#this chapter was the death of me istg

[writeshite]

You’re Not So Quick To Love Again

Summary:

You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story  - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male Reader

Tags:

Angst | Guilty Feelings | Therapy Sessions

Words: 2499

Author's Note:

The amount of shit I read for this fic has made me realize my grasp on English is hanging by a thread 😭.

Previous | Series Masterlist

30 days.

30 excruciating days.

It’s awkward, to say the least when you and Mark start the trial run - at the very least, you don’t immediately turn to hostility - that’s not to say everything is peachy keen. Derek, for obvious reasons, is a little skeptical, more so with Mark than with you; George is very much in the same camp as him, Izzy is happy that you’re working things out, and the rest of the staff seems to be divided into either camp or in most cases, neither - simply watching the events unfold. The counseling sessions don’t stop, of course; they carry on as is, but included every so often is a catch-up on how things are going.

“Good morning.”

You’re also talking again, albeit more so prompted by the trial run than anything else. “Good morning, Dr. Sloan.”

“Nice day,” he mutters.

You nod, hmming in agreement as you make your rounds; there are no emergencies for now, and hopefully for the rest of the day. You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story. You don’t bump into Addison much, even now, and you don’t know if you should be relieved or saddened - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

The dogs are more rambunctious; it seems; Atlas practically swamps you when you step through the door, Gumdrop not far behind; the usual walk doesn’t do much for them, so you stay out a little longer. It’s not too bad. You ignore the essay-long lectures filling your inbox from Zoe and the phone calls over the week. By the end of said week, you don’t feel less likely to shove a scalpel into Mark’s neck, but at the very least, you can exchange some words somewhat less maliciously.

“How has the first week been for you?”

Dr. Saltzman doesn’t seem to show much emotion in favor of either you or Mark during the sessions - though you think he might be more in favor of you, but that may just be you. “It’s been alright,” you respond, “I’m still angry, but I feel I can somewhat co-exist peacefully now.”

“That’s good.” He says.

“I mean, I’m not over it, but I’m still unsure if I want anything other than whatever this is,” you tell him. “A part of me doesn’t even think any of what we had before was genuine, it felt genuine for me, but I don’t know if it was the same for Mark.”

The creeping thoughts never left; with this reconciliation stage, they returned, you couldn’t even look at Addison without your throat constricting and the memories hitting you back full force. “Do you see your relationship before this as tainted?”

You shrug, “Not all of it….a few moments, maybe…I don’t,” you groan, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize; you’re well within your right to be uncertain; most betrayed spouses can never look past that hurdle and ultimately break things off for good.”

“Should I break things off?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you what to do, but that’s not his job; he tilts his head and redirects the question back to you. You slump back in your chair and run a hand down your face. “This’d be a lot easier if you just told me what to do,” you quip.

“It would,” he responds, “but then, you’d no doubt come to depend on me for other decisions then, wouldn’t you?”

You groan, “Before, my feelings about him were pretty angry, but the stupid optimistic side of me is resurfacing again; I hate it.” You don’t look at him when you speak further on the matter; the soft spot Mark managed to carve back into your heart is whittling away at your anger. “I miss him,” you can admit that much freely, “I miss his stupid face. I miss the little moments between us, like when he used to wake me up by rolling all his weight on me.”

“Marcus Sloan, I swear to go —”

“My name’s not Marcus,” he remarks, still not moving from his apparently comfortable position. “It’s Mark.”

“Mark…get off…” you try not to laugh, but it is, at the very least, entertaining. 

“I’d push him off me, and then we’d wrestle before getting up to make breakfast,” you recount fondly. “There are times when I’d do something with the dogs, or just mundane, and then I’d turn to talk to him, and I know it’s him because I’d call out for him before….”

It hadn’t been anything major; Atlas had tried getting into the cupboards again, “Mark, get your dog out of the —“ you’d paused, placing a hand over your mouth and shaking your head, then ushered Atlas away yourself. It had been a running joke - when the dogs would make mischief, they’d be Mark’s dogs; you hadn’t done this in so long. 

“Ever since I started this trial run, I’ve been falling back into habits,” you say, “I hate it. I hate myself for getting so hopeful and happy around him again.”

Mark doesn’t think the past week has been anything but good, and he responds to Dr. Saltzman’s question with that. “I’m hoping it’s the same for him,” he adds on.

“Why?”

“Because —sometimes I almost reach out like I used to, but I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

“True. Have you at all confronted or discussed the affair since it happened with Addison?”

Mark shakes his head, “We…we slept together once after…when Gabriel was around, I think….”

“How did that turn out?”

“When I woke up beside Addison, I remembered the night of the affair,” he replies, “and all I could think about was his face when I saw him again at Seattle Grace —I couldn’t —we agreed never to do it again.”

“This agreement was mutual?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I haven’t seen much of her anyway.”

“But given your job and circumstances, there will come a time for you to interact with her,” Dr. Saltzman points out. Mark knows this; he and Addison’s specialties don’t correlate that often, but when they will, eventually.

In your next joint session, the topic of Addison is brought up again. Realistically, she can’t quit and love a hundred thousand miles away from either of you, and you can’t ignore her all that much at work if and when you have to work together.

“Since the usual options are out of the question, I suggest a meeting between the both of you, Addison and Derek.”

“Derek?” Mark interrupts, “What does he have to do with this?”

“He was also a betrayed spouse if you remember,” Dr. Saltzman responded, “he’s just as involved in this as both of you.”

“Isn’t that unfair?” You ask. “Derek looks happy; why should we drag him back into,” you gesture between you and Mark, “this?!”

“Would you rather it just be you, Mark, and Addison?”

Ah, so Derek would be a buffer for you, Mark watches as you catch on to the same train of thought, and your expression catches a slight hint of guilt. He wants to assure you it’s okay but doesn’t know if he should or if he’s allowed to. You both stand outside the building after the session ends; you stare at the sky for a second and take a deep breath before bidding Mark goodbye.

Mark isn’t looking forward to work the next day, he’s tempted to call in sick, but he doesn’t - slugging into Seattle Grace, the usual stares and whispers accompany him. “Good morning Dr. Sloan.”

“Good morning to you as well, Doctor,” he greets you. “How are you after yesterday?” You don’t usually exchange more than a brief greeting, but Mark thinks he should at least ask after you; your response is twofold - first, your expression is shocked, then tired, and second, you respond, voice laced with equal exhaustion.

“A little tired,” you reply, “should have called in sick.”

“I wish I had,” he remarks.

You respond to that with something of a snicker, shaking your head lightly. It’s not much, but Mark smiles a little in kind. Your happy snicker replays in his head long after that, and his memories decide to make an appearance - moments between the both of you start to replay, but only the happy moments, the kind that has the guilt trickling back in. When you smile at him again or talk to him without malice, he feels it amplify, accompanied by another feeling - fear. The same kind he’d felt when he’d woken up next to Addison the first time - what if he fucks it up again? There are moments where he asks himself if it's worth it, his part is far less painful than yours, and he wonders if it is better to cut this off and remain familiar acquaintances. But a selfish part of him doesn't want to let go; those feelings of inadequacy Dr. Saltzman had mentioned feel like they’re choking him. 

There are nights he considers just emptying his pockets at Jo’s, he almost does, but Jo practically shoves him out the door with a warning, “No drinks until you get yourself sorted out.”

He’d like to thank the man but is mildly irritated by the gesture; the temptation of losing himself in a drink or two isn’t quite as overpowering, unfortunately, so he opts for lying face-down on his couch. Which, of course, leads to him overanalyzing every little interaction between you and him.

You’re happy, he thinks, but would you be happier if he ended things? You had Gabriel, but that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, or could it? He can’t ask Gabriel, and he doesn’t know how you’d react if he asked you, so he shelves that away.

“What if he can never trust me again?”

Dr. Saltzman purses his lips, “While I hope it doesn’t come to that, you might have to continue assuring him long after reconciliation.” Mark feels himself deflate; he wants to cry, but why should he? He’s the reason things are like this in the first place. “As I’ve told you, communication is key, Mark. If you don’t feel like you can do that, then communicate that, and alongside that, be patient.”

“He was hurt; he may not feel ready to be intimate or close to you in any way, but that also applies to you. You may feel ready to be with him from the get-go, but guilt is a very powerful emotion. Don’t put your own needs on the back burner, either.”

“But I was the one that cheated —”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness,” Dr. Saltzman sternly reiterates.

Mark runs a hand down his face at the memory. He’d had the words practically at the forefront of his thoughts, “Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“I don’t think I deserve a second chance.”

Dr. Saltzman does a pretty good job of keeping his face neutral enough to assure Mark, and curious enough to coax further details from him. He would love a second chance - to shower you in kisses, draw you close again, and just be able to be yours again - but he doesn’t feel like he deserves it - he’s had your expression practically printed in his mind. He can’t even begin to imagine what your expression must have been like when you’d gotten the news of his infidelity. 

“I think –I think he could do better,” he begins, “I’ve seen it, he’s amazing and kind, and any guy would be lucky to have him. I had him, and I fucked it up.” The words sound more like Gabriel’s than his, but it’s true.

“You’re a lucky man, Mark, a real lucky man. Congrats on the engagement,”

Maybe he should take up Estelle on her offer of conversation or something; aside from Dr. Saltzman, he hasn’t talked to anyone else about this - not that anyone’s gunning to be his shoulder to cry on. 

“Don’t make a decision for him either, Mark; you might think you’re in the right, but you won’t be.”

Easier said than done, the temptation to just drop off the face of the earth is tempting - you’d be free - the feeling surfaces during the next joint session. “Did you ever sleep with her before then?”

The answer’s no. He had never dreamt of it before then, and even with his words being true, he was not a fan of answering some of the questions. “Was she the only one?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you appear doubtful, glancing away for a moment. “What happened that day?” Mark’s now confused; you know what happened, he says as much, “No, I mean, tell me what happened,” you demand.

Mark’s not proud that he ran out of the room; he’s not proud that he called in sick and practically lies face down in his bed. He was sure he’d be able to do this without stumbling over himself, but hearing you ask about the affair had somehow made his shut down - palms clammy and mind racing as he tried to find the words. He’d spoken of it before with you, but those conversations had been full of rage, and he’d only ever had to divulge as little information as you could bare, but now, you were demanding everything. He thinks most of it is tucked away somewhere in his mind; he’s even less proud of the fact that he calls up Addison for the first time in who knows how long. 

They meet up at some cafe out of town, miles from you, Derek, and anyone else that might think they’re reconciling. Addison looks downcast, picking at her nails as she glances anywhere but him, “We need to talk.” There’ll be another talk besides this, with you involved, but this one’s more to help Mark, help him piece everything together and have it ready for when you ask him again.

“He asked me to tell him everything about that night,” he begins, and Addison lets out a shaky breath. “But I ran away —I —Addison, I need your help to —” There’s no easy way to ask your affair partner to help you piece everything about said affair so that your betrayed partner gets an answer with no contradictions. 

“We slept in mine and Derek’s room….”

They go over minor details repeatedly, details he’d never thought to have been important; he types it all down and makes a copy in case the original is lost. He reads it over and over again - until the words are intertwined in his thoughts until they paint his eyelids, and they’re all he can see when he blinks.

End Note:

This chapter was the death of me istg. Stay Hydrated.

[flicklikesstuff]

okay but what if we get silvie seeing that ominous creepy side of Rick when he talks about the coliseum?

what if we see real time just how dangerous a person who had to fight for their life every day can be? What if he’s protecting his friends from someone trying to hurt them and he slips back into that fight mode. And Molly and Silvie have to stop him from causing severe bodily harm to someone.

I think that when in the coliseum, based on how he talked about it, he still had to kill people, those who wouldn’t become friends. I feel like when it comes down to it he can be downright terrifying if he wants to be, he just never is because he genuinely just wants to be friends with people. Either because it’s a defense mechanism of self preservation or knowing that the more friends he has the more likely he’ll be able to keep them safe.

or we just see Rick put someone in a chokehold really easily and it freaks the others out just a little. I just think it be neat, he has such wildly different personalities for different situations, he’s so great

Oh-

Ohohohohoho~

Anon, you mind reader. How did you know that Rick’s backstory has been rotating a bunch in my head too? Now you’ve just sent me on a full-on ramble I want to let out about this guy.

I hope you know what you’ve just pushed me to do :3

(Btw, Prison of Plastic spoilers ⚠️)

I’ve always interpreted Rick’s pushiness about making friends comes from a raw feeling of wanting to survive. After all, his powers and proficiency rely on the friends he does have and it drops down whenever his friend count drops as well.

And the arena’s a terribly cruel place where the weakest ones eventually die at some point. And I think Rick’s fully aware of that. He knows his survival is determined by his ability to fight, and how can he do that without friends? I think that’s why he’s so pushy and insistent to make friends with people he just met immediately. It must feel so daunting to literally have 0 proficiency in a very new place nonetheless. So vulnerable too…

But aside from his epithet powers, I’m sure Rick can improvise as well if his proficiency is indeed low at the moment. I won’t be surprised if he’s efficient in targeting fatal areas or even use sorcery to take down threats out of defence.

(Rick doesn’t strike me as a malicious guy. I feel like he kills in the arena only when necessary to live.)

I agree with you, Anon. He could absolutely fold someone if he needs to, but I doubt that would be his first choice. Rick did escape the colosseum for a chance at a better start, so I think he’d be a lot more reserved in committing bloodshed and rather try to be more friendly to everyone he meets to build up his strength again. If he could, I feel like he’d much rather keep from making enemies. (Unless….. time calls. He’s shown to be open to the option in the POP!book)

That doesn’t mean his traumatic experiences from the colosseum don’t seep out to be observed by others though. No one else knows about his past other than Molly but uhhhhh…. questionable stuff happens y’know?

(Remember how Rick first sees Lorelai and his instinctive reaction is to yell “WITCH-!” and shoot at her? What if that’s just his reflex from years of fighting and killing other witches and wizards?)

(He already freaks the others out a lot in many diff ways, lol)

Btw Anon, sorry for not drawing Rick unhinged with someone in a chokehold like you requested, I didn’t have the motivation or time for a full action scene drawing. 😅 But if you really want me to, just send me another ask and I’ll find some time for it :))

[sukugo]

SUKUGOS WE'RE SO BACK

[agentmaineapologist]

How I feel when Chapter 7 has SEVENTEEN different scenes including the file parts (9 not including those).

[reshramlove1ob]

Chat I'm not too sure about this next chapter of My Sunshine. Not because it's bad or anything, in fact I like it, but I think I'll have to change the rating from Teen to Mature becuase of it

[unparalleledtrash]

GIVE JIWOO A DAMN BREAK!!

[wingsofescape]

if you were wondering how writing is going

[amimuu]

“A place once filled with love”

[More doodles below the cut!]

Grips the camera

YOU GUYS HAVE NO IDEA HOW BADLY I WANTED TO DOODLE THIS ISTG—

Narinder and Lamb pay a visit to the old shrine of souls (temple of the gods of death), things go as well as you’d expect. Aka, PROBABLY MY FAVORITE PART OF THE AU—you guys have no idea how much this specific…arc? Scene? Chapter? Uh…part of the story means to me. LIKE OUGHHH ILL PROBABLY HAVE THIS ENTIRE PART WRITTEN OUT BEFORE WE EVEN REACH HALF THE AU—Ft. A very obvious reference that is going to become very important to the story.

So usually context would be pretty important to understand what’s going on here…but uhm. All I’m gonna say is that before being taken in by the bishops, Narinder spent the first years of his path to godhood in the care of the then goddess of death, also known as the “crimson witch”..but as you know, old gods have to fall for new ones to arise, and she was no exception…And that’s all for now.

Oh boy, this week has been actually relaxing—but I’m boutta go back to classes 💀 which means regular art posting is ✨likely over✨ sigh. Still—I’ll do my best to keep ya’ll fed sjdjdjdndnd until then—enjoy this post :] cuz I REAAAALLY had a blast drawing it haha.

[okthatsgreat]

did anybody see the newest episode of danganronpa 52 lollllllll

#there is something deeply wrong with team dr im afraid #A DEATH SO SOON JESUSSSSSS where was the ult cardiologist at......... #dr52 liveblog #dr52 spoilers #lee chat

5 notes

🐻 dangronper Follow

Gonna try getting into the new season lol, I stopped watching at season 37. No spoilers please

🐻 dangronper Follow

Okay wow a lot has changed! Everything is so high tech now??? I kinda miss when they just kept it more simple and had them all locked in a school ngl but maybe thats just me liking season 1 lol. Im really liking Jiro so far Im hoping he at least makes it to chapter 3 because I really wanna know more about that guy

🐻 dangronper Follow

You've gotta be kidding.

#CHAPTER ONE? HE DIED CHAPTER ONE? #THIS IS WHY I HATE ALL OF THE NEW SEASONS SO FUCKIGN BAD #THEY ONLY CARE ABOUT SHOCK VALUE AND THEY DONT CARE ABOUT STORY #THAT DEATH MAKES NO SENSE THERE ARE YOU ACTUALLY JOKING #Im logging off.

4 notes

💀 youvegotthatrite Following

12,433 notes

🫖 nagitosleftleg Follow

just a reminder that wishing death on any of the danganronpa writers makes you a terrible person and all of your favorite danganronpa characters hate you if you do that! 🤗 this is danganronpa so a lot of them will die 🤗 that doesnt mean you get to be a dickhead to team dr 🤗 get over it! 🤗

🍳 naeggieggin Follow

oh my god can anybody in this fandom just be normal and not use this weird passive aggressive tone for every single post. the writers do not give less of a fuck and neither do the actors theyre all dealing with their own shit

#i hate this fandom istg. and stop calling them characters the flashback light doesnt make them entirely fake #theyre still actual people #with feelings #danganronpa 52

769 notes

🍀luckyguy Follow

this is NOT what ultimate hope makoto naegi would have wanted

#dr52 spoilers #lucky student killed first chapter <;/3 #shut up you [txt]

4,013 notes

🔧 sorryiwasbornstupid Follow

kazuichi sighted in the new post-season promo video he looks so g.ood .... . id let him do anything to me

🌸 neverminded Following

@kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial

🔧 sorryiwasbornstupid Follow

HELLO?

34 notes

🔪 danganronpa Following

Puhuhu! New episode of DANGANRONPA 52 out TODAY at 1pm JST! Make sure to bring your popcorn and your bagels, this episode sure gets.... despairful 👀You won't wanna miss it!

🍀luckyguy Follow

K

🔱 ultscubafan Follow

U

🎆 chickencoopexplosion Follow

N

🫖 nagitosleftleg Follow

G

🎸 lightmusicplayer Following

P

9,012 notes

🍳 naeggieggin Follow

can early season purists please get their heads out of nagito komaedas ass. he does not want to fuck you

106 notes

🎞️ kirigiririririri Follow

Waiittttt Jiro is so cute actually XD He keeps tripping over his shoelaces in the background of scenes LOL he's so smol ..............

🎞️ kirigiririririri Follow

I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF

#he's DEAD?????????????????????????????????

2 notes

🍳 naeggieggin Follow

keep in mind the danganronpa actors are still real people and they can see all of you thirsting over them ok. please be normal. just because they went through the effects of the flashback light doesnt mean its ok to be a fucking weirdo to hajime whenever he walks outside

🧊 kokoroicebox Follow

They're celebrities. People are going to find celebrities attractive, especially if these are people they see on screens and billboards every day. If you pick up the nearest magazine you find you're probably going to find Junko Enoshima in it. And maybe you should consider that those "weirdos" who are walking up to Hajime are simply fans that want to greet him. We've watched these people fight through hell, cry, laugh, and find hope along the way. Of course we are going to get attached to them, especially to those of us who have been keeping up with them for a long time now. You're basically asking a bunch of teenagers to close their eyes and pretend their favorite media doesn't exist.

🍳 naeggieggin Follow

i literally did not say that

🌀 cageofdeath Follow

have you maybe ever considered that maybe some people get hyperfixations??

🍳 naeggieggin Follow

oh my fucking god.

🎸 lightmusicplayer Following

anybody in this thread smoke weed

1,034 notes

🍊 hinataorangejuice Follow

OKKKKK WAIT WHY IS RANTARO KINDA 👀👀👀

#the way he got so serious while investigating.............. #wasnt a huge fan of him at the start but he's growing on me lowkey #dr52 #danganronpa 52 #dr52 #orange speaks!

29 notes

💀 youvegotthatrite Following

JIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

#FUFUUUCUCKKCKCCKKKCKKCKC I REALLY LIEKD HIM!!!3!@!#(!# #FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK #ORUUGH WHY COULDNT HAVE BEEN MOMO #dr52 lb

8 notes

🍧minimarruuuu Follow

no chapter 1 death is ever gonna beat sayaka imo #girl

#it just really started the series off so well and no other chapter 1 victim has impressed me tbh #ugh but idk shes kinda annoying now with all of her interviewssss like girl its ok to not smile sometimes lmfao #sayaka maizono #dr52 critical #maru.txt

11 notes

🎸 lightmusicplayer Following

guy ists ok hes not actually dead hes just sleeping guys

#guys #danganronpa 52 #danganronpa 52 spoilers #<- ??? just in case

🔍 kirigiri Following

a

🍊 hinataorangejuice Follow

ok queen speak your truth i guess

🌸 neverminded Following

THIS MIGHT BE A CLUE THIS MGIHT BE A CLUE TO JIROS KILLER IM LOOKIGNGGGGG SO HARD AT AKEMI RIGHT NOW

🎆 chickencoopexplosion Follow

i think she might have just accidentally posted a draft lol

🌸 neverminded Following

I dont know............. team dr has done this before where they leave littel clues in places and this seems a little TOO coincidental

🔍 kirigiri Following

I hit the post button too early.

🌸 neverminded Following

KYOKO KIRIGIRI?

43,033 notes

🐰monomini Follow

okkkkk im kinda over rantaro already lmao. heres hoping we dont get another season of him

1 note

[theetherealbloom]

AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 6 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter Six: There's Blood On The Side Of The Mountain

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Attempted Su!c!de, Idealization of Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror, Character Deaths, Rewrite Alternate Universe, Sex, Alcohol, Revenge, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Attack,

Word Count: 9.2k (I’m sorry this is so long wtf)

A/N: Istg. Make sure you read ALL the warnings! This chapter is going to be sad by the way. It’s extra sad. Keep your chin up, girl. You got this. Also, yes, ofc the song I chose would be Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo, it makes sense tehe.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Can’t Catch Me Now by Olivia Rodrigo

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

KING’S LANDING, THE BATTLE PIT — DAY

From where you stand, the pit feels like a hollow reflection of King’s Landing itself—a stage for brutality, where bloodshed is applauded and violence wears the crown. Your sneer twists in disdain as you watch Ser Gregor "The Mountain" Clegane slice through a prisoner with disturbing ease, lifting the poor soul high on his greatsword. Blood streams from the prisoner’s mouth, his eyes wide in terror before The Mountain tosses him to the sand like discarded meat. The sound of his body hitting the ground is drowned out by the murmurs of the onlookers, but it echoes in your ears nonetheless.

Cersei watches, her eyes cold and calculating, as a line of prisoners stand chained, awaiting their fate. Each filthy, ragged figure, a nameless body lined up for slaughter. You feel a bitter twist in your gut—this spectacle, this violence—meant to terrify more than entertain.

One of the guards barks orders, shoving the next prisoner forward like livestock.

“Go on, move it,” the guard snaps, his tone indifferent to the man’s terror.

The prisoner stumbles forward, his trembling hands reaching for a meager weapon at his feet. You catch a glimpse of his wide, panicked eyes—he knows his fate. Still, he holds the weapon like it might mean his survival, like it might hold off the inevitable for even a few heartbeats longer. But the outcome is written in the blood that already stains the sand beneath him.

The first prisoner attacks The Mountain with desperation. He lunges, wild and reckless, but The Mountain is faster, his sword cleaving through flesh with a sickening ease. The prisoner’s body folds as he’s disemboweled in one stroke, his life ending in a gruesome heap at the giant’s feet. 

The next prisoner, shaking, drops his weapon entirely, sinking to his knees. Tears mix with the dirt on his face as he pleads for mercy.

“Mercy, please. Please, mercy,” the man cries, his voice breaking, filled with the kind of hopelessness that makes your chest tighten.

Cersei watches with an air of indifference, her lips curling ever so slightly as The Mountain delivers a series of savage overhead blows, reducing the prisoner to nothing more than a broken corpse. The sand beneath him darkens with blood, and you force yourself to keep watching, not out of morbid curiosity, but as a reminder. This is the city you’re in. These are the people who rule it.

Cersei steps forward, her gaze fixed on The Mountain. “Ser Gregor,” she says smoothly, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Welcome to the capital. Thank you for riding here so quickly.”

You note the lack of warmth in her tone, the way she speaks to him as though she were addressing a weapon, not a man. In truth, that’s exactly what The Mountain is to her—just another tool.

Cersei’s gaze flickers down to the bodies strewn about the pit. “You seem to be in good form.”

The Mountain’s reply is as cold as it is simple. “Who am I fighting?”

Cersei raises a brow, her expression as detached as ever. “Does it matter?”

The Mountain shakes his head. To him, it truly doesn’t. Flesh is flesh, no matter whose body it belongs to.

But you think otherwise.

As you stand there, your eyes narrowing at the towering figure of The Mountain, you wonder how many lives he has ruined, how many people have died in his shadow. A thought sharpens within you—among the things victims have lost, how many things can they ever truly reclaim? You can’t help but wonder if any of these prisoners were thinking the same, if their last thoughts were of the homes they’ll never return to, the families they’ve left behind.

It’s not justice they seek in these final moments. There’s no glory here. The only thing left to reclaim is their honor—what little remains of it. Some might hope for forgiveness, for mercy. But you know better. In King’s Landing, where the powerful feast on the misery of others, revenge is often the only way to regain even a fraction of that lost honor. Only then, in the pursuit of vengeance, can one truly begin again.

You look at Cersei, at The Mountain, and think to yourself, Forgiveness has no place here. Not in this city. Not when men like The Mountain are allowed to walk free, spilling blood for sport, for the amusement of those in power. No, here, revenge is the only way to claim victory, to bring balance to the scales. You keep your thoughts to yourself, but deep down, you know—glory through revenge may be the only true path to the starting point.

There are no second chances.

KING'S LANDING, TYRION'S CELL — EVENING

You knew Bronn was smart enough to fear the Mountain. One misstep, and anyone facing that monstrous man would be dead in an instant. Yet, as you moved quietly through the shadowed halls, following Oberyn down to Tyrion’s cell, an unsettling dread filled you. Oberyn had already made up his mind. His determination was palpable, and it terrified you.

You’d trained yourself to move unseen, your footsteps silent on the cold stone floors of King’s Landing. Perhaps Oberyn knew you were trailing him, but he didn’t seem to care. His confidence radiated from him like the warmth of the torch he carried, unwavering, even as you concealed yourself in the shadows.

Inside the cell, Tyrion sat in the dark, his posture heavy with defeat. The door creaked open, and you pressed yourself against the wall, listening intently.

Oberyn stepped inside, his torch casting flickering light across the damp, narrow space.

"I imagined you'd be back at the brothel at this hour," Tyrion remarked, his voice filled with a bitter, tired amusement.

Oberyn’s tone was smooth, as it always was, with a hint of mischief. "I did spend some time with an absolutely stunning blonde the other day."

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly at the mention, a sharp twinge twisting in your chest. But you kept your eyes on the scene before you, your heart quickening as their exchange continued.

"Do tell," Tyrion replied, managing a slight smirk. "I've got every kind of filth down here except the kind I like."

Oberyn placed his torch down, the flame casting shadows that flickered along the walls as he took a seat beside Tyrion. The light softened his features but couldn’t chase away the gravity in his words. 

"Your sister," Oberyn said.

"Oh," Tyrion replied, his expression falling.

You relaxed slightly as the realization settled within you. Oberyn had meant Cersei. The tension in your chest eased, but the conversation soon shifted, becoming darker.

"Cersei approached me. We spoke a great deal about her daughter," Oberyn explained, his voice lowering. "How worried your sister is about her. She was trying very hard to pretend she had not come to sway me against you. I think she may have even believed it herself."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Oberyn was always clever, always able to see through the intricate webs of deception spun by those in King’s Landing. It was a quality you both admired and envied.

"Making honest feelings do dishonest work is one of her many gifts," Tyrion said with a grim chuckle, leaning against the wall.

"It was difficult for her to hide her true intentions," Oberyn continued, his voice calm but full of insight. "It is rare to meet a Lannister who shares my enthusiasm for dead Lannisters. She desperately wants to see you killed."

"She didn't need to bother you," Tyrion responded with a bitter laugh. "It looks as though I've taken care of that myself. The joy she will feel when my head leaves my neck... She’s wanted this for a long time."

Oberyn’s gaze darkened slightly, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. "Yes, I know. We met, you and I, many years ago."

Tyrion blinked, looking puzzled. "I think I would have remembered that."

"Unlikely," Oberyn replied, his tone shifting as he recalled the memory. "You had just been born. Our father brought me and my sister Elia with him on a visit to Casterly Rock. My first time away from Dorne. I didn’t like anything about the Rock. Not the food, not the weather, your accents. Nothing." His voice hardened as he continued. "But the biggest disappointment... was you."

Tyrion’s face fell, his usual armor of sarcasm failing him. "You and my family have more in common than you might admit," he muttered.

You watched closely, frowning as Oberyn recounted his tale. You understood disappointment more than anyone. After all, your own mother had cast you away the moment you were born, sending you to a life of servitude.

Oberyn continued, "The whole way from Dorne, all anyone talked about was the monster that had been born to Tywin Lannister. A head twice the size of his body, a tail between his legs, claws, one red eye, the privates of both a girl and a boy."

Tyrion forced a smile, though it was joyless. "That would have made things so much easier."

"When we met your sister," Oberyn said, leaning forward, "she promised she would show you to us. Every day we would ask. Every day she would say, ‘Soon.’ Then, finally, she and your brother took us to your nursery, and..." He paused, his gaze intense as he spoke the next words. "She unveiled the freak."

Tyrion’s expression remained stoic, though you could see the faint hurt in his eyes. Oberyn continued, his voice cold but full of truth. "Your head was a bit large. Your arms and legs were a bit small. But no claw, no red eye, no tail between your legs. Just a tiny pink cock. We didn’t try to hide our disappointment."

Oberyn’s face hardened as he remembered the moment. "That’s not a monster," I told Cersei. "That’s just a baby."

You swallowed hard, fighting the wave of emotion as you listened. You knew cruelty well—perhaps better than anyone in that room.

"And she said," Oberyn continued, his voice heavy with disgust, "‘He killed my mother.’ Then she pinched your little cock so hard, I thought she might pull it off. Until your brother made her stop. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told us. ‘Everyone says he will die soon. I hope they are right. He should not have lived this long.’"

You felt a lump in your throat as tears threatened to well up in your eyes. How cruel could Cersei truly be?

Tyrion’s voice cracked slightly, though he tried to keep his tone casual. "Well... sooner or later, Cersei always gets what she wants."

"And what about what I want?" Oberyn’s voice was sharp now, full of purpose. "Justice. For my sister and her children."

Tyrion’s gaze darkened, his voice low. "If you want justice, you’ve come to the wrong place."

"I disagree," Oberyn said, rising to his feet. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the fierce determination in his eyes. "I’ve come to the perfect place."

You watched him closely, your heart racing. You knew what was coming, but you were powerless to stop it.

"I want to bring those who have wronged me to justice," Oberyn continued, his voice steady, each word a promise. "And all those who have wronged me are right here. I will begin with Ser Gregor Clegane, who killed my sister’s children and then raped her with their blood still on his hands before killing her too."

Oberyn turned to Tyrion, his voice echoing in the dim cell. "I will be your champion."

Your heart plummeted, the weight of his words crushing you. No. You’d seen it—the vision that haunted your every step. Oberyn’s demise. His fate, as cruel and certain as the tides.

As the heavy door creaked open, the flickering torchlight danced across the stone walls, casting deep shadows in Tyrion’s cell. You watched from the darkened corridor, your breath shallow as Oberyn stepped out, the light fading with him as the door slowly shut behind. Darkness swallowed the room once more, the soft click of the latch sealing the quiet tension that hung in the air.

For a few heartbeats, you stood there, your hand pressed against the cool stone wall, the lingering warmth of Oberyn’s presence still felt in the space he had just left. Then, with silent determination, you slipped into the cell.

Tyrion, huddled in the shadows, looked up at the sound of your approach, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The small torch outside barely cast enough light to illuminate your figure as you slowly pulled back your hood. His tense expression softened with relief.

“I thought you were an assassin sent by Cersei to kill me,” Tyrion murmured, his voice a mix of dry humor and genuine fear.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint, cold smile playing on your lips. “You’re wrong on one of those things.”

Tyrion’s face tensed, the weight of your words unsettling him for a moment. His sharp mind was already working through possibilities, but before panic could fully settle in, you took a step closer.

“I’m not here to kill you,” you said softly, your voice calm but with an edge of bitterness. 

Tyrion let out a shaky breath, his shoulders easing slightly as he watched you carefully. You walked across the small cell, the sound of your steps soft on the cold stone. Taking a seat near one of the wooden poles, you leaned back against it, the silence between you both thick with unspoken truths.

“Do you recognize me?” you asked, your voice low, a challenge hidden in the question.

Tyrion furrowed his brow, studying your face. “You’re one of Sansa’s maids,” he finally said, his tone uncertain.

You nodded slowly. “Just a servant, if anything. But yes.” Leaning forward, you began rolling up your sleeves, exposing your arms in the pale sliver of moonlight that crept through the small barred window. The scars, the burns, every mark of torment etched into your skin told a story of survival. 

“Do you know the rumors?” you asked, your voice harder now.

Tyrion’s face shifted, a shadow of horror crossing his features as realization dawned on him. “You… you survived…”

Your eyes, cold and lifeless, met his. A small, bitter smile flickered on your lips as your jaw clenched. “Yes,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your arms folding across your chest. “Your reputation becomes rumors, and rumors become your reputation. That’s how it works, doesn’t it?”

Tyrion swallowed, clearly unsettled by the weight of your words. "Did you… did you poison Joffrey?" His voice was quiet, but the question held a note of accusation.

You shook your head, your expression flat. “No. I may have set the plan in motion, but they caused their own ruin.”

Tyrion’s eyes searched yours for deception, but when he found none, he nodded, accepting your words as truth.

“No one recognized me, not for the longest time,” you continued, your voice quiet, introspective. “Until… Prince Oberyn. Of course, he would. Every bit of information about his sister’s death... he sought it all. His own kind of hell.”

Tyrion remained silent, watching you closely as you spoke. 

“I sometimes wonder,” you mused, your eyes distant as you stared at the stone floor. “The solidarity between victims, and the solidarity between perpetrators. Which of them is stronger?”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, the sound hollow. “I’ve spent years in this place. Pouring wine, slicing pies, fetching, folding. Day after day, step by step. Every moment leading to this point.” You scoffed softly, your frustration evident. “Keeping myself going… it’s exhausting. I’m so tired of it.”

Tyrion exhaled shakily, his eyes filled with a deep understanding of that particular weariness.

“Oberyn… he has been kind to me. He is the only joy in my unfortunate life,” you said, your voice softening at the mention of him. “He has eight daughters waiting for him. Depending on him. I can’t let him throw his life away. Not for this.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed, confusion and disbelief crossing his features. “So… you plan to kill me yourself, then?” His voice held a strange mix of resignation and curiosity.

You shook your head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “No.”

Tyrion’s confusion deepened as you met his gaze, your voice steady as you spoke the next words. “I will be your champion instead of Oberyn.”

For a long moment, there was only silence. Tyrion stared at you, incredulous. “Forgive me for saying this, but… Oberyn would never allow a lady such as yourself to fight a beast like the Mountain.”

Your eyes darkened slightly, a flicker of something dangerous flashing across your face. “You of all people should know what it means to be underestimated, Lord Tyrion.” Your voice was cold but not unkind. “It just means I have nothing left to lose.”

Tyrion’s gaze softened as he understood the gravity of your words. This was no grand act of heroism. No selfless gesture. “I’m not fighting for you,” you admitted, your voice low. “This is purely selfish. Oberyn deserves justice, as much as I do, but I can’t let him die. Not when I’ve come this far. I will die on my own terms.”

“He has a chance. How are you so sure that he will—”

“I’m sure. I’ve seen it. Gods, I’ve seen it.”

Tyrion studied you for a moment longer, his face unreadable. “And how, exactly, do you plan to convince Oberyn to take your place?”

You smiled then, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Leave that to me.”

The door to your quarters closed behind you with a soft thud. You leaned against it, letting out a long sigh. Tomorrow would be the day—victory or defeat, life or death. The weight of it pressed down on your chest, heavy as armor.

You took a step forward, lost in thought, when a figure in the shadows caught your eye. Heart racing, your hand instinctively reached for the dagger hidden beneath your cloak.

“Oberyn?” you breathed, startled. 

He emerged from the darkness, leaning casually against the wall with that familiar, mischievous grin. “Relax, little dove. If I wanted to surprise you, I’d have done a better job,” he teased, his voice smooth and playful.

Your breath caught in your throat. The sight of him here, in your private space, unnerved you—but not in the way you expected. “What are you doing in my quarters?” you asked, trying to steady yourself, your pulse still racing. 

Oberyn’s smile widened as he pushed away from the wall and stepped closer. “I came to see you. Is that not allowed?”

“I—” you stammered, the shock of his sudden appearance blending with the rising tension in the room. “You scared me.”

He chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. “Good. You’re far too comfortable sneaking around King’s Landing. It’s time someone made you nervous.” His tone was light, but there was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart ache.

Your momentary fear melted away under his charm, but then your mind shifted, weighed down by the question that had been gnawing at you. You couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Oberyn,” you began, your voice growing serious, “have you known all along that I… approached you on purpose?”

His teasing expression faded, replaced by something softer, more knowing. “Yes,” he said quietly.

You blinked, thrown by his straightforward answer. “Since when?” you asked, stepping closer, your voice lowering. “How did you find out about the connection between me and your sister?”

Oberyn watched you for a moment, as though weighing how much to reveal. “I knew every detail of when and how she died along with every single rumor,” he said, his voice soft yet deliberate. “And you—” he gave you a small, almost fond smile—“you seem to be around the age that the child who served her would be now. I figured it out the moment I heard your accent.”

His words hit you like a sudden gust of wind. You had been careful, so careful, but of course Oberyn had seen through you.

“I knew from the start you would want to use me,” he continued, his voice like silk, though there was no accusation in it. “The brother of Elia. It made sense. When I put all the pieces together, I realized I was the man you needed. The one who would do your bidding without question.”

You swallowed, his words twisting something deep inside you. “And you were fine with that? Knowing I was using you for my revenge?”

He smiled, a sad, knowing smile. “I told myself I’d be of use to you. That I’d come running whenever you wanted to use me. Wherever it was, whatever it cost.” His dark eyes held yours, no longer teasing. “But I wanted to be there before your guilt caught up with you.”

Your breath hitched, the honesty in his voice cutting through your defenses. You tried to speak, but the words tangled in your throat. Oberyn’s hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch grounding you.

“When your sister died,” you finally whispered, “I thought I’d find someone to latch on to. So I approached you. Then I realized something—how could I even think of doing such a thing, just because I’m a victim? You’re a victim too.”

Oberyn’s gaze softened, and he let out a slow breath. “For a moment I thought I wasn’t your type,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “But now… you have no reason to use me anymore. If you refuse me, it’ll be for love. Not for revenge.”

Your chest tightened as his words washed over you. Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of tomorrow’s trial pressing down like an iron hand around your throat. You knew what you had to do, the price you’d pay to save him.

Your voice trembled as the tears slipped down your cheeks. “Then… help me. Until the end.”

Oberyn stepped closer, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear. His dark eyes held yours, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t allowed yourself to see before. “I will serve you,” he said, his voice a quiet promise, “until the end.”

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP – EARLY MORNING

The first light of dawn filtered through the narrow window, casting a soft glow over the room. You had half-expected Oberyn to have slipped away in the night, seeking the comfort of Ellaria or losing himself in his vices. But when you woke, he was still there, lying beside you in the small, cramped bed that barely fit you both. His arm draped around your waist, holding you close as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

The night before had been unexpected—no grand seduction, no teasing beyond his usual wit. Instead, you’d stayed up talking, sharing dreams and desires you thought long buried beneath the weight of revenge. It had been… peaceful, in a way you hadn’t known in years. For once, sleep had come easily, a deep and untroubled rest. But now, the morning was here, and with it came the knowledge of what you had to do.

You shifted carefully, trying to untangle yourself from his embrace without waking him. Oberyn mumbled something in his sleep, his grip tightening briefly before loosening as you gently pulled away. Slipping from the bed, you began dressing quietly, moving with the practiced ease of someone who had learned long ago how to move in the shadows.

As you buckled your tunic, you felt his eyes on you. Turning, you found Oberyn watching you from the bed, his dark eyes half-lidded and full of sleepy mischief. “Leaving me already?” he teased, his voice a husky murmur. “I was just getting comfortable.”

You couldn’t help but smile, though your heart ached with the weight of what you were about to do. “Someone has to get ready for the day,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone that you didn’t feel.

He sat up, the blanket falling from his chest as he stretched lazily. “You know, you could stay a little longer… I wouldn’t mind.”

Your throat tightened, but you masked it with a chuckle. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” you said softly as you crossed the room. The closer you got to him, the harder it became to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

Oberyn reached for you as you approached the bed, his fingers brushing your wrist before you leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss. It was passionate, raw, as though it carried every unsaid word between you—every regret, every longing. For a moment, you allowed yourself to drown in it, to feel the warmth of his skin, the press of his lips. But you knew you couldn’t stay there.

With a soft gasp, you pulled away, your heart hammering in your chest. His eyes were still clouded with desire, his breath uneven, when you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Before he could react, you pressed your fingers to a pressure point at the base of his neck. His body stiffened for a heartbeat before his eyes rolled back, and he slumped into unconsciousness. Your hand trembled as you laid him gently on the bed, your chest tight with the enormity of what you’d just done.

Tying him up was harder than you expected. The sheets you wrapped around his wrists felt like chains around your heart, binding you to this moment of betrayal. But it was necessary. He couldn’t stop you, and you couldn’t let him die for you. Not today. Not when he had so much left to live for.

You left a note by his side, your hand shaking as you scrawled the words. You told him the truth—Dorne needed him, his daughters needed him. He had a future. But you… you were already ruined, with no family, no purpose left beyond vengeance. If things had been different, perhaps you would have let yourself love him fully. Perhaps you could have been more than the ghosts of your pasts. But now… now you had to see this through, and he couldn’t follow you into the fire.

When you met Serena in the hall, she was waiting with a worried expression. You pressed a pouch of coins into her hand, whispering instructions she already knew. “Untie him when the trial ends,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "He must live."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she gripped your hands tightly, her voice breaking. “Please… don’t die. Come back.”

The words struck you harder than you expected. For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. She pulled you into a hug, clinging to you as though she could stop you from leaving, from walking into the jaws of death. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you wrapped an arm around her, patting her back awkwardly. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words heavy with finality.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT – DAY

The bells tolled in the distance, a grim reminder that the day had arrived. Tyrion shuffled out toward the arena, his chains clinking with every step. The Lannisters watched from their seats, and Ellaria stood nearby, her eyes scanning the crowd for Oberyn.

You stepped into view, the sunlight glinting off your armor. It was simple but well-made—light enough for movement, but sturdy where it mattered. No helmet yet, your hair loose as the breeze tugged at it. A dagger was strapped to your thigh, hidden from view, while your hand rested on the hilt of a long, slender sword—a weapon you had saved for, piece by piece, over the years. 

Tyrion’s gaze flicked to you, his brow furrowed with worry. “Look like very light armor,” he commented dryly.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

The Mountain loomed on the other side of the pit, fully armored and wielding a massive sword that seemed to cleave the air as he moved. Ellaria’s eyes widened as she looked between you and the towering figure before her. “You’re going to fight that?” she asked, alarmed.

You let out a sigh, your grip tightening on your sword. “Hopefully, I’m going to kill that.”

Ellaria’s hand shot out, gripping your arm. “Where is Oberyn?”

You met her gaze, your eyes steady. “He’s safe. I swear it.” You paused, glancing at the Mountain and then back at her. “Take care of him.”

Pycelle’s voice rang out across the arena, ancient and raspy. "In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this… man, Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. And may the Warrior guide the hand of our champion..."

Tywin, bored and impatient, gestured for the fight to begin. The horns sounded, echoing through the arena.

You met Tyrion’s gaze one last time. He nodded to you, his voice barely audible as he whispered, “Good luck.”

You gave a small nod in return, your hand tightening on your sword hilt as you stepped into the pit. The Mountain loomed ahead, but this wasn’t about fear anymore. This was about survival, vengeance, and the weight of every choice you had ever made.

Today, you would fight. And one way or another, everything would change.

MAIDENVAULT, GUEST CHAMBERS

KING’S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

Oberyn awoke slowly, blinking against the morning light that filtered through the window. A dull ache settled in his neck, and when he tried to move, he found his arms pinned, bound to the bed with sheets tightly knotted around his wrists. His mind raced for answers, and then it hit him—you. He had kissed you, and then… darkness.

The sound of soft footsteps drew his attention. A young woman stood by the door, wringing her hands nervously. She was small, her eyes wide with a mix of guilt and fear. Oberyn narrowed his gaze, his voice hoarse. "Who are you?"

"I—I'm Serena," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m… a maid. She—she told me to wait until after the battle. I promised."

Oberyn’s heart pounded, realization dawning on him. “Untie me,” he demanded, his voice steady but urgent. “Now.”

Serena shook her head, biting her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t. I swore I wouldn’t, not until it was over. She made me promise. I—I’m sorry.”

Oberyn tugged against the bindings, frustration growing with each passing moment. His eyes scanned the bedside table, where a crumpled piece of parchment lay. His heart clenched. “What is that?” he asked, his voice barely a breath.

Serena hesitated, then stepped forward, placing the note in his hand.

Oberyn quickly unfolded the paper, recognizing your hurried scrawl. His eyes moved over the words, and with each line, the pit in his stomach deepened.

Oberyn,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I couldn’t let you fight, not when so much depends on you. Dorne needs you, your daughters need you. You have a future, Oberyn. I can’t let you throw it all away for my revenge.

This is my fight, not yours. I’ve been ruined long before we met, and there’s nothing left for me but this. No family, no husband, no purpose beyond this one thing.

If things had been different, maybe we could have found a better life together. But now, all I can do is ask for your forgiveness. You were the one good thing that happened to me, and for that, I thank you.

Serena will untie you when the trial ends. Don’t come after me. Please. Live, for Dorne, for your daughters. For the future you still have.

Goodbye, Oberyn.

The note trembled in his hands as Oberyn read it, his heart shattering with every word. His chest tightened, breath coming short as if the air had been stolen from him. "No," he muttered, shaking his head. "No, no, no!"

He turned to Serena, his voice breaking. “Untie me. I beg you. I have to stop her.”

Serena’s eyes filled with tears, her lip trembling as she clutched the hem of her dress. “She—she made me promise. I’m supposed to wait until—”

“Damn the promise!” Oberyn roared, his desperation clawing at the edges of his voice. “She’s going to die, Serena! Do you understand that? She’s going to die, and I can’t let that happen. Please. Please, untie me. I can save her.”

Serena’s hands shook violently, her resolve crumbling. She looked at him, at the raw pain in his eyes, the pleading in his voice. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled with the weight of your last request. “She said Dorne needs you,” Serena whispered. “She said you have so much to lose. I—I can’t...”

Oberyn’s voice cracked, softer now, filled with a grief that was almost unbearable. “I’ll lose her. Don’t you see? If you wait… it’ll be too late. I’ll lose her forever. She’s… everything. Please… untie me.”

Serena’s hands moved to the bindings, her fingers trembling as she hesitated one last time. “Promise me… promise me you’ll save her,” she whispered, choking on her sobs.

“I swear it,” Oberyn said, his voice raw with emotion. “I swear on my life. I will save her.”

With a deep breath, Serena finally gave in, loosening the knots and setting him free. As the sheets fell away, Oberyn leapt from the bed, his heart racing as he grabbed his cloak, his mind already on the trial and the bloodshed to come.

Serena watched him go, her hands trembling, knowing that she might have just sent him to his death.

KING’S LANDING, FIGHTING PIT — DAY

The sun beat down on the fighting pit, the crowd's chatter falling into murmurs as you stepped into the arena. Eyes followed you, curious, some confused. You were no one to them, just another faceless fighter stepping up to die. But you felt the weight of their stares, especially the piercing gaze of the Lannisters, high above on their platform, surveying the pit like vultures. They didn’t know who you were, not yet.

Your eyes found the Mountain, hulking and monstrous, towering over you with cold indifference. You raised your voice, cutting through the air, “Do you know who I am?”

Gregor Clegane’s laugh was deep and cruel. “Pity,” he spat, his voice loud enough to carry across the pit. “Some dead whore.”

He lunged. His sheer size made the earth quake beneath your feet, but you were ready. You dodged, his sword cleaving through the space you had been a heartbeat before. He was fast, impossibly fast for someone of his size, but you had spent years preparing for this moment. All those nights spent training, fighting men four times your size, all of it led to this.

As you spun out of his reach, you screamed out to the crowd, “I was the maid of Princess Elia Martell!”

A ripple of whispers spread through the spectators. The name Elia Martell always had that effect, even here in King’s Landing. The Mountain charged again, his blade whistling through the air. You blocked his strike, feeling the force of it reverberate through your arms, but you pushed back, slashing at the vulnerable joints in his armor. The soft spots.

Gregor stumbled but recovered quickly. He came at you again, enraged. “I'm going to hear you confess to all these people before you die,” you spat, circling him. “Tell them how you raped her. How you murdered her. How you killed her children.”

His next attack was brutal, a wild swing that glanced off your arm, leaving a burning line of pain. You gritted your teeth, ignoring the blood soaking into your sleeve. You were faster, smaller. You had to be smarter. And so, you fought, with the fury of someone who had waited their entire life for this moment.

“You raped her!” you screamed again, your voice ragged with rage and pain. “You murdered her! You killed her children!”

You moved in, quick as a viper, stabbing him deep in the gut. He faltered, his massive body reeling from the blow. But you knew better than to get close to a wounded beast. He caught you off guard, his enormous hand closing around your throat. You gasped, your sword clattering to the ground as you struggled in his grip. The world narrowed, the crowd’s roar fading into a dull hum as your vision blurred.

But then, with a final burst of strength, you reached for the daggers hidden at your thigh. In one swift movement, you sliced through the ligaments in his knees, then his ankles, his elbows, his shoulders—every joint you could reach. The Mountain dropped to his knees, immobilized, his weapon far from his reach.

The crowd gasped. You kicked his sword aside, watching as he floundered, his monstrous frame now reduced to helplessness. You sliced off his right hand, the brutal act met with stunned silence from the spectators.

Your boot pressed down hard against his throat, your voice raw with fury. “Confess!” you shouted, eyes blazing as the crowd murmured in shock. Leaning in closer, your voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You may have forgotten but these people haven’t.”

The Mountain coughed, blood splattering from his lips, but still, he refused. So you pressed harder, forcing the confession from his broken body. “Confess!” you screamed, your voice cutting through the stillness.

“Elia Martell,” he rasped, his voice thick with blood. “I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

Your chest heaved, your body shaking as you stood over him, your heart pounding in your ears. “Do you remember me now?” you asked, seething, your voice a low, dangerous whisper.

Gregor’s eyes flickered with the faintest recognition, and then he growled, his voice thick with venom. “You’re the bitch I burned. I burned you, and I enjoyed every moment of it.”

The words hit you like a slap, a fresh wave of rage rolling over you. But this time, it wasn’t uncontrollable. It was cold, calculating. “That’s right,” you muttered, your eyes narrowing as you stared down at the man who had haunted your nightmares for so long.

Gregor Clegane, the monster you had spent your life waiting to kill, was bleeding out before you. The crowd was silent, frozen in shock, their disbelief palpable. You could feel their eyes on you, but you didn’t care. This wasn’t for them.

“Ser Gregor,” you sneered, “death is too kind of a punishment for an animal like you. I’m not a good person—I plan on becoming worse every day. But today, I will be kind.”

With that, you raised your longsword high and brought it down, severing his head with a clean, decisive stroke. Blood splattered across your face and armor, but you didn’t flinch. You stood there, breathing heavily, caked in dirt and blood, staring down at the lifeless body of the Mountain.

The crowd erupted into chaos, screams and cheers echoing around the pit. But you barely heard them. You turned slowly, your gaze drifting to the platform where Lord Tywin and Cersei stood, their faces pale with shock. They hadn’t expected this. No one had.

As you began to strip off your armor, the crowd’s cheers faded into a stunned hush. Piece by piece, you removed the heavy metal, letting it fall to the ground until you stood in the pit, exposed. Your skin, marred and scarred, told the story of your past, of the torment you had endured. The crowd gasped, some weeping at the sight of you. But your eyes—your eyes were empty, a void where once there had been pain. Now, there was nothing but calm.

Oberyn pushed through the throngs of people, heart pounding, eyes wild with panic as he scanned the crowd. The moment he stepped into the pit’s edge, his breath caught in his throat. His world stopped. You were there, in the middle of it all, a figure painted in blood and dust, screaming out for justice with a voice that could tear the heavens apart.

His heart clenched painfully at the sight of you, fury blazing in your eyes as you danced around the Mountain’s monstrous frame, every strike of your sword precise, every movement a testament to the fire that burned within you. You had trained for this. You were prepared. But watching you battle the creature who had haunted his nightmares, who had torn apart his sister and everything Oberyn held dear—it was more than he could bear.

His body surged forward on instinct, but Ellaria’s grip tightened around his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and anguish. “She’s chosen this.”

Oberyn’s breath hitched, his mind warring with itself. How could he stand here, watching the woman he cared for, the one person who seemed to understand his pain, fight alone? His every instinct screamed at him to run to you, to stop this madness, to be the one to end it for you. But Ellaria was right—this was your choice. You were fighting not just for Elia, but for yourself.

His prayers, silent and desperate, echoed in his mind. Keep her safe. Please, gods, let her live.

And then, just as the Mountain loomed over you one last time, bloodied but still alive, you moved like lightning. One moment, you were in his grip, your life hanging by a thread, and the next, you were free, your daggers flashing like vengeful stars as you cut him down, piece by piece, until the Mountain—the monster who had destroyed so many lives—fell to his knees, defeated.

Oberyn blinked, his heart in his throat, as the Mountain’s confession rang out across the arena. “Elia Martell. I killed her children. Then I raped her.”

A sickening wave of relief and horror washed over him. It was done. The Mountain had confessed. But you—gods, you were still standing, barely. Covered in blood and dirt, your scarred arms laid bare for the world to see, the evidence of the hell you had endured etched into your skin.

Tyrion, still chained but now free of the weight of death, was weeping with joy, unable to believe the miracle before him. You had won. The gods had chosen justice—your justice.

But Oberyn’s eyes flickered to the Lannisters. Lord Tywin, sitting stone-faced on his perch, his knuckles white as he gripped the armrest of his chair. Cersei, beside him, her face a twisted mask of rage and disbelief. Their plans had crumbled before their eyes, and there was nothing they could do.

“The gods have made their will known,” Tywin said at last, his voice cold and measured. “Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby granted mercy.”

The words dripped with bitterness, but Tywin could do nothing to change the outcome. His gaze shifted to you, and the venom in his eyes was palpable. He stared at you as if he could will you dead on the spot, but you, bloodied and exhausted, raised your chin defiantly. Your shoulders straightened, and despite the pain, you walked with purpose, never looking back at the crowd.

Oberyn could see the weight of the battle on you, the way your steps faltered slightly as you moved toward the edge of the arena. But before you could collapse, before your body gave in, you found him.

“Oberyn,” you breathed out, a ghost of a smile on your lips, just as your vision blurred, the world spinning out of focus. You reached for him, and he ran toward you, catching you before you fell.

“My beloved,” he whispered, cradling your head in his arms, panic flooding his veins. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice thick with emotion. “Stay with me. You’ve won. You’ve won.”

But your vision darkened, his face fading into shadows as you whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry. For all of it. I’m sorry.”

Then everything went black.

Oberyn held you tighter, his heart racing as he carried you away from the pit, the cheers of the crowd fading into a distant roar. Ellaria trailed behind him, her face streaked with silent tears. And as the sun began to set over King’s Landing, Oberyn prayed once more, but this time, it was not for vengeance.

It was for you.

A FEW DAYS LATER...  

KING'S LANDING, RED KEEP — DAY

You inhale slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as a heavy fog of disorientation lingers. The cushion beneath you feels impossibly soft, too luxurious to be real, and the silk sheets that drape over your body are unfamiliar against your skin. For a moment, you wonder if you're still dreaming. Blinking against the blurriness, you take in the room—this isn't your quarters. It’s far too grand, too opulent. The deep burgundy tapestries hang from the walls, trimmed with gold, casting the space in a warm, regal glow. 

Your confusion deepens as your gaze drifts around the room, eventually landing on the man seated beside you, his presence both grounding and comforting. Oberyn. His dark eyes are focused entirely on you, a mixture of concern and anger etched into the lines of his face. He’s holding your hand tightly, as if letting go might mean losing you.

When he notices your eyes fluttering open, his grip tightens, his thumb brushing over your knuckles with a kind of desperation that makes your heart clench.

“You scared me,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, strained by emotions he usually keeps in check. The frustration bleeds into his words, but there’s an overwhelming sense of relief as well. His brow is furrowed, and for a second, it seems like he doesn’t know whether to scold you or hold you closer.

He leans in without hesitation, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is both gentle and fierce. His hand cups your cheek as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn't hold on. There’s a warmth in the kiss, but you can feel the anger there, too—the worry that he almost lost you, the unspoken terror that gripped him during your absence.

As you pull back from the kiss, your head still spinning, you can’t help but think of Ellaria. The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. “Wait… Ellaria…”

Oberyn sighs, his thumb still grazing the back of your hand as if to soothe away your concerns. “No…” he begins softly, his voice gentler now, though the tension in his posture remains. “We—both of us—have things to discuss.”

You shift beneath the covers, the comfort of the sheets doing little to ease the guilt that's settled in your chest. "I didn’t mean to cause problems,” you whisper, your voice small, barely above a murmur. 

His eyes soften as he watches you, his grip tightening for a moment before loosening again. “It wasn’t you,” he reassures you, his tone filled with a sincerity that makes your heart ache. “None of this was your fault.”

But still, the weight of it all lingers. You can’t shake the feeling that you've upset the delicate balance between them, between you, and the heavy silence presses down on you. "It kind of feels like it," you admit, your gaze dropping to the silk sheets beneath your fingers as if avoiding his eyes will make it easier.

Oberyn studies you for a moment, his intense gaze never wavering. When he speaks, his voice is soft, coaxing, but there’s a thread of steel underneath, as though he won’t let you hide from this. “What is it? Tell me.”

You hesitate, the words thick and difficult to force out. It feels vulnerable, admitting this to him. But you’ve never been one to shy away from the truth, and Oberyn deserves that, at least. You take a shaky breath. “I don’t like to share,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper as you look up at him, afraid of what you might see in his eyes.

For a moment, there's silence. Then, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips—not mocking, but understanding. “Ah,” he says softly, a faint chuckle escaping him, though it holds no malice. His fingers lace through yours more tightly, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “You don't need to worry about that right now.”

His tone is light, almost teasing, but there’s something deeper in the way he looks at you. Something reassuring. “We’ll figure it out,” he adds, his voice calm, steady, as if this problem is not insurmountable, as if you and he could face anything together.

You can’t help the way your heart warms at his words, at the way he so effortlessly defuses your fears with that simple, quiet confidence of his. You offer him a tentative smile, still feeling a little raw, a little unsure, but his presence, as always, is enough to make the world seem just a little bit easier to face.

For now, in this moment, the tension fades. It’s just the two of you, hands intertwined, the weight of your worries shared between you. And somehow, that’s enough.

Everything seemed to be falling back into place, except for one thing—you couldn’t stay. You had already resigned from your position as a servant to the Lannisters, knowing it was only a matter of time before they dismissed you.

That morning, after bidding farewell to your duties, you left a good sum of gold for Serena, thanking her for all she had done. It wasn’t nearly enough to repay her, but it was all you had. She had been your silent ally, and you owed her your life.

You had recovered well enough, and when the time came, you scribbled a note and left it on Oberyn’s desk. Just a few words, playful but loaded with meaning:  

“Do you want to come see the ocean with me?”

The sun was sinking into the horizon, casting the sky in soft shades of gold and lavender as you and Oberyn strolled along the coast. The sea breeze brushed against your skin, cool and salty, but comforting. It tousled your hair, lifting the loose strands in gentle waves. Beside you, Oberyn’s hand was warm, his fingers entwined with yours as he led you along the shore. His voice, rich and smooth like velvet, floated through the air, serenading you with a Dornish love song. His words, though foreign, melted into the air, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.

You looked up at him, his face glowing in the fading light, his eyes reflecting the endless ocean beside you. In his presence, the world seemed smaller, quieter. The chaotic din of King's Landing, the bloodshed, and the weight of everything that had come before—it all faded into the background. Here, it was just the two of you, walking along the edge of the world.

Oberyn’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer as he leaned down to kiss your temple. “You look peaceful,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. 

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his affection settle deep in your chest. "I feel peaceful. For once," you whispered, your eyes meeting his, drinking in the tenderness you saw there. 

As the two of you made your way to a small dock, you found an old crate to sit on, the wood weathered and worn by years of salt and sea. You sat side by side, legs dangling off the edge, sharing a bottle of Dornish red wine. The world around you felt infinite—expansive ocean stretching out before you, stars beginning to shimmer in the twilight sky, the rhythmic lull of the waves breaking against the shore.

The wine was sweet, its taste lingering on your lips as you passed the bottle between you, laughing between sips, sharing stolen kisses in between stories. Oberyn’s hand slid along your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. He was so close, and yet, for the first time, you felt the distance growing. 

There was a part of you that ached, knowing how this perfect moment would end.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “Oberyn,” you murmured, your voice quiet, barely louder than the waves.

“Hmm?” He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss into your hair.

You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent—the mix of sun and leather, and something uniquely him. For a moment, you just listened to the sound of his heartbeat, steady and sure. You wanted to bottle this moment, to keep it forever, but you knew that was impossible.

“I love this,” you whispered. “I love… you.”

Oberyn smiled against your hair, his lips brushing your skin. “And I you.”

You stayed like that for a long time, the two of you wrapped in the silence, the kind that didn’t need words. The sky above grew darker, stars spilling across the night like scattered diamonds. Everything felt right in that instant, perfect even. But you knew better than to believe in perfect endings.

When Oberyn stood to fetch more wine, you watched him walk away, your heart already breaking with every step he took. He looked back, flashing you a teasing grin, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. You held on to that image of him—happy, carefree, the man who had brought light into your world.

You waited until he disappeared into the distance before you moved. You pulled the small seashell from your pocket, the one you'd found on the shore earlier. You placed it carefully beside the note you had written earlier, your hand trembling as you set it on the crate where you had shared so many stolen moments with Oberyn.

Your breath caught in your throat as you re-read the words you had scrawled:

“We’re at the final destination. This is the end. Goodbye.”

The weight of it all settled over you as you stood there for a moment, staring out at the endless sea. Your heart ached in a way you couldn’t describe, torn between love and the inevitability of your decision. You closed your eyes, letting the wind caress your face one last time before you turned and walked away, leaving only the note and seashell behind.

By the time Oberyn returned, laughing with another bottle of wine in hand, you were already gone.

He looked around, the smile slipping from his face as he called your name. Panic crept into his voice as he scanned the dock, eyes landing on the seashell and the note. His hand trembled as he picked it up, his heart hammering in his chest as he read the words.

The bottle of wine slipped from his grasp, shattering on the ground, just like his heart.

ATOP THE CLIFFS — EVENING

The wind howled as you stood at the edge of the cliffs, looking down at the jagged rocks and the sea below. You had built a small fire, watching as the flames consumed the journal you had written in for years—pages full of unsent letters, regrets, and broken dreams. The smoke curled into the twilight sky, taking with it the pieces of you no one had ever seen.

Tears streamed down your face as you whispered into the wind, "I hope that in the end, whether I’m in the world or not, your world will be full of me. I want you to resent every moment of your life so much that you feel it deep in your bones. Let me do that. I’ll be the one who kills me."

The ocean roared beneath you, the cliffs standing as silent witnesses to your final moment. You stepped closer to the edge, the weight of the world lifting as you prepared to let go.

But then—  

“Help! Please help! Save him!”

You turned slowly, tears still blurring your vision. Standing at a distance was Ellaria Sand, her face stricken with panic. Her voice trembled as she called out, “If this is the end you were preparing for, then you should already know. What if… Oberyn chooses this end too?”

You stood frozen, silent, tears streaming down your face as Ellaria took a cautious step toward you. Her voice was thick with emotion as she continued, “I met with Serena. She told me about you. She told me everything—about where you came from, how you ended up here.”

Ellaria’s voice cracked as she pleaded with you. “This isn’t the way things should end. When Oberyn told me he wanted to help you get revenge, I gave him my permission. So please… give me your permission to save your life today.”

You could barely breathe, your chest tight with grief and confusion. 

Ellaria’s eyes were wet with tears as she took another step forward. “Whether I have to hang on to you or jump with you, I will save you. I need you to help him—help Oberyn escape his hell so that he can choose to live.”

You stared at her, your tears flowing freely now, and your gaze drifted back to the ocean, where the sun had almost dipped below the horizon. Stars began to streak across the sky, as if the gods themselves were watching, waiting for your decision.

End Notes:

Okay OKAY LISTEN LISTEN, I know it doesn’t make sense that Ellaria shows up there. It’s all fantasy. But if we assume that there were tiny bits of divine intervention here and there, she could appear on those cliffs because she wanted to save you.

TAGLIST:

@greenwitchfromthewoods @shessweetsour @christinamadsen

[alygator77]

So... Still no action between reader and Gojo in the sixth chapter of M&M? Why not just omit the smut altogether? We got a "scene" of him touching himself when she was in their shared shower way back in ch... 3? And yet, though they've worked together, lived together, he had a death in his family, cooked together, kissed, he's even connected with her child, been close all this time, but they're "moving too fast"? Good God. If they moved any slower they'd be going backwards... Sorry ijs...

You like angst. Angst is great. I get it. But attaching smut tags and not delivering any is a little misleading. Especially for your readers who are rooting for them to be closer. 6 chapters is a far cry from "moving soooo" fast. But I guess that depends on how many more you're planning? Its more of a fluff story imo, which is fine, but why not just say that?

lol, the nerve of this ask istg. if all you want from my stories is smut then kindly don’t read it.

my tag also says SLOW BURN 😇 and i have reiterated multiple times how important that is to me. this is my story, if you want to just read smut, you can go write your own, ORRR go read a gojo x reader one shot about it, there are plenty of them on this fucking platform because apparently we can’t stop objectifying this character without any care for romance/building up to it.

leaving an ask like this is literally so fucking beyond me, like seriously?

sorry but, I’m not going to be nice about this, because clearly you can’t be nice. when i started writing for the jjk community i knew this was inevitable because ive seen other authors i love have similar experiences on this platform, but dayum it really sucks to get an ask like this.

oh btw? i literally wrote a 3k smut scene yesterday for ch 7, not that it fucking matters, bc again this is my story. really fucking bums me out that a story i spend so much time on and poured my heart into only matters if they are fucking.

[livyslabyrinth]

random rant, but do q-taro fans exist yet or is it just me 😭😭 ? i really like yttd but haven’t been active in fandom since 2019-2020-ish. i started liking him after 2-1 when he finally took the last poison dart for gin in alice lives route and the main game solidified my love for his character. but back in those days, mfs HATED him to death istg 😭

like, no matter how much character development or redemption he got, people (especially on tiktok) only harped on him wanting to vote on the kids/nao in chapter one. fair reason to dislike him, but as reko said…man’s just a realist.

i always felt like it was unrealistic that people didn’t vote the kids off earlier (not that i wanted that). side tangent, but i feel like— in a way, keiji agreed with qtaro on that fact, but gets way less hate for it. despite being adamant about killing shin, he votes for kanna. i don’t know if he was moved by her desire to die for the betterment of the group and for both sara and shin or what his logic behind the vote was, but i could see it going two possible ways: either he casted the vote seeing losing kanna as a “punishment” for shin, or he just found her the least useful.

i thoroughly enjoyed q-taro’s character despite his flaws though. he is not a morally great person, but most of the people in the higher percentiles of survival aren’t. sara, in many circumstances/simulatuons, was the most ruthless out of all of them— hence her survival rate. keiji is cunning and manipulative, even willing to let others die simply to take burdens off his moral conscious. q-taro ranks just below the two.

i feel like some of (not all) the best plot twists in the game relied on q-taro. the token bad ending, the 2-2 card trades, the card placement in chapter 1, the end of the banquet.

and this may be a hot take, but his death was one of the most shattering to me. as soon as he had begun to trust his allies, let his guard down, and shed off some of that willingness to betray and sacrifice others… he was betrayed. and he couldn’t even find it in his heart to resent the person who stabbed him in the back.

and in the end, the man who was willing to sacrifice others willingly let himself be burned alive to save his allies. i think he’s one of the best characters in terms of development.

also, even his ai feeling he would be willing to die for gin :((

speaking of, gin, nao, and kanna really went through so much as the most vulnerable of the group. the shit those three have went through woulda turned any other character into a villian bro.

[hp-hcs]

movie night! OH SHIT THERE’S A DOLL (Chapter Two of The Doll) — slytherin boys x gn! ‘the boy’ (2016)! reader

Requests: open

tws: dolls, obviously; reader referred to as ‘it’ (presumed inanimate); mentions of past child character death(s); mentions of a house fire—implied arson; violence; & murder

based entirely off of the 2016 film ‘the boy’. that fucking doll istg

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The boys all stand still for a moment, quiet and unnerved. A sudden clap of thunder startles them all, Theodore swearing loudly.

“Nope, that’s it. I’m just gonna suck it up and enjoy Azkaban, who’s coming with?”

“Me,” comes a chorus of Draco, Blaise, and Enzo’s voices.

Mattheo rolls his eyes and scoffs again, stepping over to the coatrack in the foyer and pulling Draco’s jacket down before tossing it over the doll. “Sorry, Y/N. You just freak these idiots out.”

The boys immediately erupt into bickering, spluttering and insisting that they weren’t afraid of a silly little doll, thank you very much. Mattheo just rolls his eyes again and claps Blaise on the shoulder.

“Shut up, all of you. Ignore the damn doll. I say we watch a movie or something, yeah?”

“Anything but horror,” Theo pleads.

“Aw, no Child’s Play for scawed wittle Theo?” Draco mocks, bursting into laughter when Theodore smacks his arm and calls him a git.

The boys all tromp into the living room arguing over film options, the creepy doll long forgotten. After deciding on the rather safe choice of Mean Girls (Draco’s pick, not theirs), they all pile onto the floor in front of the TV and surround themselves with blankets. While in the middle of laughing and hitting each other with throw pillows while the previews roll, Enzo suddenly curses and smacks his forehead.

“I left the damn popcorn in the kitchen,” he sighs, being met with jeers and oh, come on!s.

“Who’s gonna go get it?” Theodore asks, his tone of voice making it obvious that he would not be the one retrieving the snack, end of discussion.

All of the boys rush to touch their noses, shouting not it!.

“Ooh, Blaise! You get to!” Draco says in an infuriating singsong tone.

Blaise flips off his friends, getting to his feet with a sighed “I hate you all.”

He leaves the safety of the inviting, lively living room and heads down the dim and narrow hallway, lit only by spluttering oil lamps. He pauses for a moment when he passes by a huge commissioned painting of the L/Ns and Y/N.

Not the doll. A real child.

Blaise shivers.

He makes it to the kitchen, sighing in relief once he steps into the well-lit space. He snatches up the bag of popcorn that sits forgotten on the kitchen counter with a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head at his own silly fear of a stupid doll.

He stops laughing when a few popcorn kernels fall out of the bag onto the counter.

“Hey!” he calls, peeking his head out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Who opened the popcorn already? I thought we agreed to save it for the movie!”

Blaise could hear an indistinct conversation coming from the parlor before Draco’s voice calls back, “None of us did! You sure you didn’t do it and just forget?”

Blaise’s brow furrowed.

He knew for a fact that he hadn’t.

Stepping down the hall, bag in hand, he calls out again. “I’m sure!”

He freezes a few steps away from the parlor’s doorway.

Y/N is uncovered.

Draco’s coat is hung up on the coatrack.

Y/N’s head is turned towards Blaise, in the direction of the kitchen.

Blaise drops the bag of popcorn.

“Aw, hell no. Fuck this shit, I’m out.”

~~~ Chapter Three <3

[copaline]

WOO! WIP WEDNESDAY!

ISTG this has been a long and exhausting week. BUT I MADE IT! I hope to get a lot more writing done this weekend, fingers crossed!

@man--eater (I know I'm hogging the spoons but GIMME YOUR WORDS!)

@sunsetofdoom (You're just out here being a menace and you know it)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (Ma'am are you alive? The council is worried about you.)

@punedrr (Ok midterms should be over. TELL ME YOU GOT SOMETHING!)

@ancharan (After that stream? I want, nay, demand all the doodles and or writings!)

And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

Back on the Horror Vacui bandwagon! Making progress on the upcoming chapter 10:

Leaf was well acquainted with pain. Psychological, emotional, physical… her experiences ran the gamut but she had never considered herself much of a masochist. The complex variety of pain’s flavors were lost on her. Truth be told there was surprising little that could genuinely hurt her anymore, so the pain was just another futile exercise in unpleasantness. So why was it she once again found herself unconscious and gritting her teeth to bear it? As though to answer, Ford's smiling face flickered in her mind. That's right.  This all happened because she was an idiot. Leaf didn’t fight the pull and effortlessly fell away into the abyss. If she went deep enough away, she could muffle the pain behind ice cold nothingness. Far away where everything felt numb, there she could think properly and take stock of the damage. It certainly looked bad. Bill had added his own twist on the impact, but most of the destruction was simply the universe taking its due. Meddling always came at a price, the only thing Bill had done was give the thing shotgun physics.  That little cheat with the Neverwere and Dr. Dipper had landed her three broken ribs. Then there was the dimensional skip, more temporal distortions, breach of contract, obstruction of death, soul prisage, liminal bleeding, spatial breakage, misappropriation of potential, even more temporal distortions…  The Axolotl might grin and look the other way, but Time Baby was surely throwing a tantrum over it. Hence the pain. Idly she wondered if this time the damage would be extensive enough to kill her. If anything could manage to take her out, it was probably this. However, a cursory glance at her injuries showed that none of them were life threatening. Agonizing and inconvenient? Yes. Deadly? Not even close. How disappointing. Leaf sighed only half-joking. There was a comfort in the familiar notion that everything and everyone eventually came to an end. It would be rather nice to have death find her in the comfort of her bed instead of in a battlefield. A peaceful end… that's all anyone could ever hope for, wasn't it? She drifted in the darkness longing for dreams to materialize and fill the nothingness. They would never come. Yet another thing she’d lost in the exchange between mortality and the eternal. ‘Mostly human’ was not human enough to dream.  Dealers had little use for dreams. Those little bursts of inspiration were reserved for more malleable creatures that could continue to change and grow throughout their lifetime. Leaf was already everything she would ever be.  Things had been different when Bill was around. Every night, he had a habit of singing lullabies and unwinding the coils of existence. His gift was to allow for even more possibilities than what reality granted. She had dreamt back when Bill was still around. Back when everyone was still around…

[syrooo]

JJK has officially ended..

It's been like what 3- FOUR whole ass years since I joined the JJK fandom.

Wow.. It feels weird to say that JJK has ended and there will not be any new chapters every Thursday. I'll miss hyping characters up and crying over my favourite characters dying.

I'll miss debating with strangers who loved JJK like me. I'll miss this fandom, characters, memes, fanfics, cosplays.. Everything.

I'm still devastated about the fact that our glorious blue eyed king GOJO SATORU did not come back, but what I'm MORE mad at is the fact that the ending was so fucking rushed (heck man, we didn’t even get a mention of Gojo's funeral) like- THERE ARE SO MANY PLOT HOLES I JUST CAN'T. I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT YUJI'S DOMAIN EXPANSION IS-

ALSO, I'M HAPPY THAT MY BABY NOBARA IS BACK BUT.. HOW?

HOW DID SHE COME BACK FROM THE DEAD? HALF HER FACE WAS BLOWN OFF; ARATA NITTA'S POWER IS TO STOP A WOUND FROM GETTING WORSE, NOT MAGICALLY HEAL BRAIN DAMAGE!

I genuinely hope JJK gets fixed in like 14+ years (like how they did in BLEACH, atleast Kubo had a good excuse for Rushing shit)

Like, Bleach's ending was MID (ngl, imo) but JJK's ending felt like a middle finger to the fans of the series (AND GOJO CUZ LIKE, THERE WAS NO FUCKING REACTION TO HIS FUCKING DEATH).

I really hope that the JJK anime goes on a different direction than the JJK manga for It's ending. (Highly unlikely but eh, worth the cope).

Atp, give me my man nanami back.

anyway, I loved this series with my whole heart.. And... my god, I'm crying.

Well thanks for listening to me rant, I'll meet you guys in TWOJUTSU KAISEN (sequel, i hope)

Guys, this has truly been our Jujutsu kaisen.

#bring Gojo back istg

[thatlittlefangirl]

the way jkr turned a whole 180 in the way she presented james’ character just to make snape a victim pissed me off so bad. no one cares about your fascist fav woman😭

This is a post I found because for some reason Harry Potter is trending. My first thought was "but he always has been a bully"

And as much as I love Snape he was not shown as a victim. The man bullied kids and everyone thought he was the bad guy just moments before his death.

And as much as I hate JKR I don't think she did 180? Snape was a victim mam James DID bully Snape.

And how is Snape fascist did I miss a chapter in history or the books?

Snaters read some other version of the books from outer space istg

The JKR and Elon situation is making the HP tag trendy, I also noticed it was lately so yeah-

But well, to be honest why are snaters all saying that Severus is JKR's fav? Like he was made out of the teacher she hated the most-

The thing with James is that we were told he was a troublemaker and saved Severus, which are half-truths. Some people couldn't handle the full truth and the idea that the bully Snape has been a bullied boy in his childhood, people can't handle the fact that the character they hate the most has had bad childhood shaping them in what they are now.

Snaters are a wild and weird community of people without empathy and/or reading comprehension which is what it takes to understand Snape