#And people die in war even if we like them and know their names

[earthsparked]

Howdy hoo, how do you do

How do you think the bots would feel about humans being so casual about death? Maybe pulling up the live updated world population website and laughing as the bots watch the numbers go up in their respective spots?

God forbid they meet a historian who knows really messed up facts about human wars. At least a FEW of them would be scared for a bit.

You know, I think it depends on the human, that human's culture, and on the bot!

I know there's a lot of fun to be had thinking of humans on the whole as total badass deathworlders who look death in the eye and laugh, and I enjoy that too! But I also like trying to bring some nuance to it, because there's fun in that, too.

Even a single human might feel differently about death depending on where they are in life. At one time, they might feel very casual about it – and even for different reasons! Casual because they don't have a real sense of its impact, or casual because they're overconfident and don't worry about their own death and/or have never experienced personal loss. Or casual because they've faced death many times and come to terms with it, and chosen to be pessimistic about it. Or casual because they've faced death many times and come to terms with it, and chosen to be optimistic or realistic about it.

A newcomer who's just met the 'bots through a life-threatening experience, the first time they've ever been in that kind of danger you see around the mechs, is going to respond differently than someone who's, say, a firefighter who does dangerous stuff all the time.

Many people feel chill about the thought of their own death, while also being terrified of losing their loved ones. And some people are deeply afraid of death and dying, whether it's about themselves or others, whether they are comfortable talking about it or not. Some people get angry, some people cry, some people feel numb, some people throw themselves into living life full-throttle, treating life like something you have to seize before it's gone. And some become anxious and treat life like something delicate and precious that has to be treasured but protected.

More than anything, I feel like the bots would feel like they're looking into a mirror. Being forced to confront another species that is so, so, so like them, but different in such fundamental ways that it's more like an upside-down mirror.

Mechs have a lifespan of a VERY long time. Of course, in-universe, the mechs we meet are the survivors of an absolutely ancient war. In most 'verses, they're all very old compared to humans as a species, let alone as individuals. There's a few 'verses where there's a few who are quite young, but that's the exception rather than the rule, really.

So meeting people so like them who have a mayfly life in comparison would be...something. Redefining the meaning of a spark. Something that burns brief and goes out, but leaves an afterimage of brightness that is slow to fade. There's several reasons I picked the name "earthsparked" for my blog, and it being a play on the TV show name is only one of them.

I think the mechs who care about such things might find the variation in beliefs, cultures, practices, and portrayals of death very interesting. Especially perhaps the portrayals of death as "Death" the personification. That might surprise some who carry their own beliefs about there being a Primus and a Unicron or other such beings (excusing for the moment that we know they exist in-universe). The idea of a psychopomp in particular might be interesting to them?

Their reactions would probably range from complete lack of caring (mechs who aren't keen on organics, "there's a zillion of 'em, of course they're going to die"), to vague concern and consternation (probably some of the medics who are frustrated they can't help certain issues), to deep worry, concern, and sadness (mechs with a close relationship with humans they know they're going to eventually lose to death one way or another), to a tremendous respect and appreciation (mechs who have a more spiritual sort of side, and find a sort of nobility to us for confronting death).

I think the same goes for the horrors of war. And really, most things that parallel our species and theirs. Being forced to look in a mirror that reflects not only what you are, but what you're not, flaws and all, is deeply uncomfortable.

But also, I think it would ultimately bring us closer together. We would each be drawn to the other, driven to understand the similarities, argue over the differences, find common ground and probably just as often, blow up at each other over similar traumas and regrets. We're made of the same kind of chaos and free will.

GREAT question, anon, thank you <333

[nikethestatue]

I remember when I started reading SJM, which was ACOTAR, and how simple things were.

I fell in love with Rhys and with Feyre. I loved reading her story. I loved the slightly malicious vibe from Rhys, who was intriguing and dark and delicious.

I loved reading ACOMAF and being taken on their journey and watch them fall in love. I adored all the twists and turns, and not being a fantasy reader, I was genuinely shocked by the 'mate' revelation, which blew me away and then the ending was truly incredible.

I liked ACOWAR and the complexity of all the stories, and how all the characters worked together. The High Lords' meeting was fascinating and frankly, the entire chapter of the Hybern rescue was incredible (and I read it not as an Elriel, but just as a reader).

I fell in love with ACOFAS and its softness, the build up to all the couples, the lore, the intricacies of all of these people's relationships. It remains by second favorite SJM book.

I was intrigued by ACOSF and Nesta's story, especially because I loved (and still love) Cassian. I was happy to see all my faves again, and get a different perspective. It wasn't the strongest book, but when I read it, I still enjoyed it. And hell, it made me exercise! LOL

And now, 4.5 years later, I look at this fandom, and it's just a trash pile of utter garbage ideas and opinions.

Azriel is an incel! He wants to use an Archeron sister for sex! Rhys is a war criminal who should be executed! Poor Illyrians (nevermind that they've been happily cutting the wings of their women for centuries! Until the 'war criminal' Rhysand stepped in)! Cassian should die because he is a bad mate and doesn't deserve Nesta! Tamlin is the hero of the series! Everything is unjust when it comes to him and he's never done anything wrong ever! Lucien deserves his mate! Pliant bones! Changed pelvises! Gwyn is Starborn! Her name starts with Gwy and so is Gwydion, so obviously...I don't even know what's obvious, but something is. Nesta' should basically raise armies against the IC! She should align with Eris! She should align with Tamlin! Elain is Tamlin's mate because she likes flowers and doesn't deserve Lucien. In fact, Elain doesn't deserve Lucien, or Azriel, or even Graysen. Elain x Koschei! Koschlain! Beron is sexy! Mate bond rejection is between LOA and Helion????

and on and on and on it goes.

Harassing artists, harassing Bloomsbury, harassing other readers, stealing art, doxxing, releasing personal information, personal DMs, pretending to be someone they aren't to invade spaces, months of abusive anons, ridicule, aggression, calling people 'vermin', wishing people death, threatening to contact their places of work and schools. Making lists with people's handles and warning 'we are watching you'. What?

And I wonder--what happened?

What happened to my innocent and ardent love for these characters and the story, and how did it all come to this?

I truly am at a loss when I look at the dumpster fire that this fandom has become. Literally the only two reasonable fractions who actually understand what SJM intended with her storytelling and who appreciate the characters as they are meant to be appreciated are the OG Feysands and Elriels.

The rest...I don't know. I don't know what happened. But it's scary and unsettling.

[ssreeder]

*Semi-spoilers*

Sreedy, why do you not love me? Why must you hurt me so? I am on Chap 12 and still get get over the death that happened in Chap 6. Like this felt like the Boots betrayal all over again. You made me like this character. Then *boom* dead.

You couldn't even give them a cool death? Not one where they could sacrifice themselves for the greater good?

Then... AND THEN.... you didn't even talk about them in your Author's notes?! (Because of this, I'm holding on to the delusion that they are still alive-somehow)

In my mind, Sokka was just confused. Or this character had a clone or something. They are not death (I have to believe this for my sanity)

When I catch you, Ricky, when I catch you.... 🫵🏽😑

Alright, off to the chapter 🫶🏽 (still am obsessed with the story)

I feel like Shens death either hits people really hard or not at all. You’re spiraling in the ao3 comments about him is seriously so funny. You’re not the only one who isn’t over his death & I am so sorry! (I’m not actually sorry haha Shen was always gunna die but I did allow him to make it all the way to book 3! So yayyyy?)

Ok!! So I actually purposely didn’t give him a dramatic death because unfortunately he was a common foot soldiers and people viewed him as expendable because of that & he was tossed aside like garbage the moment his purpose was served.

& YOU CANT CATCH THE RICKY THE RICKY CATCHES YOUUUUUU MWAHAHAHA :D

thanks for the ask Dr sue lou I hope you continue to enjoy hehe

[batcavescolony]

S4 E3 Supernatural

Now THIS is a good episode. Castiel took Dean back in time to 1973! We find out Sam and Dean's maternal grandparents, Samuel and Deanna Campbell, and Mary are hunters. On top of that, Azazel is playing match maker so he can have his little psychic children be the best of the best, and he made a deal with Mary to revive John after he killed him. Also as if Azazel hasn't killed enough of Sam & Dean's family they killed Samuel and Deanna too. Oh this is so interesting, then Castiel taking Dean back, saying destiny can't be changed but Sam is going down a dark path and either Dean stops him or angels do.

[randomnameless]

are you still cooking your half nabatean lycaon AU ? If you're interested, there are some fics on Ao3 about him! In a more serious setting though he wouldn't be outed as a half nabatean

I've seen them!

Soon, he will have 10 properly tagged fics on AO3 !

(and i've read them all lol)

I think I can see what fic you're talking about in the "more serious setting" lol, but first let it be a "Rhea blows up Seteth's microwave by reheating a ravioli can AU" or a "WoH storytelling" AU, I suppose fics are fics, and they're both "serious" in their own way.

Maybe you meant "serious" as in the most "canon compliant" - still taking into consideration that we're talking about fanfics, aka, headcanons?

Discussing about headcanons - the way reasonable people do - is much like discussing about your favourite recipe, it's ultimately a matter of taste - You're not saying the recipe of the person you're talking to sucks, but you just say you prefers yours and don't force it on anyone else.

Now, why I don't put carrot in my curries -

iirc in this fic I'm thinking of and you might be talking about anon, the premise was basically an alliance, Willy has to marry a lady to secure an alliance with her father and get Gronder on his side for his future conquest.

If Rhea tells him about bby!Lycaon and marries him, his wedding is annuled, no alliance means more warfare and Adrestia needs more time to gather troops to march on Nemesis.

If she doesn't, the son he and his wife were supposed to have dies in childbirth and Rhea swaps the babies so Lycaon is raised by his dad and his stepmom, no one knows his stepmom isn't his mom, save for Willy himself and the nabateans.

In this setting though, children between nabateans and humans will either be humans, or nabatean, so no half-nabatean hijinks (and Lycaon was born a human).

---

This isn't the headcanon I'm rolling with - which prompted this entire cooking stuff lol - hybrid nabateans have more magic/power than humans, but less than full blooded nabateans.

With that being said, in a WoH setting, I couldn't legit see Rhea accepting to part or even to entrust her kid (half or not) to anyone else than her bros/relatives, maybe the trustworthy people of her Church and Willy himself.

But anyone else in Enbarr and its palace?

If the secret is out of the bag, Lycaon will become a dagger (or so she thinks!).

So he stays with his maternal family, or under their care.

Now, what about Willy?

The hc of the 120 bastard kids was just nonsense, but if we supposed Willy fucked like what the real world inspiration for Adrestia of old is supposed to be, I HC Willy should at least have some illegitimate kids.

Regarding the legitimate ones, what if he married someone, to form an alliance, and basically sealed it with the promise that their kid was going to become the next emperor?

It's plausible enough, that Willy survives the potential kid, due to receiving Rhea's crest he ages slower than his kid who might or not get a crest at birth (like the characters we see in FE16!).

With time, the alliance becomes void because hey, the heir isn't inheriting a thing since Willy's still alive and rocking his imperial armor - and looks younger than his own kid!

Should Willy contract a new alliance or would the people who joined him through this alliance bail out realising they would never have one of their people sit on Adrestia's throne ?

Or, even before realising that the "alliance made heir" will never get the throne since Willy can live up to 300 years, I got the idea/HC that Willy, much like your typical FE protag, starts with Bord'n'Cord and later ends up leading an army without needing to contract "alliances through marriages" to gain soldiers.

Both because of personal preferences lol, but also because it creates a precedent : if Willy marries the heir of land A who has 50 soldiers to offer in exchange of the throne, what if he later gets a proposal from land J who has 5k soldiers to offer for the same prize? If A's proposal looks good when Willy starts with 3 soldiers, later when he has 3k, wouldn't J's be better? In that situation, would A be casted away to have J instead?

However, the most serious issue in this "race for the throne" is, well, Rhea herself!

She's the Prophet who can perform miracles, totes call a giant divine beast to help her and is assisted by Saintly people who can perform the same miracles (and also maybe call giant divine beasts on their own?). The CoS has a lot of followers in Southern Fodlan, hell Enbarr is picked as the capital of the Empire because of Seiros' presence.

"300 devout randoms aren't the same as 300 soldiers and the CoS has no land to offer!"

Macuil is the source of magic and brags about it, what if he very relunctantly accepted to teach humans how to use magic, with the first humans he would have picked would have been the ones from the CoS? And we know Cichol's "blessing" makes lands grow more fertile, so while the CoS has no land to offer, the things they can offer are of a different worth.

Sure they're no 300 soldiers, but they bring mages and can create magic users + use magic/stuff to help Adrestia grow, as in, getting more food, healing and what not.

Add to that cocktail half-nab!Lycaon?

Like, there's a kid hanging out with the Saints - who looks like them - and is basically raised by them and hangs out with them, ages maybe as slowly as the Emperor, and is close to Seiros herself.

If there are any doubts about Lycaon's mom in the modern times, in this AU there would be none! Assuming Willy recognises him as his own, well, between heir X born out of an alliance to secure 50k soldiers to get the entire southern peninsula, and Jesus' son...

(hell even if Willy doesn't recognise him, he could still adopt him later on?)

Even if Lycaon isn't officialy in the race for the throne - by his sheer existence, he is a serious contestant, and all the more if the "human" heirs age as humans do, as opposed to Willy, Lycaon and the Saints.

Meritocracy happening means the young (?), martially talented, wise and fair (it might be a joke, but adrestians of old were lusting after nabateans in their stories/poems/songs...) Prince Lycaon has no competition for the throne, and it's not an alliance contracted 90 or 40 years ago that will be enough to push the claim of Prince/ss X over Lycaon's for the throne...

So the only solution to get rid of him is to push him down some stairs, and hope his death will be "natural" enough that people will believe he died of an illness - or maybe enlisting the help of some strange people wearing hoods and being really pale who promised to get rid of "this beast".

But I can't write/finish fics for shit lol, so i'm just throwing stuff here and there.

[evermarch]

“like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

an interesting thing about the sotr epilogue is that, despite its placement in the early years post-war, where haymitch would be in his mid-40s, it feels like it’s set at the end of his life. his tone is reflective. he speaks often in past tense. he talks about lenore dove coming to him, and he uses her language, saying that he’s not sure he’ll be in the “old therebefore” much longer. how his liver’s destroyed and he’s not sobering up, even if he’s not drinking for the same reasons.

but this is the same book where we saw one poor little girl transformed into another. the same series where skin grafts grow easily in a lab. where “genetic manipulation” class is part of the core curriculum before university. where mutts with practically supernatural abilities are designed at will. where the capitol populace has a notable substance abuse problem. in my mind, there’s no way transplanting a liver, a regenerating organ, particularly in a district whose new industry is medicine, isn’t possible.

so, to me, haymitch isn’t near the end of his life unless he chooses not to pursue a future. which he very well could. as he says, “when my time comes, it comes, but i’ve no idea when that will be.” but i think there’s a lot of evidence that he would choose to stick around. or at least, to try. namely, his lenore dove telling him he can’t go to her yet. because he needs to look after his family. and geese, for one thing, have an average life span of 10, 15, 20 years.

whether haymitch is or is not at the end of his life, i think it’s clear that he has not and does not intend to marry or have children beyond katniss and peeta. but i think the wording of the line which best establishes that is notable. “lenore dove likes it best [in the meadow], and I’m content where she’s content. like the geese, we really did mate for life.”

when he reflects on the life he’s already lived, he uses past tense. when he talks about his life now, on his reasons for sticking around with katniss and peeta, haymitch uses present tense. lenore dove exists in both places. throughout the epilogue, she exists in the present. she grows older with him. so i think it’s interesting that haymitch uses past tense tense for this one line. “we really did mate for life.”

that’s not to say that haymitch ever “moves on,” because that’s a false characterization of people who lose their loves in the first place. however, i think this line is past tense because it makes this question, like the rest of haymitch’s life, ambiguous. it also opens up discussion on what “mating for life” means. it’s a statement which implies exclusivity, but i don’t think necessitates it. because it’s not true that geese mate for life. they mate until one dies, after which the surviving goose mourns and then finds a new partner.

there’s room for a version of haymitch, who lives many years past the epilogue, who finds romantic attachment again.

if he does, he would not be replacing lenore dove. he would not be disgracing their romance or defiling their love. and 16 year old haymitch, believing he’s about to die, caught in the throes of the exploding tank and grief over ampert’s death, knew it, too. he was “furious” with himself that he didn’t tell lenore dove to “move on” from his death, because he was terrified of her living out her life haunted by his death. even while he desperately clung to her as he faced his imminent end, he was hoping she’d go on without him.

to love someone like all-fire is to love them enough to let them be free to go on after death. and that’s how haymitch loves lenore dove. and that’s how lenore dove loves him, too, because she is his goose. except haymitch has never been free to go on. the life haymitch was terrified for lenore dove to live is exactly the life he does live. from the end of the book, we know that he is doomed to repeat the 16th year of his life over and over again for 25 years. there’s no reprieve until katniss and peeta come into the picture.

yet, the epilogue’s tone is entirely different. it’s melancholy, but hopeful. he is no longer the 16 year old boy living in a repeating cycle of his own tragedy. when he next revisits it, it’s on his own terms. from that point on haymitch is finally allowed to grow up. to live a life in the “after.” to truly enter his mourning period. for someone new to join him in this new life would not mean he leaves behind lenore dove, or that she’s no longer his mate. because we know lenore dove stays with him, and will continue to stay with him, always.

and it’s likely that anyone with whom he finds comfort in his remaining years would carry someone with them, too. there’s no shortage of people who lost their loves in panem, whether from the war or before. there’s no shortage of people who would understand that his love likes it in the meadow. because maybe theirs tells stories around the fireplace in a creaky house in the seam. or fashions snares in the woods around district 12.

maybe 5, 10, 15 years in the future, when his geese are all grown up and two new goslings hatch, he’ll be an example of a different kind of love. of how new love is not a dilution of the love that was lost. of how lost love never dies, even as life goes on. of how love is not finite.

regardless of whether haymitch finds something resembling romantic love again, i am at least comforted by the thought that his end is much more peaceful than we dreamed it could be. because he has a family again. and because lenore dove is with him, too. and, no matter how long it takes for him to leave the old therebefore, she’s waiting for him in the next world.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Ok, I don't really post here, but there's a Merlin AU idea that's been rattling around in my skull like it's a pinball machine and I need to get it out, so here we go:

Imagine an AU where Balinor doesn't die and banishes Kilgarrah before sneaking away so Uther doesn't catch him and can't put his newfound son in danger. Of course, both he and Merlin are heartbroken about having to be separated again after just finding each other, but they work out a way to keep in touch and occasionally meet in secret.

And this is all well and good, and everything in the show just kinda proceeds as normal up until about season 4, where we have the knights of the round table well-established in Camelot.

It'd make sense that after a few years of travelling around with Kilgarrah, Balinor would be pretty well-known and well-feared throughout all the five kingdoms as "that dragonlord who escaped the purge and now travels around on the back of a giant dragon", and people all over Albion are kinda terrified of the guy.

Rumors say that he never smiles, that he can kill a man in a split second without even utterring a spell, and can decimate kingdoms with the dragon under his total command. That makes for a formidable figure!

And then one day, Balinor is trying to sneak into Camelot to visit his son (he heard Merlin got hit by a dorocha and wants to make sure he's ok!), and the knights see him and freak out because holy shit that's one of the deadliest guys in Albion!

They're in a tense standoff, with Balinor threatening to call down the dragon on them if they don't let him through. The knights are all ready to give their lives to at least buy the people in the castle time to evacuate, when suddenly Merlin and Arthur make it to the standoff. Arthur immediately starts strategizing with his knights on how they're going to negociate with the sorcerer in an attempt to make sure that they aren't all slaughtered.

Meanwhile, Merlin just laughs and pushes through the rows of knights blocking Balinor's path to the castle. The knights, being very fond of Merlin and not wanting to see their kind little friend be brutally murdered by one of the most terrifying men in exsistence, are trying to grab Merlin and pull him back to safety or shouting at him to get back, but Merlin manages to avoid them as he walks up to Balinor.

For a horrifying moment, the knights and Arthur think that Merlin is about to sacrifice himself for them, but Merlin breaks into a huge grin, yells "Dad!", and runs right into Balinor's arms.

(Merlin and Balinor reason that now that Arthur's king, they might as well start easing him into some of Merlin's less shocking secrets)

And even more shockingly to the knights, Balinor hugs him back, asking Merlin all about how he's been doing, how are his studies under Gaius, etc etc.

And all of the knights just bluescreen. Because the math isn't mathing on this one. Hunith + Balinor = MERLIN?! Does not compute.

They're all pondering how could someone as joyful, friendly, and kind as Merlin be the spawn of a terrifying man like Balinor?? They just cannot comprehend it. The manservant who they all know and love came from this sorcerer who's name is synonymous with the threat of death and destruction??

They're all jolted back to reality however when Balinor asks Merlin if he wants to come back to Balinor's newly-renovated stronghold in the mountains (that's only accessable by riding a dragon) to learn more about one day becoming a dragonlord. And suddenly, the knight understand why Balinor's here. He wants to kidnap Merlin from them and twist him into a terrifying sorcerer to carry on Balinor's legacy!

It all basically dissolves into a long game of high-stakes tug-of-war between Balinor and the knights + Arthur, and Merlin's just enjoying spending time with his father and his friends.

Balinor will just casually crash one of their quests while riding Kilgarrah and "kidnap" Merlin while the knights fight to keep Merlin with them.

Balinor eventually gives Merlin Aithusa so he can get practice raising dragons, and the knights see it as some evil scheme to make Merlin betray Camelot and attack it from within, but damn it Merlin's already adopted the damn thing so now they're stuck with a baby dragon.

IDK if I'd ever write a fic about it since I'm pretty busy writing another fic rn, but I thought that it was a funny idea to throw out there!

PS: if anyone wants to read my current project, where I'm giving Sir Leon more anxiety with each chapter after a kinda-botched magic reveal on Merlin's part (and Merlin may or may not be an eldritch god), feel free to check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54027337/chapters/136771564

Thank you all for sticking with my incoherent rambling! :D I hope you have a great day/night!

Also, please let me know if you guys wants to hear more of the ideas that pinball around in my head!

[mrsparrasblog]

I just listened to "My Tears Ricochet" and had an idea.

TW: Angst *laughs in free therapy*

So, imagine the boys need to fake their deaths. How macabre it is that they attend their own funerals, wanting to watch their loved ones. (These are standalone scenarios they don't fake their death together)

Price: You were his wife for all these years, always waiting for him to return. The funny thing was you could clearly remember the last argument before he left.

"Love, just one more tour, and I'm coming back to you. Then we can start a family and all that, but the boys need me."

"It's always the last tour with you. When is it really the last?"

"This time, I promise."

To some extent, he was right. You thought it was his last tour, but it wasn’t fair. You knew it was over when you got the call from General Shepard. Your husband was dead. You lost the love of your life, and all you got were his dog tags and a check large enough to end world hunger. You slapped your friend after she said at least you were financially secure now.

Price watched you from behind a tree. He saw how you clung to his grave, hugging it tightly and lying on it as you always used to with him. Your dress was dirty, and the tears wouldn’t come anymore.

When Laswell and Nik approached you, you screamed at them, blaming them for not protecting your husband. You trusted them, and now you couldn't bear to let anyone else near his grave. John wished he could comfort you, tell you he would come back to protect you, but he couldn’t. Instead, he sent Simon, who endured all your insults, screams, and even a punch to his crooked nose until you were ready to move on.

Kyle: You and Kyle were born on the same day, in the same room, in the same hospital. It was like a movie; he was your best friend since forever, your first everything, and you were his. It was a love like in all those movies. The only thing separating you was the military, but you stayed home waiting for him. Not even war could separate you. Last year, he brought you that ring. You remember lying in bed, cuddling him as he promised you that you were allowed to die first. He knew you wouldn’t survive his death. So he made the silly promise that you would die first. He thought it was the first promise he ever broke to you.

Kyle had to be held back when he saw you crying at his grave. “Guess I’ll find you in the next one, love. Sleep well.”

Ghost: He was never good at love, and he was sure no one would come to his funeral. No one knew "Ghost," and Simon Riley had been buried since 2009. But then he saw you, the cute medic he always tried to push away. He was afraid of hurting you or corrupting you. How could he have known that pushing you away wouldn’t stop you from loving a dead man?

All the conversations came flooding back:

"Here, Lt. I made you red velvet cookies, your favorite."

"You're going to sit down and let me fix that, idiot."

"You're beautiful, Ghost."

"You're enough."

"It's kind of silly to be in love with someone whose name you didn’t even know. I hope you find your peace, big boy." You placed lilies on his grave and left. In that moment, Simon Riley realized he was loved, and he would burn the world down to come back from the dead just to return to you.

Johnny: Contrary to popular belief among the team, Johnny wasn’t a whore. He was a loving husband and father. That was written above "Sergeant" on his grave, at least.

His funeral was crowded with people who wanted to pay their last respects. Most of them were blue-eyed MacTavishes. Then there was you, holding your three-year-old in your arms. He didn’t understand why everyone was crying or why Dad wasn’t there anymore.

Johnny watched you sit at his grave, sighing as you talked to your husband. "James doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he misses you. He wanted me to give him a mohawk. It looks ridiculous, just like you. I know you’re rocking it in heaven. Just please wait for me, okay? Don’t want you to hoe around in heaven," you chuckled, holding back the tears. "You watch us from there, right? Can’t miss the birth of your princess, can you?"

[crucifyjonnie]

Someone to you

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Warnings: anxiety, depression, self-loathing, medication, dark thoughts, violence, death, denial.

A/N: I wanted to write something angsty and here's the result of it. (For more vibe while reading, listen to Someone to you by Matt Hansen)

Diary entry; 12th of May.

It’s like I still can feel her skin touching mine. Her fingertips trailing patterns on my back. Her breath, still caressing the nape of my neck. Her hair, still tickling my cheek. Her laugh, oh, her pretty laugh. And her eyes, that burning inferno in her eyes that was for me and only me. How she melted into me, like she was made for my arms. Her head shaped to fit perfectly on my chest. 

But that’s not the case. I haven’t seen her for two months. Everybody thinks she’s dead. I don’t. I can’t. I can’t believe she is gone. It’s like I still can hear her voice. Echoing between the cold brick walls in my dorm. 

I thought I heard her today. A quiet whisper echoing through the hallway of Hogwarts. She called my name. I swear to Merlin, it was her voice. She called out for me.

I still can’t believe that the last words that left my lips were so harsh. I just told her to leave. To never come back. And all she responded with was, “But I love you.” Those words have burned into the stem of my brain. I hope she knows that I never meant for it to be like this. I hope she knows that I love her more than anything. That I would die for her. If I could trade places with her, I would. She deserves life; she deserves to bloom—like a flower.

But it’s always like this. I always push people away. And now, she’s nowhere to be found. And I just can’t believe what the others try to tell me. She’s not dead. She’s NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. SHE’S NOT DEAD. She can’t be.

M.R

Mattheo hadn’t been sleeping much for the past couple of months. Not since the day you disappeared, and it showed. Dark circles under his dark, deep coffee eyes, hair tousled, fatigue creeping in every corner of his being. He went on with his lessons, but he wasn’t there; not really. He tried to keep peace with himself, but he lost a piece of himself when he couldn’t find you after the war.

The hallways of Hogwarts were restored, but the ghosts of everyone losing their lives haunted the halls. Their painful screams still echoing between the walls and paintings; souls too young to lose their lives. Souls that were far too easy for the Death Eaters to take. Souls that had not yet gotten the chance to live, to bloom, to be free. Now, they’re stuck between the walls of the castle. Doomed to walk these halls for an eternity.

Mattheo, Theo and Pansy were ready to leave the Great Hall after supper. Per usual, like the past couple of months, Mattheo hadn’t been eating—at least not enough. His temper had grown short. And if his tolerance for shit-talking bastards was low before, it had reached its breaking point now.

The three friends rose from their table, gathering their things, and were about to leave when they heard some student’s whisper from behind them. “He’s pathetic.” Mattheo stopped in his steps, knowing very well they whispered about him. Pansy gave Mattheo a glance while tugging on the arm of his shirt lightly. “It’s not worth it, Mattheo. Come on, let’s go.” And for once, Mattheo was actually about to leave it be—until they spoke again. 

“You’re pathetic, Riddle. You had one job, and now we all have to walk around in pain. Only because you couldn’t do one thing.” Mattheo swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest. Blood boiling in his veins, he turned around with gritted teeth. “And what, exactly, is that?” The words left his lips through his still gritted teeth.

The Ravenclaw boy—who Mattheo didn’t even know the name of—smirked, knowing he had gotten under Mattheo’s skin. What the boy didn’t know was that he was about to regret his next words. “Keep her alive.” Mattheo’s features darkened, closing the distance between them before his fist was buried in the boy's face. “What did you say?” One more punch, “Say it again,” one more punch, “I dare you.”

Mattheo spent the rest of the day in Snape’s classroom, in detention. While sitting by the table, he heard your voice again. A low but soft whisper, echoing through the room.

“Mattheo…” 

He tried to ignore it, but then it came again. “Mattheo”. 

Letting out a trembling breath, he shook his head. “You’re not here. Why do I keep hearing you? You’re not here. You’re gone. The boy was right. I was supposed to keep you alive. I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed…” But Mattheo got cut off by a light squeeze on his shoulder. Body stiffening, he turned around harshly only to see—nothing. “I’m going insane.” 

Diary entry; 14th of May.

I thought I heard her again today. It was also almost like I could feel her. I swear I felt a squeeze on my shoulder. But it can’t be her. She’s not here anymore. All I want, all I beg for, is to see her again. Please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.

I’m going crazy. I’m broken. I’m alone. I’m nothing. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live like this. I can’t do this. Please, make it stop. Make. It. Stop.

M.R

A few days went by. Mattheo had succeeded in being let out of detention. The only good thing about not faring well with his mental health was that he could blame it to escape detention. The Ravenclaw boy, whose face was refurbished by the one and only, had been sent to St Mungo's for severe injuries. But Mattheo didn’t care. All he could care about was you; all he could think about was you.

Mattheo was curled up under a blanket in the Astronomy tower, feet dangling out from the railing. It was way past curfew, but that had never stopped him before. He took a long drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing. Mattheo’s eyes gazed over the star-clothed night sky, a million thoughts swirling in his mind. 

“What would you do if you were here? Would you tell me how stupid I am for smashing a boy's face? Probably a stupid question. I know you would make me tell him I was sorry. And I would do it. I would do it for you. But I just can’t… I can’t take it when others tell me what I have done wrong in this. I know I should’ve protected you. I know I shouldn’t have told you to leave. I know I was stupid. Would you forgive me if you were here? Would you?” Mattheo scoffed, shaking his head. A soft smile tugged on the corner of his lips while a sigh left his nostrils. The smile was not because he was happy but because he was feeling pathetic. He was talking to himself, for Merlin’s sake.

“I would.” Your whisper swirled through the air, and Mattheo felt like the air left his lungs. His eyes filled with tears. Gritting his teeth, he took one more long drag of his cigarette before flicking it away over the railing. And just as he did, a falling star fell. “I wish for…” But he got cut off by your whisper again.

“Shh… It’s bad luck to tell.” Mattheo gazed up at the stars, smiling with teary eyes. “I know you’re here. Somewhere. I just know it.”

As the days kept on passing, Mattheo tried to keep to himself. He spent only a few nights in the common room together with his friends, but for most of the time he tried to spend his time with himself. Reading, writing, keeping his mind off anything else. But tonight was tough.

He tried to keep calm, but the demons in his mind kept knocking on until they broke every wall down in his mind. Mattheo really tried to keep his posture, but it was in vain.

“Why? Why? Why? Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.” His voice was barely audible, more like a strangled cry than actual words coming out. The tears couldn’t stop running down his cheek while his hands pulled on his brown curls.

Theo could hear Mattheo’s cries, and even though Mattheo had been very clear not to bother, Theo couldn’t do this anymore. He walked from his bed and over to Mattheo’s. As he sat down, Mattheo stiffened slightly, but he was too wound up in his panic attack to tell Theo to piss off. Theo curled up behind Mattheo, who was sitting up, and pulled him into his chest. At first, Mattheo tried to push Theo away, but Theo’s grip was like iron.

“Shh. Mattheo. Everything will be alright. I’m sure she’s okay. I can feel it. But please, just try to breathe. You’re breaking my heart. You’re my best friend, my brother. All I want is for you to just… calm down. Let me be here for you.” And that was all that Mattheo needed to hear. That was enough for him to break for real, and the tears wouldn’t stop running. 

Theo hugged Mattheo for nearly one hour before speaking again. “Mattheo, listen to me. I get it; everything feels like shit. But please, you have to stop blaming yourself. I’m sure she’s okay. I don’t think she’s gone. But you have to do something about this. I don’t recognise you anymore.”

The next day, Mattheo asked for permission to leave for St Mungo's. He had to get some help for all of this. And then, he was going to find you.

After speaking with the doctors and getting some medication, Mattheo was about to leave. But one of the nurses stopped him right before he opened the entrance. “Please, Mr Riddle. Follow me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Mattheo glared at the nurse, thinking she only wasted his time. He followed her to the second floor and to the door on the end of the hall. She didn’t say anything, and Mattheo found her a little bit odd. The nurse gestured for the door before disappearing through another door.

A strange feeling flared in Mattheo’s stomach. But he opened the door. The room was pure white, almost glowing. He looked around and saw that a couch and a fireplace were the only things existing in this room. His gaze travelled to the window, and his heart stopped. A girl stood with her back facing him, her deep brown hair falling over her shoulders and down to the small of her back. Mattheo took one more step into the room before letting out a deep breath.

The girl turned around, meeting Mattheo’s face with a gentle smile. A scar travelling down from her eyebrow to her cheek. But her eyes, oh, her eyes. The prettiest he has ever seen. The girl’s lips parted slightly before speaking.

“Hi Mattheo.”

© crucifyjonnie 2025. Please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Reblogs, likes and comments are welcomed though ♡ you are accountable for your own media consumption. 

Taglist: @riddleswhcre @belovedenzo

[breadbrobin]

the trees

clarisse la rue x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

summary: you have a very specific skill set that helps your team with capture the flag, and clarisse thinks it’s fascinating. in fact, she thinks you’re as fascinating as you think she is.

warnings: swearing, arguments, fighting, PINING, heights i guess (reader is up a tree), possibly ooc clarisse but not too much i hope.

word count: 2.5k

(so the brainrot has (inevitably) spread to clarisse. there’s gonna be a part two to this as well, so lmk if y’all want it (tbh i’ll probably post it anyway but still). oh and also i love her and i am a clarisse apologist and lover until the day i die)

(sort-of-enemies to sort-of-lovers, but more like idiots to pining idiots (in a tree))

(part 2 here)

———————————————

archery wasn’t the only thing you were good at, but it was by far the best thing you were good at. a daughter of apollo: master of archery, mediocre of music and magical at making weird ass noises. bird calls, animal sounds, imitations—you name it, you could do it.

and those were useful tactics in capture the flag, for sure.

annabeth chase was a master strategist, and you had to give it to her: she remembered everyone’s strengths, weaknesses and alliances while you couldn’t even remember what you’d had for breakfast that day.

as always, you were tucked up in a tree, around halfway up. you weren’t too high, so that you could speak and people wouldn’t automatically know you were above them, but you weren’t too low so they couldn’t see you.

you kind of liked being in the trees now. after three years of capture the flag and around six months of freaking out every time you climbed above ten feet, you were finally used to it. it was almost calming; a way for you to relax after a stressful day and pretend that nothing around you existed.

until the red team came by, that is.

that’s what you were waiting for. the flag was around fifty feet to your right. your job was to be a lookout and a distraction.

it was your favourite part of the game, getting to trick people and shoot arrows at them when they came too close, allowing the blue team members around the bottom of your tree to pop out and disarm their opponents.

it wasn’t a trick you used every time—not even the ares cabin are that stupid—but when you did use it, you had the time of your life.

there was a snapping branch to your left. you straightened up from where you were leaning against the tree trunk behind you and peered through the leaves. you were perched on a thick bough, hidden by leaves and branches, but able to see enough through them that you could do your job.

you could hear voices, but you couldn’t see anyone.

you listened carefully. you knew that voice.

you realised with a start who it was.

clarisse la rue.

fucking clarisse, man. she drove you insane. and not for the reason she drove most of camp insane. no, unlike almost everyone else, you were attracted to her. in fact, you were, annoyingly, in love with her, you’d have to admit. it was infuriating.

you could hear her cutting through the forest. it was strange. she didn’t usually come for the flag. usually, she hunted in the woods and caught stragglers. she didn’t want the glory as much as she wanted the fight. to her, winning the battle seemed more important than winning the war.

regardless of why, you could hear her voice. she was talking to her siblings below you, creeping through the foliage.

the sun was warm on your face and you send up a brief prayer to your father.

from your lips slipped an almost perfect impression of your blue team guards. you’d used this trick last game, but clarisse hadn’t been there, so she wouldn’t know. “i can’t believe they put us on guard duty again.”

they all froze in their tracks, looking at each other, then ahead in the opposite direction from the flag.

you held in a snicker. “ugh, yeah, it’s the worst. i mean, why can’t we do anything fun? i wanna fight clarisse!”

you could see the smirk curling on her lips and you had to stop yourself from blushing.

you continued this cat and mouse game. the ares kids below you fanned out, aiming to surround you. it would have been a smart move, if there was actually a flag there and not just a tree.

slowly, they inched in, then leapt out.

“ahh!! you caught us! i’ve been impaled!”

they looked around in fear and confusion but clarisse looked straight up. she always did.

“hey, angel, nice voice,” she mocked. “wanna come on down?”

you shook your head. “no, thanks, i’m comfortable.”

she raised and eyebrow, seeing your arrow drawn and pointed directly at her. “that’s not necessary.”

“isn’t it?” your arrow flew and, though she hit it away, you teammates came pouring out of the foliage, having been waiting for your signal.

a fight ensued. it looked like it was going well for a short while, then the tides turned.

they weren’t as caught off guard as they usually were. hell, clarisse was even smiling!

with what looked like very little effort, the ares campers effectively destroyed your teammates. they were left disarmed and defeated, and you were stuck in a tree. typical.

as her siblings took their weapons, clarisse looked up at you. “you wanna come down now?”

you shook your head. “rather not. the view from up here is pretty good.”

she muttered something to herself, but you couldn’t hear her. then she spoke up. “what if we come up there?”

you drew your bow back immediately and an arrow pierced the dirt right in front of her foot.

she looked down at it, then back up at you, an amused smirk on her face. “right, silly me.”

that surprised you. she was usually cold and cruel in capture the flag, always taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors—in a technical sense. you’d seen people nursing their minor wounds after the games when your siblings forced you to help out in the infirmary (not that you’re much help in there, but regardless), and everyone heard the stories they’d tell of clarisse appearing out of the ferns and attacking ruthlessly. so why was she not being so ruthless today?

she was certainly cruel in her fight against your team members, but any other day, she would have thrown her spear at you or thrown one of your arrows back, or even climbed up anyway. instead, she just smirked up at you, content to wait.

“where’s the flag, bows?” she asked, using a nickname she’d only used a few times, one that referenced both the bows you used and the bows you sometimes put in your hair.

you shrugged. “dunno. they don’t tell me anything. i just get out here and told to be annoying.” your traitorous eyes flickered to the direction of the flag. you’d never been good at lying.

and curse her, clarisse noticed. she always noticed when it came to you, it seemed. whether it was catching you in a lie, catching you when you were admiring her or catching your every move when sparring, she always noticed.

she nodded at her siblings and they moved off. “i’ll wait here. try and flush our squirrel out.”

if they were confused or surprised, they didn’t show it.

once they were gone, clarisse plucked the arrow from the dirt and studied it. “this is new.”

“sam from hephaestus made them,” you said meekly. why would she stay behind? it didn’t make sense. you weren’t a threat, or even a good fight.

her face darkened. “oh. and where is your boyfriend now, then? hm?”

your cheeks flamed. “he’s not my boyfriend.” and it was true. he wasn’t. despite the fact that he liked you and made things for you all the time, your heart was decidedly with another. and she was right below you, tossing your prized arrow aside like an old tissue. “he’s on your team anyway. you should know where he is.”

she smirked again. “oh, yeah. i remember now. that’s right, i sent him to try and get our flag. he didn’t even make it five steps before he was attacked.”

her bitter laugh made your heart clench. was it pity for sam or your feelings for her, or both? you weren’t sure. either way, it was starting to get on your nerves.

it was silent for a long time. she looked up at you every few seconds, then at the tree, like she was gauging how hard she’d have to push you for you to die on impact. her eyes were sharp and her smile was sharper, and fuck you were attracted to her.

you cleared your throat and broke the silence, hearing fighting off in the near distance. you would go and help, but the only way for you to do so would be to tree-hop all the way to the flag, and while you could do it, it wasn’t the best idea. “why did you stay h—what are you doing?” you aimed an arrow at her.

“relax, angel, we both know you won’t actually shoot me.” she was climbing up the tree. fast. “and don’t worry, i’m not gonna push you out or attack you. i don’t like looking up at you.”

call you stupid or whipped or whatever, but you believed her. you lowered your bow but didn’t lessen the tension on your string. she’d almost reached your branch when you swivelled around to face her. you moved fast, your arrow returning to its holster and you body facing the trunk of the tree with your legs swung over each side of the wide bough. your dagger was swiftly removed from its holster and pressed under clarisse’s chin.

she laughed at you.

you faltered slightly. “what?”

“nothing,” she snickered. “i just saw it coming. now scoot back.”

you dropped your dagger and shifted backwards, glad the bough was strong.

she clambered onto your branch easily, sitting facing you with her back against the tree trunk, a smirk on her face.

you sighed bitterly. “you see everything coming.”

she shrugged. “pretty much. but so do you.”

“that’s the gift of divine premonition,” you grumbled. it could be useful sometimes, but all you really got was a sense, a feeling or, occasionally, a single frame of a moment. right now, though, your senses were so clogged with her vanilla-strawberry and leather scent, and with her, that you could hardly think, let alone experience a minor prophecy. not to mention the fact that if you did, you’d probably fall out of the tree.

she shrugged. “isn’t that useful?”

“yeah, when it actually works or doesn’t make me pass out.” you shrugged. “it’s temperamental.”

she hummed in thought, leaning back and crossing her arms. her knees were mere centimetres from yours.

“what are you doing up here, clarisse?” you asked.

she shrugged, but you could see a shift in her demeanour when she said your name. it was like the muscles in her shoulders relaxed for a moment, then tensed again. “didn’t want you to escape.”

“so you let your other prisoners escape?” you gestured to the ground, where your teammates were sitting around fifteen feet from the tree in a circle, plucking the grass.

clarisse raised her eyebrows at you in amusement. “oh, i think they’re fine. they’re too scared of me to do anything, anyway.”

you narrowed your eyes at her. “i don’t think you’re that scary.”

she rolled her eyes. “sure. but everyone else does. so you’re wrong.”

“it was my opinion. my opinion can’t be wrong if it’s my opinion.” that was another thing: you were never one to start an argument, but by god would you escalate it.

“your opinions wrong if i say it’s wrong,” she huffed, her jaw tight.

“not how opinions work, babe,” you said lightly, using your dagger point to carve away at the bark beneath you.

she smacked your hand to stop you. “you’re gonna dull it!”

“the point is already dull!” you protested, poking your finger to show her. it indented, but didn’t draw blood. “see?”

“so, what, you threatened me with a butter knife? i’m offended.”

“it’s the idea of it that cuts deeper anyway. the primal fear of being gutted by a dagger. in capture the flag at least.” you shrugged, carving a wonky flower in the bark. “it’s more about threats than action.”

clarisse rolled her eyes. “and what if a monster comes and attacks you, and all you’ve got is this blunt dagger?”

“you ever seen an archers muscles?” you turned slightly and flexed your shoulders. you could see her eyes follow the sharp lines of your shoulders and back. “i’ll use force. force is more effective than sharpness. you know that.”

“and yet, my weapons are all still sharp.” she snatched the dagger from you and pulled out a whetstone from a pocket in her cargo pants. she began sharpening your blade.

“hey, don’t—“

she smacked your hand with the flat of your own blade when you reached for it, and you withdrawn with a hiss, shaking your hand. she laughed. “i guess force is more important, huh, angel?”

your cheeks were hot. “don’t call me that.”

“why, you worried you might like it?” she looked up, teasing. her eyes narrowed at the look on your face and then she grinned. “you do like it.”

“no. shut up.”

she laughed again, but it was a little softer than usual. she looked back down at the dagger. “did sam make this for you?”

“yeah, w—clarisse!” you gasped as she dropped it off the bough. or, more accurately, threw it off the bough. “what was that for?”

she shrugged. “it’s not that good. i’ll get you a better one from the ares stash. don’t worry.”

you glared at her. “that was mine, though!”

“it was blunt and poorly made,” she protested. “it wasn’t good enough for you.”

the way she said it made you think there was a double meaning there.

“he’s not good enough for you,” she said, softer, proving you right.

your eyes were wide and your cheeks were flaming. “what?”

“you heard me.” her softness was staying, it seemed. if you weren’t mistaken, her hand was reaching for yours. “he’s not. you know he’s not. why do you like him?”

before you could respond, a horn blew in the distance and cheering erupted from around the forest. red team had won.

clarisse didn’t look happy. she leaned back—you hadn’t even realised she’d leaned forward—and glared at the bough between you both.

“congratulations,” you said softly. “you deserved the win.”

“yeah, we did.” her voice carried very little enthusiasm.

you studied her face for a minute, like you were committing every feature to memory. “clarisse…”

she didn’t respond. instead, she swung her leg over the bough and started climbing down. only when she got two branches down did you begin to follow her, hurrying in your attempt to catch up. you couldn’t. no matter how good you were at something, she was better.

she nodded at you as she walked off, your foot caught in a tight spot.

once you’d finally got down, your teammates were surrounding you. some asked you what had happened, some accused you of being a double agent for them, some asked if you were okay.

you answered them all absently as you all walked back towards the stream, but your heart wasn’t in it. what the hell was going on?

you’d reached the stream by the time you realised you’d left your dagger behind, and you were back at your cabin, trying to fall asleep, when you realised that it didn’t bother you at all.

(part 2)

[tiredandoptimistic]

I've seen the take floating around that Henry's death at the end of season three was unnecessary, so now I'm feeling the need to ramble a bit about why it had to happen that way.

We all know that the vibes of MASH gradually shift over the run of the show, and that the first three seasons are a lot more lighthearted overall than the later ones. More Requiem for a Lightweight, less Death Takes a Holiday. While the show is never exactly "hijinks at the front" and does have some early episodes that lean into darker themes (such as, famously, Sometimes You Hear the Bullet), it's still more comedic than dramatic in the early years.

Because of this tone, the audience is set up to expect things to be a little angsty here and there but still turn out alright overall. Sure, soldiers die all the time (even named ones like Tommy), but all the main characters were supposed to get out okay. From a Doylist perspective, they need to survive because they're leads on a show and they're getting paid to come back regularly. Not Henry though. McLean Stevenson chose to leave after season three, and the writers had to give Henry a proper sendoff.

I'm not feeling the need to go on a tangent right now about how great Henry is, but rest assured that I love his character. The show makes it clear that he's the one with the most waiting for him back home. Sure, Trapper and Frank have wives and kids too, but Henry gets multiple episodes about how much he loves Lorraine and even home videos of his happy domestic life. Plus, he's got a baby son born while he was overseas, someone he desperately wants to meet. Out of all the characters, he's got the most American dream and apple pie life waiting for him across the ocean.

All of that makes Henry a great person to send home, and it's why he could never make it there.

Once Stevenson decided to leave MASH, Henry was fated to leave as well. He got the discharge letter and the celebrations; everything all the characters had been dreaming off since their deployment. It would have been so easy to just let him return to his family. He's off the show either way, why couldn't the writers let him be happy? Because it's a fucking war, and even a plane home doesn't guarantee anyone's safety. The show needed to kill Henry off to remind the audience that they are watching a tragedy dragged across dozens of countries and millions of people. The closer they let him get to home, the more pointless his death was in the grand scheme of things; the more important it became.

Killing Henry is how MASH fully lived up to it's own expectations. The show is full of little tragedies and people with rich lives who never returned to live them, but we never really felt that loss as more than a concept. Sure, Tommy is instantly likeable and his death his deeply impactful, but we the audience only get the implication of Hawkeye's deep friendship with him. Henry is someone we've come to love on our own. All these deaths are pointless and cruel, none of them had to happen. Because we've spent three seasons getting to know and care for Henry (and are aware that the writers could have easily let him live), we finally feel that pointlessness.

Going forward after Henry's death, nothing is quite the same. Death is suddenly a true option, and no one is entirely safe from needless tragedy. When Trapper goes home and Hawkeye doesn't get to say goodbye it isn't just sad because he can't throw his friend a party or give him a hug, it's heartbreaking because he doesn't know that Trapper will even make it back to Boston.

Going home will always be the ultimate goal of all the characters, but it can never be a simple "get out of trauma free" card. The war will always follow them.

[mylittleredgirl]

lennier “from birth, I was raised in the temple and studied the ways of the religious caste, six months ago I came here” is pretty funny when you think about it.

not only is this his first job, it’s his first time living outside a monastery. imagine spending twenty years or so never meeting anyone who isn’t also in a minbari monastery, and then one of the nine-most important people on your planet plucks you out of divinity school sight unseen to come work for her. so they put you on a space transport and now you live at the United Nations International Airport (*soon to be the Independent Galactic War Outpost International Airport) with the most cosmically relevant people alive. and all This is happening.

maybe that’s to his benefit actually!! everyone else has to have their moment of reckoning when they realize “we are living in unprecedented times and, regrettably, it seems i am a named character in biblical-level events 😐” while lennier, fresh from minbari religious mythology and history class (one subject), is like oh yes they warned us about the biblical events! how fascinating to experience them in person.

his direct supervisor is the second coming. it turns out that he personally knows Jesus George Washington from a thousand years ago who he’s been praying to this whole time. then he’s right there in the front row when the First Ones get kicked sternly shamed out of the galaxy and there’s a civil war on his planet because society broke down and it’s still his first job!

honestly we’re too hard on him for being a dramatic disaster in season five when 73% of his life experience outside the temple has been directly related to the End of Days (the rest is administrative errands and that time londo took him to a bar). every person he knows is unhinged. he has never seen normal life even from a distance. it’s a lot to expect him to handle an ordinary thing like “falling in love with your milf boss who’s the first lady of the known universe and is also like if the pope had a massive well-trained space army personally pledged to die for her” with anything less than shakespearean levels of drama.

[moonastrogirl]

💘 Some important tips for each Nakshatra : Never to Do Tips 💘

DISCLAIMER The author name is at the end. I do not remember where I found it unfortunately (it was in my notes app for months fr 😭) tho I know I am supposed to share my knowledge as much as I can and not be a gatekeeper so here it is . I hope it will help you (if you know the author let me know too with the name down below) 💜

Ashwini : Never loose an opportunity to help people in your life, you will meet and learn some very important techniques from a reputed and respected person.

Bharani : Do not share your secrets with anyone. Self control is must.

Krittika : Stand by Truth. Do not entertain, liars, fakers or cheaters or not even try to possess those traits.

Rohini : Don't get too much attached with anything, attachment will cause havoc.

Mrigashira : Do not get disconnected with your parents or family.

Ardra : Learn to work under distractions and pressure. Stay calm in chaos.

Punarvasu : Never disobey Dharma (purpose), always stick to your commitments, you get divine support of universe.

Pushya : Do not ignore your family or your dear one needs while handling bigger responsibilities or social cause. Take out time for them.

Ashlesha : Never misuse your power & Never Curse anyone.

Magha : Never ignore your Pitris (your ancestors). Always do charity in their names.

Purva Phalguni : Avoid getting too much indulgent in pleasures, do your duty faithfully.

Uttara Phalguni : Never break your relationship & Be Kartavya Prayan (loyal).

Hasta : Never get carried away with failure, that's ladder of success for you.

Chitra : Never doubt your potential & don't act impulsive, else you will end up hurting with self.

Swati : Do not poke powerful authorities. Try to stay away from leg pulling.

Vishaka : Never leave the Marg of Bhakti (total faith and devotion) & Keep remembering Bhagwan (the Most High/God).

Anuradha: Never get distracted with too much darkness, sooner or later it's worth experiencing.

Jyeshta : Never misuse your authorities & power, one single mistake can ruin everything.

Mula : Don't get panic, when burdened with lots of negativity, that's the process of bringing clarity, like storm before calm.

Purva Ashadha : Not every war is to win, some are supposed to lift you up. In both victory or defeat you gonna be the same.

Uttara Ashadha : Following Dharma (career/purpose) is right but having a superiority complex can harm you in longer run.

Shravana : Tied up with lots of responsibilities & helplessness, we are born to live or die for a divine purpose, just give your best.

Dhanishta : Never boast or avoid beating the drum of success before its completion.

Shatabhisha : Never sell your soul for gains and profit. Things will turn negative for you.

Purva Bhadrapada : Never rush into conclusion cause what looks on the surface might not be real, try to see deep within. There lies solution.

Uttara Bhadrapada : Simplicity beautifies you, wear it and own it.

Revati : You are the Messenger of God & Bhakt (faith/worship/love). Showing path to directionless people is your real gem. Never sell superstition or blind faiths.

Author :

Mann ki Baat Trishna

Note from the author : Above points are just an observation with my best of understanding.

[mayajadewrites]

── .✦ Renaissance - Levi Ackerman .✦ ──

🪽 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ levi x fem reader

summary: levi leaves you in the underground for the scouts, only for him to find you again in marley when the war is over. however, nothing about you is the same as it once was. you are not the same person you were 12 years ago. cw: canon universe, smut, fluff, yearning ao3 authors note: there are several things in this story that are not canon to the original AOT storyline (like Levi needing a wheelchair) but I will warn you if/when those things come up.

CHAPTER NOTES: none hehe

tag list: @ackerboi, @staarflowerr, @midw1nter, @glads-stuff, @nxcxllxsevens, @qrhttp, @deniixlovezelda, @midnightwriter21, @levislegislation, @huriareads, @levikeigosdearest, @nikanaka, @richtofensdich, @sickpatientt, @scrumptioussongpainter, @crmnic, @gojoswifesworld, @bnbaochauuu, @american-girl001, @sparklyglitterangel

preface - chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five

thank you so much for your kind words! i hope you like this chapter, because the next one is gonna be smutty lol

CHAPTER SIX

6 YEARS EARLIER - LEVI'S POV

Comrades dying was nothing new to Levi. Being in the Scout Regiment meant not holding anyone close to you - it's best to assume they will be dead tomorrow.

This time, his own squad was wiped out by the Female Titan. He saw their lifeless, bloody bodies just laying in the dirt, and it felt like their death was for nothing.

No, not nothing. Their deaths have to mean something.

Back at the barracks, Levi is in his office as he takes off his uniform, the soreness of his muscles finally hitting him as he stands still. He had cuts, bruises, but he had his limbs.

As he looked down at his calloused hands, he winced slightly. "Tch."

When he looked away, his eyes fell on a piece of paper that is always folded in his pocket. He left it on his desk after his last training, seemingly forgetting to bring it on this mission.

Maybe that's why...

"A piece of paper isn't why people die, you dumb bastard." Levi muttered to himself, picking up the piece of paper.

The paper had been crumbled, some dirt stains, but it was in tact.

Levi sat in his office chair, hearing the soft squeak - a sign of it's old age. When he opened the paper, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Levi,

I'm not sure if you'll ever read this, or if you'll even find it. I hid it in your bag. It hurts me to write this, but I know you're destined for greatness, Levi. You are going to be an amazing addition to the Scouts.

I'll miss you, probably more than I'd ever admit to your face.

I hope we can find each other again someday. A day when there's no titans, and a day when we're not living in the Underground.

With love 💋

The letter was signed with your name and a lipstick mark of your lips next to it, which he tried to preserve. His eyes scanned the letter for the umpteenth time - he always reads it when he wants to feel closer to you.

He folded the letter neatly, putting it back in his pocket as he sighed, his palms pressing to the top of the desk, the cold wood against his skin.

Every week Levi would send cadets out to find you and check on you. They said you never noticed them, which didn't surprise Levi in the slightest. You're rather... oblivious.

"Captain, why the hell do you have us following some girl around?" Connie whined as he walked back in from the weekly errand.

"Any notes?" He ignored his whines, his eyes scanning the cadets faces. "Answer me."

"She works in a brothel now, I think." Sasha put one hand on her hip, the other taking a bite out of an apple. "We saw her walk in with some man."

Levi's heart sank, though his expression would never show it. He always feared this would happen. Its inevitable in the Underground for women.

"I see." Levi nods, clearing his throat. "Thank you."

Connie and Sasha shrug as they walk past Levi, and he lets his posture falter just a little.

As years went on, he still kept that note. He made sure he kept it no matter where he went. Whatever missions he went on. When he fought the Beast Titan the first time, you were right there with him in his pocket.

When he lost his eye and two fingers, you were also there.

When titans were finally, finally eradicated, you were there.

He never wanted to be without you.

READERS POV

You stand outside the teashop, patiently waiting for Levi to close up. You're wearing a new black dress you got at a small boutique near by, and you felt pretty. Pure, for once.

When you look up, Levi's back is to you as he locks the door, shaking the doorknob to make sure it's actually closed. You peer down at his hand, noticing the healed scars along his digits.

He turned to you, his stormy eyes finding yours as his gaze softens slightly. He's still the rough around the edges Levi, but whenever he looked at you a part of him softened.

"Ready?" He held his arm out for you, putting the keys to the shop in his pocket.

You wrap your hand around his bicep, following his lead as he walked down the path.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To a place that reminds me of you." He half smiles, his eyes wandering down your figure. "New dress?"

"Mhm." You give him a smile as you pose for him, laughing before wrapping your other hand around his bicep along with the other one.

"You look beautiful." His voice was soft, only you could hear it. A blush burnt your cheeks as you looked ahead.

"Thank you."

It's almost dusk - the sun setting beautifully on the horizon. You've been walking for about 15 minutes when you reach a field. A field filled with flowers.

"Levi, what is this -"

"I've been helping the town with this for awhile. Since before I knew you were here, but -" He glanced down at the rows of flowers, some of them already blooming. "You always loved flowers."

You gasp, kneeling down to look at the petals closely. The colors are beautiful - some red, some white, some orange, pink...

"They're stunning, Levi." You let go of his bicep fully to smell the flowers, closing your eyes as a hum escapes your lips. "We never had flowers in the Underground."

"I know." His hands pushed into his pockets, tilting his head slightly as he watches you. "Do you like them?"

"I love them, Levi." When you stand up again, he takes your hands in his as he helps you up.

In the middle of the field, it's just you and him. The sound of the wildlife can be heard in the trees, slight buzzing from insects.

He brings his hand to your cheek with the softest touch, his finger pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear.

Levi looks so soft. Like an angel sent just for you.

For once, you lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his lips on your cheek, his warm lips igniting a shiver down your body.

You gasp softly when you open your eyes to look at him, only for his thumb to gently caress your skin. "I'm not leaving you ever again."

[teawithmadalice]

THE DRAGONS DAUGHTER

Prologue • Thranduil x daughter!OC

Summary: Thranduil lost his beloved daughter 500 years ago, on his search for the white gems of Lasgalen- his wife's final gift to him, he finds a young elf who reminds him of his lost daughter.

WORD COUNT: 2k

1 (YOU ARE HERE) • 2

The town square was filled with a hushed anticipation. The people, their faces marked by years of hardship and torment from the years of being terrorized by the fire breathing beast known by the name of Smaug, gathered together as the mayor, an elderly man with a deep, gravelly voice, stood before them.

"Good people of lake town, I stand before you today to speak of a matter both heavy and upsetting- one that has weighed on us all for what feels like generations although we know that is not so. Each season, as the winds begin to stir and change and the first frost that touches the earth melts away into spring dew drops, we face a choice, a duty. A sacrifice. This has taken the form of your hard earned gold, herds of sheep and piles of luxuries are sacrificed in an attempt to appease the beast"

He paused- his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd, young and old all gathered.

"For almost 2 seasons now, we have lived under the shadow of the mountain. Above us, in the crags and cliffs, the great dragon Smaug watches over this land. I and the council have decided. One innocent soul, taken from among us, chosen by fate and tradition, to appease the dragon’s hunger."

"Regretfully, one newborn babe will be randomly selected by our council, and tonight, will be given as tribute to Smaug"

His voice grew softer now, tinged with sorrow- though it remained firm in its conviction.

"Now, I know that there are some among you who question this. Who feel in their hearts that such a practice is cruel, that the price is too steep. I see your faces, and I hear your whispers. I, too, have felt the weight of this duty, the pang of grief in offering a life so young. But we cannot allow this torment to continue plaguing our lovely town any longer."

"We must remember the fate of the dwarven kingdom of erebor and our sister-city of dale, those people died because they would not submit to the mighty dragon Smaug, we survived because we are lucky enough to have built our quaint town on water, and that the flame of Smaug cannot rage on for long before being distinguished into smoke and steam.

To the great people of Laketown, for our survival, we must do this."

•••••

It is written in the history books that the queen of the elven kingdom of mirkwood, wife of king thranduil and mother to the young elfling prince legolas died during the war on Angmar at the hands of orc barbarians.

The kingdom was said to have mourned the loss of a kind and benevolent queen that day, the realm fell silent, even the elves in neighbouring kingdoms mourned the beloved queen and sent commiserations to the widowed king and young elfling prince.

But what the history books leave out is that the queen of mirkwood, Calathiel, did not die alone. She was on the road to a neighbouring kingdom to seek refuge, with a newly born babe, a princess elfling who had fallen ill and needed treatment that the war-torn mirkwood could not provide.

The knowledge of the princess was unknown to those outside the royal family and those close to them, it was a great risk- a pregnant queen is a prime target for enemy attacks.

Calathiel and the small assortment of guards, (around four or five elves) that travelled with her were intercepted and slain only one day away from their destination- their bodies were left to the elements, ivy growing over the corpses in intricate patterns- a grotesque beauty.

it was three months before a group of mirkwood rangers recovered the bodies.

6 bodies.

Five corpses clothed in armour with weapons in hand and one body adorned in elven silk and silver jewelry, a woven crown laying on top of the silver locks of hair.

No young elfling babe was found among the fallen

•••••

"mama!" a young boy, with a mop of chocolate brown curls came crashing into his home in lake town.

"Aldren Forrinson where on earth have you been boy!" the screech of a woman with the same flurry of brown curls yelled back, putting her knitting needles down onto the stool beside her.

The small blanket was almost complete, a gift for her unborn babe she had carried in her womb for almost nine months, it would only be a few days until her waters broke and the bundle of joy would come wailing and kicking into the world.

"mama I found something! I was out walking in the woods- yes, I know you told me not to go too far from town- BUT! look..." the boy approached his mother, a bundle of soft blankets and wrappings of silk lay in his arms.

A soft gasp left the woman's lips as she peered down, a small pale face peered back with piercing blue eyes-

"give it here boy."

her nimble hands peered back at the many layers of cloth, short silver locks of hair had begun to sprout from the babes head, small pointed ears and a button nose- an elfling.

The elfling shivered, sweat beaded down her forehead, the warning signs of a fever- "listen to me here boy, go to master vere and tell him that the babe needs to be monitored, I can't keep an eye with my bump as big as it is now, " the woman leaned over to the pipe of finished knitted toys, clothes and blankets and took a soft woolen baby hat and placed it a top the babes head, covering the silver locks and pointed ears.

"there. Now off you go boy - shoo"

The sun was setting by the time the small boy got to the village doctor, bursting through the door and laying the babe on top of a table

"Master! babe- sick- fever" aldren panted, out of breath.

The old man stood from his chair, grey haired and wrinkled "oh, I was unaware your mother had given birth- where is she-?" the man turned, expecting to see the boy, but was met with mud trodden footprints made in haste. A sigh left his lips, turning to the babe and picking up the now sleeping infant.

WINTER, TA 2401, CLINIC LOG.

PATIENT: INFANT GIRL 'FORRISON'

DESCRIPTION: pale faced, smaller than the average babe, small scattered birthmark on the left shoulder , newly born.

The patient seems to be infected with a sweating sickness, from my evaluation there is not much that can be done, I have administered a sedative so the babe is not in pain- it is up to the patient to fight the sickness, let us pray she is strong

••••••••

A soft knock resounded on the Forrinson families front door.

The woman opened the door slightly, peeking through the crack- on the other side was an extremely recognisable face.

"Mayor," she spoke, opening the door fully "what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mrs Forrinson, I am not sure if you've heard the announcement I made yesterday in the town centre."

A laugh left her lips at the thought "Of course I've heard, word travels fast and this is a small town after all sire! it's the most interesting thing that's happened here in a long while- it's awful that it has come to this, but I understand why you've decided to take this approach- I hope it works and that whomever the poor child is, that the sacrifice is worthwhile."

"I'm glad you think that Mrs Forrinson. Unfortunately, this is why I'm here talking to you today." his voice was soft, almost remorseful. An unsettling feeling wormed it's way into the pit of the woman's stomach.

"I ventured down to Master Veres clinic to look at the patients logs of all infants born in the last sixth months, in total there were 22"

A deep sigh left the man's lips. "I regret to inform you that your newborn girl has been chosen to do the honourable duty as a forfeit to Smaug- I understand how heartbreaking this must be but i-"

Her pulse was fast. Eyes darting around. She had not yet given birth, but her child was chosen to be sacrificed. Did he think the young elfling was hers? what should she do? her thoughts ran a mile a minute- the elfling was abandoned, has no family that would mourn her- surely she should be the one to be sacrificed, right?

"Mrs Forrinson... Hello Mrs Forrinson are you listening?" the deep voice of the older man snapped the woman out of her thoughts.

"Yes- i- apologies, this is a lot to take in..."

"I understand, your child is still at the clinic, yes? maybe you and your family should go and spend some time with her"

"yes... I-I think we will. Thank you sire."

•••••••

The trek to the caves mouth was difficult, the sharp rocks of the winding pathways cut into the bottom of the townsfolk feet through the soles of their boots- the wind was howling, bitter and cruel, whistling mockingly at them.

Beneath the large cocoon of blankets bundled in Mrs Forrinson's arms, the young elfling was slumbering, blissfully unaware of how each step taken was one step closer to a tragic fate of fire and ash.

The mountain began to shake, rumbling ferociously. "Smaug grows near, be careful!" one of the elders spoke, before he could continue a deep bellowing voice echoed from the opening of the cave

"WHAT HAVE YOU INSOLENT MORTALS BROUGHT ME NOW... A PITIFUL SOME OF GOLD PERHAPS? MAYBE SOME SHEEP TO SATIATE MY APPETITE?"

The blackening void of the cave was broken by two bright orange glowing eyes, emitting a deep growl as they slowly approached closer and closer to the small entourage of townsfolk.

"...NO... IT CANNOT BE TREASURE OR FOOD, I CANNOT SMELL THE GOLD ORE OR THE THUMPING HEARTS OF OBLIVIOUS SHEEP~ YOU'VE BOUGHT ME... SOMETHING... NEW."

"Smaug. We know you are a creature of wrath, a force of nature, and we know the land has trembled beneath your fury. The sky grows dark when you take to the air, and no beast or man dares to challenge your flame. But we are not your enemies—we seek only to survive, to live in peace with the land you claim as your own.

In our desperation, we have come to offer the one thing we hold most precious, the only way we know to ask for your mercy: a child of our own blood, a newborn babe born only a few moons ago. "

He motions to Mrs Forrinson, who cradles a newborn in her arms, unaware of the fact that the babe is not her own, but an abandoned elfling left on the edge of a nearby forest

"We offer this child, her life, in the hope that her innocence might sway your heart. Her cries are pure, her laughter untainted. She is the future of our village- the last hope we have to please you and, in turn, save our people from the shadow of death you cast upon us.

We do not ask for your forgiveness, only that you take this gift and spare us the destruction we fear. We understand the value of a life-of any life-and it is with the deepest sorrow that we present this offering, knowing full well the price it demands.

May you find in this small child something worthy of your grace.

We beg of you... let it be enough."

The older man motions to Mrs Forrinson, encouraging her to step forward and place the bundle of blankets and knitted wear at the mouth of the cave- this child was not her own, but a strong feeling of sorrow and grief ran throughout her body, solemn tears silently dripping down her face.

"I am so sorry little one." she whispered, pressing a soft kiss onto the young elves forehead, patting her hat covered head- one she kept on to conceal the pointed elven ears and the babes true nature.

"YOU MORTALS NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE ME. LEAVE. YOUR OFFERING IS ACCEPTED."

★★★★★

OMG the prologue is done! I'm scared I rushed the ending but oh well- not proofread!

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next chapter

[daenerys-apolog1st]

Crazy how people ignore literally everything about the Dance to support bullshit that they just made up in their heads to justify backing the misogynist bootlicker side of the war.

Rhaenyra was supported by the vast majority of the houses, and that's just plain fact. How about we list them all:

House Velaryon, House Celtigar, House Staunton, House Massey, House Bar Emmon, House Darklyn, House Stark, House Tully, House Frey, House Hayford, House Harte, House Byrch, House Dustin, House Manderly, House Darry, House Blackwood, House Beesbury, House Caswell, House Costayne, House Borrell, House Buckerler, House Fell, House Arryn, House Corbray, House Cerwyn, House Hornwood, House Charlton, House Mallister, House Piper, House Roote, House Footly, House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest, House Smallwood, House Wode, House Burley, House Grimm, House Merryweather, House Mullendore, House Oakheart, House Rowan, House Royce, House Sunderland, and House Tarly.

House Yronwood- (the most powerful house in Dorne, aside from the Martells) -also supported Rhaenyra, even though the Martells remained neutral.

THAT'S 44 HOUSES!!!

Even House Bracken defected to the Blacks, even after first supporting the Greens---as did the City Watch of King's Landing.

And do you know how rare and insane it is for the Brackens and the Blackwoods to be on the same side? Like, if that tells you anything about who had the most support during the Dance, it definitely wasn't Aegon.

So, with a total of 45 houses that supported Rhaenyra and her claim, let's see how many supported Aegon:

House Hightower, House Cole, House Lannister, House Wylde, House Strong, House Peake, House Fossoway, House Roxton, House Norcross, House Ambrose, House Butterwell, House Rosby, House Stokeworth, House Mooton, House Lefford, House Swyft, House Reyne, House Tarbeck, House Crakehall, House Redwyne, House Baratheon, House Swann, House Vance of Atranta, House Graceford, House Risley, and House Leygood.

26 houses supported Aegon...and, not for nothing, but 4 of those houses originally supported Rhaenyra and only defected to the Greens because they were captured and told that they had to either swear fealty to Aegon II or die---meanwhile the Brackens defected to the Blacks of their own volition.

Even so, however, with Aegon's 26 houses, that still leaves Rhaenyra with 19 HOUSES MORE THAN AEGON! 45 houses v. 26! And that's at the END of the Dance after Aegon forced 4 houses to join his side, in the BEGINNING---putting those 4 houses on Rhaenyra's side and House Bracken on Aegon's side---Rhaenyra had 25 MORE HOUSES ON HER SIDE! 48 houses v. 23!

To really nail the point home:

In the beginning, Rhaenyra had 25 MORE houses on her side than Aegon did, which is more houses than Aegon had IN TOTAL!

Either way you slice it, beginning or end, Rhaenyra had the support of the vast majority of the houses.

As for the smallfolk not liking her, that's something that the show completely made up.

Firstly, it's clear that that play was less a vote of whether they liked Rhaenyra or not and more of a showcase of that societal misogyny TG is such a big fan of. They weren't making fun of Rhaenyra because they didn't like her, they were making fun of her because she's a WOMAN! If she were a man, the play wouldn't exist because they'd have no reason to make fun of her because her (him, in this case) being named heir would fall into their society's expectations.

Secondly, in the book the smallfolk do actually support her claim---she wasn't called "The Realm's Delight" for nothing. At Aegon II's coronation, no one cheered and people were asking for Rhaenyra; when Rhaenyra took over King's Landing, people cheered and celebrated; the only reason the smallfolk revolted against her was because the Greens raided the treasury and so Rhaenyra had to raise taxes to try and replenish what they stole; and are y'all seriously forgetting this passage in the book:

"When Prince Daemon sent forth his call to arms, they rose up all along the rivers, knights and men-at-arms and humble peasants who yet remembered the Realm's Delight, so beloved of her father, and the way she smiled and charmed them as she made her progress through the riverlands in her youth. Hundreds and then thousands buckled on their sword-belts and donned their mail, or grabbed a pitchfork or a hoe and a crude wooden shield, and began to make their way to Harrenhal to fight for Viserys's little girl.”

Rhaenyra was beloved by the smallfolk---despite what TG would have you believe---and they DID support her, alongside the majority of the houses. She had the stronger claim, the majority of the houses, the love of the smallfolk, the better cause, and her son sat on the throne at the end of it all---because the houses that supported her were truly LOYAL to her, something that can't be said for Aegon's supporters considering that he was literally poisoned by his own men.

Team Green trying to pretend that she wasn't loved and supported is just a deathly case of copium because they can't handle the fact that no one liked their rapist loser king 🤷‍♀️