#and the illustrious Uncle

[nancycramps]

i watched all of wednesday in like 12 hrs. it was really good and jenna ortega is too cute for life. i hope there’s a second season

[slavicdelight]

The High Tower and the Dragon's Heir

Pairing: Alicent Hightower x male!Targ!reader

Summary: Lady Alicent Hightower was the closest friend of Princess Rhaenyra, yet she couldn't help but fall for her older brother, Y/N.

Warnings: none, following canon divergence

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Alicent Hightower gracefully strolled the corridors of the illustrious Red Keep, her morning lessons with her inseparable companion, Princess Rhaenyra, having just concluded. The echoes of footsteps accompanied her every stride as she made her way towards the luncheon appointment with her father, Ser Otto Hightower, the King's Hand. The castle bursted with vibrant activity—servants hurriedly carried out their duties, knights stood in vigilant postures, and nobles engaged in animated conversations, exchanging the latest court gossip.

As she ascended a majestic staircase, the voice of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Westerling, reached her ears. With a soft smile, Alicent reciprocated the courteous greeting. The anticipation of her father's chambers lingered in the air as she approached, each step echoing with the weight of her familial responsibilities.

However, the routine of her morning took an unexpected turn when, just before she reached the sanctum of her father, a sudden force collided with her, threatening to send her sprawling. A gasp escaped her lips, but before the cold stone floor could meet her, strong and reassuring hands prevented her from falling. These hands belonged to none other than Y/N Targaryen, the eldest son of the reigning monarch, King Viserys.

In that fleeting moment of unexpected encounter, the bustling ambiance of the Red Keep faded into the background. Alicent found herself lost in his gaze. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, and as Y/N steadied her with an effortless strength, Alicent's heart quickened, realizing that even in the most predictable corridors, destiny had an uncanny way of intertwining lives in an unexpected matter.

"Oh my, Lady Alicent. I'm so sorry; I didn't notice you," the young Prince expressed with a charming smile, nearly as enchanting as the prince himself. His gaze held a hypnotic quality that left Alicent momentarily flustered. Deep down, she possessed an immense fondness for him, but the fear of rejection and the potential repercussions from his younger sister stopped her from ever expressing them.

"No, my Prince. It was I who should've been more careful," Alicent nervously replied, her voice betraying a subtle hint of admiration. The unspoken tension between them lingered in the air. Her father's disapproval of the prince added a layer of complexity to the situation. Otto Hightower believed him to be the same as his uncle, Prince Daemon, hence the mutual hostility.

"Were you heading to your father, perhaps?" the prince inquired, his curiosity evident. Alicent hesitated, aware of the strained relationship between her father, Ser Otto Hightower, and the prince. Otto's opinions about Y/N's fitness for becoming king often clashed with the prince's aspirations.

"Yes, my prince," Alicent replied cautiously, choosing her words with care. The prince graciously took a step back, allowing her to continue her journey towards her father's chambers.

"Then do not let me stop you," he said with a small, understanding smile, his gaze lingering for a moment before gracefully descending the stairs, resuming his own path through the corridors of the Red Keep. That brief encounter, had left Lady Alicent soft in her knees.

Entering the Hand's chambers, Alicent immediately noticed her father seated at the table, a large variety of dishes laid out. She greeted him respectfully and took her place on the opposite side. "Alicent," he acknowledged with a nod, his eyes shining with a mix of sternness and affection. "How was your morning?" he inquired, motioning her to being eating.

"It was fine. I studied with the Princess the whole morning after breaking fast with her and Queen Aemma," Alicent replied, offering a light summary of her activities. The mention of encountering Prince Y/N on her way to her father's chambers prompted a subtle change in his demeanor. His brow lifted, and a stern look accompanied his response. "Prince Y/N is not a good influence. I advise you to avoid him," he coldly said, his voice carrying a weight of disapproval as Alicent cast her gaze downward. "Very well, father," she agreed, and the remainder of their lunch unfolded in a heavy silence.

As Alicent's thoughts drifted back to the violet-eyed prince, she couldn't comprehend her father's disdain for him. In her eyes, he was gallant and the epitome of a perfect prince. The unspoken tension between father and daughter lingered, leaving Alicent with a sense of conflict between her loyalty to her father and a growing curiosity about Y/N.

A fortnight later, the joyous occasion of a tournament took place in order to celebrate the King's anticipated new heir gripped the Red Keep. Nobles from far and wide were invited, marking the event as a grand affair. Queen Aemma, began her labours early in the morning, enduring the suffering alone, as King Viserys presided over the jousting festivities. Prince Daemon, displaying exceptional skills, unseated Alicent's brother Gwayne from his horse.

Victorious, the Prince then diverted his attention towards the stands where Alicent sat. With a charming smile, he asked for her favor, stating, "Lady Alicent, I'm sure your favor would ensure my victory today." Casting a fleeting glance at her father, Alicent handed Daemon her favor. Unbeknownst to her, a certain prince of the crown observed the exchange with a glare and a clenched jaw.

The joy of the tournament swiftly gave way to a somber hush when a messenger arrived bearing the tragic news of Queen Aemma's death. The atmosphere within the Red Keep became grim, mournful mood reigned for weeks. The funeral, held on a distant hill, marked a solemn occasion where the lifeless forms of the Queen and the young Prince lay upon the pyre, awaiting the embrace of dragonfire from Syrax and Shadowspine, the loyal companions of the Queen's surviving children.

Following the ceremony, Alicent found herself once again in her father's chambers, the weight of grief hanging heavily in the air. "How is Rhaenyra?" her father inquired, slight concern etched across his face. Alicent, her fingers idly picking at her fingers, replied, "She just lost her mother." The sorrow that lingered in her words mirrored the collective grief that shrouded the entire Keep.

Not being one to hide his ambitions, her father suggested, "Perhaps you would like to offer the King some comfort. Losing a wife is a terrible thing. He would surely rejoice in a visit." Alicent reluctantly agreed to undertake this solemn task, driven by her desire to please her father. As she turned to leave, she overheard her father's additional instruction, his voice low and laden with subtle implication—indicating that she should dress herself in one of her late mother's gowns.

Rather than heading to the King's chambers as initially intended, Alicent found herself standing before the doors that guarded Prince Y/N's residence. A guard announced her presence, and she entered, greeted by a scene of disarray. The room resembled the aftermath of a storm—furniture upended, decorations scattered in chaotic way. Amidst the disorder, she discovered her prince, seated on the floor, his back against the bed stand, his once-silky hair now tangled, and his eyes holding a haunted look. The scent of alcohol lingered in the air.

Taking a seat beside the prince, Alicent met his gaze, prompting him to question her presence with a strained voice, revealing the results of earlier screams. "I came here to see how you're holding up, my Prince," she replied calmly, her eyes scanning the wreckage around them. He only scoffed in response.

Drawing on her own experiences, Alicent shared, "When my own mother died, people looked at me with pity. I didn't want it. All I wanted was to hear they were sorry." Her empathetic words hung in the air, and she continued, "I'm so sorry for your loss, my Prince," concluding her condolences with a soft look, her eyes reflecting genuine compassion. Y/N stared at her in silence, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, as he began to unveil the weight of his heartache.

"My father's quest for a second son is to blame for this tragedy. He never considered me worthy of the throne," he confessed, his voice full of bitterness and sorrow. "He wished for another son, a better son. One he could put on the throne after himself. I was never enough. Rhaenyra wasn't enough. He killed my mother for a new heir. And now, my brother is also dead," he uttered.

Alicent's heart ached for him, the immensity of his suffering echoing through the confessions. Despite already bearing the responsibilities of being the Heir, this added layer of tragedy made the burden almost unbearable. In her earnest attempt to offer solace, she stood by both Y/N and Princess Rhaenyra, a pillar of support during these dark times.

As Y/N was officially declared Heir before the realm, Alicent stood steadfastly by his side, witnessing the unfolding of destiny. She remained present during the uncomfortable prospect of their father's remarriage, understanding the siblings hesitation. The more time they spent together, the threads of friendship between Alicent and Y/N began to intertwine with the delicate threads of love.

When the time came for the Prince to choose a wife, he declared his intent to marry Lady Alicent, much to Rhaenyra's dismay. While Viserys rejoiced in the prospect, Otto, though reluctantly, agreed to the union. Though not a fervent supporter of the Prince, Otto recognized the strategic significance—marrying his daughter to the future king ensured the placement of his bloodline on the throne.

The union of Alicent and Y/N was immortalized in what became known as the White Wedding. It was a testament to the pure and evident love that bound the newlyweds. The ceremony resonated with the harmonious union of two souls, their vows exchanged amidst the sacred walls of the Sept.

Shorty after their nuptials, the arrival of Aegon Targaryen marked a new chapter in the royal family. The beautiful boy, with the coloring of his father and the distinctive facial structure of his mother, embodied the perfect mix of the royal couple. Aegon, the newest Prince, became a living testament to the love that flourished within the Targaryen lineage.

As Alicent carried the weight of their second child, King Viserys sought to hold a celebratory hunt on his grandson Aegon's second name day. The relationships within the Targaryen family began to mend, albeit slowly, and the noticeable favoritism towards Rhaenyra, perhaps due to her resemblance to her late mother, didn't escape Y/N's notice. Despite the slight discomfort, he chose to focus on his growing family, diverting his attention away from the nuances of favoritism and concentrating on the joyous moments that bound them together.

The grand hunt orchestrated by King Viserys brought a sense of delight to Otto Hightower, who relished the opportunity for both entertainment and strategic alliances. The men, engaged in the pursuit of a White Hart—a symbolic creature representing royalty—set out with purpose, leaving the women to find solace within the safety of the camp.

As Alicent sat beside her husband, Y/N, who held their young son Aegon in his lap, an unexpected intrusion disrupted the peace inside the tent. Rhaenyra, the spirited Princess, burst in with determination, her grievances clear. Viserys, in his pursuit to secure her a suitable match, had orchestrated a connection with Jason Lannister, much to Rhaenyra's vocal displeasure. The fiery Princess asserted her autonomy, rejecting the notion of being treated as a prize to be sold to the highest bidder.

The repercussions of this confrontation left Alicent aware of the strain in her once-unbreakable bond with Rhaenyra. The princess, fueled by a desire to ascend to the throne, resented the twist of fate that seemingly diverted Y/N's affections toward Alicent, who had become the new Princess consort.

In the next years, Rhaenyra's fate took a turn as she was forced into a marriage with her cousin, Ser Laenor Velaryon, because of previous liaison with her uncle Daemon in a pleasure house that added further complexity to the situation. The marriage, arranged against her will, led to the birth of bastards, whom she attempted to pass as legitimate—a move not lost on the eyes of the court.

Despite Viserys's blindness, the court recognized the discrepancy in the children's Valyrian features. Whispers spread, hinting at a connection with Ser Harwing Strong, the Commander of the Gold Cloaks, who served closely under the Princess.

These choices made by Rhaenyra made Alicent bitter. The apparent disregard for duty exhibited by Rhaenyra, coupled with the ability to evade consequences, fueled Alicent's resentment. Yet, in the face of this, the legitimacy of the children born to Y/N and Alicent remained unquestionable. The unmistakable resemblance of each child to their father nullified any potential doubts that might have arisen.

As their children matured, distinct personalities emerged, painting a portrait of the Targaryen legacy. Aegon, the mischievous firstborn, delighted in playing pranks and causing mayhem within the castle. Despite occasional mischief, his loyalty to the family prevailed, a testament to the intricate balance of his character.

Helaena, their only daughter, embodied sweetness and warmth. Though closed off to many, she harbored a great heart, often murmuring riddles that, while dismissed by most, held significance to her parents who recognized her as a dreamer with visions of her own.

Aemond, a mirror image of his father, shared not only physical similarities but also akin personalities. The only distinction lay in Aemond's shyness. His passion for history forged a special bond with King Viserys, who favored the small Prince. Their shared love for learning brought them together in frequent discussions about the boy's recent discoveries.

The youngest, Daeron, charmed all who crossed his path, earning the title of the most popular son among their subjects. His charm and charisma propelled him to Oldtown, serving his mother's uncle as a cupbearer and squire.

Amidst the dynamic growth of their children, Y/N and Alicent's love stood resilient. Any hopes Rhaenyra harbored of a falling out between the couple were in vain; their bond, an indestructible force, continued to strengthen.

The visible strain within the ruling family had spilled beyond the walls of the Red Keep, earning them the titles of "blacks" and "reds" among the common folk and nobility alike. Y/N, recognizing the fractures within his family, attempted reconciliation with his younger sister, but Rhaenyra remained consumed by anger towards him for marrying another and harbored resentment for Alicent, his wife for being said woman. The rift seemed irreparable.

Despite the familial tensions, Y/N maintained a close involvement in the training of his sons, personally overseeing their progress with the assistance of Ser Criston Cole, who had shifted his allegiance from Rhaenyra to the royal family. Aegon and Aemond exhibited remarkable progress, overshadowing their cousins.

During a training session, as Ser Criston instructed the young princes, Y/N was reluctantly pulled away by the demands of his duties as the Heir. King Viserys, observing from the terrace, keenly followed the lesson. The knight, calling upon Aegon, challenged him to a sparring match and taunted, "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother." The confident Prince, Aegon, responded with a cocky assurance, "I've won my first bound, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

Undeterred, Ser Criston introduced a new challenge, pitting both Aegon and Aemond against him. The two princes advanced, swords in hand, but the seasoned knight skillfully blocked each of their attacks, showcasing his experience and expertise. The training ground became a battleground of skills, the clash of steel echoing the intricate dynamics of power, loyalty, and the indomitable spirit of the Targaryen lineage.

The training ground, alive with the clang of swords and the shuffling of feet, fell into a momentary silence as Ser Harwin approached, offering instructions to the brown-haired princes. His voice redirected Ser Criston's attention toward the younger boys. "It seems like the younger boys could use your attention, Ser," Harwin remarked as he walked closer. A subtle tension hung in the air as Criston questioned, "Are you questioning my method of instruction?"

In response, Criston motioned for Aegon to face Jaecerys, declaring it an "eldest son against eldest son" spar. The white-haired Prince's age and strength became evident as he overpowered the younger Jaecerys. However, as Aegon advanced, he found himself roughly seized by the shoulder and pulled away by Ser Harwin. Aegon, outraged by the intervention, protested loudly, resulting in a reprimand from the King.

Tensions flared further when Criston began questioning the Commander of the Gold Cloaks's interest in the princes' training, suggesting affections that a man might harbor for his children. The insinuation proved too much for Ser Harwin, who snapped and attacked Criston. The incident led to Ser Harwin's banishment from King's Landing, and a few days later, he perished within the walls of Harrenhal along with his father.

More sorrowful news followed swiftly. A raven brought the grim information of Lady Laena Velaryon's death, casting a pall over King's Landing. The weight of Laena's death cast a somber shadow over Y/N, who had considered her another sister growing up. The entire family traveled to Driftmark to pay their respects, attending a funeral marred by Lord Vaemond's continuous accusations directed at Princess Rhaenyra and her bastard sons. Prince Daemon's laughter, strategically employed to deflect attention, added a layer of tension to the already heart-wrenching day.

Once the children retired for the night, Alicent found a moment to speak with her husband. In the quiet confines of their chamber, she gently inquired, "Are you alright, my love?" Y/N, standing by a window overlooking the view of Driftmark, confessed, "She was one of my closest friends, and she died alone. Without her family or friends, because Daemon denied her return. She didn't deserve such a fate."

Alicent, though not as intimately acquainted with Lady Laena, offered words of solace, acknowledging her bravery and kindness. Y/N, appreciating his wife's comforting presence, sighed and turned to look at her. "I'm sure you're right, darling," he said, caressing her face. In that moment, they found solace in each other's embrace, a comforting respite from the sorrow that permeated their hearts.

With a shared understanding, Y/N guided Alicent to bed, where they surrendered to the embrace of sleep, seeking refuge from the weariness that accompanied the emotional journey. Their intertwined forms, nestled in peaceful repose, reflected the enduring strength of their bond in the face of life's inevitable trials.

The tranquility that enveloped Y/N and Alicent was shattered abruptly when a maid, panic-stricken, banged on their door, delivering news of a grave accident involving their son. Swiftly dressing into presentable robes, they rushed towards the hall where their children were present. The sight that awaited them was horrifying—Aemond, their beloved son, was a bloody mess, missing an eye. Alicent's anguished scream pierced the air as she ran towards her injured child.

Demanding answers, Y/N interrogated the Knights, learning that the Prince had been mauled in a brawl with his cousins. The King, arriving on the scene, angrily questioned the guards for allowing such an incident. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys soon joined, but Y/N's attention shifted to the absence of Princess Rhaenyra. When she finally appeared, followed by Prince Daemon, their disheveled appearance hinted at a liaison that further fueled Y/N's anger. How could they disrespect Lady Laena's memory like this?

Amid the chaos, Rhaenyra declared the incident a "regrettable accident," but Alicent argued it was a planned attack. Rhaenyra defended her sons, claiming they were being attacked with vile insults against their legitimacy "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned on where he heard such slanders". Y/N's anger flared; his sister intended to torture his gravely wounded son over a truth that was evident.

Rhaenyra's attempt to extract information from Prince Aemond, who had heard the alleged slanders, only heightened tensions. Y/N, protective of his son, forbade any harm to befell Aemond. As the King sought apologies and forgiveness, Alicent snapped, demanding justice and ordering the eye of Lucerys Velaryon to conduct it. Chaos ensued as Alicent, fueled by rage, advanced towards Rhaenyra with a knife. Y/N noticed his uncle making way to two women to undoubtedly aid Rhaenyra, which he couldn't let happen and stopped him before Daemon could reach her.

The struggle between Alicent and Rhaenyra unfolded, the room becoming a battleground of emotions and grievances. In the midst of the chaos, Aemond, now with one eye, offered comfort to his mother, stating "Don't mourn me mother. I might've lost an eye but I gained a dragon". Y/N joined the embrace, and as his father declared the matter over, the fractured family clung to the remnants of peace amidst the aftermath of pain and turmoil.

As the years unfolded, the Targaryen family found solace and unity in each other's company. Every meal became a cherished time for discussion, laughter, and shared moments, further strengthening the familial bonds that had weathered storms and emerged resilient.

Aegon and Helaena's marriage flourished, blessed with their two beautiful children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Aegon transformed into a caring and attentive husband, shedding his earlier tendencies to become the perfect Prince fit to one day ascend the throne. Aemond, despite the challenges posed by his limited vision, emerged as a formidable warrior under his father's tutelage. Determined not to be hindered by his condition, he trained with unparalleled dedication, surpassing many in skill and prowess.

Y/N and Alicent, beaming with pride, reveled in the achievements of their children. However, their joy was tempered by the somber responsibility that befell them. With King Viserys succumbing to sickness, he lay bedridden, casting a long shadow over the realm. The inevitable reality loomed—the time was approaching when a new monarch would ascend the throne.

Amidst the bittersweet echoes of Viserys's declining health, the Targaryen family stood united, ready to face the challenges that awaited them. The transition of power loomed on the horizon, and the legacy of House Targaryen stood at the threshold of a new chapter in the annals of Westeros.

The arrival of a raven bearing Ser Vaemond Velaryon's challenging petition for the Driftwood Throne thrust the Red Keep into a state of heightened anxiety. The assertion that Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their children would return to the heart of the realm brought a cloud of unease over the castle, especially given the recent mysterious death of Laenor Velaryon.

In the midst of the commotion, Alicent navigated through the corridors toward the King's chamber, where she knew Rhaenyra and Daemon would be discussing the pressing matter of King Viserys's condition. Upon entering, she greeted them with courtesy, acknowledging the lapse of time since their last encounter. Daemon responded with a nonchalant hum, while Rhaenyra inquired about the authority overseeing the trial of her son.

A new voice cut through the tension as Y/N entered, a smirk playing on his lips. He revealed himself as the authority presiding over the trial, promising a fair judgment even as he acknowledged the accusations thrown at his wife. The room held its breath, and Alicent, standing beside her husband, added, "We have pressing matters to attend to, but please, make yourself at home." With that, the married couple walked away, leaving the guests to navigate the looming trial and the shadows of familial discord that cast their pall over the Red Keep.

The throne room buzzed with tension as the petitions unfolded, each speaker presenting their case before Y/N, who sat on the throne in his father's stead. The weight of judgment rested heavily on his shoulders. Lord Vaemond Velaryon was the first to address the court, delivering a lengthy discourse on bloodlines and the survival of House Velaryon.

However, the proceedings took an unexpected turn when, during Rhaenyra's turn to present her defense, the door opened, and in walked King Viserys. Ready to defend his favorite child, the ailing monarch cast a shadow over the proceedings. The air thickened with anticipation as the confrontation unfolded.

In a swift and brutal turn of events, Vaemond found himself condemned for openly declaring the princess's sons as bastards. The throne room, once filled with the echoes of legal arguments, now bore witness to the irrevocable consequences of familial discord and political maneuvering. As the lifeblood of House Velaryon spilled in pursuit of power and legitimacy, the court faced the stark reality that the struggle for succession and survival could exact a heavy toll on those entangled in the webs of Westerosi politics.

The atmosphere in the dining hall was thick with tension, mirroring the strained relationships within the Targaryen family. Viserys, lying in his seat of honor, served as the symbolic divide between two estranged siblings, Rhaenyra and Y/N, as the air was charged with unspoken grievances.

Jace and Luke, Baela and Rhaena, each engaged in their own conversations, while Aegon and Helaena shared a tender moment, the Prince gently rubbing his wife's hand. Aemond and Daemon, ever vigilant, sat observing, their tension a reflection of the underlying conflicts.

As King Viserys was carried in, the room stood in a display of respect. The king began his speech, adressing his family. “It’s good to see you all together. My heart aches when I see the faces dearest to me so full of envy and drifting apart form each other. House of the Dragon must be united, so let us forget all and stay strong. If not for the realm, the for this old man, who loves you all dearly.“ But the damage had been done, and the fractures within the family ran too deep to be easily mended.

Rhaenyra's toast, seemingly a gesture of reconciliation, momentarily shifted the mood. Alicent responded gracefully, highlighting the common ground between them as mothers, but the facade of harmony was shattered by a seemingly innocent gesture—a pig brought before Prince Aemond, triggering memories of the Pink Dread incident.

Aemond's explosive reaction disrupted the fragile peace. The room fell into an uneasy silence as he stood, expressing a "final tribute" to the health of his nephews, ending the speech with an insult towards the boys calling them "Strong". Chaos erupted as the young princes clashed, and the adults scrambled to intervene. The disastrous dinner culminated in Princess Rhaenyra's decision to retreat to Dragonstone, leaving behind a shattered illusion of family unity. The scars of the past ran too deep, and the once-grand gesture of a family dinner had unraveled into a painful reminder of the irreparable divisions within House Targaryen.

The dimly lit corridors echoed with quiet footsteps as Y/N made his way to his father's chamber. Upon entering, a solemn atmosphere enveloped the room, and Y/N approached King Viserys. As he assisted the ailing monarch in preparing for sleep, Viserys muttered incoherent phrases, and amidst the confusion, Y/N discerned a recurring theme—Aegon's prophecy.

In the hushed moments of their interaction, the weight of impending succession hung in the air. Viserys, in his final moments, seemed to impart a significant task to his son, urging him to fulfill the prophecy. The murmurings faded as the night unfolded, and King Viserys the Peaceful drew his last breath.

As dawn approached, the realm awaited the news of a new leader who would step forward to succeed the late monarch. The corridors, once traversed by Y/N in anticipation, now held the echoes of transition and the uncertainty that accompanied the changing tides of leadership within House Targaryen.

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A/N: This one is slightly longer, but I couldn't help but give Alicent and her kids the husband and father they deserved. We all could agree that Viserys absolutely sucked in these roles. Thank you for all the support and it would mean the world to me if you checked out my other works ♡

[solarmorrigan]

Everybody's Dying to Be Here

For the @steddie-spooktober day 12 prompt: Graveyard Rated: T | Words: 1561 | CW: suicidal thoughts (vague; you don't necessarily have to take it that way) | Tags: pre-relationship, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson friendship, Steve Harrington needs a hug, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart, in his own way, post-season 2 AU Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie has been coming to the graveyard to smoke for years.

It’s not really that he can’t smoke at the trailer; his uncle knows he smokes, has bummed cigarettes off of him before, says he figures there are worse habits for Eddie to pick up, it's just that it’s peaceful there.

There are hardly ever people around, and if there are, they’re not really inclined to talk. Otherwise, there’s a lot of open air, room to walk, green grass, interesting headstones if Eddie’s in the mood to look, and there’s a tree that sits at the top of a gentle slope of a hill that offers a nice view of the surrounding town that can almost make Eddie forget how much he hates the place.

It’s Eddie’s own personal haven.

At least, he'd thought it was.

“You’re in my spot,” Eddie says, staring down at the interloper.

Steve Harrington, who is sitting on top of Eddie’s hill, under Eddie’s tree, turns his battered face up towards Eddie, squinting at him in the sunlight.

“Are you dead?” Steve finally asks.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare, uncomprehending, at Steve. “Nooo,” he says slowly. “Are you concussed?”

Steve holds up his forefinger and thumb, pinched together to indicate a little bit, and it’s been almost two weeks since he first showed up at school looking like someone had tried to turn his face into mincemeat, the bruising now all sickly yellow and brown, and Eddie realizes he has no idea how long concussions last. A while, apparently.

“Anyway, if you’re not dead, I don’t think you can have a spot in the cemetery,” Steve says with a shrug, and–

Well.

“Touché,” Eddie says, plopping down next to Steve beneath the tree.

He pulls his cigarettes out, shakes one from the box, and then, because his uncle didn’t raise a complete savage, he tilts the box at Steve in offering. Steve begs off with a shake of his head and Eddie shrugs, lighting up and taking a drag.

“So,” he says on his first breath of smoke, “what brings King Steve out among Hawkins’ illustrious dead?”

For one, long minute, Steve says nothing, and just when Eddie thinks he’s being ignored, Steve lets his head fall back against the tree and murmurs, “Just wanted somewhere quiet to be, I guess.”

“Oh? The life of partying royalty getting to be a bit much for you?” Eddie asks.

He knows he isn’t being entirely fair; Steve’s never really done anything to Eddie, personally, and for the latter half of last year and the beginning of this one, he’s actually been pretty decent. Fairly quiet, if nothing else, mostly hanging off of Nancy Wheeler and keeping his head down. In any case, Steve doesn’t seem to take offense, just lets out a little breath of unamused laughter and continues staring out over the town.

“Kinda realized that most of the people I used to party with were dicks, and I didn’t want to be around them anymore,” he says. “Nance– she and I aren’t… together anymore, so I can’t really hang out with her. My dad’s still pissed at me for getting into a fight, so I can’t stay home. The twelve-year-old who thinks I’m responsible for him now is actually cool, but god he can be loud, and I just wanted some quiet, so… here I am.”

There’s… a lot to unpack there. Like, so much to unpack. Eddie has questions. Many questions.

Somehow, though, he doesn’t think his prying would be appreciated, so all he offers is, “Damn. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, then, huh? Hanging out with the school freak.”

“To be fair, I didn’t actually know you’d be out here,” Steve says, sending Eddie a sidelong smirk to let him in on the joke. “Didn’t know I was stealing your spot, either.”

Because Eddie can hardly be mad at him for it now, he just shrugs. “Eh. It’s a free graveyard. I think.” Eddie pauses, blinking down at the headstones spread out before them. “Damn, do you think you have to pay to be buried? That’d be fucked up.”

“I have no idea,” Steve says. “Pretty sure you have to pay for a tombstone, at least.”

“Shit. Society, man.” Eddie shakes his head. “Finding ways to squeeze money out of you even after death.”

“I guess,” Steve says vaguely.

He doesn’t really seem like he’s interested in continuing the conversation, and Eddie guesses that’s fair enough. He’d come out here expecting to be alone, and Eddie had come out expecting the same. He’s not even sure why he’s trying to engage Steve Harrington in conversation at all, except that there’s something a little– lost about him right now, and that’s always drawn Eddie in like a cat to a sunbeam.

That doesn’t mean Steve actually needs him, though, so Eddie lets them both lapse into silence.

He’s just about finished his cigarette when Steve speaks again, almost startling Eddie.

“D’you ever think about where you’d want to be buried?” Steve asks.

“What, like when I die?” Eddie asks, feeling a little slow to pick up on this new turn Steve’s taken them down.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Uh… hopefully far away from the shithole,” Eddie says, stubbing his cigarette out in the dirt beside him. “I want to get the hell out of here before I die.”

Steve hums. “Bet you will,” he says after a moment, and that surprises Eddie even more than his original morbid question.

“You figure?” Eddie says, and he’s trying for sarcastic, but he thinks something genuine might have snuck its way into his tone.

“Sure.” Steve shrugs. “You’re ambitious. You’ve gotta be some kind of smart, all those speeches you’re always giving. You want it badly enough, I bet you’ll get out of here.”

“I think the Hawkins Public School system would beg to differ with you on most of those points, Steve,” Eddie says, and Steve shrugs.

“Fuck ‘em, then,” he says simply, and that’s–

In its own, weird way, it’s more faith than anyone other than his uncle has shown in Eddie in what seems like a long time, and Eddie’s not sure how to feel about it.

Steve, oblivious to the way he’s currently shaking Eddie’s worldview, goes on. “I think I want to be buried over there,” he says, pointing to a spot on the west end of the graveyard.

“Near the fence?” Eddie asks, following Steve’s finger.

“Yeah. Looks nice over there. Not too crowded, and there’s roses. Or, I think that’s a rose bush.” Steve squints down at the shrubbery for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever. It just looks nice.”

“I guess,” Eddie says slowly, turning to look at Steve, who doesn’t look back.

“I should probably tell someone,” Steve says, almost as if he’s talking to himself now. “My parents would probably pick somewhere stupid to stick me.”

And– shit.

It doesn’t really sound like Steve’s talking about some hypothetical future time when he dies of old age; it sounds an awful lot more like he doesn’t even expect to outlive his parents – like maybe he’s talking about a much less hypothetical soon.

“You, uh… spend a lot of time thinking about when you’re gonna die?” Eddie asks, and immediately wishes he could suck the words back up, because that is a terrible way to continue this conversation.

Steve shrugs, turning a wry look on Eddie. “Kinda hard not to.”

“Right. Right.” Eddie nods, and – what the fuck?

What the fuck? Is he talking about everything that’s happened recently – all the weird shit in town, or the way he keeps getting his ass kicked, or the way his life has imploded and now he’s thinking about–

“So what’s your plan for the rest of the day?” Eddie blurts out.

“I don’t really have one.” Steve shrugs. “Figured I’d just stay out here for a while.”

Eddie frowns. They’re well into November by now; Steve is wearing a nicer coat than Eddie’s, but it’s still cold out. Too cold to just be sitting outside indefinitely. Eddie’s certainly not going to sit outside indefinitely, but he also gets the feeling that maybe this guy shouldn’t be left alone right now, which is precisely why he finds himself offering, “You wanna come back to mine and watch a movie?”

Steve turns to stare at Eddie, as if this is the weirdest part of the conversation they’ve had.

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Maybe I’m bored, and you’re the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all day,” Eddie says, gratified when Steve gives him a little laugh. “It’s more fun watching a movie with someone, anyway. What d’you say?”

Steve watches him for a moment longer, as if he’s searching for something, trying to puzzle Eddie out. He seems to find whatever it is he’s looking for, though, because he finally nods.

“Yeah, okay.”

They stand from beneath the tree and make their way back down the hill, and Eddie hopes his utter confusion isn’t showing on his face as they go. He has no idea how his afternoon reached this point, and he has even less of an idea of what the hell he’s doing, but, as he glances back at Steve, the other boy seems a little lighter as they walk, and he decides that he’s absolutely made the right decision.

[robertreich]

The Case Against RFK Jr.

RFK Junior is not who you think he is.

It pains me to say it, but he is a dangerous nutcase.

He claims to want to heal America, but his vision for our future is tainted by his endorsements of hateful conspiracy theories – and the fact that he is being funded in large part by donors aligned with Donald Trump.

It’s time to lift the curtain on a campaign based on false, irresponsible, and self-contradictory claims.

RFK Junior repeatedly promoted a right-wing conspiracy theory that chemicals in the water are turning people gay or transgender.

He suggested COVID-19 was a bioweapon, mysteriously designed to spare Jewish people.

[RFK Jr.: “COVID-19 is targeted to attack Caucasians and Black people. The people who are most immune are Ashkenazi Jews and Chinese.”]

He’s spent years spreading anti-vaxx lies.

And in his 2021 book, RFK Junior alleged, with no plausible evidence, that Dr. Fauci performed genocidal experiments, sabotaged treatments for AIDS, and conspired with Bill Gates to suppress information about COVID-19.

These are not the words of someone who is serious about leading – let alone healing – this country.

As someone who once worked for his father, RFK, and admired his uncle, JFK, I’m disturbed to see RFK Junior speak this way.

RFK Senior would never have suggested that a deadly virus was targeted at certain races. And as president, JFK signed the Vaccination Assistance Act in order to, “achieve as quickly as possible the protection of the population, especially of all preschool children.”

If not for his illustrious name – and role as a potential spoiler – RFK Junior would be just another crackpot in the growing pool of fringe politicians.

It’s no coincidence that he shares top backers with the likes of Donald Trump and Marjorie Taylor Greene — or that Trump allies Roger Stone and Steve Bannon encouraged him to run in the first place.

But the Kennedy brand is political gold, and it could pull away just enough sympathetic voters to tip the race toward Trump.

Democracy won by a whisker in 2020. Just 44,000 votes in Arizona, Georgia, and Wisconsin decided the outcome. If RFK Junior — or any third-party candidate — peels off just a fraction of the vote from Biden, while Trump’s base stays with him, they will deliver a victory to Trump.

If Junior had any respect for the principles his father fought and ultimately died for, he would withdraw his candidacy. Immediately.

[halfagone]

Before The Wayne Came A Kane

Martha Wayne née Kane came from a very prestigious family even before she married her husband, the illustrious M.D. Thomas Wayne. Sadly, her family never supported her union with Thomas, so she largely cut them out of her life once she married and that certainly had not changed when she had a son.

Her strained relationship with the rest of her family is particularly apparent when it's revealed, at the release of her and Thomas' respective wills after their unexpected, tragic deaths, that she would not give her brothers or sisters-in-law custody of Bruce. They may be the last of his living relatives, but even in death she would never allow them to touch her baby boy. Hence, his care is left to the head butler, one Alfred Pennyworth.

She did have two sister, though. Two baby sisters, one who had been disowned and disavowed from the family long before her, named Alicia. And one who was far too young to take in her son, even if Martha had allowed it. Her name is Madeline Kane. As the only other acknowledged daughter left from Roderick and Elizabeth Kane, she is left to carry the burden of her older sister's legacy. And what a burden it was, to be constantly compared to a dead woman her family seemed to adore and loathe in strides.

It's really no wonder that the moment she gets the chance, she leaves her family in Gotham to attend a university in Wisconsin. There, she meets Jack Fenton. He can be a little clumsy sometimes, but he has an eye for engineering and doesn't like her for her family's name or wealth. He calls her "Maddie" when she says so, and he doesn't ask about the change.

She falls in love and the two are wedded in the blink of an eye, Maddie pregnant with their first child only a few years after graduation. In her family's eyes, it just further proves that any Kane daughter is cursed and doomed to failure. (Beth understands this. Bette learns this. Kate knows this.)

And all too similarly to her elder sister, when her son is just fourteen years old, she is killed: yet another unexpected, tragic death. Her husband and her daughter perish along with her. Just like her older sister, the only one left is her baby boy.

Only, Maddie wasn't nearly as forthcoming with her will, and there is no guardian marked for custody in his papers. The Kanes, who proclaim they are his rightful family, are more than happy to take advantage of this.

Bruce isn't close to his family, beyond perhaps Kate. But if there is one thing that he knows it's that his parents didn't give his estranged relatives custody of him for a reason. Alfred is stingy with the details, but he can confirm that much.

Bruce is left to fight an uphill battle, helping a mourning boy heal from his loss and fighting his extended family's attempts for custody at every turn.

More ramblings under the cut:

See this guy right here?

This is Jacob Kane, Kate's father, Martha's brother, and Bruce's uncle. He's got the distinct red hair and do you know who else has red hair? Maddie. Jacob is a respected military officer and Maddie, in general, has always given me strong former U.S. agent vibes. But regardless, it makes sense that Maddie would know things or learned how to fight at an early age if her older brother left for military service.

Also, I just love showing Bruce's extended family and how twisted, complicated his family was long before he adopted so many children. And this also helps explain why Maddie is so cagey with her background. She only has Alicia left really, all the rest she keeps out and away for good reason.

But she can't protect Danny from them forever.

Plus, there's this really cool possibility for Danny to stay with the Kanes for a while and explore that avenue before he's ultimately brought into the Wayne fold. Danny gets to see what the upper crust Gotham elites look like with his own two eyes, beyond Sam's stories.

[shirefantasies]

Hi!

Once you feel up to it, could you please write a oneshot of Fílí meeting a hobbit girl on his way to the Bag End and falling helplessly in love with her?

I have always imagined that Fílí and Kílí had arrived to Hobbiton a whole day early and spent it walking around - that, given how lost their uncle always was, Dís had sent them on the road earlier than necessary to ensure that they arrived in time.

So when they arrive to Hobbiton, the brothers are left to explore the market - and that’s when the coup de foudre happens - Fílí sees a hobbit (with strawberry blonde hair, please, if you don’t want to do reader-insert) selling all kinds of flour and has very short conversation with her. To his utter disappointment and annoyance, Kílí is responsible enough to talk him out of buying the huge bag of flour.

And, to be honest, that’s the reason behind Kílí’s grin and Fílí’s smirk we see when Bilbo opens the door.

Thank you soo much!

Please, take your time and care!

🪻🌸🪻🌸🪻

‘Cuz’ of Death- Fili x F!Hobbit!Reader

This is so long in the making 😅 but yay, brain finally brained! Enjoy some Fili fluff 🥰

Warnings: one suggestive comment

Hobbiton’s rolling hills are green as ever as you struggle to pull the wheelbarrow along the path to the market. Your wares are your charge, of course, but that does not stop you in the slightest from wishing you had someone to share in your burdens. And your victories. Not that some great many victories are won in the illustrious world of flour salesmanship, but the thought still stood.

Thoughts. Such are yours for the remaining duration of the trip, flitting about your mind in fancy until you enter the bustle of tents being raised and tables being lain with all manner of honeys, meats, fishers' catches, freshly baked bread, and so many more colorful and tantalizing offerings of your great land. A smile fills your face at the sight. For some, they are overwhelming. For you? Your livelihood. Livelihood and the secret charm of possibility that you might meet someone you do not know, someone from some far reaches of the Shire. Or beyond.

Snorting at that particular notion, you heft bags of flour onto the table your neighbor was kind enough to set up for you, sorting them once all of them are up there for a moment of muscle rest. You hang your sign, a wooden piece carved for you by your father, and take up your helm of sale.

~

Sunlight has fallen such that it casts into your eyes; cursing your short form, you shade yourself with an arm as two shapes enter your line of vision. Tall shapes. Men? Dwarves? Dwarves, judging by their garb, which appears to be that of mountain folk. Heavy tunics, fur linings, heavy boots and beaded braids. They also are not so towering as the men you’d met on a trip to Bree once.

The blonde one's eyes slide between your wares and you, alternating until you break into a smile.

"Could I interest you in any of these fine flours, sirs?"

"Sirs," the black-haired one snickers, though completely without malice, only humor.

"What's this one?" Pushing his neighbor aside, Blonde points at a medium-sized sack.

“Buckwheat flour,” you answer with a smile, “Good way to make your cookies tender if you don’t use too much. That is, if you make cookies much. I’m not sure what you like.”

“I have been wanting to get into baking.”

“What are you doing?” Black Hair hisses, a whisper just loud enough for you to hear. “We’ve got the party!”

“Yes,” Blonde agrees jovially, glancing back to you, “It is prudent to bring a gift, isn’t it? What about a nice bag of-”

“We’ve got a while yet! I’m not carrying that around for an hour! Are you?”

“Well-”

“Come on, Brother.”

“Brother?” You burst out before you could stop yourself. The pair doesn't look so much alike- perhaps they each look like one parent.

“Oh, my apologies, madam,” Blonde whips around and gives a bow, spinning his hand as he folds, “Fili, at your service, alongside my little brother here.”

Giving your name, you accept Fili’s proffered hand and giggle as he presses a kiss to the back of yours.

"Kili," the little brother pushes in, offering his hand, too, "And we were just leaving."

"What about the buckwheat?" Fili turns from Kili back to you, leaning on your table. "I'm quite interested in the...tender cookies? What on earth does that mean? Does that make them firmer or less firm? Or more...chewy?"

"You don't bake." Kili again, this time with less urgency and a great deal more amusement.

Fili must have made some disastrous attempts, you think, unable to stop the amusement that begins creeping across your lips. You picture him hunched with a look of dramatized defeat over a pan of crumbled, blackened cookies with smoke spiraling off them.

"I could learn," the elder retorts in a surprisingly determined tone.

Something about it moves your heart, loosens it further, speeds it even. These dwarves are nothing like you expected- not in appearance, manner, or of course location there at your table traveling some humble Shire market.

"I could teach you," you tell him, running a hand through your hair.

"I'd like that," he replies, "We aren't here much longer, but this place is very beautiful. I think we'll be back."

Kili looks between you two, jiggling his eyebrows up and down as Fili suddenly kneels to the ground, rising again with a little pink flower pinched gingerly between his thumb and index finger.

"At least I will be for those baking lessons. Speaking of which..." He chuckles to himself. "A flower for a flour?"

After you accept the flower, Fili reaches for your sack of buckwheat flower yet again, only for Kili to knock his hand away, initiating a comical skirmish of slaps that finally cements in your eyes that these two are undoubtedly brothers. Your gaze bounces between each volley as you twirl your baby bloom, heart leaping at the feeling of it, at the imprint of Fili's mischievous smile and gleaming blue eyes upon the back of your brain.

"Ignore him," Kili finally says, breaking you from your flower-induced, pollen-dusted golden reverie, "He's looking for an entirely different set of goodies."

The confusion you feel at that last comment as you watch the younger dwarf physically drag his brother away from your flour assortment lasts all the way through the rest of the market, all your actual purchases, and even up to your trip to your cousin's house to deliver a loaf of bread your mother had made him.

The hearth is warm and the kitchen scented of the herbs he's preparing for supper and calming tea. He welcomes your steaming parcel of sourdough with open arms and puts a second fish and helping of vegetables on to roast while you chat about your day. Your unusual day.

A tale of your dwarf-filled day...interrupted by a dwarf. This one exactly what you've always pictured, even taller than the brothers and more imposing, complete with a long beard, tattoos, and an intimidating stare. He is quite blunt about the fact that he isn't familiar with you or Bilbo, but gracious as your cousin is he shoots you a look of sympathy and quickly slides you his other helping. His look quickly melts into frustration the more the dwarf goes on and takes from him and rearranges, sharing with you an exasperated glare that has you giggling.

"Dwarves," he shakes his head before opening the door to another, older one, "What is it with today and dwarves?"

"I don't know," you reply quietly, reaching up to gently caress Fili's flower, which you have tucked behind your ear.

The second dwarf, Balin, is surprised to see you there, but then, so are you to see him. He chuckles at that and asks you for direction, which you shyly give; when he asks about chairs, you lead him around the corner into Bag End's larger dining room, where the long table rests under a chandelier's cozy yellow light. Bilbo follows soon behind, peering skeptically at your little congregation with furrowed brows and muttered questions. The sound of the bell ringing yet again, however, distracts you from the hearty laughter of this new set of dwarf brothers. Tapping across Bag End's hardwood floor, you cross your cousin's home once more, slowly opening the great round door. Voices sound behind it, voices that increase in volume as Bag End opens wider to welcome them.

"I can't stop thinking about her. I tell you, Kee, she's going to be the death of me-"

"Ah!"

Perking up with a wide smile that quickly melts into more of a smirk and gets directed at his brother, there stands Kili before you.

“Well now, brother, look who it is!” Kili exclaims your name, still looking right at his elder sibling as he sticks a hand out your way. “Can you believe our good fortune?”

“No,” Fili answers with a smile, blue eyes never falling upon his brother from their gaze into yours, “I cannot.”

His eyes trace over from yours, catch sight of his flower still tucked up by your tresses, and he stumbles into your cousin’s home with parted, wordless lips. He stands so close to you you’d collide with a single step from either of you, finally darting his eyes away and surveying the warm light of Bag End.

“So this is the fabled hobbits’ home?”

“It is,” you agree.

“I love it,” he breathes, a glow of awe coloring his expression, “It suits you just like that flower. It’s cozy. Sweet. I can definitely foresee myself upon many a return visit here.”

“So are you Mister Boggins’s wife?” Kili interrupts, tone bordering on urgent.

“No,” you shake your head, “He’s my cousin. I’ve come to deliver him a loaf of bread, but what of travelers like yourselves? Why have you come to a party Bilbo was not even aware of hosting?”

Inching a wee bit closer, just a tad, Fili extends his hand just like before. Just like before you take it. Instead of pressing a kiss to it, though, this time he holds it fast, his grip strong and warm and sure. The hearth’s warmth feels much closer despite you standing at a door open to the night on the end farthest from it you could be.

“Could I interest you,” Fili asks, leaning so close as to almost whisper in your ear, “In an adventure?”

Taglist: @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart @kilibaggins @filiswingman @ibabblealot @stormchaser819 @pirate-lord-of-narnia @datglutengoblin @letmelickyoureyeballs @mossyskinn @wordbunch @tiny-and-witchy @th3-st4r-gur1 @fleurdemiel-145 @mistresskayla-blog1 @misabelle717 @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @evattude @kpopgirlbtssvt @rivendell-poet | Reply/Message/Ask to join 🖤

[agendabymooner]

the paddock’s resident menace and the dame ! toto w. x ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

summary: two things: tia christie wolff really was her papa’s carbon copy AND tilly wolff wasn’t just “mrs. wolff” after being presented with a damehood.

content warning: dad!toto and mom!ofc, the wolff kids being menaces (mainly one kid), fluff, christian horner being a good uncle, mentions of one baby leclerc and hearth sister!ofc (stevie hamilton), everything is strictly fictional so don’t take it to heart plz i know nothing about the dates/full criteria of damehood presentations and whatnot

note: more tia wolff content, i guess :) enjoy xx

masterlist

AUSTRIAN GP

THE FAST LANE DAILY

TILLY MARIE WOLFF: BRITISH BILLIONAIRE AWARDED DAME COMMANDER TITLE FOR PHILANTHROPIC CONTRIBUTIONS, MOTORSPORT SUCCESS, AND LITERARY ENDEAVORS

in a remarkable recognition of her outstanding achievements, tilly marie wolff (née hearth), a british billionaire and owner of hearth automotive groups, has been presented the prestigious dame commander title from the most excellent order of the british empire. this honor is a testament to her remarkable contributions as an automotive industry leader, philanthropist, and her success in the world of formula one racing. additionally, wolff's passion for literature and writing has led her to establish write well uk, an organization that encourages writers to explore literature and literary writing through tailored programs.

a force in the automotive industry

tilly marie wolff's influence in the automotive industry is undeniable. as the owner of hearth automotive groups and its subsidiaries, she has revolutionized the sector by implementing a nonprofit and community services approach. her visionary leadership has transformed the way the industry operates, emphasizing the importance of investing in charitable organizations and launching programs to support those in need.

philanthropic endeavors

wolff's commitment to making a positive impact on society is evident through her generous philanthropic endeavors. she has invested substantial resources in various charitable organizations, focusing on initiatives such as community shelters and youth programs. by providing essential resources and support, wolff has helped countless individuals and communities thrive.

founding organizations and racing team youth programs

throughout her illustrious career, tilly marie wolff has founded numerous organizations, including youth programs associated with her racing teams. these programs have not only nurtured young talent but have also provided opportunities for aspiring individuals to pursue their dreams in the world of motorsport. the success rate of these initiatives has been exceptional, further solidifying wolff's reputation as a visionary leader.

literary pursuits with write well uk

in addition to her accomplishments in the automotive industry, tilly marie wolff has a deep-rooted passion for literature and writing. leveraging her background in journalism and communications, she established write well uk, an organization dedicated to fostering a love for literature and literary writing. through this organization, writers are encouraged to learn and explore more by participating in programs tailored to their needs. write well uk serves as a platform for aspiring writers to develop their skills and engage with the literary community.

recognition and ceremony

the awarding of the dame commander title to tilly marie wolff is a testament to her remarkable achievements and contributions. at the ceremony, she was accompanied by her husband, toto wolff, the mercedes amg petronas f1 team principal, their daughter tia wolff, and her brother-in-law, lewis hamilton, a renowned formula one driver who had previously received this prestigious honor.

connecting motorsport, literature, and community

wolff's involvement in the world of formula one racing extends beyond her ownership of hearth automotive groups. she holds a significant stake in the successful red bull racing team, as well as a twenty percent ownership in both scuderia ferrari and mclaren racing. her influence in these teams has not only contributed to their success on the track but has also allowed her to further connect motorsport with community initiatives. through write well uk, she bridges the gap between motorsport and literature, encouraging writers to explore their craft while fostering a sense of community.

tilly marie wolff's journey from a british billionaire to a dame is a testament to her exceptional leadership, philanthropy, success in the automotive industry, and her passion for literature. her commitment to transforming the industry's approach to nonprofit and community services has had a profound impact on society. through her charitable investments, youth programs, and the establishment of write well uk, wolff has not only changed lives but has also left an indelible mark on the world of formula one racing and the literary community. her recognition as a dame commander is a well-deserved honor, celebrating her remarkable achievements and contributions to both the motorsport, literary, and wider community.

tagged tillywolff, hearthautomotivegroups

liked by christianhorner, gerihalliwell, lewishamilton

user1 i can brag about being related to the dame tilly wolff and sir lewis hamilton, if i'm being honest 🙃

mercedesamgf1 us too tbh 😇

user2 it's well deserved ❤️

user3 she did not carry the youth and charity programs of ferrari, red bull and mclaren (hell even mercedes) only for her to not be recognized for it 😭😩

user4 the best thing she had done was quit vogue tbh 🤭

user5 no seriously though 🥲

user6 their kids would be like "yeah my mum/aunt is dame tilly wolff and my dad/uncle is sir lewis hamilton wbu" in the future and i think i'm okay with that 😍

user7 alexa, how do i get adopted into the hearth family?

user8 redbullracing come get your boss, he's lurking at the merc page

SILVERSTONE GP - TIA'S BIRTHDAY WEEK

tagged tillywolff

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, mickschumacher

georgerussell63 no wonder why we're eating good this week 🤭 liked by mercedesamgf1

mickschumacher did she eat all of the scones?! liked by mercedesamgf1

mercedesamgf1 we are here not to deny nor confirm that mini toto has indeed taken a chance to take every berry scone she saw - as requested by a certain adelmo

mickschumacher i can't even fight a birthday girl

mercedesamgf1 you can't fight your boss' 7 year old daughter, mick.

mickschumacher i know.

user1 silverstone gp hits different for us merc fans 😩

user2 happy birthday mini toto!!!

user3 happy birthday to the only girl who can give christian horner the headache he didn't need!

BONUS !!!

[captaindibbzy]

Thinking about how you'd do Thunderbirds in a sort of age if sail setting cause the thing about Thunderbirds is you're trying to save the whole world, and age of sail can NOT get you there fast enough.

So scaling it down.

Envision a sea side town and the Tracy's are basically running the life boats, and the fire department, and any other kind of help you need, out of charity while their industry (whatever it is) keeps half the town employed. Maybe Jeff got pulled off to war, or maybe he "died at sea" in a storm trying to save someone, or fought against a french invasion of the port town. And now Scott is the Lord of the manner. Is he a gentleman or a member of the nobility? Idk. But he has inherited his father's vast estate and industry.

And of course they get stick from the local Rich, like Fischer and Lemaire, for caring about the peasants (though they don't have much of a complaint when it's THEIR ass on the line) but they are backed by the illustrious Lady Penelope who's father is a member of parliament.

Nobody knows who the Hood is. Is he a french spy or a traitor to the crown? They don't know. Nobody has ever seen his real face and lived to tell. But they say he is behind the shipwrecking in the bay, and is running a smuggling ring from the wreckage (if those damn Tracy Boys would just LET HIM WRECK THE SHIPS LIKE HE WANTS TO!), and he has stolen secrets from industry and the crown that he will sell to the highest bidder, be they french, English, or even American. Miss Kayo has her suspicions that her uncle may be involved, he seems to know more than he should, but proof is low on the ground.

Jeff got picked up by a French ship and taken back to France as a prisoner but he can't quite remember where he came from.

Here's to the fanfic I'm never gonna write. 🥂

[badfanfictionaire]

The woods of Hawkins, Indiana were once the most feared lands in the continental US. From 1963 to 1986 the townsfolk didn’t dare step foot into the forest, especially at night, for one reason and one reason alone: cannibals.

Now one of Indiana’s best kept secrets, the cannibalism issue was once a rampant and horrific problem that no one could escape. Everyone knew someone who had been killed and eaten. Rumors swirled as to who was responsible for the killings, but a close knit group of students from the local high school knew the truth: it was the Coventry High football team.

Ironically, or not, the Coventry team was called the Coventry Cannibals. That wasn’t what started the rumor though. It also wasn’t why the Hawkins students knew the truth.

See, one of the Hawkins High students, a poplar jock type by the name of Edgar Milton, had witnessed a rival student from Coventry chewing on the fingers of a dead man. He’d stumbled away from a party and nearly tripped over the grisly scene. Too drunk to name the cannibal, the story he told wasn’t widely believed. That is, until his girlfriend Crystal Casablanca, saw a similar scene in the woods behind her house. People believed her because she was notoriously a straight shooter and didn’t drink. From that night on, tension was high in Hawkins. If cannibals were able to infiltrate the pearly gates of Loch Nora, they could easily be anywhere in town.

Parents locked their kids away at night. The schools canceled all extracurriculars after sunset. Even the high school’s beloved Dungeons and Dragons club, the Hellfire Club, was forced to reschedule their meetings to a morning slot.

People told stories, most of them were just tall tales, of students in the woods with veins in their teeth and blood dripping from their mouths. Teens claimed that cannibals had eaten their toes, their pets, even their siblings. Nothing, and no one, was safe.

It all came to and end one fateful night when an illustrious detective pulled into town. His beat up red Chevy didn’t look like much, but he had a reputation for closing the most dangerous criminal cases in history. This detective was none other than Walter Milton, the great grandfather of Eddie Milton-

“Daddy, I thought you said his name was Edgar Milton.”

“Yeah daddy, it was Edgar!”

“Eddie can be a nickname for Edgar, honey buns.”

“Is your name Edgar, daddy?”

“No, peanut. Daddy’s name isn’t Edgar.”

“That’s because your name is daddy.”

“No his name is Edmund!”

“Girls, girls, no fighting! Come on, don’t you want me to finish the story?”

“Does uncle Wayne save the day?”

“What? No, uncle Wayne isn’t in-”

“Then who is old Mr. Milton?”

“These are all fictional characters!”

“Daddy, I want to be in the story!”

“Yeah, I want a Canadian to eat me! Please daddy? Can I be in it?! Please!”

“Fine, you both can be in it. Ok, where was I…”

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 4

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader, 3.1k words

Warnings: talking about home fire, cursing, talking about trauma

A/N: Hi everyone! This chapter is a little different. It's more about developing our characters, understanding what exactly is going on, and setting it up for later events. I'm sorry if this isn't particularly exciting, but I feel like this was necessary for the storyline I'm going down? I don't know, if you guys have thoughts lemme know! As always, I love hanging out with you all on here. It is so much fun, and it's just a reprieve and joy. And if you're finding this for the first time hello!! If you want to catch the first parts just click the tags that say Interviews for New Beginnings, and itll all be there! I promise I'm going to make a masterlist! I just don't know how to hyperlink and it's stressing me out. Anyway I'm sorry I talk so much! Love you guys! - Mo

The tailor shop was not always your family’s tailor shop. When your mother and father first immigrated to Camden, it was the one shop that agreed to hire them. Mr. Kahn was the originator, an older gentleman with large round glasses, the most illustrious beard you’ve ever seen, and the most soothing voice. When he saw the the pitiful young couple that would one day be your parents, he not only opened the doors of his shop, but his arms and his heart and his home.

Your father had been a tailor by trade in his home country, and quickly picked up the new skills and tricks that Mr. Kahn had so generously gifted. Mr. Kahn had no children himself, and his whole family had to stay in his own country as well. Like two lonely ships at sea your parents and Mr. Kahn found each other, and built a a new family. He was there for the birth of you and Eli and your brother, and there for the arrival of your grandparents. And when he passed away, he gave the shop and the home above the shop to your family, his other family. In honor of Mr. Kahn, your father and uncle kept the name Kahn’s and Sons. Though people knew you weren’t the technical Kahn Sons, everyone gave their regards to the beautiful picture of Mr. Kahn that hung in the front. His bright and shining smile and twinkling eyes kept watch over the shop, your family, and anyone who crossed the threshold. Anyone who looked at the painting smiled, remembering his gentle voice and his grand laughter.

That painting is the only thing that survives the flames.

As the sky turns a pale white, all that can be heard above the shocked voice and the rises smoke are the screams and wails of your mother, screaming and asking God why why why? Your aunt and grandmother holding her and weeping as well, praying and begging for an answer. You sister Esther on your hip keeps whispering, “What happened? What happened to our store sissy?”

And you have no answer. You have nothing in your chest but a numb buzzing, and acid in your throat. You feel hot hot tears making canyons in the ash that covers your face. You see Eli, your father, uncle, brother, grandfather, and other neighbors trying to move out any molten machines from the wreckage. When you make eye contact with Eli, he just shakes his head, tears having wiped the majority of the ash away. He looks at you as if yo say, “I don’t even know why we keep looking.”

Esther begins to cry, the smoke bothering her eyes, and you just begin to rock her and walk down the street to take her away from the wreckage. No child should have to see something so horrible as this.

People begin to stop and ask what happened. Who did this? Why Kahn’s? Why your father’s shop? You just walked past them. How would you know? How could anyone know? All you knew is that your sister was crying and coughing too hard. You just needed to get away. You just needed to get away. Just away.

On the other side of Camden, Alfie Solomons walks in to the office, after a long night of praying and bargaining for his secretary to be at her desk when he came in.

Despite his pleas, he is not surprised to see that her desk has been untouched, the stove has not been lit, and the air is too cold to breathe in. He rubs his face roughly, more for punishment than for comfort, and caresses the calendar on the abandoned desk, before tenderly picking it up and taking it to his own desk. Alfie found himself soon flipping through those wrinkled and pressed pages. Noticing the arrows and tiny scribbles on your near penmanship. As he further explores he finds himself chuckling lowly at the small characters of Tommy, Ollie, and even him and Cyril. He notes the repetition of his own name, with a small delicate heart over the i. He nearly completely smudges away the small heart with his tracings when Ollie knocks him back to Camden, “Uhm Alfie…”

“What?”

And that’s when he noticed it… the silence. There were people in the bakery, same amount as usual all doing what the need to do. But he heard… nothing. It was silent. All he could hear were the scuffing thuds of work boots against worn down floor boards, and the moaning creaks of barrels being turned over. Alfie got up from his desk, brushed passed Ollie to look at his men. But they weren’t his men. These were phantoms wearing the clothes of his men. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

Ollie tenderly stepped behind Alfie, “Alfie… there was a fire last night…”

The blood in his heart immediately froze. His lungs shrank in his chest, and the air was suddenly sucked out of the room. “Where?” Alfie asked, though he already knew.

“Kahn’s… Alfie it’s scorched.”

Alfie couldn’t even finish listening. He had to go. He had to go. Damn the secrecy. Damn what your family knew or didn’t know. Damn what the men would think, seeing him run to see if his w… secretary was hurt. That didn’t matter. The Mad Baker be damned. “Ollie. Get the car. Grab two men from downstairs. We’re going to Kahn’s now. NOW!”

Though the drive to your home from the office was merely 20 minutes, a drive he knew well, it felt as though it took years off his life. The closer the car got, the denser the crowds of people were. The more clearly he could see the dissipating smoke and ash.

When Alfie was a young child, he struggled with fear. Thunder sent him under the covers, loud fights sent him behind his mothers skirts. The dark petrified him, necessitating two candles to defend him from nightmares. This fear followed him through childhood until he was 10, when he was assigned to give a small speech in front of his class. Poor young Alfie Solomons, so terrified of the 20 pairs of eyes that stared at him, that he threw up. He fled in tears away from the gasps and laughter, and back into the arms of his mother. There he wept profusely, embarrassed but mostly angry about how cowardly he thought of himself. His mother, hushing and consoling him, was broken-hearted at her son’s agony. Her only child. Her pride and joy. “Ahhh varóbushik. You know… it is not bad to be afraid… fear is not a sin my love.”

His eyes, ocean like in his tears looked up at his mother, “But I need to be brave. Like papa was.”

She smiled softly, “Mm yes papa was very brave. But you know… bravery isn’t the absence of fear… no it’s… it’s surviving even when you are afraid. It’s doing what you are afraid of even when you are scared. That is brave. You are brave every day my sweet Alfie.”

Alfie curled closer to his mother’s side, rocking and swaying with her as she continued to stroke his unruly hair, “Alfie, I have a trick for when I’m scared. I used it when I was leaving my home country.”

Alfie looked up, hopeful for a spell or a tool to keep him from fear, “What is it mama?”

“I let myself be afraid for 10 seconds. I count backwards from ten, and let my body feel the fear. And with every breath, and every number, and release that fear. By the time I get to 1, I am no longer afraid. I push through it. If you can manage to push through to 1 every time… I think you will find that you can do anything my darling boy.”

Alfie nodded, and resolved to always make it to 1. Even as a Captain in the war, right before the charge, as he saw the enemy approaching, he started the count. He always made it to 1, and always won.

But the counting wasn’t working now. In the car to Kahn’s and Sons Alfie couldn’t make it past 5 before his mind fled to you, wondering why hadn’t seen you in the crowd yet. Why he hadn’t heard your voice above the engine of the car yet. Why he hadn’t heard you call for him yet.

The sick in his stomach almost made its way out of his mouth when he saw what was left of Kahn’s and Sons. The emerald green wood of the front had been destroyed, leaving a festering and open wound. The windows of the above apartment had been blown out, and he could see and smell charred wall paper and clothing. Anything that could be salvaged was already, piled up in a pathetic little hill to the side. The fire department had long left, the police wouldn’t be there for another day, and the neighbors could only hold who Alfie assumed to be your family, as they wept.

“Mr. Solomons?”

Alfie turned swiftly, as if he was afraid to miss your phantom’s last moments on Earth. But you were there, solid. As solid as the ask caked to your face. He willed his arms to stay at his side, so as not to crush you in his arms, or embarrass you. Your eyes begged him to say something, to say anything. To make sense of this. The fire. His presence. Your position. But what was he to say? What role is he to play in this? Esther looked at Alfie curiously her reddened cheeks pursued together, “Are you sissy’s boss?”

A million words could’ve been dictated from the stare you gave him. They can’t know… not now. Not like this. Alfie just smiled softly at Esther, “No little bird, I’m just a neighbor. Your sister’s boss is has an office near mine. But I hear she is a very smart sister. Is that right?”

Esther giggled and nodded, proceeding to babble at Alfie, competing with him in amount of words that could fall out of the human mouth. You couldn’t help but stare at this scene. The smoke and horror seemed to wash away, and all you could see is Alfie and Esther. Esther finally smiling after a night of pain. Alfie chuckling and playing with a small child, speaking with Esther as an equal. Teaching her a clapping game and asking her questions about her favorite dolls. It felt too natural. Too sweet and real and too tangible. It felt as if it was a window to a life you could have and wanted so badly but will never have. It was too much. Your strangled inhale brings Alfie’s eyes to yours, but before he can say anything of comfort your fathers voice booms over, “Mr. Solomons! My daughters are of no concern of yours! What could you possibly take from us at this time? Have you no compassion? No human decency!”

Your father pushed between you and Alfie, a formidable blockade. Alfie mad no move, essentially chest to chest with your father, staring right into his eyes. “Shalom sir. Was checking if the rumors were true. It’s a shame.”

“It is a shame, now please leave. There is nothing more you could take from us. This city is over run with your like, killing and blowing each other up, and what about us hmm?? We take the shrapnel. We either pay your protection fees and starve with a slightly better chance at surviving the blowbacks? Or we save our money to feed our children, and still suffer the consequences of your war? Now Mr. Solomons what more can you take from us?”

It was no longer a question where you got your mouth from. Your father was old, but in his eyes you saw the anger and fire of his youth, of a man out through war. Alfie typically wouldn’t allow this, by anyone. But frankly, what little memories Alfie had of his own father, he saw in yours. And he couldn’t help but feel as though this fire was his fault. Maybe if he hadn’t fought with you yesterday, this fire wouldn’t have happened.

Alfie swallowed down any regret of the night before. The time was not for regret. The time was for solutions. And if Alfie wanted to be a part of the solution, he needed to speak to your father. As businessmen, “Mr. Abraham. I am sorry for your loss. Despite your reservations, you still live in Camden. And as a resident of Camden right? You live under Solomons protection. Now this right here? This is wrong. And I’m going to personally right, see to it that it is resolved.”

Your father began to bristle at this, “The police will do an investigation. We don’t need a gangster mucking about.”

Alfie chuckled, “You know the police won’t do a fucking thing about this. They don’t care about these sort of things they’re in everyone’s purse. Fuck, some of them are in mine.”

“I will not be indebted to another tyrant.”

Your free hand flew to your fathers shoulder, “Papa please… if you won’t allow a mitzvah… please just… just speak business with Mr. Solomons.”

Your father turned to you, “This is none of your concern! Please go to your mother immediately!”

But you stood your ground, “Mr. Solomons is offering you a solution papa! You are impeding a solution and the possibility help and a necessary alliance! And for what?! Pride?! Look at this! We have nothing! The shop is destroyed and we out home is burnt! What other solution could you possibly have?”

Your father just stared at you, mouth open, the emotions of the day washing over him. It was true. There was no other choice. And you were too old for him to be able to shield you from that reality. You clutched a shocked Esther closer to your side, “Papa… just… listen to what Mr. Solomons has to say… He is a business man. He can be reasonable, that’s what people say.”

Your father looked at you, and in that moment he saw you as you fully were. No longer that small child that sat with him until the late hours listening to him read. Not the little girl who cried about hurt birds who didn’t have a papa to take care of them. But a full woman. A whole woman with a firm mind and kind heart and strong temper. In an instant he felt the joy of watching his child, the mourning of losing his little girl, and the wonder of who you became seemingly overnight. He nodded, and turned back to Alfie, who was hiding his smile underneath an unkempt beard. Your father straightened and said, “Well Mr. Solomons. What are your proposed terms for such a partnership?”

Your father proved to be a shrewd businessman, nitpicking with Alfie over every detail in this partnership, which according to the terms would be reviewed every 6 months, with an option of either side to cancel the business relationship at those meetings. But Alfie knew he was never going to be the one to cancel it, as long as it kept him tied to you. You were the assigned scribe to the terms, which you fell easily into like walking. Mr. Solomons would provide housing to you and your family for the time it took to repair your family's home. The home was a block away from his office and home, providing easier access and protection for your family while an investigation was to take place. The investigation, Alfie insisted, would be conducted by his own men, and any policemen in his purse. Alfie insisted to your father that this was more for his own benefit than your father's, as it would solidify his position as the protector and the owner of Camden town. Your father acquiesed to Alfie's demand that the perpetrator would be dealt with in his own way, not involving the actual legal system.

Kahn's and Sons would be repaired and restocked through the use of Solomons men and contacts, which would be completed within in the next two months. Upon the finished construction, two men would be on guard of the shop during the day and night, reduced to one man upon the capture of the man who committed the act. Payment for the housing, rebuilding, and protection would be based on the services of Mr. Abraham and his family. Information obtained during client conversations, as well as tailoring and laundry services necessitated by the entirety of the Solomons Company. Services would be traded according to the going rate of Kahn and Sons prices. And upon the equitable exchange, Solomons laundry and tailoring services would then be discounted at a 45% rate. At the end of the negotiation, both men shook hands, both fighting to keep pleased looks off their faces and keep the air of solemnity and certainty and expectance.

As soon as their hands released, they nodded and gave Shalom, with your father giving directions to his own family, and Alfie barking orders to Ollie and his men. You stayed firmly planted next to Alfie, Esther being taken by your father. You looked at him quizically saying to him, "That is the most generous offer you have ever given in your life."

Alfie gruffed, "You hardly have standing to say that seeing as you only been working with me for 7 months."

"Am I still employed?"

"You better. Or else the entire office is going to shit. Ollie is moping. I can't read your handwriting. And you messed everything up in my office I can't find anything."

You smirked, "I told you, you need new glasses and your office was a pig pen. You should be thanking me profusely."

Alfie just grumbled. He would never admit that the way you spoke to him now made him feel better than he had in the past 12 hours. You allowed your fingers to brush his and the rings stacked on them, "Thank you Alfie.", you let out in a whisper, not looking at him.

He took a quick breath in at the contact, immediately craving more. But he bristled out instead, "For what?"

Your eyes remained planted at the dirt on your shoes, "For coming. For... checking in."

Alfie gently brushed his finger tips against the top of your hands, hanging by your sides, the closest he could get to holding your hands, "I had to. Now get over there, your mother keeps looking over Eli's shoulder. I'll meet you all where you'll be staying."

You nodded, cheeks and hands hot, "Yes Alfie. Shalom."

"Shalom Darling."

Tag List: @jokersqueenofchaos @hoodeddreams13 @satur9-saturnalia @autumnleaves1991-blog @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @character---obsessed @solomons-finest-rum

[deancaspinefest]

Given to Fly | Explicit | 60,952

Author: mittensmorgul (MittenWraith) | Artist: seidenapfel (also on ao3)

It only upsets Dean's comfortable routine a little bit when Claire's illustrious uncle moves down to Norfolk to run his airfield. That is, until he meets his new boss face to face and can barely make words happen. Cas isn't doing much better, even if he knows exactly what he'd say to Dean if only he weren't Dean's commanding officer...

Test pilot instructor Cas (who's afraid of boats) ran from his Air Force family to join the Navy, Dean ran from his Marine Corps father to work on airplanes for the Navy— just as long as he doesn't have to fly in one, he's fine. They've met in the middle, but also in an impossible circumstance. It seems as if the one thing they want is something they can't have.

Unless solving one impossible mystery could free them...

Link to fic | Link to art on tumblr and on ao3

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, background Claire/Kaia, Sam/Eileen, Benny/Andrea

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, not realistic to how the navy actually works

Tags: Alternate Universe - Navy, season 7 vibes but everyone is human

[prophecyofwinter]

Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Prologue

Chapter 3: Lemon Scented Letters

“You know it is not good luck for one to fall asleep after morning prayer.”

You groan as thin curtains were forced apart allowing the full force of the sun to shine through. You roll over to cover your face, maybe if you hid away she’d let you sleep. The pups at the foot of your bed stretched and jumped off to go seek out the cooks for some type of meat scraps.

They get bigger and bigger every day, it’s been almost a month since you’ve received them and they have grown quickly.

“Did you know it is bad luck to wake the Lady of Light at any point?”

“I will take my chances Y/N. It’s almost midday!”

You sigh in defeat and roll over to your back, letting out a big puff of air blowing your hair out of your face. Thankfully you don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, just you, Tyanna, and a bunch of cute little sandwiches.

“Tyanna, the cooks are serving those finger sandwiches for Luncheon aren’t they? Cucumbers are in season aren’t they?”

Suddenly you hear stomping leading up to your room and the abrupt sounds of your guards berating the individuals at the doorstep of your personal chambers. You recognize the voice instantly… fuck.

“Let Priest Titus in!”

Red Priest Titus, he’s one of the oldest in the temple and came over on a pilgrimage to bear witness to you. He’s one of the few who believes in you but still gives you a hard time with your choices.

“When were you going to tell me?!”

He could be talking about any number of things, for an old wise man he fumes up far too easily. Reminds you why he doesn’t deal with the politics of the temple.

“If you wanted to join us for luncheon you could’ve just asked.”

“You know very well I am not talking about finger sandwiches!-“

“Well I only want to talk about finger sandwiches so this must wait until after…”

The old man was very clearly fuming, about to bust at the seams of his Red robes. You had no idea what he was talking about but just to see him getting mad makes your day.

“This absolutely cannot wait! When were you going to mention to- to- to anyone that you were going back to Westeros!”

“No one is going back to Westeros! Not soon at least-“

“Then explain this!”

A letter is thrown at you, but it is an open piece of paper so it just flutters to the ground a few feet in front of Titus with a more embarrassed look on his face while you lay slightly amused.

“Well. Now what.”

“Allow me to get that my Lady…”

Tyanna rushes from the other side of the room to grab the piece of parchment off of the floor and handing it over to you and backing away slowly.

You rub your tried eyes and unwrinkle the letter that had been so foolishly tossed to the floor and began to read unamused.

To the Court of the Lady of Light

The Crown of Westeros and House Targaryen humbly requests the beloved presence of the illustrious Lady of Light.

By the turn of the next moon, we wish to be gifted with her graces presence.

We hope to hold a banquet in her honor, as we understand it draws near to the Feast of the First Sun.

We would be honored to host the week of festivities in tandem with the Faith's own Summers Night Feast in Kingslanding.

Alongside her grace and her Courtesans, will be joined by his royal highness King Viserys and Queen Alicent with their children Prince Aegon Targaryen, Princess Helaena Targaryen, and Prince Aemond Targaryen. Other Houses may be in attendance at their own will.

Sincerely, the Crown of Westeros.

Your face softens as you read and a soft lemon scent wafts through your nose, clearly it was soaked into the paper somehow.

He knows… He really knows…

“Aemond…” you whisper delicately while stroking his name written on the paper.

“This is an insult! They dare try to dirty our grand feast with- with- their shit copy!” You can barely hear Titus over the blood in your ears.

“We must go, write them back immediately.”

“Forgive me for saying but have you been inhaling too much Ash my Lady?! You do not know what they have planned!”

You hop up from your bed almost immediately, you felt the need to defend Aemond. No one here knows him, and to assume he would have this sent out to harm you?

“Aemond would not allow!- The Targaryens would not allow such acts on their grounds!”

You feel the room get cold and silent even with the humid summer heat. Your outburst you’ll admit was uncalled for but, if Aemond wants to see you, you shall be seen.

Titus’s face hardens and zones in on you and the letter in your hands and lets out a strained breath admitting his own defeat.

“I see, very well. I am bound to you, I go where you go my Lady.”

“Have a Priest write a letter back confirming our attendance, and Tyanna, gather members for a procession to escort and attend to me during our stay. After luncheon of course.”

Titus’s quick defeat should worry you, clearly the mention of Aemond made him realize something. The relief and serenity of the thought of being back in Westeros, even if not the North. Is too great for you to think about much else.

Oh Aemond…

——————————

“I heard Lys is nice this time of year.”

Alicent feels her body tense up at the mention of the three lettered country, especially when it falls from Aemonds mouth. She takes a long sip of her tea to articulate her thoughts, but the worry eats at her tongue regardless. Even the gardens that surround them help none to ease her stress.

“You have no business in Lys, you’ve never been. Why the interest in Lys?”

Aemond walks closer to the table where his mother sits and pulls out his own chair to take a seat across from his mother. Hands folded neatly, no elbows on the table as his mother taught him so, deep breath in long breath out.

“I read a book in the library, about the Lord of Light and the temple in Lys. A rather new book actually, published in High Valyrian around 2 years ago. It tells about their new Deity, the Lady of Light. Few know her name but they describe her with features from the First Men-“

“Do not torture me any longer, I cannot bear it. Aegon babbled to you, didn't he?”

Aemond sits for an extra moment longer, thinking about where he wanted this to go. What he really wanted to come from this interaction.

Maybe he would make his Mother sit in it a little longer.

“Aegon talks about a lot of things Mother, which do you speak of? I just wanted to tell you of my studies, since we tell each other important information.”

Alicent knows she’s asked for this to some extent. She knew Aegon would tell Aemond but she didn’t think it would happen this soon. She knows Aemond cares about this girl and he wants her to suffer just a little.

“Gods! I’m sorry that I did not tell you but need I remind you how you reacted the last time she was mentioned! I didn’t know where you were, you disappeared for days!”

Aemond says nothing, he sits there and twiddles his thumbs. Maybe he was sitting there to think or maybe to just see if his mother kept going. It was a cloudy day, no burning sun coming down on Aemonds black leather clothes, he could sit here all day if he wanted to. Normally the hot weather makes it too hot for him to think clearly.

“What would you have me do Aemond? Invite her here? So your eyes can meet and embrace each other while crowds clap and cheer, then marry and run away into the sunset?-“

“That’s exactly what we shall do. I read in the same book that they hold the Feast of the First Sun at the same time as the Summers Night Feast.”

Aemond had thought this through delicately it seems… What he asks is a tall order, not realistic in the slightest. However, if Alicent desires to place Aegon on the throne, Aemond having the fancy of a powerful religious leader wouldn’t… not help.

How would she get the faith to approve of such an activity though? To break bread to who they believe are heretics… The North has the Old Gods, the Targaryens have the Valyrian Gods…

[tiny-librarian]

With Caesarion - or little Caesar as the Alexandrians nicknamed Ptolemy XV Caesar, Cleopatra had no difficulty ruling as a female King. Even before he began to babble, Caesarion accomplished a masterly feat. He rendered his feckless uncle wholly irrelevant. Whether Ptolemy XIV recognized it or not, his older sister had gained control both of the imagery and the government.

Cleopatra’s timing was impeccable; she indeed seems to have had help - or great good luck - in producing children precisely when it was most advantageous to do so. Caesarion’s birth coincided almost exactly with early summer rise of the Nile, which psychologically, icongraphically, and financially ushered in the season on plenty. Daily anticipation gave way to celebration as the Nile grew turbid and mossy green, then swelled steadily, from south to north. Basket after basket filled with grapes, figs, and melons. The honey flowed abundantly. Cleopatra celebrated the annual feast of Isis at this time, an important, ritual-heavy date on the Egyptian Calender. The tears of the all-powerful goddess were said to account for the rise of the river. Cleopatra’s subjects offered her (compulsory) gifts on the holiday, a practice that set off a frenzied competition among her courtiers. Boats arrived at the palace from every corner of Egypt, loaded with fruits and flowers. Caesarion’s birth drove home Cleopatra’s association with Isis, but on that count Cleopatra took her cue from her most illustrious ancestors, who for 250 years had identified with that ancient goddess.

Cleopatra, A Life - Stacy Schiff

[seidenapfel]

Given to Fly Written by MittenWraith (@mittensmorgul) || Art by @seidenapfel

Summary: It only upsets Dean's comfortable routine a little bit when Claire's illustrious uncle moves down to Norfolk to run his airfield. That is, until he meets his new boss face to face and can barely make words happen. Cas isn't doing much better, even if he knows exactly what he'd say to Dean if only he weren't Dean's commanding officer… Test pilot instructor Cas (who's afraid of boats) ran from his Air Force family to join the Navy, Dean ran from his Marine Corps father to work on airplanes for the Navy-- just as long as he doesn't have to fly in one, he's fine. They've met in the middle, but also in an impossible circumstance. It seems as if the one thing they want is something they can't have. Unless solving one impossible mystery could free them…

Read the full story on AO3 || Art on AO3

Artist's note: Here's my art post for the @deancaspinefest. I got to work together with Mittens and had a great time. There were so many things I wanted to draw/paint, but I ended up with four pastel paintings and one digital one. The moment I read the fic, I knew i wanted to do some pastel portraits, even though I hadn't worked with pastels before. But I really like how the pieces turned out, despite my limited palette. I only managed to create one digital painting in the end. At first, I had planned to do art for two other scenes, but the first time of Dean and Cas meeting was such a great scene for a banner, so I made another version without the font. Find more notes on my AO3 post.

[graceofromanovs]

GODPARENTS OF PRINCE KONSTANTIN KONSTANTINOVICH

Prince Konstantin Konstantinovich was born on 1 January 1891 in Saint Petersburg, Imperial Russia. He was the third son and fourth child of Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich of Russia and his German-born wife Grand Duchess Elizabeth Mavrikievna. Konstantin was christened on 3 January at 2 in the afternoon at Marble Palace Church, St. Petersburg, by the Confessor of Their Majesties. His godparents were:

ALEXANDER III, EMPEROR OF RUSSIA - his father’s first cousin was named as one of his many godparents. He was highly reactionary in domestic affairs and reversed some of the liberal reforms of his father, Alexander II. He was most likely present at his young cousin’s christening.

GRAND DUKE KONSTANTIN NIKOLAEVICH OF RUSSIA - his paternal grandfather and namesake was one of his numerous godparents. He was the Viceroy of Poland from 1862 to 1863. His real influence on internal affairs after 1868 was insignificant. He was reportedly absent at his grandson's christening, due to his ill health.

CHARLES ALEXANDER, GRAND DUKE OF SAXE-WEIMAR-EISENACH - his parents' distant cousin (as a grandson of Emperor Paul I of Russia) was also named as the young Konstantin's godparent. He was absent at the prince's christening. He was the penultimate ruler of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, from 1853 until his death in 1901.

QUEEN MARIE OF HANOVER - his great-aunt, the last Queen consort of Hanover, was amongst his numerous godparents. She was absent at his christening.

ELISABETH, GRAND DUCHESS OF OLDENBURG - another of his great-aunt named as his godmother. Elisabeth, upon her marriage to the Grand Duke of Oldenburg used the funds given to her by her father to set up the Elisabeth Foundation, which still exists today. Like her sister Queen Marie, she was absent at her great-nephew's christening.

GRAND DUKE ALEXEI ALEXANDROVICH OF RUSSIA - his father's illustrious first cousin was named as the prince's godfather. Chosen for a naval career, Alexei started his military training at an early age. By the age of 20 he had been appointed lieutenant of the Imperial Russian Navy, eventually becoming general-admiral.

GRAND DUCHESS ALEXANDRA PETROVNA OF RUSSIA - his great-aunt,  the wife of Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich, was another of his godmothers.A plain, and serious woman, her marriage to Grand Duke Nicholas was an unhappy one. Nevertheless, she would enjoy and maintain a good relationship with a few of her nephews including Emperor Alexander III and Grand Duke Konstantin Konstantinovich, who were sympathetic to her.

GRAND DUCHESS ALEXANDRA GEORGIEVNA OF RUSSIA - his paternal first cousin, the eldest daughter of King George I and Queen Olga, had been present and named as a godparent of Prince Konstantin, who was merely nineteen years her senior. In 1889, she married Grand Duke Paul Alexandrovich, the youngest brother of Emperor Alexander III.

GRAND DUKE MICHAEL NIKOLAEVICH OF RUSSIA - his great-uncle was also listed as his godparent, and had been present at the christening. A soldier for most of his adult life, he enjoyed a favourable relationship with the three last Emperors of Russia - his brother Alexander II; nephew Alexander III; and great-nephew Nicholas II.

GRAND DUKE PETER NIKOLAEVICH OF RUSSIA - his father's first cousin was another of his many godparents. He was the younger son of Grand Duke Nicholas Nikolaevich and his wife grand Duchess Alexandra Petrovna (also named as a godparent of Prince Konstantin, listed above).

PRINCESS AUGUSTA OF SAXE-MEININGEN - his maternal grandmother was also named as his godmother. In 1862, she married Prince Moritz of Saxe-Altenburg, and bore him five children.

PRINCESS LOUISE CHARLOTTE OF SAXE-ALTENBURG - his maternal aunt, the youngest sister of Grand Duchess Elizabeth Mavrikievna was amongst his numerous godparents. Both Louise Charlotte and her mother Augusta were absent at Konstantin's christening.

Source

[whencyclopedia]

Henry Clinton

Sir Henry Clinton (l. c. 1730-1795) was a British military officer who served as commander-in-chief of the British Army in the later stages of the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783). Having arrived in Boston in May 1775, he served in North America for most of the war, resigning his post in 1782 after the British defeat at the Siege of Yorktown.

The son of a British admiral, Clinton became a soldier at the age of 15 and saw action in Germany during the Seven Years' War. Thanks to his connections to British lords, he quickly rose through the ranks and was one of three British generals sent to Boston, Massachusetts, in 1775 to crush the American rebellion. Clinton was famously jealous, paranoid, and quick-tempered, traits that made it difficult for him to work with his fellow officers; still, he was well-educated in military matters and was among the most competent British tacticians of the war. As commander-in-chief, he led the British army at the Battle of Monmouth and the Siege of Charleston, but his lack of support for his second-in-command, Lord Charles Cornwallis, contributed to the British loss of the American South. After the war, he returned to England, where he received much of the blame for the British defeat before his death in December 1795.

Early Career

Little is known about Clinton's early life or childhood. He was likely born on 16 April 1730, although the time and location of his birth have been disputed; some scholars claim he was born in Newfoundland when his father was governor there, which, if true, would push his birth year back to 1732 at the earliest. What is known for certain, however, is that he came from a wealthy family of noble pedigree. His family was a cadet branch of the House of Lincoln, which could trace its earldom back to the reign of Elizabeth I of England (r. 1558-1603), and his uncle was related by marriage to the first Duke of Newcastle, who often lent his patronage to the Clinton family (Willcox, 4). Henry's father was British Admiral George Clinton (not to be confused with the future U.S. Vice President of the same name) and his mother was Anne Carle, a general's daughter. He also had two siblings, both sisters, who survived to adulthood.

Through the Duke of Newcastle's influence, Admiral Clinton was appointed governor of the Province of New York in 1741. The admiral did not arrive to take up his post until September 1743, taking his family with him. Henry, who was at most 13 when he arrived in New York, was probably educated at the Long Island school of Samuel Seabury, the future first bishop of the American Episcopal Church. In 1745, he began his military career when he enlisted in the New York militia as a lieutenant. The following year, his father procured for him a captain's commission, and he was sent to join the garrison of Louisbourg, a fort on the Saint Lawrence River that had recently been captured from the French. While stationed there, he was ambushed by a band of French and Native Americans, narrowly avoiding death by "stripping and jumping into the sea" (Willcox, 10).

In the summer of 1749, Clinton realized his prospects for military advancement in the colonies were limited, prompting him to return to England. With Newcastle's help, he was commissioned as a captain in the illustrious Coldstream Guards and, by 1758, he had risen to the rank of lieutenant colonel in the Grenadier Guards. By then, Europe was engulfed in the Seven Years' War (1756-1763) and Clinton's regiment was sent to Germany to bolster the Anglo-German army trying to prevent a French invasion of Hanover. He fought at the Battle of Villinghausen (16 July 1761) and Battle of Wilhelmsthal (24 July 1762), serving shoulder to shoulder with fellow British officers William Phillips and Lord Charles Cornwallis, both of whom would also become prominent generals in the American Revolution. He served as aide-de-camp to Charles William Ferdinand, future Duke of Brunswick, (the same Prussian general who would one day fight the French revolutionaries at the Battle of Valmy) in whose service Clinton was seriously wounded at Nauheim (30 August 1762).

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