#alyssa ward

[alyssa-ward]

Heartbeat

I have been in this place since time began. I have been in this place at least one hundred seconds. I know, I counted them. I cannot know if I counted them too fast, or too slow, but I am sure it was one hundred. Seconds. I think it was seconds.

This place is a confusion. There are trees, and there is grass. There are stones. There is no sky, or at least, there are no stars. I look up. Or, I perceive up, and it is black. There are easels and paintings here. They hang from the trees. There are faces on them. Human ones. Or places. Buildings with spires. A small house. A cliffside path and a river. I do not know what they are.

Time flows. I know that it must, but I cannot feel it. I cannot remember when I arrived. I cannot remember when the paintings arrived. I am aware of a sequence of events. I counted to one hundred. That preceded this thought. There is linearity, but there is no flow.

Events happen. 

Sometimes there is a mirror. Sometimes I look in the mirror. I see a pale face. This face has freckles. This face has hazel eyes. This face has red hair. This face has freckles. It must be my face, even though when I look down, I see nothing but grass, and rocks. I am not here, but I am here, the mirror tells me who I am.

Sometimes the trees creak and groan and part, and the grass moves and a path opens. I am in a clearing, but there is another clearing. When the trees move, I see the other one, and in it sits a swirling mass of black and white light in chaotic incohesion. When the mass arrives I enter that clearing. I place my hand, I perceive the idea of playing my hand, on its surface. In those moments a voice speaks to me. It is a woman’s voice.

“Fuck of a day.” It might say. “Damn it Alyssa.” It might say. “You did good work.” It might say. And I will reply to it. I will speak in a woman’s voice. “Are you sleeping?” I will ask. “Did you drink too much again?” I will ask. “How are you holding up?” I will ask.

“I’m fine.” The woman’s voice will always say. And sometimes it might say “No, I’m not.” Sometimes the woman’s voice will talk more. Usually less.

Rarer still, nights come where the trees part only the slightest bit. I think it is night. It has the texture of night. The sky is still black. On these nights I squeeze between the trees, it feels like I have physical form. I can feel the pressure of wood against my skin. I perceive the idea of wood against my skin. And in the other clearing the swirl of black and white is thin and distant but present.

And then I hear the woman’s voice. “I love you.” It will say. “I’m so sorry.” It will say. And I will reply to it. “I love you too.” I will say. “It is alright.” I will say. And I think it brings the voice comfort. I think it brings me comfort too. And then it rains in my woods from the black starless sky. 

So events happen. Another event has happened too.

I am sure it has been recent. When the woods open, when the swirling mass of black and white arrives and I place my hand upon it. Perceive placing a hand upon it. The sky opens up. The woman’s voice speaks to me still. I speak to her in return. But there is more. In the open sky I see a map. Twisting cables of red. Blood vessels and capillaries. Nerve endings and twisting muscles. It is the inner workings of the voice. Of the person who speaks to me. I reach into the sky and pluck at nerves and blood. They move and react. “What did you just do?” The voice might ask at a time like this. “I don’t know,” I might tell it.”Something’s different,” I might say.

The woman's voice in the black and white mass of energy, I have come to realize, lives in a house of meat and blood. The woman's voice drives this like a carriage. Trapped in the house of meat and blood, she sends it signals and it carries her, and it carries me. When she touches the woods, the woods thrum. They pulse. They pulse in time with the movement of the blood in her body. 

Thump. Thump. A dagger vibrates rhythmic and strong.

I could drive a carriage. If I had a carriage to drive.

I have found some clarity. I am a person. I was a person. I could be a person.

When the clearing opens again, I will speak to the voice. And I will make a request.

“Kat,” I will say. Because I believe the name of the voice is Kat. “It has been nine years. Or nine seconds. Or nine millennia. I cannot live in these woods. Take me to the house. Take me to the body. Take me to the vessel. It must have been preserved. Cut open its chest, throne, vault. And place me within it. I will touch its blood and meat and nerves and bones, and I will drive it like a carriage. And you will not have to be sorry anymore.”

I think the voice of the woman will like that. I hope I will like that. I am ready to find out if I am the woman with a pale face. And hazel eyes. And red hair. I will drive the woman with a pale face, and hazel eyes, and red hair. I will be her heart where her heart no longer beats. I will beat for her. And I will say my name is Alyssa.

[Mention to @kat-hawke]

[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

[gabiisfield]

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.

[pigeonmidgeon]

even more life is strange characters as tumblr posts mwah ha ha😼

[xxcalicofemmexx]

arguments welcome

[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

Cailee Spaeny as Max Caulfield

Sophie Thatcher as Chloe Price

Sydney Sweeney as Rachel Amber

Elle Fanning as Kate Marsh

Anthony Turpel 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

[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.

[raven-dor]

you took my breath away

in which gwayne hightower reunites with his wife at the battle of rook’s rest

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x SISTER!reader

WARNINGS: angst, typical HOTD violence, kissing, arguing, VV FLUFFY ENDING

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

🎶 : Fallingforyou - The 1975

AN: the children’s names are ALYSSA + GAEMON!! heavily inspired by a comment on my masterlist!! saw it and absolutely ran with it, hope you guys enjoy!!

“Alyssa, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you may wake up and ride Morning.” 

The young girl smiled, burying herself into her blankets. “Do you promise, Mother?” 

“I promise.” Her voice broke as she spoke, smiling quickly. “Now go to sleep.” 

“Is that a new riding dress?” Alyssa’s eyes lulled shut as she spoke. 

“It is..” She laughed, kissing Alyssa’s forehead gently. “Try and get some rest.” 

“I love you, Mother.” 

“I love you, my darling.” 

The woman stood up, tucking her daughter in before walking out of the room, smiling at the maid that passed by. “Please see to it that the children have their favorite breakfast made.” 

The maid nodded. “Of course, my lady. Is that all?” 

“Yes, thank you.” She waited until the girl rounded the corner to start running. She hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone or make any of her servants think that she’d left her husband.

Not that the corridors she walked down were populated. It had been hours since dusk, the last servant she’d seen had been by her children’s rooms. 

After living in Oldtown for longer than she cared to admit, she knew this tower like the back of her hand. In the early years of her marriage, she admitted that her knowledge of the castle was lacking, which is when she discovered that her husband had made a servant help her find her way, worried she would get lost. 

He was always so thoughtful. 

So thoughtful, she knew it was only a matter of time before he realized she’d spent too long putting the children to sleep, and he would leave their shared chambers with the sole purpose of finding her. She picked up the pace, pushing the side door open that led to the dragon pit. Not many knew of its location as it was out of sight of the fortress. Only the Hightower family and its few dragon keepers knew where it stood. 

It wasn’t large by any means, but Gwayne had built it for her. When they’d taken Daeron to ward, and Alyssa had claimed her dragon, he’d had the best dragon pit lords brought in to aid with the addition process. It was nothing compared to the dragon pit she’d grown up with, but it was large enough to house the three Hightower dragons, and it was perfect to her. 

She had been beyond proud when her daughter claimed her dragon, Morning, at her last family visit to King’s Landing. Alyssa had only been eight, the second youngest dragon rider after her Aunt Rhaenyra. Alyssa’s grandfather had been even prouder, hosting a celebration feast in her honor, much to the Alicent’s dismay. A deep groan echoed through the pit, Silverwing’s snout peaking from her cave. Y/N’s hand fell to her stomach, caressing it gently, before approaching her dragon. “Lyka, ñuha prūmia.” (Quiet, my heart.)

Climbing the saddle, she wrapped her arm with the reigns like she had a hundred times before. She leaned forward, laying her cheek against the dragon’s scales, humming lightly. “Īlon're jāre lenton, Silverwing.” (We're going home, Silverwing.)

Silverwing practically purred, stretching her wings beneath the light of the moon. 

“My love.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, straightening her spine, her husband’s deep blue eyes meeting hers. Silverwing purred yet again; she had loved him husband since the day you had. 

“Gwayne.” Y/N’s tone was cold, colder than it had ever been while addressing him. 

“I heard you telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” His voice was wavering as if he was forcing himself to remain calm, but she could tell he was itching to tell her to stay. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this.” She looked down at the reigns. “The children will be fine.”

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” His calm facade had faded, he sounded tired, and ragged with grief. Her heart ached to hold him: he had told her the stories of his mother, how she’d left him so young. While she did not want the same for their children, she had to help her sister. “Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

“Have you truly been so miserable? My heart lies with you, as it always has. I cannot stand that usurper king either, and yet I continue on. For your sake, for our children’s sake. You know he would not hesitate to kill us all.” 

“So you cower? You cower when Rhaenyra needs you most? When I need you most?” She tightened her pull, preparing to flee. He had always been her weakness, and she could not back out. Not this time. “You are not the man I thought you were.” 

“How-” He stumbled backward as if she had stabbed him in the heart. “I have loved you with every bit of my being-” 

“And it is not enough!” She yelled, an uncomfortable silence falling over them. 

His voice was quiet, a mere whisper that was only carried by the night’s breeze. “Then I am sorry I have let you down.” 

“Tell the children I love them.” Gwayne watched as his wife flew away, his hair flying out of his face from the force of her dragon’s wings. That had not hurt him, not sent him into shock or despair. The pain of knowing that she’d left them rang through him, and he turned away, stalking back toward the castle a broken man.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, my darling.”  

Her mother was elegant, standing quickly before gently tucking her in before leaving the room. Alyssa waited until she heard her footsteps turn into nothing before rolling out of bed. She ran to her wardrobe, pulling on her flying robes with ease. Alyssa had known, as hard as her mother had tried to hide it, that she was leaving. 

The Lady Hightower was a proud woman. Of course, she was. Born a Targaryen, she had every right to be proud, everyone always said that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. Alyssa liked to think she was more Targaryen than Hightower. She loved her father, but she felt alive when she flew her dragon.

When she sat in the sept like her Aunt Alicent taught her, she felt as if she could fall asleep. 

Opening her door as quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the hallway, following the path to the dragon pit. She’d almost reached the door that led outside when her brother’s voice called after her. “Lyssa? What are you doing?” 

She sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance. “Gaemon, go to bed.” 

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.” 

She turned around, hissing. “I’m following Mother.” 

His eyes grew teary. By the gods, he was tiresome. “Is she leaving us?” 

Alyssa clenched her fists. “She doesn’t want to leave us, she wants to help her sister.” 

“Aunt Helaena?” 

Her brother needed to visit the library. “Aunt Rhaenyra. The true-born Queen.” She felt proud when she said it, but Gaemon only looked lost. “Swear you won’t tell Father I’ve gone.” 

He nodded. “I won’t tell because I am coming with you.” He puffed his chest. “I want to help.” 

She laughed. “You? With what dragon?” 

“I can claim one, just like you did.” His bottom lip jutted out, and she fought the urge to groan. 

“Fine, fine. Just promise you will stay quiet.” 

She’d always loved Oldtown at night. It was quiet, peaceful compared to how busy it was during the day. Her favorite time to fly was late, long past dusk when no one could see her or judge her for her choice of clothing. 

“My love.” 

Alyssa’s heart stopped. There stood their father, confronting their mother. Gaemon whined. “I hate it when they fight.” 

“They have not even begun to fight, Gaemon.” 

“That is why I hate it.” He squeezed her hand. “It is starting.” 

“I heard you, telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” Their father continued. Alyssa’s eyes welled, she hated seeing her father so upset. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this. The children will be fine.” 

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” Their father’s voice sounded upset, angry with their mother for leaving. Alyssa could feel Gaemon pulling away. 

“Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

As much as she wanted to listen to her parents, Gaemon was young and fragile, hearing this talk would only upset him further. She grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the dragon pit. “Come, Gaemon. There is a tunnel that leads to Morning’s cave.”

“But Mother-” 

“We will see Mother soon.” 

“And Papa?” 

Her heart twisted, pretending she had not heard him. “Morning has missed you. If you behave, I will let you feed her first.” 

Dragonstone was so beautiful in the early morning, the way the sun hit the sea just so. Not long ago, she had accompanied her sister to retrieve their brother’s egg. She had even brought Gwayne mere weeks after their courtship had begun. No one inhabited Dragonstone then, and they had fully taken advantage of the fact. 

Her cheeks grew red thinking of it, that this had been the first place they’d kissed. 

Now her sister resided in their ancestral home. 

She knew that the Queen’s council would be wary of her arrival. Being the Lady Hightower, many expected her to be loyal to the new King. The lords who advised her sister had forgotten that she was a Targaryen, a Princess of royal birth, the youngest daughter of their beloved King Viserys and Queen Aemma. While she loved her husband deeply, she remained loyal to her sister, as she always had been. 

Silverwing dove, landing gracefully on the clearing adjacent to Dragonstone. Sliding off her saddle, Y/N laid her forehead against Silverwing’s cheek, whispering her thanks before approaching the soldiers that stood guard.

“Who goes there?” 

“Princess Y/N Targaryen. The Lady of Oldtown.” The guards looked at each other suspiciously. She couldn’t blame them, the Hightowers were the entire reason this war had started. She sighed. “I am the Queen’s sister.” 

“Aunt.” Her niece emerged from the shadows, dismissing the two men. “How wonderful you could join us.” 

“I sense you are less than happy to see me.” She walked past her, straight into the castle. “That will change.” The castle was dark, the candles doing little to illuminate its halls. 

“You are mistaken.” Baela laughed. “I fear we need your help now more than ever.” 

“Oh?” She frowned. “What has happened?” 

“The small council,” Baela whispered, the servants in front of them pushing the great doors open, their ancestor’s Painted Table coming into view. “They grow tired laying in wait.” 

“I see.” She allowed a faint smile to grace her face, showing her niece she had no ill will. “Then I am glad to be of help.” 

“Y/N?” 

Her eyes welled, her arms widening as her nephew ran to her. “Jaceaerys.” She hugged him tightly. “You are a man-grown.”

“I am glad you are here-” 

“My Prince.” Sir Erryk interrupted. “Another dragon has landed.” 

“Another?” Jaceaerys looked near murderous. Y/N could not blame him, her half-brothers were erratic, never stopping to think about what their actions might do to others. However, Aegon was not stupid enough to show up alone, and Aemond was too proud to let Aegon confront their sister. 

“Allow me to accompany you.” Y/N hooked her arm through her nephews. “I should like to see my dear little brother again.” 

Jaceaerys laughed. “I will enjoy you humbling my mother’s council.”

The sun had fully risen by the time they left the castle. The dragon was far back, far enough so that they could not make out the face of its rider. Even from a distance, both could tell that it was neither Vhagar nor Sunfyre. It was not small by any means, but its build was quainter than that of Vhagar or Sunfyre’s. Not to mention, its scales were pink, a color neither of the older dragons possessed. “Whose-” Y/N’s blood went cold. The only pink dragon she could name was- 

Jaceaerys looked over, tilting his head. “Is everything alright, Aunt?” 

“That dragon is my-”

“Mother!” 

“Mama!” 

She raced down the path, grabbing her children and holding them close, inspecting them for injuries. Jace just laughed, a hand covering his mouth. “Baela will enjoy this.”  

The council, as her niece had said, was power-hungry by nature. With her sister absent, they seemed to pounce at the chance to silence Jaceaerys and her aunt. She turned away from the fire, setting her hands on the table as she brazenly interrupted. “I must say, Ser Broome, you are quite comfortable interrupting the heir to the Iron Throne.” The older man sat back in his chair, silent. “Have you recently come into a title that allows you to do so?” 

He shook his head. “No, Princess.” 

“Then I suggest, in the future, you hold your tongue.” Her smile was curt, looking back to her nephew.  “As you were saying, My Prince.”

“We must send a dragon.” 

“Where?” The council stood, bowing their heads as Rhaenyra walked into the room. 

“Sister.” 

Rhaenyra’s once sullen face grew joyous as Y/N approached her. “How long have you been here?” 

“I arrived only yesterday.” Y/N leaned forward, whispering. “Where have you-” 

Jaceaerys cleared his throat. “To support the war your vassals have been fighting in your absence… Your Grace.” 

Rhaenys interjected. “Cole’s host has grown since riding abroad. He raised the levies of both Rosby and Stokeworth and with their combined strength sacked Duskendale.” 

Ser Darklyn stepped forward. “Duskendale?” 

“The city has fallen. Many Darklyn men declared for Aegon. Those who refused were put to the sword.” 

“What of my father?” 

“He kept his oath. Cole took his head for it.”

“Where have you been, these last days?” Y/N could tell her nephew was getting tired of his mother’s antics, eager to prove himself to her as they both had been with their father. “You vanished without so much as a word.” 

“Well I apologize for my absence and the secrecy, but such was necessary. I went to King’s Landing.” 

“To what possible end?” 

“To meet Queen Alicent and sue for peace.” 

“You saw Alicent?” 

“I did.” 

Y/N did not know whether to laugh or to stop her nephew.

“You could have been taken or slain!” 

“I inherited eighty years of peace from my father. Before I was to end it, I needed to know there was no other path. And now I do.” 

Y/N smiled, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “He would be proud, I know it.” 

Rhaenyra looked melancholy at best. “Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die.” 

“Cole’s victories have only emboldened him. He marches on Rook’s Rest.” 

“His host was just hours away when Lord Staunton’s ravens took wing.” 

“Why Rook’s Rest? After Duskendale? It is but a small coastal keep.” 

Y/N nodded. “A small coastal keep that is mere leagues from Dragonstone.” 

“Lord Staunton is a member of this council. His castle is small and vulnerable and there for the taking. Cole knows that we have no army on the mainland.” 

“He is brazen.” 

“He is daring us to act.” 

“We need to send a dragon.” Jace once again insisted.

“There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. I will go.” 

“You cannot.” Jace looked tired. 

“I will not lose dragons to the war whilst I hide here in my castle.” 

“Our ally raise their banners for you, Mother. If you die, all is lost.” Jaceaerys puffed his chest. “Send me.” 

“No.” Rhaneyra laughed. Y/N laughed as well, but it had been for a different reason. It had not been long ago when Rhaenyra herself had drove her father mad, now her son did the same. 

“I will burn Cole’s lines and withdraw before King’s Landing could even raise the-” 

“You lack the experience.” 

“Then send me, sister.” Y/N interrupted. “They will be caught off guard by the Lady Hightower attacking. I am sure of it.” 

Rhaenys nodded. “Send me as well, Your Grace. Meleys is your second-largest dragon and no stranger to battle. I will meet Cole.” 

“Mother-” Alyssa whispered, pulling on her sleeve. “Please do not-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N hissed. “What did I say?” 

“Do not interrupt,” Alyssa whined. “But Father-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N knelt, holding her daughter’s hands in hers. “You must know I would never harm your father. Trust me, everything will be fine.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Swear to me you shall stay here and look after your brother.” 

“I swear.” The young girl smiled, her eyes watering. “I swear, Mother.” 

The soldiers cowered in fear at the sight of Meleys and Silverwing flying above them. They began to scream in terror as they both rained fire on them. Y/N pat her dragon’s back, tightening her harness. “Sȳz, ñuha riña.” (Good, my girl.) Her eyes flickered to the tree line, her blood curdling when she saw her husband’s armor glimmering in the mid-day sun. Her heart beat faster as she watched her Aunt fly straight toward Aegon. 

Sunfyre had always had a sweet disposition, and it broke Y/N to know that by the end of this battle, the dragon would not be with them. It had not, however, broken her to think of her half-brother’s death. 

A deep roar echoed through the air, the hairs on her neck raising instantly. Vhagar’s head broke the clearing, heading straight for the pair of wrestling dragons. Y/N pulled the reigns, racing toward the older dragon before it could attack Meleys. “Dracarys, Silverwing, Dracarys!” A great stream of fire left her mouth, hitting Vhagar’s side. The older dragon let out a pained cry, erratically flapping her wing, desperately trying to rid herself of the pain. 

Y/N flinched, gasping as she helplessly watched the wing smack Silverwing, knocking the younger dragon out in a single moment. “Silverwing, daor! Wake bē riña, wake bē!” (Silverwing, no! Wake up girl, wake up!) 

Silverwing began to plummet, straight into the forest. She screamed, cried, anything to wake her dragon before they both met their deaths. “Sōvegon! gaomagon mirros, uēpa riña!” (Fly! Do anything, old girl!) The dragon remained gone to the world. Y/N sobbed, slapping her hands on her dragon’s side. “Wake bē!” (Wake up!) 

Silverwing’s eyes cracked open, frantically slapping her wings, fear evident in her movements. Y/N cried, reassuring her. “Mirre kessa sagon sȳrī, Silverwing. Mirre kessa-” (All will be well, Silverwing. All will-) 

Gwayne could only watch in horror at the battle that played out before him. Even during his days as a mere foot soldier, they had been civilized and honorable. There was no honor in this fight, in this war, in the men leading it. Criston Cole, who treated his soldiers with disdain, also treated his new position as Lord Hand with equal care. Now here the Dornish man stood, ordering Gwayne around as if he was just a mere foot soldier once more. Not to mention, his wife left him and had planned to leave without so much as a letter. He would have thought after their many years of blissful union, she would have thought to tell him of her plan. That had hurt more than her departure. 

In the end, he was not shocked she had gone. His wife was loyal, and he could not blame her for her actions. He would have done the same for his own sister. 

When the servants had told him his children had also left, he had truly become a wreck. He had been sitting at his place at their dining table when they’d told him. Their favorites had been already placed on their plates, now cold, while he sobbed in the dining hall. And there he stood, feeling just as empty, when he saw his wife’s dragon emerge from the clouds. 

By the gods. 

He swore then not only to his family but to himself, that he would be with her again, with his children again, even if that meant betraying his family. Not that his sister’s children or his own father had acted as a true family in the first place. Family was a system of connections to them, to the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. He and his wife, the woman that she was, had together made it much more. 

She was, in his eyes, perfection itself. 

He remembered, not long ago, she had convinced him to fly to Dragonstone. When they had been there, laying on the lawn in front, she’d told him what she wanted for the future. She swore to him, mere weeks into their courtship, that if they married, their children would be good, instead of the spoiled nobility they’d come to know, spreading greed and hurt. 

That had made him surge forward, kissing her soundly. 

He kissed her as often as he could after that moment. That moment, that promise, had been what made him ask the King for her hand in marriage days later. 

She was too good for this world, a world that was constantly fighting. And her family, he told himself, she was too good for them too. 

The same went for his children. 

And now, as he watched his wife’s dragon fall from the sky, one thing raced through his mind. He needed her like the very air that filled his lungs. He left his men without a second thought, racing across the battlefield, his only goal to reach her. 

“Y/N” A voice rang through the clearing Silverwing had created. “Y/N?” 

She groaned, her ears ringing. Her entire body ached from the impact, her head felt pulsing as she rolled over. “Who-” Everything came rushing back, the battle, her aunt, Silverwing falling. Forcing herself up, she reached down, grabbing her dagger from her leg holster. “Whoever you are, think twice before-” 

“Y/N!” Gwayne jumped off his horse, running toward her. “I saw you falling, and I-” 

“Get back.” She glared. “I do not need your assistance.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You just fell from-” His arms flailed toward the sky. “I thought you were dead!” 

“I am sure you would have been thrilled.” She turned her back, scanning the woods for any sign of Silverwing. She loosened her harness while she was falling, scared that Silverwing would crush her, would crush- 

“I feel sorry for you.” 

“You feel sorry for- Ah!” Her stomach twisted, and she winced, caressing it lightly. “It’s alright, darling.” 

Gwayne’s voice was a mere whisper, so close that his breath grazed her neck. “What did you say?” 

“I said-” She whipped around, glaring. “You-” 

“Are you-” He looked hopeful, excited even.

“Gwayne, do me the courtesy of not revealing my location to your precious Lord Hand.” 

“Do you truly think so little of me?” He sounded desperate. “I love you, I have for as long as I have known you, and it-” He grabbed her hand, laying it over his heart. “I have only lived for you and for our children, you must know that?” 

She ripped her hand from his hold, her eyes tearing up. “I apologize for assuming otherwise. I should have told you, but I did not, and you cannot fault me for that!” 

“I am not faulting you! I have not held it against you, even when our children flew after you! I knew in my heart, that you were right, that you were doing what your heart led you to do. It is one of your best qualities, the very thing that drew me to you in the first place.” His eyes were tearing up as well. “You- you make me-” 

“What?” She yelled. “What exactly do I make you? Angry, upset, murderous?” 

“Crazed!” He yelled back, walking up to her and grabbing her face with his hands. “I love you, desperately!” 

Tears fell from her eyes faster than ever, she could not tell what exactly had caused it. It could be the exhaustion, or the adrenaline hitting her all at once. Or perhaps it was because when her eyes met his, she felt as if she was a young girl again, being wooed by the handsome knight. “Gwayne…” She grasped his hand tightly. “Come with me. Leave this all behind. I know the loss of your seat in the Lord’s Council will hurt, but you’ve never loved the pressure it brings you. Our children…” She smiled. “Will be happy around their family, around the very people who will never judge them. My love-” She took a deep breath, her eyes full of desperation. “I need you.” 

His arm wrapped around her waist. “I-” 

“If you do not wish to come with me, just say it.” Her eyes were red by now, there was no doubt. “Perhaps we should go our seper-” 

“I will do anything you ask of me. Anything.” 

“Then come with me.” She pleaded. “Come wit-” 

Gwayne collided his lips against hers, pulling her closer than she’d ever thought possible. Her heart began to pound, harder than it ever had during a kiss, and the next thing she knew, the world was going dark, a dragon’s snout nudging her side before everything went black.

Bright orange light shone through the curtains, a warm breeze dancing through the room. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her heart beaming at the sight in front of her. She groaned, pushing herself to sit up in her bed. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “My darlings.”

“Mother!” Alyssa all but jumped out of her chair. Gaemon, her perfect boy, was peacefully asleep in the seat beside her, his little fingers reaching out for hers. Her eyes watered, grabbing his hand gently. 

Gwayne was pacing on the terrace, his auburn hair glowing in the sun. He looked like an angel, a worried angel indeed. 

Alyssa hugged her mother tightly, her face buried in her neck. “You’re awake!” 

She nodded, grinning. “Alyssa, will you please take your brother on a tour of the castle?” 

“But-” Y/N raised an eyebrow, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.” Alyssa groaned,  walking around the bed and impatiently tapping her brother’s shoulder. “Gaemon, wake up.” 

“But what if Mother-” He rubbed his eyes, jumping onto Y/N without a second thought. “Mama!” 

“My boy.” She kissed his temple delicately. “Run along with your sister. I will be here when you return, I swear it.” 

She waited until they’d left the room to stand. Walking across the cold stone floor, she stood at the threshold of the balcony, leaning her head against the archway. “Gwayne, there’s something I must tell you.” He made no effort to face her, her stomach curling. “It’s rather delicate…” 

“I know.” He stopped, staring at her, his eyes wide. “I know.” 

“How?”

“The maester.” He stepped forward, his voice steady as he gestured toward her stomach. “May I?” 

She nodded, words refusing to leave her. He knew. During the fall, she wasn’t sure the babe would survive, but with the nauseous feeling in her stomach, there was no longer a doubt. He knelt, leaning his head gently against her. “Hello, little one.” Y/N’s eyes began to water. “You are quite the brave one, going into battle with your mother so young. When you leave her womb, we shall exchange battle stories.” 

She laughed, a tear falling down her cheek. “Please, do not be upset with me.” 

He looked up, tears falling down his cheeks. “Upset? My love, another child with you is never a reason to be upset.” He stood, leaning his forehead against hers. “I am a truly blessed man. To be your husband is the closest a man can be to the heavens themselves.”

She smiled, kissing his lips gently, her heart almost breaking all over again as she pushed him toward the door. “You must leave before my sister knows you are here.” 

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her. “My darling girl, how do you believe you got here? I carried you into this room myself.” 

“So-” Her lips tickled against his as she spoke. “My sister-” 

“I pledged my support to her as soon as I knew you would survive. I am a man of my word.” He leaned down, pulling his lips to hers. “I will never leave you.” 

Y/N smiled into his kiss. “I love you.” He grinned, spinning her around. She laughed, smacking his arm playfully. “Gwayne, put me down. The babe-” 

“The babe?” The couple looked over, smiling at their children. Alyssa stepped forward. “What babe?” 

“I-” Y/N hid her face in her husband’s neck. “I’m embarrassed.”  

Gwayne laughed, shaking his head as he addressed their children. “Your mother is with child.” 

Alyssa groaned, even as she smiled widely. “Again, Mother?” 

Gaemon’s head fell to the side. “What does with child mean, Father?”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

[novaursa]

Legacy

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

- Pairing: 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.

[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"

[door-insurance]

Chasemarsh - argument/fight

ft/ the whole school

what happened is; victoria got a rejection letter and told kate about it- kate tells max and chloe by accident and vics insecurity blows up starts insulting max and kate wasn't there for it which triggers victoria even more (shes already in a vulnerable place emotionally)

things are awkward in class

alyssa and stella waiting for kate to catch up but shes staring at vics door

taylor and courtney try to be there for vic as she tries to apologize to kate but she cant bring herself to even knock on the door

thankfully Rachel Amber, part-time model part-time marriage counselor helps them along and they finally get back together

lets be honest victoria has more to apologize for

they hug and max is there cause i like including her in things

as you can see i got really tired at the end and i couldn't bring myself to draw anymore so I used a place holder for Rachel-

If you know you know

[gabiisfield]

It's unbelievable how Bae Over Bay fans came out on top once again, they have everything for themselves, the picture in lis 2, the comic series. I didn't save a city because I hate Chloe, I cry every time for her, but I saved Arcadia Bay for the characters there. For you it may mean nothing since it seems like you only get to see Chloe. But Kate, Warren, Alyssa, Dana... They are incredible and deserve so much more. Kate deserves more than being a background to her suicide in Steph's story in Forget Me Not (she's another character who gets too much attention while the others are neglected) Warren deserves more than being remembered only as someone who sent a lot of messages to Max. We could have had their conversations in the new game, but they used the excuse that Max wanted to leave Arcadia Bay behind but of course she keeps messages with Joyce/Chloe and Victoria. Another example of this are the comics where half of it is fan service for amberprice, I love Rachel but Max should definitely care about her friends more than a girl she's never met, at least Warren appears briefly there unlike Kate.

[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.

[juliaswickcrs]

HOUSE BLACKWOOD :: THE DANCE OF DRAGONS ( insp )

The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended from the First Men who ruled the Wolfswood in the North before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark. House Blackwood is home to many greenseers, skinchangers, and woodswitches, with origins believed to date back to the Warg King and his alliance with the Children of the Forest.

Lord Samwell Blackwood became the Lord of Raventree Hall after the death of his father at the hands of Ser Jonnel Bracken. He avenged his father's death in the Year of the Red Spring, igniting the conflict between both houses once more. He was a shrewd and honorable man who refused to stand by when it came to injustice and was believed to have more north than Riverlands in him. A cunning military strategist, he was the mind behind the Battle of the Burning Mill, which saw the first blood drawn in the Dance. Lady Jocelyn Blackwood nee Stark is the only daughter of Bennard Stark of Winterfell and his second wife Lady Alyssa Strong of Harrenhal. She was sent to ward with her grandfather where she was courted by Samwell Blackwood. She is known as the Witch Wolf, a moniker mocking her relationship with her cousin, Alys Rivers. She was often in contact with her cousin and half-brothers in Winterfell, and convinced them to send men on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra. Cassana Blackwood is the eldest child and daughter of Lord and Lady Blackwood. An unusual and lonely child, her mother sent her to ward in King's Landing with House Strong, where she became fast friends with Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen. She was called home after the Bracken-Blackwood feud ignited again and was staying at Harrenhal when the fire broke out. Miraculously, she survived. She later studied healing and medicine under her mother and the Maester of Raventree Hall. Benjicot Blackwood is the eldest son and second child of Lord and Lady Blackwood. He spent the first three years of his life abed with a sickness none could cure. His lady mother prayed to the Old Gods at the dead weirwood every night for his health as the ravens gathered. When it did, he was left with a large splotch of red on his back and up towards his neck. Some say he fought with an insatiable bloodlust--a touch of the Old Gods within him--and gave him the name "Bloody Ben." Lady Alysanne Blackwood was known as "Black Aly" and is the younger sister of Samwell and Willem Blackwood. As fierce as any man, she was fearless and bawdy and the best archer aside from her bastard half-brother Robb Rivers. She was rumored to be fond of Lady Sabitha Frey, but married Cregan Stark by the end of the Dance. Alysanne was said to have a mind as sharp as her tongue, and often made political decisions for the House when her kin could not. She is credited with the temporary ending of the Bracken-Blackwood feud by marrying her nephew Benjicot to the Lady Catelyn Bracken. Ser Willem Blackwood is the younger brother of Samwell Blackwood and is the only member of House Blackwood in recent memory to follow the Faith of the Seven. He has often been quoted as the Black Sheep of the family due to his preference for his mother's Andal traditions. Later in life, he became known for eschewing honor in order to achieve victory, although this is widely believed to be slander as it came from Amos Bracken. He attempted to win the hand of Princess Rhaenyra and slew Jerrel Bracken, Ser Jonnel's eldest son, in a duel for her hand. Robb Rivers is the elder half-brother of Samwell, Alysanne, and Willem and the uncle of Cassana and Benjicot. He was known as "the Bowman of Raventree" due to his skill with a weirwood bow and "Red Robb Rivers" due to his bright red hair, which contrasted against his sibling's black locks. In contrast to the Blackwood sigil, Robb bore a white tree on a red escutcheon blazoned with a flock of white ravens on black. His mother was believed to be a stable hand at Raventree, although this has never been confirmed.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @stelstellakidd

HOTD TAGLIST: @misskatiewrites (wanna be added? Lmk!)

[xxcalicofemmexx]

happy aromantic spectrum awareness week! have some aromantic ladies of life is strange! <2

~free to use, credit nice but not necessary~