#she commits atrocities for her lord

[ladyramora]

Gosh that prompt about the supervillain nemesis makes me think of your villain!Haurchefant au… that was some good writing, I think I shall go reread all of it.

(Thank you so much, anon ❤️🥺 I really adore Villain Haurchefant. I hope you like this little snippet I wrote just for you and my other Villain Haurchefant lovers~ 💕)

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The next time you see Greystone, you shove him against the wall and pin him there with you body, inspiring the villain to burst into delightful giggling as he gazed at you in surprise with manic, adoring blue eyes. "What ever is the meaning of this, hero?" He asks breathlessly.

"You tell me," You say, not allowing yourself to be swayed or softened by his charms or plain affection for you. "There was rumors of a new threat. Another villain on the rise that was gunning for me. All of the sudden it's as if they were wiped off the face of the planet. No one has heard a peep from them, let alone spotted them. Last I heard, they had gotten involved with you. So tell me, Greystone, what did you do?"

The villain had been flushing steadily red under the intensity of your gaze, his breath quick and heated with your forceful demand. Hahh, things had been so sweet between you for so long, he had almost forgotten what it could be like to be this close! To feel your gaze upon him as a villain, as a threat. But not to you. No, never to you. He adored holding your attention so, causing just enough chaos and discord so that you might have to deal with him.

The dynamic between you worked quite well. A song and dance just for him and for his lovely hero. Yet there were always others trying to cut in. To shove him out and claim his rightful spot as his hero's partner. It simply could not be tolerated.

"They overstepped, my dear," Greystone replies with a simpering smile. "They wanted to hurt you. To truly harm you and yours. I simply did what needed to be done to protect you. To maintain the status quo."

His hero's expression pinches and twists. What an unpleasant expression on their lovely face. Were they angry with him?

"Forgive me for intervening, my dearest," Greystone murmurs with a contrite pout, reaching out to stroke his beloved hero's face. Only to make a hurt expression as they brush his hand off.

"What did you..." His hero shakes their head and steps back from him. Looking troubled. "Did you... kill them?"

Greystone steps forward as they retreat from him, ever chasing after them. "Of course not, my heart." He had not. What his dearest, most loyal knight might have done was another story entirely. Though he no longer held such titles, he was still her lord. Her loyalty had not wavered all this time. Ger always did her best to take care of him.

His hero is tense as he grasps their shoulders, gazing at him warily.

"I did not harm them. They were quite well when last I interacted with them," Greystone reassures them, kneading gently at the tense set of their delectable muscles. His hands flit up to cup their face, cradling their cheeks in his palms as he gazes at them wide, compelling blue eyes. His thumb sweeping over the pursed line of their lovely lips. "I only issued them a warning. That to seek to harm you would make them my enemy."

His hero seems reluctant, but does not fight him as he draws them into his embrace. "You had nothing to do with their disappearance?"

Greystone smiles. "Not a thing." It was true that he had no involvement in such matters. His most capable knight took them upon herself, not wanting her lord to sully his hands. His lionheart dealt with threats so neatly that he need not lift a finger. He really should reward her more.

"Now, where is that smile I so adore?" Greystone purrs, delighting in the hesitant quirk of his hero's lips in response. "Aha, there it is! How splendid, how sweet. I simply must have a taste!"

His hero gives something of a startled sound as Greystone tugs them into a fervent, hungry kiss. The villain purring in his throat approvingly as they melt into him.

The subject of other villains who may or may not have been a threat was quickly forgotten.

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❤️

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[lovesickeros]

WINDBLUME SPOILERS

we've officially seen more of rhinedottir's appearance then alice's....ITS JUST HER HANDS BUT THATS ALL I NEED. new oc just dropped /hj

single-handedly making all the morally bankrupt genshin women morally worse somehow after injecting them into sagau everyone say thank you!! /j

[fairuzfan]

“It should surprise no one that we, Black and Third World people everywhere, attach fundamental importance to the question of Palestine,” says Jordan in her response to Rich’s statement. Driven by her grief and outrage at the massacres at Sabra and Shatila in September 1982, in which thousands of Palestinians were murdered by militia groups over the course of two days, Jordan wrote an open letter called “On Israel and Lebanon: A Response to Adrienne Rich from One Black Woman,” dated October 10, 1982. Her address to Rich was both personal (she names Rich alone among the signatories of the two letters) but also pedagogical (it is an open letter to be published in WomanNews and thus intended for public consumption). Using the words “genocide” and “holocaust,” Jordan lays out the shocking array of war crimes committed by Israel over five months—phosphorous bombs, the destruction of civilian infrastructure, the massacre at Sabra and Shatila—and criticizes Rich’s failure to take responsibility for these things as the tangible outcomes of the Zionism she claims to espouse. This idea of responsibility runs through Jordan’s response like a live wire, culminating in this astonishing statement:

I claim responsibility for the Israeli crimes against humanity because I am an American and American monies made these atrocities possible. I claim responsibility for Sabra and Shatilah [sic] because, clearly, I have not done enough to halt heinous episodes of holocaust and genocide around the globe. I accept this responsibility and I work for the day when I may help to save any one other life, in fact.

— Moving Towards Life: Exploring the correspondence of June Jordan and Audre Lorde, Marina Magloire assembles an archive of a Black feminist falling-out over Zionism.

[darklordofthesimp]

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up. 

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing. 

You were going to die here. 

And nobody was coming to save you. 

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come. 

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper. 

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin. 

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her. 

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.” 

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips. 

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.” 

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something. 

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” 

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth. 

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system. 

What did she mean? 

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten. 

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete. 

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss. 

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.” 

“What-” 

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.” 

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight. 

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled. 

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head. 

God, please no. 

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints. 

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming. 

Valeria struck you hard. 

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you. 

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

They can only save one of you. 

You knew then that you were going to die here. 

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?” 

“No.” 

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did. 

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features. 

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?" 

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe. 

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out. 

Instead, the woman only nodded. 

"I will." 

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes. 

This was it. 

This was the end of it. 

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team. 

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved. 

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy. 

No one. 

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity. 

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous." 

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression. 

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly.  "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die." 

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away. 

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal. 

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

 Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself. 

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him. 

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision. 

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in. 

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing. 

No one was coming to save you. 

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears. 

Never tears. 

You were not Birdy, you did not cry. 

You were not Birdy. 

You'd never be Birdy. 

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger. 

You did not break. Not until now. 

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.   

You were never the priority. 

Never his priority. 

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were. 

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting. 

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted. 

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free. 

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans. 

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull. 

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you." 

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster. 

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision. 

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-" 

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat. 

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board. 

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face. 

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly. 

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms. 

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening. 

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you." 

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting. 

You were going to die suffering. 

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief. 

If this was death, then you were in hell. 

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open. 

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired. 

You weren't dead. 

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved. 

"Talk to me, Sunshine!" 

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears. 

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you. 

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved. 

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!" 

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders. 

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity. 

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me." 

"I can't see," you wept. 

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled. 

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide. 

You gasped. 

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips. 

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being.  If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy. 

That meant… 

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?" 

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?" 

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?" 

"Birdy's-" 

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again. 

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-" 

"Sunshine." 

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk. 

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being. 

Simon had come for you, not Birdy. 

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking. 

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious. 

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest. 

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward. 

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin',"  he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin. 

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried. 

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you. 

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed. 

That was the death you'd imagined. 

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more." 

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…" 

"They'll be right," Simon finished. 

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended." 

"Doc-" 

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat. 

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed. 

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken. 

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar. 

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think. 

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was. 

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth. 

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out. 

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light. 

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled. 

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth. 

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?” 

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat. 

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile. 

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown. 

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.” 

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin. 

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once. 

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly. 

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable. 

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore. 

Not after he’d chosen you. 

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back. 

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing. 

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze. 

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

[rache1auren]

I will always defend the sisters over the inner court. The Inner Court are rulers within their court, they are 500+ years old. They have a higher duty to take care in their words an actions. They cannot be compared to early 20 year olds who have had a lesser education as well as far less life experience.

I’m tired of people holding Nesta/Feyre/Elain to the same standard as these people, and especially tired of the reverse. The IC is made up of a High Lord, 15,000+ year old alien fae, court coordinator/stand in ruler for the night court/Velaris, commanding general of the army, and Spymaster. They are of the highest command within their respective territory. They literally have a higher duty to act rationally and morally.

Yet at EVERY TURN they are expected to be given the benefit of the doubt. That even though they are fae, that they have committed atrocities FAR worse than the sisters could ever dream of, they are held to the same standard or even a LOWER standard than the sisters.

Compare that to human girls who have known nothing but abuse, neglect, trauma, death. And then are expected to deal with it better than 500 year old fae.

Fae who when they were dealing with trauma and anger destroyed an ENTIRE city block, slaughtered a whole village in revenge. Did such unspeakable things that their friend can hardly bare to think of it. Who have fucked around for 500 years, drinking their pain away. Fae who have made far worse mistakes than setting up a court to fall, far worse than letting your sister go hunt at 14, far worse than being mean, far worse than drinking and fucking in order to cope with this power thrust upon you—to cope with the trauma of being violated and tortured, of having to witness your father die JUST as he finally showed up for them.

Or that they KEEP lying to someone they are supposed to love and respect. But they don’t believe in her enough or respect her enough to give her dominion over her own body and medical situation. Because they DONT think she’s mentally capable of hearing the news of her potential demise. Despite her having faced her own death before time and time again. Feyre has proven she could handle the news (and she DID handle it well), but it was Rhys who didn’t handle it, who flew off the rails and needed to beat up his friend in order to keep his calm, who wanted to kill his mates sister, his best friends Mate because she told a secret he didn’t want out.

How is telling a secret (regardless of intent or approach) in any way deserving of death?

So when I tell you I hate the IC, it is because of how they treat these young females with such little empathy. That they leave them locked in a house with little to no help or company, wasting away because their sister and High Lady is off doing something else. That they AGAIN lock away Nesta because she is embarrassing them and they need to show they can control her. Because if it really was just about helping her, they wouldn’t have given her free reign.l of their money (they went from paying for her rent by check, to her having full access). They would have tried to get her to talk to a counselor (because YES, they have counselors for the priestess’). That maybe the 500 year old Mor who touts herself as a savior and advocate for women, would extend her empathy to two traumatized previously human girls. Because they never help any of them unless it means something for them in return.

TL;DR fuck the IC for how they treat the sisters.

[ripdragonbeans]

To Whatever End // HighLord!Aemond x Mate!Reader

For @targaryen-dynasty's February Sleepover!

Btw if you can't tell it's an A Court of Thorns and Roses AU but also this is fanfic

Thank you @exitpursuedbyavulcan for being my beta! ❤️

Prompts: "I just want to please you" // "let me take care of you"

Summary: High Lord Aemond traded himself for his Court to keep those he loved safe. In giving himself, however, he found himself bound to the witch Alys Rivers and committed atrocities to the other Courts. But it's been too long. Much too long. Aemond's mate, his true love, takes fate into her own hands and goes to free him. To whatever end.

CW: blood, character death, smut, consensual kidnapping???, oral f and m receiving, unprotected sex, creampie, 3rd person

Long silver-blond hair. A violet eye. A sapphire in place of the other. Expert swordsman. Magic wielder. Cruel but loyal. Wingspan like no other. Aemond Targaryen, High Lord of the Night Court.

Aemond Targaryen loved his Court. He would do anything and everything to keep it safe, including offering all of himself to a witch. This witch, Alys Rivers, had him on a tight leash. Very rarely was he able to do what he wished. Very rarely was he able to visit his mother, brother, or sister. Worst of all, he was forbidden to see his mate.

His mate, how he loved her so. When the mating bond clicked into place for them it made everything right. Alys Rivers, however, yanked him back as far as she could. She claimed that if he ever tried to go back to his mate she would destroy her and his precious Night Court. So, she kept him at her side; forced him to execute any innocent who dared look at her. Used his magic to raise hell on every other Court but his. The other High Lords thought Aemond to be a lover to Alys. They believed he warmed her bed to have power over them all. Little did they know that was as far from the truth as possible.

Years went by. Then decades. Then centuries. Aemond could stand it no longer. He was wearing down in the most terrible of ways. His resolve was breaking, he was becoming numb, he was beginning to forget his mate, his family, his Court. Every now and then Alys would try to lay with him. She knew forcing him would do nothing, but to make him desperate enough to be with her would break him. She was close to this, too. Her seductive ways had been beating down on him. He was desperate to get out, he was in pain, he felt guilty for even having those thoughts about Alys.

His mate. He needed his mate.

She could feel anguish, his pain, through the bond. It was enough. It had been long enough, too long, she thought. Tonight, she would bring her mate home and destroy Alys.

As she made her way through the halls of the House of Dreams, all she could think of was Aemond. They could never talk through their bond; Alys was able to block that part. The occasional tug from either of them was all that they had to keep them together. She was so preoccupied with her thoughts of Aemond that she walked straight into Helaena, Aemond’s sister.

“Thank the gods I found you!” Helaena sighed in relief. “We just received word that Alys attacked the Winter Court. Apparently, it was out of pure amusement.” The bite in her voice was evident.

“Aemond! Was he -”

“Cregan Stark reported that Aemond was there,” her voice faded down to a whisper, “punishing those who were captured instead of killed.”

The sister’s friend closed her eyes in pain and whispered her mate’s name.

“Helaena, I'm getting him back. We are ridding Westeros of Alys and bringing him back home.”

“When do you go?”

“I am going now. Wish me luck, friend.”

“Wait!” Helaena grabbed her arm. “There are rumors of the Winter Court planning to fight back against Alys; that is why they were targeted.” She looked directly into her eyes. “Destroy her.”

Much like her mate, she had wings. Not as beautiful as Aemond’s and not nearly as big, but big enough to fly her way to the Winter Court. The journey there was long and grueling. She tried to take no breaks and the ones that she did were brief and out of pure necessity. As she got closer to the court, she could feel the mating bond grown in strength. Yes, Aemond was always near to Alys in the Court of Nightmares, but with her focusing on the attack, her magic against the bond has weakened.

She followed that bond, followed it all the way to the Winter Court Palace. It was there she found Aemond, kneeling beside Alys as she sat on a throne, like a dog.

“Look what we have here, Aemond.” She looked the mate up and down. “I thought I told you that if she came here or you to her that I would kill her and all that you hold dear.”

Aemond made eye contact with you. He was pleading for her to leave, to be safe.

The mate said, “No. I'm not leaving you.”

Alys chuckled. “A fight you wish, then? A fight you shall get.”

“I've always been ready to fight you, ever since you took Aemond away from me.”

“Oh, but you won't be fighting me. You'll be fighting my dear pet.” She gestured towards Aemond.

Fear and denial slid over her body like ice. No.

“I refuse to fight him.”

“You see, your refusal would be accepted but our dear Aemond here made another bargain with me.” Indeed, along with the mating bond tattoo there was a new one. One that held him to his word. He believed you wouldn't try to reach him, so he vowed to fight you if you ever showed up as payment of me keeping the Night Court and the other Solar Courts safe.” Her laugh was nails scraping against rocks.

Aemond slowly rose and unsheathed his sword. Every move was painful. He tried to resist but it was futile.

He whispered to his love, “Please, leave. I do not wish to hurt you.”

“You have already hurt me by believing I would not come to you.” She let the pain shine in her eyes. “But I forgive you, Aemond. I love you.” And she drew her own sword.

“Ah, but to make it interesting,” Alys chimed in. “I will release him from his bargains should either of you deliver a devastating blow on the other.”

Hatred coursed through her veins. “You are vile,” she spat.

“That was not part of the bargain!” Aemond yelled.

Alys laughed. “It may not be, but it will still be amusing.”

His love turned to him. “I love you, but if this is what must happen, so be it.”

Aemond slowly raised his sword and readied himself to fight his mate. Just one devastating blow, that would be it. They could be free.

Their fight was a dance. Twirling to block, lunging to attack. Sweeping up into the sky to avoid. Sweat poured down their bodies. The muscles in their backs screamed with pain and exhaustion as they were constantly in the air. It was all they could to not hurt each other. However, while in the air, away from Alys’ prying ears, they made a plan.

Eventually Aemond found his sword against her throat. He pressed against her until pebbles of blood formed. The bond shook.

“I have her and I have drawn blood,” he called to Alys. “Free me, and free her, and free the Courts.”

Alys tutted. “I said a devastating blow, not a threatening one.”

Aemond’s mate looked to Alys then back to him. He whispered to her, “Now.”

She removed the sword from her neck, ignoring the slicing pain as she slid her hand to the hilt and threw it, aimed perfectly at Alys’. Practiced in magic, however, she deflected it with ease.

“How rude! Attacking a spectator!” She glided towards her. “And now you must pay the price.”

“No, you shall.”

Aemond had retrieved his sword to plunge it through Alys’ neck. He mustered all his strength and poured the magic that she had transferred to him when she was against his sword, as well as his, into the attack and sliced Alys’ head clean off. It fell to the ground with a thud.

Black blood erupted from the body, drenching her and Aemond.

Aemond could only look at his mate. “We did it,” he breathed. “She's gone and all the Courts are free.”

“Yes, we are free.”

Aemond took a step. Then another. Then another. Until he was right in front of her. He gently cradled her face with his blood-soaked hands and brought his lips to hers.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she said against him.

He pulled away. “I must tell you more, I never stopped believing in you. But we must inform Cregan that we are all free.”

Back-to-back the couple cut down and remaining soldiers loyal to Alys until they found Cregan in his own battle. The three of them were quick to overpower the opponents.

Cregan turned to Aemond, the fact that he was standing before him without Alys trailing him hit him hard.

“Is she,” he could not bring himself to ask the full question, lest the answer be unsavory.

“She is gone,” Aemond claimed. He opened his wings to their full length. “She is gone, and we are all free.”

Together, Aemond, his mate, and Cregan announced to the Winter Court that Alys was no more.

“We shall rebuild to be stronger,” Cregan said to his people. He turned to Aemond. “We shall unite.”

Aemond’s mate replied for him, “And together we shall rise above the ashes.”

Once the theatrics were over, the two lovers flew back to the Night Court. While they took limited breaks, they stopped right before arriving at the House of Dreams.

Wings tucked in, they arrived at an inn, Rita's, and found a room.

As soon as the door closed behind them Aemond’s lips were on hers. They danced together as though they were never apart. But their hands wandered as though they were strangers.

He slowly slipped her flying leathers off her beautiful body, taking in every inch of her. Every curve, every scar. He crawled up her body and brushed a hand over the now healed scar that branded her neck. Her body stiffened but in pleasure rather than fear. His touch was gentle, sensual.

“Don't worry,” he said, “I’ll take care of you.” And he kissed her gently.

He pulled away and kissed down her body, paying extra attention to the junction between her neck and shoulder, biting it then soothing it with his tongue.

She extended her neck, wanting more. “Please, my love,” she begged.

Aemond smirked against her and continued his way down her body until he came to her chest.

“Gods, I've missed these beautiful tits.”

He was quick to take a hardened bud into his mouth to tease and lick. Her back arched, wanting, needing, more. His hand slid up her body to play with the other nipple, tweaking and flicking it. All she could do was moan.

He switched, giving the other the same treatment with his mouth. She could feel the coil in her stomach tighten. When he was satisfied with her panting, he continued his journey down her body. He stopped at the apex of her thighs. He looked in awe as he gently stroked her folds.

“Aemond -”

He shushed her. “I just want to please you.”

Aemond tentatively brushed her bundle of nerves and watched as she writhed at her touch.

She looked at him, desperate to see him, only to find a devious smirk on his lips.

“Look at you, so wet for me already. Have you missed me that much?” He taunted.

“Yes, of course I've missed - gods!”

His mouth was upon her, his nose rubbing against her as he feasted upon her. All she could feel was him. All that mattered was him. She closed her eyes in ecstacy as the coil within her threatened to snap.

“Aemond I'm going -” she was cut short by her own wordless scream. A wave of pleasure crashed down upon her.

Aemond, however, kept feasting on her. He did not want to stop. She tasted divine and he needed more. Her hips bucked up with each lick. The pressure of pleasure began to build up again. He then moved to suck on her bud and plunged two fingers into her wet heat. The change itself was enough to bring her over the edge again. Only then did Aemond lift his head up. Her slick coating his mouth. She reached for him and kissed him deeply.

“Now it is my turn.” She nipped at his ear.

She stripped him of his clothes and ran her hands all over his body. Up and down her hands went, taking it all in, until she got to his length.

It had been so long since she had seen it; she forgot how big and thick he was. He was already hard and his tip was red and weeping. As she ran her hand over his cock he bucked his hips up, racing for more.

His love obliged by sinking down and taking him into her mouth. He groaned as she began to bob her head up and down, tongue swirling around.

“Fuck, my love!”

She hummed in response, earning another groan from him. She could feel he was close and was ready to take his seed, but he pulled out.

Aemond pulled her into a searing kiss. “I am going to finish in you. Not in your mouth but in your hot, wet cunt.”

His language sent a thrill down her spine.

“Face down, ass up,” he ordered.

She complied, excited for what was to come next.

She felt him shuffle behind her. In one swift motion he sheathed himself fully inside her. They both moaned at the feeling of the other. Taking their time, they just stayed there like that.

Until Aemond began moving his hips.

“You feel so good around my cock,” he ground out.

He picked up speed, fucking her into the mattress. She moved along with him, wanting him to be as deep as possible within her.

Aemond’s thrusts soon became sloppy, his rhythm uneven. With each motion of his cock her pleasure began to crest.

“Aemond, please I'm going to -”

“Together. I want us to finish together.”

With one final thrust, she screamed as she tightened around him, triggering his own orgasm.

They collapsed on the bed, his cock still inside her. Together they stayed there until Aemond pushed himself up to grab a wet rag to clean them up. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before wrapping his wings around her.

I am yours and you are mine, Aemond sent down the bond.

To whatever end, my love, she sent back.

She pulled him down into another searing kiss, this one promising that they would not be separated again.

[jackoshadows]

It's annoying how proactive female protagonists in Asoiaf are often labelled and seen as 'impulsive' by fandom in general. That's never a thing with the male characters. Female characters who get things done, who have agency and want to help people are very often characterized by fandom as wrongly and emotionally reacting to seeing injustice or even when they are engaged in policy making.

Arya is seen as impulsive for stepping in to help Mycah from a sadistic bully. Dany is labelled impulsive for not taking an economics course and reading Karl Marx’s Critique of Political Economy before freeing slaves. One popular post framed Arya and Catelyn as being similar because they apparently run around biting people.

Recall that Catelyn was one of Robb's most important campaign advisers, conducted the diplomatic negotiations for him, wanted less war and more of a peaceful resolution to the conflict and wanted to exchange hostages. And yet this fandom constantly frames the Arya/Cat parallels as them being impulsive and violent.

By the way, Arya does have parallels to Catelyn in terms of their proactiveness in maneuvering in a chauvinistic man's world, their loyalty to family and duty and doing what needs to be done. Fandom, however, always approach the Arya/Cat parallels negatively - as a form of critique of both female characters.

Do these characters have moments where they impulsively react in emotional situations? Yes, like pretty much ALL the characters do in the series. And yet these labels are singularly applied only to the female protagonists.

Arya for example is often careful, analytical and intelligent in her actions. When she escapes KL she carefully considers each step - where to go, where the guards would be, how the guards look, where the guards would search etc. - before planning her move. That's how she was able to outwit the adults like Cersei sending Lannister guards in disguise to catch Arya in enemy territory.

The same is true when Arya escapes Harenhall, where she strategizes, draws up a plan, identifies what she needs and where it is, collects everything and then gives the older boys - Gendry and Hot Pie - instructions on what to do

And then there is the way Arya and Dany are often characterized as violent in a way the male characters never are, when Planetos is a violent, medieval, feudal, grim dark fantasy setting.

To proactively get things done in a violent, patriarchal, chauvinistic world, one often has to engage in violence. Ned, Robert, Stannis, Jon, Robb, Tyrion, Jaime, Theon, Northern lords, NW brothers, KG have all killed people. Arya has to kill a guard to escape her captivity where the most horrible atrocities - including rape and torture - are especially committed on the female prisoners. No one is going to help her, she has to do it herself. And yet because of her gender, she gets condemned as 'violent', 'psychopathic', 'forever damaged', 'should feel guilty and bad about what she did' etc.

As ruler, Daenerys engages in the same medieval, feudal practices that other rules do - we are first introduced to the series' presumable hero Ned Stark, with him chopping off a man's head for desertion. And yet she is seen as violent and tyrannical in a way none of the male rulers are.

I still come across these jokes about Jon Snow counting beets ignoring his chosen one destiny when Daenerys also has an administrative arc in ADwD! Where are all the comments/jokes about Dany's problems with food, trying to grow food, trying to trade for food when she has encountered chosen one prophecy and yet stays behind in Essos doing the same thing Jon Snow is, except ten times harder because Meereen is a city state.

Especially jarring when all of GRRM's comments about ruling focuses on administration and specifically mentions Daenerys story in ADwD again and again. Like this for ex:

“I guess there is an element of fantasy readers that don’t want to see that. I find that fascinating. Seeing someone like Dany actually trying to deal with the vestments of being a queen and getting factions and guilds and [managing the] economy. They burnt all the fields [in Meereen]. They’ve got nothing to import any more. They’re not getting any money. I find this stuff interesting. And fortunately, enough of my readers who love the books do as well.” - GRRM

Dany, Tyrion and Jon's leadership arcs (In ADwD and ACoK) have parallels in that they are mostly of an administrative nature, dealing with money and food, making marriage alliances and unpopular decisions, with characters secretly undermining them. Jon's arc ends with mutineers assassinating him, Dany's arc ends with slavers trying to assassinate her and her fleeing on Drogon and Tyrion's arc ends with the Battle of Blackwater, Tywin coming back and Tyrion losing his power and position. No matter how well they did or didn't do as leaders, there was always someone in the shadows plotting against them, taking them down.

To single out the lead female characters alone as being impulsive and violent for being proactive and doing what needs to be done in order to survive in a violent, patriarchal world is misogyny at it's finest.

[damndamsy]

renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part iv)

While it was perverse and unacceptable, Prince Aemond and Princess Aemma took no heed of their noble steads, crossed the forbidding sea on Vhagar, chose a single witness, Princess Helaena on her mount, Dreamfyre, and united their blood in marriage. Dragonglass split their lips and hands, sealing their fates and promising their futures. Blood of two caught in chalice joined as one. The secret wedding was one for the books, the eerieness of the night, the rising tide and the fire kindling their vows. You'd expect them to have their conscience pricked but no, they knew this was their true calling. Not a force on this godforsaken planet could bring them apart.

Due for their return, Aemma was too quiet as she nimbly scaled Vhagar and straddled the saddle. Aemond observed in satisfaction, how his bride was so quick to form a connection to his dragon with a mere touch of her fingers and her soothing Valyrian tongue. This woman was truly meant to be his.

This time, he luxuriated behind her, the thrill of having her this close and belonging there, nothing couldn't arrest this. As Vhagar rumbled lowly beneath them, just as excitable as her rider, Aemond stroked his temple against Aemma's and stole a kiss from her cheek.

"Having regrets?" he murmured. Her skin shivered beneath his hold on her waist. The night was growing frigid.

Aemma shook her head, her teeth eventually gleaming with a smile. She turned her head to rest her forehead against his. "Never. This feels right. I only wish we didn't have to go back."

"The night is yet young. Let us take to the air." She laughed when his lips did their bidding against her neck, an idea with each kiss. "Dorne is within reach. Shall we soak up some sun? Beneath the blood orange orchards?"

Aemma pursed her lips. "Sounds delightful."

"It is decided." He eagerly twisted the leather harness around his dominant wrist to awaken Vhagar. "We'll come back when the time is ripe."

She let out a weary sigh, stopping his motions. Aware of her hesitation, he leaned his lips against her nape.

"We must go back," she whispered. "Reality awaits."

When they retreated to the dawning stillness of the Red Keep, they spoke of their marriage to no one. No one noticed the prince walking the princess to her chambers, placing a kiss upon her swathed hand and wounded lips, swearing to never speak of this until the time was right, and biding his wife good night.

All but one saw this. The word was dispatched.

It was Otto Hightower who sent for Her Grace and Prince Aemond, summoning their presence in his chambers forthwith. They discussed the atrocity that the young prince had committed while ushering in a new dawn.

"Surely this is some farce!" Alicent blustered, her voice vindictive.

Aemond undid the swathes of bandages to reveal a definitive scarlet scar sliced across his palm. "I have done my duty as the king's heir and taken a bride."

Otto was tolerant but only to an extent. He was reaching his breaking point. "That girl—your bride—is supposed to treat with the Northern lord next moon. How would he respond to this but with slight?"

"Then request him to politely fuck off to the world's end," Aemond mumbled, sinking to a seat and crossing his legs. He should've flown away with Aemma when he had the chance.

"He is a king! You would risk a conflict in the realm!" Alicent said, horrified.

"I would for her."

"You've gone mad, Aemond. You've fallen in love to lose your mind instead?"

"Aemma has been spoken for in my name since we were children. I've only made haste with the affair," he insisted, already bored of it all. He was a newlywed, he should be warming their marriage bed.

"We could've done this in front of your kin, in due diligence, reliably under the sacred eyes of the Seven. Rather you've decided to elope with the princess, cut your hands and feast upon blood like barbarians!"

"I don't expect you to understand our gods, Mother." He set his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers, and looking her dead in the eye. "You're not Targaryen."

She gritted her teeth at his audacity. "You'll face the dragon princess' wrath soon enough for what you've done to her girl."

"This matter is concluded. Aemma and I have wed, good tidings are in order and I thank you for yours," Aemond announced, rising to his height. "If you'll excuse me. The sun has risen and my wife will be expecting to see me."

"I take it you haven't consummated this secret marriage?" Otto eventually voiced his concern.

Aemond smirked at him. He would leave nothing to be questioned, even if it meant deceit. "As a true barbarian, I would never seek to disappoint," he lied through his teeth. "Her maidenhead is mine, as is her heart."

"Seven hells," Alicent whispered and put her head in her hands.

"'Tis only custom, mother."

"And when the whispers start. When Daemon holds your head to Dark Sister," Otto continued, "what will you answer then?"

He side-eyed his grandsire before he shifted to take his leave. "I've made it explicit that I will raze this fucking city to the ground lest a single tear is shed from my wife's eyes. My uncle is but a piece of piss next to that."

Another one, a maester, promptly took this information to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon. They were awakened after the hour of the wolf, insisting on the message's urgency. But the circumstances were faced... differently between them.

"Bravo!" Daemon raised his wine glass in a toast. "Couldn't have done it quicker and better myself. Took a massive, stinking shit on the Queen's precious stars and spokes, didn't they? Let's see how that hoary bitch spiels for her septas now."

"Daemon," Rhaenyra cautioned quietly before diverting to the maester. "And you are sure of this? Aemma wasn't coerced by the prince?"

"No, princess. They even took the prince's sister as a witness. As it happens, they've already consummated."

"Ingenious," Daemon chuckled into his wine.

"Who else knows?"

"Her Grace, the Hand, the prince, and yourself, princess."

"Spread the word," Rhaenyra ordered. "It was a private Valyrian affair to protect the intimacy of the prince and princess. Ensure that no libel comes to the princess' virtue. Or it won't be their tongues I'll have, it'll be yours."

The maester gulped and nodded. "Yes, princess."

As soon as the maester left, Rhaenyra turned to Daemon with a victorious grin. He stretched his hands above his head and groaned. "Wedded bliss awaits our daughter now. I wish her well."

"Aemma rivals me on this," she hummed.

"She's instinctive."

"She's fire and blood. Of course, she is."

X

By high noon, Prince Aemond's private wedding to Princess Aemma was the one word on everyone's fuller lips. They couldn't care less about how they had gone forth with it, but why. Did the prince take her against her will? Did he abduct her and force her into submission? Perhaps, they were made for each other, the one-eyed monstrosity marrying another freak. It was overtly claimed that the princess was of unsound mind, toiled by terrors, and this affair was carried with to keep matters quiet. The one-eyed prince of the realm would have to bear this burden until her dying breath. This outrageous claim was extinguished as soon as it was spoken.

When the secrecy of their union had been broached, Princess Aemma lingered behind closed doors and waited for the match to strike. It wasn't her conscience that moved her, but the weight of her impatience. She had nearly paced a line of gravel under her feet, hoping Aemond would come to her as he had promised.

When the doors opened behind her, Aemma's face softened to relief and she spun to face him.

"Aemond, we must..." Her lips parted with a breath. "Mother."

Princess Rhaenyra paused by the closing doors, possibly clothed in red to match her ire, and limply joined her fingers before her. Her expression was set in stone, and behind her, her brother, Jacaerys, was a towering column of outrage.

Aemma lowered her eyes, however unafraid. "If you want an apology, you will not hear one from me."

"Have you no remorse for us, Aemma?" Jace hurtled toward her and began to shout. "For desecrating your very birthright? For all the considerate privilege that our mother has offered you all your life and this is how you repay her?"

"Jace," her mother warned.

"No, I will not hear it, mother! You have coddled her enough. Blinded her to her own vanity. I should've ended this lunacy when she began courting that monster. Now, look! She has exploited an opportunity and whored herself out to that loathsome—"

"Jace!"

Rhaenyra's indignant roar rang past them. Aemma flinched, at the word and her mother's voice, her vision blurring with the onset of tears. She would dare not cry, that would stand to invalidate everything she had accomplished. And she had nothing to feel sorry for.

"Your sister is still a princess and you will treat her as such," Rhaenyra said blackly. "Aemma has desecrated nothing. She has wed a prince and, more so, a Targaryen, per the customs of our old gods, following her own inclination. One which I permitted—"

"You permitted!" he snapped.

"—and some prior announcement would've done nicely," she eyed Aemma knowingly, "but 'tis pleasant news nonetheless. We cannot incriminate her except perhaps reprimand her for undue urgency."

Jace's sneer refused to wane. "She has taken that vile snake to husband." He glared at Aemma. "His family hails your little brothers as bastards. Are you to turn a deaf ear when he calls you that someday? Or your children?"

"You would patronize my lineage?" Aemma spat. "Because I've wed someone you despise?"

"Accept it, Aemma. Laenor Velaryon has furnished us nothing but the title of his house."

"Our father loved us until his dying breath!"

"Laenor's gone and the duty has fallen upon me to defend my kin!"

"Enough of this," Rhaenyra hissed at them. "I will not tolerate such disgraceful talk among my children. Jace, leave us. Now."

Jace bore his unforgiving scowl at Aemma long and hard before leaning to whisper clearly, "You will soon realize what you've given rise to. When he reigns in ruin, I cannot protect you."

Aemma got ahold of her brother's arm desperately. "Jace, please," she whispered.

"It'll be too late, sister."

Jace touched her hand, squeezed it once and pushed it off him. He said nothing more and left the room with a resonant crash of the heavy doors.

Aemma fell back into a chair and hung her head between her shoulders. A deep-seated sting had started to worm up to the front and among all the torment that she shouldn't have to face, this was one, too. Her mother's hands stroked at her shoulders and hair, speaking nothing. She didn't have to, it was evident she held no ill feelings towards her daughter.

Her mother gently took her scarred hand into hers, tracing a finger down the swathing. "Congratulations to the both of you, dearest daughter," she said quietly.

Aemma sniffed, unable to respond.

"I wish you would've informed me. I would've followed you on Syrax in a heartbeat."

"I'm sorry, mother," she murmured, looking up at her. "But I am not ashamed of what we've done. Neither will I made to be."

The door opened once again and Aemma, for a split second, wished it was her brother returning to make amends. Her hope morphed into confidence and consolation when Aemond appeared, armed with his blade. She noticed a smidge of delight in his usual brooding look, probably of seeing his dear friend turned wife first thing in the morn, before it vanished off into scepticism and became aware of Princess Rhaenyra near her.

"Prince Aemond," her mother greeted, stoic. She refused to slip her arms from around her daughter.

Aemond barely spared her a glimpse, a prince on a mission. With his head held high, he cupped Aemma's chin, lifted it slightly and searched her face for something. His lips pursed when found it, his single eye harshening.

"I shall like a word with my wife in private," he requested, nearly insensitive and still unmoving.

Aemma's eyes flickered to Rhaenyra who looked between them, apprehensive of his stance. Her jaw flexed and she nodded once at Aemma before taking her leave. Aemond waited until he heard the creak of the hinges to signify they were truly alone.

"Were she not someone you loved," he said, leaving the words to hang like a noose in the air. He would've coated these flowery walls in red.

Aemma shook her head and pushed to her feet, wobbling slightly from vertigo. She placed her palms around Aemond's neck to steady herself. Responsively, he curled his arm around her and pressed a greeting kiss to her forehead.

"My mother did not upset me," she shared. "In fact, she was pleased to hear of it."

"It," he echoed.

She managed an elfish smile. "Our wedding."

He tilted his head, pretending to forget. "Hmm. I have no memory of this."

"Then allow me a gentle reminder, my friend," she murmured, expectantly leaning on her toes.

His mouth twisted in disdain. "I ought to fuck that word right out of your pretty little mouth."

Aemma dropped to her feet, taken aback, and looking to be sure. "What?"

He smirked, proud of himself. "Shall I repeat it?"

She stuttered with her words. "I—uh."

"So," he flouted easily. "You were reminding me."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know if I want to anymore."

"I want to."

He met Aemma's shy lips midway, sweet, soft and slow. Modesty fled when she gently coaxed him closer at his nape and bowed into him, her faint moan spearing through them. Utterly unbridled, he trailed his fingers down her delicate neck, the fine creases there, whilst his lips hunted down the delve of her collarbones, breathing her deeply. Such a naive temptress.

Aemond wanted to undo those flimsy laces and take her right there, in the brightness of dawn, but obligations burdened him. He dropped his head into the curve of her neck, holding her there for a second.

"You've chosen an inconvenient time to tempt me," he breathed out.

Aemma laughed, caressing the back of his head. "Shall I offer you a little distraction?"

"Is it under all these skirts?"

He felt his hair tugged hard albeit playfully. With another quiet laugh, she took his hand and led him to sit by the table, replete with a sweet breakfast for the newlyweds. She had waited all morning to break bread with her new husband.

Aemond was twice as pleasantly surprised when she ensconced over his lap, a slim arm curving over his shoulder. He didn't wait on slinging his own around her thighs.

"I quite like this approach."

"Distracted?" she asked.

"Worse. Ravenous." He sunk his teeth into her soft neck and pulled. Something of a moan left her fluttering lips.

"Then I'll need to act better," she whispered.

She cocked a cheeky brow as she grabbed a sour cherry, bit into it and offered him the other half. Just as though they were six years old again. Fate may have stolen his eye, but it left the other one to witness this; his dear friend, now the jewel in his crown, his wife, all too content to be with him.

He noticed the inflamed wound on her hand, yet to scar. The fresh seal of the bandages was still stained scarlet. He took her cherry-bearing palm into his, comparing their plasters.

"One more scar to match," she laughed.

He arched a side of his lips. "My favourite one."

"So."

"Hmm?" He was too preoccupied in exerting pressure over her bandage, trying to clot her wound.

"What's our first order of business as husband and wife?" She thought about it, swinging her legs. "Hmm... we could go down the Kingsroad and visit an inn. Trade a few coppers for—"

"I want to depart the city soon," he interrupted to say, decidedly.

She smiled until she dimpled. "Or that."

"Good. Now, I will have a ship and crew commissioned from Lord Corlys, who would do us a good turn as your grandsire, and sail to Pentos where I will have made arrangements with Prince Reggio who will be waiting to welcome us. From there, we'll go where the wind takes us on Vhagar."

She gaped at him, waiting for his information to slowly make sense. When it did, she couldn't breathe.

There was not a trace of humour on his face. "I've never been more intent."

She looked away, out the window adjacent to the table, attempting to think this through.

"Don't you think it to be too soon?" She didn't try to hide the fear in her voice. "We only wed last night. I've barely spoken with my family as I'm sure you with yours. We haven't even..." She glanced at her bed, a soft flush burning at her neck.

"Aemma," he cupped her cheek to urge her to see at the sincerity in his eyes, his throat bobbing, "we've done our waiting, sweetling. For years. The longer we stay, the more this becomes a fantasy. I simply won't allow it."

Her panic faltered, and weakened, as she stared at him. All those years she had counted on paddling that oar on her little rowboat further than the untamed tides on Dragonstone or escaping into the Maegor tunnels with a lit torch like adventurers, it all came to this. Here she was, her dear friend, offering it up on a plate. She would be an idiot if she let the chance slip through her fingers.

She drew in a deep breath and grinned as wide as she could. "Me either."

He smiled away his triumph, cradling her chin to kiss her softly. His fingers knotted in her hair when she moved to embrace him snugly, pouring her anxiety into him. He accepted it all, vowing to never let her feel such a thing ever again.

"I will need clothes befitting a traveller." Her words were muffled into his shoulder. "And I'll need sufficient space on Vhagar, a journal to note our findings, some ink, oh! A cape!"

"Anything."

He pressed his lips at her jaw, nuzzling the hair on her neck. He had come to adore the length, bristling with the bearing of a warrior. He pushed it away to look at the rampant excitement in her dark eyes.

"The end of this moon," he marked. "I'll see to it that we set sail in accord with our families."

X

you can read part v here!

[sailorgoon13]

Regulus Black

Basics:

Full Name: Regulus Arcturus Black

Nickname: Reg, Reggie

Gender: Male

Date of Birth: 28 June, 1961

Heritage: English

Blood Status: Pure Blood

Wand: Walnut, Phoenix feather, 11", Rigid

Appearance:

Hair Color: Black hair, natural curl

Eye Color: Grey eyes

Skin Tone: Light

Height: 5'9"

Body Type: Slender, lean.

Style: Tailored robes of rich, deep colors—charcoal black, midnight blue, and emerald green. Beneath his robes, he favored crisp, white shirts paired with fitted trousers. His hair, dark and tousled, fell effortlessly across his forehead. Around his neck, he wore a simple pendant

Features: His hair dark and possibly slightly unkempt. His stormy grey eyes. Stoic exterior

Personality:

Traits: Determination, Integrity, Compassion, Selflessness

Likes: Music, Art, Nature walks

Dislikes: Arrogance, Close mindedness, Prejudice, Injustice

Hobbies: Quidditch, Reading

Fears: Voldemort, What Voldemort planned on doing

Family and Friends:

Father: Orion Black

Staunch believers in the supremacy of pure-blood wizards and witches

Likely authoritarian parents who expected strict obedience and adherence to family traditions from their sons. Their rigid upbringing likely contributed to the conflicts and tensions within the Black family.

Mother: Walburga Black

Was infamous for her enchantment of the Black family tapestry, which displayed the family's tree.

She blasted off the names of any family members who were disowned or deemed unworthy, including Sirius when he left home.

Friends: Regulus upbringing within the pure-blood supremacist Black family, suggests that he may not have had many genuine friendships, especially outside of those who shared his family's beliefs. His relationship with his brother Sirius suggests that he may have harbored feelings of loyalty and affection towards him, despite their differences. Though strained by their ideological divide, their familial bond could have provided a foundation for understanding and mutual support.

Magic:

Special Abilities: Was taught Dark Magic at a young age

Boggart: Voldemort

Patronus: He could not produce one

Polyjuice: Would appear to be black with silver specks. Smells like old parchment and ink, mixed with earthy tones. The taste would be subtle and similar to dark chocolate with a hint of bitterness.

Amortentia: Subtle undertone of smoky incense or burning parchment, a faint scent of lilies and fresh air after a storm

Backstory:

From a young age, Regulus Black was groomed to uphold the traditions and beliefs of his prestigious pure-blood family. His parents, Orion and Walburga, had high expectations for both him and his older brother Sirius, expecting them to excel in their studies at Hogwarts and uphold the family's legacy of loyalty to the Dark Lord Voldemort.

As children, Regulus and Sirius were inseparable, bound by their shared experiences and the weight of their family's expectations. They dreamed of making their mark on the wizarding world together, fueled by their ambition and thirst for recognition.

But as they grew older, Sirius began to question their family's beliefs and rebel against their parents' authority. His defiance strained their relationship, leaving Regulus torn between his loyalty to his family and his affection for his brother.

Desperate to prove himself to his parents and earn their approval, Regulus stepped up to fill the role that Sirius had abandoned. He embraced the teachings of Voldemort and joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, believing that he was serving a noble cause and fulfilling his family's expectations.

However, as Regulus became more deeply involved in Voldemort's dark agenda, he began to witness the true extent of the Dark Lord's cruelty and ruthlessness. Horrified by the atrocities committed in his name, Regulus started to question his allegiance and the values instilled in him by his family.

It was during this tumultuous time that Regulus learned of Voldemort's Horcruxes—objects containing fragments of his soul that ensured his immortality. Fueled by a sense of duty and redemption, Regulus resolved to atone for his past mistakes by destroying one of the Horcruxes—the locket hidden in the cave.

In a daring and selfless act, Regulus defied Voldemort and ventured into the treacherous cave, facing countless dangers to reach the locket. Though he ultimately succeeded in retrieving it, he paid the ultimate price for his bravery, sacrificing his life to ensure that Voldemort's reign of terror would be brought to an end.

Regulus Black may have started his journey as a pawn of his family's ambitions and Voldemort's manipulation, but in the end, he found redemption in an act of courage and self-sacrifice, leaving behind a legacy of bravery and defiance that would inspire others to stand up against darkness and tyranny.

Academics:

Best Subject: DADA

Favorite Subject: Potions

Favorite Professor: Slughorn

Worst Subject: Muggle Studies

Least Favorite Subject: Divination

Least Favorite Professor: McGonagall

Student Life:

Regulus was quite active and had a love for being on the Quidditch team

Was in a few extracurricular activities such as Dueling Club and also Slugclub

He was one of Horace Slughorn's favorite students and excelled at potions

As Sirius began to rebel against their family's beliefs and traditions, tensions between the two brothers would have escalated

Template: @hazyange1s

[epicfroggz]

I wonder why Marika despite her atrocities is giving the benefit of the doubt and people try to invent so much justification for her actions but Messmer is reduced into a genocidal maniac and nothing else. It's getting more confusing when people hate on Messmer for what he did to the hornsent while also justifying Marika. Like how Messmer is irredeemable for committing genocide but Marika is reedamble and righteous for it when she was literally the one who ordered him anyway make it make sense 😅

Man, I don’t know either! Of all the demigods, Messmer was the most committed to being Marika’s weapon of war, her spear, an extension of her desire for justice and revenge. She pointed her spear at the Hornsent, and Messmer wholeheartedly agreed and went after them. (slight rant below)

(please read the following paragraph with great bitterness)

And also reclaimed the native lands of Marika’s people and protects them, and is trying to help those who have suffered in jars for ages, and fosters in his highly disciplined army a culture of acceptance and respect for those of other walks of life (even making them his commanders), and personally mourns those he has lost even if it is because they rebelled against him. But no, no, Messmer is just a genocidal maniac, mhm. Never mind that he and his men are suffused with profound grace, more potent runes than any other army found in the Lands Between, that their cause is deemed holier by the Greater Will itself than all the petty wars of the Shattering combined—nah, they’re just evil to be evil, sure whatever. Marika, though? She was totally correct to write the Golden Order in such a way that her son was branded a traitor for the powers he was born with and can’t change about himself, no matter how much he tried. She was totally correct to make him despise himself. She was totally correct to abandon him out of fear. Look, she condemned the war despite being the one that desired it! She actually isn’t flawed, and can never do wrong!

Going to stop now because it’s making me sick. I hope I’ve managed to express that, I agree, the sentiment you describe in your ask is so nearsighted it’s baffling. I love Marika and her story, but because she is a deeply flawed god—she loves her children, but by loving her children she ruins them, it is absolutely fascinating. And her children all find their own way to fight for themselves, in the end—to become Lords or Gods, just like she wanted. It just took her removing herself from the equation for them to be able to do it. :(((

I digress, but yeah, trying to redeem these people is tiring, why can’t we just enjoy the tragedy instead?

- Froggo

[scaly-freaks]

“Milk Carton” — Self-explanatory, it was the only song I could think of that has the perspective of someone who survived a kidnapping. I also believe that establishing what is going to happen in the beginning helps build up a sense of dread. We know that a kidnapping is going to happen, we just don't know when.

“In the Pines” — A truly haunting song. The song was originally written by Lead Belly, but the first time I heard it was this Kurt Cobain documentary called Montage of Heck, where the final scene is Kurt performing the song at MTV Unplugged. There’s this moment in the song where Kurt makes this face that is absolutely chilling, almost like he’s Colonel Kurtz staring into the heart of darkness. The lines, “you caused me to weep, you caused me to moan, you caused me to leave my home / I wish to my Lord that I’d never seen your face / I’m sorry you were ever born,” also felt pertinent. All in all, I felt it sets the Southern setting, especially the North Carolina region, where you say Aegon takes Amara.

“Rampage” — I felt that this accurately captured Aegon’s demeanour. I don’t know whether they might have known each other prior to her abduction, but most kidnappings occur with someone who knows you. There will be a lot of songs where you just feel looming dread, and this is the first of them. “Milk Carton” is disturbing, but there’s no dread, because there’s no anticipation. Whereas “Rampage,” I’m going to assume, seems to be spoken from the perspective of a lover of a boy whom, it’s heavily implied from the references to the Columbine Shooters and Tate Langdon in American Horror Story, is ultimately going to shoot up a school. When I was a kid, my parents would play this song called, “Six O’Clock News,” about a woman whose lover goes on a shooting rampage, who has just learned she’s pregnant with his child. I always was very shaken by that song, and I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have loved someone who committed such atrocities; just the sheer guilt, the discomfort regarding how to mourn them, the thoughts of I should have known, I should have seen the signs…was unthinkable for me as a child, and is unthinkable now. In “Creek Blues,” another song from the same album as “Rampage,” you sort of get this mosaic of such “signs.” He shows the speaker his daddy’s guns, he kills dogs and leaves them to die by the nearby creek. I think, for me, I wanted to build up a sense of dread over the songs, until it reaches its pinnacle, sort of this mounting pile of evidence that something terrible is going to happen. I discuss the notion of warning signs in relation to violence and abuse in the explanation for “Sometime After Midnight.”

“It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” — Chosen mostly because it inspired this creepy, creepy short story that we read in high school, about the immediate moments preceding the abduction of a teenage girl from her home. Incredibly unsettling story, and absolutely heartbreaking. The story, called “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” was adapted into a movie in the 80’s. Honestly considering removing it, given that I’m trying to build up dread, and it’s not really a dreadful song. Let me know if you think it should stay.

“Sometime After Midnight”— I wanted to convey a sense of looming doom; there’s this moment in W.G. Sebald’s The Emigrants, where there’s this extensive idyllic depiction of Bavaria, and then this war plane crosses the sky. This section starts out with the understanding that it’s the account of a character’s mother, and that she wrote it while awaiting deportation to a Nazi death camp. And this endows the image of the war plane cutting across this clear blue sky above this bucolic Bavarian landscape with a feeling of absolute dread; they have no idea what is going to happen. It’s the equivalent to the tomb in Arcadia, or the ending of Irréversible: it’s a portent of doom. “Sometime After Midnight” is one such prelude; the speaker remarks to herself that she knows that she spent all day getting ready for the date, but that she has this feeling in her stomach that makes her feel uneasy. She remarks that she’s been told that bad things happen after dark, and then looks at the setting sun. It’s the equivalent to a puzzle piece falling into place. I do truly believe that there is an intuition that people have that something’s off, and that many, especially women, choose to ignore this feeling, tell themselves that they’re being silly or paranoid, only to realize that their gut was right. It’s meant to convey dread, and banality. While the speaker may have considered her day preparing for the date innocuous, just a bit of fun, in retrospect, the day will become far more significant.

            I was too young to remember 9/11, but when I’ve asked my parents and my friends’ parents their stories of that day (I grew up very close to New York), they all reacted differently—my boyfriend's dad saw the second tower get hit from the train window, and stayed on the train, my friend's dad was in the South Tower and ran to the Hudson to get on one of the many boats that were trying to take people off Manhattan—but one thing detail was the same in all of their stories: there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky that day. The reason why this detail has crystallized in their head is because they should have known. It was only in retrospect that the day that began like any other became that day. We trace the final day of murder victims, what they wore, their last words to their parents and loved ones, because we want to prepare ourselves for the possibility that our banal, commonplace lives could be torn apart at a moment’s notice, that one day we might walk out of a door and never be seen again. I believe that we have an intuition about people, but not about events. The speaker of “Sometime After Midnight” does not know that this is the last day; she may not have spoken to any of her parents or friends or loved ones but instead spent all of it getting ready for a date that will end in either her abduction or her demise. She may have a gut feeling, but by the time she feels it, it's already too late. This is her last day, and all that she can do is watch "the sky turn black by the window-side."

“Bad Things”— Another song that I felt exuded dread, although in this case, the fear actually becomes realized. The opening riff almost hits like a stuttering heart, with this insistent clapping noise; it immediately evokes both despair and anxiety. The song's chorus reads like a nursery rhyme you tell children: bad things happen, and you are powerless to stop them. The chorus is also apt for a kidnapping: you leave home, and you never come back. I had never been able to decipher the spoken part, but in looking at the lyrics, they’re really chilling, given that they’re spoken by Jim fucking Jones. The lyrics read as such: "You’d have wanted to run, you’d have had to run with them, because anybody could’ve run today, they would have wanted to. I know you’re not a runner and your life is precious to me.” It’s essentially Jim Jones gaslighting his followers in the leadup to their mass suicide, telling them that they actually have agency over their fates. They chose to stay and kill themselves alongside him, he argues, because they didn’t run when they could have. They freely chose to stay with him and die with him. But this isn’t true; the inner circle would punish those who attempted to escape, and the event that precipitated the Jonestown massacre was a group of Jones loyalists gunning down the Congressman Leo Ryan and defecting members of the People’s Temple on an air strip as they tried to leave. Jones manipulated his followers into believing they had a choice, that, if they wanted to leave, they could have, when they never did. I think I recall Aegon using this rationalization in Chapter 10 of YSMMC: it was Amara's choice to go to the cabin, so he bears no responsibility for any of the acts he felt licensed to subject her to as a result of this choice. And, as in Jonestown, Amara’s “choice” in YSMMC wasn’t much of a choice, because it was either that or a confrontation with Jace, and Aegon knew this, and exploited it to his advantage. He helped create the conditions that would cause her to choose. It all reminds me of when I was reading Chapter 17 of YSMMC, and I was reminded of this passage from Lolita:

“Get in,” I said. “You can’t call that number.”

“Why?”

“Get in and slam the door.”

She got in and slammed the door. The old garage man beamed at her. I swung on to the highway.

“Why can’t I call my mother if I want to?”

“Because,” I answered, “your mother is dead.”

In the gay town of Lepingville I bought her four books of comics, a box of candy, a box of sanitary pads… at the hotel we had separate rooms, but in the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine, and we made it up very gently. You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go. (140)

That is to say, Jim Jones, Humbert in Lolita, and Aegon in YSMMC all act as if the decision by their victims to have sex with them was their victims’ choice, when they were the ones who set up the conditions that forced their victims to do what the men say. And, even if Amara freely chose to go to the cabin, she didn't choose any of the acts Aegon subjected her to there. I figured that this would be the approach of Aegon in this AU; tell Amara that it was actually her choice. This song sort of represents the pinnacle of the lead-up: the kidnapping that we've been expecting has finally occurred.

Anyways, as always, thank you for the opportunity for me to sharpen my character analysis approach to get ready for school; the methodology that guides my interpretation of characters is essentially the New Critical close reading method, and requires that I reconcile all aspects of their character and actions with each other, to explain their motivations, etc. It's a great challenge to have to analyze characters when their writer is right there to correct you; you're a lot less likely to cast generalizing statements about characters; it's harder to pontificate falsehoods when God is right there, if that makes sense lol. It forces me to be much more discerning, and therefore hones my analytical process, so I thank you again for that!!! X Caroline

Absolutely insane descriptor behind each song in this playlist, and the thought put into them? Girl, you are going to ace your impending studies. I consider myself lucky that this silly little hobby I picked up attracted people who treat it as something real and genuine which then pushes me to improve.

I only really fix someone's analysis if I think it's interpreting a sensitive topic in a way that I don't think is conducive to open-minded discussion; that responsibility kind of feels like it falls on me to fix since it's my work they're reading.

But your analysis, as well as others who have had their interpretations, I love to ingest, because as a writer, it's so easy to feel like these characters are just mine. But in reality, I read an amazing book and I hold those characters in me in a way that the writer might not recognise or identify with. Someone might extract the gentleness of Aegon and Amara and want to hold that close, whereas I might have written that particular chapter/passage from a place of extreme violence and trauma. Both are correct because both are tangled up with human beings. And when someone gives me their approach, I get to experience this familiarity of my characters from a whole other vantage which is so, so fun.

I'm a fan of every song you've chosen, and even though I know I can't write this AU right now, the lyrics to each are painting scenes into existence. For instance, as I was reading (and listening), a scene came to me where Amara tries to escape from the moving truck, and when Aegon gets her back, he choke-slams her into the horizontal part of the seat, her neck bent at a crooked angle as her head hits the car door. He's kneeling on the gears and the brake, one arm angled up against the roof of the truck, crouched over her like a malignant beast in a painting. The physicality of him filling up the space while she curls up and tries to push at his chest with her feet...yeah.

The Lolita comparison and the instances in YSMMC where Aegon created an inescapable situation and then handed her the illusion of choice...YES. Exactly it. If we're speaking in terms Helaena would use, Amara is an insect missing several legs, and Aegon is the spider slowly spinning the web in circles around her. Or a ladybird around which he's drawing a shape and she keeps trying to avoid the new lines he's putting on the page, without realising she can just step over them. She regularly suffers from what I like to call a fuck fog but there's so much more happening when Aegon decides to actively manipulate her. The Targaryen trauma train is so real, and it's just inconceivable every single one of the siblings hasn't developed their own methods of "playing God" when things don't go their way.

Anyway, urgh, fucking juicy ask. Delicious. Nibbling on it like a chicken leg.

P.S. Before I forget, I didn't envision Aegon knowing her before he kidnapped her at first, but I sort of like that now. There's a scene in Room where she screams at her mother for telling her to "be nice to everyone" and that's why she helped her eventual kidnapper look for his dog that didn't even exist. Maybe Amara gave Aegon a smile in passing a few times at the place she worked, and it was never anything more complicated than that. A scrap of kindness he decided to poison and taint.

[fruitcakebro]

Laurance is easy to characterise, but hard to write about for me.

Because it's so incredibly obvious what his primary traits are. He's hope, packaged with stubbornness. A man who could be knocked down, spit out a tooth, and get back up to try again.

It will be worth it.

He's one of -if not THE- first shadowknight to be partially turned and then continue to serve his lord, and he's exactly the sort of person to be that. He didn't handle the call by running from it. He stands burning on his funeral pire, gripping the stake the ropes have long burned off.

It will be worth it.

He's the man who would every time take the thousand-to-one shot at victory rather than surrender. He didn't let his previous world slip through his hands, he held on to it, and threw it in the fire himself all for the sake of the woman he meant to protect from it.

It will be worth it.

He followed her to the ends of the world, shattered his soul for her, and committed atrocities he could never atone for, all to keep her safe.

It will be worth it.

He walked through the flames of his world, holding what was left of himself like a cloak to keep them at bay from those he loved as his monster consumed him, and drove him slowly to madness.

It will be worth it.

And she betrayed him. She pulled him along, played with his heart like a puppet, and cast him into the flames he shielded her from. All he had done for her meant nothing, when she met the right stranger.

It was never worth it.

[crazycoke-addict]

5 Worst things that team Green has done and 5 worst things team black had done

1. Usurping Rhaenyra (Team Green)

Throughout season 1, Alicent and Otto are trying to get Viserys to change his mind about Rhaenyra being his heir, but he never did. When Viserys died, he mentioned Aegon's dream to Alicent, whom he believed was Rhaenyra. Alicent believes that Viserys is telling her that Aegon their son must be king.

The Green Council (excluding Alicent) was already planning to put Aegon on the throne. Aegon is the eldest son of Viserys, and since the succession goes through the male. They believe that Rhaenyra shouldn't be Queen because she is a woman and woman shouldn't rule.

2. Blood and Cheese (Team Black)

After the death of Lucerys, Valeryon. Daemon goes to Kingslanding in secret to meet up with two people known as blood and cheese. Daemon orders them to find Aemond and kill him. However, if they can't find him, then go to the next person. That being Prince Jaehaerys, eldest son of Aegon and Helaena.

While not all team black conspired with the murder of an innocent child. Daemon held more responsibility and is an important figure through team black as king consort and a warrior himself.

3. Killing Lord Beesbury (Team Green)

After Visery's death, the greens are already planning to put Aegon on the iron throne. Lord Beesbury doesn't want to be part of this plan and tells them that Rhaenyra will always be Viserys' true heir and the great house have already served their loyalty to her.

While accusing them of poisoning the King and this includes Alicent. Criston murders him by pushing his head in the ball. Because of this, house beesbury will no longer support house Hightower and even declare war on them for the death of their lord. Criston Cole really messed up for the greens and turned their supporting allies against them.

4. Ordering the blockade (Team Black)

While Rhaenyra and Mysaria had a successful propaganda by bringing in food so that the small folk would turn against the greens. It's worth noting that Rhaenyra ordered the food to be blocked. She could order the blockade to be released and let the food be transported to the small folk.

These are some of the things that Aemond is frustrated with and why they are trying to ally with the Greyjoys. I believe if they use their dragons, they might be burned the food.

5. Exploiting a child's death for political gain (Team Green)

After learning the murder of Prince Jacerys. Otto Hightower see this as an opportunity to get the main houses to surrender their cause by turning this tragedy into a political gain. Otto has Alicent and Helaena to play the dutiful grandmother and mother mourning over their dead son and grandson.

It's upsetting to see Helaena being put through this, and just you forced to do something because it's their duty doesn't mean anything.

6. Committing war crimes in the riverlands (team black)

You know who isn't great at being a diplomat, Daemon Targaryen. Daemon thought it was a great idea to negotiate with house braken by bringing in their enemy, house Blackwood.

House Bracken refuses to support the blacks, so Daemon orders Willem Blackwood to get them to change their minds. Of course, he never told him to commit atrocities, but the fued between Blackwood and Bracken is pretty well known.

7. Parading the head of meleys (Team Green)

This is not only the worst things that team Green has done but rather the most stupidest. Parading the head of meleys was an obvious political gain to make aegon, a heroic person who slain the monster.

I do believe that this was Criston Cole's idea because when you live with and befriended the hightowers, then you know that PR works. While I don't like what they put Helaena through involving exploiting her dead son, it was still a good political gain.

But for meleys head being paraded, Criston Cole has done is break the illusion that house targaryen had been building that being dragons are gods who cannot be touched. Most of the dragons like vhagars and dreamfyre have been living since aegon the conqueror. Team Green had targaryen, and their dragons are in kingslanding. It's a recipe for disaster.

8. Exploiting the small folk (Team Black)

From a political standpoint, Team Green and team black's individual propaganda is a well-done job, and it gave them the success they were looking for. Yet, it's also awful if you watch it from the outside.

Mysaria's whole thing is that she cares for the smallfolk because she herself was one of them. It's also likely that may not know about the blockade, so she genuinely believes that Rhaenyra will be a good queen. However, using the small folk by exploiting them and turning them against the greens, especially with Queen Helaena and Queen Alicent. It is shown that the small folk will be seen as a pawn for both team Green and team black to use.

Team Black just used their weakness by giving them food, but without having to open the blockade.

9. hanging the ratcatchers (Team Green)

This is one of the most vile things that Aegon has ever done as a king besides raping Dyana. During the blood and cheese, Blood ended up confessing that he was ordered by Daemon Targaryen, and while he didn't know the name of the other guy's name and he knew that he was a ratcatcher.

Instead of having Helaena to identify the ratcatcher, Aegon decided that the best option is to hang 99 ratcatchers and place them in the public. I get it. He was grieving, but he weakened team green's claim and potential allies. Him firing Otto and making Ser Criston Cole as hand of the King is also a bad idea as well.

10. letting bastards have access to the throne (Team Black)

Now,I understand why Rhaenyra and Laenor couldn't have kids with each other. They tried to once, but Laenor couldn't go through with it because of his sexuality, so Rhaenyra had to look somewhere else.

The problem is who she chooses to be the father of her children. While Rhaenyra could say that they got their looks from house arryn from their maternal mother's side or house baratheon from their great paternal grandmother's side. It isn't in line with them.

There's a double standard involving Rhaenyra having bastards and other kings/lords having bastards, but the majority of the time, the lords and kings aren't pushing their bastards to take the iron throne. While yes, Viserys accepted Jace as his heir because Jace is a targaryen. It doesn't do much.

Having bastards gain access to a powerful position is a dangerous thing to do, and later on, it has caused many wars and rebellions later on. What's interesting is that the blackfyre rebellion happened came from Rhaenyra's side of her family.

Rhaenyra's reckless behaviour pushes the greens to prevent her from getting the iron throne.

[laurellerual]

Arya and Sansa storyswap: an exercise in imagination

Premise: I tried to speculate what might happen if Sansa manages to escape King's Landing and Arya gets stuck in the capital. I collected my thoughts on this scenario trying to make logical, credible choices that respected the characterization of the characters and the timeline of the books (the wiki was very usefull for this). I discarded all the scenarios that end in "…and then she dies horribly" because they're boring. I write with assumption that they would still remain POV characters and therefore mantain a minimum of plot armor. Like everyone, I have my biases so it's not perfect, but I tried to put myself in the most neutral mindset possible. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts. Part 1, Part 2

Part 3/3: Reunion

A Storm of Swords

Sandor and his “squire" are captured and bringed to Stoney Sept in the Riverlands. The Brotherhood without Banners takes them to Hollow Hill. Clegane is put on trial for various atrocities committed by Lannister soldiers, but he survives and is freed.

Arya is recognized by Harwin and Sansa. The two sisters reunite and remain under the "protection" of the outlaws. Because of this, the story takes a very different turn from here on.

For example, I don't think Arya would try to escape the Brotherhood so soon. As a result I don't think the Hound would be unable to kidnap the Stark girls again. However, the Hound could also decide to stay with the Brotherhood. He could plan to go to the Twins, introduce himself to Robb as Arya's savior, and ask him for a job.

So the Brotherhood proceeds as planned, they now have another valuable hostage and intend to take both girls to Lord Edmure's wedding and ransom them to their family. A group of men (like Lem, Harwin, Tom, etc) accompanies the sisters to Harroway to cross the Trident, but their journey is delayed because they find it flooded (like in Arya IX).

They reach the Twins just in time for the Red Wedding, and the outlaws manage to drag the Stark sisters away and save them. Arya and Sansa go through a complicated period of mourning but the fact of being together helps them. The two want to hold onto hope that perhaps their mother might have survived.

One night Arya has her first wolf dream in a long time: she sees Cat's body and drags it out of the river. In the morning Sansa suggests asking the men to go back and look for the woman, but Arya tells her that she's dead. As per canon Lord Beric, Thoros and the others come across the corpse and Dondarrion dies to resurrect her.

Lem's group continues their journey, this time they intend to take the girls to Lysa Arryn, but they discover that the mountain clans are bolder than ever and decide not to take the risk and return to the Riverlands.

The Stark sisters are getting impatient, Arya suggests that the two could run away and try to get to Winterfell alone. Sansa has to inform her sister that Winterfell was conquered by Theon months ago. She is devastated and abandons all plans. Lem's group returns to the Hollow Hill to discuss a new plan with Beric or perhaps to take more men as escorts before returning to the Vale.

Waiting for them in the hill, there isn't the lightning lord but Lady Stoneheart! Mother and daughters reunite.

A Feast for Crows

That's it. Final cliffhanger, sorry.

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring is anti-war propaganda that is directly relevant to things happening in the world right now.

All the spoilers. All of them. And additional content warning for discussions of genocide and war, and mentions of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict.

Also big thank you to @starofancunin for asking a really good question about Queen Marika's motivations, which helped me better structure some of this post.

So in the base game, we knew that God Queen Marika committed a bunch of atrocities against other races. We thought this was just a bid for control in the base game, because lords war--even in our world--over things like power and territory and resources and racism. That was a perfectly fine motivation from a story perspective. But there were a lot of lingering questions about why she wanted that power in the first place.

What we learned in the DLC is wild. At some point in your wanderings, you come across where Marika is from. And you learn that the people she started her war against--the Hornsent--were killing her people first in really awful, gruesome ways. Her genocide seems to have followed another genocide.

Art by Halima Aziz. Follow here: https://www.instagram.com/palestinianartist/

So the order of events seems to be something like this:

1) The original sin Hornsent genocide Shamans (Marika's people) in the form of Jar rituals.

2) Marika's first choice Marika, tired of death, decides to seize control to stop this and sets off to become powerful enough to do so.

3) Marika's ascension She becomes a god and returns home to take control.

4) Death of the Shamans While she was away, all of the Shamans--all of her people--have been killed, kidnapped, or gruesomely tortured. The game tells us no one is left in her home town when she gets back.

5) Marika's second choice She decides on revenge instead.

6) The war of revenge begins Marika starts a war against the Hornsent, and brainwashes (at least some of) her children into soldiers to help her carry it out.

7) The war's sphere of violence grows The war doesn't end once Marika (or rather, her child on her behalf) has decimated the Hornsent. She starts decimating a bunch of other nonhumans (e.g. misbegotten) most likely in a bid to maintain control and "order" (that word you keep using, Marika...I do not think it means what you think it means). Because of course people are rebelling against what she's doing. And if they rebel, they need to be quelled, right? They're disrupting law and order and must be put down. It doesn't matter whether their dissent is a direct response to her violence; it's disorderly and must be controlled, of course.

8) Marika reverses course A long time later, Marika comes to eventually regret what she's done, likely due to the fact that her own children are either in the act of rebelling (see Ranni, Rykard, Mohg, Melina, Miquella) or are outright killed (Godwyn). The part of her personality that was always about healing--the part of her that bathed her (empty) village in gold healing light as a passionate tribute--reasserts control. So she forms a 4D chess plan to try to overthrow her own order. This is the base game's story in which the PC is tasked with stopping this nonsense on her behalf, since she can't do it herself for Plot Reasons.

9) The PC sets out to stop a new cycle of violence Either after or during that storyline (depending on player timing), the PC is sent to the realm Marika came from to learn all the history in 1-7 and stop another threat from repeating her mistakes (even if the big bad is probably, maybe, technically well-intended).

"When Family is the Only Shelter", painted during the assault on Gaza in 2021, by Malak Mattar. Follow here: https://www.instagram.com/malakmattarart/

So at the end of the day, Elden Ring criticizes the idea that genocide (or just plain war) as a "solution" to a past genocide isn't going to work, but rather will just perpetuate a cycle of blood. Marika's people had something absolutely fucked up happen to them, yes. But genociding them back didn't bring her people back. In fact, it directly led to a bunch more violence against (what became) her (new) people and other previously uninvolved races.

Someone characterized Elden Ring's cycle as "An endless trail of old women weeping over the bodies of their dead children", and yes. It's a good statement about the game, but also about cycles of violence. We know Marika wept over her murdered village. Subsequent to that, we meet Grandam in Belurat weeping over her people. And finally we see Marika weeping over her dead child in the base game.

Vincent van Gogh's "Weeping Woman", 1883

I am immediately reminded of parallels to how Israel is reacting to Palestine. The story was written before the most recent events, so I don't think that's intentional; rather, I think it's just that war follows the same old predictable patterns.

I hear a lot of people suggest that Israel is wholly in the right in the most recent assaults because they were "attacked first" (and sure, they were, if we arbitrarily start counting from 2023), and that therefore their retaliatory genocide is okay. The point, though, is that it's not an actual solution and probably much more complicated than that. Genociding back someone who attacked you (even multiple times) isn't actually a solution in our world, just like it's not a solution to Marika's problems. Such violence doesn't bring their lost children back, and it doesn't lead itself towards a true peace (or "true order" in Golden Order lingo). If anything, it breeds more bad blood and more violence--and we see that play out in the DLC where one of the surviving Hornsent literally sets out to get revenge again, starting a 3rd cycle of violence.

In fact, the long-standing oppression of an underclass of people followed by a vengeful genocide is more likely to make them rebel with violence than to join you--as we have seen play out both in the game and in Palestine's relationship to Israel. Would people actually be attracted to Hamas's violence were there not decades of discriminatory policies against Palestine? It's worth asking. After all, most people are not violent by nature, but by circumstance.

Art by Hadil, follow here: https://www.instagram.com/hoist_thecolors/

The PC's job in Elden Ring is literally to try to find a solution, in the form of 1 of 6 endings. And I find it fascinating that the default ending where you do nothing but seize power in your own name is called the "Age of Fracture" and hints that nothing has really changed except that you're in charge now. The world is still fractured. No one is unified. Violence is still going to happen under your (lazy) watch, because you predicated your reign on violence--just like Marika. It suggests that if you don't actually come up with a creative solution to the problem to ensure everyone is treated like humans (or sentient beings anyway), then the PC themself is also perpetuating the same cycle of violence in the name of power or "order". It directly criticizes revenge substituted for restorative justice as a means to peace.

No, I do not know the solution to Palestine and Israel, because I am not some brilliant political scholar. Nor did I know what the "best" ending would be for Elden Ring. Breaking the cycle of violence is *incredibly challenging*, and I'm not the scholar to do it. I'm just some gamer seeing parallels in this magnificent work of fiction to our world, and think its criticisms are timely, relevant, and well-constructed.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

So, the atrocities Rhaenyra committed never happened because “unreliable source” but F&B is suddenly very trustworthy when it comes to the Greens, am I right ?

Most of the stuff that Rhaenyra was claimed to have done was stuff she did. Eustace primarily looked to whitewashing Aegon II with his whole “he didn’t care until his children were threatened” BS.

Most of what she did during her half-year tenure (the taxes, the murders, the lavish feasts while her people starve, refusing to offer credible surrender terms to the Greens, etc.) cannot be mistaken as anything but her doing, with the only exception of Haelana, who may have been pushed, may have committed suicide, or may even have been murdered by Larys Strong (I doubt that though). Arguing for people who doubted the Strong bastards’ paternity to have their tongues ripped out definitely happened (and as Tyrion stated, “when you tear out a man’s tongue, you are not proving him a liar, you’re only telling the world that you fear what he might say”). Rhaenyra knew about Blood & Cheese beforehand, and never punished Daemon. Maelor’s death can’t be biased history, her Knights Inquisitor were publicly charged with finding Maelor. Ordering Lord Mooton to murder Nettles and ordering Addam Velaryon to be executed without trial was also something that definitely happened, writs of execution have paperwork.

The smallfolk of KL turned on her, and that can’t be explained away as propaganda after-the-fact, they were the ones living it. Their reactions can’t be explained away as propaganda; they slaughtered the dragons: the living symbols of Targaryen power, and justified their actions as righteous action. How can that be construed as anything but legitimately held rebellion against the very aspect of her rulership ? The heads that were placed on pikes above Maegor’s Holdfast too, are physical things that can be observed and confirmed (or disproven).

See, I don't think anyone taught you how to analyze unreliable sources. An easy way to do that is if there are other sources corroborating the story or see if the idea makes sense with the person being talked about. It's also important to consider the context of the decisions, which is analysis 101 by the way. So, since apparently holding your hand and walking you through something like I'm your fucking middle school teacher is necessary, let's go through your post.

First off, the taxes. Yes, I agree with you, the taxes are something Rhaenyra actually did, we know this because in a kingdom, tax records are always kept. This is how I know that you, much like all the Nettles stans who interact with me, have never fucking read a thing I've written. I've said that the heavy tax isn't something that's a sign of Rhaenyra being incompetent or a tyrant. It's a necessary cost of war, especially since the Greens stole the treasury, she needs money. The people did hate this and eventually riot, but, by looking at the context of the riot, it was rooted in hatred of the war, not Rhaenyra. They believed that if she took the throne, the war would be over, but it wasn't because of Aegon's cowardice. If Aegon was still on the throne, the people would have still rioted, they hated the war and blamed the monarch, end of story.

As for the beheadings, I hate to break it to you, but F&B takes place in a medieval world, meaning that beheading was the method for punishing treason. Aegon's supporters committed treason then, unlike Rhaenyra's supporters, tried to hide throughout the city. Now, am I saying that beheading your enemies and putting their heads on spikes on the walls is a good thing? No, it's something that's barbaric and cruel, however, it's no less than what Aegon did to her supporters, so condemning her for something Aegon does is extremely hypocritical and sexist. Also, it wasn't a witch hunt, Rhaenyra needed to find the treasury and Aegon in order to stop the war; was it extreme, yes, but, again, context is important. I find it interesting that you condemn the taxes she levied while also condemning her attempts to end the reason for the taxes, could it be you just hate Rhaenyra and are looking for any reason to shit on her?

Now we're getting into something that requires a little critical thinking, which I know is hard for you: the feasting. The only source that says Rhaenyra held feasts while she was in KL is Septon Eustace. Let's look at Eustace really quickly; he's the man who crowned Aegon and is known by the in-universe writers of F&B to be unreliable, he also wasn't in KL when Rhaenyra was ruling. So, if the maesters who wrote the sources F&B drew from deem him to be unreliable and he wasn't present during her reign, does that make Eustace a trustworthy source? And if the many courtiers who were in KL and weren't fans of Rhaenyra didn't corroborate this rumor, is it likely to be true? The answer to both of these is no. Eustace claiming Rhaenyra feasted during her time in KL is 99% a lie, and that other 1% would refer to the fact that nobles always ate better than their people.

Now, I have another question for you anon, I do hope you'll consider it. Would you offer mercy to the man responsible for the deaths of all but two of your children, your husband, your ex mother-in-law who acted as your surrogate mother, began a war based on your gender, and wanted to kill you and your remaining children? Unless you are literally a saint, the answer is, no, you wouldn't be inclined to offer that person "credible surrender terms". I think you're just referring to when Rhaenyra refused to split the kingdom between her and Aegon as well as refused to spare his life if she caught him while she was in KL. How exactly is throwing the kingdom into a shit storm by splitting it in half, despite the fact that a majority of the lords supported Rhaenyra, "credible terms"? It's not, it's fucking entitled and ridiculous, of course Rhaenyra rejected that audacious idea. Also, Aegon refused to surrender in any way, in fact he was more determined than ever to keep the war going (even after Rhaenyra was murdered, he kept fighting), what's the point of offering peace terms if they're going to be rejected again? She already offered very merciful terms at the beginning of the war.

"As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena," she announced, "they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are of my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer." (Fire and Blood: The Dying of the Dragons - the Blacks and the Greens)

Keep in mind, this is an official decree by Rhaenyra, terms delivered to Aegon and his council, meaning they were recorded and had official documentation. So not only are you not using any critical thinking, you're flat out lying and making shit up to try and support your argument.

Now, moving on to Rhaenyra's sons, her wanting people who are committing treason to be punished how the king decreed isn't an outlandish or unreasonable expectation. Jace, Luke, and Joff were declared the legitimate sons of Laenor by Viserys, Corlys, and Laenor himself, making them (at the very least adopted) Velaryons. Are you saying that people who are adopted are undeserving of inheritance just because of their blood? That's not even a medieval idea, since adopted heirs has been a custom since the Ancient Romans. Moving on, Viserys was the one who declared the punishment for the treason of questioning the boys' legitimacy, not Rhaenyra. There's also the fact that no one outside of the Greens cared about whether the boys were Laenor's blood or not, they are recorded by everyone, including Eustace himself, as true Velaryons. I'm not even going to address the Tyrion quote, since you clearly don't actually care about accuracy or literally any of the messages in ASOIAF.

Continuing your trend of blatantly making shit up, there's no evidence that Rhaenyra knew about B&C. All we have is Daemon's letter to her, which only said that Luke would be avenged, something which could be accomplished through taking her throne and executing Aemond. In fact, that's the most likely conclusion to be drawn from such a vague letter.

As for Maelor, Rhaenyra did order her knights to find him, as having Aegon's last child could motivate him to surrender. However, she didn't order him to be executed, that was clearly an example of how war twists people and drives them to atrocities. Rhaenyra offered a reward for his return, meaning she wanted him alive, it's not her fault that a mob tore him to pieces. Her people came to break up the mob, but they were too late, so they executed the people responsible. Rhaenyra gave Maelor's remains a Targaryen funeral, something Aegon and Aemond didn't bother giving to her children.

Rhaenyra ordering Nettles' and Addam's executions are actions that I don't defend and never have. Those are signs of how Rhaenyra is another gray character, a woman driven to intense paranoia and making unjust and harmful decisions. This makes her a gray protagonist, not an unredeemable villain, as you and her other antis seem to believe. If you guys want all good protagonists, maybe read a differen book series.

As I said earlier, the revolt of the KL smallfolk weren't against Rhaenyra herself, it was against the war. They killed the dragons because they were being led by a man who took their discontent and used it to support his religious fanaticism. The Shepherd wasn't preaching against Rhaenyra, he was preaching against the Targaryens, including Aegon. That's why they killed all the dragons they could, not just Rhaenyra's, they killed Jaehaera and Helaena's dragons, how is that an act just against Rhaenyra?

TG stans and Rhaenyra antis' arguments are driven solely by a lack of critical thinking, willful ignorance, and twisting of passages. You either have issues that aren't actually supported by the narrative or simply apply double standards to Rhaenyra while supporting other characters who do the same or worse. You seem to think that this ask was a "gotcha" moment, however, you have simply shown how even the Rhaenyra antis who have read the book lack critical thinking and don't understand how unreliable sources work. Have a good day/night anon, I do hope you'll eventually learn how to use logic and your critical thinking, I'm sure you can do it.