#i’m just using it to denote ‘any friend who’s not a man’)

[ashtrayfloors]

When other people I knew in grad school read Kathy Acker’s books they were shocked. Appalled. Particularly most of the budding young feminists. I actually began weeding out women friends by their reactions to her books. The ones that smiled and lowered their eyes with sly understanding and touched themselves, I kept. The ones that freaked out, well, they were idiots. Once I read a paragraph from Empire of the Senseless in my theory of gender class and one of the women began to cry and ran out and barfed. No shit. Pussy, I thought.

—Lidia Yuknavitch, from The Chronology of Water

[look-at-the-soul]

Have it all- Modern AU Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Professor Jeremiah invites a friend during his ethics class to talk to his students since they are starting their last year in college. Turns out you weren’t a stranger to Mr. Shelby.

Congratulations on 600 @zablife !!!! 🎉🥳🙌🏻 cheers to many more, thank you for your incredible creations. You’re probably over 900 now (and I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t post this earlier) I’m glad you liked the idea of a modern Tommy and I included the college theme with Professor Jeremiah so it wouldn’t be too far from your chosen theme.

Also thanks to @thesoldiersminute for helping me choose what car would modern Tommy use :)

⚠️ No warnings necessary, smut it’s only implied in the end. I was so nervous about posting this one, so here it goes.

“Welcome everybody to the first day of class of your last year.” Professor Jeremiah greeted his students. “Especially to those who arrive on time.” He looked towards you on the front row and the other three students. “And those who arrive late like usual, that is going to get you in so many troubles.” He added as a group of students entered the room making noise.

You felt bad for him, his assignments were some of your favorites, especially the way he conducted his class, he was an expert and put so much of himself to explain the topics and he really tried to make his students engage.

“You already know me from your philosophy class so this time, I would like to start differently.” He paced around the room with his hands behind his back. “Since you’re about to go out to the real world, I thought it would be good for you to hear firsthand of different business from a man who managed to build an empire from scratch, he’s a good friend and let me tell you, he’s got an incredible eye for opportunities, he will talk to you about his businesses, how he manages to be an entrepreneur and a lot of things, just like me, he values punctuality so I won’t make him wait any longer… give it up for Mr. Shelby.”

You’ve heard Professor Jeremiah talk about his friend Mr. Shelby before, but you imagined he would be over sixty-four, not the walking image of Adonis you found as he entered the classroom in his immaculate suit, leather briefcase.

“Thank you for the touching introduction Jeremiah.” Mr. Shelby shook hands with your professor and the room went deadly quiet. “Good morning everybody, I hope you’re giving this man a hard time.” He winked and the classroom erupted in laughs. “This is the first time we do something like this and I hope a word or two of what you’ll hear today will help you in your future.”

His voice was soft, firm and denoted security, it also attracted everyone’s attention.

Another group of irresponsible students walked in, Mr. Shelby looked at them by the corner of his eye and remained quiet while they took their seats.

“I would like to start by telling you how lucky you are, to be able to study in a place like this, with this quality of professionals, it’s a great shot, but out there it doesn’t matter your grades, title, the university where you come from… no, what really matters is the passion you have for the things you do and that you’re the one willing to do anything to get things done.”

You thought you would be taking notes of his words, but instead you found yourself in some kind of trance, your mind registering every single word he said.

“I wasn’t born with the same privileges like you, I wasn’t able to go to college, started working probably at twelve, you know what my destiny was meant to be? A drunk man homeless begging for some cash under a bridge, a lot of people told me I was a dreamer, that everything was out of my league… but I was hungry and not only of food, I was hungry for success, I wanted to be at the top, to prove everybody was wrong… but mostly to prove myself they were wrong about me.”

Mr. Shelby paced quietly around, looking at the students in the eye.

“How many times have you heard ‘that’s not for you’?” He pointed at no one in particular. “How many people laughed at your dreams?” He stopped right in front of you and locked his eyes in yours. The air escaping your lungs. “You, broccoli head” he pointed at Ben, the whole classroom had their eyes on him, “what’s so funny?”

“Nothin’.” Ben answered, but as his ice eyes kept on the boy, he explained: “It’s just a tweet.”

“Take your tweet outside and if anyone else wants to join, feel free to go.”

Gasps and surprised looks were shared by your classmates. Once Mr. Shelby closed the door his eyes found yours again.

“That’s an example of what you shouldn’t do. I can guarantee you, that young man won’t get too far.” His eyes looked intensely around the room. “There’s a quote that motivates me whenever things seem to be like too much.” He made a small pause and taking a deep breath, he shared it with the group; “when you’re tired, you learn how to rest… you don’t quit. Of course I don’t rest, but it still does the trick.”

Mr. Shelby then went on sharing some of his experiences with his businesses and how he started some of the projects and also some failure stories to show that not everything goes out as planned.

You felt fascinated by his life experience, the difficulties he went through and he was able to overcome everything. He talked with such passion that made you think this was the best conference you’ve been to in your entire college time.

And speaking of time, it flew and, in a blink, Mr. Shelby looked down at his watch, clasped his hands together and asked if anyone had a question.

Of course, you were the first to raise your hand.

“Mr. Shelby, you mentioned businesses, how do you manage time to take care of more than one business?”

“First of all, call me Tommy… and may I have your name Miss…?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Looking at you, he repeated your name with a smile. “This will sound like a cliché, but it’s true, when you want to do something you find a way, if not, you find an excuse, besides I’ve a great group of people who manages every aspect of the businesses that allows me take a step back but being present at the same time.” You thanked him for answering your question and he went on to the group to see if anyone else had another one.

As the room was quiet, another question was burning in your tongue.

“Go ahead Miss Y/L/N, shoot.” Tommy encouraged you.

Shyly you smiled at him. “If you could do something differently on your way to success, would you change anything?”

Tommy looked from you to Professor Jeremiah, who was chuckling silently finally your endless questions were directed to someone else.

“No, nothing because every single thing that I faced brought me to the place where I am today, but I’d have liked to have had the opportunity to study.”

Tommy scanned the group to see if anyone else had a question but the students were usually quiet at this point, embarrassed to ask anything.

“This is a big chance for all of you to clear any doubt you might have about a job, a company…” Jeremiah tried to encourage the group to ask questions and he was a bit disappointed by the lack of interest his students showed.

But you wanted to know more.

“Alright, brave Y/N has another one.” Tommy waved his hand at you, he was leaning against the desk, but soon he undid the button of his jacket and sat on the desk, completely relaxed.

“If you had to choose only one of your companies, which one would you choose and why?”

You saw him running his thumb over his forehead. “Why can’t I have it all?” He chuckled and you looked away from him for a few seconds. “That’s a very good question, Y/N I’d keep my horses I have a couple of them as a hobby, but they’re so pure, so honest, I could live the rest of my life raising them.” His eyes were fixed on you, the rest of the room vanished. “But from a profitable business I’d keep my construction company; I build houses for the wealthy people and with the earnings from it I build houses for the people with a lower income so they can pay the house off monthly at a low interest rate.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

You had to learn so much from this man.

He thanked the group for their time and went to pat Professor Jeremiah on the back as your classmates rushed out of the classroom.

“Just wanted to say that I really enjoyed your conference, your story is so inspirational Mr. S-”

But he interrupted you at the way you were addressing him by raising his hand. “Sorry, Tommy.”

“Much better Y/N. I was asking Professor Jem to give you extra credits for your enthusiasm.”

Your teacher flashed a big smile. “She’s not only my best student, she got a scholarship, has a small job at the library to pay off part of her grant, her notes are the best and she’s working with the technology department to develop a watch for the elders so if they get lost or they fall, their family gets an alert.”

Tommy looked at you with interest.

Jeremiah excused himself as another colleague called him.

“I’m interested in your project, come to my office next week and I’ll help your team with the right connections to make this happen.” He offered you his card. You’ve never had a business card before. Shelby Company Ltd. it read.

Thanking him for his time and attention, you picked your backpack, but he stopped you.

“Jeremiah says this is a good time for students to get a part time job to get experience before graduating.” You nodded. “Why don’t you come with me for lunch and we can discuss that project of yours?”

“I have to help professor Evans with his weekly program…”

Tommy looked at you with a million questions in his eyes, so you explained him how to pay back part of your scholarship, every semester you helped a professor with their activities; grading homework, preparing questionnaires, checking exams… before you were able to finish your explanation, he was calling Professor Jeremiah.

“Jimmy, yeah need a favor…” he looked at you with the hint of a smile on his lips. “could you let Professor Evans know Miss Y/N’s going to be helping you this semester? Of course she’s not though, you’re just her cover up. Thanks man.”

“You can’t do that.” You were in shock.

“‘Course I can, now you’re free to have lunch.”

His phone announced a new message from Kenya. Waiting for you. Fuck, he forgot they had plans to well, fuck over lunch.

Can’t go, I’m in the middle of a meeting.

He never skipped a chance to have a feminine body, but when he looked at you, he knew he made the right choice.

You didn’t know this man, but there was something about him that made you want to know more, maybe it was the way his eyes sparkled, or his contagious smile, the mysterious aura surrounding him, or the fact that he was friends with Professor Jeremiah.

Surprised of the elegant and ultra-expensive place he chose, you learned that he not only owned the place, but also another three restaurants of different categories that were part of the Shelby Group. He grew up in a very poor neighborhood in Birmingham and shared one small bed with his three brothers. In exchange you told him a little about your background, unlike him you were the only child, raised by your father after your mother passed away during birth. Always short of money, when you realized college was out of the budget, you applied to all the universities that offered a scholarship program.

“Would you like to work for me, Y/N?” He asked out of nowhere.

Was this your second or third glass of wine?

“But I don’t have any experience, Tommy and your companies are already established how can a student like me help you?”

“According to your professor Jeremiah, you proposed the no waste program to reduce the waste of notebooks, backpacks and other school supplies to help students who can’t afford to buy a backpack.” Tommy showed you the message and Instagram photo of your initiative.

You did it in your first semester, encouraging students to donate the things they didn’t use anymore that could help new students, others could also join by swapping their items. “I could use a pair of fresh eyes in my company.”

His velvety voice made you consider his proposal.

“Let’s do this…” his fingers playing with the border of his glass of whiskey, “come to the office tomorrow, let me show you around and you get to choose where do you want to work.”

“I will choose?”

Tommy nodded. “My company is at your disposal, you can pick the group that’s in charge of the restaurants, the pubs, the vineyard or the construction. Well the pubs and casinos are under the same management but separately if you know what I mean.”

“You’ve a vineyard?” If you were shocked before, now you were even more. He nodded and talked to you about his own whiskey brand.

“Well, I recently purchased a complex that has everything in the same area; shopping mall, apartments, offices but I don’t think you’d be interested in that.” Tommy lighted a cigarette, blowing the smoke away. He decided to leave the boxing matches and illegal car races out of the conversation, he didn’t want to bore you.

“How do you do that?”

“I only have the best people around me, that’s why I need you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes, I promise you this job won’t interfere in your studies, it’s only for your free time.”

This was all too much, him, his companies, how could he possibly need help from you, you were only a student. He showed you some photos, sliding through them, but then you found one that changed everything.

“That’s very kind of you, but I can’t accept.”

“Why not? Is there something wrong?”

“I’m really sorry, thank you for lunch, it was incredible to meet you and hear your story,” getting up, you took your bag from the rack, “I’ve to go, thank you one more time, your life is inspiring.”

And you walked away feeling guilty for lying to him.

Tommy was startled and didn’t have time to react to go after you.

So defeated, he went to the Garrison instead for the daily drink after work where the Blinders gathered.

Taking the Bullard cue, Michael was complaining that Polly walked in when he had some girl on his desk, Arthur laughing uncontrollably.

“Where have you been Tom?” Arthur poured him a drink.

“Busy.” He answered quietly after hitting the ball.

“Kenya was looking for you at the office.”

“Why did you let her in?!” He snapped in an irritated tone while Michael took his shot.

Arthur raised his hands in a sign that he had nothing to do.

He was about to continue the argument, when Jeremiah joined them in the back of the room.

“What do you know about Y/N?” He asked his friend while lighting a cigarette.

Jeremiah studied him while Tommy moved around the table to take his shot.

“The best of her class, International business student, reserved, she’s a good kid.”

“So she worked with that professor doing his job? Then she goes to the library and still has time to take care of a child?”

“Children, they are three. And the library needs to remain open for the medicine students of the campus, she also uses it as her time to do her homework because she can use the computer for free.”

“She could do that at home.”

“She rents the couch to one of her classmates and doesn’t have her own equipment.”

“When does she sleeps?”

“When do you?”

“Touché.” Tommy answered letting his brother use his turn to play.

“Why the sudden interest in Y/N?”

After a long pause, Tommy admitted out loud: “She reminds me so much of myself at her age.”

But there was something else he wouldn’t admit to Jeremiah; he was fascinated by you.

***

Holding the book against your chest, you entered the campus area, avoiding bumping into some of the students. Reaching your building, that’s when your eyes found him; leaning against the brick wall, flicking at his cigarette, he probably wasn’t aware of the eye sided looks of the other students, not that he seemed to care though. He wasn’t wearing a tie today, first button undone, Ray bans adding an unreal effect to the mystic around this man.

But his deadly accessory?

His smile.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“Mr. Shelby what are you doing here?” You could hear the girls in your class whispering and staring at you.

“Again with the Mr?” He arched one of his eyebrows. “You suddenly left yesterday, so I’m here to see if you’d reconsider my job offer.”

Behind his sunglasses he was eyeing up and down.

His voice had a spell on you, not realizing how or when he walked you to the parking lot and now he was opening the door to his silver Aston Martin and you were freaking out to ruin anything around.

Sliding behind the wheel after he closed the door for you, he smiled again and you had to remind yourself how to properly breathe when he started the engine and drove away.

“Where are we going? I’ve classes to attend.”

“Professor Jeremiah will make sure you don’t go into any trouble if you skip a few courses today.”

“He can’t do that.”

A cocky look decorated his face. “But I do.”

He was having an internal battle trying to decide if he should tell you that apart for covering the rest of your scholarship and other tuition fees, he made a generous donation to the institute, therefore he could ask your professors to look the other way if you skipped some classes.

“I want to show you around the company.” Parking his car, you saw a sign announcing it was a reserved spot for the CEO, hurrying to open the door for you, he was telling you how he recently moved all of his businesses to this headquarters, each in a different floor. You noticed how everyone was able to see through the crystal private elevator, people quickly looking away.

“I tried to convince my aunt of choosing a traditional elevator, but she insisted on a clear one.” He explained as his hand brushed yours accidentally, sending electricity waves through your veins. “The first floor is used for the administration of the restaurants.” He showed you proudly and explained the different concept each place had, people walking past him, greeted Tommy as making a small bow to him, you were surprised to see him shaking hands with the guards, and the people cleaning, calling them by their names, taking a moment to have a chat.

And when he wasn’t greeting someone, he gave you long and deep glances.

The clubs were next, they had the best PR manager working on getting celebrities and special guest to celebrate their birthdays at their clubs. You remembered dancers in cages hanging from the ceiling when you went to one of them with your friends. He then suggested the two of you should go some day.

It was a surprise to see him talking so freely about what he did and how he was in charge of everything. He seemed to be in his element. He assured you again that could choose any business and area to work.

“In this floor we have a special team to monitor our casinos, we have the CCTV registering everyone; who walks in, who goes to the bathroom, their spending records…”

You started to breathe shakily, a strange pressure squeezing your brain, the walls around starting to close.

“Hmm I…”

“Sorry, am I explaining you too fast?”

“Tommy I can’t accept this job.” Every minute passing only made you feel worse.

“You haven’t seen the floor reserved for the booze, that’s my favorite place.” He deliberately ignored your words.

“I stole money from your company… I can’t work for you Tommy.” You suddenly snapped as he was in the middle of the stairs.

“My father couldn’t afford to pay college, I told him I got a full scholarship but that’s not true, I have to pay half of the tuition, it was so demanding and I couldn’t find a regular job because some classes are in the morning, midday and noon… if I wanted to study, I needed to find a way to make money.” While you were looking at your hands, embarrassed, Tommy walked down a couple of steps. “One of the few options I had without turning myself into a whore, was outplaying gambling games.” You explained, feeling his eyes staring at you. He remained in silence. “You’ve lots of failures at the poker tables, your dealers have the same signals since forever and the roulette always ends in the same four numbers, one time red, then black, again black and finally red, it’s a terrible pattern, they don’t change the sequence… I’m sorry, I promise I’ll pay you back every single cent.” Finally feeling free from telling Tommy the secret that had been eating you alive as you found out he was the owner of the casino you visited regularly to make money for college, you had to tell him and that’s why you couldn’t accept his offer.

And again, you tried to leave, feeling too embarrassed to look at him.

The only difference is that now he was prepared and stopped you taking you by the arm and walked you out of the building, to his car.

Silence was killing you, feeling sorry for lying to him and even worse, stealing from him, you kept your head down. He’d probably take you to the police station.

“Now follow me.” He motioned you out of his car, you didn’t notice he had drove back to the campus, if he wanted to talk to your professors you’d understand, you’d probably be denied to graduate.

Crossing your arms against your chest, you saw the wind moving the hair at the top of his head. The campus was in the opposite direction you wanted to tell him as he marched inside of one of the units made for the students living there.

After a quick trip in the elevator in silence, you didn’t know what to say.

His jaw clenched didn’t go unnoticed as he opened the door for you, why did he walk as if he owned the place?

“I heard you rent an uncomfortable couch to your roommates and use the library’s computer at night.” You nodded. “I know you’ve been stealing me for a while, Y/N. My security team detected you a little too late, I’ve to admit the redhead wig confused me a little bit, but then I followed your moves and tracked down the money you sent to your father after paying your tuition.”

In a shocked state, you frowned. “You knew I was stealing from you and did nothing?”

“You paid college, and showed me the flaws my casino had. Plus, I really enjoyed watching you in those wigs and outfits.”

Flashing a smile at you, Tommy started walking seductively, taking each step slowly. “Why?”

“Because… you wouldn’t have accepted the money if I offered it to you out of nowhere.”

“You’ve been studying me… you did your homework.”

“And since you told me the truth, I’m offering you this apartment for yourself.” Spinning you around, he pointed at a new desk, chair and the newest computer. “That too.”

“My economics professor says there’s no free lunch*.”

Tommy laughed. “Your professor is a wise person.” He sat at the arm of the couch, it looked more comfortable than the one where you usually slept on. “Not gonna lie, there are a couple of things I’m interested in.” Standing now in front of him, you saw his eyes sparkling, hooking his finger in the pocket of your skirt, he pulled you in for a kiss.

His mouth crashed on yours hard, his expert lips dancing with yours, his hands roaming your back up and down, the kisses exchange was intense. Pulling apart for some air, you saw his mouth water at the sight of your breasts so close to him.

“We can do great things together, Y/N. you can help me boost the security of the casino.” Tommy got up, but didn’t let go of your body, instead he started kissing down your jaw and neck. “And I can help you finish your career.”

“And in the meantime, we get to have fun?” You asked as he walked you backwards to one of the bedrooms.

“Oh, I can assure you, we’re going to have lots of fun.” He admitted playfully while scanning your face to read your reaction.

You liked how it sounded, and you also liked the adoration in his eyes as he finally helped you out of your top and skirt, standing in front of him in just your matching black lace underwear and stockings. Throwing his jacket away, you couldn’t resist the urge to start kissing the bit of skin exposed with each button you were opening. Holding you against the closed door of your bedroom, Tommy took your hands in his and raised them above your head, bending down to kiss you over the fabric covering your breasts, making you suppress a moan.

“Someone once told me, that I had to choose between the success of my career or my personal one. I’d like to see that person today to rub it in his face, that in fact… I can have it all.”

***

A/N: Free lunch= A free lunch describes a situation where an individual receives goods or services at no cost. A free lunch's cost is opportunity cost.

* If you want to be tagged in other stories, just let me know. ♥️ your comments and feedback have a huge impact ✨

Tag list:

@lyarr24 @datewithgianni @runnning-outof-time @gretelshelby @cloudofdisney @peaky-cillian @lespendy @onlydeadcells @shelbydelrey @cutecurly-hair @esposadomd @gypsy-girl-08 @strayrockette

[mischiefmanaged71]

The Love Hypothesis (Prologue) - Stephen Strange X Reader

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is a PhD student who wants to prove to her best friend that she has moved on and dating. With no way to prove it, she kisses the first man she sees, which ends up being none other than Dr. Strange, known as one of the most unapproachable and critical professors in the university.

A/N: AU! Stephen Strange is a Professor/Doctor and reader is a Ph.D. student studying at the same college (Reader - 28, Stephen - 34). @eviesaurusrex credit for the photo. For the life of me, I could not find a gif to match the story. Credits to Ali Hazelwood for the original story. Some chapters will be exclusively from the novel, others I will spin my way. I do not own anything, this is my reinterpretation of the novel with MCU characters.

Pairing: Stephen Strange X fem! Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Series Masterlist

Some would say the timing for love and romance was never fair, nor suitable. In most cases, it probably wasn't, but Y/N could use some of that magic just about now. Something to take the edge off the exponential stress growing with each day all because of her dissertation.

The life of a college student was by far, no means easy or as exciting as movies or books painted them out to be. While some aspects, like the copious amounts of coffee consumed to finish that report, were slightly accurate; the exaggeration was obvious on the fun spectrum. Y/N Y/L/N didn't exactly have time nor the mental energy to be doing anything besides working on her dissertation project. Once you decide to even pursue past your Bachelor's, you give up the reigns to any type of social life.

At least that is what she told her best friend. Natasha didn't understand all of the factors playing into the pressure she was under with her thesis. She was focused right now on the fact of Y/N's lacklustre dating life. At least the conversation only began after her and Steve broke things off.

Y/N was a biology graduate and this was her final year - that meant finishing up her thesis and finding someone to, hopefully, fund her research after all of the effort and tears to get here. Frankly, the one occasion that kind of changed her perspective on grad school was an encounter with someone she denoted as 'the Guy'. A guy whose name she never got, but he certainly made an impression.

On the morning of her interview to Columbia's biology department, she stumbled quite fast out of her dorm, without her glasses of course, resorting to an old pair of contacts stashed in her bag.

"Out of curiosity, is there a reason you're crying in my restroom?" A deep voice asked.

She gasped lightly, wiping her eyes gently when her vision blurred even more. Tears leaked from her eyes as she looked up.

Tall, dark haired, man. Certainly wasn't the women's bathroom then.

"...this isn't the women's bathroom, then." She sighed, pulling her hands from her face.

"No, it's not." He replied, a dreamy voice reaching her ears.

"I swear I don't usually do this. I've had a stressful morning."

"It's okay." His voice sounded nice.

"Are you sure?" her face twisted in embarrassment, a heat flushing her face.

"Yes." the voice assured her.

"Really?"

"Fairly, since this is my lab's bathroom and I don't think anyone else will be using it. Not unless they barge in unsuspecting of others."

Yet again, she was stumped. 

"I'm so sorry, did you need to...", gesturing to the stall behind her.

"I just needed to pour this reagent down the drain." He said, although she wasn't focused on that and rather self-consciously moving her hands to her face to wipe away at warm sensation in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Sure." She nodded, inhaling lightly as she forced herself to ignore the urge to itch her eyes. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're crying. In my bathroom."

"Oh, I'm not crying. Well, I am, but it's not because of anything, really." She assured.

"No?"

"I forgot my glasses and I might have accidentally put in expired contacts. They were never great to begin with. Don't actually improve my sight that well either..."

"You put in expired contacts?" He almost sounded offended by her statement.

"Yes?" She supposed, slumping against the tile wall. His echo of disapproval was obvious as he questioned her. "A little..."

"What quantifies as 'a little'?"

"A few years, I think."

"What?" His voice was crisp in her ears as he voiced his astonishment.

"A couple years."

"A couple of years." He repeated, “I’m not so sure that’s what they intended with the user guide.”

"It's fine, expiration dates are just a recommendation. Not like it could make my vision any worse than it already is."

"Expiration dates are so I don't find you here crying in the corner of my bathroom."

Why he kept reaffirming it as his bathroom was beyond her. As if he was entitled to the restroom for some other reason.

"It's okay." She waved, "The burning should stop after a few minutes. Or so."

"So you've done this before then?"

"What?"

"Put in expired contacts?"

"Nope." She shook her head, "Never. I prefer my glasses. Contacts aren't exactly cheap."

"Neither are eyes, I hear."

She couldn't argue there when he had a point. "Have we met before? Where you at the recruitment dinner with prospective Ph.D. students last night?"

"No."

"You didn't go?"

"Not really my scene." He was curt.

"Not even for the free food?" What college student wasn't trying to snag free food at any chance? It was free, that was the perk.

"Not worth the awkward small talk." He changed the subject, "Are you interviewing for a spot in the program?"

"For next year's Biology cohort." She wore a small smile, hoping to hide the anxieties fluttering in her mind. "What about you?" Pressing her palms together.

"Me?" she could see him step back and lean against the door of the bathroom to look at her.

"How long have you been here for?"

"Probably six years. Give or take."

Her eyebrows raised in intrigue, "Oh, you must be graduating soon then?"

"I, uh-Not exactly." He paused, causing Y/N to flush in embarrassment.

"Sorry, you don't have to tell me. I forgot, first rule of grad school is don't ask about another grads' dissertation timeline."

A beat passed before he responded, smiling "Right."

"Sorry. Again." she grasped her arms to her chest, an apologetic smile on her lips.

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to channel your parents at Thanksgiving or anything."

"You could never." He laughed, a beautiful sound she wished to hear again.

"Oh, annoying parents?"

"And even worse Thanksgivings." He reaffirmed.

"I suppose that's a given for science majors."

"I'm Y/N, by the way." Extending her hand out. The hand that grasped her's was larger and warm, sending shivers along her arm as she wrought to focus. "If you happen to talk to anyone on the committee, could you not mention my mishap with the expired contacts? I have a feeling it's not up to their criteria for stellar applicants."

"You think so?"

She would have glared at him, instead, forcing her face into a neutral expression at his deadpanned response.

"Are you planning to enrol?"

"I'm not sure. Depends if I even get an offer." Although, she and Professor Xavier had really clicked. He was understanding of her goals and her stellar GPA also helped. Not having a social life was useful in other ways.

"Are you planning to enrol if you get an offer, then?"

It would be stupid not to, I mean - Columbia University had the best medical and science programs in the state and probably the country. At least, that is what she had been telling herself for the past few months while it dwindled over her head. Grad school was a big decision that posed the question of other prospects outside of studying. The prospect of new beginnings. But that brought her right back here when he reminded her of something else.

"I...maybe. I'm kind of dwindling on the line of excellent career choice and critical life screwup at this stage. Not my best work."

"Seems like you're leaning toward screwup." It sounded almost like he was smiling, the slight tilt of his voice upward. It brought a flutter to her stomach, but the not the anxious kind that twisted her insides. It was a light feeling that fluttered toward her chest.

"If that was supposed to be reassuring, I'll tell you, it wasn't." To answer his question, she thought it over again.

"No. I'm not entirely sure." She breathed out a laugh, "I..."

"You?"

A beat passed as she exhaled, her lips forming a tight line "What if I'm not good enough? What if I-mess it up?"

She wasn’t sure why she was blurting out her deepest thoughts to a stranger. Random bathroom guy without a name. What was the point? Every time she had spoken her friends, she was met with the same meaningless point - You'll be fine. You can do it. If it's what you want. I believe in you.

And that is exactly what she expected from this guy too. It was to expect the expected, in her case. Any moment now-

"Why do you want to do it?"

Her face twisted into confusion, "The program?" 

A beat passed before he repeated it, "What's your reason?"

"Well, I've always had an inquisitive outlook and graduate school is the ideal environment to foster that-"

He snorted, cutting off her practiced words.

A frown twisted her face, her heart pounding in her chest at the response, "What?"

"I wasn't asking for the line in the interview prep book. Why do you want a Ph.D.?"

She sighed, wondering how far she had moved to end up explaining herself to a stranger in a bathroom. "It's true. I want to broaden my research abilities and-"

"Is it because you don't know what else to do?"

"No."

"Because you didn't get an industry position?"

She shook her head adamantly, frustrated with his assumptions, "No-I didn't apply for industry."

"Ah." He nodded, moving toward the sink to deposit a liquid. It smelled of ethanol, detergent and something clean and fresh, the slightest whiff of cologne. An odd combination brought to her attention.

"I need more freedom than industry can provide me."

"You won't have much freedom in academia. I can tell you that." His voice was much closer this time. "You'll have to fund your work through ludicrously competitive research grants. You would make better money through a nine-to-five job that actually allows you to entertain the concept of weekends."

A frown formed on her lips as she turned to his face, or the blurred image of where his face would be, "Are you just trying to decline my offer? This is you're anti expired-contacts-campaign?"

"Nah." She could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm trusting it was just a misstep on your part."

"I don't usually do this-" she promised, "This has never happened before."

"A long line of missteps, clearly." He sighed, "Here's the deal: I have no idea if you're good enough, but that isn't the question you need to ask yourself. Academia is a lot of work for little payoff. What matters is whether your reason for being here is good enough."

"So, why the Ph.D.?"

She stared up at him, thinking about it over and over. She knew the answer, the reason, it was about voicing it and speaking the words to another person that got her throat closing up.

"I have a question. A question I need answered and no one is going to help me find the answer." Her eyes fell shut, "I'm afraid no will if I don't."

"A question?"

A shift in the air. A beat passed as she forced herself to breathe. "Yes. Something that is very important to me. I won't trust just anyone to do it. So far, they haven't been-Because..."

Because something happened and from that moment she has rescinded her trust in others. She needed to do her part so it wouldn't happen again. Not to anyone again. Heavy thoughts plagued her as she stood still, her back against the cold tile. The sound his breathing still reached her ears, the air still. He was looking at her, the image fuzzy around the edges. The dark hair balanced by the white coat.

"Its something important to me. That research is the reason I'm here."

Y/N was alone in this world and she swore that if she could, she would do anything to reverse time. Do anything to make it not so and force the odds in her favour. Because if it wasn't true, then she wouldn't have to face the tragedy of her life. She wanted-yearned to be less lonely. She didn’t care about a good salary or spending weekends with friends.

"Is that a good enough reason to go to grad school?"

He paused, "It's the best one." His lips tugged upward, eyes creasing. He was smiling, probably something like that.

"Good luck with your interview."

"Thanks." 

She still hadn't gotten his name as he was almost out the door.

"Maybe, I'll see you around?" A flush ran over cheeks, "That is, if you haven't graduated already. And if I get in."

He left her with, "Maybe."

And then he was gone and Y/N was left in the bathroom. When Columbia's Biology department got back to her with an offer, she accepted it. 

No hesitations.

[frostyreturns]

Why I Don’t Celebrate “easter”

I’m a big believer in co-opting other traditions and using certain things to instead honour God. There are Christians who wont do certain celebrations or traditions because they either have origins in the non Christian world or similarities too close to pagan celebrations... I don’t agree with this. As long as it’s not specifically something against our beliefs then there’s no harm in doing something not originally intended for God to be made to honour God. While others may have used similar practices to celebrate fertility or some other thing I don’t think there’s any harm in hiding chocolates or painting eggs to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus. And there’s nothing wrong with tying the celebration in a general sense to the coming of spring and spring imagery...the themes of new life and renewal mesh very well with the resurrection story.

However I do take issue with naming the celebration easter and also specifically with the bunny imagery associated with it. For those who don’t know the name comes from a pagan folktale about a goddess named oester, this folktale is also where the rabbit imagery comes from because in the story there is a character transformed into a rabbit and this transformation is used to demonstrate a corruption of innocence. It’s also why bunny imagery is used by pedophiles as a kind of secret handshake the same way the spiral symbol and pizza symbols are used to denote an interest in children. Not only does the name easter and rabbits have nothing to do with the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ but they actually celebrate and honour something vile and evil. 

I believe our enemies who are in on this joke delight in seeing the vatican parade out a rabbit, they love that this time of year their symbols are plastered everywhere by Christians unwittingly. They love that instead of celebrating Christ this time of year for many has become about chocolate and half naked women dressed like rabbits because a holiday has just become an excuse for a themed egirl costume. I’m sure they see it as some grand humiliation ritual, a way to lessen the impact of the message and attempt to instead make it about lust and gluttony. 

So that part of it I refuse to participate in. However I hope everyone has and has been having a great resurrection weekend and hope that you all have a great time with your families and friends. Hopefully at some point you will take a moment to remember that you can be free spiritually because God loved us so much that he came to us as a man, suffered and died and rose again so that we could be saved. 

[groundcontrol21]

The Anthology of Sick

The master list of what I've written! Recently I've been better about tagging things I write relatively uniformly, but I'm going to hunt back through and collect everything here so you don't have to!

Just a reminder/disclaimer. I write sick/snz fic, and nothing is really more than PG13. Fics written for the Sicktember 2022 challenge are denoted by a (S22) and their appropriate prompt number/day. You can also find them under the hashtag #sicktember 2022 on my page.

Fanfiction

All Creatures Great and Small (2020)

Stretched Thin (S22 #12)

After taking on the brunt of the work at the practice while Siegfried and Tristan are away, is it any wonder all the stress causes James Heriot to fall ill? Still, there’s no rest for him, not when a difficult bovine birth case needs his attention.

Like a Well-Oiled Machine (S22 #21)

While working in the clinic by himself, Tristan has an oversight that leads to some painful consequences. James is not impressed, to say the least. (not snz)

Black Sails

I Will Care for You

Thomas has a migraine. James is unused to the role of caretaker, but for Thomas, he will learn anything. (not snz)

Inland (S22 #6)

Slight pre-canon AU setting. Thomas takes James for a weekend holiday to the countryside. The cold James brings with him doesn’t prove nearly as disastrous as he had feared.

Landfall

Captain Flint returns to Nassau richer, but also wetter, sicker, and a bit more injured than when he left. Miranda puts up with him. (Pre-show, and relatively spoiler-free)

The Lord and the Lieutenant

London, 1705. James feels sick. Thomas feels some feelings toward him. Some tenderness between two friends who'd like to be a bit more than that.

Warmth

A long, cold-ridden day for James is brightened by the unexpected visit his lover pays him.

Don Quixote

Hour of Need (S22 #19)

A hero’s hero suffers a hero’s cold. Sancho Panza just suffers. (All apologies to Miguel Cervantes)

Horatio Hornblower

Building Trust

Early in his time on the Indefatigable, wet nights spent in the rigging catch up to Horatio, who tries to hide his illness. Archie notices and offers friendship (and a handkerchief).

Relief (S22 #15)

Sunburns and colds are a painful mix, no matter how soft your handkerchief is. Archie tries his best to help.

Shore Leave (Part 1, 2, 3)

Shore leave for our two heroes is dampened by the rain, Horatio's illness, and the unavailability of lodging. Archie tries his best to alleviate at least one of these sufferings.

The Man from Uncle (2015)

Lazy (S22 #18)

The combined forces of Napoleon and Gaby just might be strong enough to force Illya to take a sick day when he really needs one. 

Merlin

A little Merlin ditty

(Ficlet) Arthur has a bit of a cold. Merlin notices, and of course fusses a bit.

Stop and Go (S22 #24)

On the road back to Camelot, Arthur gets sick. (CW emeto mentions, not snz)

Night Fever (S22 #23)

Merlin can’t use his magic to heal Arthur, but perhaps his company is just as potent of a cure. (not snz)

Ted Lasso

Didn’t Feel That One Coming (S22 #5)

Jamie is fighting a cold; Roy is fighting his inclination to care about that fact.

Painkillers (S22 #2)

Roy is annoyed when Jamie asks him for painkillers. Annoyed. That feeling in his chest is definitely not concern, not a chance. (not snz)  

Three Musketeers

BBC Musketeers Drabble

The Inseparables are a bit worse for wear. Aramis is sick, Porthos is hurt, and Athos just wants them to shut up.

Care and Keeping (S22 #1)

D’Artagnan knows he’s meant to be caring for Aramis, but he doesn’t exactly know what such caring entails. Constance isn’t pleased when he pleads ignorance.

Ensconced

The fic where Porthos gets into the most contagious bedding known to man in order to comfort his flu-ridden brother.

Fearing the Unknown (S22 #28)

Ever since his head injury, Aramis suffers from chronic migraines. This is one more area in which D’Artagnan must expand his knowledge if he wants to be part of the Inseparables' brotherhood. (not snz)

The Handkerchief(s) of Aramis

D’Artagnan asks his friends to accompany him to London. Aramis agrees, but warns even his vast supply of handkerchiefs won’t be enough to get him through the damp weather. He proves correct.

A Helping Hand (S22 Alt. Prompt 2)

Aramis has a bad cough, and needs to apply the 17th century version of VapoRub. The problem is, he doesn’t have an uninjured hand with which to do so. But he does have a Porthos.

In Which the Character (and Handkerchief) of D’Artagnan is Put to the Test (S22 #13)

Inspired by: “No, you can’t fight a duel with a hay-fever like that.” But when the duelist in question is D’Artagnan, he’ll find a way through all the sneezing. 

Keeping Vigil (S22 #14)

With his three brothers all sporting various injuries and in need of care themselves, Aramis ignores his own health as he tends to them. D’Artagnan is less than pleased to find this out, but can he do anything about it?

A Little Help from My Friend 

Aramis has a cold and some terribly stuck sneezes. Porthos has a feather, a kink, and an idea.

Midnight Mass (S22 #29)

After spending weeks abed and terribly ill, Aramis swears he is well enough for one little Mass. His brothers aren't so sure.

An Off Day (S22 #20)

When the best shot in the regiment is having a bit of an off-day, Porthos gets to the bottom of what’s troubling him. (not snz)

Perfumed Peril

His lover's perfume is giving Aramis a bit of trouble...

Recitations

Aramis is too sick to visit his mistress for the night, but not too sick to visit Athos (who would much rather be drinking alone, thank you very much). Aramis puts Athos's self control to the test when he recites some of the poetry he was supposed to share that night with his lady friend.

Room Service (S22 #16)

Aramis checks up on Porthos after the man faints during his first day of training. Porthos gets the chance to return the favor when Aramis falls ill. 

Routine Intervention

Still new to the Musketeers and unsure of his place, D'Artagnan does not know what to make of it when Aramis, grumpy from his cold, and Athos, grumpy from his wine, get in a fight at the tavern over the latter's drinking habits.

Survivor’s Guilt (S22 #27)

In the wake of the massacre at Savoy, Aramis’s obsession with medicine and health adversely affects his own.

The Torment of D’Artagnan (S22 #10)

On the road, Aramis could really use a handkerchief, and D’Artagnan could really use a course in anger management.

An Unconventional Tryst

In which Aramis suffers the consequences of foolish lovemaking.

Under Control (S22 #4)

Athos swears his drinking is under control. Aramis finds evidence to the contrary. (not snz)

Weighed Down (S22 #17)

Aramis faints on a hot day. (not snz)

Yuri On Ice

Preparation

Yuuri has a competition. Victor is sick but insists he is well enough to coach. Tensions escalate as Yuuri feels increasingly that this isn't true.

On Video (Ficlet)

Away from his husband, Yuuri facetimes Victor, only to find the man has caught his cold. Victor isn't too upset.

Yuri on Ice Ficlet

Victor shows up to practice sick. Yurio and Yakov tell him off, each in their own way.

Taking Flight (Part 1, 2)

Already running late and terribly sick, Victor has a terrible travel day.

Germophobia

Yuuri's nightmares come true when Victor gets sick. He does his best to keep his head as well as show his husband the care he deserves.

Original Fiction

A Rainy Day's Work

Vague 17th/18th c. A highwayman, his lover, and a cold. Inspired by the folk song, "Whiskey in the Jar".

Fisherman's Friend

Late 19th c. A merchant fisherman finds himself with a cold while working the North Sea. Help comes from an unexpected source.

Time Sensitive (Ficlet)

Set during that vague era of ports of call and tall ships. A lad home from sea has the perfect present for his lover, who has the fetish.

OCs

Anatoly: Vague 20th c. A young country doctor and those who populate his practice. Ft. his tenuous relationship with a stray tabby cat named Mashka.

In vaguely chronological order:

Old Time’s Sake (S22 #9)

University student Anatoly is home from school when he catches a cold, and his mother’s folk remedies clash greatly with his modern, medical sensibilities. 

Things Unsaid, Things Undone (S22 #2)

Homesickness isn’t the only sickness Anatoly has to deal with on the train from his home to his new village. Still, his medical knowledge leaves him helpless to treat either.

A Welcome Sight 

The story of how Anatoly came to his countryside practice and found a cat along the way. Of course, he’s a bit under the weather for the whole excursion.

House Calls

Anatoly catches the cold that’s been going around his patients, which may present a few issues when it comes to administering his doctorly care.

Don’t Make Me Come Down There (S22 #8)

Sick with a lingering sinus infection, Anatoly gives his mother a call. She tries her best to coddle him from afar.

Finally Warm (S22 Alternate #3)

Usually the bringer of open windows and chills to Anatoly’s home, Mashka finally brings him something a bit more welcome when he is ill with the flu.

Not Alone (S22 #22)

When Anatoly comes down with a bad case of flu, he feels ashamed to call for help when he needs it. Dr. Rosenbaum tries to cure him of both his ills and his foolishness. 

Jonathan and Sarah: 1750s. Jonathan Lindsay, a member of Parliament, has entered a marriage with Sarah Lindsay, an asexual woman of a wealthy merchant background, to divert suspicion of his sexuality. They care for each other deeply as friends and know what the other does and doesn't want in a marriage.

Unspoken (Part 1, 2)

Jonathan is coming down with a cold, but still wants to care for his wife. Sarah wishes he'd care a bit more for himself, though, especially as he readies himself for a visit from his father.

Suffering in Silence (S22 #26)

Perhaps Jonathan Lindsay should not have gone into Parliament with a brewing cold; in any case, he is here now, and he will not interrupt the proceedings by coughing.

A Bit of Sun (S22 #30)

Jonathan and Sarah have opposing ideas of the best place to be when recovering from a cold. They make it work.

Lady Madeleine and Jeanne: F/F, France, 15th c.

Admittance (S22 #7)

Lady Madeleine pines after her chambermaid, and she may be able to leverage the slight cold she contracts while her husband is away to her benefit in this regard. 

[twinhood-2dot0]

A Shallow Dive Into: Leitmotifs

Good morning Alex. Another music quirk, yep. According to Wikipedia: A leitmotif or leitmotiv[1] (/ˌlaɪtmoʊˈtiːf/) is a "short, recurring musical phrase"[2] associated with a particular person, place, or idea. It’s German for “guiding motif”. Leitmotifs are prevalent in video games and movies alike. As you may know, I’m a huge fan of sound design and scoring and such of any piece of media, so today we’re gonna be dissecting leitmotifs.

Richard Wagner

The earliest usage of the leitmotif is attributed to this man, Richard Wagner. A song we’ve all probably heard, Rise of The Valkyries, from Der Ring des Nibeldungen is a leitmotif, as I found out while researching for this post. Der Ring des Nibeldungen contains hundreds of leitmotifs, apparently. I’m way too young for 1800s stuff like this so let’s move on to the modern age.

Undertale

I was introduced to the concept of leitmotifs by my favorite game of all time, Undertale. Undertale is famous for its tracks. Toby Fox is a musical genius, and I’m not the only one who thinks so probably since he was also asked to make the soundtrack for the latest entries in one of the biggest franchises ever, Pokemon. I could sing praises of Toby Fox, but we’d be here forever, so let’s look into the music itself.

Undertale has a soundtrack of 101 songs, and a slew of characters.Every major character has a leitmotif that can be found in every track they’re related to. There’s an excellent video that I’m going to reference but won’t link to since I ***need*** you to play Undertale without the slightest hint of spoilage. (also i didnt know that was a word i just typed it and expected it to red underline but apparently it exists 💀). Thank you to Circlejourney on YouTube and the Undertale Fandom Wikia for compiling the songs so I won’t have to listen to the soundtrack for hours to find every single one. I am going to however compile a playlist with all the main songs and related songs featuring the leitmotif. The songs in the brackets are the songs denoting the starting of the tracks containing the leitmotif.

Undertale (First song: Once Upon A Time): This is the main leitmotif that appears in the Menu, intro, and main plot points. The title theme, Undertale is one of my favourite songs. I also included a Nora Van Elken cover of Undertale because it’s awesome :P

Flowey (Your Best Friend, Your Best Nightmare): This leitmotif is for an important character, Flowey, who appears throughout the game intermittently.

Toriel (Fallen Down, Heartache): Another character specific theme. Heartache is a track that also appears in ASGORE because goat. 

Underground (Ruins): This leitmotif appears in several areas in the underground, the main setting for the game, and also, curiously, for another character.

Monsters (Anticipation): This appears first in Anticipation and Enemy Approaching, but is also used in non-battle themes, so I’m just going to name this category Monsters.

Ghost (Ghost Fight): This is the leitmotif for a few related characters. I didn’t know they were related until I found out they were leitmotifs. Undertale has a ton of awesome tiny details.

Sans (sans.):  Leitmotif used in the tracks where Sans appears. Also, he talks in comic sans >:)

Papyrus (Nyeh Heh Heh!): Leitmotif for Papyrus. He talks in, you guessed it, Papyrus >:)

Snowdin (Snowy, Snowdin Town): Double leitmotif, the second appearance of Snowdin Town is the starting of the second leitmotif. This is the leitmotif for an area of the Underground named Snowdin Town.

Undyne (Undyne): The leitmotif for Undyne, my favourite character in the game. Can’t wait for you to meet her.

Hotland (Waterfall): Theme for the Hotland area of the game. Also appears in Mettaton’s themes, a character encountered here. (also, a funni note, the track CORE is marked explicit in Amazon Music. This song has no lyrics, and it’s marked explicit. It’s not the only one, but it’s the one I noticed first.)

Alphys (Alphys): Alphys’s theme.

Mettaton (It’s Showtime!, Hotel, Metal Crusher): Theme for Mettaton, the hottest (and possibly trans) character.  The bassline for It’s Showtime! also appears in Hotel.

Asgore (Determination, Bergentrückung): Theme for Asgore

Asriel (Memory): Themes for Asriel.

Note: You’ll find Bring It In, Guys! contains like literally every leitmotif, that’s because it’s the credits song.

Some tracks contain leitmotifs sped up, reversed, slowed down, like every modification possible done to them, but they’re there. There are also many easter eggs concerning a character you may never meet and has been mentioned, like once, and he’s become a creepypasta in the community in the audio files.

John Williams

The legend himself, he’s used a lot of leitmotifs in movies he’s scored. Music is a very important part of Star Wars. In fact, the inspiration for this post was the flute leitmotif for the Mandalorian that plays when Mando makes an entrance in The Book Of Boba Fett.

 The most famous track in Star Wars, The Imperial March, is the leitmotif that plays anytime Darth Vader is referenced or is in the scene, and also appears in the fight themes. I’m watching videos of how music is used in Star Wars and god, is John William a master. I’ve never seen scoring so masterfully used to tell a story. I’d share videos but you haven’t watched the movies yet :(. There’s also the Force theme, which is really important to signify the use of the Force in the movies. (Granted, I’ve only mostly watched superhero stuff BUT STILL) The main theme is also a leitmotif, used for triumphant and heroic and Luke stuff. 

I could talk about Harry Potter but now it just makes me sad, however, I will link this excellent video:

Man, why does everything I hold close to my heart get sullied? Anyways sorry, back to topic.

From Wikipedia:

In the Jaws franchise, the main "shark" theme, composed by John Williams in 1975, stands out as a suspenseful motif that is a simple alternating pattern of two notes, E and F.

I haven’t watched Jaws, and probably never will, but I watched the video, and according to it, the shark is not seen very much, so viewers are only alerted to the presence of the Shark by the music.

DC (this section was titled Batman but I wanna talk about Wonder Woman too and I’m too lazy to update the text below so I’m just gonna tell you this :P)

Batman has a lot, like exponentially more than any other superhero, so he has a lot of scoring that goes with it. One thing I’d like to mention is that repeated string melodies have inextricably linked to Batman music (Also, yes, everything I do has to do with Batman. Now, shut up and listen). Take a look at this:

According to Wikipedia, this is the track that possibly linked Batman to sweeping strings in the 1989 Batman movie:

Yes I haven;t watched it, yeah, I know, what kinda of batman fan am I if I haven’t even watched the Michael Keaton Batman movies I’m sorry 😭. Although, I just might have to, since The Flash movie 👀.

This is the theme for Wonder Woman composed by Junkie XL, Hans Zimmer and Tina Guo for Batman v Superman: Dawn Of Justice which became her leitmotif for every movie she appeared in since:

In Zack Snyder’s Justice League, however, the theme is almost the same, except with a different intro, which the subtitles call [ancient lamentation music] and I call OooooooOaaaaAAaaaAAaaaa. This change was heavily memed upon since it’s used so much and so frequently. So while BvS (even if she appeared for just one scene.) and Justice League used it as pretty much a leitmotif, in ZSJL it was relegated to a fight theme. (As for Wonder Woman, the movie, the theme was also used as a fight theme, the reasoning being in BvS she’s a pre-developed character, and WW is about her growing into the role.) Take this scene in Justice League for example:

And the same scene in ZSJL:

Except for the ZSJL one being almost painfully longer, the music is also different.

In the same scene at 1:42 we hear the music again, and its transition to the BvS theme when she starts fighting the henchmen, and in the 2017 movie, we hear it after she’s yeeted the bomb away and returns to stop the suicide bomber at 2:42. (Also, I checked, the 2017 movie checked out at 2:13, and ZSJL 4:57. Yeah. Zack Snyder looooooves slow-motion). Also, I guess this should be an Amazonian leitmotif, since it also plays in a scene where Amazonians are present, *sans* WW, but *sans* epic cello.

Funny comment in a compilation of every time OooooooOaaaaAAaaaAAaaaa plays.

Also, I have something special for you:

This is apparently the leitmotif for Uma Thurman’s anger.

Signing off,

Alia

[charlottenorthup]

The Semiotics of Severance

The 2022 Apple TV series, Severance, follows Mark S., an employee at Lumon Industries. There, he leads a team of workers who have agreed to be “severed,” a brain operation in which one’s memories of their personal life are nonexistent while at the office. Their workplace identities are known as “innies,” and their out of office selves are known as “outies.” In the first episode of the season, a former Lumon employee and a man commonly referred to as Mark’s workplace best friend, turns up at his sister’s house while he is staying there for dinner. He explains to Mark that he has reintegrated into society and is being hunted by Lumon. Over the course of the season, Mark begins to uncover discrepancies between what is being told and what may really be happening. This prompts him to begin digging, struggling to hide his search from those in higher positions of power, who we come to find out have not been severed, giving them the advantage outside of work. In this write up, I will analyze the ways that Severance can be viewed through the lens of both Christian Metz's work on the semiotics of film and the viewer's psychoanalytic experience, as well as Michael Godhe’s work on the idea of hope and despair in dystopian societies. I will then hone in on the unique set of semiotics that the series creates and how this structure allows the viewer to construct the complex identities of workers at Lumon, which is the focus of my corresponding video essay. 

  Semiotics is known to be the study of signs and symbols and the ways that these are then interpreted and used. In semiotics, there is a signifier, which is any material that signifies a corresponding interpretation. This includes things such as images, words, sounds, or expressions. The signified is the interpretation that follows these materials. This concept can be applied to all aspects of life and appears in every language. Over time, as individuals have grown more comfortable with the interpretations that come from the signifier, semiotics has established cultural and societal norms and a collective understanding. (1) For example, if I were to say, “I’m starving,” a large amount of the population would understand that I am not literally starving. Rather, this is a way that many individuals express a large amount of hunger. This is just one example of the many ways that semiotics play a role in language and has developed a system of norms. 

In his piece, “Film Language: Some Points in the Semiotics of the Cinema,” French film theorist, Christian Metz, explores the language of film itself and its underlying structures through the lens of semiotics. He discusses the ways that individual film creations create a series of semiotics that coincides with a viewer's experience through what is being signified from the signified itself. Metz discusses the idea of merging cinema and narrativity itself, affirming that the study of fiction allows for a more direct examination of semiotics. Metz also discusses the use of cinematic techniques and choices such as camera movements, lighting, colors, angles, sound, and the type of shot. (2) These choices give each narrative film a distinct interpretation for viewers and result in the desired feelings that creators may have envisioned. As for connotation, which plays a major role in all aesthetic languages, its significate is the literary or cinematographic “style,” “genre”...In American gangster movies where, for example, the slick pavement of the waterfront distills an impression of anxiety and hardness (significate connotation), the scene represented (dimly lit, deserted wharves, with stacks of crates and overhead cranes, the significate of denotation), and the technique of the shooting, which is dependent on the effects of lighting in order to produce a certain picture of the docks (signifier of denotation), converge to form the signifier of connotation. The same scene filmed in a different light would produce a different impression; and so would the same technique used on a different subject (for example, a child’s smiling face).” (3) A noticeable example of this in Severance, is the continuous unease that is created by the soundtrack of the show. The simple tiles and digital sounds that grow louder when stressful or rebellious situations arise in the show leaves the viewer on edge, as the characters themselves are. 

Metz furthers his discussion of film theory and semiotics in his piece, “The Imaginary Signifier: Identification, Mirror.” This work differs slightly from the previous one that I discussed, as Metz delves more into the psychoanalytic aspects and the individual viewer's experience. (4) This also largely coincides with my study of “Severance,” as the director’s choice of shots, character development, and plotline directly relates with an individual’s viewing experience and their ability to either identify or differ from the characters they see on screen. Severance is unique in its character development as the MDR workers’ identities differ inside and outside of the office. Over the course of the season, the viewer gets to know both their innie identities, as well as pieces of what their outie’s life looks like. Each character embodies qualities that viewers may be able to identify with through the “mirror” metaphor that Metz highlights. Mark is a loyal Lumon employee who is promoted in the first episode, putting him on edge as he struggles to do right by both the company and his employees. He often takes the fall for individuals throughout the series. Viewers may be able to resonate with his core values and understand his struggle to organize his priorities.    

The final scholarly literature that I will analyze “Severance” through is the work of Michael Godhe in, “Hopeful Dystopias? Figures of Hope in the Brazilian Science Fiction Series 3%.” Godhe analyzes the dystopia and the corresponding utopia that make up the show 3%. He focuses on the ways in which the series elicits hope as well as despair. He affirms that the idea of “survival of the fittest” has trickled into our society throughout history and still today. (5) I immediately noticed the engaging ways that Severance portrays hope and despair over the nine episodes. Initially, Mark’s outie is shown to have hit rock bottom, his character embodying the despair of the death of his wife and his inability to continue his life. However, throughout the season, hope trickles in in the form of his growing closeness and appreciation for Helly and her feelings, as well as the other MDRs. At the same time that his innie begins to rebel, his outie works to do the same. This portrayal of hope is guided by the possibility of a future away from the horrors of Lumon and drives Mark’s innie and outie simultaneously, despite this being unknown as a result of the procedure. Helly’s innie shows despair initially, feeling depressed and trapped at her job and the parameters of her “life.” Like Mark, when the workers begin to uncover conspiracies about Lumon, they work together and form a symbol of hope in a world that was once hopeless for them as humans. 

 The unique set of semiotics that Severance creates both subverts and upholds our traditional associations and norms. I argue in my video essay that it is the literal language of many of the scenes at Lumon that subverts our traditional associations, and it is more the cinematographic choices made throughout the series that uphold our traditional associations of unease and fear. However, both of these factors of the show contribute to the identities of the four Lumon workers and how they represent ‘othering’ in society. Severance immediately subverts our traditional norms and assumptions, most largely through the language of certain scenes in Severance, which I hone in on in the video essay. The main examples of this subversion occurs throughout the office, as the viewer comes to realize that things like “the break room” or “wellness checks,” do not have the typical meaning that we may have previously associated. The series reaffirms our traditional associations through the soundtrack, as it conveys the tone of certain scenes, as well as the shots and the ways that these allow the viewer to understand each character’s feelings. 

(1)Saussure, Ferdinand de, Charles Bally, Albert Sechehaye, and Wade Baskin. Course in general linguistics. London: Peter Owen, 1960.

(2)Braudy, Professor Leo, Cohen Professor Emeritus Marshall, and Christian Metz. “Film Language: Some Points in the Semiotics of Cinema .” Essay. In Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford University Press Inc, 2016. 

(3)Braudy et al., “Film Language,” 67,68.

(4) Braudy, Professor Leo, Cohen Professor Emeritus Marshall, and Christian Metz . “The Imaginary Signifier .” Essay. In Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford University Press Inc, 2016. 

(5) Godhe , Michael. “Hopeful Dystopias? Figures of Hope in the Brazilian Science Fiction Series 3%,” n.d. Accessed December 12, 2023. 

@theuncannyprofessoro

#oxyspeculativetv

[castle-dominion]

castle 7x9 last action hero

the action movie episode liveblog

hard kill garbage earbuds sus person running person dead person!! Love the music btw talking out loud to himself

Aw I love 90s beckett's style Oooh allclads are a good brand! But bex is right, some pans just Work Better, you can't just live life with a full set of one, you need a couple mismatched ones thrown in there too. & it has pictures in it.

Cousin sofia! Nice Bex offended mr kuniak XD ofc he never said anything, that'd be impolite

Hohhhh her puppydog sleeves <3

raises crime scene tape uwu He's that guy! Esposito's face of "Really castle? HIM above any of the OTHER action heroes?" RC: Ex-Navy Seal Zen master Rico Cruz? With the catch phrase “Time to hit Cruz control”? JE: Yeah, I was never a fan. KR: Me either. What’s he done lately, anyway? JE: Yeah, right? RC: (seriously) Beat leukemia. KR+JE:

Lanie <3

LP: Cause of death is clearly strangulation by ligature. KB: A narrow ligature, from the looks of it. KR: Made by a thin wire tied to two wooden dowels? KB: KR: CSU found this in a dumpster. KB: A garrote? Who would use one of those? JE: Special forces will sometimes, when they want to kill quietly. RC: The bigger question is how they got the drop on Lance Delorca. KR: Uh, Lance played an action hero, Castle. Doesn’t mean he was one. RC: Au contraire, mon frère. Thank you transcript for actually saying that, screw you captions. I speak French, I want to see the words. If hearing bilingual people can understand the french, Ddeaf/hoh ppl should be able to have that same opportunity. RC: Lance was born in Spain where, before he became an actor, he was a member of the CNI, the Spanish Intelligence Agency. He was black ops. This man was a lethal weapon. Me then: Wow, that's so fake, he wouldn't become an american actor. Jon Huertas: *was in the military, poor guy, before becoming an actor & is literally Esposito in this very show* But then again, I have a friend from Israel/Sri Lanka (I think he grew up in israel but was originally from sri lanka, idk) & he was in the air force for thirteen years but I met him as a cheap cafe sandwich maker in the banquet cold kitchen. I mean he left that job a couple weeks ago for private security but other than that. My point is, being n the military does not denote your future, you can escape your past.

Love the music btw

*Knows it word for word* RC laughs. He notices KR+JE’S looks. RC: I was raised by a single mother. Hard Kill was how I got my brotime. KR: That explains so much. JE: Mmhmm.

JE: Yeah, the guy from The Indestructibles movies, where all the badass action heroes band together for one last mission. KR: Before they die of old age? JE: Hey. That’s a great film. And so was the sequel. Sequels are never good bro KR: (sarcastically) Yeah.

KR: The redhead, she’s an archaeologist? That strains credibility. (XD casually sexist) JE: Yeah, in a good way. KB: Hard at work investigating, I see. They all turn around quickly. (Love her)

Castle being sort of helpful while just watching movies *pushes esposito out of the way a bit* why garroute, not garawt? KB: I know what her name is. While you were having your B-movie festival, I tracked her down. She’s in New York. She’s shooting a film and she’s on her way in now. *Esposito's face lights up & Castle accidentally hits ryan*

love the music XD but bex, let Castle find girls pretty in the past tense, he had her poster on his wall when he was younger & def before he met you that is ok.

oh no Another indestructibles? before they all die of old age? Yay friends Wow guns Cheesy is not bad KB: The real miracle is how a girl like that’s hanging out with a bunch of guys old enough to be her grandfather. She's not wrong

RC: Hi, Mr. Harmon. Huge fan. Huge fan. (he holds out his hand for a shake) I – I’m – it’s an honor – honor to meet you. Brock Harmon: The honor is mine. I’ve passed many an hour in the john reading your books. (in the washroom but still, he reads em! Love it when two celebrities are fans of each other lol)

Sometimes they say first names, sometimes they say last names.

When castle said that I just thought "Jon huertas was drawing on his past as an airman to play a detective (who used to be a green beret)" but also I miss the days when Castle said smart stuff

Just so happens that everyone they need is in new york i love it

I know why they are "stonewalling" her heheh oh yeah she has "guys" in washington now!

Why Hard Kill of any of the ppl he's played?

KR: (reading the tagline) “Time to hit Cruz control.” Maybe that’s what I need, a catchphrase. (he lowers his voice) Time to meet hard justice. Time for prison time. (nOOO I HATE IT MY FACE IS CAUGHT BETWEEN A CRINGE & A SMILE JHDSKJHSDFJ) XD on second thought: don't. clipping.

Oh yeah I remember this stuff. Man's a regular little robotics high school student!

Oh yeah sobriety. Loev the set behind them too lol

Ooh I noticed the commotion in the background this time! Man holding his face!

Classic action movie other wife XD

{But Castle couldn't tell that this man was NOT ex-cni? He got beckett's entire life story so why is this like this?} btw I want a fanfic where castle pulls the same trick he did on beckett to learn abt esposito & ryan's lives

espt layers upon layers isexy

Enrique Gomez: He needed a bodyguard. Somebody he could trust. And I know such people. But none of them were available on such short notice, so I couldn’t help him. I mean yeah no yeah that's how things go

At least he ASKED his friend I mean Tavi was a sheep herder too! But then he became an operative! & wanted to be a lawyer! & then became captain of the army! & then became the king of the entire nation!

Aww castle so depressed deeply personal XD Tori *pops out* *pops back in*

Earology XD but also acupuncturists might know a lot, I feel like that could be a plot point in a future episode & the shows the little animation XD like girl why not just say "I have an ID" & give the ID & if they ask say "I compared her ear shape to pictures of women connected to Lance DeLorca" & show the green pic of the scan but since you already compared it, you don't need to compare it to any more (which is where we got that pretty ear shape animation from)

not quoting, rather clipping, but the captions are incorrect so beware

I like how dark the obs room is in comparison to the inter room but the box is still so dim

set smth right! Words we've said before!

RC: My opinion is not affected by her skimpy outfit. I’m speaking as an objective investigator. Someone who has set their personal feelings aside. KB: Along with your poster? RC stops abruptly. RC: Who told you? It’s Ryan, wasn’t it? Apparently everyone knows ryan as the blabbermouth. "She's going away with her boyfriend!" "It only proves that Ryan has a big mouth" like girl this is a minor character trait for him at this point

Yay I'm hopefully getting my meds filled! I went to the hospital for self harm & suicidal motives on wednesday & I still haven't gotten my meds yet *goofy face emoji* but now I am yayay

why does ryan say "except for her story is still holding up" instead of "except that her story is still holding up" but ig it's better "except FOR the fact THAT her story.."

slaps ryan's mouth XD

her fridge is EMPTY

THANK YOU! Thank you Lanie for giving us all this information, all the reminders of the past, the explosion, the best apartment ever! Also I totally thought that they were going to kiss & then I forgot this isn't fanfiction. Btw we need more femslash in fandom. Straight women, we need you! Lol wine in ceramic mugs

Ooh Ryan's outfit! It was good yesterday but now it is also good today!

Hollywood style one at a time fight, castle's face, espt's face, castle's face, espt's nodthe MUSIC, man he did a great job choosing the right instruments for this!

Reminds me, I was in martial arts as a kid (& I wish I could go back but college is awful & nobody should have to work more than five hours a day /gen /revolution /ubi) & some friends of mine got into a fight at mcdonald's & they TOTALLY should have asked for the security footage!

btw, kicks are low not for their face

You get sides of pork, not sides of beef. Cattle are cut into quarters. Sorry lol I took a meat fabrication course in college

Standing in a very fenton oconnell type way there huh

JE: AD says his name is Ernest Howe. He’s playing ISIS militant number twelve. KR: Not for long. You know what time it is? It’s Ryan time. KR walks, JE follows him. JE: Please. Just stop. KR: Name’s Ryan and I hate lyin’. (he flashes his badge) JE: Oh my god KR: Ernest Howe! NYPD. not clipping too embarrassing KR: Oh, you’ve got trouble. Ryan trouble. JE hangs & shakes his head EH, softly & deeply: I don’t know what that means.

add to 1x7 when esposito & ryan were about to fck "moot" btw love espt's outfit. "put the hurt on all of you" sounds like irish, "there is hurt on me" or "there is hunger on me" is how irish sentences work

wait then why were you there beating on him in the alley? Or maybe they couldn't connect him to any of the assaulters, he just looked kind of like them

Ryan mr narco didn't notice? well ig it has been like 9 years since then...

love a good old middle aged dude

RC: I’ve learned that every good fiction contains a kernel of truth. Mr writer

BH: Say, the gang and I are going out for drinks later tonight. How’s you like to come with us? RC: RC: BH: Castle?

RC to KB: You are my boyhood dream.

XD that little run! He's a teen girl I love him!

There is NOT enough space for three broad shouldered adlult men to sit in a caar together

BH: Somebody takes out one of our own, we take him out. Valid ig? but castle is right: Oh, guys. Hey. Listen. If your plan is to go to the club and steal that slot car, no, that would – that would taint the evidence. Rolf Magnus: Actually we can compel the DA to consider it, since the car technically belonged to the victim, Lance. Wow actually smart lol

Where is Castle? Oh wait that's him. When did Castle change? Cool guys don't look at explosions

Love the heist comp XD. & they call him el jeffe XD I love the triframe but castle is conspicuous Lol always check, esp if you don't want to create a distraction Now get gone he's only on his way you can still get gone! Pull the fire alarm! Oh good for her lol

KB: You’re telling me that this was handed to you by a concerned citizen? RC: Uh … yes.

KB: And reward you for your []illegal behavior? (she shakes her head) I think not.

& then she livetells him anyway?

They be f*ckin' /j "omg this is not what I expected to be listening to"

yk what trey, that's valid. But also dude maybe ask for help yk what the DA might feel bad for you but also girl go to the authorities at that point maybe except that yk how cops are but at least theyd arrest boothe for conspiracy to commit murder

What did the blood bone marrow donor have to do with all of this?

he's your real dad & blood bone tests showed that?

ryan weird with the vest half open tbh

Ohhhh his son that's how this was involved!

WOAH THE JEWELRY WIRE IS THE SAME!?!? I don't think Lance was trying to ruin things, just trying to build a connection with a kid he's met a few times, his friend's kid, who just so hapens to be HIS kid.

Gates said good job to castle XD!

RC: I was just going to suggest the exact same thing. We’re starting to think alike now! As if they haven't been doing this since s1 XD KB: (laughing) That is horrifying. Okay, go cue up the movie, open up a bottle of wine. I’ll be home in a bit. I’ve just got a stop to make first. (& make popcorn!) RC: Well, if I’m thinking what you’re thinking and it’s to pick up a sexy archaeologist costume, don’t worry. (he drops his voice to a whisper) I’ve already got the whip. KB: *surprised pikachu*

but girl that's nice wood! & that is too good of a carving tbh

cinematic <3

Mkay so it's 17 & I started watching at 13.30 so that's 4.5 hours & 3 hours is already double my allotted time this was triple my alotted time which means it took me sextuple times the episode... then again a lot of it WAS spent trying to upload stuff to tumblr, at least 30m.

[jianghuchild]

A Poorly Structured Essay About Why Wes Chan Owns Me

Have any of you watched Left on Shing Wong? It's a 5-minute short film by Wong Fu Productions about a man in Hong Kong who meets... a fairy? An immortal?? According to herself, she collects people's forgotten memories and forms inspiration out of them. The film is part of a larger collection called The One Days HK, which include such notable classics as Lost to Luck and The Spare. That was also their era of just... weird, experimental shit. Like, seriously, have you seen When Five Fell?

Point being, this thing latched onto my brain for the better part of five years and refused to let go. So here's an essay to deal with it.

Part 1: The Title

Oh, you thought I was just going to start expounding on the symbolism of memories? No. I have watched this film start to finish more times than I have reread a Seamus Heaney poem. Which means we can’t approach this like normal film analysis, or even indeed like novel analysis. We approach this the way fifteen-year-old me approached “Personal Helicon” and all other poetry when none of it made sense. Which means we start with the title.

Shing Wong, aka 城隍神, is a type of local deity who guards the city and ferries its residents to the afterlife. And Hong Kong does indeed have its own Shing Wong temple. So, Left on Shing Wong. Something is being left at the temple. Or more precisely, left to the city god. The Chinese title, 城隍遗忆, is a not-quite direct translation. It has all the same moving parts as the English title, but the connotation is interesting. The Chinese language has a tendency to fit more into less. So the phrase they use for “Left on” actually means something more like “leaving memories,” 遗忆. The word for “left” (遗) denotes something like a will, or even regrets—something left behind not by choice, but by an end. The lack of prepositions also makes it ambiguous whether the memories are left to Shing Wong or left by Shing Wong. Which makes sense, considering how the film ends: with the woman leaving Vincent with a new thought.

Now this is where I start drawing connections that don’t exist and have little to no textual support. But a little apophenia never hurt anybody. The story of the film revolves around a writer, Vincent, who meets a strange woman. She says she keeps the memories and thoughts that are lost by the people of the city, and either returns them at the right moment or makes them into something new—inspiration. If we suppose that this woman is, in fact, Shing Wong, then that brings some interesting implications. Traditionally, Shing Wong protects the city on a physical level. The Chinese name literally refers to walls and moats. This Shing Wong is a keeper of thoughts and memories. The implication is clear: the city is its people, and the people are their memories. And when memories are lost forever, is that person a little bit dead? But new thoughts are born—reincarnated, if you will. It’s all a series of microcosm afterlives as parts of us die and are reborn in another.

Maybe you still remember your childhood friend’s birthday, but they’ve long forgotten you exist. Maybe someone out there solves a math problem the way you taught them, but you don’t even remember learning it. We’re all constantly planting thoughts in each others’ heads while our own thoughts grow and wither.

Part 2: The Cat

I’m not going to go on and on about this. Cats have a folkloric connection to the spirit world. Supposedly they can see the yin, or the realm of spirits. And there are two very deliberate shots of a cat in this film. Once on the title card, implying its connection to Shing Wong, and once showing us that the cat can see the marbles. Cats are also considered household guardians, and there is a story of a nine-tailed cat who, like the fox, could cultivate and become human. Which has interesting implications for our mysterious woman. And would you look at that, Vincent can see the woman and the marbles. He can see the spirit world. What does that mean? Is Vincent a cat?? (frantic breathing)

Probably... not?? I mean, Vincent’s friend can see the marble at the end as well, but that’s only after Vincent picks it up. But I do find the connection interesting. Maybe his role as a storyteller also makes him a guardian of sorts. If Shing Wong is a keeper of thoughts, then stories are just thoughts woven into tapestries. (Storytellers telling stories about how storytelling is important always feels a little self-gratifying, but hey—I'm a storyteller, and I know we all have egos.)

And if I’m honest, I’m definitely reading way too much into this. It’s a cat. It’s two shots of a cat out of the entire film. Hong Kong has a lot of cats. It’s also a very pretty cat. And Wes Chan has a good eye for aesthetics. Shall we leave it there? Let’s leave it there.

Part 3: The Stairs

Archetypically, stairs represent a journey. They visualize a character’s growth and the stages of their story. And this is where Shing Wong collects dead memories: in the space between stages of life. When you move out of your childhood home, you forget about that patch of mold in the ceiling. You leave behind your beloved wallpaper and paint your new room a different colour. When you graduate, you lose touch with your friends and make new ones at work. When you get married, if you get married, you leave behind your parents and move on to your spouse, or even your children, grandchildren—or students, teachers, cousins, friends. At every stage in life, you are touching lives around you, losing bits of yourself and picking up bits of others. By the time Shing Wong is done with us, there is no true Theseus’ ship because we have all reincarnated an infinite number of times, dying and being reborn in the spaces between human connection. We are all so much each other that we can only be ourselves.

But more and more, Shing Wong laments, people do not take the stairs. “No one has the time.” More and more, she says, people would rather rush forward. You keep going up and up and up, thinking, “It’ll be better when I graduate. I’ll be happy when I’m promoted. I’ll just keep grinding until I’ve retired.” And it’s not always our fault, either. Who built the escalators? Who put all the good things on the 100th floor and said to the basement, “Just keep climbing,” when they’ve got condos on the 99th? Of course we have no time for stairs. Of course we have no time to plant in each others’ heads, to cultivate our little gardens of connections when the world tells us that our peers are only good for stepping stones to keep going up and up and up. And when we let ourselves die like that, there’s nothing left for rebirth. Shing Wong can’t reach us.

But there’s hope in this story. Vincent takes the stairs. He sits on the steps and writes his book. When we tell each other stories, we are passing our most precious thoughts for Shing Wong to keep. Stories immortalize us, like spores of anthrax in the lungs of an ever-cruel machine. Scheherezade is still alive. Li Qingzhao is still alive. Howard Ashman, who gave a mermaid her voice and a beast his soul, is still alive. Because they were entrusted to Shing Wong, and Shing Wong entrusts them to us.

Conclusion

Does Left on Shing Wong have to mean anything? Not really. Maybe it’s a five-minute video with pretty effects and nice music. Oscar Wilde would be proud, certainly. But I like the idea of seeing an ocean in a puddle. Because whether he meant to or not, Wes Chan gave us a story about the beauty of connection, about how lost things aren’t truly lost, only passed on—if we take the time to pass them on. Wong Fu Productions’ newer shorts are nothing like this one. Their content is always amazing, of course, but maybe the era of the One Days series is long over. Maybe they will never recapture this transient, magical moment of nearly a decade ago. But they took this lost moment and they entrusted it to the guardian of thoughts. And now this five-minute thought, although dead, is reborn again and again (because I have no self-control and keep gotdamn watching it). And when it comes to something as ephemeral as human memory, maybe that’s all we can really hope for.

Also Kenson Lee has just the nicest Ghibli-esque soundtrack for this film.

[baeddel]

Please. Please can you tell me what a baeddel is and why people (terfs?) used it in a derogatory manner on this website for a hot minute but now no one ever uses it at all

you asked for it, fucker

[2k words; philology and drama]

baeddel is an Old English word. i have no idea where it actually occurs in the Old English written corpus, but it occurs in a few placenames. its diminuitive form, baedling, is much better documented. it appears in the (untranslated) Canons of Theodore, a penitential handbook, a sort of guidebook for priests offering advice on what penances should be recommended for which sins. in a passage devoted to sexual transgressions it gives the penances suggested for a man who sleeps with a woman, a man who sleeps with another man, and then a man who sleeps with a baedling. so you have this construction of a baedling as something other than a man or a woman. and then it gives the penance for a baedling who sleeps with another baedling (a ludicrous one-year fast). then, by way of an explaination, Theodore delivers us one of the most enigmatic phrases in the Old English corpus: "for she is soft, like an adulturess."

the -ling suffix in baedling is masculine. but Theodore uses feminine pronouns and suffixes to describe baedlings. as we said, it's also used separately from male and female. but it's also used separately from their words for intersex and it never appears in this context. all of this means that you have this word that denotes a subject who is, as Christopher Monk put it, "of problematic gender." interested historians have typically interpreted it as referring to some category of homosexual male, such as Wayne R. Dines in his two-volume Encyclopedia of Homosexuality who discusses it in the context of an Old English glossary which works a bit like an Old English-Latin dictionary, giving Old English words and their Latin counterparts. the Latin words the Anglo-Saxon lexicographer chose to correspond with baedling were effeminatus and mollis, and Lang concludes that it refers to an "effeminate homosexual" (pg 60, Anglo Saxon). this same glossary gives as an Old English synonym the word waepenwifstere which literally means "woman with a penis," and which Dines gives the approximate translation (hold on tight) male wife.

R. D. Fulk, a philologist and medievalist, made a separate analysis of the term in his study on the Canons of Theodore 'Male Homoeroticism in the Old English Canons of Theodore', collected in Sex and Sexuality in Medieval England, 2004. he analysed it as a 'sexual category' (sexual as in sexuality), owing to the context of sexual transgressions in the Canons. he decides that it refers to a man who bottoms in sexual relationships with another man. i don't have the article on hand so i'm not sure what his reasoning was, but this seems obviously inadequate given what we know from the glossary described by Dines. Latin has a word for bottom, pathica, and the lexicographer did not use this in their translation, preferring words that emphasized the baedling's femininity like effeminatus, and doesn't address the sexual context at all. Dines, however, only reading this glossary, seems to decide that it refers to a type of male homosexual too hastily, considering the Canons explicitly treat them separately. both Dines and Fulk immediately reduce the baedling to a subcategory of homosexual when neither of the sources to hand actually do so themselves.

by now it should be obvious why, seven or so years ago, we interpreted it as an equivalent to trans woman. I mean come on - a woman with a penis! these days I tend to add a bit of a caution to this understanding, which is that trans woman is the translation of baedling which seems most adequate to us, just as baedling was the translation of effeminatus that seemed most adequate to our lexicographer. but the term cannot translate perfectly; its sense was derived from some minimal context; a legal context, a doctrinal context, and so forth... the way Anglo-Saxons understood sex/gender is complicated but it has been argued that they had a 'one sex model' and didn't regard men and women as biologically separate types, which is obviously quite different from the sexual model accepted today; in any case they didn't have access to the karyotype and so on. the basic categories they used to understand gender and sexuality were different from ours. in particular, Hirschfield et al. should be understood as a particularly revolutionary moment in the genealogy of transsexuality; the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft essentially invented the concept of the 'sex change', the 'transition', conceived as a biological passage from one sex to the other. even in other contexts where (forgive me) #girlslikeus changed their bodies in some way, like the castration of the priestesses of Cybele, or those belonging to the various historical societies which we believe used premarin for feminization [disputed; see this post], there is no record that they were ever considered men at any stage or had some kind of male biology that preceded their 'gender identity.' the concept of the trans woman requires the minimal context of the coercive assignment at birth and its subsequent (civil and bio-technological) rejection. i have never encountered evidence that this has ever been true in any previous society. nonetheless, these societies still had gendered relations, and essentially wherever we find these gendered relations we also find some subject which is omitted or for whom it has been necessary to note exceptions. what is of chief interest to us is not so much that there was such a subject here or there in history (and whatever propagandistic uses this fact might have), but understanding why these regularities exist.

a very parsimonious explanation is that gender is a biological reality, and there is some particular biological subject which a whole host of words have been conjured to denote. if this were the case then we would expect that, no matter what gender/sexual system we encounter in a given society, it will inevitably find some linguistic expression. if, like me, you find this idea revolting, then you should busy yourself trying to come up with an alternative explanation which is not just plausible, but more plausible. my best guesses are outside the scope of this answer...

anyway, all of this must be very interesting to the five or six people invested in the confluence of philology and gender studies. but why on earth did it become so widely used, in so many strange and unusual contexts, in the 2010s? we're very sorry, but yes, it's our fault. you see apart from all of this, there is also a little piece of information which goes along with the word baeddel, which is that it's the root of the Modern English word bad. by way of, no less, the word baedan, 'to defile'. how this defiled historical subject came to bear responsibility for everything bad to English-speakers doesn't seem to be known from linguistic evidence. however, it makes for a very pithy little remark on transmisogyny. my dear friend [REDACTED] made a playful little post making this point and, good Lord, had we only known...

it went like this. its such a funny little idea that we all start changing our urls to include the word baeddel. in those days it was common to make puns with your url (we always did halloween and christmas ones); i was baeddelaire, a play on the French poet Baudelaire. while we all still had these urls a series of events which everyone would like to forget happened, and we became Enemies of Everyone in the Whole World. because of the url thing people started to call us "the baeddels." then there was "a cult" called "the baeddels" and so forth. this cult had various infamies attatched to it and a constellation of indefensible political positions. ultimately we faced a metric fucking shit ton of harassment, including, for some of my friends, really serious and bad irl harassment that had long-term bad awful consequences relating to stable housing and physical safety and i basically never want to talk about that part of my life ever again. and i never have to, because i've come to realize that for most people, when they use the word baeddel, they don't know about that stuff. it doesn't mean that anymore.

so what does it mean? you'll see it in a few contexts. TERFs do use it, as you guessed. i am not quite sure what they really mean by it and how it differs from other TERF barbs. i think being a baeddel invovles being politically active or at least having a political consciousness, but in a way thats distinct from just any 'TRA' or trans activist. so perhaps 'militant' trans women, but perhaps also just any trans woman with any opinions at all. how this was transmitted from tumblr/west coast tranny drama to TERF vocabulary i have no idea. but you will also find - or, could have found a few years ago - i would say 'copycat' groups who didn't know us or what we believed but heard the rumours, and established their own (generously) organizations (usually facebook groups) dedicated to putting those principles into practice. they considered themselves trans lesbian separatists and did things like doxx and harass trans women who dated cafabs. if you don't know about this, yes, there really were such groups. they mostly collapsed and disappeared because they were evildoers who based their ideology on a caricature. i knew a black trans woman who was treated very badly by one of these groups, for predictable reasons. so long-time readers: if you see people talking about their bad experiences with 'baeddels', you can't necessarily relate it to the 2014 context and assume they're carrying around old baggage. there are other dreams in the nightmare.

the most common way you'll see it today, in my experience, is in this form: people will say that it was a "slur" for trans women. they might bring up that it's the root of the word bad, and they might even think that you shouldn't use the word bad because of it, or that you shouldn't use the word baeddel because it's a slur. all of this is a silly game of internet telephone and not worth addressing. except to say that it's by no means clear that baeddel, or baedling, were slurs, or even insulting at all. while Theodore doesn't provide us with a description of how we can have sex with a baedling without sinning, and it may be the case that any sexual relations with a baedling was considered sinful, sexuality-based transgressions were not taken all that seriously in those days. there was a period where homosexuality within the Church was almost sanctioned, and it wasn't until much later that homosexuality became so harshly proscribed, to the extent that it was thought to represent a threat to society, etc. and as i mentioned, there are places in England named after baedlings. there is a little parish near Kent which is called Badlesmere, Baeddel's Lake, which was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Domesday Book (as having a lord, a handful of villagers and a few slaves; perhaps only one or two households). it's not unheard of, but i just don't know very many places called Faggot Town or some such. it's possible that baedlings had some role in Anglo-Saxon society which we are not aware of; it could even have been a prestigious one, as it was in other societies. there is just no evidence other than a couple of passing references in the literature and we'll probably never have a complete picture.

[rose2jam]

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults.  I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever.  This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.  

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something.  The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies.  But this Leader?  This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way.  Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered.  That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.  

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others.  Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families.  Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in.  He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them.  I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever.  But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin.  Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside.  And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him.  Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader.  Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded.  Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above.  Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).  

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters.  He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1).  Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be.  Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her.  (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well).  I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life.  And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical.  Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back.  For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental.  This friendship is everything.  Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts.  Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life.  But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up.  Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black.  So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3).  And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat.  And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4).  What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience.  He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible.  During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place.  It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5).  But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6).  He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus.  On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily.  So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this?  He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers).  But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members.  McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol).  So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles.  As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with.  His dorm mates became his family.  So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily.  Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic?  Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8).  At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word.  He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds.  Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse.  So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life.  By Muggles and Magic Folk alike.  And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light.  He betrayed her as well, of course.  But he did try to show remorse.  And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.  

So.  Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here.  Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate.  For what?  For power, for a family, for a community.  For a world where he is no longer the weird one.  For a world where he’s respected, strong.  For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult.  Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House.  Maybe he was recruited directly.  Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life.  And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions.  There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play.  Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right.  (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)  

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family.  Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult.  On the contrary, I feel sorry for them.  Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them.  Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”.  But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end.  They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart.  I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done.  But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany.  This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers.   There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2.   Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware.  As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family.  The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks.  Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry.  Back to Snape.  There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation.  This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this).  Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.  

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however.  In the end, he manages to break away from the cult.  The scales fall from his eyes.  In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off.  What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life.  He was brought back by genuine love.  Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

[guzhuangheaven]

Hello! I've seen many posts here on traditional clothing, but also on other topics, so I hope this is an appropriate question to ask. Could you please explain about different diminutives and terms of endearment in Chinese, like Xiao- (小), A-/Ah- (阿), -Er (兒), Lao (老), Lang (郎), and -Ge/-Jie/-Di/-Mei (哥/姐/弟/妹) (between non-biological relatives)? When would you use these, what is the difference between them and why would you use one over another, and how do you know which part of the name to pair?

The easy bit to tackle is the ge/jie/di/mei which when used socially are just an indicator of your relative age to the person you are addressing. So you would call a social acquaintance/friend who is slightly older than you ge/xiong or jie, and someone slightly younger than you di or mei. Ge/xiong and jie can also be used for someone around the same age as you as a sign of respect. I would say these honorifics imply a more informal relationship, but it is not such a close relationship that allows a more intimate diminutive or nickname like Lao X. If on an English-speaking scale of formality between calling someone Mr/Miss X, their name, or calling them dude or bro or some other affectionate insulting nickname, you’re somewhere in the middle. It’s basically the equivalent to being on a first name basis with someone, it’s just that the cultural values requires an honorific like ge/jie/di/mei to clarify the social relationship.

Regarding other terms like xiao/ah/er/lao/lang, it’s important to be aware that there are no hard set rules about how to use any of them. Most of the time diminutives of names evolve organically through social interactions. There isn’t any rule that X name has to be paired with xiao or er, any more than there are rules that a person named Robert can only be nicknamed Rob instead of Bob or whatever. Whether you’re called Rob or Bob or Bobby, or whether only your mum calls you Bobby and everyone else calls you Rob, entirely depends on whatever arbitrary reason you chose that name as your preferred name or what those around you decided to call you.

That said, of course there are certain connotations to be read when certain diminutives are used in certain contexts.

Diminutives like xiao and er are often given to children by older generations of their family, and can stick around until adulthood. If you’re a man, and unless your name is actually Xiao X, if you are still called xiao and er into adulthood, this is likely because these diminutives were childhood nicknames that stuck around, and would only be used by those very close to you anyway. An example of this is in Nirvana in Fire, where you have people from Lin Shu’s childhood calling him Xiao Shu because that was his family nickname when he was young. It’s probably also meant to emphasise that Lin Shu as an identity is perpetually stuck at age 19. In any case, cute diminutives like xiao and er may be used for a grown man by members from older generations of his family such as parents or grandparents, but would unlikely be used between peers or those from the same generation. Between peers, grown men would be more likely to use each other’s courtesy names rather than diminutives.

Xiao and er can be more often used between those of the same generation/peers as diminutives for women but even then, it often also implies a close relationship. Of course, I would say the spectrum of formality for addressing women is a lot narrower than men, as historically women would have more limited avenues of social interaction. You’re probably working with two extremes of “very formal title” and “intimate nickname/diminutive” with very little in between. Between two women, it’s probably easier to move into using the intimate nickname. But for a man to address a woman he is unrelated to with a diminutive such as xiao and er would probably imply they have either known each other all their lives or otherwise have a very intimate relationship. The exception would only be if everyone called her by those diminutives and there’s no other more formal option.

Ah is usually used to tack on to the given name of people who have a one-character given name, and you don’t want to call them by their full surname + given name, because that would be too formal. It can be used as a diminutive for people who have two-character given names as well, but I think that’s less usual.

I would equate lao to something like the modern English dude or bro, in that it has that back-slapping male vibe to it. As a nickname, it certainly is more often used between men and paired with the surname or the numbering position you hold within your family.

(Not to be confused with lao when used as a term of respect for older people, which is another story.)

Lang is an interesting one, because it can be very social or very intimate depending on the context. I personally tend to associate lang with a certain period around the Tang and Song dynasties, though I’m sure it was used in other times as well. Lang can be paired with your surname and/or your numbering within the family and used by people when talking about you or to you, simply to denote that you are a male member of that family. So for example, in The Story of Ming Lan, Gu Ting Ye is often referred to socially as Gu Er Lang, which basically is just a way to indicate that the person is referring to the second son of the Gu family without saying his full name (which is rude) or calling him by some more formal title (which might sound stuffy in a close social context and/or not quite appropriate if the person talking is a social/generational superior). So there’s nothing special about someone like the emperor or Gu Ting Ye’s stepmother calling him Er Lang, because it’s just a mode of address.  But at the same time, there’s a whole plot point of Gu Ting Ye trying to get Ming Lan to call him Er Lang after they are married, because between a couple, lang is a much more intimate term of endearment.  

In terms which part of the name you would pair with any/all of these pre/suffixes, that also highly depends on your name. If you share a generational name with your brothers/sisters/cousins, usually your diminutive would most likely be paired with the other name that is unique to you. Alternatively, some people’s diminutive name might derive from the first character of their given name, others might be from the second character, simply because whichever character it is flows better with the diminutive term, or because it’s just randomly chosen. Since if you have a two-character name, both are your names it doesn’t really matter which you turn into a diminutive.

These are just some points that come to mind, but again, these terms can be extremely fluid, so there are no rules about how they must be used, which also means that their usage is often open to interpretation. A term of endearment might also become special because only X person uses it, not because the name per se is special. If everyone calls you Tonks and there’s that one person who’s allowed to call you Dora then obviously you have a different relationship with that person.  -H

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites​ )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask! 

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

**

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

**

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

**

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

**

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

**

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

**

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

**

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

**

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

**

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

**

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

**

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

**

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

**

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

**

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

**

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

**

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

**

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

**

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

**

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

**

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

**

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

**

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

**

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

**

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

**

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

**

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

-

Please let me know what you think! 

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @huliabitch​ @revolution-starter​ @starlight-starwrites​

[thorniest-rose]

Watching that video of the KK3 screentest has been making me think a lot about Daniel and his dynamic with other men in the TKK movies. I just want to know why every rival of Daniel’s – and honestly it’s so weird that Daniel even has so many rivals in the first place when he’s such a twiggy little thing and isn’t overtly macho or aggressive in any way – gets heated around him in a way that continuously borders on sexual? Like yes men are competitive, but why is it always so obsessive? Why target a boy whose biggest crime is having a smart mouth, but who always wants to be amicable and friendly?

Take that screen test. Why does the actor auditioning to play Mike Barnes (and who would get the role of Snake) talk to Ralph like he’s seconds away from trying to fuck him? Why is this take so low and heated, why does he get so close, why does he look at Ralph’s mouth like that, why does he call Ralph female-coded insults like PUSSY and BABY, and why does he try to get under his skin by explicitly talking about sex? It’s such an interesting way of performing that scene. Like the whole thing brims with this unexpected sexual energy and it leaves you asking, does this man want to fight Daniel or fuck him? And that’s an ambiguity that’s hounded Daniel in these movies from the moment Johnny sees him on the beach at the start of TKK. And it’s not just Johnny, but all his Cobra Kai friends; it’s Kreese; it’s Chozen in KK2; it’s Terry Silver in KK3. 

So I want to know: is Daniel just the sexual obsession of every single bully he meets? I get that’s he an annoying motormouth, but why the fixation? Is it because he’s so pretty (he’s a tough kid, but he’s so soft and delicate too) that hatred quickly froths over into desire? After all, desire is a feeling that can be just as red-hot and intense as rage. And just as destructive. Do all these men look at Daniel and instantly think, “I should want to beat him up but I actually just want to make him my bitch”? Is that what makes them so intensely angry at him? To the point where they won’t give up until they’ve destroyed him? I’m also thinking of the KK rehearsal scene with William Zabka where Johnny basically says, “I torment you because I like it,” which very much denotes that Johnny gets pleasure from hurting Daniel and seeing him in pain.

Then there are all the scenes with Terry Silver in KK3. Silver’s tasked with taking revenge on Daniel, but the way he goes about it is so particular. He doesn’t just hurt Daniel, but instead charms him, isolates him, and endears himself to Daniel with flatteries and lies. He then exerts his influence to dominate Daniel, uses BDSM language to condition him, orders him to call him sir, and meets him in a shadowy, dark building where he teaches Daniel about finding power through pain (does that sound like a sex dungeon to anyone else?). So does Daniel just naturally bring out the unhinged D/s fantasies in every man he meets?

It’s fascinating and completely accidental I’m sure, but it’s been making me think about the dangers of internalized desire and how men come to grips with their sexuality when it's a source of shame. And that’s so often through violence, which mirrors the passion and intensity of sex. But it’s also making me think about Daniel as a character. It’s interesting that Ralph Macchio was cast in the role, a boy who looked much younger than 22 (to denote an innocence?) and in contrast to Zabka, was soft and skinny, with big, expressive eyes. Zabka, in subsequent interviews, has even described Ralph as a deer. An animal that's associated with grace, kindness and natural beauty. So Daniel isn’t just any boy, he’s an androgynously beautiful boy who melds typically masculine qualities (determination; independence; resilience) with typically feminine ones (kindness; empathy; vulnerability). 

And maybe that combination is threatening to the men he meets. At a time in the 80s when aggressive machismo was idealized, Daniel represents something Other. He’s not like these other boys, though he masks himself as one of them, and they sense that immediately. The way pack animals can sense an interloper or something that doesn’t belong. Maybe hurting him is a way of punishing him for that difference, but also allows them to be be close to him in a way that isn’t openly sexual, but is close enough to be. Because when you see these pictures of Daniel cringing, moaning, and crying after being beaten up, without context it can be hard to tell if it’s the result of sex or violence. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe these men want Daniel so much that every touch they give him, no matter how hard or cruel, lingers like a kiss or a long-coveted caress.

[justapoet]

Can it be 43 for Tarlos

It sure can, Anon! I hope you like it! ♡

43. "Being a morning person does make you wierd, but it does not  give you the right to leave without kissing me."

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gleaming, twinkling (eyes like sinking)

The first thing people learn about first-responders is just how crazy their work hours can be. Not only the calls, because people find amazingly wild ways to do the simplest of things, but how their agenda bends and breaks to fit in the calendars.

Holidays aren't quite a thing, and forty-eight hours shifts at any moment can fill weekends. Some days go by without an hour of sleep, while others settle in boredom and a weirdly unfamiliar peace around them. It was something they had to learn to get used to as soon as the job begins, even if the frustrations would still remain.

TK knew that it was something he had to deal with, but it was his choice, and it was worth it. He grew up learning his father's crazy schedules and the exhaustion that followed him around, and it had been his choice to do that — to be like his father, to help people —, and he didn't regret it, not a bit.

Until the morning, of course.

The thing is — first-responders, for them to date, really, it took someone who understands the craziness and the problems and the burdens. Someone who didn't mind rescheduling dates and spent sleeping anniversaries, and that some days were just more arduous than others. Someone who wouldn't oppose, who would care enough to be in hospitals and wait for a life or death sentence.

TK pretended he had found that someone in Alex, blinding himself to any and every sign the Universe made sure to give him. He ignored the fights over the time he arrived home — even if they didn't even share one —, and the ones over how he was always too tired to go out with him. TK pretended not to see how Alex hated the interactions he had in the firehouse or the contact he had with his father — and, especially, he always found an excuse to excuse Alex's absence by his bedside at the hospital.

After so many times, it became easier to lie to himself. He would always believe Alex's words, and if not, he would just pretend to.

Pretending. That was it.

And after fooling himself so much over love and caring, it took TK a while, a few months, to get used to what he had found in Austin. In Carlos.

It began when he woke up from his coma after the gunshot, and his father told him that Carlos had spent most of his days after and before shifts beside TK, holding his hand and caressing his hair. Paul told him, too, that the cop had spent his two free days at the hospital as well, even if just sitting in the waiting room, waiting for something to happen.

It freaked him out a little — maybe a little too much. It had never happened before, with any of his boyfriends — and Carlos wasn't even his boyfriend. He was a friend, someone he could surely lean on, but he didn't have to be there with him.

TK understood, now, that it was just who Carlos is. Someone who cares, waits and chooses to have a conversation instead of ghosting someone or storming out on them. Someone who doesn't mind the bad days and understands them — he was a first-responder, too, after all — and always had a kind word to offer.

Someone TK knew he would eventually fall in love with.

And, honestly, he blamed his heart for being a sucker for deep, brown eyes and a smile that could make a butterfly appear out of nowhere in anyone's stomach. On it, and on Carlos' impressive morning disposition on free days — because, for God's sake, how?

TK was used to wake up alone, Carlos never being in bed with him when his biological clock decided he hadn't had enough rest, but he had a life to live. From the first days he had woken up on Carlos' sheets to the ones in which he was tangled in theirs, TK knew he would rarely find his boyfriend asleep beside him.

It was different than it was with Alex, though. He would wake up alone and feel as such, his heart sinking with regret and a feeling that he was only being used — a feeling that he, too, learned to ignore. With Alex, it was a reflex of the emptiness of their relationship, while with Carlos, it was just... Who he was, and he didn't need a visual guarantee that he would walk through the door at any moment.

And it was endearing how the cop would always make them some breakfast or go out for a run, coming back with a different flower every time and offering it to TK. But there was nothing that could beat the days in which Carlos was peacefully asleep, breathing smoothly and smashing his face on his pillows.

TK would stare at him with the most lovestruck look on his face and trace each one of his edges with his fingers. Then, Carlos would wrinkle his nose and wake up slowly, sometimes hiding his face on the pillows and sometimes smiling lazily at his boyfriend.

TK would fall in love every time.

But that wasn't one of those blissful, sweet mornings.

TK could feel the rays of sunshine against his naked skin, the blankets covering only down his waist as he laid on his stomach. The warm Texan breezing over his body denoted how Carlos was already up, for his body wasn't covering his side as it usually was when they fell asleep like that. He groaned, tapping the mattress in a vain search for the warm body that should still be against his, and then let out a disappointed breath. TK rolled over, the covers tangling around his waist and his position diagonal on the bed, his head sinking between his and Carlos' pillows. He took in a deep breath, inhaling Carlos' scent and the morning air that came through the window, and listened to the sounds around the house.

TK had his eyes closed when he heard the bedroom door open again, footsteps approaching the bed, and then the mattress deepening. He knew Carlos was putting his socks on and enjoying the time to look a little bit more at his frame over the bed, but TK didn't move a muscle about it.

When Carlos got up again, and TK could picture him opening the wardrobe to take his bag and gun, he opened one of his eyes to spy on the frame of his boyfriend. He had his uniform on, his curls a bit loose — looking even more beautiful than the day before — and his lips pressed together, something he always did when trying to be silent as if a breath could bother TK enough to wake him up.

TK could only think that each of Carlos' breaths was the lullaby he needed to fall asleep.

The paramedic inhaled deeply, opening his mouth to speak up, his voice hoarse and low but loud enough to be the only thing echoing in the room.

"Being a morning person does make you weird, but it does not give you the right to leave without kissing me," he said, and Carlos, who was concentrated on checking his bag, snapped his head in TK's direction.

Then, his earnest, frowned face melted in a smile that caused TK's stomach to twist in loops and his own eyes to open up slowly. Carlos' muscles seemed to relax, as well, and TK couldn't measure just how much it meant for him the comfort and the trust the two of them shared.

The cop approached the bed, bending down and scooting over TK's body enough for their noses to touch, but his arms holding him up enough so his uniform wouldn't brush the sheets or TK's body. Although it was perfectly cleaned, Carlos had a strange policy over it.

TK waited until Carlos pressed his lips against his, closing his eyes and sinking to the feeling until it lasted too short when Carlos leaned back.

"I wasn't going to," he said, and TK pulled him into another kiss, his hand going to the man's nape and caressing his neck carefully. Carlos smiled briefly, and TK whined when they lost contact again.

"Do you really have to go?" TK asked, looking at Carlos' face and then caressing his cheek with his thumb. Carlos gave him a caring, loving smile, and his hand brushed over the paramedic's waist.

"I'll be covering Collins for just eight hours, babe," Carlos said, his voice low and careful. "Then I'll be back, and we can cuddle for the whole day," he suggested, a smile brightly lighting his face.

TK smiled back and closed his eyes for a second.

"Promise?" he asked, and Carlos nodded, placing a kiss on each of TK's cheek, his chin, and nose, making him laugh. "Hmm... I love these kisses," TK grumbled, and Carlos offered one more over his lips.

"Don't I know it?" the cop asked sweetly, stretching his arm to take another of the covers and put it over TK, who basically purred with the caring act. "Your shift was long. Go back to sleep," Carlos suggest, and TK couldn't agree more than sinking himself on the pillows. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay," TK replied, sighing when his boyfriend pressed a new kiss to his collarbone, over what he knew it was an old scar. "Tell Collins he owes a whole weekend to the both of us," TK said, too, and Carlos laughed again.

"I'm pretty sure he knows, cariño," Carlos said, this time pressing a kiss to TK's forehead and watching while a sleepy, lovestruck smile spread across his face. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

And TK would've answered if Carlos' touch hadn't sent him to sleep like a sweet, divine lullaby he had only for himself. Carlos didn't need the answer, though, brightly smiling as he left their bedroom with a light heart and the sweet taste of TK's skin on his lips.

That was another morning worth it waking up for.