resignation.”

He curled his lip as he swallowed and thumped the now-empty glass down on the desk, muttering something under his breath. He grabbed the nearest pen and jabbed it into the paper, scribbling something vaguely similar to Capt. Faire. He rang the bell next and Westlie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She’d have to escape wouldn’t she. She didn’t quite plan for an escape.

“Mary, please come escort Miss Faire to her room.”

Faster than she’d seen him move before, Arthur rose and stepped around his desk, grabbing Westlie’s arm before she could twist out of his grasp. He yanked her closer, gripping it so tight she felt her muscles quiver. “You will never escape me,” he hissed. The scent of whiskey cracked even her practiced shield of anger and Westlie felt a shiver run down her spine. “And I will make your life a living hell until you come crawling back.”

He shoved her away as a knock sounded at the door and he leaned back on his desk, a clear sneer on his face, arms crossed, papers scattering the floor. Westlie took a breath and straightened, forcing herself to look him in the eye. She gathered her anger. “Fuck you.”

To her credit, Mary didn’t even raise an eyebrow as she entered the room and assuming it was one of their regular monthly spats. “Miss Faire?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

Westlie flipped her father the middle finger behind her back as she went out.

-=-

Predictably, Mary locked the door as she left. Westlie scoffed to herself as she pulled the only cap she owned low over her curls. They didn’t know her. They thought locking her in a room trapped her - or Morgan for that matter - and Westlie gave a silent prayer of thanks to her sister for being an uncontrollable escape artist. She stopped for a full moment as fear pierced her heart.

Morgan. She hadn’t told Morgan.

She offered another prayer to her sister to be safe and stay as far away as possible. She was sorry- so sorry. Westlie pulled up the loose floorboard in her closet and rubbaged a bit, grabbing a long length of rope. She looped it around the bedpost and tied it off. The motion was easy, practiced. Westlie grabbed her carpetbag - her trunk was already at the dock - and hesitated.

Morgan.

Their last letter exchange a few days ago had been predictable. Morgan was off in < > and Westlie was in London. Westlie remembered ranting about work, per usual, something about that bloated Captain who kept making trips to sell seeds, and some asshole explorer who stocked up on supplies and tried to beg off paying every time. She hadn’t written to her about the... other job; the evil job. She hadn’t had a plan then, it was so fast. Anger was at the controls after Arthur was such an ass, and she’d blown through her preparations, packed her trunk the night before, chartered the engine at midnight. Should she know? And Westlie closed her eyes, trying to glimpse her sister’s soft face and lively eyes that only sharpened with excitement, not rage. Arthur didn’t care about her because she’d never have anything to do with the shop. She was carefree and it should stay that way. She didn’t know his evils. Our evils, Westlie thought somewhat sullenly. But Morgan. Westlie set down her bag and slipped over to her writing desk, grabbing a sheet of paper and fumbling open the ink.

           Dearest Morgan,

      They’ve tried to lock me up, but in a few minutes I’ll be down to the docks and boarding an engine away from everything. I can’t abide Father any longer. A pair of dreadnaughts couldn’t tie me to this house. I refuse to live in that monster’s shadow and I refuse to do whatever grotesque thing he imagines next. When I’m gone, he’ll hire another poor soul to fill my shoes and for their sake I hope they have less morals. Don’t worry about me. I’ve secured a position on a engine. (I won’t tell you with whom.) But he’s a good man and a good captain. You would be proud.

      Please don’t chase after me. Father’s ire is already riled and he’ll undoubtedly try to track me down on his own. I don’t want him angry at you. Just lay low. Be safe. Take another trip to < > if you have to to stay out of his path. I’ll see you someday.

         I love you. I will always love you.

         Your only and dearest sister,

                             Wes

Westlie folded it with a deft, practiced move and tapped her foot softly as she waited for the wax to melt. There were footsteps down the hall. Light ones, Mary; and heavier ones, Arthur. They passed her door and the handle jiggled. Westlie’s breath caught in her throat. She made a silent lunge for the rope, but it wasn’t necessary. Their footsteps continued down the hall after making sure it was locked and they faded out of hearing range.

Quickly now.

She poured the wax, stamped the letter, and scribbled the address on the back. Something-something express mail. She’d pay the freighter double. No time to think about it.

Westlie shoved it in her carpet bag and grabbed the rope. Sliding down the side of the two-story townhome was simple, especially at dusk. Usually it was with Morgan at the bottom hissing expletives in the dead of night - or climbing back up in the dark after some sort of drunken escapade, which was, obviously, four times harder. Westlie tied a rock to the bottom of the rope and threw it back into the room, resisting the temptation to break a window while she was at it.

They were already close to the docks. She hid as much of her hair under the cap as she could and then struck off at a brisk walk; running would be too obvious. The blood pounded in her ears to her gait, one step of freedom, two steps of freedom. The city pulsed around her, oblivious. There was a brisk scent in the air; several women walking past with tipped hats, murmuring together. A ragged man, looking as if he just got out of prison wandering aimlessly. He looked at her, tipped an invisible hat. Westlie nodded back. Several captains wandered by, examining a map, one holding a bottle of something purple? Something red, perhaps. He laughed uproarously. A fancy blemmigan hopped by. A wistful woman in large, somewhat old-fashioned skirts stood outside a building, handing out pamphlets.

Westlie took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the pavement.

She turned a corner, turned another corner; slipped through an alleyway. Had she always known this was the quickest way to the docks? It seemed familiar, but more light. There was no oppressive scent of mushrooms. Maybe a soft breeze had blown through today. Maybe she was just in a better mood.

Westlie scrutinized the dock as she got closer, looking for any evidence of Arthur Faire - but there was none. Unless he was on the ship itself, she had escaped. She was almost free.

She grit her teeth and pulled her anger around her one last time. One last run. One final step.

Westlie stepped into the open and briskly walked through the busy dock. Most of the people about were skyfarer crew, lounging, drinking on boxes. A few whistled and Westlie curled her lip in distaste. She slipped the letter and two sovereigns into the hand of a cargo ship’s First Mate. That could be me later, she realized, quietly, as hurried off to her ship for passage, the Tundra.

Westlie gave one final look around at the docks and the city as she stepped through the hatch. It was soft and dusky. She might miss that, but within herself she noted, quietly, she wouldn’t miss the city, she would miss her and Morgan in the city. No more rampage of terror, no more drunken songs, no more bar fights. No thefts, no vandalisms, no secrets. On board, there was also no angry man, no sullen look of disappointment either. Arthur Faire was not there. He hadn’t found this captain. She hadn’t been traced. Perhaps her father taught her one good thing: always pay a little extra.

The captain stepped down from the cab and tipped his hat. “Miss Faire?”

“Yes. Could I be shown to my quarters?”

“Absolutely. Would you please, Nancy?”

An unremarkable woman stepped forward and offered her hand for the bag. Westlie handed it to her gratefully as her shoulder started to ache. “When do you plan to depart, Captain? Can I encourage it to be as soon as possible?”

“In a hurry, Miss Faire?” She didn’t like his smile and resisted the urge to scowl. “We depart in ten minutes. Fear not.”

“I have urgent business.” Westlie said, making an attempt to keep the salt out of her voice.

Nancy took a small step into the hallway. “Ready, ma’am?”

“Yes- Yes please.”

They walked down the hallway into the crew’s quarters where a separate bed had been made up. Her trunk was placed at the side: a few books, her shop clothes, an extra travel skirt. She really hadn’t left anything had she. Westlie glanced inside her carpet bag. There was a portrait of all of them as a family. She couldn’t imagine why she brought that; Morgan was cute, perhaps. She’d have to rip off half the portait to get her father out; not worth the effort. A pair of silver earrings they’d stolen together. A bag of sovereigns.

That was really it, wasn’t it? There was nothing else she wanted to remember. Nothing other than stolen earrings and the clothes on her back. And Westlie felt free.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

Fate

Part 4

Summary: You confront Jon about his true parentage and discuss what to do next. You win a new ally but lose a person dear to you and become on the verge of exploding.

Part one, two, three

Warnings: GoT seaosn 8 episodes 4 & 5 spoilers, character death.

A/N: this was to be a three parts one shot, but it turned out to be a mini series. There are going to be one or two more parts. Also, I’m writing and posting this from my phone since I’m on vacation in Spain, so I won’t be able to add a keep reading link, sorry!

Word Count: 1777.

“Are you drunk?” after the celebration, you went to Jon’s room to talk about the situation. He was sitting on his bed and thinking about something.

”No” he stood up and tried to walk but almost fell” Only a little...I didn't know Ser Jorah well but I know this.

If he could have chosen a way to die, it would have been protecting you”.

“He loved my mother and me as if I was his own daughter. As much as I want to wish that I you'd never told me, I can’t. The truth hurts sometimes but I’m happy that you did- well, If I didn't know, I'd be happy right now. What I meant is that I appreciate your honesty and thank you for not keeping the truth from me even though you knew the risks of what might happen. I swore to my mother that I will take back what’s rightfully ours, but then you told me and

I saw them gathered around you. I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look. So many people have looked at me that way, but never here. Never on this side of the sea”.

“Y/n, I-“ he had an apologetic look on his face and was about to say something before you interrupted him.

“I have been thinking about that night and what you’ve told me an I couldn’t stop about the promise I made my mother, but she trusted me to do what’s right and she sent me here to make my own decisions and I have made a decision. You are the heir to the iron throne. You have a better claim to it that my mother or I. I promised her to take back what’s rightfully ours... but it isn’t rightfully ours, is it? I will not pursue the Iron Throne anymore. It’s all yours, Jon Snow”.

“what?-“.

“If it was any other man standing in front of me, I would’ve never given it up, even if he was the rightful heir to the throne. You know why? Because I know men. My mother warned me about them. She said there are only a few good incorruptible men left and it would be rare to find one, but I found you and Iove you. I believe you will make a good king and be just. I know you have no desire for whores or heavy drinking. You are an honorable man and would do the best you can when given a job and you take care of your people and are responsible for them. The truth is, I never wanted the throne. I never wanted to be a part of this. Power attracts the worst and corrupts the best and I’ve been playing this game for a long time. I don’t want to be a corrupt ruler”.

“I don't want it” after pouring your heart out that was all he said.

“Did you hear a word I said?” You questioned.

“I did. You are my queen and I don’t want it” he rejected and knelt in front of you.

“Then let’s just run away together. We’ll go somewhere peaceful where no one would recognize us. A warm place or cold” you chuckled and cupped his face in your hands. You knew it was not possible, but you had to try.

“I wish we could, but we can’t. We both have responsibilities that we can’t just run away from” he reminded.

“If you don’t want the throne and you don’t want to leave with me, then you can never tell anyone who you really are. Swear your brother and Samwell Tarly to secrecy, and tell no one else or it will take on a life of its own and you won't be able to control it or what it does to people-“ you caressed his face.

“I have to tell Sansa and Arya” he insisted.

“Sansa will want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne”.

”She won't and even if people found out I’ll refuse. You are my queen and you always will be”.

“No matter how many times you bend the knee, no matter what you swear, it won’t stop them. I want us to be together. And if you truly don’t want it, then I will take the throne. I trust no one else with it. If you tell Sansa it will destroy us” you warned.

“It won’t”.

“It will. I’ve never begged for anything but I’m begging you, don’t do this, please! Everything my mother and I have worked for would be for nothing. Even if you don’t want the throne, they’ll never accept me as their queen and then another tyrant will sit on the throne. Please, Jon” you stood up and begged him, but it was no use.

“You are my queen. Nothing will change that. And they are my family. We can live together” he held your face in his hands, trying to convince you.

“We can. I've just told you how” you left him room angry.

—-

After discussing your plan of how to attack King’s Landing and destroy Cersei, you went for a walk outside and someone found you. It was Ghost. Jon hasn’t introduced you, so you didn’t know it was his.

He ran up to you but didn’t attack you, instead he just stood there and examined you.

“Hey there” you went on your knees and petted him, which he seemed to enjoy.

“I have never seen a dire wolf before. We don’t have them in Essos, I think. You’re beautiful! Where’s your family?” he started licking you and rubbed himself against you “good boy!”.

“Come here, boy!... I see you’ve met Ghost” Jon called him and he came.

“Oh, he’s yours?” It was more of a statement than a question.

“He is. Your grace, this is Ghost. Ghost, this is queen Y/n Targaryen” he introduced.

“You never mentioned you have any pets”.

“With all that’s been going on, I couldn’t find the right moment”.

“We’ve had plenty right moments, Jon Snow” now you were referring to your relationship.

You needed some time away from Jon, so you made him ride down the Kingsroad to Dragonstone with the remaining Unsullied and Dothraki, while a few of them were to sail from White Harbor and you flying from above.

Before you left, you tried to make Sansa an ally one last time.

“I’m glad you agreed to go on a walk with me, Lady Sansa” you expressed.

“You are the queen and your orders must be obeyed” she was displeased and didn't bother to hide it.

“It was merely a suggestion. I didn’t come here to make more enemies, I came to win allies. To free the world of tyrants and bad men. So just tell me what will make us allies?” you asked.

“We already are. Jon made sure of that” she reminded.

“But you don’t like me and I wish for us to be friends. What is it that I have to do for you to trust me and leave this hatred behind?” You knew the Starks were an honorable and powerful house, without them you can’t take back the seven kingdoms.

“The North. We’ve bent the knee one too many times. We’ve been betrayed as well. The men are tired and done kneeling” she admitted.

“Are you saying that you will defy me?”.

“No, your grace. You asked what would make us allies and friends and I just told you how and what people think of you”.

“Alright. If this would truly bring peace to the seven kingdoms and would make us allies and more importantly friends, then I will grant you independence once I take the seven kingdoms back, you have my word. I hope you are true to yours. After all, I’d never grant someone something this big, but I’m giving you the North because I trust you and your family and I hope you won’t disappoint or betray me or disgrace your family’s name in doing so”.

“I won’t, you have my word. Thank you, your grace” she finally smiled.

“Call me Y/n”.

“You really do love Jon, don’t you?”.

“I do. He’s the only man I’ve met who’s been honest from the start and didn’t lie to me once or break a promise. He’s also the reason, I’m trusting you with the North”.

—-

While sailing, the Iron Fleet surprised you and almost killed Rhaegal, but luckily the arrow only pierced his wing and then you managed to fly away with him and Drogon. Of course, not everyone was so lucky. Many men were attacked on the ships and killed and they took Missandei.

You have been patient for a long time, but now the time for waiting is over. You had to act and do it fast. You were angry and wanted to get Missandei back. She was your handmaiden. Your mother freed her, when she took Astapor back. She was a little girl then, a bit older than you. You grew up together and she took care of you, when your mother was hard on you. She was your best friend. She was like a big sister to you. Somehow, deep down inside, you knew she was as good as dead.

You wanted to attack the city with the dragons and get her back. Varys and Tyrion advised you not to, because you’d be killing innocent people. Instead, Tyrion suggested that you speak to her. You knew it’d be a waste of time, but you did it to prove a point. You also send people to tell everyone to evacuate the city when the fight starts, but the people chose Cersei’s side and decided to hide there.

The day came and Tyrion tried to negotiate a truce with Cersei, but as expected it didn’t work. At least, you were able to see Missandei. She looked strong, even though she was in chains and surrounded by enemies.You wanted to shout, cry or just talk to her but you couldn’t show weakness. Cersei made her guard behead Missandei and you had to watch. You didn’t close your eyes or turn away. You needed to see this, to be reminded of the cruel world and the tyrants who will misuse the power they have and do awful things. You needed to see this, so when you attack you’d have a strong reason to. The moment she was executed, you lost three fourth of your heart. Viserion was first, then Jorah and now Missandei. There was only one more part, before you exploded. You were filled with anger and hatred.

Tags: @simonsbluee @octaviareina @winterscommander @patdsinner @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @doctorswife221b @marvel-addict-95 @capsheadquaters

[sheikah]

I noticed in Jamie's converstation with Dickon he mentions how Lady Olenna and her men had to die because they chose to support Daenerys. So I don't know how people can start calling Dany mad or brutal when she's using the same tactic as Jamie and no one is calling him brutal. She only kills the Tarlys when they refuse to pledge allegiance after already betraying one of her allies and indirectly betraying her, just like why Jamie killed Lady Olenna.

Yep, let’s just lay this to rest right now. 

Dany initially wants to travel to the Red Keep with her dragons because Cersei is winning and doing so in a way that is anything but peaceful. 

Jon appeals to Dany’s mercy and goodness and she chooses to bring ONLY ONE dragon to meet the Lannister troops in battle instead of going to a city full of civilians. I have already seen several people calling these Lannister troops “innocent.”

I’m sorry but the attitude on tumblr is getting out of hand. I know we all want to apply our ideals and feelings about social justice in our lives but we can’t apply them to Game of Thrones. This is a war. People are going to die. I didn’t see any of you crying out or calling Jon or Sansa evil for killing Umbers, Karstarks, and Boltons in 6.09. I didn’t see any of you criticizing Sansa for playing her cards close to the chest which unfortunately resulted in the death of many, possibly thousands, of wildlings.

She played it smart to win. That’s what Dany is doing.

Please have some perspective, fandom. The men that Dany attacks in the Field of Fire are men who just butchered the entirety of the Tyrell forces. They sacked Highgarden. And before Jaime even knew that Olenna killed Joffrey, he poisoned her. He murdered a defenseless, elderly woman in cold blood. But I am seeing people calling him a hero and a savior and calling Daenerys a tyrant and a villain.

The other thing I want to clear up. I am sure that some “supplies” were destroyed by Drogon’s fire. But earlier in the episode Tyrion tried to comfort Dany with the knowledge that she still had the largest army and she said it didn’t matter because her army needed food. So I don’t believe for a second that she then turned around and purposely burned that food.

And to anyone waiting to say that it’s worse because fire is a bad way to die, I don’t really care??? How is this so much worse than being trampled to death under a mountain of bodies in BotB? More importantly, what do you guys want to happen? Do you want a show in which dragons are a centerpiece of the plot and one of the coolest and only high fantasy aspects of the narrative to IGNORE those dragons? Do you want them to just be an aesthetic decoration flying in circles over Dragonstone? Of course Dany is going to use them. 

To be clear, I do think Jaime’s actions in 7.04 are heroic. But I don’t think that makes Dany a villain for being his adversary. Game of Thrones is all about grey morality. There are redeeming aspects to both of them. So please stop dragging the woman through the coals for doing what everyone else in the show, good AND bad guys, have been doing for years. 

[itsclydebitches]

Now maybe I've become a bit sensitive because I'm seeing my favorite character be trashed on by the narrative and due to the bad writing in this and the past volume, but doesn't it seem like the heroes are being more callous to their allies? I don't care if they've received special training, they fought the Ace Ops with more ferocity than they have their enemies and grim. They criticize their allies harshly until they bend to their whim and they don't give a damn about trauma save for the groups

Oh, I’ve absolutely felt that way since Volume 5. As soon as Yang started gunning for Ozpin on Raven’s say-so---and more importantly no one called her out on jumping to conclusions based on information coming from a known manipulator---I was wary. But chalked it up to just one iffy scene. Half a volume later though I’m watching our protagonists punch a kid, verbally assault Ozpin, drive him off, etc. and despite how uncomfortable it makes me I’m also somewhat enjoying that discomfort. If only because I think RT is going to do something with it. That was a truly horrific reaction and we’ll have the group regretting it and learning from it and apologizing... just as soon as they’ve calmed down. As soon as they’re settled in Argus. As soon as they get to Atlas. As soon as they have just a couple more weeks of down time... Meanwhile I watched them attack and ignore Oscar again. Go, “We asked Cordovin to let us through the border twice without providing anything resembling an explanation as to why she should do that. Guess the only thing for it is to attack her now.” Turn on Qrow and reject all adults when he pointed out the very reasonable, “Hey, maybe don’t steal military property from an ally and antagonize a whole army to attack you?” Now we’ve got this volume wherein the group is criticizing, yelling at, betraying, lying to, and trying to turn others against Ironwood (still not over Weiss’ talk with Winter wherein she implies that Ironwood is keeping secrets from her... without any evidence... when Weiss is the one keeping secrets...) and turning on the Ace Ops to boot. I cannot express how much I don’t care about the arrest. Even if we agree 100% that Ironwood is completely in the wrong for giving that order---which I don’t think he is---the unfairness of “Sit this one out until we’re safe from Salem” doesn’t justify the group beating the Ace Ops until their auras broke, especially when every member of that team asked not to fight and every member is needed to even potentially save the city Team RWBY is trying to help. Nor does it justify Qrow prioritizing staying out of handcuffs over Robyn’s health. We have half the Ace Ops reminding the others not to hurt Team RWBY whereas Team RWBY gleefully smashes them all unconscious. We’ve got Clover begging Qrow not to fight him and calling him friend whereas Qrow teams up with Tyrian to take him out. 

I really miss who these characters used to be. Kind, compassionate, growing people who I felt deserved the title of hero for their huntress actions and for how they treated people off the battlefield. Yeah, now the group treats all their allies like enemies, which is why I’m always shocked when fans claim that it’s others who are causing division. Everyone seems to focus on Ruby saying to Harriet, “We have to work together!” and conveniently forget that five seconds ago Ruby made the decision to start the fight. That moment is a reflection of the last two volumes. Anyone who is not RWBYJNR is turned on the moment they don’t do precisely what the group wants. And while people keep arguing that the group has “earned” that extreme level of distrust due to the Ozpin situation (complicated), it doesn’t change the fact that they’ve become just as secretive, just as manipulative and far more cruel than him while still being painted as intrinsically heroic. That’s just really disappointing to watch.