#lets have a heated discussion abt whos shitting inside

[cdroloisms]

idk why but i imagined vegas 2.0 as two soccer moms (the politics bois) trying to outdo each other while their sons are dragged into it (green bois) in a rlly fvcked way. e.g.

maybe big q reconsidering dream's usefulness by saying sam's enough as protection and has other things to offer to the team as well. wilbur steps in by suggesting a duel between sam and dream then, to prove it then. maybe while it happens, wilbur whispers to quackity a list of what is still physically broken abt dream post prison (so many unhealed bones, barely healed muscle, he can barely stomach food so he had like 1 steak in the past few days, etc.) and of course, he mentions dream's most powerful asset, the revive book :)

-🐇

LMAOO

this is hilarious and also accurate as hell ,, thank you anon because the image of c!wilbur and c!quackity as PTA moms is completely sending me. this prompt (as most vt2 related things are) was really fun !! it also kinda ran away from me, which is why this ended up being almost 6k words instead of my usual 1-2k for asks, but i hope you enjoy it regardless :]

tws: implied torture/abuse, death, violence, blood, injuries, conditioning, dehumanization, panic attacks, emotional distress, trauma, unhealthy relationships (so many unhealthy relationships), smoking, dark contents, dark themes, vt2 au is always really dark so definitely proceed with caution !! dark portrayals of c!quackity, c!sam, c!wilbur, and c!dream

It starts, as many things do nowadays, with a board meeting - which seems to be as much of a sign as any that everything is going to go to shit. Board meetings for Quackity, much like Wilbur’s stupid group therapy sessions, are just a thinly veiled attempt for the two to fight for control of pretty much everything - ranging from the casino schedules to the laws still being written for Las Nevadas to what food to stock in the vending machines. As Sam is still sitting on his false throne of moral superiority and therefore less inclined to indulge himself in the same blatant corruption that characterizes their discussions, and Dream - more than anything - knows his place (which hardly gives him any position to wrangle for power among the likes of Wilbur and Quackity), the fights for control more or less remain restricted between the two. More often than not, they devolve into proving their superiority over the other by using their control of Dream (which naturally never means anything remotely good for him as a consequence) so when Quackity strolls over, all tight-lipped smiles and a cigarette held between clenched fingers, Dream really doesn’t feel anything other than dread.

Still, orders by Quackity are still orders - Dream knows this fact better than he knows that he’s alive and breathing, better than the fact that he’s out of the prison, better than he knows his own goddamn name - and Dream is far too well-trained to ever consider trying to rebel. So when the time comes - 7:30 pm, sharp - Dream is in his chair, spine straight and head alert like a goddamn dog, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long for the others to arrive. Sam comes over first, leveling him with a heavy, distrustful stare as he sits down in the chair across from Dream, the expression nearly enough for Dream to roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fear that rockets through him, still, at the sight of the Warden so close to him. Sam has made it more than clear from the very beginning that he has no trust at all for Dream, that if he had his way then Dream would be locked up for the rest of eternity in a labyrinth of blackstone and obsidian, forever guarded by his ever-present supervision. Dream feels his ears burning with heat as he dips his eyes low to the surface of the table, wanting no more than to curl up and hide under the scrutiny of the Warden’s glare.

Quackity enters next, throwing open the door of the conference room loud enough to make Dream jump out of his seat, looking at him with an upturned corner of his lip when he comes back to himself enough to notice. Dream stifles a shudder at his visible good mood, all-too-aware of what that usually meant for him in the cell, stiffening further with a growing ringing to his ears as Sam and Quackity talk and Quackity sweeps past his side to get to his seat at the head of the table, carelessly brushing his fingers along the back of Dream’s neck in a way that makes him freeze, stock-still, in his chair - feeling his fingertips ease themselves over the ridge present there from a thick band of scar tissue, a deep, jagged thing that had been carved from the blunter back edge of Quackity’s axe when he had lost his temper and let the thing slam against the back of his neck, hard enough that it probably would’ve paralyzed him completely if it weren’t for Sam’s use of almost a full chest of regens. Quackity remains over him for a few more seconds, leaning over his chair to talk to Sam as he runs a light, possessive hand over the topmost bumps of Dream’s spine, before settling over into his chair, watching him with a small smirk as he keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.

Dream hates the prickling shame and terror that keeps his muscles tense as he stares at the table’s surface, still feeling the ghost of fingers tracing over skin and bone along the back of his neck, keeps his burning eyes trained on the surface of solid wood as he tries to steady his breaths. It’s all he can do to press down his flinch when Quackity, with a frustrated yell, slams his fist against the table a few minutes later, rage simmering underneath his words as he speaks.

“Where the hell is Wilbur?” His glare slides across the room, landing on Dream, making him shrink back in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Quackity doesn’t stop staring at him even as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pants pocket, lighting it and bringing it to his lips and letting the silver-grey threads of smoke fill the room and press against the inside of Dream’s lungs. “It’s ten minutes til 8 - I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sam digs his fingers into his temples, already looking exhausted. “If you want, Q, we can always start without him and catch him up later. Depends on you.”

“No, then I’ll have to repeat myself and it’ll be pointless and ugh,” Quackity makes a vaguely frustrated noise as he finally turns his eyes over to Sam, making Dream’s shoulders shudder as he finally finds the air to take a breath, “We’ll just have to wait. Fucking idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have worked with any of these fuckers.”

In true Wilbur fashion, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later when the taller man finally makes an appearance, the entire time tense as hell as Quackity takes slow, steady drags of his cigarette and taps his fingers impatiently against the table’s surface. He offers one to Sam, who goes on to decline, making a short quip telling Quackity to watch his health for the future that promptly falls flat. Dream thinks he’s a fucking hypocrite, considering his whole deal with weednip or whatever Ant has on him, but doesn’t voice the thoughts as he sinks down in his chair, wishing more than anything to disappear. Against the fabric of his shirt, the right side of his chest itches, and he presses his palm against the place where he knows there is a small, irregular grid of pockmarked scars from when Quackity had taken smoke breaks in the middle of sessions.

“There you all are,” Wilbur smiles as he slides into the room, a covered metal tray held in his hands as he kicks the door closed and slides the tray onto the table with an awful screech. “I’m sorry for being late,” he continues, sounding not very sorry at all, “but I made some food to make up for it!”

He takes off the cover with a flourish; underneath, sunny yellow squares, nearly blindly bright, look up blankly under the conference room’s overly harsh lighting. They smell sugary and vaguely sour, stinging his nose slightly, and seem to be coated with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Lemon bars!” Wilbur grins, just left of sincere, “they’re gluten-free!”

“God,” Quackity laughs, sounding slightly incredulous, shaking his head. Dream’s gut rolls at the sound, Wilbur’s smile growing wider, even more dangerous, at the tone. It’s familiar, the way the two of them challenge each other, and in a rare moment of solidarity Dream watches from the corner of his eyes as Sam’s shoulders hunch as well. The two of them always bring trouble, even normally, but when they’re in this mood? Actively challenging each other, toeing the line, trying to find the limits and push them just because they can? Dream shivers in his seat, grip tightening on his own arms; this, he knows, is when they are at their most dangerous - and he has the scars to prove it.

“Gluten-free, huh? Really leaning into the whole ‘PTA mom’ schtick today, aren’t you?” Quackity smirks. “Should I call you Linda from now on?”

“I don’t know, Quackity, I was just thinking that I would make a little healthier treat for all of us, you know?” Wilbur brushes off the remark easily, taking a seat and immediately kicking his feet up onto the table. “If you want it, of course. I would hardly want to get in the way of your professionalism, Mr. President- do you have one of those? Or are you going for a more authoritarian approach”

“Fighting words from someone who rigged an election as President,” Quackity drawls, “and couldn’t even win it, might I add. “

“Oh, Big Q! You fail to understand, I wasn’t criticizing you at all,” Wilbur smiles, jagged, “we agree, I believe, on the failures of democracy. Unless you’ve forgotten our conversation, already?”

“Of course not,” Quackity snorts, and Dream doesn’t miss how his gaze shifts towards the side of the room, landing on Dream and making him curl further in his seat. “I’ll save you from me trying to pick your brain, this time, but don’t worry. You make yourself…rather hard to forget.”

Wilbur claps, seeming satisfied with this round of verbal sparring, and the sharp sound of his hands meeting together nearly has Dream jumping in his seat. “So! Lemon bars- does anyone want any?”

Dream is keenly aware of two pairs of eyes landing on him, Wilbur and Quackity watching for his reaction with bated breath and narrowed eyes. Panic crawls up his throat; he knows the purpose behind their stares, knows that he’s once again become the object of one of their power struggles. Quackity’s orders rattle in his brain, his thoughts a messy jumble of pins all knocked loose from his time in the prison, hopelessly unorganized and running on little more than instinct. Wilbur is expecting him to eat, to give into his sweet pastries and sweeter words; the lesson not to eat, move, think without permission, hammered into him between chunks of potato and battered ribs and blood gathered in the crevices of his skin, keeps his hands at his sides instead of reaching towards the pastries still set in the middle of the table. Even with Quackity at the opposite side of the room, Dream swears that he can still feel the pressure of a hand against the back of his neck, pressing just hard enough to make itself known from the feeling of fingers pressing into either side of his spine - he doesn’t even quite feel himself shaking his head, only really realizes what he’s done when he hears Wilbur sigh in frustration and meets Quackity’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll take one,” Sam says, sounding exhausted, eyes flitting from Wilbur to Quackity to Dream with an increasingly long-suffering expression. His face twists around the first bite of the bright yellow pastry, nose scrunching as he puts it down, missing a half-moon bite along one corner, and drags his fingers over the table to ease off the remnants of powdered sugar. Wilbur watches him, seeming amused, and Quackity rolls his eyes as he pulls a binder out of his inventory.

“Now that everyone is finally here,” he starts, directing a particularly dead-eyed stare at Wilbur, “we can finally get on with the meeting. I was thinking we could go over the budget, today, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”

It sounds innocent enough - which is the first sign of many that this meeting, whatever it is, is going to be anything but pleasant. The grin that steadily grows on Quackity’s face does nothing to assuage Dream’s anxieties, only pushing them higher as the man flips open the binder and messes with it for a few seconds longer before seemingly finding what he’s looking for.

“I think we all know that until Sam finishes with the bank, funds around here are going to be a little bit tight,” Quackity begins, waiting for all of them to nod before continuing, “And we really need to save wherever we can. I recounted the budget yesterday, just to make sure that we’re all on track, and- well,”

Quackity points to a circled series of red numbers that Dream doesn’t understand but can assume mean little good for them. Sam makes a low, considering noise, sounding strangely concerned, and Wilbur actually seems to close his mouth and lean forward in curiosity.

“We have a deficit,” Quackity continues when they’ve all settled back into their seats, “and we’ll get it all back once Sam gets the bank up and running, but for now our funds are...limited. I don’t want to stop progress on Las Nevadas, of course, we really don’t have time to waste. So I thought we’d have a meeting today to discuss the budget and eliminate any expenses that we might find-” Quackity gestures with a smooth twirl of his wrist, “expendable.”

Sam hums. “Do you have anything in mind, Quackity?”

“A few,” Quackity flips to the next page, where he’s seemingly jotted a few notes - different things that they can put off for the moment, it seems, and the money that would be saved for forgoing them temporarily. Dream reads down the list quickly, stilling at the last item.

“Quackity,” Sam sounds twenty times more tired already when he speaks, tone flat and a little irritated. “Why is Dream on the list?”

Quackity shrugs. “Hear me out, now- most of our money right now is going into living expenses for the four of us. Having more people here, until everything becomes more sustainable, is a huge drain on our resources. I’m just listing all our options.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam huffs. “Throw him back in Pandora?”

Quackity shakes his head.

“Wilbur does have the revive book knowledge, you know,” he says, and Dream’s blood runs cold. He can’t run, can’t move; he’s stuck in his seat, heart hammering faster in his chest as the other three hardly spare him a second glance. Sam purses his lips, a considering expression flashing over his face, as Quackity presses on. “Seriously- listen, Sam. There’s nothing that Dream is really offering, at the moment, that the rest of us can’t handle. Wilbur has the revive book, you can act as security to take out any threats - really, we shouldn’t be pissing anyone off until everything officially opens, and we can always retrieve him then when we need him. He’ll be out of the way, which means he won’t be able to start any fucking trouble,” Quackity laughs, short. “It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know, Quackity,” Sam says, the words slow, but the tone is familiar enough for Dream to know that he’s already mostly given in. “It’s a risk, isn’t it? None of us but Dream have really used the revive book, before.”

Wilbur doesn’t even look at him when he chirps a reply. “That won’t be a problem, Sam. I’d be very happy to test it out, if you want.”

Quackity leans forward, and Dream nearly gags; he’s preening in his spot, eyes dancing as he smiles up at Sam. “Anything else you can think of?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trails off, and Dream looks down, only barely staving off the panic squeezing around his lungs and tears burning in his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t envisioned before, nothing he hasn’t expected, but this- he feels like such a fool, for hoping- “If we get ambushed, Q, I really don’t know if gear is going to be enough. You remember what Technoblade did last time.”

Quackity huffs, sounding annoyed, but nods to concede the point. “That is...fair. But then again, we don’t exactly know how good Dream is either, do we?” Quackity finally leans over to look at him, and Dream feels himself choke on his own breath at the dangerous gleam in Quackity’s eyes, all-too-familiar in their scrutiny, looking at him the same way they had pinned him to the floor of his obsidian-walled hell. “Anything to say, Dream?”

“I-” The words shake on Dream’s tongue, and he only barely manages a dry swallow as he struggles through the rest of his sentence, shrinking back from the heavy weight of three pairs of eyes fixed on his own, “I can be useful, s-” he only barely manages to bite down the word, a new wave of shame making him shrink back further past the fear. Quackity’s lip twitches upward.

Wilbur twirls a pencil in one hand, looking spectacularly bored; Dream’s chest shrieks with a harsh spike of envy at his composure. “How about you prove it?” His eyes are laughing when Dream gets a good look at them, amusement clear at the idea. “Put on a show?”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“You want to know if Sam can serve as an adequate replacement for Dream’s combat prowess, no?” Wilbur leans back in his chair as he talks, still focused on spinning his pencil over and between his fingers, “Why doesn’t he prove it? Let them duel, one on one. If Sam kills Dream, then you’re right, we’re done, and we can all move on with our days. If Dream wins, then he’s proved his worth, and we can figure out the rest of the budget after. What do you think?”

Quackity’s lips press together, seeming displeased, but he doesn’t say anything in return. Sam, ever practical, drums his fingers against the table.

“That sounds...fair,” Sam purses his lips. “How would we judge this? Equal gear?”

Wilbur only smiles wider as he shakes his head. “I was thinking we would make it a little more accurate to reality, if Dream’s services were truly to be needed. Sam, you can keep your own gear, and Dream should use his own. I guess on your end we can fight until you yield, but for him…”

The words are left unsaid, but Dream flexes his hands underneath the table as he catches onto the implications. For him, it’s a fight to the death.

Sam shrugs. “That works for me. Dream?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Wilbur claps, bringing his hands to his chest and looking thoroughly thrilled at the prospects of the potential duel. Quackity glares at Dream but doesn’t say a word, and Dream hunches into himself, nearly folding himself in half as he ducks as far as he can down his seat. Sam pulls out his sword, flipping it around and testing its weight, and Dream doesn’t quite manage to suppress his full-body shudder at the sight. “Let’s get started, then.”

They move out in a roughly single-file line out of the conference room, Wilbur making idle chatter as Sam continues to examine his armor and weapons as they walk. They settle into an open space in the still-unfinished casino that Wilbur looks around for a second and then deems appropriate for the duel. Sam sets down an enderchest to gather his necessary materials, and Dream settles in front of it himself afterwards, shifting the lid open with shaking hands as he tries to work through his inventory.

He’s started the process of building up his gear again in his spare time, but he’s not had the time to finish gathering netherite for both himself and Wilbur - Wilbur meets his eyes with a sly wink before equipping the set of netherite armor that Dream had crafted for him, and Dream stifles a desperate snarl. He doesn’t even have the other set (still a gleaming blue from unplated diamond) enchanted, outside of a Sharpness book that he had slapped onto a diamond axe. He gathers the rest of his supplies with careful hands, trying to press down the increasing trembling of his limbs from his growing panic, flexing his arm around the weight of a shield once again and pocketing steaks and golden apples from his hoard.

He has no potions, no good weapons, not even a properly enchanted crossbow to offer the slightest bit of an advantage. Dream lets his eyes flick up to where Sam is waiting at the opposite side of the room, standing up straight with enchanted netherite covering him head to toe and a familiar axe slung over his shoulder, and tries not to break down right then and there. It’s too familiar, too reminiscent of obsidian walls and netherite pressed against his ribs and demands that he behave, and despite the glittering white walls and high ceiling and cold night air he swears he could fall just from the memories alone. Drowning within them, he distantly remembers a duel long-past under a bright blue sky, Sam laughing under a swirl of potion particles on the grass surrounding the Community House lake, and wonders which of the memories hurt more.

“Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream stills in his place, slamming the lid of the enderchest shut as his heart hammers in his ears. Quackity watches him intently, expression twisted in disappointment, and some beaten, instinctual part of him whines uncomfortably at the sight. “Hurry up.”

Dream nods, because of course he does, and stands with the results of his mad scramble to gather anything that could be useful in the duel to come - a few gapples, steaks, a sword, a bow lacking any enchantments at all, and an axe and shield. It’s a rather pathetic ensemble, but it’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

“Ready?” Wilbur takes place as referee, standing off to the side with a smile on his face as Dream stands across from Sam, holding his axe with a white-knuckled grip as the Warden - expression unreadable through the shadow of his helmet and the mask fixed over his face - squares his own stance in preparation for the fight. “Good luck.”

Wilbur’s arm cuts a line in the air as it drops, and the Warden explodes into action, lumbering forward as he raises his axe over his head to bring it down. Dream tumbles in the opposite direction, letting a long held back, battle-trained part of himself take over as he rights himself back on his feet, swinging up his shield to catch on the downward arc of Warden’s Hammer, frantically pressing back the dregs of fear and panic staining the corners of his vision black as he moves.

The Warden hits slow but hits hard, too big and bulky to really avoid any quick attacks but too well-armored to be easily defeated despite that. He’s a classic tank - Dream skitters out of the way of another hit as he reaches for memories of him that won’t leave him gasping, information on his opponent that didn’t come from within the prison and all its horrors.

He’d dueled Sam before, he knows; it wasn’t the same, as Sam was trying out a Turtle Master potion and intent on proving the superiority of Resistance IV against Dream’s own combat prowess. He’d failed, then; Dream forcefully steadies another breath as the sound of the Warden’s armor clanking against the ground almost sends him into another panic. He’ll have to fail now, too.

Fortunately, he’s been allowed food to heal - without it, this fight would probably be near impossible. As it is, even without the potion, the principles of this duel are the same. Dream swings up his axe, catching the blade hurling towards him in the crook where the head meets the handle just long enough to pull himself out of the way and let the Warden’s weapon fall uselessly to the ground. Dream raises his head in the second he has, tracing his gaze over the Warden’s armor in search for places to exploit. Even the best defenses aren’t perfect. All he needs to do is survive for long enough to chip through it.

A fumbled dodge leads to the Warden’s blade skimming past his skin, carving a thin red line in the skin of his upper arm. He hisses as he dives out of the way of the next blow, the twinges of pain from the area almost enough to make his vision unfocused, almost enough to send him tumbling head-first into the part of him screaming submit submit submit if you don’t fight back they won’t hurt you more. He grits his teeth as he swings forward, knocking away the axe coming towards him with his axe long enough to push forward with his shield and knock the Warden further away from him. He can’t afford to flinch, can’t afford to let fear take control of his movements as it has so many times before. The keening desperation running through his veins is familiar, but desperation can fall both ways, can make him fight or flee - and there’s only one real option that will end with him getting out of this alive.

Dream stands and forces himself to meet the next swing hurling towards him dead on, raising his shield to catch the blade and pushing forward past the shuddering shock in his left arm from the force of the blow. His own blade arcs downward in the next second, scraping against the Warden’s netherite armor with a metallic screech. He manages to get in two more blows before the Warden’s next attack has him backing away to dodge, shaking off his arm to get his shield ready for the next attack.

He has to stay on the offensive, keep pressing the Warden back and forcing the other to play defense. He’s still weak from the prison; in terms of brute strength, he’s no match from the Warden, not after months of starvation and torture stuck in a box with hardly enough room to stretch his legs. All he really has going for him is his speed and his experience, neither of which will do him any good if he teeters over the edge into the panic attack he’s been trying to hold off the entire time. Dream runs forward, not giving himself more than a second to breathe as he rushes the Warden once again, switching weapons mid-leap to a sword that will allow for quicker blows in the time that he has the Warden off-balance enough to attack freely. He scores a series of glancing hits on the Warden, none doing any major damage but altogether enough to make the Warden back off, wary, with a gasping note of pain, and Dream shakes his head to force himself to focus before running forward once more.

The Warden pulls out a shield of his own, and Dream switches back to the axe and swings it squarely into the shield, then twists himself around to the Warden’s unprotected back to catch him with another heavy blow that leaves him reeling in the second he takes to recover. He’s clearly untrained with a shield, his left arm clumsy as he tries to block Dream’s blows, and Dream uses the opportunity to score another few solid hits to the Warden’s sides and legs, getting a good blow with the blunt side of his axe into the back of one of his knees, leaving the warden limping when he pulls away.

Dream has hardly come off unscathed in the fight - he wheezes out a heavy breath through his teeth, chest aching from a hit that had broken one of his ribs. The exertion and anxiety still pressing at the back of his throat has left him light-headed, and he bites through a crisp, almost sickeningly-sweet bite of golden apple to close a wound bleeding sluggishly on his side. Neither of them can go on for much longer; the Warden’s grip tightens on his axe, and Dream swallows past the shudder that arises from the sight.

Once again, he raises his axe and runs into the fight, parrying the coming strike and twisting out of the way to strike at a joint of the Warden’s armor with the flat of his blade. The Warden’s arm raises, and Dream bites off a yelp of alarm as the handle of his axe is levied against his unarmored side, knocking him off-balance and falling back onto the ground, too disoriented to catch himself. He lands on his left arm, and his vision goes white as it gives out with a sharp crack.

Through half-lidded eyes, he can make out the Warden stalking closer, axe raised and ready to end the fight - end him. His chest shakes in a pathetic wheeze for breath, arm completely useless from where it’s screaming in pain underneath him. He needs to move, now, if he wants to survive this - fear swells forward, unhindered as his focus is broken by the vice grip the pain has on his skull - he’s shaking, now, the terror so familiar he can taste it - salt and iron and sticky-sweet health potions against the backs of his teeth-

The Warden raises his axe.

No.

Dream raises his sword just in time to catch the blade hurtling towards his neck, uses his foot to kick against the Warden’s grip on the handle. The axe clatters out of his grip, falls forward - Dream rolls away, breathing harshly around the pain threatening to make him black out. Unarmed, the Warden takes a second to grab a sword from his inventory while Dream forces himself back to his feet and kicks the axe as far away as he can.

He’s so flooded with panic he’s choking on it, broken arm hanging limply by his side as he charges forward, sword in hand. He won’t die, not after all this time, not after all this effort - he throws himself at the Warden, batters him with jabs and thrusts that force the other man to back away and parry, snarling wordlessly as he brings his sword to slash forward again and again.

His attacks are messy, uncoordinated, but the Warden is tired and disoriented from the loss of his weapon - he flinches back as Dream hits him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, only barely matching his blows as he continues to push forward. Any hits that he scores on Dream are brushed off with a growl of pain and his sword moving even faster in his fury, and it’s not very long at all before he’s knocked flat on his back with a sweep of Dream’s legs, gasping for air as Dream pins him to the ground with a blade pressed against his neck.

Dream meets his wide eyes with his own, lips curled back in the same desperate rage that had moved him forwards despite the black creeping into the corners of his eyes and the lancing pain tying its strings around his neck and leaving him gasping for air. The sword in his hand bears threads of blood along its edge, pressing deeper into the Warden’s neck and drawing crimson up to the surface - a thousand fearful, angry thoughts swell up to the front of his skull in a singular, white-hot point. It is the Warden underneath his feet, at the end of his blade, cowering beneath him as he had cowered before - the Warden, the cause of his pain, the reason behind the ache in his gut and the stinging pains in his limbs and the piercing agony from his arm and chest. It would be so easy to push just a little harder, to press the sweet blue blade down and down and down until the Warden is gone and the Warden is dead and the Warden can’t hurt him anymore-

“Down, Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream backs off immediately, losing his grip on his sword as the command has him dragged back by the neck like an invisible leash and collar pulling him away. Sam settles back in a sitting position, still wide-eyed, wincing as he moves and bringing a golden apple from his inventory to heal the worst of his injuries.

“Eat,” Quackity commands again, and Dream only barely manages a stiff nod through the nausea and dread curling around his chest as the adrenaline begins to fade away, fumbling with the golden apple he finds in his inventory and nibbling at it to tide off the worst of the pain.

“Bravo, bravo,” Wilbur grins from the side, clapping slowly as he walks back into the middle of their makeshift arena - he’s taken his armor off again, but it doesn’t make the sight of him any less intimidating. “What a show! We should do that more often, what do you think?”

No, Dream almost screams, I can’t- but Quackity beats him to it, glaring at Wilbur with an incredulous expression.

“We don’t have the time to waste on your fucking ‘shows,’” he snaps, crossing his arms as he swings his gaze over to Dream. “Fine. You’ve proved yourself. Now hurry up - we have to clean up all of this shit and then figure out the rest of this fucking budget.”

Dream pulls himself to his feet, watching from the side as the Warden does the same.

“Make yourself useful and clean off all your fucking blood from the floor,” Quackity meets his eyes with a vicious glare, waiting until he stammers his way through an agreement before turning to the other two in the room. “Sam, Wilbur - with me. I want to get this money issue figured out tonight.”

Dream watches them go as he shuffles to the cleaning closet, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine once they’re out of sight. Make yourself useful, Quackity’s voice rings in his head, and Dream bites his lip, only stopping when he accidentally breaks through skin and the taste of blood floods his tongue.

He has a feeling that those words are going to haunt him for a long, long time.

[lipstickbisous]

the lion and her sun. (1)

YOU MUSTN’T LET THEM SEE IT.

notes: so the tywin lannister u see in here is completely different from the show, but goes on to be cruel and blah blah blah. i hope you can get the hint about who/what aurane is. and this is abt 9-10 years (seemed like a good time) before shit starts happening so oberyn wants to kill literally every person in kings landing.

this is NOT exactly like the show or books i’m going at my own pace/twist/point.

reader hates oberyn. oberyn is..well...amazing as always.

pairing: oberyn x oc!reader

summary: the youngest daughter of tywin lannister is sent to live with the ones who wish nothing but her end.

word count: 4.8k

masterlist

screams filled the hallways, painting its walls with terror and agony. the metallic stench roamed though out the palace of casterly rock, meeting anyone’s senses with a pang. there were several nurses in the lady mallery’s room as she sweat from her pores, sobbed from her throat and pushed in her torso. murmurs and whispers were passed about as a single maiden had spoke a final, “push!”

with one last ear-crushing scream, there was a high-pitched cry echoing through the room. all feel silent, even mallery herself, disregarding the faintness she began to feel all around her body. “a girl,” one nurse whispers, holding the child in her arms. mallery fell back on the birthing bed and closed her eyes. without opening them, she could hear the doors being pushed opened as tywin lannister barged into the room.

mallery could hear him shushing the quiet cries of the baby as the nurses placed her in a bath. “ty...” she whispered, clutching the blankets below her that were now soaked with blood. 

“my love,” he whispered, rushing to the lover that had been left on the bed with attention to the new princess cradled in the nurses’ arms. “my love, look at her. she’s perfect, absolutely perfect.” tywin whispered, pressing a kiss to mallery’s forehead. 

mallery was a dornish maiden who tywin had met on a small trip to sunspear. with her hazel-green eyes and chestnut-colored hair, the lannister king had fallen deeply. his wife had passed, his children were fighting, so the only thing that seemed to give him some piece of mind was this goddess woman. and now she had given him a child. 

there were more cries from the babe to be heard. “she’s a bastard,” mallery whispered. she could barely find the strength to raise her head. tywin noticed.

“bring her here,” he ordered, to which he was immediately obeyed. the child was now silent, bundled in a crimson-colored blanket. her head was as big as mallery’s palm, topped with fuzzy brown hair already. “she won’t look like the rest.”

mallery nodded. “they’ll know what she is.” she held her child in her arms, knowing it was the last time she’d be able to. even tywin could see it, silent tears tailing down his face. “they’ll hate her.”

tywin shook his head. “i won’t let them.”

“aurane,” mallery cooed, and with that, the child’s eyes opened while the mother’s closed.

―

aurane lannister had not been given the bastard she should’ve rightfully have. her royal name had upset the people of casterly rock for thirteen years until tywin lannister had spoken out. not only had aurane been hated by her people but her father had kept her away. no risks would be taken against his youngest child that he viewed as his favorite. jamie and cersei had been vile and evil towards others and tyrion had taken away tywin’s first love--not to mention he had been born a dwarf. but all three of the lannister siblings had shown nothing but affection and love to their bastard sister.

the princess had lived a perfect life in her castle, until the year her father had waged war against rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. now, aurane had been moved from her home of twenty-five years to a new place and a new castle--king’s landing. she could not deny that the city had been grand and the rooms in the castle were definitely bigger than in casterly rock, but it was not home to her.

and it might’ve been because a year after elia martell had been brutally murdered along with her children, aurane was being sent to marry her brother. oberyn martell, the red viper.

the news had struck a month before at a dinner. the loving father that aurane had knew finally disappeared into the tywin lannister cersei, jamie, and tyrion grew up with.

“you- what?” aurane asked in disbelief. her brown hair contrasted against the crowd of her siblings at the table. jamie, still dressed in his golden armor from battle sessions that day, remained quiet while cersei dropped her cutlery. 

even the eldest sister couldn’t believe it. “father...”

tywin sighed and took one long sip of wine before placing his goblet back on the table and setting his hands in his lap. “it’s settled, aurane,” he spoke sternly, looking away from her broken expression knowing that one glance would surely cause him to change his mind. “they arrive in a month. he’ll spend one night and you’ll be on your way to dorne.”

aurane shook her head with ragged breathing. “no...” she whispered.

“father, perhaps we should discuss the terms and effects of this-” cersei began, leaning forward in her seat and noticing how her twin brother remained in silence. tyrion also spoke nothing of it, but seemed more in shock of the situation than jamie had. 

their father sat back in his chair at the head. “the deal has already been settled,” he settled one hand against the edge of the table. “aurane is to wed the youngest martell sibling as a peace offering.”

aurane scoffed and stared down at the plate of food she had been enjoying no more than five minutes ago. “a peace offering? they wouldn’t need a peace offering if you hadn’t waged war!” she began to yell, enabling cersei to grab her hand underneath the table. “you-you’re selling me? to savages? as if i’m some whore?”

“to be a woman in this word, aurane, is to-”

“gods, don’t start that.” aurane spoke again. “i don’t care about your standards of this life or your beliefs, father, you can’t rightfully do this.”

there was no answer to her question, which resulted in aurane huffing and sitting back in her chair. her lips were parted and her eyes began to tear up. “father,” tyrion began to whisper. “perhaps we can reconsider who exactly it is we’re talking about here.”

tywin barked, “enough!” earning silence from each of his children. cersei’s hands met aurane’s underneath the table and gently squeezed. “i will not let you speak to me this way!”

a silence again. the servants that stood at each entrance of the dining hall didn’t even let out an audible breath. the wind outside had begun to blow as it did each night in kings landing, but it did nothing for the uncomfortable tension in the room. 

“you knew,” aurane whispered, eyes meeting her eldest brother sitting fine in his armor. “didn’t you?”

the accusation shocked both cersei and tyrion as they looked to him for a reply. his words got stuck in his throat in hesitation before cersei cleared her throat. “dorne was ready to wage war on us, aury,” earning himself a dropped jaw from aurane. “we had to do something.”

aurane threw her napkin on the table as tyrion fought back. “you think our sister is a war tactic?” 

cersei scoffed. “they will eat her up alive there, jamie,” as aurane walked away, ignoring the tears that had already fallen before leaving the room, she could hear her sister’s opinion, to which she realized was extremely true. “they’ll...they’ll beat her, rape her. they’ll do anything to get revenge for elia.”

that was exactly what aurane had believed for a month. she now stood near the edge of her window, hands on the railing and feeling the sun against her skin. she had loved the warmth of king’s landing--she could imagine how painful the blazing heat of dorne would be. if the rumors that the city spread were true, she wouldn’t burn so easily under the sunlight--if the rumors were true.

her door opened with the latching opening and closing and footsteps retreated behind her. aurane could see the four boats floating about on the sea, growing closer and closer to land with their golden-colored sails and the martell sigil. 

“you look ravishing.” tyrion’s voice spoke softly. he had always been the most understanding sibling to aurane, although she loved them all equally. 

aurane gulped. when she had awoke that morning, she had made herself a promise that she wouldn’t let out a single tear drop, unlike every other day of the month since she had been given the news. “you’re too kind to me, tyrion.”

he chuckled and she could hear him pulling up a chair beside the one behind her. “i do believe your prince is just arriving,” he spoke to make some sort of conversation, but aurane only scoffed. 

“really?” she whispered to hide the rasp in her voice. “i didn’t notice the boats arriving and the blinding colors.”

tyrion laughed. aurane finally turned to notice he had set a small table between the two chairs; on the table was a pitcher of wine and two golden cups. aurane chewed the inside of her cheek before politely smiling at the kind gesture. she sat down next to her brother and held the goblet as he poured a fair amount of the red drink for her. 

they sat in sweet silence until aurane had finished half of her drink. “i hope the wine is good there.” she sighed, placing the cup back on the table and looking down at her lap. all of a sudden, the intricate design of the fabric of her dress was so interesting.

“it’s dorne,” tyrion smiled, pouring himself another cup. he pointed to hers but she rose her hand and shook her head. “almost everything they have there is perfect.”

aurane looked up and out of her window. “i don’t want perfect,” she spoke longingly, noticing how the ships were now docking and soon enough, the passengers would be entering king’s landing. she could only imagine the hateful glances prince oberyn would send their way and the snide remarks from the savages of the sands. “i want fair. and none of this is fair.”

tyrion nodded and sipped more of his wine. it wasn’t very surprising to aurane that her brother would get drunk the day she would meet her to-be husband. “i know,” he whispered, tracing the rim of his cup with his right index finger. “i’m sorry.” 

the princess simply shook her head as a way of shooing the subject to be gone. talking of the exchange that demoralized her only made her feel worse. “is father sending you all up?” she smiled unamused. 

“next is cersei.” he took another sip. aurane reached for her cup but never touched its surface. no matter how much she longed to get drunk for the meeting, she knew that it would be unacceptable to her father. 

she bit her bottom lip and nodded. “and jamie?”

tyrion looked to his younger sister, the one he had loved so much. with the hatred of his eldest sister and father, and the on-and-off love of jamie, aurane had always been there. her childhood had been full of art sessions with tyrion, blankets forts with tyrion, garden games with tyrion. “he’s with father,” aurane sighed. “he thinks you still hate him for betraying you.”

aurane chuckled breathlessly and began to fidget with a loose thread she’d found in her dress. cersei had a fine and beautiful robe crafted to aurane’s measurements for the meeting today, but aurane loathed the time when she would have to don the painful corset. “i don’t think he betrayed me,” she smiles and shakes her head. “but he’s right about me hating him.”

with one last sip of his wine, tyrion rose from his chair and set his cup on the table. “he wanted to escort you to dorne--so you wouldn’t have to be frightened.”

“i’m not frightened,” she whispered. the tears were on the brim, and the burning threat of them falling began to hurt. “i’ve accepted it. i’ve accepted that after all these years, father sees me as some object to trade. i’ll be beaten and raped, just as cersei said. it’ll be my life.”

tyrion placed a hand on aurane’s as she smiled. he patted the inside of her palm with two fingers before leaving the room, and as he left, aurane was instantly met with cersei’s perfume. 

“i see you still haven’t put on the dress,” cersei spoke like honey dripping from its comb. the robe was a beautiful currant color with long sleeves to protect aurane from the bitter wind. it showed just the right amount of her chest, which had been unusually tan for a lannister. 

aurane stood from her chair and turned around as cersei walked closer to the windows. the younger princess followed and noticed what the blonde began to stare at. down below, below the stone walls of the castle and on the stone pathways and wooden docks that led to the city, stood a tall man with messy dark brown hair and, from the distance, what looked to be glaring eyes. he wore his lips in a thin, unamused line. aurane chuckled. 

“i suppose you should quickly slip it on,” cersei whispered without breaking her eye contact on the dornishmen exiting the ship.

aurane nodded. “i suppose so.” there wasn’t much to think about as cersei helped her younger sister enrobe the dress that complimented her skin tone and hair color. cersei let out small puffs of breath as she pulled the strings of the steel corset; it tightened around aurane’s rib cage with every second, gently pushing around her organs and the air out of her lungs. 

“s-stop,” she whispered, to which cersei immediately carried out. the strings of her corset were tied behind her bags and the dress covered up the loose ends. “how am i supposed to meet someone if i can barely speak?” she managed to wheeze out. 

cersei patted several taps onto aurane’s shoulder in some sort of comfort but aurane couldn’t find it. she couldn’t see her sister’s golden hair or the morning sunlight bleeding through the windows. she couldn’t hear the bustling throughout the castle as the dornish prince entered king’s landing or the crowds below in the city murmuring and whispering. while slipping on the shoes cersei had set out for her, she could think of one thing.

gods, i’m going to die.

there was a sigh, but not from aurane. as she was snapped out of her small daze, she noticed her sister holding out her arm, wiggling her fingers as a motion to follow her. “let me escort my lovely sister,” aurane stared at the hand held out to her and hesitantly took it. “no reason for her to be so sad. it takes away the lovely glow.”

aurane’s brown eyes met cersei’s with a sly smile. “i have every reason to be sad and you know it.” she spoke with her chin up. they walked through the halls and down the staircases; there were so many of them that aurane still couldn’t memorize them all. not that it would matter because soon, she would say goodbye to king’s landing and greet dorne as her new home.

“yes, but my sweet,” cersei spoke, pushing every door that came in their way open. there were guards at each entrance and finally they arrived to the main entrance of the castle. outside stood their father along with tyrion and jamie, and aurane could envision it. they were most likely standing in a small line, waiting for the two lannister daughters to reveal themselves inside the castle walls. “you mustn’t let them see it.”

two guards put both of their strength into opening the grand entrance. the sudden sunlight slightly burned aurane’s eyes, but she found the sight even more painful to endure. her breath hitched as cersei’s arm tightened around hers. in the front courtyard stood tywin, jamie, and tyrion lannister, each dressed in appropriate attire due to the spring weather. across from stood a line of five men dressed their own armor, but they looked completely different than the people of casterly rock or king’s landing. their skin had been a darker tan, more similar to that of aurane’s, and just like her, their hair was a deep shade of brown, unlike the family that stood across them.

and in front of the line of soldiers stood on particular man. with even darker hair and deep brown eyes, he stood valiantly in the sun, soaking it in like it was a hobby. it was clear that some sort of discussion had taken place before aurane entered the meeting.

she clenched her jaw when she noticed that cersei began to walk towards them, gently dragging along the young princess. her dress just barely dragged against the stone of the stairway that led down to the courtyard. perhaps it was just aurane, but the weather that day had been especially hot, blazing even when she met eyes with the prince.

he wore a robe that ended almost at his ankles made of some sort of stiff material aurane couldn’t recognize. on the hem and edges, the dressing had been decorated with fine golden and orange embroidery that had been delicately crafted she had no choice but to admire it. underneath the robe-- which aurane had no desire to see anything above the knee--he wore what looked to be beaten and tired leather boots. around his neck was a golden chain that must’ve been heating up underneath the sun. 

“princess aurane lannister,” tywin spoke up and cersei let go of her younger sister. there was a slight breeze that began to blow at the exact moment and aurane cursed the gods for the shiver she began to feel; it took every bone in her body to not shake at the sudden cold. 

the prince of dorne nodded and chuckling. it was something hateful and cruel, and although aurane felt nothing for anger against her brother, jamie almost sneered. “i thought she was a bastard.” oberyn stated.

his sudden comment left tywin speechless, but one single remark back and dorne could easily bite them in the ass. cersei clenched her jaw and squeezed her fingers together, leaving tyrion to look to the stone ground for comfort. aurane squinted and cocked her head. “pardon me, my prince, but i seem to remember that bastards aren’t looked upon differently in dorne.”

although aurane couldn’t see it, she felt her siblings’ smirks. much to her surprise, the prince smiled back. “well, our bastards are created from love,” his arms were folded behind his back, creating a somewhat threatening stance. “not rape.”

there it was, there it had been. aurane had waited an entire month to meet her suitor only to hear words of rumors? without knowing her mother and only hearing the truthful--although she didn’t know that--words of her father, there was no way to tell if she had been born of love or of rape. of course, it had been the former.

cersei looked to the skies, almost as if she could see the gods above them. was she begging for this moment to end? was she begging for them to go to bed that and not awake in the morning? aurane couldn’t tell. before she could even part her lips to speak, her father beat her. 

“please,” he sounded desperate, and it was not a tone that fit him very well. “let us keep it as civil as possible.”

the prince smiled again, but this time, aurane felt those same uncomfortable shivers down her spine. “of course.” the silence that followed was extremely awkward, but each person at the greeting of the dornish prince didn’t seem to mind it. 

“well,” tyrion spoke up, earning a cheerful grin from oberyn. aurane’s eyes had placed themselves on the features of her dress and had remained there until cersei wrapped her arm around her sister’s again and began to tug. “dinner?”

aurane wasn’t sure why, but every part of her body begged for her to eat something. for a month since the news, she had eaten nothing for breakfast, nothing lunch, and almost, just barely, nothing for dinner. her mind had not wanted a single piece of food, knowing that after an hour of sitting in her stomach, she would only regurgitate it from the anxiety rushing through her brain. now, out of all nights to be piggish, aurane wanted nothing more than to gobble down every piece of food in her sight. 

but she didn’t. she left her golden plate full with food as it began to turn cold, her silverware sitting exactly where the maidens had set it. the only object that had kept running on empty was her goblet of deep red wine, which she finished every two minutes to be refilled as soon as possible. aurane wasn’t totally sure on what her father had been discussing with the prince. it had been something about the nature of men, but anything would be better to listen to at the moment than her father’s beliefs on society. 

“you better eat,” cersei whispered from beside aurane, her lips parted against the edge of her cup and she took a generous sip of wine. “father will notice.”

aurane’s jaw clenched as she began to play with her fork and knife, gently clinking them together. the sound of her cutlery was better than that blathering of her father. “father never notices,” she brushes it off before raising her cup and finishing the last of her wine. 

a brow was raised from her sister before grabbing aurane’s wrist as the younger decided to fill her cup again. “yes, but the prince will.” aurane only rolled her eyes before ripping her hand away from cersei and raising it to another servant. jamie had surely noticed something because he inhaled for a release of a command against the maiden but stopped when aurane shot him a mean glare. 

“you think i give a fuck about what the prince thinks of me?” she whispers, enjoying the sound of the wine splashing about inside her goblet. in one sip, she finishes half. 

the boasting and conversation between tywin lannister and oberyn martell continued as each lannister sibling sat in silence. tyrion continued to slowly eat his food, taking small bites. jamie had already finished, but to ask to leave the table be to interrupt his father. cersei had finished half of her food, ignoring the vegetables because she had always hated the greens.

loud laughter left the throat of the man sitting at the head of the table, irritatingly grabbing aurane’s attention. perhaps she did have a bit too much wine because a sudden and tired haze fell over her. “aurane, prince oberyn tells me he enjoys the playing of a harp.”

aurane almost spit out her drink at the mention of the instrument in laughter. her father, as much as he loved his youngest daughter, never noticed a thing, just as she had told her sister. “father,” she began, sitting her cup on the table. “i haven’t played the harp in six years.”

without knowing how to respond to such words, tywin lannister let out another laugh, to which oberyn chuckled awkwardly. “well, perhaps you can learn again once you arrive at dorne.” and with that, the conversation between the two was private again, excluding everyone else at the table.

the youngest lannister shook her head and, just as she had done a month ago, threw her napkin onto the table--her father did not notice. “aurane?” cersei hissed. 

aurane grinned. “i told you he doesn’t notice.” 

she exited the great hall and ignored the pleading whispers of her sister and the stares of her brothers. she could hear her father continuing to speak but, at that point, was receiving no response to his stories at all. without even thinking of where she was in the castle, aurane roamed about each hallway and staircase, attempting to trace her steps from before of which direction her room was in. 

perhaps a left? she thought. or...no, a right and then a left...right?

aurane truly had no idea how long she walked through the halls, but after what felt like a few minutes they had all begun to look the same. she now stood in a small winding staircase unsure of whether to return to the bottom or to see what was above her. then, she had begun to hear footsteps padding against the stone of the stairs. it couldn’t have been her father, had dinner been finished already? perhaps it was cersei come to pinch her ear and drag back to the table. 

instead, it was a round woman holding a small basket of what looked like dirty linens. a maiden who, if cleaning had not been her job, what would be beautiful. “your grace!” she exclaimed, placing a hand against her chest. “you gave me a fright!”

“i apologize...” aurane trailed off.

the maiden curtsied the best away a maiden can curtsy on a lower step in a tight staircase with a load of laundry in her arms. “celesse.” she smiled.

aurane nodded. “i apologize for frightening you, celesse.” hearing her own name come from the mouth of the lannister princess must’ve brought some sort of joy to the maiden because her cheeks began to blush and a smiled creased her cheeks. “i believe i sound completely stupid, but...i can’t seem to find my way back to my room.”

celesse stood in confusion for no more than five seconds before widening her eyes and nodding. “of course, your grace!” she smiled, squeezing her past aurane and began to trail up the staircase. “definitely don’t sound stupid, your grace, these hallways do get tricky.” aurane chuckled in response and celesse began to lead her up the winding staircase to the door at the top. “i just remember like this, your grace,” she spoke with what had been considered a low-class accent. she pushed the door open the hallway that aurane could finally recognize. “your father wanted you protected. so he put your room in one of the highest hallways of the castle.”

aurane trailed down the hallway until she stood in front of her bedroom door. “gods,” she whispered, pushing it open and instantly meeting the familiar scent she had displayed. “i am thankful, celesse.” she smiled, running to her dresser and grabbing five gold coins from the bowl on top. she rushed back to the maiden waiting outside of the doorway and pressed the currency in celesse’s palms. 

the maiden’s lips parted and her eyebrows tilted in happiness. “anything, any time, your grace.” she spoke before exiting the hallway and down the stairs again.

aurane wasn’t sure how long she had remained in her room, but to remain completely unbothered for the night, she locked the door. the sun had just been setting, letting the purples and pinks and yellows and oranges of the sky drip together into one large painting when aurane had been sitting in a chair against her window, a candle lit behind her.

something about her last night in king’s landing had been frightening and yet peaceful. the city, loud as always, didn’t bother aurane that night--if anything, the sound of the people retreating to their homes, closing their markets, and saying goodbye was supportive to the weight that threatened to crush aurane. the words in her book that had been set in her lap soothed her, placing comfort over anxiety.

it had been sudden, but there was a knock at her door. a loud noise in such silence had aurane jumping her chair, immediately closing her book and placing it on the floor. stood from the seat and quietly walked closer to the door, careful that whoever was outside couldn’t hear her footsteps. “who is it?” she yelled after hours of not using her voice.

the answer was hesitant but loud and clear. “prince oberyn, your grace.” his voice sounded exceptionally different in that moment. what had once been stone-cold was now sweet and gentle. 

“and why are you at my door?” she asked, now standing five feet away from the barrier that stood in between her and her suitor. 

it almost sounded as if he chuckled before speaking again. “i noticed you were not eating at dinner,” his voice was muffled but aurane could understand some sort of kindness to it. there was also comfort in the foreign accent. “i brought you some berries i had found in the kitchens.”

berries? the prince of dorne, who hated aurane’s family more than the idea of dying, had brought her berries? this kind gesture struck shock into aurane’s heart and she couldn’t but let herself believe some of the worst thoughts that began to pop up in her head. was it poison? did the prince really think she was that stupid.

she stood there, standing in her room, gaping in disbelief. he couldn’t even wait until they were married, until she would be called a martell, to kill her and bring justice to elia? she silently scoffed. “my prince, i think i should find rest before our long journey tomorrow.” she spoke with hate and spewed her words like they were acid. 

there was a beat of silence, and a for a split second, aurane felt bad. that was, until he spoke again. “of course, your grace.” aurane then threw herself on the bed and thought of every reason why she hated oberyn martell.

but behind that door, the prince of dorne had stood with a clay bowl of berries in his hands, the bowl being a gift he had brought for her from dorne.

tags: @absurdthirst @zeldasayer @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pedropascalito @qveenbvtch @heavenbarnes @cyarikaaa @honeychicanawrites @ohpedromypedro @vintagethereal @pascalpapi @pedropascalispapi @pedropascalonline @wakalas @fleetwoodmactshirt @otherthingsinhead

[reversecreek]

✵ zloane , bravier , nyla and sean

ZIGGY & SLOANE

their first impression of your muse:

sexy. tugged on her hair literally the first time he saw her hadn’t even had a conversation bt was just like target? located. going? ✈️ annoy her. probably initially just thought she was only at the skate park bc sean was n was like 🙄 then she cld actually skate n he was like 😏 liked that she gave him shit. found it funny pushing her buttons. liked her eyes. probably was like wtf is in the fuckin water in this town yo why all my friends got hot sisters that shit aint right tryna make me a dog....... not that he was even. phased by betraying those boundaries bt. still. i won’t lie his main first impression was probably jst damn bit hot when she glares at me like that. KJHFSGKSJHGKGHSFKGH

current impression:  

knows her a little more than he likes to know people. favourite person to argue w. can possibly skate better than him bt if she said so he’d be like “ur off ur fuckin tits man” n then practice secretly on his own for hours that night n get 9457295 scrapes. doesn’t like talking abt her dad like him so one time he put a firework in his mailbox n never admitted it was him. has reactions to youtube videos tht make him snort. quite funny in general rly. drinks a lot not that he can judge it’s just sometimes he notices n once he even snatched her cup n drank the rest so she couldn’t. played it off as their typical fuckery bt he isn’t sure what that feeling was. hasn’t been concerned often enough to know it by name. finds her hot at inappropriate moments like when a movie chara’s dying n he’s meant to be sad. finds her hot when she pisses him off too. thinks mayb she likes the excuse to hold onto him when she rides on his vespa but he kind of likes it too so he’s not about to call it out bc “he isn’t about that deep shit”. 

are they attracted to your muse?:  

KFJHGKJGHFGKFHSGKSHGKSFGH. imagine i was jst like no <3... yes. he likes to act like he’s less so than he is bt it’s obvious.

something they find frightening about your muse:

i wouldn’t say it frightens him bt sometimes he catches her looking at him a certain way n it unsettles him but he doesn’t know why. usually just pretends he didn’t catch it.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

he likes her short hair he’s always ruffling it n tugging on it. whenever she hs bumps n scrapes n bruises from falling off her board n getting back on over n over again jst never giving up or giving a fk. when she acts like she isn’t jealous.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

umm. no. he’s an asshole. KGJSHFKGHSKFHGSKFGHKGH. sighs.

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

no..... sees that as dangerous territory wouldn’t wna blur the lines. looks away.

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

baddie. FKGJHSKGHFGSFHGSKGHSFKHG. demonic (when they’ve had a fight). 

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. he loves to argue w her but it never feels that Real u know... more like flirting. even when they’re rly pissed off. wld never enter that territory he hates shit like tht w a passion. cue round of applause from the audience for this absolutely low bar.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

i feel like they’re not rly huggy people...... ziggy probably puts his arm around her a lot tho he loves doing that. hs kissed her more times than he can count too n doesn’t plan on stopping

BRADLEY & XAVIER

their first impression of your muse:

funny. mean in a more digestible way than she was used to. he had barbs n she liked the way people winced when they tried to swallow his company. when she got paired w him for a class project she met his eyes across the room n he didn’t quickly look away like most ppl. something abt that intrigued her. a sharp fingernail inside her head kept having to itch at something n she realised it was the urge for him to call her a bad name. this weird craving to hear an angry word inside his mouth just for her. she used to think that’s what someone wanting her was like. still does sometimes. this both pissed her off n caught her attention which is a bit of an accomplishment fr someone who gets bored by everyone n everything.

current impression:  

his heart’s more good than she expected. it felt a bit like having a cat drop a dead mouse at ur doorstep that u don’t know what to do with when she realised that. she felt uncomfortably like her mother when she couldn’t get out of his bed bc she was too depressed n that rly made her feel like. ill honestly. he did all the right things but suddenly she just felt sick abt the whole situation which is Not the normal reaction to ur bf caring about u but bradley doesn’t understand ppl caring abt her. felt more like pity. she thinks he’s better off. she misses him sometimes bt then she reminds herself she doesn’t miss people. does a good job of believing it. one of the best ppl she’s dated not that she’d say it.

are they attracted to your muse?:  

yes..... ws probably. unhinged n rabid when they were dating. very good at hiding it now however. cold at the drop of a hat.

something they find frightening about your muse:

that he witnessed her being vulnerable............ literally grosses her out so much like she’d rather die than. anyone see her like that. when they were dating she’d get paranoid her dad wld somehow find out too n smthn wld happen to him for it. it ws definitely weird for her like the fact she even cared enough to consider tht.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

adorable is rly not a word that fits into bradley’s vocabulary GHSFGHSFKGHSFKG bt hm. maybe if he ever tried to tell her what to do one time even casually. she’d b like awww..... u think i do what anyone tells me? that’s so fucking sweet. 

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

in most cases no :/..... however if it was smthn to do w the guys that work for her dad then ya she’d put herself in danger to avoid him being in it.

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

i mean she has in the past bt bradley’s idea of dates is like. starting a bar fight together. getting thrown out of a club n both falling over into trash cans in a dingy back alley. stealing a car. breaking into a random house n fking in a stranger’s bed. fking in the bk of a movie theatre w a horror movie screening. definitely not dinner or anything like tht. she wldn’t now........ they’re not exactly in a place fr that..... 

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

ex. whatever. i know it’s not one word but “some guy”. FGHSKGHFGKSHG >_>

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no. she’s a violent person bt not xavier.

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

NO hugging...................... she fronts like she wldn’t kiss him bt like. if a discussion got heated n they were in each other’s faces who’s to say. 

NYLA & SEAN

their first impression of your muse:

strange little fella which is a very high compliment. kind of reminded them of an animated turtle come to life in the human realm altho they honestly don’t have an explanation for that it’s just the way their brain works. they love the turtles in finding nemo tho so maybe there’s some sort of correlation. very nice face. they kind of wanted to hold his head like a bowling ball just so they could examine it properly. i feel like when they first met him they probably reached out n smoothed a sticky label onto his forehead that said ‘catfish in chernobyl’ n they had one on their forehead that was blank n then they just wafted a pen mid air n were like ‘wanna play guesses?’ even tho that isn’t the name of the game. as if that was just. a completely normal introduction to someone. FGKHSKHGSFKGHSFKG. feel like sean wld have rolled w that tho so nyla was like :P i like.... if they played another round they’d give sean another sticky label that said ‘the loneliest whale in the world’ n then it’d start a whole conversation abt how nyla thinks they can speak whaleish. (whale spin on elvish). 

current impression:  

sean makes them think of that artificial blue raspberry flavour some popsicles have n how it’s always rly fun when they stain ur tongue. sweet n exuberant n leaves a bright impression. he lets them ride on his skateboard sometimes rolling along being lead by them holding his hand n nyla likes to shut their eyes like they’re a bird sailing above the clouds. one of their favourite things to do especially when the sun’s out. bc of this nyla thinks sean was a bird in his past life but not a greedy one like a seagull or a plain one like a pigeon. maybe a bluebird bc of his eyes. he makes them laugh a lot. they entrusted him to babysit their children (as pictured) in his hair for a whole day and night once n they had lots of fun with him so nyla thinks he’s very trustworthy and kind. he also is rly easy to talk to like they cld randomly be like “i’ve been thinking lately that maybe homer simpson could’ve been a good figure skater” n sean wldn’t look at them like they’ve lost their marbles he’d just go w it. they like his company a lot.

are they attracted to your muse?:  

😏

something they find frightening about your muse:

ummm nothing in particular altho one time when they were rly tripping out bc his eyes are blue n it got them thinking abt the ocean n they always think they can talk to ghosts underwater so they were kind of like. thinking abt ghosts whenever they looked him in the eyes. maybe covered their own w their hands n if sean asked why they told him abt it. suddenly he shut his eyes to make them feel better n it turned into a whole thing where nyla had to lead him around the party like a guide dog.

something they find adorable about your muse:  

his nose. watching him talk to his siblings. his hands.

would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours?:  

😌 yea

would my muse go on a date with yours?  platonic/romantic:  

yes............ feel like they’d have fun if they went anywhere tbh........ cn imagine them at a fair eating from the same cotton candy n chattering as they point out things. nyla trying to do that hammer game where u make the meter reach the top n lifting the hammer in the air n falling backwards bc it was heavier than they anticipated.... sean yelling like man down man down..... mayb they take a tab n suddenly the fair is so scary they’re like 😳 we’re in danger...

one word my muse would use to describe yours:  

silly (affectionate). sailor (also term of endearment). gnome (same thing again). cool.

would my muse slap yours if they could?:

no ur sick....

would my muse hug/kiss yours?:

ya to both. jst suddenly had a vision too of nyla being cold one time n clinging to sean from the front like a bushbaby in a hug as he carries her around. suddenly this mode of transportation hs happened more thn once (godmod) (contact my lawyers if u dare bebe) (bitch) (i take it back) (it wasn’t right alli it jst wasn’t right) (pelase forigev m eim shakign)

[angrylizardjacket]

Yaaasss!!! Jelous Ben was si cuteee and we love a supportive mother, her mom is fantastic and a savage. I hace a question, how did you come up with reader's character in x-men?? I legit googled it as I thought it was a real character, so welk done.

i love her mum so fuckin much, dude, she’s supportive but can still be embarrassing at times. i wrote her, not like my actual mum, but like my dad now that i think about it. dude literally told me over the phone that he’d physically fight people for shittalking me (not just in general, there’s more context, but the point still stands). idk i think it’s disingenuous to not let parental characters have certain flaws, like they’re allowed to be overprotective and spiteful, as well as caring and supportive. i love her too.

oH SHIT DUDE LEMME TALK ABT MY GIRL CASSIDY TEMPLE I LOVE HER SO FUCKING MUCH AND I”VE PUT SO MUCH THOUGHT INTO HER THAT THIS WILL HAVE A READ MORE

so cassidy’s powers are actually based off of an xmen oc i’ve already written 70k about, Aoibheal Cassidy, younger sister of Banshee, Sean Cassidy, and Cassidy Temple’s name is a reference to her, since originally I was going to essentially have Y/N playing Aoibheal (because it’s my fic and i can include an homage to my xmen oc as a treat). the powers themselves are based loosely on Multiple Man from X-Men: The Last Stand, except Cassidy’s clones can’t live a life of their own like his can. In the xmen fic, aoibheal starts off with having unlimited clones, and they can explode because i thought it was neat tbh.

From the original fic, Molotov Heart, chapter 3, rubatosis:

[Context; humans experimenting on mutants between X-Men First Class and X-Men Days Of Future Past have caught Sean and Aoibheal and they experiment on them even though Aoibheal’s powers have not manifested (she is approximately 13) and they kill her brother in front of her]:

Stunned into silence, she can feel something white-hot building inside of her, all the rage and fear and pain becoming almost tangible.

She mutates.

Copies of Aoibheal, clones, appear around them, filling up the space between the now screaming and bewildered 'doctors'. Aoibheal herself doesn't seem to notice the clones, bawling her eyes out, an action the clones themselves are mirroring, and she thinks of nothing but freedom and escape, focusing on the white-hot feeling inside of her until it overwhelmed her. With the force of a bunker-buster bomb, the clones began to combust, began to explode, first a few, and then all at once. Killing the human personel who had kept her hostage, the blast reduced the warehouse to mere cinders, freed Aoibheal and left her clothing in tatters, but she was alive damn it.

The reason Cassidy has a limited number is because i needed a way to have her powered up as a horseman, like a distinct power up, rather than just something unseen like heightened reflexes and strength. 

I would like to point out also, that it’s not stated, but Cassidy’s explosions (NOT AOIBHEAL’s) are never to do with heat, they’re always about force. the explosions themselves are never hot, never have anything to do with fire or anything like that, she builds up force inside of the clones, and lets it tear her apart from the inside out as a wave that destroys the things it comes into contact with.

The scream was originally hereditary, like Banshee, it developed as her secondary mutation.

From the Marvel Wiki:

The Secondary Mutation (or "Second Mutation") is a phenomenon in which an existing mutant undergoes another mutation, gaining additional powers, such as healing, or a change in appearance.

Secondary mutation is noted as the appearance of new powers, or an increase in existing powers.

It was stated by Beast that the secondary mutations usually occurred in the twenties of the subjects, and generally appeared in time of great stress.

From the original fic, chapter 8, nodus tollens:

The appearance of the secondary mutation:

The world falls apart in a blur of movement. The gun goes off just after Raven jumps and makes a break for the window, the bullet curves as she crashes through the glass, following her on the way down. Tackling Erik earns Hank a mean right hook to the jaw, but Aoibheal’s there, looking at Trask like a dear in the headlights, memories whipping through her head like a hurricane - the sick fuck looks pleased to see her – her mouth falls open and she screams. She and the clone scream in tandem, their voices supersonic as the surrounding people clutched their ears for dear life; struggling to keep a hold of the feeling in her chest that caused her to explode, the clone detonates like a firework, scorching the wallpaper while Trask is stumbling to the door. There’s blood leaking from his ears but Aoibheal can’t move, can only scream and relive the memory of her brother’s murder over and over again.

Hank discussing it:

"I've never seen a secondary mutation so vastly different!" No longer blue or furry, [Hank’s] smile is excited as he looks over at her. Sharing the cockpit feels almost familiar by now, with Aoibheal curled up in the passenger seat nursing a glass of water. "It makes sense though, your original mutation – the explosions – would be an extension of your temperature immunity, but your secondary mutation is hereditary."

Cassidy’s scream, however, unlike Banshee’s, only effects things with ears, not inanimate objects like glass. Of course she could learn the right pitch to get glass to shatter like an opera singer, but generally speaking, her scream only effects things that can hear. 

OKAY LETS TALK ABT THE STUFF I FABRICATED FOR THE FIC

oh GOD I WANT TO TALK ABOUT HER RELATIONSHIP WITH MAGNETO

not as in romantic, as in he is literally her character’s main inspiration in the films. i’m literally making a fake trailer right now that’s intercut with moments from his DOFP speech that was broadcast to the whole of america.

i love dofp (possibly to my detriment) but i always thought it was weird that no-one was ever like.... magneto has a point. BECAUSE HE HAS A POINT. he’s speaking directly to disenfranchised and SCARED mutants across the nation, and yet everyone’s heralding Mystique as the new face of mutant kind. YES she made a point, but like.... did no-one vibe with magneto when he promised the destruction of mankind? i would. anyways.

so i thought it would be interesting for this character, Cassidy, to have this hero-worship of Magneto, taking his words to heart like scripture, ultimately making her a foil for Phoenix, Xavier’s protege. 

it’s why i specifically included this:

“You should be,” you hissed, putting your all into the words as you spoke them, and you hear Ben inhale sharply beside you, “we shall inherit the Earth.”

“What follows is a struggle as Cassidy and the figure – revealed to be her clone – proceed to kill the man. When they’re finished, and the man’s dead on the ground, Cassidy straightens her outfit, and we hear –“ as the director reads, Michael begins to slowly clap, “a slow clap, and it’s revealed that Apocalypse, as well as Storm, Angel, and Magneto, had all witnessed the event.”

“We are the future, we are the ones who shall inherit the Earth,” Michael reads as he stops clapping.

“Magneto,” you breathe reverentially, and when you look to him, you and Michael share a sharp smile.

which is a direct quote from magneto’s speech in Days of Future Past:

You built these weapons to destroy us. Why? Because you are afraid of our gifts. Because we are different. Humanity has always feared that which is different. Well, I'm here to tell you, to tell the world, you're right to fear us. We are the future. We are the ones who will inherit this earth, and anyone who stands in our way will suffer the same fate as these men you see before you. Today was meant to be a display of your power. Instead I give you a glimpse of the devastation my race can unleash upon yours. Let this be a warning to the world. And to my mutant brothers and sisters out there, I say this; no more hiding, no more suffering. You have lived in the shadows in shame and fear for too long. Come out, join me. Fight together in the brotherhood of our kind. A new tomorrow, that starts today.

which ALSO is what turns her into the next big villain for the franchise, because she sees Magneto, the man she kind of thinks of like a god, turn on and help kill Apocalypse, the man who claimed to be an actual god, and side with the people who, ultimately, don’t want to destroy the human race like she does, and also killed the man she loved. she takes Magneto’s ideologies and turns them up to 11. he fucks off to create a mutant paradise away from prying eyes and is happy, she won’t be happy until all humans are punished.

it’s why, in the beginning, she and raven can’t still work together, because raven wants to rescue mutants, but not at the expense of unnecessary human lives, and cassidy sees all humans as complicit in the torture, and therefore deserving of punishment. 

she has deemed herself judge, jury, and executioner of human kind, and they have all been found guilty.

i’m so excited to see if i get around to writing some of the next film because i really want to explore the dichotomy of Xavier’s ‘no-one is ever really gone/there’s always hope’ and magneto’s ‘you were right to be afraid of us, we are the ones who shall inherit the earth’. Everyone has given up on Cassidy in one way or another, whether it be by betrayal or death, and so when she finds this symbiote who literally becomes a part of her, makes her stronger, and is happy to kill people with little regard for who they are, she’ll take it. 

EDIT: here’s the first 26 seconds of the fake trailer (Y/N here is played by Jurnee Smollett, aka Black Canary from Birds of Prey)

ANGEL & RIOT

i wanted y/n to kiss ben hardy that’s literally it. 

actually no that’s not it 100%, i think it’s super amusing in a kind of bleak way that he got fridged for her, like his death, both in the “””comics””” (as in the comic universe for the fics) and in the film, causes her to seek out a force that would help bring him back to life. in the “””comics””” she originally seeks out a mutant, but when the mutant who can bring people back refuses to help her, she’s told of experiments at The Life Foundation, who are working on engineering the next step in human evolution, and she’s thinking that they’re experimenting on mutants again, like trask, and goes in guns blazing, but instead finds symbiotes. she bonds with a symbiote, thus becoming Riot Control, and the symbiote initially promises her all these things, including being able to find a way to ressurect angel, but eventually (in the “””comics”””) the power he gives her overtakes her need to ressurect her love, and riot ends up using her to try and build a ship to bring more symbiotes to take over earth.

IN THE FILM

okay OKAY okay OKAY so she’s looking for a way to ressurect angel at first, but riot’s in her ear while he’s seeing all her memories, and is convincing her to get revenge on the people who are responsible for his death (nightcrawler, jean, and Magneto specifically) so its not that the xmen are just in the plot by happenstance there’s like actual beef, love it. 

I also love that Cassidy’s powers are handicapped when she’s got Riot, since her scream would injure or even possibly kill him. Yes i specifically paired her with a symbiote for that reason, which is also the reason why her clone explosions aren’t heat based. 

but anyway, can i spoil the ending? i wanna spoil the ending;

so there’s this big showdown between riot control and the xmen, and jean confronts cassidy, trying to talk her down like ‘what would angel think if he saw you? What you’ve become?’ and Cassidy’s furious, thinking that jean’s trying to guilt her, like, angel would be so ashamed

“Keep his name out of your fucking mouth, you have no idea what he’d think-”

“He’d be terrified of you.” And it’s so fucking like, cruel and cold coming from Jean.

“Shut up.”

“You have become a monster; you have maimed your idol-” [we cut to a shot of magneto looking all fucked up and bloody, watching with anger in his eyes] “and you have left Angel for dead. If you’d really cared about him, you would have already gotten him back. Instead, you come for revenge against the people who could have helped you -”

or something like that, and riot control has a whole breakdown, lashing out, snarling that no-one could help her, and when they tried, they ended up dead (angel, apocalypse) and she starts losing control, and her voice starts to distort in and out of riot’s, making it clear he’s taking control of her completely. 

there’s this big, final fight, which culminates with jean grabbing cassidy’s face and trying to burn riot out of her.

“No-one is beyond help.” And Jean’s like, got tears in her eyes, desperate to save this girl who’s caused so much pain, but who sees herself as so wretched and beyond help, and we see the symbiote burning away and screaming, but also the physical signs of cassidy’s mutation as like, peeling away in embers, like the black scales around her eyes, and the way her whole eyes are seen as black is now clearing away, and she takes both of Jean’s hands and forces her to keep holding on, to keep looking in her natural fucking eyes for the first and last time as she burns out too.

“You can’t save everyone.” and then Cassidy’s just ash in the wind.

also this ending, in a meta-sense, makes sense, because after this Disney buys Fox and there’s no more this-universe X-Men films, so they had to do a self-contained story, there couldn’t be things left super unresolved.

OR maybe she’s fine, maybe she gets saved and riot burns out of her (spoilers, he fucks off and doesn’t die, hence, Venom (2018); it takes him about 20 years to recuperate) i haven’t decided.

[kissykiwi]

green eyes, red handed (part 2)

wherein y/n finds harry confusing. (college au, 2700 words)

[previous]

Y/N’s head swam as she walked out of class, full of education and politics and society.  They had a paper coming up, three topics possible from the entirety of the work, and she couldn’t figure how she’d be able to pick when she had so much to say about all of it.

“So, what are yeh thinking for the upcoming essay?  Worth fifteen percent, y’know.”

Y/N was startled to be addressed by the low, thick voice of the person she apparently bothered so much, and cut her eyes sideways as Harry bounded up beside her.  How fun, swinging back in the other direction.

“I was thinking of the one centering around justice,” she said warily.  She might wanna kill him half the time, but when they weren’t at each other’s throats he was a pretty good study partner, and Plato was not a joke.  “Figured that I could expand on the definition by taking the classical ambiguity of it.”

“Tha’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah.  Do me a solid and don’t steal it, will ya?”

Harry laughed as Y/N raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch.  A girl down the hall fumbled her books.  

“Now, now, didn’t say it was good, did I?” he quipped, tone remaining light.  Y/N could see this for what it was, the peace offering that followed every spat and kept them on careful even ground, but she was ready to accept it.  Their relationship had been like this for three years now, and she had learned how to prolong the amiable Harry that came between fights, and how much she preferred him.

“Fine then Plutarch, what’re you doing?”

“The use of fantastical arguments in philosophical debate.”

“Dense,” she said, surprised.  They only had about three thousand words, and he was certainly taking quite the bite.  It was a gentle reminder of how much was hiding in that thick skull of his.

“Behind this pretty face is quite th’ mind, Y/L/N,” Harry sighed dramatically, pushing the door open for them both.

“It’s behind a face anyway.”

“See I could get mad at tha’ comment, but because I’m a kind and gentle soul, I will instead do as Clark asked and pass along the message that everyon’s stoppin’ in Fleming and then settin’ up in Old Quad for lunch.”

Definitely offering the proverbial olive branch then.  Often Harry would skip letting her know when these plans would happen (and Ginny always forgot) and she’d make it halfway back to her apartment before she knew that her friends had snagged a coveted slice of lawn.  In return, Y/N offered him a careful smile and a thanks.  Harry quirked a corner of his mouth back, opened it to say something, but was interrupted before he could.

“Y/N!”

Turning about, she saw black hair, blue eyes, an unassuming smile.  It was Mitchell, from her Human Skeletal Biology course.  He was sweet, so sweet, but nice and naive had never much been her thing and as many times as she’d tried to let him down gently, he just kept coming back.

“Mitchell, hey,” she said, voice kind and decidedly lukewarm, turning back towards Fleming and a now farther ahead Harry as the new addition came to her pace.

“Hey!  I know you said you were busy last Thursday with schoolwork and all, but I thought new week, new schedule, right?”

Y/N bit her lower lip hard, frustration sparking in her gut.  No matter what she tried he wouldn’t take the hint, and she was inching ever closer to the cruelty of brutal honesty.  There were days where she just wanted to say yes, fine, let’s go!  But she knew how uncomfortable she would be saying yes, had been down that road before often enough to tell.  Sometimes people just weren’t compatible, and two conversations with this guy had told her that he didn’t have enough pushback to keep her interested.

“Listen, I-”

“”Oo’s this then?”

Y/N looked up at Harry, caught off guard by his sudden interest and the arm he’d thrown about her shoulder.  Casual physical contact wasn’t out of the question between them (they were in the same friend group after all) but the warm bicep pressing into the back of her neck was certainly more than usual.  She suppressed the urge to lean back into the touch.

“I- This is Mitchel.  We have ANT334 together,” she replied.

“Ah, Mitchell.  I remember hearin’ ‘bout this one.”

“This one?”  She could see Mitchell’s face turning, a sour expression creeping across his features as he repeated what Harry had said.

“Yeah mate, one of ‘er boys. What were yeh sayin’ though?”

Now Mitchell was positively frowning, mostly at Y/N.  “I- nevermind, actually.”  Though it was just the time for food he turned away, booking off down the hall towards the doors they had all just entered through and away from the student commons.  Y/N turned towards Harry, a confused look on her face.

“When did you ever hear me talk about him?”

“Y/L/N, yeh bitch about how he’s not gettin’ the message two t’ three times per hour every time he asks yeh out,”  he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I never thought you actually listened.  Looks like I won’t have to worry about him anymore, anyhow,” she said, thinking with some measure of relief of the displeasure on Mitchell’s face.

“And we won’ have t’ listen t’yeh anymore. Everyone wins!  Now hurry up ‘n get yer food, I wanna get a spot in th’ shade before Todd sprawls out and declares it all as his.”

Instead of getting annoyed, Y/N picked up a sandwich and some juice and paid in an example of decision making in record time.  Harry was right, Todd was an absolute slut for getting out of the sun, and she wasn’t much for the heat that seemed to ramp up as summer folded into early fall.  She and Harry both got irritable in the heat, so shade was probably the best idea.  Harry seemed pleased to have her agreeing, and they walked out to their friends in a warm and unexpected peace.

Old Quad was beautiful.  Lush, bright green grass (and props to the grounds crew for that, because it was pretty well trafficked) boxed in by the big, old founding buildings of their school, all dark stones and gothic arches.  The corners left spaces to get in and out but it felt like a universe inside the universe of the school, filled with cool breezes and big trees and the noises of college students taking a breath between classes.  The ever present crowd of students fanned out across the lawn for the peak noon lunch hour, but the blindingly pale hand of Ginny waving ecstatically from under her favorite oak tree showed that their friends had grabbed prime seating.

“This way,” Y/N mumbled, grabbing Harry’s hand distractedly as people flowed around them.  Their friends liked to call Y/N the gazelle because of her careful feet and how good she was at picking through a crowd- ironic when compared to her inability to walk over flat ground but then there you were.  Harry, on the other hand, had enormous feet, both of which were left.  Last week he’d fallen on a girl and squashed her sandwich, and the starry eyes she’d given him had inflated his ego to truly unbearable proportions.

“Holding hands?  My god, maybe world peace is realistic after all,” Clark laughed as they walked up to the group, Ginny staring with raised brows at their connected hands.  Y/N rolled her eyes and plopped onto the blanket laid across the grass, leaving Harry to take his hand back.

“More like keeping him from taking out half the quad.  I’m fairly sure the lovely young lady from last week is still thinking of ways to incorporate falling into a pickup line.  If he dazzles any more that way, we’ll never have another lunch in peace,” she replied, plastic crinkling as she unwrapped her lunch.  

“Not my fault tha’ these eyes make women fall in love, darlin’,” Harry replied smugly.  Y/N maintained eye contact with him as she took a large bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly.

“Nope, still wanna strangle you.  Who does that work on again?”

Todd sighed happily.  “God, Y/N, we need to bottle whatever keeps you from falling over sideways for this twat and vaccinate the rest of the campus with it.  You know that guy I’ve been trying to get closer to in physics, the cute tall one?  Came up to me and asked for Harry’s number this morning.”

“Well-” Ginny started, but Y/N was faster.

“Oh, not Andre, really?  I liked him, too.”

“I’m gonna ignore tha’,” Harry said breezily.  “Sorry though mate, ’s shit.”

“Yeah,” Todd shrugged.  “I gave it to him though.”

Idly, Y/N wondered what Harry might do.  Clark liked to say that Harry played with his food, never settling for long with one partner and keeping them on their toes if he ever took a brief landing, and she didn’t know if she could stand watching him flirt with the guy Todd had been on about for nearly a month now.  It seemed like the whole blanket agreed, breath held as they waited for Harry to reply.  Y/N could feel Ginny’s eyes on her.

“I’ll put in a good word for yeh then.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, undoubtedly from Ginny based on the elbow sneaking into her side, so she pulled it out to read.

>>babe u just visibly relaxed u have it SO BAD

>i was worried abt todd u absolute psycho

Ginny rolled her eyes, about to reply, when across the way Clark decided to ask “what’s so interesting there ladies?”  Her ginger head snapped up, almost hilariously conspicuous that they were discussing someone sitting on the blanket, and which meant assuredly that Y/N would have to save it.

“Your weak dick game, actually.”

Clark squeaked out a highly offended noise as Ginny dissolved into giggles, halfheartedly trying to convince him that that probably wasn’t what they were talking about, and Y/N was so amused by the overplayed outrage that she only barely noticed the boot nudging at her thigh.  It was Harry of course, poking at her with a delicately extended foot from where he was already draped in a long line on his side.  When she looked over, he beckoned, and since she was feeling generous she scootched over so they could talk.

“There’re free coffees for the next month of Classics with yer name on ‘em,” he said as she leaned down towards him, his breath blowing the ends of her hair like a light breeze.  Y/N gave him a doubtful look.

“That so?  What’s the catch then?”

“Yer notes.  Been readin’ em over your shoulder, ‘n they’re a damn sight more coherent than mine.  Jus’ lemme see ‘em to piece together my essay, that’s all I’m askin’.”  Y/N’s eyebrows stayed up, but she’d never been one to turn down caffeine and Harry didn’t skimp on good coffee.

“Make it coffee for the whole semester and I’ll keep letting you see them, how about that?”

Harry grinned, a certain amount of relief seeping through, and nodded enthusiastically.  From there it was easy to melt into a discussion about outlines, Y/N leaning down towards him to sketch out some tweaks on his main themes, Harry pushing up on an elbow to point at the book in her lap as he suggested the lines he thought would work best.  Neither saw it, but across the quad people were staring- here a sigh over Harry’s smile, there someone missing their mouth as Y/N brushed hair out of her face with a careless grace.

“I don’t mean to break up this weird, academic ménage à trois between you two and Plato, but Duncs just texted to plan next Monday Meal,” Todd called from across the blanket.  

Monday Meal was a longstanding tradition among the friend group, masterminded and orchestrated by the fourth roommate in the cellblock, Duncan.  He was a nutrition sciences major possessed of serious doubts as to his friends ability to care for themselves, and he’d decided about halfway through their first year that if they all died of scurvy he’d feel in some way responsible.  So once a week they all got together to eat (“vegetables, Todd, a human can’t subsist on mashed potatoes alone”) and have a beer after the gauntlet of a Monday.  It was where both Todd and Hil had come out to everyone, where Ginny and Clark were locked into a closet together so they would get together already, where hookups and Potential Serious Things™ got to be brutally scrutinized for a minimum two hours.  It also required everyone to bring something, on a rotational basis after they all realized that Hil would never learn to cook if they didn’t make her bring something besides beer.  It had been cancelled for the week (Duncs was out of town for his mother’s engagement party), but next week was on.

“Y/N and I already have a stuffed cabbage planned, so tell him that,” Ginny said, pushing herself up.  “But right now, we have some grocery shopping to do.  Up you go bubs!”

She grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her onto her feet.  Y/N quirked a brow, resisting the urge to sigh.

“I’ll see you all later,” she said flatly, nudging a goodbye to Harry with the toe of her boot.  He tapped her ankle before Ginny had her off.

“We went grocery shopping yesterday,” Y/N sighed as soon as they were out of earshot.  “What’s actually going on?”

“When are you going to accept that you have feelings for Harry?”

Oh, but Y/N didn’t like this.  Ginny was serious, dead serious, in a way that her bubbling smile almost never gave way to.  

“Ginny, I don’t,” Y/N groaned, rubbing at her temples.  Ginny grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into one of the archways.

“Y/N, I love you.  You’re one of my best friends, and we tell each other everything, which is why when I say this please know it’s because you’re important to me.  You like him, you’re in fucking denial about it, and it’s tearing you up.”

“Wh- I’m fine!  I am fine, and I’m not in denial about anything.”

“You fought this morning.  The two of you.”

This stopped Y/N, and she frowned slightly, tilting her head to stare at Ginny.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“He’s always nicer to you and you’re always more careful talking to him.  Because you think it’s something you do to make him mad and you want to change it.  Because you like him.”

Y/N let her head drop. Sighed.  Rubbed her face.

“So what if I do Ginny?” she finally replied, voice noticeably weary to her own ears.  “It doesn’t-- it doesn’t matter, even a little bit.  He’s him and I’m me and we don’t get on and no amount of feeling whatever I feel or parsing out why is going to change it.”

This time it was Ginny’s turn to frown, and she reached forward to put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders, pull her closer with a soft little hum into a hug.

“Oh, peaches.  I know you hate to hear me say it-- and maybe that’s you protecting yourself, you are basically a pill bug-- but I don’t think he’s mean because he doesn’t like you.  I think you make him nervous honeybun, you know how strong you are.  It scares guys, especially ones like Harry, especially with what he was like when we met.”

Y/N rubbed her face into Ginny’s shoulder, mushing her lips together instead of replying.  The soft slide that her cherry chapstick produced was enough to ground her, let her whisper a soft “maybe.”

“What did you even fight about peaches?  It can’t have been much, usually it takes you two longer.”

Y/N had to breathe unhappily through her nose at the “usually”, no matter how fair it might be.  She took a moment before responding.

“I don’t really know Gin.  I was talking to the Professor, made a joke or somethin’, and as soon as Harry was in he was on my case.”

Ginny nodded, face thoughtful, then said, “Is this the classics prof, the one that half the campus wants on?”

Y/N had to roll her eyes at that.

“Yes, Professor Morrow is the one everyone else is drooling after.  What does that have to do with anything, you creep?”

“Harry was probably jealous, peaches.  You know he’s good at makin’ you laugh, bet he likes to be the only one.”