#so should its child and grandchildren

[drabblesandimagines]

Crash

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.

She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.

You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”

“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.

“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?

You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.

“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”

You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.

“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.

“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”

“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”

“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.

The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”

“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”

“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.

“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”

The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.

“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”

He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”

“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.

“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

“See you soon.”

He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.

“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“

“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”

“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.

“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”

There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”

“I will. Thank you.”

 --

Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.

There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.

He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.

“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“

Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”

The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.

As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.

He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”

“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.

“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”

“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”

“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”

“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”

The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”

Leon swallows, taking all the information in.

“How lucky do you think she was?”

“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”

Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-

“Sir?”

The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.

“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”

“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”

--

Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.

You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.

Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.

He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.

The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.

“Can we sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.

In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.

He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.

“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Is the car a complete write-off?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“Love you too.”  

The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

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[bonniebird]

Aemond X Fem!Targ!Reader but also (Alicent x Reader?)

Warnings: mentions of difficult childbirth, toxic relationship, neglectful relationship

Summery: In an attempt to keep peace, Viserys wed Rhaenyra's only daughter to Aemond. Years later Alicent finds herself caught between the loyalty to her son or her daughter-in-law. With Aemond showing he cares very little about what happens to the mother of his heir he is surprisingly enraged when she vanishes one afternoon during a council meeting.

Recommending the playlist i listened to while writing this lol

Even draped in the gray fabric with her head bowed and her back facing Alicent, she knew it was Rhaenyra. She was kneeling exactly where Aemond had said she would be. It had taken everything to have him spare her death. His plan might be worse.

“Rhaenyra.” Alicent said as she waved a hand and dismissed all of the Septas. Panic reached Rhaenyra’s eyes as she turned and stared at her childhood friend before glancing around and relaxing a little.

“I was not expecting you.” She said calmly. It was mildly frustrating that her nerves hadn’t rattled her. Especially when Alicent’s hands were sweaty and her throat was so dry with anxiety that she felt the need to cough deeply. 

“No. You are lucky I convinced Aemond that I would deal with you.” Alicent said slowly as she knelt down before the altar and lit a candle. Rhaenyra watched her and for a moment it was as if nothing had ever changed.

“I have not come as an enemy. I simply came to see my daughter. Her letters stopped.” Rhaenyra said quietly. There was a tone to her voice that held a firm accusation that something had happened to her daughter. Alicent’s eyes closed for a moment. She took a deep trembling breath. Thought of you. Of Helena and her grandchildren and swallowed all her guilt deep down until she felt numb.

“Rhaenyra…” She started.

“I am her mother! My father wed her to Aemond so there would be peace. A foolish idea but I… the only girl I have birthed… that lived. She is not Aemond's, she is my girl.” Rhaenyra seethed out with sharp words. Her eyes watered and she turned back to the candles before them.

“She is dead! Rhaenyra. She has died.” Alicent snapped out. She hadn’t been sure that she could do as Aemond commanded. Her eyes widened for a moment and the guilt reared its head, larger than Baelon the black dread had ever been looking down on her and casting judgment on her for the coward she was.

“No.” A small broken noise. Tears slid down Rhaenyra’s cheeks and she shook her head. “I would know. I would know if my girl had… What of her child?”

“They are both gone. Vhagar lit their funeral pyres. It was a son.” Alicent recited what Aemond had told her to say and stared forward at the lit candles. 

“So he takes another child from me.” Rhaenyra said with a hollow coldness. She stood and said nothing else as she left. Alicent stayed frozen to her spot as she raised a hand to cover her mouth and muffle the sob that escaped her as her gargantuan monster of guilt dove down to consume her.

********************

“How is she doing?” Aemond asked as he sat beside the bed. 

“The birth was hard; she will still need more rest before we can be sure.” Maester Orwyle said as she tended to the weak young woman in the bed. Aemmond looked down at her slowly. 

“The baby?” Aemond asked casually. He had done little more than look at the small life since it was first brought to him.

“Growing stronger. But I am worried about him. He is rather small.” The Maester said quickly. Aemond leaned back in his chair and glanced at the frail shape in the bed. 

“Maybe you should be ensuring that my heir will survive.” Aemond said before standing to leave. He stopped when he saw Alicent in the doorway of the room. They stared each other down for a moment before she glanced towards the Maester and Aemond took his victory by shoving past her.

“Alicent?” The weak voice called to her and Alicent swept across the room, crouching at the bedside and cupping the face of the poor young woman. “They took the baby.”

“He was sick. The Maester needed him to be cared for.” Alicent explained. Confusion crossed the face of the girl and she closed her eyes for a moment.

“I… I need to take the baby to the Sept.” She whispered out with her eyes still closed as she turned her head on the pillows. She looked so much like Rhaenyra when she was young that Alicent found guilt clawing at her belly. Sentiment played with her heartstrings and she pushed the ugly thought that she was using Rhaenyra’s child to find some comfort that had been lost when she and Rhaenyra fell out of friendship.

“(Y/N) the baby is fine. He does not need to go to the sept.” Alicent said softly and dismissed everyone else in the room once the Maester had finished checking on you. She took up Aemond’s seat beside the bed, moving it closer so she could take the damp cloth, sat in a bowl of cool water on a side table near your bed, and wipe at the sweat that coated your face. 

“I promised I would take the baby.” The weak voice made Alicent’s guilt return. It slithered around her like a snake squeezing tighter and tighter as she tended to the weak remnants of the sweet girl.

“I will speak with Aemond. Perhaps he will allow peace long enough to show the babe to your mother.” Alicent said as she bent over the girl and kissed her forehead as if she were her own.

“He wanted me to die. I disappointed him.” The whisper was delirious and wobbly but the truth of it was as jarring as it would have been for a knife to be plunged into her chest. Alicent hushed her, fussing until sleep took the girl and she could leave Septa's she trusted to watch over her.

Anxiety picked at Alicent. It thumped against her chest from the inside out, sitting beside her heart making her stop walking and take a shaky breath. She let it out in one quick huff and continued her steps through the halls. They echoed loudly. Each step accusing her of cruelty, treachery and weakness. When she entered the council room she found Aemond at the head of the table looking down at a map before him. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her which gave her a moment to steel herself.

“Aemond. You should be tending to your wife.” Alicent said firmly.

“Why?” He asked.

“The birth was hard. She is still in danger.” Alicent tried to pull at his sympathies. He had never been overly caring but she had hoped his possessiveness of you would grow into something more over the years.

“A punishment from the gods. For how my son and heir struggled into the world.” Aemond said carelessly. Alicent swallowed the raging beast of her youth, it yearned to strike Aemond and shout at him how he was wrong.

“Such foolishness. No doubt the words of your wise council that you repeat. The girl has battled to bring you an heir. Both have survived. Most are not so lucky.” Alicent stared at Aemond who shrugged. Alicent stared at him speechless. She was unsure how to express to him the danger his wife had faced.

“Simply because she is Rhaenyra’s child you have decided to hate her? To withhold your duties as a husband?” Alicent accused. Aemond glanced at her and sighed, sitting back in the large chair.

“She was meeting with the enemy.” Aemond said as if his attitude was justified.

“Because she was facing death. You could not negotiate peace for a few days for your own wife!” Alicent said and winced. She knew it was unrealistic. Impossible but it was right. “You have no idea what it was like for her alone. You should have had me sent for.”

“Were you able to send our message to the enemy?” Aemond asked, ignoring what she said.

“Yes. I have told Rhaenyra that her daughter passed… you do not plan to kill her?” Alicent asked. Aemond tutted and looked at her as if he was mildly offended.

“I will need another heir out of her first. She shall need to rest, I assume. Before I can make another.” Aemond looked to the door as the rest of the council entered. Alicent left feeling all the worse. She had hoped that something in Aemond would be altered by the sight of his son. Soften by his wife’s efforts to bring life to his world.

Alicent found herself feeling sick as she walked the halls aimlessly until she turned a corner and found Helena. She was light by light, some divine vision in the dark halls, smiling as if Alicent had never wronged anyone in her life.

“Mother. It is almost time.” Helena said in her way with a soft smile. She reached for her mother's arm and smiled as she avoided making eye contact with her mother.

“Time for what?” Alicent asked as if she wanted the world to stop.

“To save the heart.” Helena said as if she were in some kind of dream and let go of her mother, walking to the window nearby. Alicent knew better than to ask more of Helena. There would be no explanation. “He will kill her. But it is not too late yet. To take the heart home!”

**************

Alicent scanned the woods. She kept an eye out for any movement. She had a deep fear heavy in her belly that Aemond would shadow the skies with Vhagar and burn the forest down. Just behind her, the gentle brown horse kept a steady pace, refusing to go faster or slower. It was as if the creature knew the cargo it carried was precious and yet fleeing was necessary.

Alicent held out a hand and pulled her horse to a stop as men dressed in black and red suddenly poured out of the woods. They slipped between the trees and out of the shadows like water from a recent rain falling from the leaves of the great tree branches above them. One broke off, approaching the brown horse, taking hold of the reins. Alicent was surrounded by armed men, watching them silently.

“Princess. My name is Davos. Your mother has sent me to escort you to the vale.” The young man who had taken the reins from the brown horse said. The hooded figure on the horse pushed back the cloak wrapped around them and looked down at the young man. An awestruck look crossed his face. A look that should have lived on her son's face Alicent thought bitterly.

“Thank you, Ser.” The sweet, kind voice, broke the silence of the woods. The man nodded and led the horse away through the men. As the horse passed Alicent the girl looked up, locking eyes with Alicent. “Be sure not to hurt my law mother. Please.” 

The plea was heard and the girl was taken. The men retreated and all too soon Alicent was alone. Dismounting from the horse, emotion bubbled and spilt. She let out a scream of pain or rage she was unsure. Unable to keep her emotions contained anymore. Her outburst ended with her crumbling in the undergrowth, sobbing and weeping, unable to find the strength to move even as darkness began to set in. Men sent to look for her arrived and thought she had been wounded or attacked. Helena sat at her bedside as Alicent gave in, letting herself wallow in misery. She was unsure when Helena had left but she was roused from sleep in the dark. A single candlelight illuminating Aemond sat beside her bed, gently holding her hand.

“Mother. I am glad you are well. I fear you had been attacked.” Aemond’s voice was gentle. It was the gentle way he spoke to people he thought were less intelligent than him.

“We should have had more guards with us.” Alicent said. Aemond scoffed, leaning close to her, making Alicent’s eyes grow wide with nerves.

“My wife and son are gone. I know it was your doing Mother. The moment I can prove it to the council… I WILL FIND MY WIFE AND SON!... I…” He trailed off when Alicent scoffed.

“You think I would endanger my grandson?” She challenged. Aemond cocked his head to the side and looked at her as if he almost believed her. “How dare you!”

Fire. It ignited in her. Spreading through her body, fueled by the thought of her sweet Helena. Of her daughter-in-law, forgiving and merciful begging for her to be safe and spared. It burned through her until Alicent was on her feet.

“You mistreated that girl. Cruel to your sister. Humiliate your brother and then you accuse me! ME! You know what I have risked, and lost for all of this.” Alicent’s voice raised with each step she took towards Aemond who retreated as if a dragon were spitting rage at him. “I do not want to see you tomorrow until you have thought over the cruelties you dole out. I will expect your apology.” Her words were punctuated by the slam of the door. She had backed Aemond through and forced him from the room. She had lost everything for her sons and at the first taste of power they abandoned her. She wanted to give in. She would have. But for one thing. For her girls.

[eroguron0nsense]

Garp Rant #11543

Because I'm something of a Certified Garp Hater/extremely obsessed with this man, and because Tumblr people seem to like my Garp takes and/or find them extremely pain-inducing, here's another one for funsies! Again, Garp is an incredibly written character and I massively enjoy his moral failings and human shortcomings, hence why I won't shut up about how much he sucks. So we all remember Garp crying in front of Ace during his imprisonment and awaiting his execution, lamenting the fact that his son and grandson could have maybe avoided this horrible horrible fate that awaits them at Marineford if they'd just become good marines like he'd tried to press them into. Every time he says it, he sounds more desperate, sadder, and angrier, like he's experiencing the stages of grief and going through denial, anger bargaining all at once, lashing out at his grandkids for supposedly causing him grief by defying his wishes, or maybe praying or wishing for a world where they could have followed in his footsteps and lived happily ever after. And when Ace hears that again at Impel Down, he says this:

Here's the thing though: Ace is unequivocally correct Garp should, by all rights, know this. He lived through the fallout of Roger's execution. He knew long before that exactly what would happen to Roger's loved ones and anyone the government could get their hands on who'd ever associated with him. Even before they started committing femicides/infanticides in Baterilla trying to end Roger's bloodline, he knew that the Marines were going to target completely innocent people in the name of purging the bloodline and cementing their "victory" over the greatest threat they'd ever faced. He specifically had to smuggle Rouge out of there so she could give birth to Ace, and all the while dozens of families were being brutalized by his peers and having their lives torn apart. That was the cost the Marines were willing to incur to kill a hypothetical infant, and years later, when that very same child is set to be executed, Sengoku goes on a remorseless public tirade about the necessity of killing babies and the horrible trickery and audacity Rouge displayed by dying so that they wouldn't kill her baby too.

Garp knows every single piece of this information in painful, excruciating detail. He's so horrified by it he feels the need to fulfill this wish of Roger's because he knows blameless people will die. He has Ace raised in secret to protect him from Marines who are figuratively and literally out for his blood. And yet, throughout this boy's childhood, he clings to the notion that maybe, just maybe, the people he knows regularly commit atrocities, who have carried out at least 3 genocides that we know of in Garp's lifetime, who were willing to commit mass infanticide for a woman and child they hadn't verified the existence or identity of at the time, would have accepted him within their ranks and turned a blind eye to that information when it eventually, inevitably surfaced. That Ace can find salvation from the people who stole every loved one he ever had before he was even born, who slaughtered his mother's community and pushed her to her death, and were slavering at the opportunity to kill her. That even though Ace was born in direct opposition to them, has had a target trained on him before he was born, these people who tried so goddamn hard to kill him would surely welcome his presence and not murder him the second they found out if he could just be a compliant model soldier and make himself useful. It's hammered home pretty effectively–especially in the manga– and One Piece has never been known to be subtle in its messaging, but I swear to God I see so many people echoing the notion that Garp's attempts to force his grandchildren into serving the Evil Empire was done because he knew was their only shot at safety from the WG, and I fucking despise this take. Ace saying that he could never be a marine here in Impel Down isn't some young man's rationalization for his (beyond valid) desire not to subscribe to the preset path Garp laid out for him; it's literally the only logical conclusion if you know literally anything about the circumstances of his birth and upbringing, and Garp only thinks that the leopards wouldn't eat Ace's face because he's fucking delusional This in and of itself is extremely telling of how horribly warped Garp's perception of the Navy is, and how deeply he's willing to buy into the Marines and their warped propaganda no matter how many glaring examples he sees throughout his life that counter his worldview, but let's not forget that this applies to Luffy too. This is slightly hairier, in that if Luffy was a) the sort of person who could willingly accept a career in the marines and b) managed to cling really, really tightly to his grandfather's coattails and legacy, there might have been a very, infinitesimally small chance that he could have joined the Navy. The higher ups know that Dragon is Garp's son and therefore Luffy is Dragon's by logical inference, but I could see some AU where Luffy is a fundamentally different person and manages to build himself up in the Navy if not for two things I think warrant examination. It's pretty evident, and Dragon explicitly confirms, that Luffy being known as his son would have put him in incredible danger, only feeling comfortable with acknowledging it and the possibility of actually reuniting with his child after Luffy was both publicly recognized due to factors beyond his control, and proved that he was more than capable of holding his own. But I want to draw attention to this one otherwise pretty silly little gag moment between Garp and Sengoku when they learn that Luffy's broken into Impel Down, and present a theory that's kind of a reach but also not really

Now the phrasing here kind of interests me, in that it ties back to earlier demonstrated patterns that the Navy uses repeatedly in collective punishment for the families and loved ones of their primary targets. Rouge and Ace barely escaped the mass murders intended for them because of their connection, but Tom was also originally sentenced to death for having had a connection to Roger, and ultimately chose that as the offence he wanted to be sentenced for at Enies Lobby. Law, as a child survivor of Flevance, has multiple hospitals try and turn him in to the World Government to be killed when Cora tries to find someone to treat him because their policy is to pull out the roots and salt the earth whenever they deem a person or population politically inconvenient. Robin's flashback shows us Akainu blowing up a refugee boat on the off chance that one of those people that they were planning to evacuate might have gotten past their initial screening for archaeologists/poneglyph readers. At Marineford, Akainu specifically targets Luffy not because of his prior offences or even his attempt to rescue Ace, but because he's Dragon's son and his and Roger's bloodlines need to be eradicated. This is not an institution that is in any way reluctant to destroy anyone tangentially affiliated to a designated enemy, and Luffy being the son of the worst criminal in history seems to put him right in line with all of those other cases. In light of this, and Garp's massive blind spots and wishful thinking regarding his peers and employers, it's not that much of a stretch to assume that the only reason Garp's exempt from being targeted like Dragon is because of his popularity/symbolic importance/utility, and that Luffy likely wouldn't have been safe even if he weren't a pirate. Garp's circle of confidantes/friends in high places is powerful, but clearly there are factions (Akainu, Ryokugyu etc) that would be substantially less willing and who are given preferential treatment by the Elders and Celestial Dragons. There might be something to read into based on the fact that Garp is the only known person from a D bloodline who's achieved massive success in service to the World Government and not defected from the Navy after realizing its true nature (props to Saul), and therefore he might project the fact that he's been rewarded by the system despite being a "sworn enemy of the Gods" onto his family, but that still doesn't account for the massive, delusional arrogance he displays in insisting that, despite everything–especially, especially the murders committed in pursuit of Ace, that robbed him of his birth mother and community–the Navy is the best and safest place for either of those boys. TLDR Garp not wanting his grandsons to have a bounties on their heads is one thing, but it says a lot that in spite of everything he knows, he's willing/determined to put Ace and Luffy in an environment that's extremely dangerous for them –and in Ace's case 100%, unquestionably fatal– because he's so convinced that compliance and the platonic ideals of "justice" and military service/hard work being rewarded by the system could supersede all of that.

[where-theres-smoak-2]

For me the whole question of who is the rightful heir to the throne and the whole reason why I am team black all the way is very simple. Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the throne because Viserys, who was the King at the time, named her his heir and he got all the lords to swear fealty to her when he did. The King's word is law, it really is that simple.

It's the same with the whole Jace, Lucerys and Joffrey debate, I don't consider them bastards and therefore excluded from inheriting lands and titles because Viserys, the King at the time declared them, publicly and on several occasions as legitimate and the rightful heirs. We know from the og show that a king has the power to make a bastard legitimate so if Viserys is standing up in front of witnesses and saying these boys are legitimate then they are legitimate end off.

Also whilst on the subject I have seen claims in the past that Rhaenyra is trying to trick poor Corlys and Rhaenys into believing that those boys are Laenor's and that makes her an evil bitch of a whore apparently. But here's the thing, those boys are Laenor's, like he claimed them as his own, both he and Rhaenyra referred to them as their boys. We know that Rhaenyra and Laenor tried and failed to conceive a child and so they looked to other methods of producing an heir. Look I don't really like using modern day constructs etc when talking about medieval set stories but I can't think of a better way of explaining what I mean, but the way I see it is like if a couple want a child but can't conceive so they get a donor, using this donor they are able to have a child. You wouldn't then go around and say that the father wasn't really that child's father because they weren't genetically related. So what we essentially have is a couple using a donor situation but set in a medieval fantasy society which complicates matters. Unlike in a modern setting where the couple could be open and honest about using a donor, Rhaenyra and Laenor could not but it still doesn't change the fact that the three boys were planned by Laenor and Rhaenyra and were seen as their children. This isn't a Cersei/Robert situation where Cersei was trying to pass Jaime's kid's off as Robert's without Robert's knowledge. Everyone involved knew what was going on and agreed to it. Laenor knew that genetically they were Harwin's, Harwin understood that legally and in all other ways those boys were Laenor's and not his. Yes Harwin was involved in their lives, yes Harwin clearly loved those boys, yes those boys were lucky enough to have two men in their lives who loved them and cared and protected them in a fatherly way, but that doesn't change the fact that they were still Laenor's sons. Rhaenyra chose Harwin to have children with because he was someone she trusted and cared for and who she knew cared for her, considering in their society if Laenor's sexuality was discovered or it was discovered they had used Harwin as a 'donor' to have their children, it could have really bad consequences of course she would want to chose someone she was sure would keep her secret.

I guess my overall point here is that its not as simple as Rhaenyra lied to Corlys, Rhaenys and her own boys about who their real father was, because their real father was Laenor. This situation came about because both Rhaenyra and Laenor were under pressure to produce heirs, so they found a way, together, of producing those heirs, so really when Rhaenyra tells her boys that Laenor is their father its the truth, he is in every way that matters. When she tells Corlys and Rhaenys these are your grandchildren, again its the truth. Because at the end of the day if Laenor himself knew and agreed with how those boys came to be and considered them his own, then its no one else's business how Laenor and Rhaenyra had those children, they are still their children.

Anyway I've rambled on enough and its 2am where I live and I should really be getting some sleep. But yeah, as far as I am concerned Rhaenyra is the rightful heir and her three eldest boys are the true sons of Laenor and are legitimate and the rightful heirs of the throne and driftmark, I will not budge on that. Alicent, the greens and everyone else just needs to mind their own damn business when it comes to those boys.

[the-daydreaming-show]

Midnight thoughts on Batmom and her children's clothes.

WARNING: My mother was like this, Not on the money side, though. And you ask:¿Ella, are you projecting?, and I will answer: No. ¿Were you got such nonsense idea?

This gif represents my mind right now. I should be sleeping.

Batmom keeps its kids SPOTLESS when it comes to dressing. She doesn't control what they wear, but her kids have only the best brands on them. And if she couldn't get whatever they want in the best brand, it's gonna will be tailored for them.

JUST THE BEST FOR HER BABIES.

And she does not repeat it, there is no such thing as the younger brother taking the clothes of the older one in this family. Each child has their own style, autonomy and clothes, and they rarely agree on those things so sharing is never an option for them when it comes to clothing. If her baby grows out of their clothes, Batmom donate it or keep it for future grandchildren.

I mean, I'm talking about #silentluxury for her children, from they feet to the tip of their heads.

The funniest thing about all this is that most of the time they do not even realize it. It's not until a Gotham news forum pulls out a detailed article about the Wayne's silent luxury fashion and how it dates from Dick's early days at the mansion to the present day with Damian that they notice the pattern.

Like, imagine newly-reunited-with-his-family-but-still-rebellious Jason wearing a sweatshirt of the brand The Row that clearly bought his mom and costs at least $ 800 that he can not pay because he is a rebel and does not need his dad's money but he acepts gifts from his mum, of course.

Or little Dick returning from a day of art classes (because Batmom decided to give him other extracurricular activities other than a vigilante dressed as a traffic light) excited with his Dior jeans of $ 1300 dollars stained in paint, but with a work of art in his hand that he did only for his mommy.

Or Tim, wearing a pair of $450 black Gucci sandals, walking half-asleep out of his college class after he didn't hear his alarm, so he left with the first thing he found from his apartment.

Or Damian, putting one of his cashmire sweaters on Titus at Christmas, wearing a maching of his own, equally expensive and soft.

Also, imagine Cassandra only wearing THE BEST in balett shoes and equipment, totally unconsciously of the amount of money that really costs, all that because neither Batmom nor Bruce ever told her because it's nothing really that expensive for this family.

And no matter how many clothes they ruin. Never. And I repeat: NEVER their mom will allow her children to have something less.

(They are more spoiled than they themselves even realize.)

Bruce got jealous at some point and started letting Batmom choose his wardrobe as well.

Allright, NOW I'm done.

Good night.

[slafkovskys]

whats lukes reaction to finding out its twins and who tells him?

“i- i thought you were joking,” luke stares at the photo on his dad’s phone. after being practically bed ridden for three days, he was sent home from the road trip and was very blatantly told to ‘have his shit together’ by the time the team returned. once ellen found out, she sent jim to new jersey, unwilling to leave her new grandchildren. “i- two babies.”

“they’re healthy. drew was six pounds 7 ounces and wren was 6.2, which sounds small, but because they’re twins it’s pretty normal,” he says when luke’s face turns alarmed. “your mom called me after she got to meet them and wren gave me a little smile when i talked to her. drew just doesn’t look pleased about anything right now.”

“and she, she’s okay, too?”

“tired. resting. giving birth to one child is hard enough, much less two. she won’t let the nurses take them out of the room and quinn says drew will only heard onto her finger, momma’s boy already,” jim has such a fond smile. “they’re perfect.”

luke rubs his hands against his pants, unable to take his eyes off the picture, “you should be there, with them.”

“i’m flying out once i know that you’re okay. you’re my child too, luke, even when you have your head in your ass,” jim sighs, swiping to another picture of the babies, this time with a sleepy looking angel staring down at them so lovingly. “i’m serious. you can’t tell your mom that i showed you any of this.”

“i won’t,” he knows his dad is only showing him in an attempt to dull the ache in his chest. knowing that they were healthy and she had had a safe delivery only helps a little bit. he was still thousands of miles away, learning of the news through pictures he wasn’t supposed to see. he chuckles, “she looks just like him.”

“oh, jack hasn’t shut up about it since they were born. mom said angel came up with something like, ‘they’ve got quinn’s birthday and jack’s face so the boys could be even.’”

luke looks at his dad then, “does quinn care…”

he trails off not finishing the question how he wants to. he wants to know if quinn is bothered by the fact that the twins were so obviously jack’s. he wants to know if angel is bothered by it. he gets his answer when his dad silently swipes his finger to show a video. he presses play and he hears his mom’s voice:

“okay and who do we have here?”

quinn’s got his hands shoved into his pockets and a beanie on his head. jack’s missing from the video, but luke can faintly hear his voice in the background. his oldest brother chuckles slightly, staring down at the baby in the clear bassinet, “katherine quinn hughes.”

“and who are you?” his mother teased.

there’s a pride in quinn’s eyes as he utters his next words unlike anything luke had never seen before, “im her dad.”

[mimiwrites2000]

The Last One To Reach The Tree

Archive of Our Own

If the tree could speak, it would’ve cried. If the tree could speak, it would’ve sobbed and wailed and mourned humanity, mourned the death of humanity in every human’s heart. If the tree could speak, it would’ve begged to be burnt, to be cut down.

Mikasa was eager to meet with Eren, she was eager to reunite with him. And so was Armin.

~~~ Post Canon story about the theory that Armin is the last one to reunite with them.

He always knew Mikasa was more eager to reunite with Eren, and he knew she would join him as soon as she could. 

And he knew that it would hurt as hell. 

Even if it was after seventy years. 

Even after they had kids and grandchildren. 

He knew it would still hurt as hell. 

He lived every moment with her, they were at each other’s weddings, they held each other’s first borns, they were there when they were called a grandma and a grandpa for the first time. 

What else was there to happen? 

What more were they to see? 

He heard those words from those around him far too many times. 

Mikasa lived her life to the fullest and mama had breathed until the very last word of her story. 

But it hurt him, as hell. 

It hurts him to look at a headstone, two headstones, and know that his friends were there. 

Under the ground. 

Six feet under the ground. 

Beneath that tree, with its trunk aloft and proud, layers and layers of months and years and decades, and its leaves a varying charade of oranges, yellows, and occasionally, a bright blood-red, swaying in the spring’s warm breeze. 

Armin looks up at the leaves above his head, just a quick glance, before he regrets it and tilts his head back down; the midday sun’s rays harsh in his eyes. 

He leans against his cane, resting his chin on the hand that clutched the cane, and sways on his spot. 

“The living and the dead,” he says, “oh the living and the dead.” 

He gazes at Eren’s headstone, a much older headstone, the craving almost washed out; but Mikasa, for as long as she lived, had always taken care of it, as if the headstone had a heart of its own, as if it breathed and was alive. “Eren, you should’ve seen Mikasa, she lived a happy, long, life,” Armin mutters, “she had kids and grandkids, she held my kids and my grandkids, and my daughter is pregnant, I feel bad for her child, because her child will never know Mikasa. 

“Eren,” Armin continues, tilting his head; he is tired, so tired. “We lived long lives, we lived very long lives, we even retired, can you believe that? We retired, for once, the scouts retired before dying.” 

Then he turns his gaze at Mikasa’s headstone; speckless, new, “Mikasa…” he wants to say something, he should say something, he couldn’t know what to say, what is there to be said anyway? 

“Mikasa…” he calls her name again, and with a broken voice, he quietly cries out, “I miss you… I miss you.” 

Armin had so many things to tell Eren, to tell Mikasa, but words felt like a heavy weight, a very heavy weight he could no longer carry, instead, he reminisced. 

Silently. 

The times in Fort Salta, after the war. 

In fact, Armin couldn’t remember those days too well, a thick fog obscured them from Armin’s eyes; not because of his old age, well through his seventh decade, but because he had been through so much pain, so much hurt, so much chaos that his brain just decided to take those days off of the shelve, and burn them, as if they never happened. 

The only thing Armin remembers was holding Eren’s lifeless head in his arms. 

But the months after it, Armin remembers them so well. 

He remembers his friends, being closer than ever, he remembers Annie’s father, he remembers him so well, his cane and his face and his unyielding scrunched eyebrows. He remembers his face when he asked his permission to propose to Annie; shocked, yet happy, yet confused, yet unbelieving— 

But relieved. 

Armin remembers his wedding day so well, it was vivid in his mind. He could never forget his friends’ efforts to give him a wedding, so they held an intimate party on the boat, only for themselves. They got Armin a suit and Annie a white dress; they were simple, really, but it meant the world to him. 

He was the first of his friends to get married, but the last to have a child. 

It was a struggle, another hardship in life, but Annie got pregnant in the end, and her pregnancy was tough, hard, and difficult, but they had a beautiful boy that got his mother’s nose and his father’s eyes. 

Then they had two more children; another boy, and their youngest, a girl. 

A gorgeous, gorgeous girl. 

She is Armin’s happiness. 

He loves all his kids; of course he does, but his daughter is the light in his eyes, she is his happiness, his joy. 

He loves her, and he loves her button nose, because she was the only one who didn’t get her mother’s nose, but she got her mother’s eyes and hair. 

All of his kids grew up, and all of them had the best education they could have, and all of them got married; his daughter was the last of them to find a partner, and is pregnant with her first child. 

“Oh, Eren,” Armin finds words, finds a few words that he could use, “I am sad, I am sad for you, I wish you know what it feels like to hold your child, to hold your grandchild.” 

Armin lets out a strangled sigh, “It’s none of what I ever felt in my life. Holding your child, seeing them growing up, fighting with them, all the screams and the fights and the misunderstandings… Eren, I wish you lived to feel that too.” 

Armin’s hand on the cane wobbles, and it jumps from its place, breaking in half. Armin falls on his knees, threads of winces and groans leave his mouth, the thorns of the weed around the graves dig mercilessly into his wrinkled hands.  

He slowly sits straight, taking deep breaths. He closes his eyes; that wasn’t the first time his body let him down, his body had always betrayed him, had always given up at the worst of times and worst of places. 

Armin pulls the thorns from his hand, plucks them one after the other. Some of the thorns left no trace behind, not even a scratch, but most of them left a scar and a trail of blood. 

Armin hugged his hand, and breathed deeply. 

“We lived long lives, Eren, we lived long lives.” 

“Armin?” 

Armin turns his head, and there she is. 

“My love,” he greets her, as she approaches him. 

She is older than him, two years older than, but she is the healthiest of them all. And Armin wondered how she did that; she carried kids and went through all of those decades, and there she is. 

White hair invaded her head, wrinkles adorned her face, her hands thin and yet calloused, and her eyes as blue as the day he met her. 

“You can’t leave the house unannounced, Armin, what did we say about that?” She tells him as she stands next to him, but he doesn't get up. 

He doesn’t want her to know that he fell, he doesn’t want her to know that he broke his cane and fell. 

But with one glance at the broken pieces of the cane, she understands. She kneels next to him, and sits beside him. 

“I won’t stand in your way,” she assures him, “just let me know when you want to leave the house, the kids are worried about you.” 

“Who is visiting?” He asks. 

“All of them,” she informs him, “we invited them for lunch, don’t you remember?” 

“Ah right,” but he doesn’t remember. 

“Let’s head back home,” Annie starts to get up, but he holds her hand, halting her. 

And her heart drops in her stomach. 

“My love,” he calls her, watching his friends’ headstones, “we lived long lives, didn’t we?” 

Annie’s eyebrows meet in the middle; Armin isn’t being himself, he is distant, far away. 

In another time. 

In another place. 

“Armin?” 

“We lived long, happy lives, didn’t we?” He asks her, turning his head, and looking at her. 

She sits back down, “We did.” 

“We did everything any human wishes to do, didn’t we?” 

“We did.” 

He hums, satisfied, and looks back at his friends’ graves. 

Armin 

Armin 

Armin 

“Do you think…” he asks, “they are together now?” 

Annie’s throat closes on itself, she wants to shake him. 

She wants him to take her hand and walk home with her. 

She wants to tell him that he can’t go before her, that he can’t let go yet. 

Not yet. 

Not before her. 

Please, please, please. 

“They are together,” she mutters, taking a deep breath, the corner of her eyes burning, “they are together.” 

“They are happy, they are together,” Armin continues, a tear sliding down his face. “Annie…” he breathes her name, the way he always pronounced it with his heart, “I want to be with them too.” 

She gazes at his face, and she would’ve protested, she is supposed to tell him no, that his kids are waiting for him, lunch warm on the table. 

She is supposed to tell him that he is still there with them. 

But he isn’t. 

Armin 

Armin 

Armin 

He is already there, he is already a step out the door. 

He is no longer with her. 

He doesn’t ask her to forget about him, he doesn’t ask her to let him go, because a voice, a familiar voice, told him that she will be with him very soon. 

“I miss them,” he says to Annie, “I miss them so much.” 

“They miss you too,” Annie whispered, placing her forehead against his own. “And I will miss you, I will miss you.” 

But his sight isn’t focused, and she doesn’t know if he heard her or not, she doesn’t know how far he is. 

She kisses his forehead, a long, prudent kiss. 

Annie gets up, she wipes her tears with the back of her hand, and walks away; he deserves to go easily, he deserves a painless departure. 

She walks down the hill and never glances back at him, she walks back to their house, and when she walks in, the joyful chatter dies down. 

“Ma,” one of her sons calls, “why are you pale?” 

But she doesn’t answer. They get up from the dining table and approach her, “Ma, where’s father?” 

She doesn’t answer; she knows the answer, but she can’t say it. 

“Mother,” her pregnant daughter, the last to get up, “mother what’s wrong? Where is father?” 

“He is with them,” Annie finds her words, “he is happy with them.” 

A long thread of whats pierce the air, before the two sons pushed past Annie, rushing outside the house, towards that hill. 

The daughter only looked at her mother, frozen in place, in time, as his sons ran to that tree under on that hill. 

On that hill, under that tree, with his friends surrounding him, Armin took his last breath. 

He doesn’t know for how long he slept, or if he even fell asleep in the first place. 

The leaves above him; a bright, juvenile green, swaying with a soft, warm breeze, and the leaning sun casts a soft, warm light over the clouds drifting in the sky, cascading shades and hues of a heavenly glow that whispered unearthly melodies. 

He has been to that tree and that hill far too many time, and yet, it feels… different. 

It feels… unreal. 

“Took you too long.” 

Armin hears someone talking to him, a familiar voice. 

A voice he didn’t hear in too long. 

Way too long. 

“Yeah,” Armin answers. He hears laughs, and footsteps, and someone sitting next to him. 

Armin turns his head— 

“Eren,” Armin says. 

“Took you too long,” Eren repeats. 

“You fucking asshole,” Armin says, then he smiles, and for the first time in so many years, he has no issues getting up fast. 

He throws his arms around Eren, and despite his dilemma, despite his confusion of reality and dreams, he hugs Eren, tight and long and— 

“Gosh, I missed you,” Armin says, the tears on his face choking his voice, “I missed you, you fucking asshole.” 

“I missed you too,” Eren says, his voice steadier and softer than Armin’s. “I waited for you for so long.” 

“Where is Mikasa?” Armin asks, looking around. 

“She’s home,” Eren gets up. 

“Did you treat her well? I swear to God—” 

Eren laughs, “Hey hey! Relax!” 

“When will I see Annie?” Armin asks Eren impatiently. 

Eren smiles, stretching his hand towards Armin, “Soon, very soon.” 

Armin takes Eren’s hand, and only then does he see his hands; smooth, young skin covering them. 

“Let’s go home,” Eren tells Armin, pulling him up, standing on their feet. 

“Let’s go home!” Armin chirps, a smile on his face. 

And with that, the tree watched as Armin sprinted down the hill, Eren running after him, eager for the reunion, eager for the laughs and the warmth and the happiness. 

Armin was impatient to reunite with Mikasa again, but secretly, a small part of him was pained to let go of Annie. 

She is going to be here, he had to remind himself, she will be here very soon. 

The tree was once again abandoned on that hill, observing the far horizon of mountains and blues that met together in the middle; complementing each other. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve cried. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve sobbed and wailed and mourned humanity, mourned the death of humanity in every human’s heart. 

If the tree could speak, it would’ve begged to be burnt, to be cut down. 

[alicentsgf]

why are people so pressed about how Alicent ends up this season??? Like hotd hasn’t been good since s1 people also criticized everything back then but tbh Alicent from s1 was always headed to where she ends up?? I thought it was common knowledge that her last choice would always going to be duty vs love and s1 stated very well that Rhaenyra is that freedom for Alicent???? I absolutely hated the things they put Alicent through (alicole sex and for what? All of her sons being a dick to her??) her arc this season was badly executed but to blame and think that the writers are catering to rhaenicents? seems a bit stretch when the ship is hated by the majority of the show. We can argue in the journey of how Alicent get to the point she is now but it was clear for the beginning that the head of TG?? She would never be, sometimes I think that thanks to most of the general viewers didn’t understand Alicent as a character the writers thought if we put her in these humiliating scenes the viewers would understand that she is a victim of the patriarchy and the men who surround her, but I guess not even with that the GA and fandom as whole could ever understand her character and honestly im good with it, she’s a walking contradiction and i have read her character like that since the beginning, good riddance tho to the obnoxious people that kept bad talking Olivia for only doing her job (this is not a dig to you but the extended fandom that are attacking Olivia again for her character)

Why are we upset now? Because we dared to hope lmao. And now we're realising theres absolutely no coming back from this (it was already mostly ruined i know).

I think the issue is the choice between duty and love should have been made when she chose her children and grandchildren over viserys wish for rhaenyra to rule. Choosing love didnt have to and shouldnt have meant choosing rhaenyra. Like finally FINALLY she lets herself cast duty aside, because "what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms", "you never love anything in the world the way you love your first child", "you imbecile (affectionate)", etc etc. That is what works in line with the original story AND the sympathetic sides of alicent we saw with in season 1. Sure motherhood shouldn't define women but this is a story abt a fucking lineage !! What do people expect. Of course its going to be about parents and children.

F&B might have been bare bones, but it at least had a strong political backbone to it thats been completely removed this season. That direction would have offered more oppertunities for alicent to be explored as a multifacted character. The problem is that because they angled this as a story primarily about misogyny rather than a story about the inevitability of the targaryen line imploding, they maybe thought they couldnt do that without making alicent look like an unsympathetic agent of patriarchy. (Most of the audience read her that way anyway so they did a pretty crappy job avoiding it). Rhaenyra represented a certain freedom for alicent in the story, sure, im not against that at all, but for the writers to suggest literally being with Rhaenyra is what alicent needs to do to achieve freedom from duty? To free herself from the shackles or patriarchy?? (🙄) Its so laughable. Alicents little grandson had to have his head sown back on for his funeral and Rhaenyras faction sent the assassin. Her daughter was traumatised. You dont just fucking come back from that. Really we should have known when viserys died how this was gonna go and I think in some ways we did because a big number of us were upset with the misunderstanding then, we just didnt want to believe what this signaled about where they were taking alicent. People are upset now because alicents character has become totally unrectifiable. We just never believed they'd diverge so much from the known plot points of fire and blood.

As for this bit you said:

" I think that thanks to most of the general viewers didn’t understand Alicent as a character the writers thought if we put her in these humiliating scenes the viewers would understand that she is a victim of the patriarchy and the men who surround her, but I guess not even with that the GA and fandom as whole could ever understand her character and honestly im good with it, she’s a walking contradiction and i have read her character like that since the beginning."

I have thought this myself and unfortunately I think you're right. In an effort to make alicent sympathetic they have created the most convoluted character i've ever laid my eyes on. Towards the end of season 1 we were already saying her being so forgiving after driftmark made no sense, but i was compelled enough by her because of olivias performance of that scene with the knife to be willing to wait to see where they took her this season. And its been an exercise in more of the same stupid shit. The issues in season 1 have just been amplified by the realisation that season 2 is just the same thing again and again and again for alicent. Shes just a punching bag and im sure thats in an attempt to get the audience to feel bad for her, because i cant see any other reason for it, but its just so badly written that shes no longer compelling or interesting or likeable really at all. Theres nothing to root for when you dont know who someone is. I have so little to say about her this season and that hurts honestly. Olivias performances deserved much better writing.

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

K. Ayato — "Who are you to make such decisions for me?"

CW: slight angst, comfort, mentions of arranged marriage, insecure reader

"At this very moment, I am not speaking with you as your lover, Ayato, but as the Head of the Kamisato Clan and as the Yashiro Commissioner," Despite the seriousness in his words, Ayato still spoke to you with a gentle tone, as if it would lessen the blow of his words, "But who are you to make such decisions for me? For me to listen to your ridiculous advice?"

A gasp left you in surprise at his words, not once had Ayato ever belittled you with his words—the tears that you tried so hard to hold back started streaming down your cheeks.

But how did it all come to this?

It all started a few days ago when a prestigious clan head visited the Kamisato Estate.

As always, Ayato welcomed his esteemed guests with a smile, even if his stomach churned at the sight of these pompous freaks. The Head of the Household had his retainers serve only the best of the best to such people, if only to remain on their good side; publicity is essential to the Yashiro Commission, after all.

And as Ayato had expected, it was another clan who was hoping to arrange a marriage with him, and he had to sit there with a polite smile on his face as he listened to them ramble on and on about their heir's good qualities and how this will make the already powerful Kamisato Clan even more potent by combining the wealth and power that both clans possess.

At least marrying their heir would be a hundred times better than Ayato marrying his current partner—a nobody.

The smile on Ayato's face still hadn't dropped, but he wasn't able to stop the words from his mouth after the bastard spoke about you in such a degrading way.

"I went through rigorous training as a child in preparation to become the Head of the Kamisato Clan. Similarly, I would only choose whom I deem is best to be a part of it." Ayato gave his guest a close-eyed smile, "So what makes you think I'd let a clan who holds no respect for others to be a part of my family?"

"Wh-"

"This meeting had been eventful," The blue-haired young man finally stands up, still with a closed-lipped smile plastered across his features, "Unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do. I'd see to it that my retainers show you the way out."

He hears the old man scramble to stand up as he slides the shoji open, he stopped in his tracks and turns his head to the side to speak one last time.

"That's a no, by the way. Just in case you didn't get it."

The old junk still had the gall to try and convince Ayato to change his mind—outside of the tri-commission, we're one of the most powerful clans in Inazuma! you're going to regret this, Kamisato!—while the Kamisato Head simply exits the room, not even wanting to hear it.

A sigh escapes his lips, bringing his fingers to massage his temples as he feels a headache coming up. As entertaining as it was to see these old fools turn red in their faces as they get rejected for probably the first time in their lives, these arranged marriages are starting to annoy him—especially the blatant disrespect that these clan heads seem to hold towards you, the love of his life.

Maybe he should marry you just to get these old bastards to shut up. A genuine smile makes its way to his face at the thought. He'd even invite all the clans who tried to set up a marriage with him just to see their reactions; he gets to marry you and see these old men fuming all in one occasion—what a fine idea, indeed.

Meanwhile, your own eyes pop out of your head and your jaw dropped to the floor as you heard just who it was that asked for Ayato's hand this time—such a prestigious clan that you were sure that even Ayato's great grandchildren will be set to have a prestigious life had Ayato agreed to their proposition. The surprise easily faded away as you frown at the thought of another clan wanting your lover's hand which was quick to worry Thoma who swiftly boasted to you about how Ayato turned the offer down and how Waka talks about you all the time! Your name is the only thing I hear from his lips, he's seriously whipped!

You only smiled at Thoma's words, waving his concern away, trying to will your thoughts and insecurities out of your mind as you changed the topic to speak with the retainer about much more mundane topics instead of your boyfriend's suitors.

Maybe you'll stop thinking this way once you see Ayato again. Yeah, he'd reassure you over and over again, even if it meant forever. He will.

Unfortunately, Ayato had grown busier in the next few days.

And while the thoughts of finally deciding to take the next step of your relationship festered in Ayato's mind, your own insecurities continued to fester in yours.

There are much better options than yourself. It would be better for the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner alike if Ayato marries someone with power as well. Can you even handle being a Kamisato? Being in the Yashiro Commission? And all the responsibilities that come with it?

No matter how much you look at it, it really would be much better if he engages in a romantic relationship with someone of the same status as him.

These thoughts continue to fester even as you stand in front of Ayato after days of not seeing each other, with him apologizing for being so busy that he wasn't able to see you.

"I don't think this is working anymore, Ayato." Your eyes were hazy as you look into his lilac ones, you watch as all emotions were suddenly drained from his face at your words.

"Excuse me?" He responds, almost blankly

"I think we should end things." You repeat, now bowing slightly out of respect, but mostly to hide the tears building up in your eyes. "Thank you for everything. I'll see you around, Mr. Yashiro Commissioner."

"At least tell me why," you suddenly freeze at your position at his words, "I deserve that much at the very least, don't you think?"

"I thought it was obvious?" you clench your fists at your sides, "You're a man of status, I am but a normal citizen. It would do you and your clan well if you were to marry someone as esteemed as yourself."

Ayato remains silent, watching your bowed head whip up to face him, the features he loves so much giving him a gentle, close-eyed smile as you continue to speak.

"You should marry her, Ayato." You didn't mention any names, but he already knew you were talking about the girl from that last clan that asked for his hand, "It's what I want, I wouldn't want to get in the way of the growth of your clan."

That was it. You were sure Ayato would see things from your perspective, that he would understand where you're coming from. His family is his utmost priority, he would do anything for them, you knew that much—that's how you knew he would also let you go.

"...And why should I listen to you?"

Your eyes suddenly open, wide as saucers at his response while he looks at you with as much seriousness as he could muster, but beneath his facade laid an underlying hurt from your words.

"Aya-"

"You have no political experience, you know nothing when it comes to power and anything about the clans in Inazuma." He continues, now raising a brow at you. "What makes you think you're qualified to make such a major decision for me?"

You were stunned into silence now, your mind not even conjuring up words to throw back at him,

"At this very moment, I am not speaking with you as your lover, Ayato, but as the Head of the Kamisato Clan and as the Yashiro Commissioner," Despite the seriousness in his words, Ayato still spoke to you with a gentle tone, as if it would lessen the blow of his words, "But who are you to make such decisions for me? For me to listen to your ridiculous advice?"

A gasp left you in surprise at his words, not once had Ayato ever belittled you with his words—the tears that you tried so hard to hold back started streaming down your cheeks. But it wasn't one out of sadness and hurt, they were of joy.

A faint smile made its way on Ayato's face as he takes a step forward, cupping your face with his hands and using his thumbs to wipe your tears away from your face, your hands shoot up to hold his, clutching onto his wrists.

"It pains me to know that you're willing to give me up so easily," You open your mouth to refute his words, but he was swift to shut you up by pecking your lips with his, "But I need you to trust me when I tell you that marrying you is a decision made not only by Ayato, but by the Head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner as well,"

"But you already said it yourself—I know next to nothing about these things."

"But you're willing to learn, are you not?" He gives you a much more genuine smile this time as he watches you nod, "And that already makes you better than most of the spoiled heirs they keep throwing at me."

His hands slide down from your cheeks to your lower back, pushing your front to him and pulling you into a tight embrace. Holding you as close as possible, his heart finally calms down when he feels you melt into his arms, the possibility of you slipping away from him now finally gone.

"Don't scare me like that again..."

Kamisato Ayato would do anything for his family—and in your insecurities, you had failed to realize that his family includes you too.

[2maegor2cruel]

i've spent the last year getting my degree in genderbent theon studies so lemme say some shit real quick. i'll probably make a seperate post about The Themes, but this is about the logistics, babeyyy 🫶

"thea" vs. asha: pick your hostage

from the get-go, whether it is theon ("thea") or asha who is taken hostage, the intent would be to 1) shore up the power of the loyal regions in mainland westeros, and 2) "neuter "the iron islands. a northern or riverlands match is the best option, as both lack any significant fleet (which is bizarre in and of itself, but that's what grrm went with), balancing out the reach's naval superiority with the redwyne fleet.

in canon, we don't get any in-depth explorations of how women experience the hostage system. we know of dorna swyft, who was given to house lannister as a hostage until house swyft could pay off its debts. dorna would later marry kevan lannister, which tyrion describes as ser harys swyft's "greatest accomplishment". tyrion is naturally biased, but a relatively minor vassal getting to marry into the ruling house IS a serious step up. however, this is only one case, with it's own unique circumstances.

which brings us to my original question: would asha or "thea" be taken? asha is the obvious choice in a two-greyjoy-daughters scenario, as she's the legal heir, but asha is also a lot less malleable. she's around 13 by the end of balon's rebellion, and though women's opinions or identity wouldn't be given much weight or consideration in this context, the intent of a marriage pact would be to build a working alliance and mend rifts between regions. that's a lot more difficult when the conquering party doesn't have a mostly blank slate to work with.

also, theon was balon's last son and legal heir, but even he was essentially written off as dead in canon. i imagine a daughter would be regarded as similar to a salt wife, taken from her family by conquest due to her male relatives "weakness"/inability to protect her. it would be too much for balon's ego and sense of ironborn masculinity to bear, so i don't doubt he would consider her "as good as dead" as well, even if the conquering party (robert baratheon & co) couldn't have anticipated this.

most importantly, as we see AFFC, "the laws of the green lands" do not count for much on the iron islands. so let's get into it.

to start, the greyjoys themselves are relatively new major lords, having ruled for only 300 years (compared to the starks' alleged thousands of years of kingship). and, as we can intuit from the kingsmoot, the greyjoys do not command unquestioning loyalty from the ironborn. dunstan drumm, gylbert farwynd, and erik ironmaker all put forth their names at the kingsmoot, and some receive a levels of support that is surprising to the greyjoys in attendance, particularly aeron, who has a very skewed perception of balon (and therefore an overly rosy view of balon's legacy).

if it had been asha who was taken as hostage-bride, i honestly don't think any tully-greyjoy or stark-greyjoy children (who would have been ~9 years old MAX at the time of the kingsmoot in canon, assuming asha was forced to have children immediately after the rebellion) would have stood a snowball's chance in hell of inheriting. euron would likely have them killed in some clandestine way, and victarion, should he win, would be pressured to neutralize them in a less kinslay-ey way (though he could potentially take a male child on as heir, given his own lack of progeny).

all of this to say, the greyjoy line of succession is inevitably thorny. in my predominately vibes-based opinion, in the absence of a clear male heir like theon and knowing the ironborn's lack of deference to "green land law", "thea" might be taken over asha. i imagine lords like ned stark or hoster tully would be afraid that an asha match would basically be throwing their grandchildren into the greyjoy succession meat grinder, when asha/"thea" still have so many living and powerful male relatives.

anyway, thank you for coming to my female theon succession and hostage logistics tedtalk, and please tell me how wrong i am in the replies/reblogs 🫡

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 48: NEW YORK

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Meanwhile, in New York, Cillian attended yet another premiere and, by the time his stylist Maria had finished primping him for the red carpet, he felt drained and exhausted. Just minutes earlier, he had been on the phone with you, chatting, while Maria went through several outfits to choose from and, shortly after you hung up on him, his stylist finally found the perfect shirt to match his suit.

"I think this is it," Maria declared victoriously, holding up a black button-up that shimmered like a spotlight on stage.

"It's see-through. There is no way I am wearing this," Cillian groaned, staring down at the transparent top in Maria's hands.

"Trust me, it will look fabulous," Maria assured him confidently, adjusting the collar for effect. "The lighting will give it an illusion of translucency," she explained, brushing aside his protests and, despite his misgivings, he decided to roll with it.

"I guess we shall see," Cillian conceded with a resigned sigh, accepting Maria's choice reluctantly.

"Great. Now let's take off the neck chain and watch, shall we?" Maria instructed, reaching for Cillian's wrist and whilst he allowed her to remove the black leather strap watch, he insisted that the neck chain would stay on.

"It is a gift from Y/N and I am not meant to be taking it off," Cillian explained, gesturing towards the delicate golden necklace that rested delicately upon his collarbone, holding a Milagros chain. 

"Y/N?" Maria repeated, confusion clouding her expression momentarily, before remembering that Cillian had mentioned his significant other before. 

"I see she is from South America then?" Maria asked casually, pausing mid-stride to inspect the delicate trinket adorning Cillian's neck. Intrigued, she leaned in closer, squinting slightly to decipher the intricate craftsmanship etched into the gold.

"Yes, and she is rather superstitious," Cillian confessed, twisting the necklace around his neck, revealing its secret.

"So, you two are pretty serious, huh?" Maria queried, admiration glittering in her eyes.

"Quite. We're expecting a little one soon," Cillian shared, pride swelling inside him at the mention of his unborn child.

"That's amazing," Maria gushed, clasping her hands together. "And what's also amazing is that this news has not made the tabloids yet," she added playfully before telling Cillian about her two grandchildren, who were two and four years old respectively. 

She recounted tales of bedtime rituals and diaper duty as Cillian smiled, imagining himself playing similar roles again soon.

"Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind," Cillian laughed. "Thank you for reminding me about the realities of parenthood," he joked, shaking his head ruefully while Maria applied some more foundation, causing Cillian to squint. 

"Alright, that should do it," Maria announced satisfied, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"Ready for the red carpet?" she asked, dusting off her hands theatrically.

"Not really," Cillian chuckled jokingly before following Maria to the car waiting for them both. 

Despite his playful tone, he was deeply grateful for the warmth and kindness she showed him. In a world often devoid of genuine connections, it felt like a rare privilege to share such candid conversations without judgment or resentment.

As they arrived at the red carpet, cameras flashed relentlessly, capturing every detail of his impeccably tailored ensemble. Fans cheered enthusiastically, calling out his name as, even amidst the chaos, a sense of calm enveloped Cillian, grounded by the knowledge that his loved ones awaited him at home.

Cillian took a deep breath, mustering up the fortitude to address the frenzied reporters awaiting him. The flashing bulbs blazed incessantly, their intensity intensifying as the crowd roared with anticipatory excitement.

He had learned long ago not to underestimate the fickleness of public opinion; the highs and lows of fame were an ever-present reality in his life, which was one he slowly grew accustomed to.

After several interviews, he found himself standing in line for a photo booth with Maria, where a photographer captured shots of him posing alongside various guests. The flashes dazzled him, obscuring the faces of those around him.

"Who's next?" the photographer called out, peering at the sea of other celebrities and members of the film board eagerly awaiting their chance to snap a picture with Cillian. "You ready, Mr. Murphy?" he addressed Cillian directly, gesturing towards the empty space adjacent to him.

"Let's do this," Cillian replied confidently, extending his hand outstretched towards Maria.

With her assistance, he stepped into the designated area, feeling the glare of the flashbulbs bore into his skin. Despite the familiarity with the process, each encounter carried a unique weight, the gravity of which he continued to grapple with.

He exchanged pleasantries with the individuals alongside him, engaging in brief chitchat while maintaining a composed facade before he was being moved on to the area where fans awaited to get their autographs. 

Security accompanied Cillian as he navigated through the throng. The clamour of voices reached fever pitch, punctuated by enthusiastic cries and shouts for his attention. With practiced grace, he signed posters and posed for photos, ensuring that everyone left happy.

Fans congratulated him on the movie and some mentioned his earlier roles, recalling scenes fondly or requesting obscure trivia.

Their enthusiasm warmed Cillian's heart, making him realize what a truly blessed life he led.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," he told them sincerely, signing autographs and taking selfies with the fans.

"We are huge fans," an enthusiastic voice piped up from the crowd. "Your performances have inspired us," another chimed in passionately.

"Thank you," Cillian replied humbly, his gaze scanning the faces of those gathered around him. Their expressions were animated, reflecting the energy of the event.

But then, there was one woman who truly stood out among the crowd - a woman who was in her mid-fifties and who was accompanied by a young man. 

"Cillian, Cillian!" she cried out, her voice echoing through the crowd, trying to get his attention.

Her eyes were locked on him, shining brightly, filled with hope and excitement. "Cillian... Cillian," she uttered repeatedly, growing louder with each call while holding up a somewhat worn gossip magazine cut out, featuring a photograph of you by his side. 

He paused briefly, scanning the faces around him before locking eyes with the woman.

"Would you like me to sign this?" Cillian spoke politely, acknowledging her persistence but, much to his surprise, the woman shook her head and spoke.

"Is she here?" the woman asked with broken accent, pointing at the magazine photo. 

"No, Y/N is not here today," he responded gently, meeting the woman's pleading gaze with much confusion and, just as he spoke the words, he could tell that she was visibly deflated, disappointment etching lines onto her face.

"Mum, it's okay," the young man by her side said as her eyes filled up with tears and Cillian looked at her with more confusion than ever.  

"No, it isn't alright," the woman replied, her voice cracking with emotion. "I've waited so long," she whimpered, her voice trailing off into silence while security tried to hurry Cillian along.

"Waited for what?" he just managed to ask, the question escaping his lips before he could stop himself. He was clearly puzzled. 

"I've waited for her," the woman answered simply, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. "Please, just talk to her. Tell her I'm looking for her for all these years," she implored earnestly, clutching the magazine article tightly in her hands as security insisted for Cillian to move on.

"Hang on a minute," Cillian told the security guard just as the young man handed Cillian an old photograph of a family of four, on the back of which was a name, phone number and address. 

When he looked at the photograph, his chin dropped. He had seen this before, amongst your belongings, tucked away carefully in your drawer.

"Who are you?" Cillian asked, examining the photograph closely.

"My name is Isabella," the woman introduced herself, her voice trembling softly. "I'm Y/N's mother," she revealed with a quivering voice, a confession that seemed surreal to Cillian but, before he had the chance to digest this news, he was being pulled away by security. 

"Wait, hold on," Cillian protested, thrusting the magazine cut out back into Isabella's hands, signaling to the security guards to stand down.

"Can I keep the photograph?" he asked, eyeing the picture of you and your family with a hint of curiosity.

"Yes," Isabella agreed readily. "Please give it to her," she requested, causing Cillian to nod. 

He pocketed the photograph, feeling a strange mixture of apprehension and intrigue swirling within him. "I'll make sure she gets it," he promised, his voice firm, his resolve unwavering before, finally, he was being hushed away, leaving your mother behind. 

Meanwhile in Dublin, you had left Cillian's apartment and went to stay at your old unit downtown in order to avoid Max and, whilst you knew that you had to address his behavior with Cillian, you did not want to bother him while he was away.

You knew that, the last thing he needed was more stress and worry, seeing that he well and truly hated these premieres and media engagements. 

He never enjoyed being surrounded by hundreds of people, the pressure of interviews, photo shoots, and fan interactions. All of that was exhausting to him, even though he was used to it. He didn't need any additional drama or tension after all that had happened with Kit either.

Unaware of the developments in New York, you tried to occupy yourself with packing up the last of your belongings and preparing for the journey to the new house. You found comfort in routine tasks - sweeping floors, vacuuming carpets, washing dishes - anything to distract yourself from the unsettling feelings bubbling beneath the surface.

But, just as you were carrying out these tasks, something felt strange. It was a crampy pain, akin to menstrual discomfort, only far more intense. 

It began to radiate from your lower abdomen, gradually spreading upwards, sending waves of nausea coursing through your veins.

You hadn't eaten anything all day, hoping to appease an unsettled stomach. Yet, despite your abstinence, the feeling persisted: a constant state of unease coupled with intermittent bouts of vomiting.

At first, you brushed it off as a typical bout of morning sickness. The kind that plagued many women during their pregnancy. But as you lay awake at night, clutching your belly in agony, you knew this was different.

Something wasn't right. It wasn't just the usual aches and pains you'd come to expect from your pregnancy. It was as if your body was screaming at you, begging you to pay attention.

Something was seriously wrong. And with Cillian away, you had no one to turn to except yourself.

Tags:

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[autumnmobile12]

After the release of the official Nocturne trailer, we're all asking where Alucard is.

Here's my two cents and two theories:

Theory 1: The Years Got to Him

Being effectively immortal, Alucard would have watched Trevor and Sypha die, and then he inevitably would have watched their children die, and then their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

How long would it have been before couldn't bear the thought of seeing another life he'd known since birth age and pass away? How many times did he recognize Sypha's laugh or Trevor's eyes in their descendants before he said, "No more. I can't do this any more."

So he puts himself to sleep with the instructions to the family to wake him 'in their darkest hour' or something like that. Over time, he becomes a family legend and then forgotten. In his absence, the Belmont village crumbles and disappears, taking with it all the knowledge and advancements its people.

Because as we know from the original series, humans forget.

...

Theory 2: The Belmonts Drove Him Out

I know what you're thinking: Trevor and Sypha would never. And you're right, they wouldn't. Their children and grandchildren probably wouldn't either. By the time we get to Christopher Belmont, he probably never met his great-grandparents, but he would know the stories and honor their memories.

But in the two hundred years between him and Richter?

The Belmonts are a long-lasting family, and like any other family, they can adapt and go through changes. They are subject to past traumas and prejudices, can lose sight of original purposes, or can straight up become corrupted by any number of things.

We see it with kings, emperors, CEOs, and even just regular families. All it takes is one asshole who chose to ignore the wisdom of his ancestors to ruin a good thing.

Say some Belmont down the line--Soleil, Simon, or Juste or anyone--lost someone important to a vampire and they swore vengeance on the entire race, as Dracula had once done on humanity. Alucard steps in to stop them and remind them of their history, and his words are met with a cold, "What do you know? You're just an old dhampir we should have done away with decades ago!"

This is just a scenario, but it is a possibility Alucard could have had a falling out with his family. Maybe they tried to kill him and he fled. Maybe they nearly succeeded in killing him and he sealed himself in his coffin to recover as he did in the original series.

He's no stranger to betrayal, after all.

This would depend heavily on the 'dear person' Olrox lost. Was their death warranted? Were they a menace to society and had to be put down?

Or have the Belmonts gone astray and Richter's mother killed them simply for existing? This option might be indicative as to why Olrox spared Richter. Killing a defenseless child would have saved him a lot of trouble in the future, but perhaps he chose to be better (the lesson learned in the original series) than the mother and risk the consequences later. Mother might have killed just because of a vampire, but Olrox refused to kill just because Richter was a Belmont.

...

Unrelated, but this could also be a set-up a 'break the chain of sorrow' trope in which this scenario played out: Richter's father was killed by Olrox's 'friend' for lack of a better word, Richter's mother then kills Olrox's lover out of vengeance, Olrox kills her out of vengeance, leaving Richter to either take vengeance himself or break the chain of sorrow by accepting that if this revenge continues, there will be nothing left but sorrow.

I'm probably putting way too much thought into all of this, but...there you go.

[thevelaryons]

CORLYS + RHAENYRA - Power Dynamics

There is a constant power fluctuation that happens between these two, both before the Dance and for its duration. They each have an advantage over each other: Rhaenyra is the Crown Princess/Queen and Corlys is the richest man in Westeros. It's because of these factors they can exert influence over each other. Though it's worth mentioning that they only act when the other is in a vulnerable state.

The first instance is in deciding the names of Rhaenyra's sons with Laenor. Jacaerys & Lucerys are given Velaryon names because Corlys decides it and Joffrey is only given a non-Velaryon name because Corlys relents to Laenor's wishes. Rhaenyra has no say in this matter and it is Corlys' will that rules here:

Laenor’s wish to name the child Joffrey was overruled by his father, Lord Corlys. Instead the child was given a traditional Velaryon name: Jacaerys (friends and brothers would call him Jace). [...] Meanwhile, back in Westeros, Princess Rhaenyra had given birth to a second son late in the year 115 AC. The child was named Lucerys (Luke for short). [...] In 117 AC, on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra bore yet another son. Ser Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

I say this because the book specifically emphasizes when Rhaenyra finally does have a say in deciding the name for her child:

As the year waned, she brought forth a small but robust son, a pale princeling with dark purple eyes and pale silvery hair. She named him Aegon.

Rhaenyra's first three sons are bastards and she would be well aware that she needs to appease Corlys in order to have him accept her sons as Velaryons, so the choice of the boys' names is left to him.

There's a lot more political tension underlying their dynamic when it comes to the Driftmark sucession.

EDIT: There is even a direct contrast between the two back-to-back heirs: Lucerys and Addam. Rhaenyra's choice vs Corlys' choice.

When Lucerys was around 11 years old, Corlys fell ill from a fever. Up until this point, Corlys had not named any of Laenor's sons by Rhaenyra as heir to Driftmark. As I've mentioned before, Corlys is the type who views being a Velaryon as separate from the position of family heir. Although his grandchildren have already been betrothed to each other by this point, it's not a firm solution to the problem of the family succession in Corlys' eyes. This is evidenced by the fact that Rhaenyra has to go out of her way to request Corlys to name her son as heir:

That same year, across Blackwater Bay, the Sea Snake was stricken by a sudden fever. As he took to his bed, surrounded by maesters, the issue arose as to who should succeed him as Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark should the sickness claim him. With both his trueborn children dead, by law his lands and titles should pass to his eldest grandson, Jacaerys…but since Jace would presumably ascend the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra urged her good-father to name instead her second son, Lucerys. Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

Rhaenyra is able to exert her will here, through threat of force, and does seem to have succeeded in getting Corlys' to agree with her wishes. Once again, I'll emphasize that Rhaenyra and Corlys are able to act upon their wishes when the other is in a state of vulnerability.

After Rhaenys' death, Corlys is quite furious with Rhaenyra. It is Jacaerys who works to appease him this time (acting in place of his mother). Corlys is named to the position of Hand and when the Red Sowing occurs shortly afterwards, he brings Addam/Alyn forth to claim dragons. Just going off the timeline of events, it's clear that "Laenor's bastards" was part of the conditions promised to Corlys to retain his loyalty. No doubt, it is also the reason why Jacaerys is so willing to speak up for Addam as the new heir to Driftmark, knowing full well that the next in line would have been his own brother, Joffrey. I've already talked about the politics at play in deciding the succession between Addam vs Joffrey, so I'm not going to get too into that. Though it's worth mentioning that Rhaenyra only agreed to the succession change after Jacaerys urged her to do so. Meaning she must have been reluctant at first:

Not long after Addam of Hull had proved himself by flying Seasmoke, Lord Corlys went so far as to petition Queen Rhaenyra to remove the taint of bastardy from him and his brother. When Prince Jacaerys added his voice to the request, the queen complied. Addam of Hull, dragonseed and bastard, became Addam Velaryon, heir to Driftmark.

Speaking of Rhaenyra's reluctance, it makes sense why she would feel that way. It does not matter that Laenor was gay and neither he nor Rhaenyra had an interest in each other. What matters is the public perception of events. Rhaenyra was Laenor's legal wife. Marilda is claimed to be his mistress. It is Marilda's bastard son that is being placed ahead of Rhaenyra's son who is called trueborn. For any noblewoman, this would be an unthinkable turn of events. In Rhaenyra's case, she's not just any noblewoman, but a Queen. Nevertheless, she must swallow her pride and agree with what Corlys wants. Despite taking action to ensure the succession in favor of Lucerys, Rhaenyra does not do the same for Joffrey. Corlys is the one who holds the power now and Rhaenyra must bend to his will.

It is explicitly mentioned that everyone in Rhaenyra's court plays along with the story that Addam/Alyn are Laenor's bastards. Why? To appease Corlys of course:

Many and more at Queen Rhaenyra’s court must surely have suspected the same. If so, they held their tongues.

Throughout most of the war, it is Corlys that is able to exert power over Rhaenyra, even in matters concerning the succession of other houses. And so it is Corlys' authority that Rhaenyra has to obey, because she cannot risk losing his support, or that of other such lords:

Their deaths left her with a nettlesome problem of succession, however. As it happened, each of the “faithless friends” left a daughter; Rosby’s was a maid of twelve, Stokeworth’s a girl of six. Prince Daemon proposed that the former be wed to Hard Hugh the blacksmith’s son (who had taken to calling himself Hugh Hammer), the latter to Ulf the Sot (now simply Ulf White), keeping their lands black whilst suitably rewarding the seeds for their valor in battle. But the Queen’s Hand argued against this, for both girls had younger brothers. Rhaenyra’s own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters. It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon.

That's not to say, Rhaenyra is entirely powerless. As the Queen, she does have the final say in matters. Especially in discussions concerning the Greens, it is Rhaenyra's decision ultimately to decide what is to be done. Of course, she does hear Corlys out first before making her decisions:

The Lannisters and Baratheons should be destroyed as well, so their lands and castles might be given to men who had proved more loyal. Grant Storm’s End to Ulf White and Casterly Rock to Hard Hugh Hammer, the prince proposed…to the horror of the Sea Snake. “Half the lords of Westeros will turn against us if we are so cruel as to destroy two such ancient and noble houses,” Lord Corlys said. It fell to the queen herself to choose between her consort and her Hand. Rhaenyra decided to steer a middle course.

One of the descriptions that GRRM himself gave for Rhaenyra is that she never forgets a slight. So I do think part of the reason she was quick to believe the worst of Addam is because the circumstances in which he became heir to Driftmark were already a huge insult to her. The book doesn't mention whether it was Rhaenyra or Corlys that had Addam residing at the Dragonpit but the fact that he was kept out of her sight is an interesting detail. When Addam is suspected of treason, it does give Rhaenyra an opportunity to let out her own grievances.

Corlys and Rhaenyra can't really be described as being particularly fond of each other. However, they do share grandchildren/children in common, and it's obvious they care about them. So it would make sense to say Corlys and Rhaenyra tolerate each other and keep their personal grievances mostly to themselves. Corlys' outburst after Rhaenys death in which he was very quick to wish death upon Rhaenyra certainly says a lot about his own opinions though. But most of their actions are them trying to play nice with each other.

Rhaenyra's exercise of power is almost limited (part of that does have to do with her position as a woman trapped in a war because her authority was questioned on account of her womanhood). Corlys is a man and a wealthy noble too, so he can use that to his advantage many times. Rhaenyra as a woman does have to appease him for this reason. But since she is a Queen too, she can exert her own will if she chooses to do so, even if doing so means risking losing Corlys' support.

[helenofblackthorns]

discussing tlh/chot again has reminded me of the entirely different version of it that exists in my head. like hear me out, what if Lilith was the one aiding Tatiana instead of Belial???

Lilith, who's greatest wish forever denied is have a child. Who upon hearing that a warlock, a so called Child of Lilith united in their inability to have children, has done the impossible and she's outraged. She wants nothing more than those children, who should have never been born, to be wiped off the face of the earth and history altogether.

so when a woman who shares in her hatred calls upon her its almost a sign. she's just as foolish as her father, and hates them for petty moral reasons. she's usable, and will do what Lilith wants - destroy the Herondales. Grace is a pawn for them both, a destroyer groomed from childhood.

Belial in all of this is not an antagonist. He's still cruel and worthy of the title of Prince of Hell, but he's... got a little soft spot. Mostly it's the bragging rights, for he is the very first and only denizen of Hell to have grandchildren, a legacy. He managed to do the impossible and to protect that he's willing to help James and Lucie if they so ask. also.... he's still the reason Jesse dies, his warning to Lilith and her games.

When Tatiana wishes to bring her son back, Lilith helps her. Not as a part of her plans, but out of sympathy (or her version of it) because no motivation is more true for her.

[fairy-verse]

I adored the facts about Cross, though i was more enamoured on the last fact you gave. The sweet and kind elderly lady that helped Cross from a trap and nursed him back to health. I wonder when he does his visits, should he ever meet the elderly lady's grandchildren or child.

I imagine that the elderly lady would tell her child and or grandchildren stories from her encounters with him, such as the stories she would tell Cross when he comes and visits her during the cold winter nights... („• ֊ •„)♡

Any child would be enamoured by the stories of their very own nanny having not only seen a fairy but also held one and cared for it when it was at its weakest. And what's more, wouldn’t it be just lovely when her grandchild came to visit on a particularly cold winter’s day, going out there to help with stocking up on logs for the fires, only to be graced with the fortune of meeting the fairy they’ve heard so much about.

Cross is cautious, but the child is not yet grown and is starry-eyed at the sight of him, and so he feels a little sheepish. Still, he flutters around them, inspecting them, accidentally tickling them as specks of fluff and sparkling dust come off his wings. The child laughs, and Cross smiles. This isn’t something he could ever recommend to any other fairy, but for now, he can allow himself to put his guard down to tell the child and the old lady some stories of his own, such as the bright wonder that is the firstborn fairy of summer; a dream come to life.

[lillyfics]

Soaring through the Skies || Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The trials and tribulations in the journey of your love with Aemond.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! College's kicking my ass

TW: swearing, sexual violence, angst, heartbreak, violence, child death, infidelity, death, references to smut

Chapter 4 (WC: 3,199)

You wake up, thinking you must have fallen asleep under your dragon because you don’t think you are physically capable of moving. Staring at the canopy hung over your bed, you wonder what went wrong. Was any of it even your fault? If not, why do you have to endure any of this? If yes, where did you go wrong, and can you even fix it? During your dwelling, you catch movement in the corner of your eyes. It’s not just you it seems, even your good mother seems like she is faring at her worst. Even though it seems impossible, you gain enough strength to evade her touch when she tries to pet your cheeks. She flinches, but you can also see the understanding in her eyes. You readjust your head and continue staring at the canopy. Tears (of sadness? Or dryness?) leak through the corner, sliding across your face and into your hair.

 As much as you want to, you know you can’t avoid this any longer, you need to know what’s happening, nothing but the whole truth, and Alicent Hightower is your best bet. You choose to sit up and lean against the headboard, again refusing her help and reach for the water pitcher yourself to quench your parched throat. You know drinking water straight from the pitcher is unlady like but you don’t have an ounce of care anymore. Seems like your good mother doesn’t care either, as she doesn’t reprimand you. She looks at you with pity and sadness, and you look back at her eyes with despair and anger. Knowing that she can’t avoid you anymore, she talks.

“I didn’t agree to it you know, my father’s ideas. I have accepted you as my good daughter at the sept, and it was a vow that I wasn’t willing to break.”

“Oh, so you are only willing to break the oaths made to the king then?” you scoffed. Even in your delicate condition, your impatience had to take the reins. She chooses to not respond to your attitude, and instead just continued. “Aemond didn’t want to either, he loves you, every lie out of his mouth was to protect you.” You can’t help but be impressed by the audacity of this woman.

“How can I even trust any of you after this?” you questioned. It is the truth. You have given them all your trust and they have done nothing but misuse it. “Even if everything else was a lie to protect me, what about the bastard at Harrenhal?” You know that you hit the mark, as she plainly refuses to meet your gaze now, confirming your suspicions.

You could feel your heartbreak. You didn’t think you could lose anymore hope, but you just did. Even if Aemond had lied to you about the other things, you think you could have recovered. Sure, it would take a lot of effort and it might not go back to what it was but now, the life you thought you had just ended.

Alicent Hightower knows that she comes off as an awful person, but in this moment she knows she will always be on your side, even though she knows she can never make you believe it. After all, just like you, she was once a young girl who dreamt of a hopeful future only for it be crushed like a flower in the hands of a toddler who doesn’t understand its beauty yet. She reaches forward and clasps your hand tightly not letting it go despite your struggle to do so.

“Look, I am not asking you for your trust or support, knowing that I have lost the rights to it a far long time ago. All you need to know is that I won’t let anything happen to you, I only have three grandchildren now when I should have four instead, Jaehaera, Maelor, and the babe in your belly. You might not trust me, you might think I am doing this just for your babe but that is not it. Even after the babe is born, you will have my protection to my utmost capability. I will find a way. I will.”

Her eyes shone with sincerity. You want to believe her and gods what would you do to have at least one person on your side you could be true with, but you restrain yourself. You trusted one person and look what happened.

Titles are long gone. You don’t see her as the dowager queen anymore. She is just Alicent Hightower, a flower who withered. You on the other hand, are a flower who is steadily withering.

In that moment, something shifts between the relationship between you and Alicent. She starts spending time with you every day, whether it be alone or sometimes with the children she bring along. It soothes a little bit of the pain, but you know it can’t completely be cured. Your babe grows, and that is all what you have been focusing on lately. One evening, you sit by the fireplace, doing some light reading while munching on some apple pies, something of which you have been craving lately. However, your moment of peace was interrupted when Alicent marched into your chambers, with a worried look in her eyes. Taking a seat next to you, she tries to gage your feelings so that she can cautiously deliver some terrible news it seems. While you are worried about harming the babe, you don’t think any news she brings could cause you more distress than the previous news you have received. She moves to hold your arm, and you let her. “I know you were close with Jace…” she hesitates when she sees your eyes widen. You think you know what follows, but still you don’t want to believe it. “Just tell”, you stammer. “Jacaerys Velaryon was killed by the triarchy. His dragon was shot down.” You are in agony, but you still see that she has more news to tell, and you nod for her to continue as tears drip from your eyes. “The triarchy attacked when Rhaenyra was trying to send her youngest two sons away to safety on a ship-“ You don’t let her finish, immediately enquiring her about your younger brothers. Her eyes drop even more, and along with it your stomach does too.

“From our sources, Aegon was able to escape on his dragon, but…but…”

“But what?” you raise your voice. “Nothing is known of Viserys.”

 Small, but noticeable sobs escape your lips. Alicent, in her motherly tone, tries to console you. “Nothing is set in stone about Viserys yet, he could still be alive, try to keep some hope up for your baby brother”, she says softly. How could you? How could you still hope for better things. Just when you try to accept that things can’t get more worse than this, it does. Viserys, oh Viserys, he was like you first child. You remember his small giggles. You try to remember how he tried to learn to walk for the first time. You try to remember how much he loved you, and how much you love him. And you can’t even grieve him properly now, could you? Some part of his grief is stolen by Jacaerys. Jacaerys, a sweet, honorable, noble, prince. Though he was young, he was one of the greatest people you have ever known, and the honor of being loved by him is something you will hold close to your heart forever. You can’t help but wonder if he hated you before he died. He gave you something dear to him, only for you not to accept it. Maybe that’s why you are suffering now, atoning for your sins.  

Days now are a blend of repetition. Nothing unique. You sob. You grieve. You suffer. You are painfully aware that you are in no position to make any moves. Just a pawn. Bent to everyone else’s wills. The only thing that is able to bring you out of your pit of despair is your growing babe, and its movements within. Gods, your babe is so active. Is it because he is excited, or is it because he is struggling to get out of this cage of misery? You could never know, yet you still try your best to protect him. Him? Your mind wants you to believe it will be a little boy, however you still aren’t sure. In the beginning, you wanted a little boy like Aemond. Intelligent, honorable, and so much more, your Aemond was. Now, you aren’t even sure if he is your Aemond anymore.

Slowly pacing across the chambers, the only company being your good mother and your niece and nephew, you try to calm yourself from the discomfort you are facing, but from the look on Alicent’s face it is obvious you are failing to do so. “What are you feeling? And do you need anything? Some cakes perhaps? Maybe pies? Something to drink mayhaps-“ You stop her rambling, noticing that it has increased in the past few months- only to clutch your belly as a sharp pain spreads throughout your core. Wetness slithers down your legs. NO, NO, no-your mind is racing, knowing it is not time yet, how could it be? Your belly might look big, but it is only a few months along right? Alicent rushes to your side, helping you to rest nearby while the maids come in to rush the children out. She tries to get help, but she is unable to so as you don’t leave your iron grip on her. You need her to be by your side. Please, please. She is the only one to have shown kindness to you, even though it might not entirely be truthful. You don’t have your father by your side, you don’t have your sister by your side either. Neither are your brothers. Most importantly your husband, which breaks your heart. So, of course, you need Alicent by your side. And she does. As the midwives fill the chambers, Alicent helps you out of your dress along with a few maids, with nothing but tenderness etched across her face. She also undoes your elaborate braiding, only to replace it with a simple braid that keeps hair out of your face and causes no trouble laying your head back if the need arises to.

And it begins, the labour. Your lower body convulses with pain. You feel nothing besides it. Blood, sweat, and water coat you. You only realize now much time has passed, as the chambers have started to darken as the maids began lighting candles around. Nonetheless, you are still pushing. You are crying, screaming, howling out of your chest, hoping that any of it could possibly stop the pain. You just want it to be over and done with it. In the delirium, you didn’t notice someone arriving your birthing chambers. “Aegon, this is no appropriate place for you”, Alicent reprimands. He still doesn’t leave, instead choosing to sit on the other side and hold your other hand that is not held by Alicent. He hasn’t uttered a single word, just taking a cloth nearby and wiping your sweaty forehead. More time passes by, and both Alicent and Aegon has yet to make a move to leave your side. You take notice of the maester talking to both of them, but you don’t have enough energy to acknowledge what he is actually saying. You only know that whatever he said must have offended Aegon as he sent the maester out of your chambers in disgrace. Aegon moves closer, helping you sit up, and then takes his place his behind you so you could lean against his back. And he helps you push. His hands are on your stomach, pushing it forward as you are slouched down and screaming. Few more pushes and then, your screams were interrupted by new cries filling the crowded chambers. You blink your tears away in a desperate attempt to catch a glimpse of your babe. “A girl! Princess, you have a baby girl!” exclaimed one handmaiden, whose name you can’t be bothered to remember. A baby girl. You have a baby girl. You reach your arms forward, trying to touch your child, afraid that she would disappear if you don’t. Understanding your emotions, Clara roughly wipes her and hands you her over to you. Placed upon your arms, she ceases crying, opting to stare at you instead. Her eyes, one purple, one brown, both so dark they are almost indistinguishable, glimmer with wonder. Her fat cheeks tinted red, thick silver strands curling upon her head. “She’s beautiful,” Aegon says behind you, reminding you of his presence. While a small part of you intrigued that he is here, taking part in a very intimate moment with you, you push it away as only the thoughts of your baby occupy your head now. Alicent, also next to you, asks what you want to name her.  Aelora. An old valyrian name meaning “unexpected.” While it may not mean something grand, you think it fits her, as she is an unexpected boon to you in these troubling times.

“Aelora”

“Guess I will make the official announcement then,” Aegon exclaims before leaving, finally not being able to stand Alicent’s judgmental looks. Not just Alicent’s looks, but the maesters and the maids you notice. It was when he moves to leave you become aware that you were laying on his chest, and become aware of what it implies. You don’t know what to make of this new found predicament, but as you meet his eyes when he stands by the bed, you notice something familiar. A something familiar that you look at in the mirror every day these past several months. A feeling of loneliness. Guess he was trapped here too, and wanted to feel something. Anything. Even if it is a gruesome birth he had no purpose participating in. He nods at you, a flicker of understanding between the both of you.

You hold Aelora as she feeds from your breast. Even though she was scarcely a week at this point, she feeds from you like it her last meal. You could think that it was just yesterday Aemond held your hand and told you about how he killed Luke. Now, you are holding your babe in your arms. It has been nearly eight moons, not perfect but a near time for a babe to be born. Has it really been that long? You made a babe and the babe has taken its first breathe, yet still the war is going on, a war that was started on the night he she was made.

The birth of your babe has been a nice change, kept you lighter on your feet, and you took advantage of that. You stroll through the corridors, the courtyard, and the gardens more frequently now. Being trapped in your chambers with your babe is no good for either of you. The movement keeps you alive, and your babe is also looking at the world for the first time, with you to introduce it to her. One night, you were perched upon a balcony, showing the moon to Aelora. No, you were showing your Aelora to the moon. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” you hear yourself saying. You cherished these solitary moments spent with your daughter. You are alone no more, as you have your Aelora with you. While everyone else who loved you had their conditions, you knew Aelora held none. You knew it from the toothless grins she gave you. And you do the same. You love her unconditionally too. But you are not alone all the time now, as everyone seems to be excited about the new babe. Jaehaera and Maelor join you frequently, along with their grandmother sometimes. Alicent looks a juxtaposition of youthful, maternal, and exhausted these days. The war is keeping her occupied, you guess.  But you don’t mind the solitude. You bravely march upon the court, with your concerns only existing regarding your daughter. Their looks and stares don’t bother you no more. It’s you and your Aelora against the world, not that any harm would befall you in court.  At first you were convinced that it was Aemond’s love that was protecting you from any harm. Instead, it was Otto Hightower, wanting you as his pretty little bird in a cage so that Runestone wouldn’t go against the greens’ factions. Before, you would have been devastated that your safety wasn’t out of Aemond’s love but now, it doesn’t bother you much. Sure, it still stings, but he is no longer the most important person in your life. You do feel guilty of how easily you were able to discard him, but he was the one to do to you first, even more insulting is that it is with a bastard witch. While these thoughts drowned your mind before, now they don’t. Aelora is there to keep you afloat now.

The stars glitter across the sky, and Aelora can’t fall asleep, hence, you are wide awake too. She necessarily isn’t fussy, just content to be in your arms, with reasons of her own. Nights like these are when you think of your escapes. Would anyone even notice you making your escape. You can easily tie Aelora to your chest, make way through the secret passages and onto your dragon. No, it is too much of a risk, not just to you, but to Aelora too. Surely, they might have gotten more aware of the passageways since your father’s stint. Thinking of your father, you aren’t even sure how welcomed you would be from the other side. Surely your father wouldn’t have sent those assassins if he had at least a slight regard for your position, neither do you want to be part of a side that would kill children. What do you even do now? All you could do is be still for now. However, just because you are sitting still doesn't mean you are idle. You are always thinking. Plotting. You might be a glorified prisoner, but you are still the Lady of Runestone and that means a lot, doesn’t it? You just have to be patient.

The night gets colder, and right when you think Aelora is about to rest her eyes, you hear muttering outside the doors. “Is it a good time…maybe tomorrow…might be asleep…” Tomorrow what? You can never sleep now can you? Not without know what they are talking about. “What?” you commanded sternly as you open the doors. Even while just dressed in robes, the domineering tone of your voice and the sharp gaze of your eyes made them cower. It’s Clara, one of your maids and Ser Luther, one of your knights. It seems that they are both ashamed to be discovered, but you need to know. “JUST TELL ME!” you scream-whispered, taking note to not disturb your Aelora. Unable to meet your eyes, Clara has her head down while the good Ser gives you the news. “There are rumors your highness, rumors that your husband killed you father on top of God’s Eye.”