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furbygoblinxiv · 1 year

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So I made a quick oneshot (and accompanying sketch) to get back into the swing of Writing Things, which I've called The Quest For Monster Energy. Featuring three peak lords (tired doctor Mu Qingfang, eccentric brew master Zhang Qingyan, and definitely-not-suspicious logistician Shang Qinghua) coming together to make an energy drink concoction akin to Monster Energy in order to stay awake and complete their tasks.

(I definitely lifted the brewing peak lord name and the beast keeping peak name from this @/tossawary post: https://tossawary.tumblr.com/post/649140398750580736/im-sorry-this-feels-real-weird-but-i-love because Convenience and they've said it's fine before)

Nothing with shipping, nothing explicit or mature, just 4k words of "what if a Victorian child got a hold of monster energy" vibes:

Mu Qingfang had a quest, and once a month, there was a meeting to try to fulfill it.

Shang Qinghua, punctual as ever, was the first to arrive at Mu Qingfang's leisure house right at dusk. With as much time as he spent in the clinic or his personal lab, it was the least used – and thus least cluttered – of the small group's houses. The disciples who cleaned it twice a day were there more than he was, some weeks.

"Shang-shixiong, it is a pleasure as always," Mu Qingfang greeted as the other man sat down and began to unload various small pouches onto the table, next to where Mu Qingfang had already set an assortment of jars. One package had blood splatter on it, which Mu Qingfang ignored. "Has that pain reliever this one sent over worked well for you?"

Shang Qinghua flexed his wrist as he set the last package down, showing off his mobility. "Worked like a charm! No more stiffness or carpal tunnel here!" He grinned, which in the dim lighting, gave an almost menacing appearance when paired with his eye bags and mustache. "How late do you wanna bet Zhang-shimei gets here?"

Zhang Qingyan, lord of the Zui Xian peak of brewing and alchemists, had an unfortunate tendency to lose track of time. She wasn't often intentionally late (ignoring occasions where she was being petty, at least), Mu Qingfang just knew first hand that her laboratory had many small timers yet no overall time keeper. She once claimed that it was just a distraction, whatever that meant.

"I suppose it depends on if she had another chemical explosion," Mu Qingfang responded. "And if she decides to stick around afterwards and clean it, or if she just delegated it onto-"

"HELLOOOO!" Came a cry as the door slammed open, cutting the doctor off.

Zhang Qingyan, one for less propriety than even Shang Qinghua at times, made her grand appearance as if the entire front half of her body was not covered in soot and her hair was not burnt at the ends. Mu Qingfang was only a little shocked she wasn't fully covered, and also wasn't showing up even later. He’d almost call this early for her.

"Sorry I'm a bit late, there was an explosion in the lab again and I had to assign disciples to sort out the mess before I could arrive," she explained as she dropped into her spot at the table and began removing bottles from her bag. "It was necessary to work until the last moment to ensure I was fully prepared for this meeting." With a grin, she removed the last, and largest bottle from her bag. It had a glowing orange liquid in it.

"How are your disciples?" Mu Qingfang inquired politely, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange glow of the bottles that she was sorting on the table.

"The same as always, I suppose! The younger ones have broken a record this year on glass vial breaks, and I caught one of my inner disciples in the middle of a challenge to lick acid yesterday, so they're coming along nicely." She had an eccentric yet caring attitude towards her disciples. If asked, Mu Qingfang knew she'd say she's proud of their tenacity and willingness to test new things. It's part of why she tended to try out new experimental potions on herself as opposed to them the way her predecessor had.

Mu Qingfang wished his lack of student experiments were for the same reason, but his was less out of compassion and more because he couldn’t seem to keep the same group of inner disciples for a long enough period of time to even try to experiment on them. It would be a valuable learning experience for them! They loved being the experimenter, but an important part of being a medic was fully understanding the effects of things! Unfortunately, the moment he thought to ask who would like to test out experimental medicines or new qi blocking techniques, half of them would leave the mountains for personal study or to become an assistant to a specialized peak elder instead. His head disciple refused to even potentially be taken out of commission after lasting this long, and the outer disciples had learned to avoid him when he spent too long on his research.

It was fine, he was okay with going through official channels for human experiments, the slower ones that disciples could opt into for experience. And when that wasn’t an option, well, then he turned to personal experimentation.

"Are they still making a game of sneaking into the alcohol storage cellar?" Shang Qinghua asked, as if he had never done that as a disciple with only Mu Qingfang as an accidental witness. He would have gotten away unseen had Mu Qingfang not been sent there on a dare by his shixiongs for the same purpose.

"With those talismans and arrays that Shang-shixiong helped me with, the new challenge is just finding the cellar in the first place." With a dramatic eye roll, she finally finished sorting the bottles the way she liked. "And you'd be surprised how much that's deterred them."

Shang Qinghua shook his head. "Kids these days know nothing of sleuthing and sneaking," he declared, Zhang Qingyan nodding along.

Mu Qingfang just wished that disciples would stop getting black out drunk and falling off their swords before they even had fully developed brains.

"Enough about the children though!" Zhang Qingyan said. "They're cleaning up the results of my latest and greatest creation! This should act as the perfect base for our concoction," she said, dramatically gesturing to the literal glowing bottle in front of her. "These other bottles are other chemicals and potions that may complement the mixture well. What have you all brought to the table?"

Mu Qingfang gestured to the jars of herbs and small monster parts in front of him. "Since last month, my experiments have shown that Leeching Three Eyed Serpent eyeballs have positive effects on energy and awareness. As well as that, some variants of the herbs I have been cultivating in my gardens have shown enhanced energy signatures when paired with the selectively bred tea leaves this one has been growing."

The other two nodded, both unphased by the strange contents of the jars for entirely separate reasons, so he continued. "This one, however, is still unsure as to whether the presence of the serpent eyes will have an averse or negating effect on the tea like the Sleepless Rhino Explosive Boar horns did last month."

All three of them shuddered at just the thought of that meeting.

Shang Qinghua was up next, and he unloaded an assortment of small items from his pouches as he explained them. "After some talks with a merchant contact, he willingly parted with a stack of talismans designed to keep the victim awake long enough to be tortured." He paused, waiting for any outcry at the torture mention, before he went on and clarified, "I definitely didn't blackmail him for them."

Mu Qingfang, well aware of Shang Qinghua's questionable habits and tendencies by now, simply nodded and stroked his mustache in thought. His shixiong may be shady in his business dealings, but he brought great financial benefits to the sect, and didn't seem to have it in him to betray them. He was a good man, Mu Qingfang wasn't worried. Zhang Qingyan, meanwhile, didn't even seem to pick up on there being anything wrong with what the other man said, instead inspecting the markings on a talisman she took from him.

Moving onto the next pouch, the logistician pulled out a strange trinket, a small blue object with sharp edges. "This, from what I understand from my, uh, readings, is an Everwaking Star Fragment. If this is the object from legend, then it's said that it can dissolve in any liquid, and whoever drinks it is cursed to never sleep again. The last bearer of it, however, was asleep when I found it, next to them and not on their clothing of course, because I would never pickpocket someone who fell asleep poisoned or drunk at a bar. I’m not sure if they had used any of it before then."

Zhang Qingyan's eyes lit up at that, and she snatched it from his hands before he could even protest. "So if the entire thing dissolves in liquid, then what about one small portion of it? Could taking off just the corner of one spike cause eternal wakefulness for just a few days?!" She brought the object up to her eye level as she excitedly murmured to herself about the possibilities.

Of course she was too distracted to pick up on the implication of their shixiong pick-pocketing a drunk person, but again, he was a good guy, and that was none of Mu Qingfang's business.

Shang Qinghua wrapped up his presentation with his usual offerings of vitality enhancing incense sticks (which Mu Qingfang suspected he got from succubi) and what Shang Qinghua called "ground up coffee beans" that he got from trade in the south, but insisted were lackluster alone.

"Should we use Mu-shidi's strongly brewed tea as the base, or Zhang-shimei's great creation?"

Zhang Qingyan thought for a second, staring at the orange glowing bottle in front of her. "The tea. This stuff is pretty strong on its own, and will need to be diluted so that it doesn't automatically stop our hearts or melt our golden cores!"

Mu Qingfang poured the specially brewed tea into a container in the center of the table, and their experiments began.

Once a month, the peak lords from three of the most overworked peaks got together for a late night meeting. Their goal? Create a concoction that gives the drinker both wakefulness and energy to keep going and complete their mountain long list of duties and obligations.

Shang Qinghua called it a quest for the "Monster Energy Drink", which seemed like a fitting name in Mu Qingfang's opinion.

It had started a few years ago, with the doctor approaching the alchemist for something to enhance the tea he already took to keep himself awake for days on end. Things had snowballed when he had accidentally served it to the logistician after helping repair a broken leg. From there, an alliance was born.

Mu Qingfang was a doctor. He knew that it was important to maintain one's body, and that rest and rejuvenation were vital to keeping one's mind sharp. He said as such to Liu Qingge every time the man crashed into the clinic. But Mu Qingfang was also the head doctor of a peak of learning medics, peak lord on a mountain of reckless disciples (and peak lords), in a region of land where people were constantly getting infected or sick.

As much as he knew rest was important, he knew that sometimes, working and saving lives was even more important.

And thus: monstrous energy drink.

Adding the glowing orange liquid into the tea, even just a few drops of it, made the tea go from a dull brown to a glowing dark green. As Zhang Qingyan used her spare potions to work out the right consistency, Mu Qingfang removed some of the monster eyes from a jar and ground it up in his mortar and pestle, and Shang Qinghua attached the energy talisman to the side of the experiment container and dropped a few ground coffee beans in. A moment later, he lit one of the incense sticks and fanned the smoke into the container for a moment before extinguishing it.

After adding the crushed eye to the mixture, it became a brighter shade of green. And when Zhang Qingyan chipped off a corner of Everwaking Star Fragment into the mix, the glow began to pulse.

Having added all they wished to add, and the liquid having not exploded on them yet, they stared at their pulsing creation in awe. Mu Qingfang felt like they had created a forbidden substance.

"That genuinely looks radioactive" Shang Qinghua muttered to himself, like that was a word that made sense. "If a disciple drank this, they'd probably never close their eyes again."

"If a disciple got their hands on this, they would either qi deviate on the spot or enter a coma with their eyes frozen open," Mu Qingfang replied to the only part he actually understood. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how he’d treat that level of…poisoning? in his clinic beyond drastic measures.

"Well, we added all we planned to this beauty and didn't stop to test it along the way, so who knows if it's safe," Zhang Qingyan said as she scooped an empty bottle into the container. Shang Qinghua’s bagged eyes went wide at the sight of the bottle in her hand having the same bright green pulsing glow as the source potion.

"Zhang-shimei, I'm not sure you should-" Mu Qingfang tried to warn, but as always at these meetings, his warnings were not enough to stop the brewmaster from closing her eyes and taking a swig from her glowing bottle.

Shang Qinghua, who usually had pretty controlled (if extreme) facial expressions, seemed to mirror Mu Qingfang's open shock and horror at the move.

A full body shudder racked through Zhang Qingyan, and her eyes flew open with a start. Her vision was unfocused, but then her expression slowly raised to an almost unhinged grin as she stared at the bottle in front of her. Her breathing had noticeably sped up, both audible and from how her shoulders heaved with the motion.

"Boys," she started, not removing her hazy eyes from what she clearly considered her magnum opus. "Prepare to never need to sleep again."

She raised a hand to wipe away at her lip, and already it was shaking so badly that she had trouble aiming for her face.

Mu Qingfang reached for the notepad he kept in his pocket, and recorded down what had been added to the mixture and the immediate side effects. He made sure to note down the violent shaking and lack of focus it had brought his fellow peak lord with three lines under it, and an arrow for good measure.

Shang Qinghua also noticed the quivering. "Oh. Hm. Well, I can't have hands that shake that badly, or I'm gonna have some trouble filing our taxes," he said, laughing as if that were a joke. He pulled some melon seeds out from a bag in his pocket and began to snack and think.

Mu Qingfang was also thinking. There must be an herb or something in this house strong enough to make an impact in this hellish drink they created, one that could stabilize hands and make the sudden onset of energy less overwhelming.

Zhang Qingyan likely was not thinking of solutions, as she was clearly too busy acclimating to the energy rush to think at the moment.

Hand paused halfway to his mouth, Shang Qinghua got an idea. "Mu-shidi, didn't you work with Lin-shimei to make a calming supplement for some raging beasts on Xi Jiao a week or so ago?" He asked, despite having organized the material transfer and thus knowing the answer.

Lin Qingpen, of the agricultural peak Min Nong, was a major help with Mu Qingfang's herb gardens. While her peak covered all kinds of vegetation as opposed to Qian Cao's medicinal focus, her affinity towards plants made it possible for Mu Qingfang to selectively breed for specific attributes of his herbs and plants in the first place.

Reaching into one of the main spacial pouches that he kept on his person, the doctor pulled out the package with Lin Qingpen's note of well wishes still attached. "Shang-shixiong is correct, and this one does in fact have some left over."

Shang Qinghua's eyes lit up at the sight of the pouch, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he smiled. The gesture, for some reason, reminded Mu Qingfang of the over the top villains of the plays he used to watch as a child.

He has been planning on using this powder for experimenting on calming herbal remedies for troubled patients, but he can always request more from Lin Qingpen tomorrow. Mixing a pinch of it into a cup of water, he handed the cup to a still shaking Zhang Qingyan, who downed it without question and only minimal spilling.

"She's got more guts than I do," Shang Qinghua admitted, as if one's guts has anything to do with this experiment process beyond likely being damaged.

After downing the herbs strong enough to calm a rampaging Fire Tailed Dragon Horse down, the effects were almost as fast as those from the initial potion were. Her hands stopped shaking as badly, and her breathing slowed down. A few moments later, her eyes regained focus.

Eventually, she was in a normal enough state that it wouldn't be malpractice if Mu Qingfang needed to perform surgery while under this drink's effects.

"Oh yeah, it definitely needed something to act as a counterbalance, good call," she said as Mu Qingfang recorded the side effects down. "One of you should probably try it with the Restful Temperament leaves mixed in beforehand so we know if those should be taken separately or not."

There was a brief moment of uncomfortable eye contact between himself and Shang Qinghua. The doctor knew that, as suspicious as his business dealings and as often as his physical injuries, the man across from him at the table was a coward. Light glistened off of his face in a way that Mu Qingfang swore was dripping sweat, but he had no way to confirm since the light of the candles and the glowing energy drink were rather low. It was kind of pathetic to watch, in a way.

Sighing, he took an empty bottle from Zhang Qingyan's side of the table and scooped his own helping of the concoction. Dropping a hearty pinch of Restful Temperament Leaves into the bottle, he mixed it for a moment as he tried to wrap his head around what he was about to do. At least it caused no visible changes to the already strange looking drink…

Stored in a hidden pouch against his breast were a handful of incredibly rare panacea style substances that fully cured the body of any curse or poison that may be contaminating it. It didn't work on injuries, and the peak lord only used them for what he deemed catastrophic level emergencies.

He wondered if drinking a glowing liquid in the name of science and staying awake counted as an emergency.

"Oh come on Mu-shixiong, don't back out now," Zhang Qingyan crowed with an almost predatory smile, sensing his weakness. "We've definitely drank way worse drinks at this same table before, right Shang-shixiong?!" She leaned over and elbowed the logistics peak lord, who looked like one more strong elbow to the side would knock him down for good. The other man nodded with a nervous looking smile, still staring at the glowing creations before him.

Staring at the ominous elixir in front of him, he let out a sigh. He couldn't believe he was sometimes referred to as the most responsible of the peak lords.

He took a drink from the bottle.

The first thing he had to note: it tasted abhorrent. He knew it wouldn't be pleasant, given the mix of random plants and monster parts that had been added, but this was leagues worse than even his worst expectations. Despite having a strong stomach, he fought off the urge to throw up and demand to know what Zhang Qingyan had put into the base potion.

Instead, he forced it down with a grimace and mentally mapped every place in the leisure house that stored medicine to help soothe stomach issues. He could have sworn he felt it bubbling all the way down, despite its lack of bubbles, and felt his veins and bloodstream light up as if electrocuted. The fact that Zhang Qingyan had downed this with a straight face was both terrifying and impressive.

Luckily, his mind stayed as sharp as ever, and his hands had no notable shake to them. He made sure to note down these effects and mix some of the Restful Temperament Leaves into the base container of the substance.

"That seems to be as good of a balance as we are going to get," Mu Qingfang announced to both of the peak lords watching him in anticipation and dread.

Zhang Qingyan let out a cheer and took another swig from her Restful-temperament-free bottle, immediately causing her hands to start shaking again.

Shang Qinghua let out a sigh of relief as he bottled his own share of the energy granting monstrosity they had just created. With a quick sip, he muttered “tastes almost like actual monster energy” while shuddering. "Of course, we'll have to keep in touch about potential side effects," he said louder, staring at his bottle and likely calculating ways to market, mass produce, and sell it off if it didn't cause deadly effects.

Mu Qingfang knew that Zhang Qingyan had some pretty strong hangover cure potions that she had amplified, and that Shang Qinghua had poison curing artifacts from grateful trade partners. If there truly were adverse effects, they should be fine, but it'd be important to note for the next time they made an experiment or if Shang Qinghua decided to sell it.

Zhang Qingyan bottled the rest of the container and divided it up between the three of them. "Well boys, barring any unknown side effects, I think we just stumbled across the perfect energy drink." She declared.

Mu Qingfang knew better though. He knew they would find even better energy and sleep alternatives before the month was over. "Same time next month?"

The other two, stashing away their personal bottles, started to pack their things. "Oh yeah, this was just the prototype," Zhang Qingyan laughed as she stood from the table. "Improvements can always be made, we can't be falling asleep during next month’s Immortal Alliance Conference, after all!"

Shang Qinghua let out what may be a nervous laugh as he agreed, but Mu Qingfang was sure it was just the lack of sleep getting to him.

"If we don't see each other again, I'll see you all at the immortal alliance conference," he promised, with affirmations from the other two as they made their way out into the night.

With pleasant calls of farewell made and his leisure house evacuated, Mu Qingfang stared down at the concoction in front of him.

He was a doctor, he knew how important sleep was, and how vital it was to not drink random glowing potions of haphazard mixes of items. And he knew that, as an immortal, he didn't truly need to sleep. But he did need to focus, and he did have work to do.

He took a second swig from the bottle and stood, clearing everything else off of the table. He had the feeling some emergency would be calling him to the clinic any minute now, despite it being well into the night. It had been too calm for too long, which typically meant trouble on Qian Cao.

Extinguishing the lights, Mu Qingfang headed off into the night. His exit left nothing behind save the energy drink, alone and glowing on his table, a soft pulsing light beckoning to any unfortunate disciples who may see it come morning.

#svsss #svsss fanfic #my writing tag #my thoughts and rambles

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spiderlilac · 11 months

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ik you said you’re writing an update but im dying to know how the other characters feature in to love is to share ….. are Aemond’s siblings aware of the nature of the relationship he’s in? how do they feel about it?

hiiii omg sorry for taking forever to answer this !

dw i got u. i’ve thought about this since posting the first part 🫡 so sorry for the long answer!!! you have been warned

tw implied brainwashing

so the whole reason this au was born was because i thought about a modern au where viserys dies, and all his money, inheritance, etc, was never properly discussed. his will was never updated after aemma’s funeral so the only one who gets anything is rhaenyra— money, the targs famous company, any proprieties, rhaenyra gets it all, while alicent and her children are left with pretty much nothing except for the targaryen family home, as an act of goodwill by rhaenyra. the hightowers used to be wealthy by buying/selling real estate but the company suffered uh….. a huge scandal (let’s say gwayne hightower was arrested several times) and their money isn’t enough for them to keep living the comfortable life they once had, and soon the horror begins = aegon almost cries when alicent tells him he should get a job.

so otto does his magic and convinces alicent that the best prospect for aemond (one-eyed, but an omega nonetheless) is marrying one of rhaenyra’s oldest sons because both will have a more than decent inheritance and therefore, moneyyyyy. westeros still has some families with pretty old-fashioned traditions, so it’s alicent as his mother who approaches rhaenyra with the proposal. surprise surprise, rhaenyra declines almost immediately because she (very rightfully) thinks that aemond will try and murder either of her sons as soon as they’re married, all too resentful for his eye. alicent shamelessly lies (he would never do that!!! he’s such a decent, kind, devoted omega!!!! and— and he cooks so well!!!) and that’s how aemond finds himself in a ‘how to be a good omega’ course, imparted at the local clinic.

they teach him the basics— how to cook, how to clean, how to please their spouses. aemond thinks it’s all bullshit— but, hey, they’re right when they say that your mate should be your top priority. and, well, they are also right when they say that if you love someone, you would be devoted to them. of course i would cook for my spouse!!! they must be so tired after work…

so who knew? it actually works. next time alicent meets rhaenyra, she shows her what a good omega her son is— aemond cooks for them, wears something that creepily looks like something alicent would’ve worn in her youth, and is all gentle smiles and soft movements. only that rhaenyra did not go alone to their meeting. jace and luke join just in time to appreciate the changes in their uncle, and now it’s not who will marry him, but when will they marry him. they’re brothers, after all— they’re shared everything all their lives. this should not be different.

now, what you actually asked (lmao! got a little carried away!) aemond’s siblings are confused. lemme elaborate:

aegon thought aemond was messing with him the first time he said he had to leave early from their night out to cook lucerys dinner. his jaw dropped when aemond also told him he could not drink any alcohol because jacaerys told him not to. don’t get him wrong, he’s glad aemond isn’t the same asshole he used to be, but now talking to him feels weird. his baby brother won’t go anywhere unless his husbands are aware. he won’t wear anything they don’t approve of. and every time aegon tries to make him see how unreasonable his lifestyle is, aemond will fight until aegon drops it. whatever. as long as he’s happy, i guess.

helaena tries to argue on that as well— she insists aemond should have his own say in his life, but her comments are softly spoken, so aemond just chuckles and disregards everything she says. he pats her head, smiling all condescending because she’s a beta, and she wouldn’t understand. after a while, helaena gives up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t grimace when aemond takes his coat off and she can see his whole neck and wrists covered in bruises and finger marks.

now… daeron is complicated, because he still feels some of the rage aemond shared with him when the eye incident happened. at first, he glares at jace and luke at family gatherings and tells them they would never deserve his brother, and he tries convincing aemond to get a divorce as soon as he gets his hands in some of their money, but aemond looks truly concerned and explains that the past is all behind, daeron. we should not let ourselves rot with resentment, and so daeron tunes the comments off, although he still glares at the velaryon boys.

either way, their acceptance on their marriage grows a bit when jace and luke treat them for sevenmas— they get aegon and helaena an all-included trip to pentos for an entire month on the most luxurious hotel that could possibly exist, while their children get so many toys that helaena doubts they will fit all in their room. and daeron, who is now old enough to drive, gets his first car! i meaaan, they can’t be that bad, can they?

#asks #my fics #lucemond #fic to love is to share

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sajiri · 2 years

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Your OC being watched (alone or with others) during a private moment by Midgardsormr/Feo Ul/Ardbert/Fray (Esteem)/Emet Selch/Crystal Exarch/that fucking shoebill/Hydaelyn, or anyone else who regularly spies on them -- SO WHAT WAS THE EXARCH SEEING IN THE PENDANTS HMMMM?

Huuuurgh okay I do another! Im not bothering with even rereading it this time :I

Actually, this was a little hard to think of. Considering it was a naughty fic prompt, I can only imagine what a private moment implies, but Dijana simply had 0 interest in such a thing (prior to rekindling her relationship with G'raha anyway). As the Crystal Exarch, I think he was also a bit more restrained than how he acts back on the Source in his younger body, but I think I could see him just wanting to look at her, after working for a century to save her.

Maybe I'll take a look at this later and edit/add more ------------------

Hidden beneath the hood, the Exarch's sanguine eyes watched as the visions on the Allagan mirror came to life before him.

He had bid Dijana farewell just before returning to the Tower, he knew she was safe and well in her room in the Pendants, and yet...

As so often seemed to be the case these days, he couldn't resist checking in on her one more time, without her knowledge of course. The Warrior of Darkness had already not been pleased (to put it lightly) with his summoning of her to the First, and he had only just seemed to have won some semblance of trust from her.

Though he couldn't help but wonder her reaction if she knew who hid beneath the hood...

There she was, of course, alone in her room, her armor shed and greatsword resting against the wall in the corner. Her hair was loose, and her eyes...he wasn't sure he'd ever seen her look so worn, so tired. His heart lurched- she was not at all like the shy young woman he had met a century before. How much she must have gone through in what was only a few short years for her since their parting?

Right now, she looked so vulnerable. He should stop watching her now, he knew, but once again, he could not bring himself to look away. So long he had labored in this world, worked to save it, save her, and he could not even speak the truth to her. These moments where he could watch her, unguarded and alone, was the closest he could get to being with her as they once had, in a life so long ago.

And then, she began to undress.

Oh, she is about to bathe. Oh, he should definitely stop watching her now.

He really should stop watching her now.

Why was he not ending this vision?

He knew why, though he did not want to admit to it. Propriety dictated he look away, not intrude on her privacy, but the young man from long ago who had loved and lusted after her once upon a time was being remembered.

Dijana dressed more revealing now than what he remembered from their time in Mor Dhona, but even now it still hid much of her toned and muscled body, those shadowed scales, already showing faint golden lines from the light aether she had absorbed.

He watched her lips part in a silent sigh, settling herself down into the tub, her head rolling back to look up, and for a moment, directly towards him, before she simply closed her eyes. He watched the way her dark hair fanned out around her in the water, the way she seemed to finally relax in a manner he had not seen at all since her arrival in the First.

His hand gripped heavier at the staff at his side, his jaw set, and his eyes wandered over her body.

There were scars. So many scars. Deep slashes into her scales, burns that had never fully healed on her flesh. Remainders of past battles she hid throughout the day.

Would she ever willingly show them to him, he wondered?

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flightofaqrow · 2 years

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KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

✿ NAME: Ray!

✿ PRONOUNS: she/her/hers

✿ PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: tags on posts, tumblr IM moving to discord

✿ NAME OF MUSE(S):

[inactive]: Minako Arisato ( @orokana-riko ), Robin ( @invisibleimpossibilities ), Basilio ( @feroxiox )

[other active]: Robyn Hill ( @trickshottruths ), Briar Rieka ( @hopeandharmonizing )

✿ EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): Since Sailor Moon was showing on Toonami in the USA and that was the only way you could see it. A long time.

✿ PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: yahoo forums, other forum board, AIM, tumblr, discord

✿ BEST EXPERIENCE: I always talk about the Persona stuff, let’s do something different. I was part of a small group in the FE rpc that helped organize some comm-wide events including volleyball tournaments, masquerade balls, muse auctions, zombie invasions, hedge mazes. It was always a good time.

✿ RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS: I’ve been waiting for the pet peeve word to come up, because it’s not a deal breaker or something I super judge, but just a little peeve? yes: too many memes that put the burden of writing/creativity on the sender (make up your own question, send a nightmare, send a reaction to x, etc) like ‘send a kiss’ things are fine because ship fuel usually has extra reserves, poking for headcanons/meta/ships sometimes is fine bc you just want to open it up to hear what people think. but for the most part you’re the one posting the meme, you’re the one with the drive, you’re the one asking for interaction. Make it easy. Like, I want to interact and indulge, but If I have to do more than send a symbol or copy/paste a phrase when I’m already working on other drafts or tired and lurking, that just seems unfair. Especially if there’s a bunch like that in a row or every day.

Dealbreakers are too much vagueblogging, constant negativity that vastly overtakes regular interactions, not respecting my headcanons/boundaries.

✿ FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Blood, tears, and orgasms fuel my soul. But I’m up for anything that helps the muses develop, explores some depth or expression of character. If you’re willing to do some development first, then fluff in between can be fun too. (Also fluffy/soft/slice of life topics can still have development, in which case I wouldn’t consider them “fluff” threads.)

✿ PLOTS OR MEMES: both. usually the best comes from a meme that kicks off some plotting. I don’t always have the brainspace for big plots these days, but some context and tentative direction for the thread is always good.

✿ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: I’ve done both. One-liners are rare and usually silly bouncing with muses already developed together. I can’t do full rps that way. I can get up to 1000-2000 words in replies, but lately just been loving the ~300-500 word medium length.

✿ BEST TIME TO WRITE: When I have the house to myself, which is usually only a few days a week and about to get less once I start work again lmao. In an ideal world, I would wake up, watch/listen/read some stuff/ catch up on the dash for inspo then churn some stuff out. Maybe take a break then repeat the process. Rare are the days responsibilities don’t break that up somehow. Such is life. I usually have more writing energy when other people are around on the dash or discord. Keeps the juices flowing and feels less like screaming into the void. Gotta agree with Shrimpy that sometimes the opposite extreme of everyone being quiet the whole time can help focus, though (if I have enough mojo to start in the first place).

✿ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): I think we all fit our perceptions, values, pieces of ourselves in our muses somehow. That said, I am not very much like qrow except for some of those shared values (dislike of mainstream and propriety, caring about people, depth of emotion/sentimentality, some empathy) and maybe some trauma responses lmao. I’m not a 40 year old unlucky alcoholic fighter uncle man who travels the world and works with secret clubs. Although, we Qrow muns seem to agree some extra Misfortune slips into our lives since taking on this muse. The Qrow Curse (affectionate).

tagged by: @lupusmatra <3

tagging: @the-gray-maiden @slaughtermachine @clockwork---heart

#* behind closed doors = ooc *#* it'd be a shame to lose your job before you even started = mun *

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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are you ever going to write a sequel to that incredible stannis + soulmate journal prompt you did? i know stannis survives the siege, but i still get absolute chills and i'd love to read his reaction to meeting her. it doesn't have to be a story, even--just, like, a couple bullet points would be enough to quench my thirst for stannis content. i understand if you don't want to!

I wanted to write something for this bc i had IdEAS but im too tired soooo lets do the bullet ponts hahaha. anon is referring to this fic!

I think at this point, Stannis is so physically and mentally exhausted, he actually tosses his usual uptight sense of propriety out the window. When you write to him that you're terrified and worried and you're on a ship right now with your family's soldiers, he doesn't tell you to stop.

The siege has ended. Stannis still can't stomach the food that's coming in, he tells his men to have it first, and of course Renly. He's still too weak to write, so he just looks at his journal, reading your frantic words. You're almost on the way, he doesn't have to worry anymore, you'll be there.

Sometimes Davos (with freshly bandaged fingers) catches him snorting in amusement at the journal. He's a bit worried his new lord is losing a few marbles, then he finally sees the journal and realizes what it is.

"The songs and stories won't shut up about the destined meeting," Stannis remarks to him out of nowhere. His words are biting. "This is one they'll sing about."

Which is to say, he's terrified what you'll think, but he's also too tired and fucking done with everything to stop it. He still doesn't write back, but he follows your daily updates, calculating how long it'll take you to arrive.

Stannis meets you on the docks, weak as he is. It's freezing out here, with the wind batting him hard, even if it's the height of spring. He watches the horizon for a long time, waiting for your family's crest to appear over the water. And it does.

The ship docks and he barely pays attention to the soldiers and servants exiting, bringing supplies and reinforcements. A family member - likely an older brother - tries to speak with Stannis, but the Baratheon is dismissive of him. His dark blue eyes are searching the deck, waiting for you to step down...

And you do. You stumble down the ladder and all but run toward him, ignoring the strange looks dockworkers are giving you both. You wrap your arms around him, and as if you're heart wasn't already bursting with excitement and emotion and aching with worry, it gets worse. You nearly knock Stannis over with your enthusiasm because he's so thin and weak. You feel him stiffen up, but then his arms slowly wrap around you, too.

There's a lot for you two to catch up on! And you have the excuse of your men and family members staying in his castle as they prepare to march off to assist Robert and Ned in their battles. The war isn't over, but gods, it looks like it already wrung Stannis dry. You want to stay and support him as best you can, convince him to get some damn sleep and please try to eat more.

By the time the war is over, you and Stannis don't really use the journals anymore. You've been together since you arrived on boat. When the rebellion -- no, the war, your 'side' won - is finished, there's much to do now that Robert is king. Stannis has put up with SO much shit during and after the siege ... he basically demands to his brother that he be allowed to marry you. No he doesn't want fucking Dragonstone, he just wants you.

You two discussed this before, and you both asked Robert for his blessing in private... though you had a sense Stannis may have actually just gone and done it anyway. This is the most you've ever seen him shirk the idea of "duty" and raise his voice at Robert... it's kind of attractive??

Robert allows it, of course. He really doesn't think about any political ramifications; it's Lord Arryn's job to worry about such things. And you and Stannis are a great pair in court, anyway. He'd still keep the journals. You aren't sure when Stannis had them brought in from Storm's End; it's surprisingly sentimental of him. Since you both are together all the time now, there's really not a need for a new one...

It's very possible no one would know you were soulmates, except Maester Cressen and maybe Davos. Stannis prefers it that way. He still thinks some of this soulmate stuff is a lot of illogical fluff... ... Even if he keeps those journals around!!! He's very embarrassed if you do the same.

But everyone once in a while you still like to leave a cute little love note or drawing on a scrap paper and wait for it to appear on the thing he's working on, haha. Just to keep him on his toes.

#v self indulgent in this wendy's tonight #stannis baratheon x reader #got x reader #game of thrones x reader #libra headcanons

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aadmelioraa · 3 years

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CAN I ASK FOR BOTH 1 AND 2 WITH ALDFLAED PLS IM BEGGING

YES YOU CAN!! 1 + 2 being: a conversation you wish had happened in canon + expression of love.

This turned into a whole thing, whoops.

Read below, or on ao3.

Hope (Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, rated T, 1.5k)

When finally she sees Aldhelm again it does her heart good. Despite her insistence to the contrary, the thought that he may have succumbed to his injury crosses Aethelflaed’s mind more than once in the weeks that pass between their meetings.

He’s speaking with one of the guard at the other side of the courtyard and when his eyes flick towards her briefly a restrained smile flits across his face.

She walks towards him at a leisurely pace, waiting for the other man to take his leave before she approaches too close.

He greets her with a bow of his head, bending at the waist by force of habit and grimacing slightly as he does.

“Please do not trouble yourself,” she says, laying a hand on his arm without thinking. He stands as if turned to stone, and she pulls her hand away, heart racing. Despite their exposure, something about this encounter feels even more intimate than their last. She had not expected that.

“Lady. Your victory was well-told.” Aldhelm’s voice is warm, though his eyes remain as shrewd as ever.

“You are looking nearly healed,” she says, no interest in discussing matters of war for now. “I am glad of it.”

His eyes are fixed on her as he replies, “I have recovered, thanks to you.”

“I could not very well have let you bleed to death on my floor,” she chides gently. “If you had wanted to meet your end, you ought to have gone elsewhere.”

He huffs a laugh, followed by another painful grimace, but this time she refrains from reaching out.

“Your husband is within,” he says, glancing towards the palace.

Aethelflaed frowns. “Why have you returned, Aldhelm? Do you not fear he may strike again?”

And as he meets her eyes, she knows the answer, and it sends a familiar quiver through her the way his confession had those weeks ago.

He’s returned for her. Out of duty to her, and to Mercia—they are one and the same to him. It is equal parts calculated and reckless to slink back to the side of the man who’d tried to kill him—who’d tried to kill them both. But she was here, and so was he, and their reasons were not so dissimilar.

“I will happily leave if you have an errand for me,” he says, a hint of levity entering his tone. “But otherwise, my place is here.”

“I have no errand for you,” she replies, narrowing her eyes as she shakes her head. “My only orders were to stay alive, and so far you have not failed me.”

A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth again, this time he barely fights it. “If you are pleased, then so am I.”

She sweeps by him with one last glance as she says, “I must greet my husband. I am sure he will be as happy to see me alive as he was to see you.”

And though his face is gone from view, she can see his gentle smile deepen clearly in her mind’s eye.

***

Aldhelm retires that evening well after the rest of the household has gone to bed. He had hoped to catch one more glance of Aethelflaed as he sat by the fire, but she had vanished some time ago.

When he reaches his room something stays his hand at the door. It is closed, as he’d left it, but his years of soldiering had made him attuned to any small changes in his surroundings, and it has saved his life too many times for him to second-guess his instincts.

He draws his weapon and pushes the door open gingerly. He had been right. The room is not empty.

Aethelflaed sits on the edge of his bed mending a tunic—his tunic—and looking so at ease he nearly questions whether by some trick he’d arrived in her room instead of his own.

“You do not sleep, Aldhelm?” she asks easily, glancing up from her work just long enough to cause the color to rise in his face.

He returns his knife to his belt and closes the door behind him, not sure he should, but certain it cannot remain open. “I found myself lost in thought. But you, Lady, are also awake. Do you not sleep either?”

Aldhelm steps closer, heart pounding, and sees the garment she’s mending is the robe he’d been wearing that fateful night in Winchester. The bloodstain, by some miracle, had disappeared after vigorous scrubbing with ash and cold water, but the jagged rift in the fabric had remained, Aldhelm finding himself strangely averse to repairing it. The gash was an echo of the scar on his own body which served as a warning that might reinforce his better judgement should he find himself again at odds with Aethelred. A warning which now has been turned into a message with quite a different tone. Wounds will heal, rifts will be repaired, and his heart will continue beating for a singular purpose—he can no longer deny it does. He had admitted it to her, those weeks ago, now he has admitted it to himself.

“You needn’t trouble yourself.” Objection is futile for many reasons, not least of which is the mesmerizing effect that her elegant and efficient needlework has on him.

“It’s no trouble,” she replies. “And I’m nearly done.” Indeed, as she speaks she pulls the final stitch and inspects her work. “There. You can hardly tell.”

When she offers him the garment he accepts, and it feels somehow heavier than he remembers. Her hands linger near his, fingers buried in the folds of the fabric.

“My lady, you endanger yourself by being here.” He cannot help but remind her.

She lifts an eyebrow in that authoritative way of hers. “You ought to worry for yourself more than you do me, Aldhelm.” And as she traces along the line of her stitches her fingers brush his.

He’s struck suddenly by a memory from several years ago: Aethelflaed in profile, sitting atop her horse as she commands the Mercian fyrd. Something about her expression now makes it impossible for him not to recall that moment. He wonders if perhaps that was the moment when his heart had begun to turn towards her. He cannot be sure, for he had found himself ambushed by sentiment before he’d even realized that his affections had been capable of attaching themselves to such an object.

“I should let you rest.” That thoughtful line he has come to love so well has appeared between her brows.

“I am honored to have been visited by such a careful seamstress,” he says, taking a step back to allow her aside.

She smiles slightly. “I was told as a child to make my stitches neat, or they would not hold.”

“Precision is a strong suit of yours, I have noticed,” he remarks, awed that still she does not leave.

“Not, however, of my husband’s,” she replies, her tone darkly humorous. “And thank God for that.”

“Why are you here, Lady?” The question is as blunt as it is inevitable. It is late, and he is tired, and she is too exceptional not to be aware the effect she has on him.

Her expression turns sober, and he curses himself for his candor. “My apologies, I did not mean—“

She shakes her head. “Do not apologize. You are right, I should not be here."

“You do not intend to tell me why you’ve broached propriety for such a small task?” Aldhelm asks, folding the length of the garment in half and setting it aside.

“It is not a small task,” she replies, and lays a hand on his chest.

He places his hand atop hers as if to confirm he had not imagined it her touch.

“I should let you rest,” she repeats, but instead of moving away, she moves closer.

“You should rest as well,” he replies. “But only after you reveal your true purpose.”

Her eyes crease with a smile. “Do you suspect me of duplicity?”

“If you no longer suspect me, I feel compelled to maintain the balance myself.”

She breathes a laugh, but her grave look returns.

“If I were a more hopeful man,” he brushes his thumb along the curve of her cheek, “I’d invent some foolish reason for your presence.”

“Perhaps, Aldhelm,” she says, and his heart leaps at the sound of his name on her tongue, “Perhaps you may allow yourself a little foolishness, on this occasion only.”

He gently lifts her chin towards him. Her eyes are bright and clear, no trace of uncertainty in her face.

“I am afraid I shall play the fool too well,” he murmurs.

She rises on her toes to kiss him. “I have no doubt you will regain your reason, before long.”

And he wraps his arms around her and gives in to hope, at least for a night.

#the last kingdom #aethelflaed x aldhelm #aethelflaed #aldhelm #tlk fic #marv-llous #the expression of love is not quite overt but i hope this fits the bill!#kat writes

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hollyhomburg · 4 years

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I’m so interested now in the in between of king Yoongi and queen reader’s courting and marriage, like that time in between where he asked her to be his queen, she said as long as it’s only me, and the whole planning the wedding process and the first night oh my gosh I-

i think that she might be a little shy and at first- yoongi would be unsure because of it, if he should just leave her alone (while subtly taking care of her), but then he would maybe like- have jimin do some spy work. and he catches her smiling one time while she looks at him and then kicking her feet in happiness when she finds flowers by her bedside. and jimin reports to yoongi that yeah- he should keep going because she likes him back.

and then when it comes to courting i think its a lot of them finding time to be near each other? like he’ll invite her for lunch in the war room (all of the stuffy generals cleared out) and he makes sure he has the most delicious food made for her. and then at other times- he’ll set up picknicks in the grasses or invite her to take a carriage ride with him to the ocean for a weekend (with jimin as chaperone of course). during their courting, there are alot of hand touches and maybe one or two kisses here and there but nothing more than that.

and maybe their courtship is interrupted by a war of some sort. and she’s upset- but yoongi has to go at least for part of it. and when they say goodbye she cries and yoongi can’t help but ignore propriety and pull her in closer. “promise me, promise me you’ll come back” and he does, and when he leans close he’ll say, “i’ll marry you the second i do” and shes kinda shocked but she’s happy because yeah- they both know thats where it’s going.

the war lasts a few months, and yoongi writes whenever he can, and she saves each of the letters, even sends him one or two back (because the letter of a governess for a king is hardly anything important during a time of war) and yoongi looks forward to those letters more than anything. after the war is done, yoongi returns and the first time he see’s you, his eyes meeting yours in the garden, stalking towards you in all of his regalea, tired from a week of riding, he drops his knee before you, and the lady you’re walking with stills, scattering after a moment.

you can barely stop yourself from running to him. “my lady” he says, then puzzles over the words for a moment, “i’ve always called you that, but you have not been mine for long, nor are you mine if you so wish it- i will not lay claim to your love simply because i am king and i can- you’ve shown me what virtue there is in listening to others and honoring their wishes, so- if you wish to be parted from me say it now and I will leave you be but continue to love you even if you do, but if you still love my wretched soul as your letters lead me to belive- if you are still my lady, then let me also become yours. will you...will you become my queen?” and of course you fall into his arms and say yes, because yes- you do want to be his and have him be yours.

the marriage preparations take a little while, after the war- the people are ready for some reason to celebrate. and you also have to be trained a little too. because after the wedding you will be queen and will have many more responsibilities than you did before. You get assigned an advisor, a clumsy scholar named namjoon who honestly prefers to spend most of your time together talking about books, only to be reigned in by Yoongi’s head advisor seokjin- cuffing namjoon over the back of the head with a ream of paper.

i think the wedding would be a gorgeous affair, paper hanging from the trees of the secret garden, flowers, and candles set about in big bunches as well as food- so much food. there are some of the more simple traditions- such as the throwing of chestnuts and a funny moment where yoongi accidentally catches one, and for once, a few giggles in the crowd don’t tempt him into a murderous rage.

the whole night he looks nearly drunk on you, eyes soft and honeyed in the light of the evening, especially once the candles are put out and you return to his rooms, yoongi leading you there with a hand. the floors warm underfoot, his things set out- nice and clean. you kiss in the entryway, and his arms come up around you, hands fixing over the smallest part of your waist- groaning into your mouth to touch you like that.

but he wants to do everything right by you not even in the traditional way where the groom knocks up the bride on the wedding night because at the end of the day your marriage is consummated through love- not something as silly as sex- he pulls away after a moment to say “if you want- we don’t- if it’s not what you want then-” and you just answer him with a kiss, your hands on the closure of his hanbok. your smile mirthful.

i think yoongi would undress you slowly, like every inch of you is a gift crafted for him. his mouth lingering on the places he’d never seen before, the sensitive spot at the inside of your elbow, the crest of your shoulder, the hollow of your throat. until you’re bare before him. and yeah- he’d make love really slowly to you, aware it’s your first time. and i think your first time would be more about making sure you’re both as close to each other as possible rather than cumming however many times you think is propper.

“I never imagined you’d be so soft” yoongi would say when you where curled up on his chest, cheek resting over his heart. smiling up at him with your dopey grin, hands running up and down your back, like he can't feel you enough, the pads of his fingers sinking into your butt to pull you up against him more snugly “it’s nice, I like it” and you’d just kiss over his heart and say

“im happy it pleases you my king” he makes a little huffing sound and leans forward to bite playfully at your neck,

“anything for you my queen, should i say it again? and detail what other parts of you i like in a poem? or maybe in a song?”

“why not both?” you’d tease, and he’d laugh and joke some more but then you’d both fall asleep, one out of many more happy nights that you’d have in the future.

#Anonymous

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bbnibini · 4 years

Text

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – forty-eight🔖

tw: this is really angsty and talks about toxic relationships, as well as very very negative thoughts. If that isn’t your thing, please skip this ending route and just read the epilogue/good ending

You felt relief--as if someone pulled you out of the darkness looming in your thoughts---that perhaps you were not as evil as you thought you were, not as vile or toxic or delusional. That you were simply in love with another person, and it just happened to not be Mammon. That you were not idealising him, but your feelings had been for another all along. Perhaps there was a way to fix this, that you could save him,which was ridiculous because you were the one who pushed him into hating himself because of your misguided feelings in the first place.

You are a horrible person.

At least your thoughts said so. Mammon was asleep in your arms, his face dried with his own tears but you can only think of the person who sent you the letter. It was deplorable, you know. Try as you will, you couldn't deny your heart's pitter patters at the thought that your secret admirer was out there somewhere, hidden to you in plain sight, and you felt for him the same. You looked at Mammon again and tried to will yourself to feel any feelings for him, but your own heart couldn't seem to give you an answer. Maybe you really didn't love him at all. You cared about him, at least enough to confront him about your relationship, but re-evaluating that, and hearing about how he kept such a huge secret from you only earned him your understanding, but not your affection.

Perhaps this was why he kept it from you in the first place.

Encouraging him to speak to you the truth earned you guilt feelings, and it only seemed to cling to you at his every word.

"Little D No.2 told me a classmate found something in their locker that belonged to me. It looked like my handwriting and it was addressed to you." he was stuttering at every word as you tried to stop his tears, but they only continued to fall. "I didn't know how to process it. We were so happy, but…it always felt like I was a fraud, y'know? You tell me I'm all these wonderful things, but I can't seem to see it. Now it's finally making sense."

"Mammon."

"Did you at least love me, even a little bit, as me? Or was it always him ?"

How could you ever answer that? Everything was so new to you, it was all confusing. Your mind continued scrambling over your feelings for both of them but it only seemed to fluctuate, from feelings of pity for the one who had lost you, to hopeless pining for the one you couldn't ever have.

You tried to convince yourself that it's all wrong, that perhaps you're only deluding yourself, for it's impossible to fall in love with a person you don't even know. You thought about Mammon again, and it only stung your eyes.

What the hell do you call our relationship then? he asked you in your vivid imagination, carrying the cursed facade he urged himself to become. You loved Mammon then, with all his undiscovered layers, his multifaceted sides, although not his, was endearing to you. Then, that Mammon changed back to the one everyone knew and loved, with his trademark sunglasses and devilish smirk, handing out to you his own letter. His own feelings you've never had a chance to read for yourself.

You wondered if you'd still fall in love with him if you read his actual letter.

Wait.

Still?

You gently laid Mammon down on your lap as you reached out for the letter on your drawer. It was well-kept, its scent now faint from rereading one too many times. The carnations on its corners were now a light pink, a part wrinkled and deformed from the tears that fell down your eyes when you chose to read it one particularly bad day, as it was your only solace at that time. Swallowing, you bit your lips and opened the envelope, greeted by your mysterious admirer's elegant handwriting. You read its passages again to affirm that silly slip of your mind, a hope that perhaps you're mistaken, that maybe you can still love the demon who didn't want you to leave him, but ah. Your heart was a mess again as you read the letter's passages. His heartfelt words. His love. A weird clumsiness there that spoke of propriety but gave something else away.

You thought you would discover something new, something that would make you feel human again in your rereading, but oh what a joke.

Whoever you are, Mr. Secret Admirer, please come out. You hoped for him to save you from being sunk into your ocean of denials, your growing feelings for him, an unknown that you wanted so much to be another person. To be Mammon. Why couldn't it be Mammon? He would understand, wouldn't he? He didn't seem to want any reciprocation on your part when he wrote it to you, but the thought of never knowing him ached your heart. Aren't you arrogant enough to decide who you should love? Now that Mammon was hurt by you, are you moving to your next target? Are you that much of a self-absorbed bitch?

You felt tears stinging your eyes as more self-deprecating thoughts filled your head. It pointed fingers at you and laughed at you, calling you many names you thought you had already forgotten--a distant memory of your past that still carried its remnants in the scars of your heart.

This is why he killed you.

They only see Lilith in you.

You hurt the only person who loved you. Aren't you spoiled?

No!no!no!No!no!no!No!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!noNo!no!no!

How many apologies have you made your entire life, sorrys spoken despite not knowing what you have done? How true were the cruel words spouted at you when they thought they couldn't be heard? How deep were the wounds that festered and left ugly scars? How trivialising did you turn every sleepless night in daily conversations out of fear that no one will ever care?

How deserving are you of love that you would deny it to someone who truly loved you? For what? Feelings for an unknown you weren't even sure of? Was it even worth the risk? Perhaps it was a prank? Perhaps the author of your beloved letter would come out of hiding one day and take his words back, what would you do then? And for what reason would the hurt you caused Mammon then if your unrealised feelings amounted to nothing?

Why couldn't you just love him?

Your eyes hurt with how much you were rubbing it dry. Washing your face did little to hide its puffiness. You were tired of crying and feeling sorry for yourself, especially when you deserved it.

You wanted to make things better. Even if everything hurt, even if it was presumptuous of you to do so. Even if your heart screamed for you to follow it, to abandon all logic and find him. You wanted to tell him how much his words saved you, how much you think about him every day, how you wondered why you never noticed him and how you felt bad about that, how much you wanted to get to know him. How wonderful he was. How much he made you laugh with his clumsy awkwardness. How prettily he weaved his words. How happy you were to be loved by him, and…perhaps, how much you might love him back.

But you couldn't do that. You don't deserve to be happy. You don't deserve to meet him. You don't deserve a choice, especially if the one you thought you loved was hurting because of you.

You would rather see Mammon happy than follow your heart. You cared for him enough to let “him” go.

You

sorry if i made a new group chat for this but, i don't want mammon to see this. im really sorry for worrying you all. youre right, something IS wrong between us, and i want to stop hurting him.

You

especially you, satan. thanks for the wakeup call. i will take care of things from here.

You

the student council needs someone to stay overnight in the classrooms, right? can i please do it?

You

mammon and i need some space. he's clinging to someone who's hurting him, and that someone is me. i want to re-evaluate my feelings for him. he deserves that at least and i need all of your help.

You

this is probably a really selfish request, but please look after him. ugh this sounds really cheesy but he needs that right now. bcs of me, he wants to be another person he's not which is ridiculous now that im rethinking it. wow i can't believe the shit ive been spouting for the past few weeks. im sorry for being an ass. i don't deserve all of your forgiveness. hecc you don't have to grant that to me.

You

i just want him to be happy again.

You were afraid of checking the replies. It said the six of them already read your message and that most of them were typing a response right now but you didn't want to see it. Not right now. Any affirmation that you're a horrible person is something you couldn't handle just yet.

But that method is for cowards. If you hurt Mammon with the truth, then it's your turn to face it as well. The truth everyone else could see but you couldn't. The lies protecting you and sparing your feelings--it needs to end.

Satan was the first to type out a response. Contrary to your really low expectations, he treated you the same way he always did.

Mammon was still asleep in your room once you came back. He looked peaceful now, snoring softly as he cuddled your blanket and muttered something incomprehensible to himself. You sat at the unoccupied side of your bed and parted the hair that blocked his eyes.

"I'm sorry for everything, Mammon. My feelings are a mess right now and I will only hurt you if we stay like this." you sighed. What's the use of telling this to someone asleep? He couldn't even hear you.

"I think…I love him, whoever he is. I don't know. Maybe I'm deluding myself." you pulled your hand away. "I'll get my shit together and reject you properly. You deserve to be happy, Mammon. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you that.

Thank you for loving me."

💌💌💌

"I'm amazed you went out of your room when there's an event for Faith's Restoration Order right now."

"...you have a talent for teasing, has anyone ever told you that?" Levi blushed brightly beside you as he placed the plastic bag at a nearby armchair. "If you already know why I'm here, can't you at least shut up and leave me alone?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

He rolled his eyes and made a gesture of leaving the room.

"Have fun hanging out with ghosts, normie! I'm leaving."

"I'm joking! I'm joking!" you pulled him back to the empty classroom so you can sit with each other while you had your microwave dinners.

Everyone (sans Mammon and Lucifer) offered to go with you to RAD to carry your stuff while you're setting up "camp" (if you can call class A's classroom as the outdoors, that is). Lucifer wanted to go as well, (something about telling you the school regulations, and placing an anti-ghost barrier since RAD ghosts were notoriously NOISY) but his "just a cold" was apparently a 40 C fever so he was forced to stay bedridden. Satan immediately volunteered to fill in his shoes for obvious reasons, while the others were in their oddly competitive phase again that you couldn't understand. Demons, seemed to be the only logical reason and it made sense so you decided not to question it anymore (especially if they determined their birth order by power level like some generic shounen manga. Pfft. Demons. ).

Class A's classroom was filled with the scent of brimstone in the air (because of Satan's numerous spell castings) making it not a very ideal place to eat dinner, so you ate with Levi in Class B's instead. Beel wanted to stick around too, until he was enticed by Satan's promise of extra portions so Levi was the last one to leave. With how much you've known your dorky best friend however, you figured he had something to say to you and the others read the room and left the both of you alone. Judging by how much he was fidgeting in his seat, your assumptions appeared to be correct.

"Hey, uh…I heard from Satan. Are you…okay?"

Oh .

"...honestly?" you couldn't help but laugh. "This is probably the worst day ever-- err. Second worst day. Nothing can top being killed by Belphie. That was wild."

"Hey--"

"Joking, joking! Jeez. You look really serious. I'm fine, Levi."

Without a word, a paper bag landed on your lap. Levi, who was still looking down, muttered something that you needed to ask him to repeat the third time(his voice was too soft!).

"I'm returning this."

"Ruri-chan!" you looked at the figure box in awe. "But…I already gave this to you."

Levi shook his head. "I can't accept it." Seeing your confusion, he explained. "I was the one who told you it's Mammon who sent the letter even if I didn't even confirm if he really wrote it. After all that weird Gentlenormie shtick Mammon got cursed into, isn't it unfair? You can hate me if you want. Here, have my cheek! Then maybe my other one too! Slap it really hard and--"

He was babbling! Oh bless his heart.

How could you forget how these demons cared for you? Those looming dark thoughts in your mind were slowly disappearing, not in its entirety, but enough for you to forgive yourself a little. Your arms caged the otaku third born, muttering words of gratitude as tears threatened to fall yet again from your eyes. Oh, why are you such a crying mess today?

"You can keep it. It's not your fault, Levi. But thank you for telling me."

It took numerous JoJo references for him to be persuaded, but he finally accepted. "No one is blaming you or angry at you, just so you know. It's Mammon's fault too for not being honest. Satan's right. So…uhh…" he stuttered his next words, sounding muffled as he buried his face on your shoulder. "...it's ironic coming from me but…love yourself a little, okay? We're worried about both of you." From how your shoulder felt warm right now, he must be embarrassed. You felt touched that your usually non-vocal friend was sharing his true feelings for once without any ounce of self-deprecation. You can feel how much he cared for you, and with just that, you already felt that you weren't so bad of a person after all.

Talking with Levi reminded you how there are many forms of love, and it didn't matter what kind you felt for Mammon, what mattered was that you loved him. Was this the truth you've been blind to all along? Was this what Satan had been wanting to tell you?

"I love you, Levi."

"Wha--" he sputtered. "Wh-where did that come from? Hey, this isn't funny, you know?!"

Not hearing his protests, and only overwhelmed by your epiphany, you tightened the hug and spoke again.

"You're the bestest friend anyone could ever ask for. I love you, and I love everyone in Lamentation too!"

You felt him tremble at your words, his arms shyly hugging you back as he muttered. "Even Mammon?"

Yes, you were certain now. This was the answer you're seeking for. With newfound confidence, you answered him back. "Especially Mammon."

Silence. A very long embrace--something he was trying to get used to, especially for a love-starved you. "I'm going to break up with him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…"you ruffled his head. "It's for the best, isn't it?"

Levi didn't answer immediately, and once he did, he sounded unsure. "Do you love Mammon?"

"Yeah, but not in the way he wants me to." you replied immediately. Now that you had a clearer picture of your feelings for Mammon, the answer came naturally to you. "I can't be unfair to him. He's…out there, you know? I want to find him."

"Find? The letter sender?"

"I love him," you reasoned. "I feel so horrible for being so happy that he actually exists! That I was not idealising Mammon, that…he's real. I'm not imagining him, and he loves me. His words saved me." you hugged him tighter. "Oh, Levi. It feels like I've known him forever!"

"..."

"Levi?"

When you attempted to pull away from him, he didn't let go. Instead, he stuttered out a clumsy reply. "What if he's not what you think he is? What if you'll be disappointed again? What if you will get hurt? You should really reconsider-"

"I have a feeling I won't." you expected this reaction from him; he was always too cautious to the point of paranoia. Too self-conscious. Pacifying him however, was another matter. "I don't know. It's my gut. Like…we've been waiting for each other and this is my last chance to be with him. It's crazy isn't it? I don't even know him, but I feel like we'd hit it off right away! Now that I think about it, it kind of feels like us, huh? Levi?

Are you sulking?"

His unwillingness to part with your arms was already telling of his answer. You couldn't help feeling smug. "Is someone jealous?"

"Sh-shut up!"

"You do know that you'll always be my Lord of Shadow, right?"

"OMG, you're ruining the moment. Keep your mouth shut and stop pointing it out!"

"I want to see your face~"

"No."

"No one will ever take your place, you know~"

"OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO ANNOYING. CAN'T YOU JUST STICK TO THE SCRIPT?"

"But it's Sherlock's job to be the crazy one, Watson."

"No role-playing."

"Come to think of it, we never finished our D&D session."

"YAMETE KUDASTOP"

You lost it when he started to laugh. Since you were sharing the same brain cell most of the time, you couldn't help but laugh as well. It was cathartic. You missed this. You will miss this.

"I don't want to go back."

"Lucifer will get mad at you if you don't."

You shook your head. You were now facing each other, sharing laughs and smiles like your usual days at RAD. "I meant the human world."

"Oh…"

"Just kidding." but not really. You just didn't want to bring up yet another elephant in the room. Everyone had too much shit to deal with right now.

"If you stay here any longer, the raid will be finished. Isn't Solomon participating for that rare drop or something?"

"That fucking whale."

"Go. Kick his ass!"

And so you've heard his infamous OOOOOHHHHHS on dance battles when he was pumped up. You snorted.

"I'LL KEEP YOU UPDATED ON MY RANKINGS. WATCH ME PULVERISE THAT NORMIE"

"Mhm! I'm gonna retweet every post."

"Distract him with chain messages-"

"Oh, you bet I'm gonna keep texting him at the speed of light!"

"I shall bear thee only good news on the morrow."

"Tally ho! Make this old friend of yours proud!"

Despite your support however, your limited data connection at RAD, as well as Solomon's silence indicated your sabotage had been a failure. And to make matters worse, the said son of a gun mockingly responded to you near the end of the boss raid.

Huh? He wasn't replying anymore. Judging from the raid's usual patterns, he must be messing with Levi right now. You texted Levi a few emojis, hoping it conveyed your full emotional support and he only sent a "T__T" back. Guess it's Solomon roasting hours for the next pajama night, huh. Again. Asmodeus would be thrilled.

Got to say though, annoying Solomon and being toxic online with Levi had distracted you from the gravity of your situation. While simmering in your own thoughts is great, if those thoughts only consisted of negativity and self-hatred, then you'd want to have a temporary escape--needless to say, it was a welcome distraction. You hoped the next few days away from the House of Lamentation would be as well. You decided to put off doing the other rounds for the booths once you wake up, and instead contented yourself with fiddling with the makeup kit that Asmo had prepared for you. It was sweet of him to buy you the lipstick you wanted so much, not helping but wonder how he remembered something you said so long ago.

"I don't know, this colour doesn't look good on me. Oh, it would be better if Asmo were here!"

Honestly? You looked like a clown. 👁️👄👁️

Try as you might to fix your look, it only got worse(must be the puffy eyes not helping too). If you place another layer of eyeshadow on your eyelids, you would be the entire circus.

Actually, you felt like you're the entire circus already. You had the clown look down to a tee, and everyone around you was laughing at your every move. Fuck. You are an actual clown right now--

Shit. You're dreaming.

For some reason, Levi was juggling Ruri-chan figurines at one corner, while Asmo was raving about how he's the "prettiest bearded lady ever". You saw some familiar faces in the crowd, an amused Luke clapping and absorbing everything he saw with vivid cheer, and a flustered Simeon trying to calm him down. A parallel of their dynamic was also observed with the excitable Lord Diavolo, cheering for Lucy the Lion to jump the ring of fire, while Barbatos repeated his pleas for his liege to keep his voice down in futility. The sadistic ring master Solomon, calling you and everyone else as his toys, commanded you to "be more funny", and when you didn't oblige, cold water was splashed at you. Ah! Mammon almost fell from the tightrope! That was a close call! From another corner of the room, you saw Satan turn visibly green after doing multiple aerial tricks at the flying trapeze; Belphie was often woken up by him, as the youngest sibling kept falling asleep when he was about to catch him. Will he wake up or will Satan die? Their acts were easily the most anticipated at the circus. Beel was supposed to be the elephant balancing on a ball, but got distracted by a bag of peanuts from the audience and had to be removed from the main acts.

"Do something funny, clown!" the crowd booed at you as you continued gawking. You felt cold all over thanks to the water, that even when you hugged yourself and tried to rub your hands, you only felt number and number. The boos got louder, and more water was thrown at you until you've had enough of that and you couldn't help but say,

"Can't a clown have their rights?!"

…then you suddenly felt really warm and woke up, seeing a blanket wrapped around you.

A hooded figure backed away and attempted to flee, but you responded quickly and grabbed his arm.

…he's warm. Really warm. Feverish even.

"Who are you?" you glared at him, and he only struggled to get away from you and didn't answer.

"Silence huh? You're one stubborn ghost.

Wait. There can't be a ghost here. What are you?"

The hooded figure seemed hesitant, but with no ways to escape, he finally spoke to you. "You're right. I am a ghost and you're still in a dream."

Oh. That makes sense. If he's a ghost and you can touch him in this empty classroom, then he might just be right. Even so, you didn't let him go. He was too suspicious. "And, what are you doing out here, ghost?"

You couldn't see his face as it was too dark.

"Are you trying to kill me-"

"Never! I would not let anyone do that again!"

Again? This ghost says some weird stuff.

"You looked really cold, so I…"

Come to think of it, besides your exposed fingers that was grasping his arm, you felt really warm and comfy. "Oh, thanks. I didn't know ghosts can touch physical objects. Wow, this dream is weird."

"...I won't leave. Please warm your hands. They're freezing."

True to his word, the feverish ghost sat on the floor and faced you. You couldn't tell his expressions, but he did seem uneasy since he was looking at every corner of the room.

"Mr. Ghost, aren't you cold? You can share the blanket if you want.

Ghost?"

"...you are far too defenseless." He sounded angry. "Why must you ask a ghost that? What if I curse you?"

"Woah okay, no sharing the blankets then, sheesh. You can't even benefit from a blanket so why so mad, bro?"

"It's a dream so it doesn't have to make sense."

Ohh, he has a point.

"I haven't seen a human like you here for centuries. Your aura is strange as well. Ah! I'm not going to possess you, so please put that holy water down. I only meant that it's dangerous for you to be here alone, you know."

"That's why he put a lot of barriers here. To protect me."

"He?"

"My friend. His name is Satan."

For a ghost, he didn't hover much, and he didn't seem to pull any pranks. Instead, he listened to you, and sometimes even felt concerned for you. Rather than a ghost, he felt like a friend you've known for a very long time.

"Oh, I heard that name before. He and his brothers are famous around here--the Seven Rulers of Hell. They're really powerful."

"Yeah, powerful and kinda dumb."

"Is it okay for you to say that?"

"Yeah, it's fine because if they're dumb, I'm a complete moron."

"Probably not as dumb as a ghost that gets colds. You're good."

"Pfft!"

It was easy to talk to him; he didn't judge you for your opinions, and listened to you with undivided attention. At times, your gut told you that you know this ghost man, that this isn't the first time you've ever had a conversation with each other, that his warmth and kindness felt awfully familiar.

"I wonder what you were like when you were alive? You seem really calm for a ghost."

"My life isn't very interesting. I might have even forgotten about that already, perhaps that's why."

Was it a sore topic? Probably not. You couldn't hear any bitterness in his voice, in fact, it felt like he was at peace.

"What about you? There must be a reason why you're here.

I understand if you won't share them with me, I'm sor--"

"I needed to get away," you said, wrapping yourself closer to your warm blanket. "Though I suppose ghosts can't relate. You don't have any more mortal worries to think about."

"That's not true at all," he reassured you. "Being a ghost opens up another load of worries. You're fine the way you are."

"You say that as if you know me."

"...you're right. I'm sorry, I don't know you at all."

Wait. Where did you hear that before?

"Will you visit my dreams again?"

"Probably not. It's for the best."

Oh. You couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Even if I want to see you again?

A-are you okay?! That was a really loud impact!"

How the hell could this ghost not pass through objects?! Is he really a ghost?! At least act like a normal ghost in your own dreams, sheesh!

"I'm…fine."He reassured you. "I wasn't able to see the armchair--

You're way too close."

"And you're really hot. Your forehead's a furnace!"

The ghost spluttered and put a hand between the two of you. "I have already told you, I am a dumb ghost who can catch colds, so if you value your health, please don't get too close to me."

"Have you ever kissed a clown? In this angle, I can just push you down and--"

"ENOUGH!"

He felt warmer, hiding his face completely under his hood. "Please move away."

"Not until you agree I'll see you again."

"I cannot control your dreams."

"But you haven't even tried yet!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"So what? This is my dream! If I want to see you again then I could, couldn't I?"

"It's not funny!"

"I apologise. I couldn't help it. You're the most amusing human I have ever talked to. You have touched this old soul's heart, enough perhaps to finally depart for the afterlife.

Don't look so disappointed; it was a mere jest. I have some time left to spare. If you would have me, then I would be happy to keep you company."

You only said those words because he seemed like he was about to leave---but with his promise of company, your heart calmed down. You've had several conversations with that weird mellow ghost who couldn't do his job properly; a presence, though surreal was something you badly needed,someone who didn't know you at all but felt the opposite. You talked like age-old friends in that cold and empty classroom, growing familiar with his laughter, the shadow of a smile under his hood he refused to take off. A kind, and sometimes seemingly all-knowing worldliness that was almost ethereal. Then again, he was a ghost, so you supposed it was fitting for his personality.

"...I see. A love for an enigma you've only known through penned words, and a love you wanted to feel for someone who held you dearly. That is a difficult situation. Is that why you have claimed this space as your temporary dwelling?"

You nodded. "It's better to keep my distance from Mammon for now. If I act kindly, won't he misunderstand? I don't want to give him false hope. He deserves better."

"You're not angry that he kept things from you?"

"Eh?"

"Ah?

Did that thought perhaps, never cross your mind?"

"No…should I be angry?"

The ghost sighed to himself and you felt his warm, feverish breaths next to you. "Honestly, what was I expecting? If you could be friendly with a ghostly invader from your dreams, of course such an ill thought would never cross your mind."

The moonlight illuminated through the classroom's windows, casting a pale yellow light that revealed your new friend's warm smiles.

"You're lovable like that, I suppose."

...huh?

Did your heart just skip a beat? And why did he remind you of someone just now?

"Your blanket had come undone. Wait, allow me."

Unusually warm was the ghost of a man standing closely beside you. He wrapped the blanket back around you and you realised you couldn't breathe, intoxicated by the beauty of his smiles. His touches were light, as if trying his all to not make contact with you, proper and gentlemanly, almost to the point of stuffiness.

"There. You're warm again."

!!!

Why didn't you realise sooner?

...why did you feel like crying?

"An argument is one thing, but this is quite a reckless decision. Sigh. What am I going to do with you?

You must take better care of yourself."

A gentle hand that stroked your head, his familiar warmth. His voice. His gestures. Even his scolding. Why did it feel like you know this person?

And if you do, is he important to you?

...was he?

...why? Why ' was' ? Was he not important to you anymore?

"I wish I could take away all of your pain, but I could only do so much. They dragged you here without even asking if you're okay with it, and now one of them is even causing you this heartache. Not that I have the right to get angry for your sake.

It's all right to feel surfeited. Your emotions are valid, no matter what other people will say. You shouldn't force yourself to love someone. It would be cruel to both of you."

"It's you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is you!"

You couldn't help it. The tears just started to flow on their own.

"Wh--

!!!"

You didn't want to let him go.

"I found you…"

"..."

If this was all a dream and he isn't real, then can't he stay there with you a bit longer? You can hear his clothes rustle as he struggled to take your arms away from his body, pausing (perhaps he's looking at you, you don't know), his breath dangerously close to yours.

You don't even need to know his name. His presence, the way he carries himself, as well as the way he spoke made you certain that he was your beloved letter sender.

So why couldn't you see what he looked like even in your dream?

You could feel him resisting when you pulled him closer to you, cheeks warm on the crook of your neck.

"I think I love you..."

"This is just a dream. Mammon is waiting for you. Everyone is. You cannot stay here."

"Dream? I don't care. Why did you write that and make me fall for you when you can't even fight for me? Why? Are you going to say all that you've written is a joke?"

"It's not..."

"Then why can't you confess to me like a normal person?"

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Despite not being able to see him, you could feel that there was a wistful smile on his face.

"You don't even know me."

"But--"

"I do love you too. I still love you. I wish I could-- No, I should not. After all this time...even if..."

"Do we know each other?"

"This is just a dream."

"Do we know each other?!"

"...no."

"You're lying."

"...it's the truth." He looked down, finally free from the grip of your hold. "I must go. You should too. You cannot stay in a dream forever. At some point, you should start facing reality."

"..."

"I'm no good for you. I mean it. A coward who cannot even tell you his name will never be good enough. I'm sorry for hurting you."

Why does he feel so familiar then? What is this ache in your chest? You wanted to wake up and face him, maybe then you'd know why hearing him caused you to feel this way. However, sleep was beckoning you in that ridiculous dream and you can hardly strain your ears to listen to him as you felt drowsier by the second.

"...I'm sorry. Despite everything I did, I feel like that's all I could ever say to you. Forget about what you read. Yes, when you wake up, all of your sadness shall disappear. I'll make sure of it. You will be happy again. So please...

don't remember me at all--"

Why is he so sure? It's almost arrogant of him to assume for you. But the security of his words felt like he was saying things for certain, that he can actually do the impossible.

"Can't you at least tell me your name?"

"I can't …it was a short time we've known each other but I'll treasure it forever. This is just a dream, so I hope it will stay that way for you."

He talked way too much. If he's going to disappear after this dream is over anyway, then you'd rather make the most of it!

!!!

You leaned forward and felt his lips on yours, feeling the jolt on his body, startled by your gestures. However, he said one thing and did another, much like the forced propriety in his letter, he came undone in your embrace and deepened the kiss, feeling every corner of your mouth. You did the same, closing your eyes and relishing every feverish moment, unsure of time passing as you felt his warmth against yours.

It was such a shame you couldn't see his face. He must have looked lovely right now with his flushed face and his adorably confused, glazed look. Pulling away from him only initiated another kiss, and another. And another, as if making up for lost time. The ones he initiated drowned you, feverish yourself; feeling the intensity of his passions as you melted into each other.

Why did he tell you you could never work out? Your bodies said otherwise. You wanted more. To be closer to him, to get to know him, to call him by his name, to share those three words with him, to hear him say them back.

"I love you…."

You muttered out of breath as your lips parted from the numerous kisses you shared. You could hear him breathing softly beside you, yet he only answered you in silence.

The warm hand stroking your head was gone, the familiar warmth and kindness...

familiar?

Who?

When you woke up, a warm blanket was wrapped around you--one that you didn't remember having when you slept. And any remnant of someone ever giving it to you, even in a distant dream was gone...

"Hm? What's this?"

[ Obtained KEY 4: ~Receipt~ ]

>View it here

>continue to next scenario

...or so you thought.

💌💌💌

[ You have unlocked a new chatroom in MEMORIA 7. ]

💌Read it here

💌Continue to next scenario

💌masterlist

#psisly #hamartia series #interactive fiction #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me fic #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me satan #obey me satan x reader #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #love letter #secret admirer

10 notes · View notes

2003daredevil · 4 years

Text

im so tired of feeling like i have to defend myself!

i didnt grow up with comic books bc guess what! my dad didnt keep his! and he wouldnt get me any bc i was a girl! there were no comic book stores i could walk to in my neighbodhood! im tired of the implication that i was supposed to somehow have access to what had become a very inaccessable medium. and the reason comics fans are losing sole propriety of these stories and characters is bc comics arent accessable compared to movies and tv shows. I'm tired of comic book fans being pissy bc they have to share their space with other people. Not only do I not have to read 50 years of superman comic books to have an opinion on his character but I dont even need to read one. And the same goes for everyone else.

#comic book movies #dceu #mcu #rorshachs journal

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funkymbtifiction · 6 years

Note

I’m having a difficult time grasping the difference between Fe and Fi. Two specific characters that are hard to tell apart are Margaret Hale (ESFJ - North and South) and Claire Frasier (ENFP - Outlander). Both are blunt, fierce, and willing to stop everything to help others. So how is one Fe and the other Fi? Also, do you have any book recommendations to help study mbti and enneagram?

Putting aside the obvious high vs low Ne difference, look at their approaches.

Margaret measures everything according to the social standards of her time. She takes an avid interest in things which do not directly concern her – a Fe-dom passion for a cause that has nothing to do with her in any way, other than that she sees others need championed among the mill workers. She is not a mill employee. She does not suffer their working conditions. When she arrives in the industrial north, she assumes the proper thing to do is to take a “basket” of food stuffs as a way of self-introduction whens he makes a new friend, but also frets simultaneously over whether they will see this gift as an insult (charity). Why? Because that’s the cultural norm in her beloved south, but she doesn’t know what the appropriate social behavior is in the north.

It takes her time to break away from a Fe-dom tendency to put propriety first. She admits later on that she has grown tired of seeing people she does not like just to appease her friends (she adapted and did it, in a Fe way, whereas a Fi would be more resistant to pretending anything they do not feel), and she has learned she wants to do things for herself. She is both frank with her opinions of Mr. Thornton (“I do not like you”) during his botched proposal, and scrambling for a polite, Fe thing to say – but she picks the wrong thing and winds up insulting him (admitting she does not know what to say when men she does not like propose, and then insulting him, and scrambling to apologize and make it right with him). This is a combination of her “social”-first Enneagram type, and her Fe.

How many times do you see Claire apologize for what she says or does? Not often. If she does not like someone, she does not beat around the bush about it. She prioritizes what she most cares about (her patients, learning medicine, and her husbands). Personal things, in other words. Things that directly have to do with her. She does not try to champion a cause in which she has no personal stake (Fi). She has almost no ability to “adapt” to her environment in a Fe way, either. Claire is mostly the same regardless of the century she is in, whereas a Fe would much more quickly suss out the cultural norms of the time period and adapt to survive. Like Margaret, inserting herself into that world and changing with it, gradually. But always aware of what she can and should not say and how she needs to behave (which by the way is what set her against Mr. Thornton – she came upon him in an undignified rage “teaching someone a lesson” – in other words, a cultural shock she did not expect). Claire encounters other such cultural shocks also in entering a world far more sexist and brutal than her own (limited as it may have been) but never “becomes” what others want her to be. Men tell her not to swear? She tells them to f–k off. And all her decisions revolve around herself and her feelings–for better or worse.

People make the mistake in assuming Fe is a pushover – in a dominant position it most certainly is not. But it is an effective social organizer for the greater common good. Margaret gets things done for the masses by appealing to people on a social level and preaching morality at them – and she has immense influence on Mr. Thornton as a result. Claire gets things done by making up her mind, bulldozing her way through a situation, and refusing to back down (Te).

Since these characters are quite different, I also want to mention Ne. Margaret’s Ne is typical of lower Ne, in that it does not often see the big picture on its own. Thornton and others have to clue her in to the larger dynamics at play with the strike – because her focus lies on the immediate needs around her (sensing) and pushes away from the big picture (intuition). She is shocked when told that her food baskets have done more harm than good, because they have prolonged the strike and caused the families who do not receive them more suffering. She was focused on fulfilling a sensory need, not on everything going on beneath the surface.

Claire has a much more adept understanding of the big picture but also the high Ne idealism that “people can change.” She is concerned that something she might do, could cause Frank never to be born in the future. She can hold two men in her heart at once, for a long time, unable to decide between her new life and the old one (low Si). And she trusts the man who has tried to assault her in the past when he manipulates her, because of her lower Si tendency to dismiss past experience in favor of a Ne trust that someone can alter for the better. Claire’s opinions about Randall shift too quickly in his presence (Ne-dom); Margaret has to grind down her prejudices over Mr. Thornton for MONTHS (high Si) before she can entertain a different perspective. The distinction lies in too much willingness to change her mind (Ne-dom) and too much unwillingness to change her mind (Ne-tert).

As for book recommendations, type “book list” into the search engine. That should turn up some resources, though frankly I have not found a ton of stellar MBTI books over the years. I have done most of my learning online.

- ENFP Mod

(For fun, I also want to mention that when I watched North & South with an SFJ, she followed Margaret Hale’s thought patterns from beginning to end. She held a strong personal dislike for Thornton until the last episode – to the point where I started to worry that she would never like him and therefore wind up hating the miniseries. She had to overcome the same biases as Margaret in focusing most on her early detailed impressions rather than seeing the bigger picture – my Ne/Te could instantly see the big picture, of how the mill workers and employees relied on each other, how the strike was threatening all their incomes, and how it would lead to a collapse of Thorton’s business if he could not deliver his work on time, resulting in over a hundred people being out of work. That is Ne big picture awareness – how this connects to that – aux Fi’s belief that “he must have a good reason for his behavior” and a willingness to find out what before passing severe judgment – and Te’s pragmatism and awareness of how the world works. What she saw as him being “mean” in his attempts to survive, my tert-Te saw as rational / facts-based decisions. Like it or leave it, he goes under, they all starve. Claire would have seen that.)

#question #mbti #esfj #enfp #enfp x esfj #esfj x enfp #type contrast #margaret hale #claire fraser #outlander #north and south

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lafortis · 6 years

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⭐️Thoughts on the SNC Lavalin scandal?

OKAY so i have read as much as i think is necessary to answer this

i don’t honestly have many, it’s depressing, frustrating, and badly mishandled. in my opinion this is a solid example of anything under the guise of something vaguely left wing badly mishandling itself and throwing the election to the other side

frustrating

cus u know it’s not the ndp whomst are going to profit off of this

idk the whole concept just makes me really tired

the admin’s reaction to this genuinely could not have been worse

it’s just... bad politics overall

like if i had to guess it was catering to quebec but like guess what dipshit you’re not getting the quebec vote broadly and you don’t need it and the justice dept prosecuting corruption isn’t going to taint you so much in their eyes as to be any more unsalvageable than you already were to them because they hate your party!!!! but you know what you did neeD???? EVERYONE ELSE’S VOTE DIPSHIT

it obviuosly didn’t even work because now this is a massive corruption scandal and the words “liberal corruption scandal” fly off the quebecois tongue easier than “tabernac” ffs

like holy shit after ford won in ON you’d think he’d be more conscious of optics and propriety?????????? jesus christ im furious

this is exactly how harper had 11 years you fucking corporatist bag of dicks

idk my thoughts are officially incoherent babbling and sadness at our loss of prestige on the international stage, as well as trepidation at the coming election and a renewed desire to get into politics so i can slap other ppls hands away from the wheel

#high school anon #star emoji anon #Anonymous

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jedimasteramell · 7 years

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"I don't care what they think, to me, you are perfect." for Quinn/SW cuz I have a mighty need :3

Eyyy with 5.2 out, Im going with Post!Iokath Zhaire/Quinn for this.

5.2 Spoilers ahoy!——-

If she could go one week without the PR headache, that would be a blessing.

Zhaire’s choice to retain her alliance with Acina over siding with the Republic was of both hot topic and criticism on Odessen these past weeks. Though everyone here had defected from their previous faction in support of an independant group that actually did something, it was crystal clear that many had not completely severed their former loyalties.

And clearly Zhaire hadn’t either.

She didn’t expect the soldiers and pilots and spies to understand why she chose the Empire over the Republic, if her inner circle understood that was enough. She already had to molify her disapproving sister; sometimes Zhaire really wondered how she could be related to such a self-righteous jedi. Eventually they would all understand. A small scale war over resources, if propperly managed, did not mean full out war once more. And simply because the Republic government insisted on sticking their nose in her business, did not mean the end of support for the hundreds of worlds still suffering, Republic included.

No, Zhaire could handle all of that.

But what frustrated her most was the way they spoke of Quinn.

Officially, he served as ‘the Imperial liason to the Eternal Alliance’, yet rumors of their closeness, or precisely, return to it, had spread through the base like fire.

Many of the former Imperial officers had at least heard of him, the ravings of Moff Broysc, his position as both Darth Baras, and then the Lord Wrath’s right hand, all known speculation within the Empire. His closeness to Zhaire had never been as secretive as they might have wanted, his presence constantly as her shadow at events, strategy meetings, and before powerful Imperials had been a constant indicator for years. Blessingly, his betrayal of her for Baras had never escaped that station, and if it had… well this would have been all the worse.

Spread by Imperials, and fueled by frustrated pubs, the going rumor was that the commander had chosen her former flame over the peace of the galaxy. And many openly distrusted him for it.

That frustration at the sheer fallacy of it left a pit in Zhaire’s stomach, and with thoughts of a traitor within their midst, it had grown larger.

It had been suggested that Zhaire make a statement, appease all those worried or skeptical. She suggested that they all mind their kriffing business.

It was after one such trying day, fraught with stares and questions disguised as prying assumptions, that Zhaire shut the door to her room, and dug the balls of her palms into her eyes. Instinct always demanded an outlet, something to answer for this slight, but she forced the animal anger back. Her rage subsided with several steadying breaths. The was passion yet peace….

Her private terminal blinked with unread messages, the constant feeds of data from her agents, condensed and sorted by Lana, rolled past in the holo above them. The commander ignored them for now, ascending the stairs to the mirror by her bed, and dragging her hair from its braid.

Somedays she didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at her from the mirror, even if they wore the same face. Twelve years… Stars how had it been that long, and when had the eager young Sith apprentice turned into the hardened Alliance Commander? If she had to guess, staring at the deep red tattoos, worn grey eyes, and lines that were finally starting to show on her forhead, it would have been when she found her heart by having it broken.

With an eerie timing, that could only be described as the will of the force, the hyraulics of her door hissed, opening. Only three people had the access code and she didn’t need to turn to sense who it was.

“Pardon the intrusion, my lord.”

Zhaire huffed with a tired laugh, dropping her head to look into the sink and shaking it. Ever so formal. “We shared a bed Malavai, you don’t have to be so formal.”

“I find it has always served me best to assume propriety,” Zhaire moved to see Quinn having paused beside her table, “than to expect a kind of affinity… Zhaire.” His dark eyes narrowed coyly, and for a moment Zhaire was again that spirited apprentice, playing their game of glances and innuendo.

Zhaire felt her heart flutter. She’d missed this. She’d missed him.

Long-borne affection superceded the classic game. Zhaire met him at the foot of the steps, letting him take her hands in his.

“You are stunning.” He murmured, teasing a lock of her hair. His love had changed so much since they’d been apart, and how he regretted missing a single minute of her transformation.

Zhaire narrowed her eyes in turn, letting go of him to adoringly rake her fingers past his temple. “And you’ve grown more handsome.” She felt his mechanical hand through his glove massage concentric circles in her palm.

Quinn gently smiled. They still had a long way to go, getting back to where they could have been, but every touch was a step. He frowned ever so slightly at the shadowy indents under her lids, the creases at the corner of her eyes that betrayed her stress. He wasn’t sure anyone in the galaxy could identify her tells like he could. At least some things stayed the same. “Youre being generous with your affection today…. whats wrong?”

Zhaire hesitated. How she wanted to say she was alright, to keep the veneer of strength and collectiveness she wore for anyone else… but Malavai deserved better, and such secrecy was what ruined them in the first go-around. Releasing a quiet sigh, she met his eyes and stepped further into his arms. Quinn shifted his grasp of her, and a warmth blossomed in her chest. It just felt /right/. “Some of my people don’t believe we’ve been forthcoming about your pressence here.”

Quinn cocked a brow. “Do they doubt my intentions here?” A weight hung to the question, he wanted to know if she did too.

In reaponse, Zhaire pressed against him. “They think you’ve influenced me, that you’re no good for the Alliance, a dalliance, a distraction.”

He snorted. “Preposterous. On all accounts. But if Im not a disarming distraction, what am I?”

That gave Zhaire pause. Even back, what was he to her? The answer came quicker than expected: her missing piece. Emotion welled inside her. Yes, he filled the part of her heart she’d been missing. Both the catalyst and the conclusion. “They can say what they want,” Zhaire looked up to him, blue eyes into grey, her lips broke into a rare, loving smile “to me, youre perfect.”

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a-libra-writes · 5 years

Text

Game of Thrones Imagines - Dancing

in which i write waaay too much about this because ive been listening to waltz music and im absolute trash for dancing scenes

In this preference, you’ll enjoy little drabbles with: Ned Stark, Benjen Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Jamie Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn of Blackwater, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Brienne, Margeary Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Edmure Tully, Brynden Tully, Oberyn Martell, Yara Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Beric Dondarrion, Tormund Giantsbane

seven hells what order should I put these guys in

NED STARK

In his youth, Ned never really bothered with the ins and outs of dancing. He didn’t see the point; training or running Winterfell was more important, besides, it was more of a Southern thing. His brothers shared his lack of enthusiasm, so he didn’t really care about it.

However, this changed at a gala at Winterfell, when he saw you for the first time. You were so lively and kind, and your beauty seemed to increase tenfold when you danced. He didn’t even notice his brother Brandon was your partner at first, and suddenly, he couldn’t keep himself from asking you for the next dance, worried Brandon might keep you all night. As he put his hand to your waist and your hand in his, he internally panicked… But that melted away as you gave him a reassuring smile.

Ned didn’t even notice you were leading him, nor did he dwell on the few stumbles he made. He just couldn’t believe he was so close to you, and enjoying something like dancing.

He tried practicing and brushing up a bit after that, but really, it was a bit of a lost cause. After you married, he still loved to take you in his arms anyway, and he was never short of praise for you when the gala was over. You teased him about watching you all night instead of visiting with his fellow lords, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that he loved watching your graceful movements.

The last dance was Ned’s favorite, as he loved it when you leaned your head on his shoulder and you two could just sway. If you were particularly tired, he’d wait until the guests had mostly cleared out and bridal carry you to your shared bedroom. He used to feel a bit embarrassed in helping you undress, but later he took great pleasure in how you'd sigh. This extended to him eventually sharing a bath with you afterward, soothing your body with the warm water and his hands.

BENJEN STARK

Benjen had never cared for dancing, especially these silly galas the Southerners liked. He never thought he was missing out, and rather enjoyed teasing Brandon and Ned for having to go to them, and later teased Robb for the same thing.

He was stopping by Winterfell and staying the night when he heard of a gala going on. Benjen wanted to speak with his brother and nephews, so he stopped by inside, surprised by the amount of people and the music. He spotted Jon and went to him, only for someone to catch his eye. He didn’t keep track of the family members of the North, as it wasn’t his place anymore, but he wished he had a name for your lovely face.

You were dancing with Robb, smiling at him, laughing when he leaned in and said something. He admired the way you moved with such elegance, despite Robb having some trouble keeping up.

“Uncle?” Jon found him first, and tried to get his attention.

Benjen quickly shut his mouth and greeted his nephew. As he hugged him, he still glanced at you. Jon had noticed and teased his uncle, mentioning your family was close to the Starks, and you were their only daughter. As Benjen had visited with his family, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you. He was ready to leave, wanting to keep you off his mind, and he was surprised when you sought him out first.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but you’re … Benjen, correct? My cousin is with the Night’s Watch, and he mentioned you - Wait, I haven’t even introduced myself…”

He thought it was so cute how breathless you were, and you were trying to be polite to a man of the Night's Watch, even if you had no reason to. He asked for your name, and many other questions, both of you drawing into conversation without realizing it. You noticed a few songs had passed already, and you took a chance. You asked if he would be allowed to dance with you. Benjen hesitated, and politely refused you, figuring a lady shouldn’t be dancing with someone like him. He was surprised by how disheartened you look, and he was disappointed as well.

As the evening grew dark, you noticed Benjen had disappeared at some point. You were glad to leave the stuffy hall, your feet and legs were aching. Outside, the frozen air was perfect, and you took a deep breath … and you yelped as a sudden gust of wind hit you. Your dress was thin, and you shivered.

Suddenly, someone wrapped a warm fur around you. You looked up. “Benjen? I was wondering where you were.”

“You were looking for me?” His pleased smile was cute. You pulled the fur further around your shoulders and spoke honestly. “Yes. I wanted to see you."

The two of you lingered, and you could feel a sort of tension. There was still music from the hall, albeit muffled and distant. You spoke first, asking him to dance with you.

Benjen couldn’t believe you managed to take him off guard, but he didn’t make the same mistake twice. He accepted, pulling you into his arms. As you shivered again, he pulled you even closer, and you wondered if it was his heart or your’s that you could hear.

From then on, anytime Benjen passed by Winterfell, you were sure to see him. You two shared several secret meetings, which weren’t limited to dances. He especially liked it when you snuck out of the galas early and curled up with him in your guest room, where he'd soothe your aching legs while whispering how beautiful you looked.

ROBB STARK

Like most Northern lords, Robb felt the entire idea of galas and dancing was silly. Still, he knew you attended them, so he’d do his best to practice a few steps when no one was looking. During a gala, he didn’t hide that he was looking around for you, and would try his best to have you at the first dance. When he danced with other ladies, he really wasn’t that attentive and sometimes made mistakes out of nervousness, or because he was too busy watching you across the room.

Once Robb finally had you as a partner, it was obvious how pleased he was as he held you. He’d try to play it cool, but you could tell he was concentrating on following the right steps.

Just for fun, you liked to throw him off by moving a little closer and whispering something sweet. His face would go red and he’d stumble, and you two would laugh to yourselves, stuck in your own little world.

He’d eventually grow in confidence and you could tell by how firmly he held you and how he began to lead the dance more and more. If you asked him about practicing, he’d have to blush again and admit he was doing it for you, as he loved watching you twirl with more experienced partners, and hoped that someday he could make you smile like that. You’d insist that you love dancing with him the most, no matter what, and he’d likely almost step on your feet again because he was so happy.

At the end of a dance, Robb always gives you an earnest kiss on your hand and lingers a bit, still holding your hand and looking you in the eyes. It’s so obvious he wants to kiss you for real, but then he has to hand you off to a partner, frowning the whole time. He’d definitely want to find you for a last dance, and at the end of that, he’d risk it and give you a kiss on the cheek - still holding your hand. He often lingers after the music ends, still holding onto you, and you have to teasingly remind him to let you go and return to his family.

Often Robb really can’t take it and finds you after the gala, in the evening, wanting to hold your hand and steal a proper kiss from you. “I’ve been waiting to do that all night.”

“Ha! Get it all out of your system, before someone comes looking for us.”

SANSA STARK

Since she was a girl, Sansa always daydreamed about attending fabulous galas and dances in the South. Once she arrived in King’s Landing, you and her became fast friends after she met you at her first one. She looked up to you, loving your poise and grace. You began to teach her, and although she had some trouble with more complicated steps, she appreciated your patient instruction. Each gala was a whirlwind of emotion for her, and when it became too much, especially with Joffrey, she’d seek you out in the crowd. You’d take her into your arms and dance, quietly alleviating her worries as the music played.

The situation in King’s Landing became worse, but Sansa continued to attend your lessons. You noticed the toll the events was taking on her health and mind, but she insisted she was fine.

One day, she was especially clumsy in the lesson, often making mistakes and spacing out. You knew it was rather pointless you ask, but you did so quietly, whispering to her as you guided her along the steps.

Suddenly Sansa held fast to you, bringing you into a crushing hug. You heard her shudder and try to stifle herself, but several tears came out. You continued to sway, soothing her and petting her hair. As soon as you both heard someone, she pulled away, pressing her sleeves at her eyes to hide any tears. You both quickly returned to the lesson as several servants passed by.

From that point, Sansa would often exclusively seek you out at galas, pointedly dancing with just you even if propriety demanded you two part. She only would after a scathing comment from Cersei or Joffrey - and she would've danced with others for a time, but then she’d always come back to you. You’d still whisper soothing words when no one would hear as you two twirled.

Once the dances were over, you both would be exhausted, but Sansa would still linger with you. You’d hold her hand, taking her to her room, sometimes shooing away her handmaidens so you could brush her hair and keep comforting her. She wouldn’t always accept this, however, and would want to help you as well, smiling softly when you’d attempt to joke and make witty comments to lighten the mood.

JON SNOW

Jon was never expected to bother with fancy feasts or galas, and he told himself he was fine with it, especially since Robb was always dressed up and dragged off for them. He still found it a bit lonely, however, and he was curious about the music that was always playing for the galas. Sometimes he’d hang around outside, listening to the laughter and music. He was doing this on the night you saw him. Jon heard someone hurry out, and he was surprised to see a girl all dressed up and out of breath. You sat down on a bench almost fell over as you removed your shoes.

You turned around and yelped, and he startled, too. He apologized for frightening you, and was glad you just laughed it off.

“You’re … Lord Stark’s boy, right? Jon Snow?”

He was surprised you recognized him, and thankful that you were talking to him so kindly. You introduced yourself, explaining your shoe had broken and you were worn out. As you shivered, he quickly gave you his fur, and you two ended up talking for much longer than you expected.

“The galas aren't so bad, I promise. Yes, they’re tiring, and dressing up takes far too long, and the lords can be overbearing …” You trailed off, and he couldn’t help but laugh. You were so pretty in your outfit, and he wondered if Robb was one of those lords who annoyed you. You stood up and took his hands, further surprising him. “Still, they're fun! Here, I’ll show you!”

Even though Jon tried to protest, he really couldn’t argue once you were placing his hands. He knew something of dancing that he was taught, but not much, and he hoped he didn’t touch you anywhere inappropriate. You ended up swaying and dancing along, and he began to forget himself.

Once you began to shiver again, he remembered your feet were bare and offered to help you to your guest room. There were several more galas at Winterfell, and you liked skipping out to talk and visit with him. He still had plans to go to the Wall, and he considered his time with you precious, knowing it wouldn’t last long. A few times Robb or Theon teased him for having a crush, and he’d just tell them they were imagining things.

Whenever he'd hear the music of the galas, whether it be a minstrel that was playing or someone singing, he'd wonder what it'd be like if he were a true Stark and was allowed to dance with you like the other lords.

THEON GREYJOY

Naturally, Theon wasn’t allowed to participate in the few galas at Winterfell, and he didn’t think Ironborns should be doing flowery dancing, anyway. Still, his interest was piqued when he noticed you and Sansa practicing, and how the servants would gossip about how lovely you and Robb looked when you danced.

So Theon ended up sneaking into a few, especially at Robb and Jon’s urging. They were ready to get a kick out of Theon falling over himself or Catlyn dragging him out by the ear, but he surprised nearly everyone when he strode up to you with confidence, asking for a dance. You knew him, of course, and you were surprised when he kept up with you.

Not just that, he was almost a natural even if he didn’t know all the steps. He had an infectious energy, and you two ended up sharing quite a few laughs. If he messed up or you teased him about his hand being too low, he’d have a joke ready. Once you finished the dance, he made sure to kiss your hand with a wink, sometimes giving you a kiss on the cheek if no one was watching.

Theon’s absolute favorite thing to do was “steal” you from your partner, especially if it was someone he knew you disliked. He’d just whisk you off with a smirk and a quip, and you two would try to stifle your giggles at how angry the man would look.

Theon was only able to snatch you for the last dance once, and he got an earful for it later - but it was completely worth it. It felt like it was just the two of you in the room, and he stole a kiss before being dragged off by Robb and Jon, who were positive that Catlyn was going to tear Theon a new one.

Theon would always try to find you after a gala. His usual flirting would fall a bit short, as he’d be a bit intimidated by how lovely and breathless you looked, but you’d still smile and would give him a real kiss goodnight.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You were a noble from Westeros who had long been travelling Essos, and you soon came into the service of the Queen of Dragons. You two had a surprising friendship, and she found herself quite drawn to you. One day, she heard you humming and dancing along to something as you tidied up, and she asked you with a laugh what you were doing.

As you described the grand balls you’d attend, and all the silly nonsense your parents would make you wear, she’d become thoughtful. She told you to demonstrate some more of the dances, and you were amused by how queenly her demand was. You’d do your best, but explain that it’s better with two people - perhaps one of her handmaidens or Missandei could help.

To your surprise, Daenerys would step forward and hold you with a strong confidence, all but telling you to instruct her. You’d do so, keeping your smile down as you guided her hands and began the basic steps. Daenerys did her best to follow, although she took it quite seriously, and thus would make a few mistakes. As you’d tease her good naturedly, she’d be even more determined, bringing you even closer and telling you to focus on the lesson.

Your lessons continued for some time, each one the two of you going longer and becoming a little more breathless. Daenerys loved how you’d hum the songs and would move with such confidence, it would distract her more than your lips or the feeling of your body against her’s. Finally, she’d push you against the wall and kiss you until you were breathless… And afterwards, you’d giggle and ask her how long she’s been wanting to do such a thing. The queen certainly punished that bit of cheek.

While you don’t have lessons all that much anymore, during celebrations Daenerys will take you to herself and lead you in the dance. She’d obviously be pleased with your compliments, which you found adorable.

Sometimes in her chambers, when the windows are open and you both can hear the sea, she’d pull you into her arms and want to slow dance. You both would end up making up your own dances, and would take turns leaning on each other and sharing kisses and whispers.

JORAH MORMONT

Dancing with Jorah came about purely by accident. You were discussing Westerosi culture with Daenerys, as you were also from there and she was curious. You described attending galas, all the beautiful dresses and lights and music. Jorah had attended a few as well, even though they weren’t as popular in the North, and he shared his stories.

Daenerys looked to the both of you with a bit of mischief in her eyes. She asked if you two could show her how some of the dances are done. You quickly felt shy, as you had quite a crush on Ser Jorah, but the idea of being so close and dancing with him was a wonderful thought. You looked to him, and he also seemed a little flustered, but he gave you a smile. “A dance or two for the Khaleesi shouldn’t be a problem. It’s been some time for me, so you may have to lead, my lady.”

You gladly did so, you loved it when he called you a lady, reminding you of better times back at home. Despite his words, he took you in his arms with little hesitation and after you counted a few times, you both were easily waltzing around the room. You hummed a song you remembered, and he also remembered it, and began recalling when he was a young man and attended his first gala.

You didn’t notice, but he was discussing the story more with you than Daenerys, and she had long snuck out of the room with Missandei, the two of them grinning.

You two had ended up dancing along to several more songs, talking all the while. You hummed and sometimes sang a song, and he easily swayed you even if he didn’t know it. Jorah held you just perfectly, not too tight, and you felt so safe in his arms. It wasn’t until you turned to ask Daenerys a question that you realized you both were alone, totally out of breath and not knowing how long you’d been dancing.

You had a mix of emotions, you were homesick and lovesick. Jorah assumed your quietness was because you were tired, and he brought you water and took you to a place to rest. You were touched, and you two kept talking into the evening. You eventually began leaning on him and fell asleep, and he carefully carried you to your room and kissed your brow before he tucked you in.

You both confessed your feelings to each other shortly afterward. While there wasn’t much time for parties in the Free Cities, sometimes during quiet evenings you’d pull him into a dance and he’d love it, enjoying your closeness and how you’d hum and rest your head on his chest.

JAMIE LANNISTER

Jamie was always expected to be accomplished in most things, and socially-demanded dancing for stuffy galas was no different. Although he didn’t think much of it, he had a natural talent for it. Jamie didn’t have many chances to dance, however, as the Kingsguard was generally discouraged from participating in galas, unless it was for ceremony or some event.

You first danced together at one of these ceremonies, and Jamie was relieved. You two had known each other for a while, and he was glad not to get stuck with some lovestruck maid. He started out with a smirk, making sassy remarks about the silliness of the whole thing, and you teasing him about being rude while dancing with a lady. As it went on, Jamie started to become quiet. He began to realize how much he liked having you this close, how you smiled and reassured him, and lightly scolded him when he made a rude comment about a guest. He couldn’t keep his heart still, and told himself it was just the exercise.

He was disappointed when the dance ended, and ended up finding you for a few more. When you were taken for the last dance, he couldn’t deny how irritated he felt, and watched you and your damned partner the whole time.

After that, he was sure to attend more galas, but not enough to bring suspicion to your growing relationship. He’d sometimes play it risky, bringing you closer than was proper, whispering in your ear lovely or flirty praises if he knew his sister was away. He really only enjoyed dancing with you, and didn’t have a problem turning down anyone else, although he had to dance with a few others to avoid being seen as too rude.

After he lost his hand and returned to King’s Landing, the bright galas lost their appeal and he stopped attending, even for ceremony. He ended up finding you in a practice room one day, and you guided him to you, although he protested. Once you began humming a song you knew he liked, and guided him into it, he couldn’t help but bring you close against his chest. He leaned into you, swaying as he nuzzled into your hair, holding you so tight it almost hurt.

You knew he was overwhelmed with emotion from his captivity, so when you two got a chance alone, you’d hold him close and whisper how much you loved him, sometimes swaying and humming the songs you two used to dance to.

TYRION LANNISTER

Galas were like any other feast or party for Tyrion, he could have plenty of drink and banter, and if he got bored, he’d slip out and go to a brothel. If he knew you were in attendance, you two would sit together, trading drinks and stories.

He knew you loved to dance, and sometimes you’d step away to enjoy the music. He’d have some feelings of envy and sadness, wishing he could dance so easily with you. One day, you noticed him being particularly self-pitying, and you pulled him by the wrist.

“What’s this, my lady? Normally, I wouldn’t refuse you, but with so many people -”

You smiled and shook your head. “Oh, honestly, it’s not that. I want you to dance with me.”

Tyrion was obviously unsure, he didn’t want that sort of attention drawn to both of you. He knew his reputation, but he didn’t want to sully your’s. You insisted, but instead of dragging him to the middle of the dance floor, you pulled him out in the halls.

“Now I’m really getting mixed messages about your intentions,” He joked, trying to relieve his anxiety.

You rolled your eyes and took his hands, and gently instructed him. Outside, you could still hear the music, but you were alone, enjoying yourselves You both ended up losing track of time, and had to hurry back separately, so no one would assume anything untoward.

He was touched by your kindness, loving you even more, if that was possible. During galas, you two would hold hands and drink, and after you married you were more than able to sneak out and dance to yourselves under the moon and stars.

TYWIN LANNISTER

It was the first time you had attended a gala at Casterly Rock, and your parents wanted you on your best behavior. You had to dance the appropriate amount of time with the appropriate amount of partners, at the appropriate distance. Just thirty minutes in and you wanted to leave.

You noticed Tywin Lannister sitting at a table with his family members; he was hard to miss, with his great presence. However, you became wrapped up in your irksome partners, and you didn’t notice he was gone until he was suddenly beside you. Your scared partner wasted no time in handing you over, and before you knew it, you were dancing with the Warden of the West.

He had a confident hold on you, and perhaps he was a little too close, but you hardly thought about that. You were surprised by his poise and practiced steps; he led you effortlessly and you found yourself complimenting him. You blushed and tried not to look away as he returned the compliment with his low voice. You'd never thought he would do such a thing, and to you of all people.

At the end of it, he gave you a proper bow and kiss on your hand, but it felt different than others you received. You were still buzzing. At the end of the night, he picked you for the last dance, and you were determined not to be intimidated again. You danced wonderfully in sync with him, and you could swear he tried to change some steps to trip you up. You didn’t fall for it, and followed his lead easily. The dance was over before you knew it, and he gave you another customary kiss on your hand, but there was a peculiar look in his eyes that made your heart flutter even more.

The gossip in court exploded after that, with your handmaids telling you that he almost never danced with any lady, and everyone agreed you two looked like royalty.

You still remember that night fondly after you two married. After you wed, he was sure to get the first few dances with you at each gala, and no one was going to take Tywin Lannister’s wife from him until he was quite finished. Once he was, he’d hand you to a partner and sit down, his eyes occasionally following you across the ballroom. No one would think of making an inappropriate move on you, especially at Casterly Rock.

If he felt someone was overstepping their bounds, Tywin wouldn’t hesitate to calmly stand from his seat, make his way to you, and give them a quiet but vicious reminder of who you were married to. Then, he’d guide you to his seat, where he’d keep his hand over yours until he calmed down.

For the last dance, no matter how tired he was or who he was speaking to, he’d seek you out. While Tywin always held you close, if he was in a particular mood, he’d make sure your body was nearly touching his, and his hand would have a firm grip on your waist. The two of you would talk quietly or you'd enjoy a peaceful silence with knowing glances. Tywin wouldn’t want to show too much affection in public, but you could tell from his soft gaze and the way he held you that he very much wanted you. Once the dance was finished, he’d keep you by his side until the gala finished and you two retired to your bedchambers.

SANDOR CLEGANE

Of all the stupid things nobles do, Sandor found galas especially fucking stupid, especially with all the fuss in guarding them. Normally he was glad to take the night off and drink, but since being hired by your family, he had to attend to guard you.

He’d already had growing feelings for you, and the damn galas only made it worse. You were always dressed beautifully, always smiling at this person and laughing with that one. At least you'd give cold looks to lords who didn’t impress you, but he still hated how everyone held your attention. Anytime one of the lords was too close or touchy, he’d be sure to touch his sword and quietly appear next to you two until they’d slink off.

After a well-known incident involving a drunk lord who ended up lifted by his neck and nearly tossed, the guests figured out you were well-protected and didn’t try anything fishy. It really wasn’t enough for Sandor, he didn’t give a shit about dancing, it just drove him up a wall how other men were so close and touching you. You couldn’t stand some of them, but you had to allow it, and whatever you two felt for each other had to be kept under wraps.

In the evening, when the gala ran long and your legs and feet were absolutely killing you, Sandor would wait until you two were alone and pick you up. He’d cradle you bridal style, secretly adoring how you rested your head on his broad shoulders and kept him close, sometimes touching his face as you closed your eyes. He’d be bold enough to take you into your bedroom and set you down on the bed, ignoring the scandalized looks of your handmaidens. Eventually you began sending them away, and when Sandor would set you down, he’d be sure to strip you from your clothes (perhaps a bit too roughly), rubbing your legs and meeting your lips as you held onto his face.

At one point you were practicing in an empty room and you offered to teach him. He snorted, saying he wasn’t doing that shit, and you laughed, figuring you’d give it a try. After a gala, you still have the music in your head, so when you’re both alone you’ll wrap your arms around him and hum, trying to sway him along with you. He’ll grumble and complain but still bring his arms around you, holding you a little too tight, as if trying to erase all the people who were touching you before. Sometimes he was feeling especially jealous, seeing how flushed your cheeks were and how you breathed heavily in your dress, and he’d be too eager to rip it while ‘helping’ you undress.

BRONN

No surprise, he’d scoff at the ridiculousness of the galas and dancing. He and Tyrion would have plenty of good laughs about it as you got ready, and he’d be sure to give you several compliments on your backside before you left. After he was knighted at Blackwater, Tyrion made several jokes about him attending to find a proper wife, which he always blew off. It wasn’t until Tyrion brought up your marriage in passing, and how you’d likely find a husband at a gala since you attended so many, that he got a little irritated.

He didn’t want to go, of course, but he recalled how you always dressed up for them. Were you dressing up for someone in particular? He didn’t think you were the husband-hunting type. The whole idea just left a bad taste in his mouth, so he agreed to go to one with Tyrion, fully intending to just drink and joke the whole time.

Naturally none of the lords and ladies looked forward to having Bronn or Tyrion there, but you still sat with them, laughing and drinking along. Bronn kept fighting the urge to pull you into his lap like he did when he visited the taverns, and right when he was about to pull you to him by your waist, you were asked to dance by some Lord Who Knows from Where the Fuck. Bronn definitely was glaring when the man took you away.

As the lord danced with you, and you smiled politely when he kissed your hand at the end, Bronn hoped that was it. Nope, several lords were ready to dance with you. Evidently, you were popular, and that wasn’t surprising. Bronn wasn’t a flowery words type, but the word ‘beautiful’ kept coming to mind as you twirled and glittered under the lights. It just irked him, so he kept drinking and suggested to Tyrion that they ditch and find a brothel. He remained irritated, despite the distractions.

The next time you readied for a gala and stopped by Tyrion’s office to see if he was joining you, Bronn felt that ugly feeling again, and urged you to come to one of his favorite taverns instead.

You thought he was joking. “In my jewels and one of my favorite dresses?”

“Eh, leave the jewels. I can help ya out of that dress, if ya need it.” He grinned.

You realized he actually meant it, and you sighed, thinking about how upset your family would be, especially since you were still unmarried… But Bronn looked almost eager, and it was hard to refuse him to begin with. You rolled your eyes, told him to give you some time and returned in a much simpler outfit. He couldn’t keep his grin and laugh to himself as he pulled you out of the castle, with Tyrion smirking to himself as you two left.

At the tavern, there was plenty of music and drinks already flowing. After you two drank plenty, Bronn pulled you up, telling you he’d show you what real dancing was. You’d never actually been amongst the smallfolk like this, so you were a little overwhelmed, but you loved the way his hands touched and wandered across your body. He was risky, giving you kisses here on there, sometimes on your jaw or your neck, encouraged by your laughter. Once you two were tired and thirsty, he eagerly pulled you into his lap, calling for another round of drinks. The two of you spent quite a bit of time at the inn and the room upstairs. From then on, you began shirking attending galas, having more fun dancing with Bronn in various taverns and dance halls in King’s Landing.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Not too surprising, Stannis saw no enjoyment in galas, even when he was unmarried and expected to find a wife. The regular feasts were pain enough, and Renly and Robert always took the attention of others anyway.

While courting you, he never actually met you at a gala, preferring to see you elsewhere. When you two married, he realized that he eventually had to attend them, as you couldn’t go by yourself … and he knew how much you loved them. So even with his discomfort, he made attempts to practice with you. You guided him patiently, and he paid attention, although he often got distracted by your happy smile, and how you’d reward him with kisses. He’d tell you to let up on all the affection so he could concentrate, but …. Nope, you didn’t. If you kept showering him with praise and affection, he’d become terribly flustered and try to pull you back into the lesson.

When a gala finally came around, you could tell he was nervous, even if he seemed the same to anyone else. He danced with you through two songs, which surprised you. You forgot yourself more than once, giving him a chaste kiss or a compliment like you’d do in practice, and you both would blush and hope no one noticed.

He’d sit out after that, feeling too out of place. He’d feel nervous seeing you dance with more loud and outgoing men, evening starting to grind his teeth if they looked too cozy with you. Eventually, Davos would have to point out that you didn’t smile nearly as much for the other lords, nor did you stay close to them or laugh at their silly jokes.

For the last dance, you could tell he was happy to return to you. He held you much closer, even giving you subdued smiles as you beamed up at him and noted his improvement. At the end, he’d give you a kiss on the hand, but wouldn’t be satisfied and would end up giving you a sweet one on your lips.

RENLY BARATHEON

While Renly was good enough at dancing and he had friends at the gala, he preferred feasts and tourneys, especially since galas were full of starry-eyed girls chasing after him. You two met when you were forced to partner up, you both were trying to escape more undesirable partners and easily danced away from them. Once you’d both realize what you just did, you’d have a good laugh about it and started to get to know each other.

Since you two often visited at other events after that, there were rumors, but you knew his heart was with a certain Tyrell. He was a fun friend anyway, especially when you both wanted to escape at a gala. You’d dance and make jokes, complain about your families and snigger at certain guests. One time you both were being pursued by especially annoying partners for a last dance, and you literally spent half the song dodging through couples, avoiding them and finally finding each other, only to be totally out of breath and the song nearly over.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

You attended more than enough galas for one lady; your parents were so eager for you to marry, they dragged you to dozens. At least you enjoyed dancing, however, the instability of Westeros had other ideas. You followed your father on his campaign to support Stannis, putting a solid end to any future galas.

As you were often at Dragonstone, you befriended little Shireen, who naturally wasn’t allowed to attend galas. You began giving her little lessons, teaching her some of the songs and steps to them, which she loved. Eventually you began to befriend Davos as well, ans he thought it was adorable to watch the two of you. He especially liked the grace and ease that you moved with, it reminded him of a ship sailing on an easy breeze.

One evening, Shireen suggested that you teach Davos how to dance. He was taken off-guard and quickly said that he really wasn’t a dancer, besides, you were a proper lady who ought to dance with proper lords.

“You are also a lord, and a knight, Ser Davos.” You reminded him. "Besides, in these times, the realm has little need for fancy parties."

He still seemed uneasy and tried several other excuses, until you walked up to him, put his hand on your waist and took up his right one. Of course, he felt insecure about his missing fingers, but you didn’t even bring it up. And it was hard to focus on them, when he had your lovely eyes and your sweet smile so close.

Shireen sang the songs you taught her, and you sang along, carefully guiding him into a simple two and three step dance. He was stiff and nervous the whole time, worried about touching you inappropriately, wanting to touch you but knowing he shouldn’t. After that, several times when he stopped by to see you and Shireen, he’d be dragged into another dancing lesson. He actually did love being so close to you, and how sweet you were with the princess. It made his mind wander to what sort of family you two would have.

Davos never really saw you at a proper ball, which he considered a good and a bad thing. He’d never see you in a lovely dress enchanting the room, but he also wouldn’t have to see younger, handsomer men dancing perfectly with you.

Sometimes when you were feeling anxious, you’d wrap your arms around his warm torso and hold him close to you, humming one of the songs and swaying with him. He’d hold your waist, kissing your brow and giving you words of comfort, knowing you liked the movement and closeness.

MARGAERY TYRELL

The two of you began dancing in the practice room. Margaery was quite drawn to you based off the rumors she heard, and she wasn’t disappointed, as you two quickly dazzled the room. From then on, you often practiced together, usually trading gossip and jokes the whole time.

At the next gala, she surprised you with asking you to dance. You two twirled around the floor, enchanting anyone who watched with your combined grace, not knowing you two were cracking jokes or sharing flirtations while the music played.

You danced often together, although you both knew when it was appropriate to stop dancing together and dance with a possible suitor, it never made you happy. A few times Margaery would notice when a man was getting too close, and she’d swiftly whisk you away with a charming smile, leaving him none the wiser that you were being rescued. Often, you two would catch each other’s eyes while dancing with other partners, and she’d give you a knowing smile.

After one of the parties was winding down, you accompanied Margaery to her private chambers so you two could get out of your dresses and soothe your aching feet. She noticed you were feeling down most of the evening. “Is something the matter, love?”

“Well…” You felt foolish. “I was thinking how you and I will never get the last dance. If we ever did, people would think it was some joke.”

Before you knew it, she whisked you off the bed and onto your feet. “Then, we’ll dance right now! This will be our last one, or the one after this, or the one after that. The last dance will always be just the two of us, when we decide.”

From then on, you two had a little tradition, having your “last dance” in one of your chambers, humming to the ballroom songs in your nightgowns and usually ending it with a fit of giggles on the bed.

LORAS TYRELL

It wasn’t too surprising that Loras was just as graceful in dance as he was on horseback, and all the ladies of the realm were eager to dance with him when he attended a gala. Loras was polite, giving the proper amount of time to each lady, as he truly enjoyed galas, even if his partners could be lacking, and even if he’d never get to dance with the one he really loved.

However, Loras was surprised by you, pleasantly so. He loved that you knew the complicated steps he couldn’t try with other partners, and would give you challenges to keep up. You two would end up getting lost in the music, dancing through several songs. Several guests would stop dancing or talking just to watch, and you both usually got a hearty round of applause by the end of it.

Of course, you both would be exhausted and sweating, but he had a high respect for you and began seeing you as a friend.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

Brienne wasn’t crazy about guarding galas, as it just brought back painful memories of her own rejections and trying desperately to fit in. She’d sigh and bear it, moving all her focus to protecting you. She took the duty seriously, thus, she always watched you.

She began to admire the grace and beauty you had as you danced. She always thought you were pretty, but when you smiled and twirled, and your hair and gown moved with you, it was almost dream-like. More than once, her heart beat quickly as she watched you effortlessly pull off some move she couldn’t attempt or even name. She didn’t even pay attention to your partners, unless they were obviously pushing their boundaries - which she’d be quick to correct if you didn’t stop them first.

One day, you were in your practice room and she was once again taken with you. You noticed her staring, and asked if she’d like to help you practice.

Brienne was taken aback by the suggestion, and quickly became uncomfortable. She insisted there was no way she could be of any help. As you pressed her, she kept insisting, saying she wasn’t graceful and she’d just end up hurting you.

She sat in on several other practice sessions, and you began to get specific with her. You’d ask her to stand still or hold you a certain way so you could practice a dance. She’d get what you were doing right away, but she’d be obedient, trying to calm her beating heart. As you two became closer, and you reassured her, she’d slowly try to hold you and try a few moves, but she’d quickly lose confidence and retreat into herself.

At one gala, during the last dance, a lord was much too forward with you and even tried to follow after you once it ended. Brienne was quick to put him in his place, face-first on the ground. She escorted you back to your room, noticing how upset you were by the whole ordeal.

“Who cares about the last dance, anyway? It’s just stupid ceremony, yet men act like fools over it,” You ranted, taking off your heels and dress. Brienne agreed, trying not to be distracted by you disrobing.

“My last dance will be with whomever I please. Brienne?”

She stood at attention. “My lady?”

You held out your hands, dressed in only your nightgown. “Will you be my last dance, my knight?”

She blushed to her ears and began to refuse, but she thought of all the men who would try to grab you, coerce you into a dance or just act tasteless. Setting her sword aside, she took your hands carefully. You hummed a song and led her into it, and she swore you could hear her heart beneath her armor. In spite of all her worries and insecurities, she loved having you so close, and she couldn’t stop herself from giving you a proper knightly kiss on your hand once your impromptu dance finished.

RAMSAY BOLTON

You knew of Ramsay’s reputation when you married him. You weren’t a fool, you were aware he certainly had feelings for you, and he was willing to keep his more … unsavory aspects away from you, for the most part. He was especially good at playing the dutiful lord husband where guests were concerned, although Roose still kept an eye on him during galas.

You adored dancing and you weren’t going to stop just because he didn’t partake. But to your surprise, one day he took you in his arms, and impressed you with how he followed the music and steps. He was rather clumsy, and perhaps a little too fast, but it was obvious he had been practicing.

You complimented Ramsay, and he was clearly pleased, holding you closer and giving you that charming smile he liked to use. You could always see behind it, but this time it seemed genuine. Sometimes he’d slip up and give you a kiss, often whispering something less than appropriate to you, but before you knew it several songs played and you had enjoyed yourself.

He was still holding onto you when a man came up, asking for your hand. Ramsay looked confused, then clearly irritated, and you had to remind him. “My lord, it’s customary to change partners every other song.”

“Is that so?” His expression changed again, to a darker one you easily recognized. He handed you over to the man, obviously not enjoying it, and you hoped he stayed out of trouble.

As you danced with other partners, you could see he had a few dances with other girls, but then he returned to the table. You could tell there was strong emotion brewing behind his eyes, you just couldn’t be sure what he’d do.

One of the lords dancing with you was quite drunk, and ended up stumbling. You tried to catch him, but he grabbed ahold of you, specifically on your backside. Before you could push him off, Ramsay was already there, taking the man by the collar. The room went totally quiet as he smiled. “I’d recommend you find a different place for those hands, my lord, or they’ll end up separated from your wrists.”

You pulled Ramsay away and Roose urged the musicians to continue. Before you could even speak to Ramsay, he had you in his arms again, but this time with far more possessiveness. He gripped your waist and brought the two of you completely together, and kissing your neck as you two swayed to the song. He began to bite you and leave marks, his tone sweet but his words told you that you belonged to him, and if you or any lords forgot, he’d be more than happy to remind them.

ROOSE BOLTON

It was common knowledge among the Northern lords that Roose didn’t dance at galas. He wasn’t the only Northern lord who did this, of course, but he already had a reputation for being cold. He’d simply sit at the table, observing the guests and occasionally speaking when it was polite.

It wasn’t until Roose was courting you that he finally stood, asking you for the first dance. You were just as surprised as anyone else, but you accepted, and you couldn’t help but notice the confidence and ease that he held you with. His movements weren’t flourishing or energetic, but held your attention with his steely eyes. Occasionally, he’d murmur in your ear a lovely compliment, and it would almost break your concentration.

You noticed as the dances would go on, he’d bring you closer, and you didn’t mind at all. Afterward, he may have accepted a dance here or there from someone else, but he really didn’t get asked, and he seemed quite fine with that. He’d sit at the table at his usual spot, his eyes following you, sometimes catching your gaze and giving an expression that you couldn’t place.

He was able to catch you for the last dance once or twice, and his movements were so slow and steady, it was almost hypnotizing. You found yourself swaying into him, sometimes leaning, and you had to remind yourself to keep an appropriate distance - but then he’d gently pull you back in. As your cheeks flushed, he asked why you suddenly became so shy, and you managed some excuse. At the end of it, he took your hand and gave you a perfectly polite kiss that still gave you goosebumps because of the way he lingered and kept his eyes on you.

Once you married, he’d only dance with you. During a gala, he’d keep an eye on which men were dancing with you - if he felt one was keeping too close, or one was dancing with you too often, he’d come from seemingly nowhere and more or less threaten them away, always in his calm tone. Then he’d take you in his arms, swaying you in his gentle and slow way. As you melted into it, he’d give you a kiss on your brow or cheek. He’d whisper to you sometimes, complimenting your loveliness or reminding you that you two still had the business of making an heir.

At the last dance, he’d only seem to want you more, especially if he was feeling jealous through the night. His long fingers would softly rub the small of your back, often slipping lower if he could get away with it, and he’d give several kisses to your lips and neck. By the end of it, you’re usually a mess, and you’d want the gala to hurry up and be over so you two could get to your shared bedroom.

EDMURE TULLY

As much as his father and sisters attempted to instruct him, Edmure was always clumsy with his feet. Lysa and Catlyn often teased him, pulling him into the practice room and insisting he dance with them. He attended several galas through the years, always quite shy and sort of bumbling when he was dragged to dance with someone.

When your mother not so subtly suggested that you two dance, the panic on his face was obvious. You were probably the most beautiful girl he’d met, and now he’d be making a fool of himself in front of you. You took his hand, giving him a gentle smile, whispering that it would be okay.

You took the lead and he was surprised by how kind you were. You would quietly instruct him and carefully guide him, and he became confident, enjoying several dances with you. He was so disappointed to hand you over to someone else, he almost forgot to kiss your hand.

After you two married, Edmure actually put a lot more work into his practice, since you loved dancing so much and he wanted to spend time with you. He admired your confidence in all things, but especially when all eyes were on you as you went from partner to partner. He’d try to participate as much as he could, but he still was quite clumsy and didn’t want to slow you down, although you insisted he was doing quite well.

When the last dance came, he almost couldn’t wait to be by your side. Your cheeks would be flushed from the evening, and he’d lovingly brush some of your stray hair behind your ear before taking your hand and waist in the last dance. He probably couldn’t resist giving you a kiss on your cheek or forehead, being a little embarrassed by his own behavior. Once it finished, he’d again lose himself and give you a lovely kiss before remembering propriety and placing a kiss on your hand.

Once the evening is over, he’s incredibly attentive to you, massaging your legs and getting you water or whatever you needed. When you tease him about it, he blushes quite a bit, but says he can’t help but look after and spoil his lovely wife.

BRYNDEN TULLY

When you first asked him to dance, he laughed out loud, assuming you were joking. When you insisted, he certainly was surprised, but he set his ale down and gladly stood to join you.

The Blackfish knew he wasn’t graceful in any sense of the word, but he held you firmly, and he led with confidence. If he ever missed any steps, he recovered so smoothly it was hard to tell. He didn't give a damn about any gossip between the two of you, and respected that you felt the same.

Often you’d push yourself closer to him, and he’d grin, only holding you tighter, making your heart race. He’d have plenty of witty comments, loving to see you laugh as your cheeks were flushed from the exercise, and maybe you two could sneak in a few flirtatious whispers. He loved how small you were in his arms, and sometimes he'd make a snide comment about hoping his brother and the Riverlands court were thoroughly scandalized by the two of you.

Brynden would really only have a few dances with you before insisting you ought to partner with some younger men, and better suitors. Even if you’d pout, he’d sit down and go back to drinking and joking with his friends. However, he’d unmistakably look up and watch you, loving to see you twirl and move, and sometimes laughing to himself whenever his nephew nearly stepped on your feet. If he was feeling particularly bold and had plenty of drink, he’d swoop you up for the last dance, insisting to your partner that you were in good hands - and really, it was hard to argue with such a man, especially when he was already whisking you away.

At the end of the evening, he always gave you a “proper” kiss on the hand, which you know he wasn’t taking seriously at all, as he'd often give you a wink or would scoff at anyone staring. You’d kiss him on the cheek in return.

Once the guests were turning to their rooms, Brynden would find you, pulling you into an empty hall to give you a proper kiss, grumbling about damned propriety. You'd laugh softly as you guided him to your room, though he'd insist on carrying you, delighting in how you'd hold onto him.

OBERYN MARTELL

Oberyn vastly preferred the galas in Dorne, which had both livelier music and dance. As much as he enjoyed causing a little ruckus or scandal here and there at typical galas, for the most part, they uninterested him.

He ended up attending one, and he was quite ready to leave and find himself amongst far more interesting company. Then, he spotted you just in time, and he wondered where such a beautiful and graceful gem had been hiding all along. Surely he had to have heard of you, and when he realized he hadn't, he would make sure you knew of him.

He more or less whisked you from his partner and pulled you into a dance full of energy, and he was delighted as you met his unpredictable steps. He'd flirt shamelessly, asking all about you, and if you'd be interested in meeting him in a … less formal setting. There would be endless gossip on you and the Dornish prince, but you didn't care, and danced the rest of the night with Oberyn. It was obvious he loved dancing as much as you did, and he made for a wonderful partner.

You attended a gala at Dorne for his brother's birthday, and Oberyn couldn't believe his luck you that were there. He pulled you into his arms at once, bringing you close and instructing you in the more sensual Dornish dances that most of Westeros was too scandalized by. If you would have him, he'd want you to be his paramour by the end of the night.

Oberyn liked to watch you at galas, and how you adapted so well to other partners and enjoyed every song, not taking a moment to rest. It was painfully obvious how taken he was with you by the way he’d smile in your direction, and when you two danced, you seemed lost in your own world. In the evenings, he’d do his utmost to spoil you and soothe your sore legs, praising your grace and movement the entire time.

YARA GREYJOY

As hard and bitter as the Iron Islands were, they liked loud music and good drink as well as any place in the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes a tavern would just be full of both, and a great party would carry on into the night. You loved partaking in these, losing yourself in the music and singing along with the old sea shanties, even if you had plenty of hands to slap away. You didn’t let a bunch of foolish, drunk men ruin your fun.

Yara had seen you plenty of times before, and of course you knew her. She’d sit back with a drink and watch you sway your hips to the beat, and you’d give her a smirk or a wink in return. You were patient, she was not - eventually, she’d finish off her drink, stand up, shove off whatever man was hovering around you and bring you close to her.

You loved teasing the Greyjoy captain, often saying things like “My, haven’t we met before?”. Sometimes she played into it with you, other times she just hovered close to your ear and responded, “You know exactly who I am.”

You could tell Yara wanted to see you at times other than this, by the way she’d talk of you two ‘touring’ her ship’s quarters or where she might find you again, but you liked to keep her on her toes.

PETYR BAELISH

When Petyr asked you to dance with his disarming smile, you didn’t realize what you were in for. He was an absolute natural, holding you and leading you with expertise. He moved quickly, forcing you to keep up, but you loved the challenge. Fast songs that most people would sit out for were no problem for him, and he even had several sweet compliments for you, or playfully traded a few rumors he’d heard about you and some lord, secretly hoping you’d dispel them.

As you complimented him on his dancing, stating he was a natural, he’d brush it off with false modesty and insist he just practiced… but you knew from that prideful smirk that he was glad to impress you. He especially loved seeing you flushed and breathing heavily after several dances with him, imagining you with the same face in a much different setting.

If you were stuck with a particularly boring or sleazy partner, he’d time it perfectly, swooping in to rescue you right when you were at your wit’s end. With his usual charisma, he’d tell them you were needed, perhaps giving a swift insult to them in the same breath. Sometimes he’d hint that you were already involved with someone else, and would be delighted if you wouldn’t correct him.

The other side of Petyr would come out if you were having fun with other men, laughing along with their jokes or enjoying their dancing. It wasn’t that they were men specifically, but they were lords, rich lords with far more money and lands than he had. At that moment, he’d wait again, taking you in his arms once you were free. His usual quick step and cadence would seem slower, more deliberate, as he’d bring you closer to him. He’d be smiling, but he’d whisper all the things he could give you, how much better he was than them, and how they’d all hurt you anyway.

BERIC DONDARRION

Sometimes around the campfire with the Brotherhood, they burst into song and drunkenly dance along. You often felt a little out of place with them, even if you believed in them, as you were a highborn lady. They began singing a song you were familiar with, and since you had a few drinks yourself, you pulled Beric up with you, asking for a dance. He surprised you with properly holding your waist and hand, and you remembered he was a lord before this.

The men began to whistle and holler as you two attempted a waltz, but eventually it came back to you and you guided him. He laughed, as he had mostly forgotten, and cooed about how cute and lovely you looked. Eventually you slipped a bit and he caught you, picked you up and sat you back down with him, giving you plenty of kisses and holding him to you. You teased him, saying you wanted to keep dancing, and he promised he’d join you anytime you wanted one.

He knows you left behind a lot to join the Brotherhood, and as much as you say you love him, he still sometimes worries and just wants you to be happy. So he’s sees no problem in indulging in your dancing and singing, and often gets overwhelmed with how precious you are during those times.

Since he learned how much you enjoyed it, sometimes he’d surprise you, scooping you up and pulling you into a dance. Beric adored hearing you laugh with happiness, and he thought you looked especially pretty when two danced around the fire. Sometimes you’d jokingly teach his men how to dance ‘proper’, and even though they were playing around, Beric would get a little forlorn and eventually pull you back to him.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

When you tried explaining to Tormund what galas and dancing in the South was like, he’d be quite confused, not understanding the point of it, but he just loved to hear you talk and describe it. Eventually he’d ask for a demonstration, and since you two were alone, you’d sigh and give it a try. “Well, it would be a bit easier to show you if I had another person-”

Instantly he’d stand up, and you’d laugh at his enthusiasm. You’d take his hands and guide him, rolling your eyes at his whistling when he grasps your waist and instantly brings you close to him. You try to attempt a few steps, but he’s having so much fun holding onto you and peppering you with kisses that you just laugh and let him.

He’d try to show you some wildling dances he’s picked up, although they’re few and far between, and mostly ceremonial. Again, he’d have so much fun watching you that he’d get distracted and just want to hold you.

At some point, when you’d all be gathered around a fire, someone brought up galas. You jokingly danced with Jon, who could somewhat remember the steps, and Tormund suddenly felt a little jealous. He got between the two of you, again holding to you and bringing you to his lap. He’d want to try it again, although he’d be quite drunk and would just end up holding you to him and swaying. You’d give him several kisses, all while whispering what sort of dresses you’d wear for him and how you two would dance. More than once you two would’ve been told to get a room.

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