#alice writes sometimes

[charlieswanismydad]

about me !!!

links

drawn by the amazing @ghosttoastx !!! if you read this ily you’re never getting rid of me now

Hi!!! I’m Alice.

I do stuff. It’s pretty cool.

Enfp, hufflepuff, Capricorn Sun, Libra moon, Pisces rising, he/she, and more!! I’m also a non-partnering aromantic and gray asexual!

I stalk blogs I like, don’t be alarmed if I like a bunch of posts at once!! In fact, be happy!! I love you!!!!!

If you want to talk to me please do!!! I want more friends. Just keep in mind I am a 15 year old minor!

You have been warned!

DNI:

racists, homophobes, sexists, etc. general dni criteria ig

people who just hate for no reason!! (anti-furry, just hating on certain fandoms, etc. ticks me off!)

proshippers

frans/fontcest

exclusionists

radqueers

radfems

pro paras. go to therapy

nsfw (also sorta related to above, pro cnc/ageplay. go to therapy)

WIPS:

Wilting Flowers - My actual baby. My pride and joy. It’s imperfect but that’s okay.

The actual grim reaper falls in love with a mortal. I can’t do it justice, you’re just gonna have to trust me.

don’t break my heart - Shameless Sans fanfic. All of the self indulgence ever, but it brings me joy :) semi discontinued, might come back!

I love it man. It makes me so happy. Basically yn is an awkward dumbass and so is Sans and they fall in love and stuff :)

Fandoms:

My main fandoms are Twilight and Undertale (obv), but I’m in a bunch more!! :D

The Arc of a Scythe by Neil Shusterman

Harry Potter by Daniel Radcliffe (JK…)

Steven Universe by Rebecca Sugar

Doki Doki Literature Club by Dan Salvato

Omori by Omocat

Arcane by Riot Games

The Walten Files by Martin Walls

The Amazing Digital Circus by Glitch Studios

The Phantom of the Opera by Andrew Lloyd Webber (the book’s by Gaston Leroux but i haven’t read it lol)

Deltarune by Toby Fox (is that an anagram???)

Meet the Robinsons by Disney

And more that aren’t off the top of my head!! Just ask bros :)

I’m kinda obsessed with UTMV, soooo….

Fav AU - Insomnia (link to chapter 1)

Fav Sans - Dust by Ask-Dusttale and Geno by LoverofPiggies

Music:

Ranked by popularity, with my fave songs from each! Just like the fandoms, it's all over the place.

Taylor Swift - Haunted

Hozier - In The Woods Somewhere

Muse - Soldier's Poen

Mitski - Last Words of a Shooting Star

Will Wood - Suburbia Overture/Vampire Culture/Whatever the hell the name is idek anymore

Dazey and the Scouts - Maggot

The Oozes - I Still Adore You

Lemon Demon - Action Movie Hero Boy

Tally Hall/Miracle Musical - Misery Fell

Teddy Hyde - Terry’s Taxidermy

Destroy Boys - Crybaby

The Crane Wives - Little Soldiers

Steam Powered Giraffe - Malfunction

Writing Requests:

HEY SO HERES A FUN FACT: I WANT YOU TO ASK ME TO WRITE THINGS FOR YOU!! LIKE I LOVE THAT!!! I WILL WRITE YOU LITTLE ONESHOTS IF ITS A FANDOM IM IN!!! OR I CAN WRITE ABOUT MY CHARACTERS IF YOU’RE INTO THAT!!! JUST PLEASR PLEASE PLEASE ASK ME AAAAAAA

Things You Might Want to Be Aware Of:

i tend to isolate myself when i’m having a Big Sad™️ moment. please do not be mad if i act cold!!!

i’m a very empathic person and i get really upset around negativity. please do not send me or mention me in anything political or controversial.

i get in my head about disturbing/sexual things. once again, don’t show me this stuff. don’t ask me to write about it, either!!

i am uncomfortable around religious discussions. i get enough of them irl!!! please keep them away from me :')

i’ve got adhd and possible ocd so yeah and also my auditory processing sucksssss so if we ever interact on call or *gasp* irl then i’ll say “what?” every five seconds

books. @bunny-on-a-bookshelf for books.

i’m just a silly little girl who is also a boy. we have fun here

Tags:

(new so they haven’t been used much)

#mootie patooties - mutuals

#irl alice - real life shtuff

#reblogs - self explanatory

#alice writes sometimes - my writing!!!!

#skeleposting - undertale/utmv

#is that an anagram??? - deltarune

#sparkly - twilight

#im aspec BUT - simping, fangirling, i do a lot of it

#liveblogging homestuck - reading homestuck and making vague comments about it.

#ALL HAIL - welcome to nightvale stuff!!!

#rock n robinson - meet the robinsons

#musical automatons - steam powered giraffe!!!! the best band ever btwwwew

Moots:

I literally love you guys 😭😭

@donotreleasemeintothewild

@livforlive

@last-herondale

@hiro-doodlez

@sneakyfox55

@junessillywachingcorner

@popiollie

@toka-san

@wishtale-blogs

@italic-does-random-shit

@ghostboisonly

@just-let-me-call-myself-arson

@pizzatowne

@ghosttoastx

@thenocturnenarrator

@lelitachay

@paraska00

@tundra116

@blurboppz

@flesh-archivist

@matzahstein

@paranoid-radio

@martinibass

@drrobotnic

@sandwich2451

@blaster-fagot

[alice-everafter]

"This is so exciting! I've never had a sleepover before!"

Kalim is practically glowing, even among the darkened shadows of his bedroom. The moon itself seems to be drawn to him, lighting up the red of his eyes and white of his teeth. His hair shines like the finest of silks while his skin looks like it might feel as such.

He's the picture of affluence and care lying underneath his all too expensive sheets. And you're just sort of there, with him, in his bed.

What started out as a nonconsensual sleepover has since morphed into a consensual, nonconsensual sleepover. Being held captive in Scarabia certainly wasn’t originally part of your winter vacation plans, but neither was dimension hopping. And look at you now. A dimension hopper and a Scarabia captive.

Much like dimension hopping, Kalim is an unstoppable, otherworldly force to be reckoned with. He had been so welcoming when you first met. Pulling you this way and that, giving you food to try and games to play. Smiling so wide it put the sun to shame. Showing you the sky like no one else ever had before. Until something had changed and you found yourself in the shadow of an elephant as it marched you and the rest of the dorm through a desert. Trying your best to stave off heat exhaustion.

You have your theories, of course you did. You don't stop three overblots and not see the signs. But there's something more to this. Call you paranoid but you kind of had the right to be. There was something more to Kalim's situation than what Jamil said it was.

Now, you could help, like you always do. But Grim was insistent, and you could still remember your struggle under the blaze of heat. Besides, it was better to regroup and save face than rush headlong into things with just a feeling to guide you.

You planned to escape in the night when Kalim would be asleep. So call you surprised when he came to you with panic set deep into the usually cheerful lines of his face. And against all greater judgement, you knew you'd hear him out right then and there.

Which brings you to the now, laying side by side with him in his bed. Hoping that Jamil never finds out you’re here. Else you’ll probably never wake up to see tomorrow.

“Do siblings count?”

“Huh?” You blink back to yourself and meet Kalim’s questioning gaze.

“Does it count if you have sleepovers with your siblings? Cause I’ve definitely done that before!”

Kalim grins and it’s all teeth, like usual. Your chest tightens like you’ve just seen the cutest animal on planet earth— wonderland.

You knew right then and there that you’d probably never be able to say no to this boy. Well, in this moment, that is.

“It counts as long as you say it does.”

“Hmm,” he seems to think on that. Pursing his lips, eyes downturned. “Well, in that case, I don’t want it to.”

“What?” Your expression pinches and you choose to ignore the brief flare of anxiety in your chest. “You don’t want it to?”

“Yeah,” he gazes back up with a new twinkle in his eyes. “Cause I want my first sleepover to be with you, Prefect!”

…Oh god, you’re gonna have a heart attack from goodness overload. Tell Crowley to prepare you one of those emo coffins.

"Prefect?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Your voice is muffled where it's squashed into a pillow. You feel like you've just eaten a lemon with the way your face is currently squeezed up and contorted. "Thanks Kalim, means a lot."

"Nya hah hah! You're so funny." Kalim pats your shoulder as he laughs.

When you're certain you're no longer choking on his purity and looking like you're two steps past constipated, you chance a look up. Kalim is smiling, soft and relaxed, like he should be. You almost don't want to break the peace, but he asked you to come here for a reason.

"Um, you mentioned something in the hall. Something about your memory?"

His expression drops and your stomach soon follows. You're already mentally kicking yourself before he responds.

"Yeah, it's..." He seems to shrink in on himself, curling over on his side and drawing his knees up. "It might just be nothing, ya know? I might just be overreacting about the whole thing, so don't worry about it, Prefect. Really, I'm fine—"

You reach out before you can think better of it, taking his hand in yours. It's warm and soft, just like silk, like you thought it might. The action shocks him and you very nearly pull back when the realization of what you did dawns on you. Then his fingers close around yours in a grip that makes your heart lurch.

"It's obviously not nothing." You squeeze his hand, hoping to communicate all that you wouldn't be able to. "You... You don't seem very ok, Kalim. What's wrong?"

His lip quivers and that's all the warning you get before pearlescent tears are spilling down his cheeks.

He hiccups, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be crying. It's not worth it, but..."

It only takes one shuddering sob for you to pull him close. You clutch him to your front, letting his misery muffle itself into your shoulder. You keep hold of his hand while you cradle the back of his head in the other, mainly because his grip has turned something fierce. Like he's scared to let go of you.

You don't say anything, just let him cry into your shirt. Feeling his tears dampen the fabric, his body shake against you. Holding him as tightly as you can until he raises his head enough to be heard.

"T-There are spots," he begins, "in my memories, that are gone..."

"Gone?" The confession is beyond what you thought it'd be, but you're used to that after being at Nightraven for this long. "Gone how?"

"I don't know." He sounds miserable and it breaks your heart even more. "But I just can't remember what I do sometimes."

"Which is normal! Y-You normally don't remember what you have for breakfast the day before o-or, what you did three days ago." He sniffles and you realize his arm has wrapped around you. He's currently clenching the fabric of your shirt in a shaky fist at your lower back.

"But," he goes quiet. In an effort to encourage him, you soothe a hand down his back. Hesitantly at first but growing in confidence when he starts to untense just the slightest. "It's like I blink and... I'm no longer where I was. I wake up, go to breakfast, blink, and then it's dinner."

"I-I mean, a few days ago, we were having so much fun. But then, even you..!" His words break over a strangled whimper and he clutches you ever so tighter.

"Me what? What did I do, Kalim?" There is dread building in your gut. Whether it's for you or for him doesn't matter, you just want it to stop. "If I hurt you, I'm so sorry. I—"

"You were scared of me! I saw it!" The admittance flies from his lips and all but strikes you. "You looked at me like they all do! Like I'm a step away from exploding! Even now I can tell you're scared and I hate it! I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt anyone! But what if I... am? W-What if I'm hurting everyone and I don't even remember it? I'd never forgive myself if I was h-hurting my friends. A-And I know I'd never want to b-but, the more you all look at me like... like t-that, the more I start to think that I am. That I'm a bad person—"

"It's ok."

He's gasping for breath, coughing around the build up in his throat. He holds you rigidly, gripping your hand so hard your bones are starting to protest but you'd never dream of telling him to let up.

"It's alright, it'll be ok."

You never did stop the motion of your hand. It continues to drag up and down the line of his spine. Feeling his shoulders jerk with every sharp intake. Wishing more than anything that you could wipe away the pain from his trembling form. Wanting to give him the same warmth he gave you on that carpet in the sky.

"We'll figure it out, Kalim, I promise."

You're not certain of a lot of things, not since you'd been dragged here. To this world, this school, this dorm. But in this moment, you are.

"It's not your fault. You're not a bad person."

[kleinblue52]

"Because you're Charlie. And you love me. And I love you."

Oh I feel like that is the line from the third season. Why are we like this is probably more of a running joke than a leitmotiv, but Nick actually giving an answer to that question in that precise moment is like the turning point when their schoolboy crush becomes something much more adult.

Why are we like this... because we are. Because you are you and I am me, with all the messy and silly and complicated things that we both are, and we are in love.

Two people, two simple humans who randomly cross each other's orbits in the ridiculously small portion of time and space we occupy and decide that yes, this is it, this is one of the reasons why I'm here.

In the Nick & Charlie novella, Charlie often mentions that he knows his relationship with Nick is not normal, because they care about each other much more than any regular teenager should care about their first love. I think that fits the overarching storyline of them staying together well into adulthood and beyond and it also fits Charlie's mental state in that particular moment, but I like that Nick's simple answer is the path forward for them. Sometimes there's no need to seek a be-all and end-all answer. Sometimes it is as simple as we are here, and we love.

[chishiyashoodie]

how about hc of reader washing his hair during bathtime 🛀💆🏼‍♂️

This request is so cute <33

So it’d start after y/n washes her hair

And Chishiya mentions how her hair always looks so nice

And says he wishes he knew how to wash his properly

And y/n offers to wash it for him this time

He declines because nobody touches his hair but himself - that’d explain a lot ahskakallal

He eventually gives in after y/n gives him puppy eyes and offers a head massage

As y/n massages Chishiya’s head, she notices his hair is actually super soft

Chishiya starts to relax more and more and closes his eyes

y/n uses her favourite coconut scented shampoo remembering that time Chishiya mentioned how nice it smelled

He feels more and more relaxed as y/n starts untangling his hair with a detangling brush

y/n starts rinsing his hair with lukewarm water while humming her favourite song

Chishiya knows this is coming to an end and starts feeling a bit sad about it but can’t wait until your next bath time so you can do it all over again <3

[wellijustfinnihedoneofthebooks]

Its honestly so funny to me when people talk about ryan condal's "team black bias" and its like yall... i dont think condal cares about the fictional waring factions of incest kingdom... i think he just thinks rhaenyra is his main character and thus warps the world to suit rhaenyra

[therealjammy]

I started a fic with the cute concept of “Alicent and Rhaenyra reunite after 20 years at Viserys’ funeral” and now it’s turned into an angsty work meditating on re-kindling feelings that never burnt out, realising that they’ve changed so much and yet they still know each other better than anyone, while also being a study on grief

Totally not inspired by the fact I’m already experiencing a bit of grief in my life

[zephyrrr101]

Green vs Black

Alicent vs Rhaenyra?

Warning: none, just some thinking I do rather than studying for exam next day, not much long of post because I really need to study but I don't want to

I have been mad about how the show is always showing it Rhaenyra against Alicent. How it should be Aegon who should be in covers and whatever. And I think many would think so too.

But is it right?

No.

The war is really between Alicent and Rhaenyra. Not Aegon and Rhaenyra. Alicent and Rhaenyra.

It is actually quite obvious when you take a reading of book and also while watching the show it occurred to me that they are not wrong at all.

Because, it is Alicent who initiated the war between against Rhaenyra. Rather it be out of jealousy, greed or resentment.

Here's how.

It is Alicent who wears the Green gown, her House colours. Not Aegon, Alicent.

She is the one who kickstarts this.

And her sons', just like that of any other mother's, followed their mother's footsteps.

It is stated quite a few places through out the book that it was Alicent who wanted the throne to go to Aegon.

Here is one of the few examples:

Rhaenyra and Alicent had a somewhat good relationship, it was good enough that she even filled Alicent's cup during the feast and Alicent in return called her daughter.

But it is when Alicent gives birth to sons, sons of the King, is when the problems starts arising.

The thing went so far that Viserys had to remove Otto Hightower from his position as the Hand of the King.

It was called Queen's Party. Not Prince's or Aegon's Party.

Now this is not much of the point, Alicent's is the Queen, of course she would be notified of the King's death first hand. But is to be noted that she had ordered for the room to be closed, the servant to be taken in custody. Also, she had been aware of and had planned along with the people who were on her side.

And even much further, after Rhaenyra has taken over King's Landing, it is Alicent who tries to negotiate with her. Of course, at is Aegon and his brothers who fight in the real battlefield. They who fly Dragons and are the figure head of Greens. And at that time, Aegon is not there since he had to hide from Rhaenyra's men who would have killed him.

Alicent tried to do this, knowing her son would listen to her. She has some influence over him.

And with this, I conclude that the war between of the Greens and the Blacks is really between Alicent Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk and reading and giving your precious time to my thoughts.

Lots of love.

[friday-answers]

the thing about me that i will say though, is that... i've never really thought about my pronouns, nor my gender really, i've just went with what i was referred to as i grew up because it never felt wrong at all, and it still doesn't.

but, with creating universe friday and being this anonymous... blob who could be anyone, look like anyone, sound like anyone, being referred to as the 'creator' and with they/them pronouns...

made me realise in a really weird way that i kinda fuck with that. but not entirely they/them pronouns on me, myself (at least not in a way i would push to be referred to as) but when people don't know me.

when people hear my name or a description of me and automatically call me by a 'gendered' pronoun i kind of hate it. not repulsed by it, but in a way that i almost want to be truly anonymous to anyone before they've met me. or even until i'm a lil closer to them. like i wanna be referred to as 'they' in the way you say, "who are they?" when you ask about someone who's gender you know nothing of. anonymity.

idk. there's just something that just feels so right about not being known and being allowed to pretty much have no gender or appearance. i fear this blog is teaching me more about myself than i ever would've expected Erm...

but also i feel like this happens every time the weather gets colder. does seasonal gender exist??? it does now. i just decided.

[bottlesandbarricades]

The Hour of Ghosts

Summary: A short story exploring the supernatural consequences of the Dance of the Dragons. Word Count: 2961 Warnings: Major spoilers for House of the Dragon season 2 / Fire & Blood, Major Character Deaths, Suicide, Mental Illness, Violence, Graphic Injury, Spooky Themes A/N: Hello! This is my first time writing something hotd-related and is essentially my coming-out-of-writing retirement fic to ease myself back into writing. Big thank you to @beaconofthehightower for pushing me to finish this and @dreamymoomin for beta reading. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my silly little ghost story 👻

The Dance of the Dragons left deep scars on the Seven Kingdoms, political and otherwise. Although the literal stench of death was vigorously scrubbed clean, the stains remained, ingrained into the very fibre of the people and the world left behind.

The battered, burnt banner of fire, blood and loss hung over the ruins of a once noble house. Hastily patched and practically mended with rough hands attempting to salvage what remained of House Targaryen and restore order to the realm. The bitterness of it all stuck to the tongue like ashes in your mouth - it had been for nothing.

No one had won; everyone had lost.

The generations to come would debate the facts and wage their own war with words, for and against each side’s claim in volume after volume of biassed histories. Others would simply gloat with the gift of hindsight, suggesting that those involved should have foreseen that a war of kin slaying kin and dragon fighting dragon would never have had a glorious victor.

As the years passed, the memories of the war faded from the sharp, throbbing string of freshly cut wounds to aching battle scars. Moving into that part of the collective memory, where the lines between fact and legend become murky and confused. Truths became as tangible as wisps of smoke from an open hearth, sewn together with the thread of imagination by every wet nurse in Westeros.

Something haunted these lands - collective trauma manifesting and twisting into tales of ghosts, ghouls and fantasm.

From the North shore of the God's Eye, where the blackened ruins of Harrenhal sit decaying, it is said that some evenings as the sun drops below the Western horizon, a high-pitched whistle can be heard in the wind. A piercing unnatural sound that makes the blood in your veins run cold.

To the native smallfolk, this sound is a well-known harbinger, a sign to shutter your windows tightly and turn in for the night - less you wish to glimpse something eerie illuminated in the moonlight over the inky black water.

The story goes that the shrill sound of Prince Daemon's mount, Caraxes, is always followed, even on the clearest of nights, by a rumbling like thunder, so loud that it sends ripples through the lake - the roar of the once mighty war dragon, Vhagar.

Phantom snarls shake the ground, hailing the infinite clash between the Blood Wyrm and the she-ancient dragon of the one-eyed Prince, Aemond Targaryen.

The sound of wings that no longer beat and gnashing jaws that have long since crumbled to dust echo for dozens of miles. Sparks of white-hot dragon fire gone cold reflected in the water below. As spectral flashes of red and bronzy green scales appear against the colourless void of night, weaving and merging like a coil of translucent serpents, struggling and writhing for dominance.

Shades of memory replay - Caraxes’ jaw locked tight around the larger dragon's throat, as Vhagar clawed, bit, and ripped in bloody retaliation. Tearing scales from flesh, and flesh from bone with the ease of Valyrian steel.

However, most unnerving are the two pale princes themselves mounted on the ghastly long dead beasts, as silver as their hair was in life, both gaunt with death and cadaverous to the eye. Sallow skin pulled taut over their skeletal faces, cheeks stained with tracks of red from bloody tears, which ran from sunken eyes.

Two souls destined to be locked in a battle for eternity, forever to play out their mutually assured destruction. The elder fated to leap from his dying mount and drive his blade of moonlight into the younger’s skull - again and again overlooked by Black Harren’s accursed seat.

A sickening and frightening spectacle for mortal eyes to perceive, yet in the absence of fear you might say there was a chilling beauty to the scene. Always to end the same way - poetically some would say - in fire and blood.

To the south, high above the city of King’s Landing upon Aegon’s Hill, the mighty Red Keep plays host to many ghosts of its own. This is no surprise as many people would wager that enough blood had been spilt within its walls over the years to fill the Blackwater. The castle is plagued by ghouls from across the ages, some from the days of the conqueror, himself.

Folk could pass many a long winter’s night recalling the countless tragedies of that castle and those who were said to remain there. It appeared that this war of dancing dragons only added to that grisly spectral collection.

It is Maegor’s Holdfast, where servants don't dare linger alone and guards dread to be posted in fear of hearing her. The whisper of phantom sobbing that murmurs just beyond the reach of your ears or more terribly ghoulish shrieks of anguish that grasp your throat with fear and settle in your chest. It is the sound of grief-driven madness consuming a gentle, yet tortured soul.

Even as the years passed, the agony of Queen Helaena’s bereavement was palpable, the sounds of her anguished cries were enough to drive anyone to madness. They consumed you, drowning you in sorrow and dragging you down with suffocating melancholy.

Some say that Helaena’s haunting was part of what drove her Mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower to her own derangement in the years following the war.

Tormented, not only by the loss of her three sons but also by the cries and whimpers of her dead daughter, which echoed off the pale red stone. Confined within the very same walls that had been sweet Helaena’s home turned prison in the last half year of her life before she had flung herself from the window to her death, impaled on the spikes below.

Alicent Hightower had been harshly punished for her sins. The feeling of being trapped, one way or another, had been a constant companion throughout her life. Yet it seemed being locked away, like her daughter before her, was the final straw.

No needle and thread nor book could save her sanity.

She spent her time attempting to converse with people unseen, sickened by the colour green and longing to hold and comfort her dearest babe in distress whom, like the rest of her children Alicent could no longer picture the face of.

On her deathbed, it appeared that the raging fever quieted the madness and allowed for moments of clarity and reflection for the Queen in chains. As expected, Alicent spoke at length of her regrets and confessed her transgressions. It seemed for the first time in a very long time, Alicent Hightower was at peace.

“I want to see my sons again.” Alicent had said, as her life ebbed away. “And Helaena, my sweet girl.”

The Septa who sat in vigil over Queen Alicent that night, failed to mention everything that happened in the final hours of Alicent’s life in her official account. What the poor woman had witnessed as the rain lashed against the castle windows had left her shaken, clutching her seven-pointed star so tightly that each corner had left tiny cuts on her palms and fingers.

At the hour of the wolf, the Stranger had come for Alicent Hightower, but it appeared death was not alone.

The Queen’s breaths had become shallower and shallower until finally, the death rattle had set in. It was then that an eerie coldness filled the bed chamber, at odds with the raging fire in the grate. Gooseflesh prickled across the Septa’s skin as the chill engulfed her. A cold so biting that she could feel it seep through the numerous layers of her coarse linen robes.

It was strange and unnatural.

With an abrupt rush of wind, the fire was extinguished from the hearth. Snuffing out her last fragile defence against the fear that had suddenly taken hold of her. The room was consumed by darkness and the Septa’s only solace now was a handful of low-burning candles clinging to their flame within the bedside lantern.

She knew she should move; she should attempt to rekindle the logs that smouldered in the fireplace or call out to the guard on the door and yet she could not. Instead, she sat frozen in her chair and was forced to bear witness.

Between the hammering of her own heart, the rasping breaths of the dying Queen and the rain that pounded relentlessly at the window panes, it was hard for the Septa to hear them at first.

The voices started softly and indistinct, like overhearing a conversation in another room, but grew louder and more coherent with each passing moment. Till it was as if they were in the very bed-chamber itself.

Initially, she believed they were children’s voices due to their high and melodic quality. However, as the Septa strained her ears to hear, she soon realised these voices chopped and changed in tone with every few syllables, distorting into a heavier and deeper pitch and then swiftly returning to a higher register.

Stricken with fright, all she could do was listen. Discerning that the voices seemed more masculine than feminine, the Septa tried to focus on distinguishing meaning in the sea of words as the voices continuously talked over each other.

Then she heard it, the common thread. One word was repeated over and over.

“Mother.”

The realisation was scalding, in sharp contrast to the icy air that surrounded her. The Septa’s initial instincts were correct; these were the voices of children - Alicent’s children.

The blinding clarity only seemed to make the voices grow louder. Becoming more frantic and fractured, flicking rapidly between youth and maturity. It was chaotic and confusing, as if years of memories were trying to compress themselves into a single moment. Blurry, broken and half-remembered.

“Where are you, my loves? I can’t see you.” Came the weakened voice from the bed between laboured gasps.

The Septa’s eyes had now adjusted to the dark and she watched in horror as she began to notice the movement of unnatural shapes forming in the gloom.

Hearing them was one thing, but seeing them was another.

Twisting and bending, the four misshapen figures that manifested could not decide what they wished to embody. They shifted in stature and years in the same disturbing manner as their voices, morphing from adult to child and back again.

They crowded the bed, tugging at the bedclothes as they had once tugged at Alicent’s skirts in life, so many years ago. All the while their voices kept on calling for her. It was too much to bear.

This fresh wave of alarm seemed to bring the Septa to her senses and she did the only thing she knew she could. She began to pray, hands clasped together around her seven-pointed star. Shutting her eyes tightly as she recited the words, she wished to hear no more, to see no more.

Time seemed stagnant as each minute that slipped by felt like ten. The Septa focused on her prayers, drawing comfort from the words she knew so well. The familiarity shielding her from the ghoulish sights and sounds around her.

Until all of a sudden, she felt a shift in the air and the voices were gone, fading just as fast as they had come. A balmy glow now beckoned through her closed eyelids.

There was light and warmth as the fire returned to the grate. The logs were ablaze once again, heat flooding the room and banishing the chill which had consumed it.

The Septa took a shaky breath before daring to open her eyes, taking a moment to bask in the feeling of being warm and alive in the peaceful, blessed silence.

As the rain pattered softly against the glass, she realised the storm had passed, along with Alicent Hightower.

Across the water, clinging to the face of the volcano known as Dragonmont, sits the fortress of Dragonstone. A place of salt, smoke and brimstone. The ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a relic of Old Valyria forged by dragonfire and the forgotten magic of Dragonlords.

This castle was the grim and eerie backdrop where some say Aegon II claimed victory over his half-sister, the Black Queen. A hollow and costly victory, which hardly tipped the scales in the face of all that he had lost.

One final petulant jab in this bloody squabble.

Though accounts from both sides of the warring factions differ on many things, they find common ground on one exchange, which took place upon Rhaenyra’s arrival from King’s Landing to find herself betrayed and Aegon in situ.

“Dear Brother, I had hoped you were dead.” Rhaenyra called out at the sight of Aegon’s half-charred and twisted form. Delighted by the small triumph of his injuries and satisfied that even though she would almost certainly die at his hand, Aegon would spend the rest of his days bearing scars done in her name.

“After you. You are the elder.” King Aegon spat back with a pained grin, his jaw clenched hard as he fought to hide the agony that coursed throughout his broken body. He had refused milk of the poppy out of the fear of poisoning and paid tenfold for it.

“I am pleased to know that you remember that.” Rhaenyra replied.

Now friendless and at the mercy of the enemy, Rhaenyra Targaryen was forcefully separated from her son. Little did those present know that once the dust of conflict had finally settled, this child would in fact be King in his own right. But, for now, he was just a boy.

A boy forced to watch his Mother die.

The Realm’s Delight was served up to Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre, who bathed her in red-hot dragonfire. As the flames consumed her, Rhaenyra raised her head skywards and shrieked out one last curse.

What didn't burn, was swiftly devoured. The final memorial to the Half-Year Queen being nothing more than the scorch marks left on the ancient flagstones.

The words and meaning of Rhaenyra’s dying curse are lost to time, but many suspect it was the root cause for the strange happenings that followed.

It started at the site of her killing, a peculiar sweltering heat rising from the stone for which there was no logical source. Those foolish enough to dare place their hand on the blackened marks themselves would come away harshly burned in searing pain. A mere moment's touch brought about hideous blisters that bubbled on the skin and left the surrounding flesh charred and cracked.

Then came the sightings, it was said that if you ventured to cross the courtyard in the dead of night you may catch a glimpse of the Black Queen herself.

A haunting apparition composed of swirling smoke and glowing embers. The flaming skirts of her gown twirled around her as long silver-gold hair burned bright like white hot iron. Flames licked around her once beautiful face, now reduced to nothing but ash and a pair of hollow eyes.

The smell of burning flesh and brimstone filled the air as an aura of blistering heat that radiated around her form, shimmering and distorting. No words came from her blackened mouth, only thick, choking smoke as she silently screamed, leaving trails of cinders in her wake as she stalked the castle grounds.

Rhaenyra Targaryen conveyed her displeasure through the flame, which had been her demise. Burning anything to which her spirit took offence. Newly hung tapestries were known to spontaneously combust and seven pointed stars melted in their holders.

She may not have held the Seven Kingdoms or sat the Iron Throne, but it was clear that Dragonstone was her domain and even in death she would remain its mistress.

As the decades passed, it appeared her restless soul seemed to quieten - the sudden fires becoming less frequent and sightings fewer and fewer. Till the tales of her spectre had become nothing more than a story to frighten children.

Theories to the reason for this change were in the dozens, some claiming that a young brave Septon had been to Dragonstone and bravely banished the fiery ghoul from the castle, casting her down to the Seven Hells where she belonged.

Others believe her spirit's suddenly passive nature was linked to an even greater shift, something was changing for House Targaryen itself. Where the air of Dragonstone had once been thick with Valyrian enchantment there seemed to be rot.

Their magic was dying, eroding away further and further with each generation.

People once said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men and yet it would seem that the sin of the dance had angered something much older and much crueller than the deity of several aspects worshipped by the faith of the Seven.

This was something ancient and primal that wished to punish them for tearing apart their house with the blessing of dragons that had made them Kings. Many argued that the sins of the Greens and the Blacks were the reason that after the war House Targaryens’ dragons declined, getting smaller and weaker as their power faded with each malformed dragon and unhatched egg.

In the end, the doom of the Targaryen dynasty was inevitable. The damage was done and the dominos would continue to fall uninterrupted. Without their dragons what truly separated them from the other great houses of the Seven Kingdoms?

How long would it be before others saw the mirage for what it was and another contender took their chance for the Iron Throne?

After all, power only resides where men believe it resides. Truth does not matter, only perception and once the illusion of power is extinguished, snuffed out with the dying breath of the last dragon, there is no returning to what once was.

[violetlunette]

In original takes do you prefer there to be one protagonist to explore the world, or for them to have a buddy? If so, how many? Keep in mind, this is just the protagonist group, not the main cast. Basically, these are characters you stick with throughout the whole story. (Harems aren't included in this.)

[oh-alicent]

making a little get to know me post since i've gained a few followers! 🤍

basics!

- i’m kath, she/they, 24, living in california but a new york native

- this is predominantly an amc's interview with the vampire blog! i mainly post devil's minion & loustat with some loumand as a treat

- i write fanfic & make fan edits for iwtv, though i’m terrible at updating (pearl diver chapter 2 is almost done i promise!)

- i’m an alicent apologist. mainly because i’m in love w emily carey and olivia cooke and also because i love a morally grey beautiful woman

- other fandoms i occasionally post for: hotd, skam, the peripheral, heartstopper, the last of us, bg3, tbh anything the slightest bit queer let's be honest

fun facts bc why not

- i’m queer & so are my two moms ;)

- i play dnd far too much to be normal about it

- i’m a classical roman historian in grad school. i'm working on my thesis on roman & etruscan women in power

- i'm an ex-english major, and you can tell this because my prose is so violet that it exhausts me as i write it

- if you go back far enough you'll realize this used to be a sims 4 account and i never made a new one to deal with my iwtv obsession

- i have secret spotify playlists meant to be played in a specific order for my favorite iwtv pairings. maybe one day i'll dox myself and post them

- insomnia plagues me. it's 3:18am as i type this

thank you for reading this far & thank you to my very loyal mutuals for liking everything i post in a fugue state 😌 love u

[charlieswanismydad]

i think i peaked

wildddd man

[displacedbias]

[pre-gala]

Ted couldn't help but envy his twin sometimes. He was pretty lucky in ways Felix never even seemed to notice. Lucky in other ways? No, that would be an outright lie. But in his sense of fashion, his taste for higher class clothing, and etiquette, and language, and... all that other stuff Ted personally found boring-- were all things Fe absolutely thrived in. Ted only barely managed to learn it just because he was going to inherit their father's company, and even then, he'd hated every second. Felix on the other hand, had no reason to learn it better than Ted ever could, but he did. He had a real talent for it. And it was probably another case of doing it in the hopes he'd earn their dad's favour for once, but Ted could tell Felix did actually enjoy that stuff too.

The kindergala again... Ted shifted himself on the couch he was sitting on. --Well, 'sitting' was the wrong word. He never liked sitting still for too long with the restless energy he had, and now he was hanging upside down, back draping over the cushions, legs up on the backrest. 

It was a shame that Penny couldn't come this time. Something about being busy with the numerous afterschool stuff she'd begun taking up, and Ted understood. After all, he had MMA, music lessons, and business classes, but that was enough to juggle with the gala going on too. Besides, he could probably plan some other date with Penny, just the two of them. That'd be nice. But he was really hoping he could go on a double date, now that Felix was finally ready to ask someone out this time. No matter; he was gonna wingman the heck outta him and Ozzy, and hopefully they'd have as great of a time as Penny and himself had. ...The last thing he wanted was to see his twin sad. Yeah, no, Ted had already decided this gala was gonna be fun no matter what!!!

But still, Ted didn't entirely want to come alone either. It was a masquerade party this time around, wasn't it? ...It was kind of a no brainer as to which one of his friends would enjoy that the most.

Calling up Alice to invite her turned into a nice conversation, which turned into Ted immediately setting off to go to her house. She was such a creative person, always bursting with ideas he'd never even thought of. All he did was complain about the dress code, how much he hated wearing stiff, fancy tuxes and suits. He had plenty of those in his closet, thanks to the typical Huxley dinner parties and company balls that Ted was forced to attend as the son that Mr. Huxley had put all his hopes on since the moment of his birth. Eugh. But he really liked Alice's ideas-- much preferred them, really-- And she mentioned having some clothing in her possession that might work.

"Why not wear something else?" Alice had suggested during the phone call, "If you don't enjoy wearing formal clothing, then don't. It is a masquerade, yes? Masks are an important part of the attire, indeed, but that's just one component of it. Costumes are another big part of it. Actual costumes, not just suits and ties; although there is a lot of that in the modern day."

Ted blinked. That was news to him. "Like, Halloween costumes?"

"...Hm, well, somewhat?" Ted could hear Alice's voice teetering on how to answer that, "Sure, I suppose. Like Halloween costumes, but with a level of decorum."

"So no dressing in Spongebob foam suits?"

"I suppose you could. I don't see why anyone would stop you, but traditionally, no." Alice rejected solemnly, not even a hint of getting out of character, refined and composed, "Regrettably, Spongebob was not invented long 'til the eve of the 20th century. But I am sure aristocrats would have loved to have Spongebob costumes as their main mode of dress for masquerades, had that materialized in their time." Ted stifled a laugh as he listened to Alice continue on, "No, no, I have a proposal which should find you leagues better."

"Oh?" Ted asked, moving to sit right-side up on top of the couch's back, trying to see if he could fit in between the space between the couch and the wall (He could not). "I'm all ears!"

He could practically hear the way Alice's eyes sparkled when she got really into her fantasy, fae court, riddling, bone god roleplay kinds of scenarios she'd get super into. Especially when other people played along. "I beseech that you should don yourself a rogue of yore. One who is stealthy, perceptive, and skilled. Agile, cunning, and quick-witted-- Such a role is what would contend best to the likes of you, Theodore Huxley."

Even after knowing Alice since kindergarten four years ago, he still sometimes struggled to understand her fancy-speak. This however, actually wasn't too bad this time. "A rogue? I know what that is! Those are, like, the thief guys in D&D, right?" Ted thought about it some more, nodding to himself, "I bet they dress pretty comfy, 'cause they gotta move around a lot, too. Yeah! That sounds perfect for me! ...Uh, so, how do they dress anyway? Are they fancy enough for the gala?"

"I can exert my magic, if you wish it, to add some ‘fancy’ elements necessary. Depart for my dwelling, and you shall be bestowed garments fit for Robin Hood himself. Certainly, I have something in here to spare. Some old costuming from plays, and whatnot." Alice paused for a second, "...And you've already set off, haven't you? The wind whispers so."

Oh. She could hear the wind through his cellphone. "Right, sorry. It is pretty windy today, huh...? That's distracting. Tell you what, we can just talk more when I get to your place! See you then!"

"Then I await your presence. Godspeed." Alice hung up. And Ted was already on his way, glad he finally didn't have to wear some stupid stuffy Huxley outfit to a fancy party for once.

[clonedchaos]

Bendy Comics

Hehehe kicking my legs back and forth because I just read the little Bendy’s Crack-Up Comics Book and here are some of my thoughts while reading it:

This image of Bendy. Tempted to make this my pfp ngl.

I like the cat one, not just bc my batim toon oc is a black cat—

Also I need the goats in the main line game stat.

Also also, Boris and Alice are adorable :3

Alice! Boris is dying! Alice!!!!!

“I see you are a man of culture.”

This one was just cute. Bendy deserves all the pies, the lil guy.

Okay, calm down there, Dr. Eggman.

“You’re too late, Bendy! I am now FORKLIFT CERTIFIED!”

Alice is such a mood in this book, she’s my spirit animal.

The moon comic is so strange out of context. Bendy and Alice get arrested and Boris eats the moon.

Also as for the Bendy charm line, Bendy 100% tries to max out his charisma stat in dnd and that’s canon now.

He’s gonna do a crime.

Projectionist cameo? Also Spinel is in this? Neat. (I also very much need her in a mainline game plz and thank you)

Just this entire page. “We didn’t wake up and choose violence… But the children did.”

Edgar appreciation. He’s the littlest guy.

More Alice appreciation because she’s iconic.

[chishiyashoodie]

(HEAD CANON TIME WOO)

We all know that Chishiya is really good with stressful situations in the borderlands, but I was wondering what you think he would be like in some more everyday stressful situations that weren’t life or death? Like.. at the airport for example? Being in charge of not just himself but also the reader

I reckon he’d be overprotective of reader

In situations when they need to be in a crowded place like an airport, a shopping centre, a crowded bar or street… he’d probably not let go of her but if it’s less of a crowded place then he’d let her be on her own but he’d always be keeping an eye on her from afar

In not so stressful occasions when they are with friends, relatives… he wouldn’t want to disturb her and would just let her enjoy her time with them <3

[an-abyss-of-stars]

I'm getting tired of this "if the war can be averted...I have a duty to try" shit, like the show keeps having these lead characters say it every episode. And it only really made sense in episode 10 of S1, before Luke died, there was a chance for that. The crown was usurped, but there'd been no major casualties.

But after Luke's death, Alicent kept saying it. And now after Jaehaerys' death, Rhaenyra is saying it.

And like, GURLS, DARLINGS, WE'RE HERE. THE WAR IS HERE. IMMA NEED YOU BOTH TO ACCEPT THAT.

People have DIED. You've both lost CHILDREN (well Rhaenyra and Helaena have). We're not coming back from that. The war isn't going to be curbed now.

And the stupid fucking misunderstood prophecy rearing its ugly head yet again. Like Rhaenyra, babes, you thought Alicent was going to change her mind NOW!???

Like c'mon, writers...let the war, WAR already 😭😭💀 Let these women get behind it and LEAD it already 😭💀