#alyssa ward

[door-insurance]

life is strange - alarm clock

max wakes up the whole dorm sunday morning

tag urself im stella looking LIVID, only ogs knows she hates it when you knock on her door early

BONUS - couldnt help it

Non animated ver

[gabiisfics]

No, thousands of posts talking about Warren are not enough for me, now I know what you Pricefield fans are feeling, No joke, I'm completely devastated that they reduced Max and Warren's beautiful friendship to this.

Max would never say that about him, especially about someone who might be dead (Since the dialogue doesn't change if you choose bay or bae)

Sacrificing Arcadia Bay is not only painful for Max because it kills thousands of people, but also because his friends are there. Everyone is there in Max's nightmare, caring about her so as not to let them die with countless lines like dana "I'll never be able to dance again" Yes, Max will always suffer the loss of Chloe or her breakup, but she will always love those people whose lives she used her powers to make a little better.

[lifeisstrange-incorrectquotes]

[Max is walking across the Blackwell Campus when she suddenly finds herself surrounded by Victoria, Taylor and Courtney. Victoria is scowling with a mixture of annoyance and envy.]

Victoria: You. With me. Now.

[Taylor and Courtney grab Max's arms before she can protest. The next moment, Max finds herself getting frog-marched into Victoria's dorm room, where she inexplicably finds Chloe, Rachel, Kate, Alyssa, Brooke, Dana, Juliet and Steph all gathered. All seven girls sport various looks of amusement and confusion at their current situation.]

Max: [Pulling herself free.] Okay, what is this all about?

Victoria: You mean it's not obvious? I want you to tell me exactly how the fuck you managed to pull every girl of note in Arcadia Bay after only three months at Blackwell!

[Max has no answer. In fact, she doesn't seem too sure herself.]

Chloe: [Grins.] Well, me and her are childhood friends who've been crushing on each other pretty much since we first met.

Rachel: [Shrugs.] As it turns out, Chloe's only available as part of a package deal with Max. [Winks at Max before licking her lips.] Not that I'm complaining, of course.

Kate: [Nervous.] She's been nothing but nice to me in all the time I've known her.

Alyssa: I'd have at least six serious concussions if it wasn't for her constantly looking out for me.

Brooke: Eh, Warren turned out to be an ass, and I wanted to be able to say that I Korrasamied.

Dana: She's sweet, nice, cute, and surprisingly good in bed.

Juliet: Same. [Narrows her eyes at Victoria.] Oh and by the way, you're welcome to Zak if you're really that desperate.

Steph: [Shrugs.] After Dana joined, we decided we needed someone who could bring some semblance of order to…whatever this is. I'm a lesbian who manages theatre shit and tabletop games; they figured I was a natural fit for the position.

[A silent pause occupies the room.]

Victoria: ...This isn't fair.

[Victoria turns around and storms out. Taylor and Courtney look at each other, before looking at Max.]

Taylor: So...can we join?

.

[dalekofchaos]

Life Is Strange fancast(new)

Already did a LIS fancast before, but since some of them were too old, I think it's time to do a new one

my other LIS fancasts

LIS BTS fancast

LIS 2 fancast

LIS TC Fancast

Thomasin McKenzie as Max Caulfield

Sophie Thatcher as Chloe Price

Kristine Froseth as Rachel Amber

Elle Fanning as Kate Marsh

Wyatt Oleff as Warren Graham

Reneé Rap as Victoria Chase

Austin Abrams as Nathan Prescott

Aaron Eckhart as William Price

Robin Wright as Joyce Price

Ving Rhames as Principal Raymond Wells

Yvette Nicole Brown as Michelle Grant

Douglas M. Griffin as Samuel Taylor

David Harbour as David Madsen

Norman Reedus as Frank Bowers

Bryan Cranston as Sean Prescott

Dewon Sawa as Mark Jefferson

Barbie Ferreira as Alyssa Anderson

Brianne Tju as Brooke Scott

Jacob Batalon as Daniel DeCosta

Ryan Potter as Evan Harris

Jenna Ortega as Stella Hill

Jolie Vanier as Dana Ward

Kelli Berglund as Juliet Watson

Ross Lynch as Luke Parker

Charlie Rowe as Justin Williams

Noah Centineo as Trevor Yard

Stefanie Scott as Taylor Christensen

Tiffany Espensen as Courtney Wagner

Mason Gooding as Hayden Jones

Justin Prentice as Zachary Riggs

Because of tumblr's new layout with the 30 picture limit, I cannot add more pictures, so here's the rest.

Dylan Minnette as Logan Robertson

Angourie Rice as Samantha Myers

Mischa Collins as Skip Matthews

Mark Hamill as Travis Keaton

[xxcalicofemmexx]

arguments welcome

[wooshofficial]

Been reading web serials lately and feeling completely not normal. I am shaking you (yes you) and forcing you to sit down in the metaphorical chair in front of the visualized me and listen as I talk about the emotions I have over gay people made out of words

[gameofthunder66]

Restraint (2008) - Trailer

-watched 3/8/2023- 3 [1/4] stars- on Netflixdvd

[adamwatchesmovies]

The VelociPastor (2017

You can’t make a movie that’s “so bad it’s good” on purpose. The VelociPastor proves it. Even at a mere 75 minutes, this horror comedy overstays its welcome.

After witnessing his parents die in a car fire, Pastor Doug Jones (Gregory James Cohan) briefly vacations in China. There, he receives a velociraptor claw from a dying woman. Now, whenever Jones becomes angry, he transforms into a dinosaur. He’s convinced he should try to remove this curse but Carol (Alyssa Kempinski), a hooker he saved while in his scaly form, thinks otherwise.

Other than the pun in its title, The VelociPastor has very little going for it. At first, you might chuckle at the premise and the wooden performances. As soon as the movie shows you it doesn’t even have the budget for lousy special effects, you'll realize this won't be the cult classic you were hoping for and shut it off. Instead of showing us the fire that kills Father Doug Jones’ parents, writer/director Brendan Steere has the text “VFX of Fire” appear over an empty street. To people who haven’t seen movies that are so bad they’re good, this sounds hysterical. Anyone with any experience with the ironic art form will know better. This is someone trying to cover up the fact that they don’t have the resources to make a good movie and aren’t even willing to try.

The problem with The VelociPastor is that without giving it too much thought, you could write a better movie. What if Pastor Doug gave a fiery sermon in front of his congregation and suddenly began changing? How would he hide his claws as he hands out communion? What if he faced an existential crisis because previously, he believed the Earth was only 3,000 years old? How about a scene in which he watches Jurassic Park for pointers on how to stalk the villains that prowl the streets? Maybe at one point, said villains chase him into a museum and he has to hide among animatronic dinosaurs! What about an important seminar he absolutely can’t miss that requires him to stuff the trademark velociraptor claw into normal shoes and tape his tail to his leg? What sort of hijinks do we get, if not these? None! In fact, the velociraptor barely appears in this movie and when it does, you’ll pray for death. Facing people who know you’ve sat through this film is too heavy a cross to bear. The dinosaur costume is clearly some generic Halloween disguise someone picked up on November 1st for 50% off because the crotch was torn. It looks shabby and you never see it do anything interesting. As for the gore - when you get any - it's little more than red fruit juice sprayed all over the actors.

It’s obvious no one working on this project cared. There are several scenes whose punchlines are so tired, lame and predictable they aren’t the least bit funny. In fact, they kind of make you mad. "This is the best you could come up with? Another pointless scene that wastes our time even more than the rest of the film, which is itself a colossal waste of time? Please Lord, just tell me we’re nearly at the end." You take a look at your watch. You’ve got another 45 minutes to go. This is a movie so dull it’s a battle to stay awake.

At best, The VelociPastor is a broken clock comedy - it manages to make you laugh/smile despite being broken and useless almost every minute of every hour of every day. At worst, it’s so cheap and lazy it insults your intelligence. You can’t make a cult film on purpose. I wasn’t looking for high art or deep meaning when I sat down with this film but I expected it to be fun. The only people who could enjoy The VelociPastor have their names in the end credits. (June 11, 2021)

[daisyjoners]

tag dump! jane & winter - personagens & dinâmicas.

[floatyflowers]

The Fawn|| Dark! House Targaryen men (Maegor, Aenys, and Aegon II) various x Baratheon Reader

Meagor/Aenys

You are the daughter of Orys Baratheon, Rhaenys decided to take you in hopes of marrying you off to Aenys.

But she passed away before the arranged marriage could be annouced.

Aegon decided to keep you as a ward, and have Aenys engaged to Alyssa Velaryon instead

When Maegor was born, when you were six, you enjoyed playing with him, he reminded you of your dolls, that you treat like your babies.

As you grow up with Aenys and Maegor, you fall deeply in love with Aenys and viewed Maegor as your little brother, nothing more.

Aenys was also deeply in love with you.

But you got heartbroken when Aenys married Alyssa, and even though the first thing Aenys did was head to your chambers to claim that he still loves you.

You refused to continue your relationship with him, because you don't wish to ruin his marriage.

Even when Maegor grew up, becoming strong and skillful despite not owning a dragon.

Every tourney, he would win, you would become the queen of love and beauty.

Of course this is a scandal due to Maegor being already married to Ceryse Hightower which enraged many including Aenys.

After Aegon I passed away and Aenys became king, you were assigned with being a cupbearer.

Maegor didn't like that at all, and proposed to take you as a second wife, but you refused.

So he kidnapped you and forced you to marry him in a traditional valerian way, and when Aenys heard about that, he banished his brother.

Aenys dies, and Maegor returns from the banishment with you and his mother to take the throne, even if you hated the idea.

Yet you are too afraid to show refusal now that you are pregnant.

"I did this to save the realm from being ruled under a weak king just like what happened with Aenys, you must understand that I did it for us "

Aegon II Targaryen

You don't like Aegon for many reasons.

His sexual flirting, or his anger issues that comes out whenever you are with another boy.

Aegon pleaded with his grandfather to marry you to him.

And it worked, and you ended up marrying Aegon, despite both of you being young.

Aegon didn't give up his drinking habits but he gave up messing around with women for you.

And as time goes on you find yourself falling in love with him, especially after giving birth to the twins.

You realize that Aegon didn't have the best childhood, his father ignoring his existence while his mother and grandfather were harsh on him.

So, you tried to give him that love, and it worked as he found comfort in your embrace only.

He even began to reflect that love on Jaehaera and Jaehaerys and later on Maelor when he is born.

But when usurped the throne from his sister, though you pleaded with him not to do it, and he wasn't going to do.

But his mother placed fear in his head, the fear of you getting murdered along with the children after his older sister becomes the queen.

But with that choice, you decided to leave to Storm's End with your children in secret.

However the plan failed, as Aegon had spies around, whom inform him of everything inculding your handmaidens.

He locked you up and took the children away from you.

And when you try to apologize to get to see them, Aegon refused.

He even refused when you admitted that you are pregnant.

"After everything I did for us, for our family, you chose to betray me! You are not leaving those chambers until I die"

[novaursa]

Legacy

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Next part: dinner with a lion

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The heat of Harrenhal’s stone walls suffocates you as you sit, bound and chained, in a shadowed cell, distanced from the other prisoners. The silence presses down heavily, disturbed only by the occasional scurry of rats in the corners and the distant, echoing clamor of soldiers outside. They’ve kept you here as a prisoner of value, locked away from the common rabble. No one dared speak your name aloud, but you know what you are to them—a Targaryen, a relic of a world shattered and hunted by Robert’s Rebellion.

Your eyes trace the rough-hewn stones, your thoughts lost in Winterfell's cold embrace, where you’d been a ward, a stranger among wolves yet somehow belonging. Ned Stark's honor had felt like a shield back then, the North your sanctuary. That safety, of course, had long been stripped away. The warmth of winter fires, the laughter of his children, Arya’s giggling fits as she followed you through halls… You press those memories deep, lest they break you here in this hollowed-out fortress of despair.

The iron door creaks open. You don’t lift your head, knowing that if it’s a guard, his words will be as cold as his chainmail. Instead, you hear the soft scuff of small, light footsteps—a child’s, perhaps, or someone pretending to be one.

“Y/N?” The whisper is barely audible, like a breeze skimming across snow. You jerk your head up, blinking to adjust to the light spilling into the cell. A thin figure stands just outside the barred door, cloaked in rags, dark hair wild and tangled around a dirt-smeared face. The eyes, however, are unmistakable—storm-grey, fierce with a fire that the years hadn’t dimmed.

“Arya…” you breathe, hardly believing what you’re seeing.

She glances around quickly, as if expecting someone to appear out of the shadows, then steps closer to the bars, wrapping her hands around them. She is small, thin, but you can feel her strength through the steel.

“They’ve separated you from the others,” she says, her voice low but urgent. “Why?”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “They know what I am. Who I am.” You can’t help but reach through the bars, brushing a thumb over her knuckles. “But they don’t know you, it seems.” You pause, studying her. “Why are you dressed like…?”

Her face hardens, though her eyes still shimmer with the relief of seeing you. “I’m Ary. A boy.” She grins a little. “Keeps me safer that way. They don’t look too closely at boys.”

You nod, understanding. Clever girl. Brave girl. Your heart aches at the thought of her wandering through these deadly halls, relying only on wit and stealth. “You shouldn't be here, Arya.”

“Neither should you,” she retorts, voice fierce. “You think I’d just stay hidden, knowing they have you locked up like some...prize?” She gestures toward your chains. “You’re all they talk about.”

The words sting, though you knew what you were to them—what you’d always been in the eyes of those who held power. “Yes, well, they love parading relics of conquest.”

Arya scoffs, glancing down the hall as the clang of footsteps grows closer. She pulls back slightly, but her gaze holds yours. “I’m going to find a way to help you.”

Before you can respond, the guard rounds the corner, a hulking brute who grunts upon seeing Arya standing too close to the bars.

“Oi, boy!” he barks, jabbing a gloved finger toward her. “What’re you loitering around here for? Get along!”

Arya nods quickly, ducking her head. “Sorry, m’lord. Was just looking for scraps.”

The guard snorts, shoving her away with a meaty hand. “Scavenge elsewhere, rat.” His eyes slide back to you, cold and suspicious, before he turns and lumbers away down the hall.

You exhale slowly, your fingers trembling against the rough metal of your chains. In another life, Arya would have been free to roam Winterfell’s hills, a wild little shadow among wolves. And yet, she’s here, risking herself to reach you. As she slips away, she looks back just once, her expression determined, her eyes flashing with a promise.

The hours blur together after that. Servants and guards move past occasionally, sneaking glances but offering no words. No one knows what to do with you; even here, your Targaryen blood marks you as something foreign, an unpredictable fire they’d rather keep contained.

But then, as night falls and the cold sets in, Arya returns, slipping through the shadows. She brings a small hunk of bread and a waterskin, passing them through the bars.

“Eat,” she whispers, watching you with a fierce, protective glint. “You need to keep your strength.”

You take the food gratefully, feeling a spark of warmth. “Thank you,” you murmur, voice low. “How did you…?”

“I’m faster than most of these lumbering fools,” she says, a spark of pride in her tone. “I’ve learned things. I know how to make myself invisible.”

You chuckle softly, the sound echoing in the quiet cell. “You always did have a knack for hiding. Even in Winterfell, you could vanish like a shadow.”

Her face softens, a brief flicker of nostalgia crossing her expression. “Winterfell feels like a lifetime ago.”

“For both of us,” you reply, meeting her gaze, the weight of shared memories hanging heavy between you. “Promise me you’ll be careful, Arya. These people…they won’t think twice about harming you if they suspect anything.”

She nods, her expression fierce. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll come back. I’ll find a way to get you out.”

There’s a fire in her eyes, a determination that reminds you so painfully of her father. And as she slips away into the darkness, leaving you alone once more, you feel a renewed sense of hope—a fragile, flickering ember amidst the cold stone walls of Harrenhal.

The hours drag on, each one marked by the slow drip of water echoing in your cell, but eventually, the familiar rhythm of Harrenhal’s dungeons changes. You feel it before you see it—a shift in the air, the sound of hurried footsteps, the murmur of anxious voices reverberating through the stone walls. The guards move with unusual purpose, stiffening as they march past, casting wary glances at each other.

And then it clicks. A name floats through the muted conversations, spoken in low, reverent tones. Tywin Lannister.

Of course, he would come. Tywin would never leave something—or someone—of value to fate or neglect, and as a Targaryen in Lannister captivity, you are valuable. The realization sends a chill through you; you know what Tywin’s arrival means. After all, this was the man who orchestrated Robert’s Rebellion from the shadows, who ensured your family’s ruin.

Hours pass, leaving you with your thoughts, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It is nearly dusk when you hear his unmistakable footfalls—a measured, deliberate pace, the stride of a man who owns every room he steps into. The door to your cell opens, and there he stands, backlit by the torches in the hallway, his sharp gaze fixed upon you with that calculating intensity that has always defined him.

You rise slowly, the chains at your wrists clinking softly as you meet his gaze, refusing to bow or avert your eyes. He steps forward, and the guard closes the door behind him, leaving just the two of you in the silence of the cell.

"Y/N," he greets, his voice low and steady, as if he were greeting an old friend rather than a prisoner.

"Lord Tywin," you reply, keeping your tone neutral, though a simmering resentment lies beneath it. "I wondered how long it would take you to come see me."

He inclines his head, a barely perceptible acknowledgment. "I was surprised to learn you were here. I'd thought my orders were… clear."

"Well," you reply, voice laced with defiance, "your orders seem to have missed me by a few years and several hundred leagues."

A flicker of something passes over his expression—irritation, perhaps, or simply the mild inconvenience of something not going precisely to his plans. He regards you with that unyielding gaze, assessing, calculating. "You always did possess a certain… rebellious streak."

You lift your chin, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "It was a trait I shared with my family. At least, those who survived."

"Indeed," he says, with a faint curl of distaste. "And yet here you are, once again, a ward of sorts—though not of Winterfell this time." He studies you a moment longer before taking a step back, hands folded behind his back. "I did not expect you to involve yourself in… certain matters."

"I didn’t choose this," you reply, the bitterness plain in your voice. "Do you think I wanted to end up here, in the middle of this war, far from my family?"

Tywin raises an eyebrow. "Family? The very family that plunged the realm into chaos and left nothing but ashes and memories?"

You grit your teeth, the anger simmering within you. "My family fought for what was theirs. They believed in protecting their own."

"Their own." He almost laughs, the sound devoid of warmth. "A convenient justification." He takes a measured step toward you, his voice lowering. "But there are two choices now—obey, or find yourself utterly without power or purpose in this realm. It’s time to accept which path will ensure your survival."

The implication hangs heavy in the air, but you hold your ground. “And what path is that, exactly?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestures toward the door with an almost casual wave of his hand. “You will be brought to me, Y/N. The other prisoners here… they are of no value, save for labor. They’ll be put to work.”

You look away, unable to hold his gaze, a knot of resentment building in your chest. You know what this means—that he intends to keep you close, in his grasp, as leverage, as something he can wield. Just another prize in his relentless pursuit of control.

“Then I suppose I don’t have much of a choice,” you say quietly, resigned.

“Choice?” Tywin’s lips twist into a thin smile. “Perhaps not. But survival? That, you do.”

He pauses, his gaze lingering on you, assessing you once more before turning toward the door. Just before he leaves, he speaks again, softer this time, though there’s no warmth in his tone. “There was a time I believed you would find your place at Winterfell. Let’s hope you find it here in Harrenhal, though I doubt it will be as kind.”

With that, he turns, his cloak sweeping behind him, and the door closes. You are left in silence, the chains at your wrists heavier than ever as you stare at the empty doorway, Tywin's words echoing in your mind.

They bring you through the winding stone corridors of Harrenhal, flanked by guards who grip their weapons as though you might suddenly decide to fight. You don’t look at them, choosing instead to lift your chin, steeling yourself for what awaits. Soon, you reach a heavy iron door and are led into the dimly lit council chamber, where Tywin Lannister sits at a rough-hewn table surrounded by maps and documents. His eyes flick up as you enter, cold and unblinking, assessing you as if you were a pawn on one of his battle maps.

"Sit," he commands, gesturing to the chair across from him.

You hesitate, a beat of defiance thrumming in your chest, but there’s little point in resisting now. With a quiet dignity, you take the seat, keeping your posture poised, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you appear weak.

For a moment, he says nothing, his piercing gaze steady as he studies you, hands clasped before him. The silence between you is thick, heavy with the weight of a past neither of you acknowledges directly.

"Have you thought of what your place here will be, Y/N?" His voice is measured, devoid of warmth. “It’s time you learn that your loyalty—whatever remains of it—has a purpose.”

“Is that what you’re hoping to extract from me?” you reply, tone cool, unwilling to betray any weakness. “Loyalty?”

Tywin’s mouth forms a thin line. “I had thought that was something you would recognize. I recall a time when I gave you something very few in Westeros would have considered—a chance. Yet, here you are.”

You raise an eyebrow, the bitterness you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface. “If you’re expecting a thank you, Lord Tywin, for ‘saving my life’ and sending me North, you’ll be disappointed.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, though his face remains otherwise impassive. “I expect no gratitude. Only an understanding of what is required.” His gaze sharpens, icy and relentless. “The time for grudges and sentiment is over. We are at war, Y/N, and there are no innocents in war.”

You bite back a retort, letting the words settle. Tywin had always been a strategist, a man who saw lives as currency in his endless schemes for power. To him, you were a valuable piece in this game, nothing more.

Before you can respond, there’s a shuffle at the door. A small figure enters, head down, dressed in rags that disguise her almost entirely. You freeze, a flicker of recognition sparking within you. Arya. She’s keeping her head low, her gaze on the floor, playing the part of a servant boy with remarkable precision.

Tywin barely acknowledges her, but you sense the tension rolling off him as he glances briefly at the child. “Good,” he mutters, gesturing for her to approach. “Pour us some wine.”

You catch her eye just for a split second, then force yourself to look away, masking any flicker of recognition that might betray her. Fear coils in your stomach, a sick dread gnawing at you. Arya is so close to him, close enough to be touched by the man whose armies are locked in a brutal struggle against her brother Robb.

She moves with surprising grace, her hands steady as she picks up a pitcher of wine and fills Tywin’s cup first, then yours. You can sense her nervousness—the slight tremor in her hands, the careful restraint in her movements. Every instinct screams for you to shield her, to pull her away from Tywin’s cold gaze, but you force yourself to remain still, trusting in her disguise.l

Tywin raises his goblet, studying you over the rim, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “You’ve come a long way from the girl I once sent North,” he says, taking a slow sip. “And yet, I wonder if you truly understand the stakes of the game you’re caught in.”

You meet his gaze head-on, a defiant spark igniting in your chest. “Perhaps it’s not the game I care about, Tywin. Perhaps I’ve come to understand that there’s more at stake than power.”

He sets down his goblet, fingers steepling before him, his expression hardening. “That’s where you are mistaken, Y/N. Power is the only thing that matters. It is the only reason you are here, alive, in this moment.” He gestures to the chamber around him, as though the walls themselves bear witness to his authority.

Beside you, Arya keeps her head down, silent as she completes her task, retreating a step as if hoping to melt into the shadows. Yet, despite her best efforts, your gaze drifts to her, a rush of protectiveness coursing through you, though you know it’s a risk. You want to shield her, to keep her far from Tywin’s attention, from his scrutiny. Her fate hangs by a thread, poised perilously close to discovery, and you cannot allow yourself to falter.

Tywin’s gaze sharpens as he notes your momentary glance toward Arya. He doesn’t ask, but there’s an unspoken question in the air as his eyes linger on you, piercing and calculating.

With Arya now lingering in the background, Tywin returns his attention fully to you, his tone softening just enough to sound almost conversational. “Tell me, Y/N, do you believe that loyalty alone will ensure victory? Or will it take more?”

He waits, and you know that beneath his words lies a deeper question—a challenge, a demand for allegiance that you cannot easily give. 

You swallow, feeling the weight of Tywin’s question linger in the room like a shadow. He watches you closely, his gaze dissecting every breath, every shift of your expression.

“Loyalty alone doesn’t ensure anything,” you answer finally, your voice carefully neutral. “It’s a weapon, a means to an end, but hardly the end itself.”

He inclines his head slightly, as if acknowledging your answer. “Precisely. Loyalty is useful—necessary, even—but it is not enough to build a legacy.” His tone is cool, distant, almost as if lecturing a pupil. “Power is what matters, Y/N. Power builds kingdoms, reshapes worlds, burns down houses that have stood for centuries.”

The words are exactly what you expected from him: cold, ruthless, and unyielding. Yet, as he continues, there’s an intensity beneath them, a deeper thread of something that you can’t quite name.

“Legacy,” he says, his voice lowering to a murmur. “What we leave behind is all that remains when we are gone. Our names, our accomplishments… these are what endure. Without them, we are dust, forgotten.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a defiance you can’t quite suppress. “I thought you cared little for anything but victory, Tywin. For all this talk of legacy, I hadn’t pegged you for someone who worried about what others would remember.”

A shadow of a smirk flits across his face. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. I care little for how others perceive me—but I care greatly for what they cannot ignore. For the things that endure, long after I’m gone. It is not enough for House Lannister to survive. It must be unassailable.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words, though a part of you bristles against his philosophy. He sees people as tools, pawns in his endless game. That’s all you are to him, a valuable piece he can wield to achieve his vision.

But then, he leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on you with a sudden, burning intensity. “And that is why I’ve decided to take you as my wife.”

The words strike you like a blow, leaving you momentarily stunned, the breath stolen from your lungs. You blink, trying to process what he’s just said, wondering if you’ve misunderstood. But the certainty in his eyes tells you that he means every word.

“Your… wife?” The words come out in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Yes.” His tone is final, unyielding. “This union would serve both of us well. You would be restored to a place of power—protected, in the only way that matters.”

For a moment, you struggle for words, reeling from the unexpected declaration. You’d braced yourself for talk of alliances, of politics, even of Tywin’s usual calculated strategies—but this? This was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what you think I want?” you manage, forcing your voice to remain steady. “A position, a title, the protection of your name?”

He studies you, expression unchanging. “You may not realize it yet, Y/N, but your value is not solely in your bloodline. You are a weapon that could be sharpened, a tool with the potential to fortify both our legacies.”

Just then, a clatter erupts from the corner of the room as Arya accidentally knocks over a pitcher. The clay shatters, water spilling across the stone floor, jolting you back to reality. Arya’s face blanches, and she drops quickly to her knees, mumbling apologies as she gathers the broken pieces.

Tywin’s gaze flicks to her, his expression hardening. “Be more careful in the future, Ary,” he says, his tone sharp but controlled. “I don’t tolerate carelessness.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Arya replies, her voice low, strained, as she hurriedly cleans up the mess, hands moving with a practiced grace.

Your eyes dart to her for a heartbeat, concern flooding through you despite your best efforts to mask it. You don’t want to give her away, to betray her presence as anything other than a humble servant, but the fear lingers, sharp and gnawing. She’s too close to him, too vulnerable here under his scrutiny. Each moment she spends in this room feels like a risk, a danger you can’t control.

Tywin’s attention returns to you, his piercing gaze heavy with expectation. “As I was saying,” he continues smoothly, as if the interruption had barely registered, “this union would be… advantageous. For you, for me, for both of our houses.”

You take a steadying breath, suppressing the whirlwind of emotions roiling within you. “And what if I refuse?” you ask quietly, testing him, though you already suspect the answer.

Tywin’s expression hardens, his tone cold as steel. “I am not offering you a choice, Y/N. I am informing you of your future. It would be wise to accept it.”

A shiver runs through you, the weight of his words pressing down upon you. Arya continues cleaning in silence, her movements careful, but you feel the tension radiating from her. You force yourself to look away from her, to keep your focus on Tywin, unwilling to risk drawing his attention back to her.

Tywin’s eyes linger on you, cold and calculating, as he gestures to the guards stationed by the door. With a curt nod, he speaks in that same low, commanding tone, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Escort Lady Y/N to her chambers,” he orders. “See to it that the servants prepare her properly.” He pauses, considering you for a moment, as if appraising your reaction. “She is to be made presentable.”

You feel the urge to rebel against his words, to refuse, to assert the independence he seems so intent on stripping from you. Yet, you know that any defiance here would only play into his hands. Tywin Lannister has you cornered, and he knows it. His intentions are clear—control, alliance, and power, as always. And now, he intends for you to become part of that legacy.

The guards approach, and as they move to escort you, you stand, casting a final glance at Arya. You want to say something, anything to reassure her, to let her know you will look out for her. But you cannot. Not here, not now. Her head remains down, eyes trained on the floor as she finishes cleaning the broken shards of the pitcher, and you feel a pang of fear for her, lodged deep in your chest. You force yourself to look away, to keep your expression neutral as the guards lead you from the room.

As you reach the doorway, Tywin’s voice calls out, halting you momentarily.

“Ary,” he says, turning his sharp gaze upon her, “go to the kitchens and tell them to prepare a dinner for two.”

Arya nods quickly, bowing her head as she mumbles a quick acknowledgment, then scurries out of the room, slipping past you without so much as a glance. You feel a twinge of relief at her quick escape, but the fear doesn’t ease fully as the guards guide you down the halls.

The walk to your chambers feels long and heavy, the walls of Harrenhal closing in around you, a sharp reminder of your captivity. As you near the chambers Tywin has commanded be made “presentable” for you, your mind races, grappling with the implications of his intentions. A marriage—his twisted idea of protection, of binding you to him, as if that could erase the past or reshape your allegiance.

The door to your chambers opens, and the servants immediately set to work, preparing clothes, linens, a bath—all of it designed to fulfill Tywin’s idea of what a “presentable” lady should be. You endure it silently, your mind still reeling from his words, the promise of a future that feels more like a cage.

And somewhere, perhaps in the very kitchens beneath you, Arya is carrying out his orders, a young wolf in disguise, dancing on the edge of discovery.

[door-insurance]

Chasemarsh sketchdump 2

Pic 1: fluff and shoulder hug

Pic 2: Kate protection squad + racially ambiguous queen Stella + the Blackwell student body + Victoria headshot

Pic 3: Courtney and Taylor being cute and stupid, Chloe and max shocked

Pic 4: max being fucking cringe

[gabiisfics]

I love seeing Lis fans crying because only the "bae" ending was not respected in Double Exposure according to them, while the Bay ending isn't much different, I really don't understand people who think that Life is Strange 1 is just about Max and Chloe, Max has so many connections with amazing secondary characters, Max used his powers because she wanted to make friends, she improves the day of the people around her even if it's just a little bit.It is literally impossible to make Max stop being friends with Warren and Kate (and we all know that the situation is very different with Victoria ) she values them very much, they and Dana were some of the people who went to Chloe's funeral probably because of Max. So how can THEY ERASE THEM FROM EXISTENCE AND MAKE ONLY VICTORIA APPEAR ON MAX'S PHONE??

[cherryclitgirl]

The Gods

Maegor x reader

*No use of y/n

Warnings: Child loss, Targaryen incest, mature content, young pregnancy.

Note: This has been sitting in my drafts since the b&c episode, sorry for some mistakes I made:)

Anyone who had a mouth would always say the gods did not favor the king. Although the four pregnancies his niece wife had been blessed with said other wise. It raised a large concern among the Maesters since the girl had been young when she bore Maegor’s first child, and within months, she was pregnant once more with his second. This happened two more times, ultimately she bore three boys and one girl, yet, the king was but satisfied. Despite obviously favoring their oldest son Aegon, Maegor wanted more children. Wanting for his legacy to carry on, he pressed his wife for one more child.

His wife refused having just given birth to their daughter, Rhaella . She had been warned by the midwife and the grand maester that she would not be able to birth another child. King Maegor however, did not take this lightly. He reminded her once more about her position. She was there to provide him with children.

Being the youngest of his wife’s, the princess was often sheltered by Ceryse Hightower. The oldest of the queens. Having seen Alys tortured and killed by Tyanna , Ceryse was more protective of the young girl. Suggesting the young girl to spend her each of the four pregnancies at Dragonstone with the queen mother Visenya. The princess agreed after all, her mother Dowager queen Alyssa and two youngest siblings were wards of queen Visenya.

Upon her return to the almost finished Redkeep, the princess was greeted by Ceryse. Aegon the oldest came running to his mother, his brother Baelon by his side. They adored their mother, more than anything, always following her around.Their youngest son Rheanor who was still a babe was brought in by his wet nurse. “They’ve missed you” Ceryse smiled to the princess, helping her take a seat on the sofa. Ceryse cradled Rhaella in her arms, a beautiful baby girl with light purple eyes and small silver curls “She’s beautiful “ Ceryse whispered more to herself than the princess. “My only girl” the young girl smiled at the tiny girl “she’s so quiet”. As Ceryse held Rhaella, the princess paid her attention to her three boys. Aegon she had when she just five and ten, Baelon came next in that very same year. Maegor believed he had defied the gods who failed to grant him a child. When she was six and ten she gave birth to Rhaenor, following his previous act, Maegor got his wife pregnant again.

“I’m afraid” The princess voice took Ceryse out of her thoughts. Ceryse looked up bewildered not entirely sure what the princess meant. She stayed silent for a moment, then spoke “Don’t be” Ceryse reassured her “Tyanna would be foolish to harm your children “. The princess shook her head “not Tyannna” she paused looking away from Aegon for a second “The gods” she said softly, placing a soft kiss on Aegon’s head.

Ceryse did not know what to say, she simply looked back at Rhaella “Tonight I’ll tell the guards to stand by your door” she told the young girl.

That night, the wind blew hard, the whistling of the air was heard like hushing voices. The rest of the royal apartments had yet to be finished and with Rhaella still being a new born babe, the princess moved her bed to a single room. Where she could be closer to her precious children.

After her sons were fast asleep, the princess turned her attention to her daughter, but as she was about to pick her up from the cradle ; two figures emerged from the shadows. The princess let out a small gasp, but before she could do anything a man grabbed her and pointed a sharp dagger to her throat. His voice raspy and deep “Stay still” he commanded, his spit getting on her frighten face.

The other figure stepped out, he wore the robes of the Faith of the seven and held a small sack in his hand. The man holding the dagger laughed, a wicked and bloody laugh “we’ve got the queen!” he sneered his sharp blade tightening deeper into her throat. The man with robes spoke with a stoic face “they asked for son”. The man with the dagger scoffed “pick one” he said nudging his head to three beds in the room. Aegon, Baelon and Rhaenor slept, unaware of the immense danger they were in.

“Please-“ the young girl begged softly, tears swelling up in her eyes. She did not want to wake up the children, but she needed to be a bit louder so the guards could hear her. “Shush” the man with the dagger hissed “we need to get at it and get out” . She tried to speak louder but the man covered her mouth muffling her sounds while he pulled her closer. The man with the robes looked at then three sleeping boys “Which one is the oldest” he spoke coldy to the young girl. “I-“ she tried to speak but no words came out her mouth. She looked at the man with her dagger who held her with a firm grip.

“I have a necklace” she spoke softly reaching for her neck “It’s of great value-“ she was cut off by the man with the dagger who he snatched the necklace right off her neck. “That’s not a son” he sneered shoving it into his pocket.

“Please” she begged her tears falling down her terrified eyes “kill me” she sobbed “not my boys” she pleaded in desperation. But her pleads were to no avail. She looked back at the door hoping for a guard to hear her, come bursting through the doors and put an end to this madness.

The man with the dagger followed her gaze and mockingly spoke “There’s no one out there”. The young girl’s heart dropped even more. The air had left her stomach, her mouth had gone dry, for a second her tears had stopped. Simply standing there in a paralyzed state, her mind had gone blanked.

“Pick the oldest” the man with the robes spoke . “Or we’ll kill them all” his harsh words snapped her out the shock, like a fish out a water she gasped and pointed at Aegon’s bed.

Her first born, her first babe. The child that had made her a mother.

“She could be lying” the man with dagger said skeptically to which the man with the robes corrected upon seeing the young girl’s expression “No” he spoke solemnly “she’s telling true.”

The man with the dagger pushed the young girl away from him “Hold him down” he said moving to Aegon. The young girl watched in horror as the man with the robes covered Aegon’s mouth “mommy-“ was the last thing she heard as they began to cut his throat.

She moved quickly, picking her baby girl from the cradle, she moved to Rhaenor’s bed pulling up to her. The sleeping child woke up confused, the room was filled with the Aegon’s muffled cries. She reached in for for Baelon but she could not carry three kids at once. She was in despair and unsure what to do, “run” she told Baelon who was still woozy from his sleep. She had a one year old in one her arm and her girl in the other. She hurried after Baelon whose small foot steps were barely heard.

The man with the dagger was right, there was no one guarding her door. She ran, catching up to Baelon making sure not to drop the children, her arms trembling and her voice soft and frighten she begged “please …. please “. Her soft rapid breathing was filled with anguish and terror. She stopped in the middle of the hall, then turned to rushing. The castle was dead silent, the only thing she could hear was the whispering of the hair.

Making her way through the unfinished halls she hurried to Maegor’s chambers. Surely he would protect her, he would understand. He could keep his three children safe from the men’s harm. “Mommy” Baelon’s tiny voice spoke trying to hold on to her. It only made the young girl more desperate, as she had no free arms left. She placed Rhaenor down close to Baelon as she ushered them forward to keep on walking.

She pushed though the doors of Maegor’s chamber to see Ceryse’s naked back on top on Maegor , her back moving on him while their moans filled the chamber. The young girl moved forward crouching down on the far end of the room.

Maegor pushed Ceryse off quickly sitting up, looking at his wife with a horrid expression Ceryse gasped “Your grace-“ she tried to speak but was cut off by Maegor who noticed his young wife pulling the two boys closer while still holding her daughter. “What’s happened “ he demanded loudly.

She didn’t say anything simply stared into the ground still clutching her children “The killed my boy” she spoke solemnly a single burning tear falling down her cheek. The child held her children closely wishing for it to be a nightmare, a nightmare her mother would soon wake her up from.

[dalekofchaos]

Post-Save Arcadia Bay headcanons

Since we never got anything detailing what happens after Max saved Arcadia Bay, not a mention in LIS 2 or a single comic on what could've happened because Square Enix refuses to give us post content for EVERY ending in LIS. Here is my personal headcanon and what a hypothetical Post-Save The Bay universe could look like.

There is a long period of grieving after the funeral. And nightmares of Jefferson.

The Blue Butterfly is a constant presence in Max's dreams

This would be the story of Max trying to move on, going through grief, Warren, Kate and the rest of Max’s friends helping Max through this sad period of her life.

Warren comes to sleep with Max to help soothe her nightmares. Sometimes her friends have sleepovers so they don't leave Max alone.

Max goes to the psychologist. She takes pictures but almost all of them are Chloe related. At the same time with her friends. There, Max learns to value her friends EVEN more and vows not to abandon them like she did with Chloe.

Max learns to listen and get to know herself more. And to be as brave as Chloe was

Much like the raven was for BTS. Max will dream of Chloe, trying to convince Max she has to let go of her guilt and move on with her life but know that she will always be in Max’s heart and also for her.

Warren would be a positive presence for Max, always there for her and a good influence during her grieving period. They’d watch movies together in their dorm rooms and just hangout. Warren’s presence soothes Max’s broken heart and this is why Max slowly falls in love with him.

Kate, Warren, Dana, Alyssa, Stella, Juliet, Daniel and even Victoria would be there for Max

With Kate, Kate is Max’s angel. Like Warren, Kate lifts Max up after the loss of Chloe. Kate would play her violin for Max, take Max to her Church groups and Kate would allow Alice to love Max up and tea dates just to brighten Max’s days up.

Max and Victoria would make peace and Victoria would help her through her grief, which would result in Max and Victoria finally becoming friends. Victoria, Taylor and Courtney would take Max out for shopping, dress Max up and Victoria would help reignite Max’s love for photography and would not let Jefferson ruin her passion. Max and Victoria together would take some killer shots. Victoria would tell Max “when you are a famous photographer, you can put your pictures in my gallery” and it was a deal, Max would focus on becoming a photographer and Victoria would become heir to the Chase Space. Max and Victoria embrace in a hug.

Max would confront Nathan in a mental institution. Upon being visited by Max, Nathan would break down in tears and tell her he did not mean to kill Chloe, hurt Kate or hurt Rachel. He didn’t want to hurt anyone and profusely apologize, but he knows he has to live with what he’s done and Max takes it upon herself to forgive Nathan and hug him. This results in a monthly visit where Max and Victoria would visit Nathan, think of this like the fanfic The Sense Of Me for Max and Nathan’s friendship.

We could also get a dream of Chloe telling Max that she loves Joyce and that she forgives her and misses her and Max would tell Joyce this and Joyce would break down in tears.

As enough time to process the grief and begin healing, Max and Warren go Ape and Max thanks Warren for being there for her during her mourning and Max tells her how much she appreciates Warren and confesses that she loves him and kisses Warren. Also Max and Warren would go on a double date with Brooke and Daniel

Time passes and Max would graduate from Blackwell with a promising career in photography on the horizon. But also an interest in photojournalism sparks Max's interest

It could close on Max, Warren, Kate, Nathan(would be after his release and after he visits Chloe’s grave and breaks down and says he’s sorry, would also make peace with Kate, Joyce and David), Victoria, Dana, Juliet, Stella, Brooke, Daniel, Alyssa, Steph, Mikey, Frank, Joyce and David at the Lighthouse. Chloe’s spirit looking on her family and Max proudly, and Chloe’s spirit finally moves on.

[deus-sema]

A problem with how the arguments in HoTD are written is that the answers are really simple, reasonable and solid and are lying around in the book ready to be used but the characters never put them to use.

"Rhaenyra wouldn't know what Velaryon blood looks like."

She would for she is descended from Valaena and Alyssa Velaryon. It would have served as a neat little exposition for those unfamiliar with the history the Targaryens and Velaryons share in the book and made Vaemond appear like an idiot.

"Why didn't Rhaenys kill the Greens?"

Because she doesn't wish to be labeled a kinslayer. As simple as that. Not because it's not her war to start or because she sympathized with Alicent.

"B&C would weaken Rhaenyra's claim and her ability to raise an army."

It wouldn't because it was retribution for the war the Greens started after they committed the first kinslaying by murdering an emissary. Again, proof lies in the book. Luke's death was not a freak accident.

"Daemon didn't let Rhaenyra consider the terms of their foes."

One of the conditions in those terms included sending Aegon the Younger and Viserys as wards to KL where they would be surrounded by the Greens. They would be hostages. It is painfully obvious.

Yet these logical points are never brought up because arguments in HoTD are driven more by whatever sentiment the writers need the characters to express at that particular moment and to steer the topic in a new direction. It is one thing to have the other party ignore these points but to not bring them up at all is lazy. Imagine if Tyrion, while defending himself before Catelyn, had not used the logic of only idiots arming assassins with their own blades but had gone off on an entirely different trajectory about how hard his life has been, how his father sucks and how it's a shame Catelyn doesn't understand him instead.