#blood legacies
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finally got around to finishing this.
My MC Apricity from @bloodlegacies's game, pretty lady but also her heart is as cold as ice at this point. her mother's death really changed her and I feel like her and her father are probably really scary if you think about it... god she's probably worse than her father.
going from not being able to kill and being so sweet to having no problem with killing and being just as cold as her ice powers. 😔
#My Drawings#blood legacies#and even if I see a lot of people say their MCs hate their father she can't hate her father#I feel like she kind of understands him at least a little#and he's the only parent she has left#so of course she's gonna care#even if she hardly shows it#maybe someday she'll finally actually heal
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Creator of Blood Legacies: @bloodlegacies
Another fanart. I just wanted to do some cover
art. Starting from the
Top (right to left) : Hayden, Nix, Tyler
Bottom (right to left) Elia, Caio, Cecilia
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"she laughed and bathed in their blood" SIR that's a grieving CHILD 🙄🙄
meet my mc's
name: iris ellarian
li: hayden
story: blood legacies by @bloodlegacies
#iris ellarion they could never make me hate you 😤‼️#nat actually doing an edit with...TEXT??#that actually looks GOOD??#unheard of.#anyways say hi to my new traumatized pookie#my father is the worst man alive and i'm his favorite daughter vibezz#her father basically made her into a weapon by his image and now she has to spend her whole life beating the monster allegations...#she's down BAD for the people she loves it's insane#anyways play blood legacies - it's actually so fucking amazing#*my edits#meet my mc's#bl: iris#blood legacies#clown.txt
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Marena Amariel - Blood Legacies
https://br.pinterest.com/atenaoliverira/ifs/marena-amariel-blood-legacies/
Cold
Fierce Loyal
Not afraid to be blunt and rude
Don’t show weekness
Follow the rules, if you have a problem with the rules talk to the king
Sincere
Rough
And my new love ♥
@bloodlegacies
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🩸 And Nothing Else Matters 🩸
part 2 - part 3
#arcane#arcane season 2#arcane spoilers#jayce talis#viktor arcane#jayvik#'love and legacy are the sacrifices we make...'#'i never asked for this'#i'm so absolutely hung up on this scene#this is what it took for jayce to see what was most important to him#but it was too late#i'm in agony#pidgy drew#digital art#artists on tumblr#tw: blood#tw: injuries#tw: violence
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@foundthatoldzeppelinshirt what did u do to me...what in the wattpad is this... i only planned to do a few doodles but then i kept getting more brainrotted and things got out of hand LMAOO (and ofc i HAD to draw hockey player seb at SOME POINT bc its my duty as a canadian citizen🫡🍁🍁 O CANADA!!!)
#my dad loves hockey and i grew up with him just yelling at the tv and saying WATCH THIS! WATCH THIS! OH DID YOU SEE THAT??#the only time i would watch/found it interesting was during shootouts or whenever fights broke out BAHAHA god... theres so much fighting#the amount of blood i put on seb isnt even an exaggeration or anything out of the ordinary if youve watched hockey LMFAO#tho something i always found super cute about hockey is that the players always give each other head pats on their helmets its ADORABLE#my dad always tried to get me into hockey and now i guess i finally did something hockey related LMAOO are u proud of me papa???#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy sebastian#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x oc#sebastian x mc#clora clemons#choccyart#ask#i love drawing clora in white and blue she looks like a snow fairy#and idk if its just bc im in canada but we constantly went to the skating rink for field trips and stuff in elementary school#nothing like skating on freshly zamboni'd ice mmmm thats the STUFF#going to a christmas market today as well im excited i hope they have FOOD
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how your email finds me
#second book cover for 'The Blairville Legacies' series#art#my art#digital art#artist#digital painting#artists on tumblr#digital drawing#drawing#painting#Wolf#Wolf Art#blood#blood tw#Dark art
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Talking to the Moon
Doodling. Ended up with Bribelle, which is always nice ^^
#ever after high#eah#briar beauty#faybelle thorn#legacies undone#sketching#digital art#concept art#character art#fanart#illustration#character design#art#ship art#angst#tw blood#tw injury#SoundCloud#Spotify
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Well, they were supposed to be New Year's.
#fanart#my fanart#myart#myfanart#my art#legacy of kain#kain#legacyofkain#raziel#lok#Vampire#vampire art#soul reaver#soulreaver#blood omen#Raziel#sketch
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My people! I brought you the update! It's short, but I hope you like it. I won't drag it out too much because I'm currently writing 😅 And I had to deal with some things involving some animals here (literally animals), but here I am! A little late, but I'm here.
Ps: Happy birthday anon!
Update: 10,000 words
Total of the demo: 133,000 words
Link
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Legacy (dinner with a lion)
- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.
- Paring: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Previous part: 1
- Next part: power play
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround
Tywin sits alone at the head of the table, his fingers steepled as he waits, his expression as unreadable as the darkness pooling around him. The faint rustling of armor and the heavy door opening signals the arrival of his guest, and a faint smirk tugs at Tywin's lips as Petyr Baelish enters, eyes sharp, glinting with his characteristic cunning.
"Lord Baelish," Tywin greets, his voice a quiet command in itself, and he gestures for Petyr to join him. "I trust the journey from King’s Landing was not overly burdensome."
Petyr steps forward with a slight bow, his expression betraying nothing as he takes a seat. "Lord Tywin," he replies smoothly, "one grows accustomed to the roads in these trying times. Though, it is a relief to find oneself back in civilized company."
Tywin nods slightly, acknowledging the thinly veiled compliment, though his gaze remains sharp. "There is much to discuss, Littlefinger. I trust your recent activities in the capital have yielded… profitable results?"
Baelish’s lips curve in a shadow of a smile, his hands folding on the table before him. "Profitable indeed, my lord. The city is ever a place of opportunities for those with an eye keen enough to see them. But I must admit, I did not expect to find you here in Harrenhal… or to hear of a rather unique guest in your company."
Tywin’s expression remains unreadable, though a glint in his eye betrays his satisfaction. "Ah, yes. The rumors travel quickly, I see. It is true. She’s here."
Littlefinger raises an eyebrow, his tone careful. "The sister of Rhaegar Targaryen herself. I’d thought her lost to the North, tucked away under the Starks’ protection."
"The Starks’ protection can only go so far, especially in times such as these." Tywin’s tone is cold, final. "Lady Y/N’s presence here is… fortuitous, and I intend to ensure she remains under Lannister protection from now on."
Petyr’s face shifts, his surprise only barely concealed. "Lannister protection," he repeats, musing over the words, his fingers drumming lightly against the table. "So… I am to assume her role will extend beyond mere ‘protection’?”
Tywin’s lips thin into a faint smile, a calculated gleam in his eyes. "Quite astute, as always, Lord Baelish. Lady Y/N will accompany me back to the capital, where preparations for our union will commence."
For the first time, Petyr’s mask falters, his expression flickering with a trace of genuine surprise. He recovers quickly, smoothing his expression back into one of neutral interest. “Your union?” he asks, as if testing the weight of the words.
"Indeed," Tywin replies, his gaze unwavering. "A union that will serve to secure her position—and mine. A Targaryen, legitimized under Lannister rule, will silence whispers on both sides. There are… strategic benefits to the arrangement."
Petyr’s eyes narrow, the cogs turning in his mind as he weighs this unexpected twist. “A fascinating decision, my lord. I must admit, I didn’t think you the type to take a wife again.”
Tywin’s gaze hardens just slightly. "One must be prepared to make certain sacrifices, Littlefinger. This is more than a mere alliance—it is an investment in the future stability of the realm."
Baelish gives a small nod, masking his surprise with the smooth, charming smile he so often wears. "And who better than you, my lord, to secure such stability." Yet, there’s a glimmer of something deeper in his gaze—curiosity, calculation, perhaps even a hint of envy. The wheels in his mind turn, each possibility shifting into place.
Just then, the door opens again, and Arya steps in quietly, her gaze downcast as she approaches Tywin with practiced caution. She keeps her movements careful, her head bowed, hoping to avoid the sharp eyes of Petyr Baelish. There’s a stiffness in her posture, a wariness that one would notice if looked closely enough—an instinct to stay hidden, out of his direct line of sight.
She clears her throat, addressing Tywin in a low, subdued tone. “The kitchens have been notified, m’lord. They’re preparing dinner for two as you requested.”
Tywin gives a curt nod, a faint note of approval in his voice. “Good. Remember to relay instructions clearly. I don’t tolerate carelessness.”
“Yes, m’lord.” Arya’s reply is measured, steady, and she bows her head again before taking a step back, hoping to blend into the background.
Baelish glances at her, his eyes narrowing slightly, though he says nothing. Tywin’s attention returns fully to him, cutting off any opportunity for deeper scrutiny.
“Now,” Baelish continues, his tone sliding back to its usual ease, though he seems unable to completely mask his curiosity. “Your decision to bring Lady Y/N back to the capital… and to wed her… It’s a bold choice. But surely, there are risks in aligning with a Targaryen, especially with her brother’s allies still stirring trouble in the North.”
Tywin’s gaze sharpens. "Risks are inevitable in any pursuit worth undertaking. Lady Y/N is no mere Targaryen pawn; she has spent her years with the Starks, understanding the value of loyalty and the strength of alliances. She is an asset, one who will be as useful to us as she is beautiful. I would expect you, of all people, to understand the value in seizing such an advantage.”
Littlefinger inclines his head slightly, accepting the reprimand with his usual grace. “Of course, my lord. It’s clear you have considered all angles… as always.”
Tywin’s lips curl into a faint smile, though there’s a coldness in his gaze, an unwavering sense of purpose. “She will remain under our protection, a union that will secure her future and strengthen our own. And rest assured, Lord Baelish—there is nothing I have not accounted for.”
Arya shifts subtly in the background, watching the exchange with quiet intensity, her gaze carefully averted as she fights to remain unnoticed. But one can sense her unease, the tension coiled within her as Baelish’s eyes flit in her direction once more, though Tywin’s commanding presence keeps his curiosity in check.
Baelish clears his throat, breaking the silence. "It seems, then, that Lady Y/N’s fate is sealed, under Lannister protection, as you say. I shall be sure to offer my… congratulations, Lord Tywin.”
Tywin’s response is a mere nod, curt and dismissive, as if the matter were already resolved. “Indeed. There is nothing more to discuss on this subject. And as for Lady Y/N, she will be prepared for what lies ahead, with or without any further interest from others.”
With that, Tywin’s gaze flicks to Arya, signaling her dismissal. "You may go, Ary. And remember—take care to stay out of trouble. I won’t tolerate mistakes.”
Arya nods quickly, mumbling a quiet “Yes, m’lord,” before slipping out of the room, her heart pounding as she escapes Baelish’s prying eyes. She leaves Tywin and Baelish behind, aware that her role here is as dangerous as it is vital, even as the weight of Tywin’s plans settles heavily over Harrenhal, casting shadows that will follow all who stand in his path.
The chamber is warm, filled with the scent of lavender and rosewater, and for a moment, you almost forget where you are. The tub is a luxury you haven’t felt in weeks, perhaps months—hot water, scented oils, and a rare sense of solitude. Yet even as you sink deeper into the warmth, you’re keenly aware of what this bath signifies: preparation. Tywin's plans have already begun, each detail meticulously arranged, as if even your appearance belongs to him now.
After the bath, you’re helped from the water by two servants, silent and efficient as they wrap you in soft, thick cloth. They don’t look you in the eye, their faces carefully composed, trained not to betray any thoughts of their own. You’re led to a chair by the mirror, and another servant—a younger girl with nimble fingers and a gentle touch—begins to work on your hair, combing it slowly, carefully, her movements practiced.
For a time, no one speaks, the only sound the gentle scrape of the comb through your damp hair, the crackle of fire in the hearth, the whisper of fabric as they prepare the gown laid out for you.
Finally, the young girl ventures a quiet comment, her voice respectful yet tinged with a hint of curiosity. “My lady… you have beautiful hair. Unusual, like silver.”
You meet her gaze in the mirror, offering a polite smile. “Thank you,” you murmur, though the compliment feels hollow, an echo of a different life. In the North, your hair had set you apart, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, a mark of both your family’s glory and ruin. And here, in Harrenhal, that same hair becomes another detail in Tywin’s plan, something to be arranged and polished for presentation.
The girl continues her work, separating strands to braid, her fingers working with delicate precision. She doesn’t ask further questions, sensing perhaps that this is not the place for conversation, or perhaps trained to keep her thoughts hidden.
As she finishes a braid and moves to another, she glances at the woman standing near the door—an older servant, clearly in charge of overseeing your preparation. The woman nods, as if giving silent permission, and the girl reaches for a small box, retrieving something that catches the firelight—a thin golden thread, gleaming against the dull stone of the chamber.
Your breath catches. “What is that?” you ask, though you already know.
The older woman steps forward, her expression unreadable. “Lord Tywin’s orders, my lady. A touch of gold, to complement your gown.” She gestures toward the dress, a rich shade of crimson with subtle golden embroidery, unmistakably Lannister colors. “He thought it fitting.”
You bite back the urge to scoff, keeping your expression neutral. “Fitting,” you repeat softly, watching as the girl weaves the golden thread through your braid with painstaking care. The irony is not lost on you—this thread, this symbol of Lannister wealth and power, woven into your Targaryen hair, a mockery of your heritage. Even here, in this small detail, Tywin’s influence surrounds you, binding you to his house in every visible way.
The girl glances up, sensing your unease. She hesitates, fingers still for a moment, before speaking in a low, cautious voice. “Is… is it not to your liking, my lady?”
You force a small, restrained smile. “It’s… a thoughtful touch,” you reply, keeping your tone steady. “One must always consider appearances, after all.” The words feel brittle, like glass on the verge of shattering, yet the girl seems relieved, resuming her work with renewed focus.
As she finishes, she steps back to admire her handiwork, eyes bright with pride. She’s braided your hair into an intricate design, the golden thread glinting subtly, woven through each plait like veins of sunlight in silver. It’s beautiful, in a way—refined, elegant, and utterly foreign. The girl beams, clearly satisfied.
“It suits you, my lady,” she says, a note of admiration in her voice.
You look at yourself in the mirror, studying the unfamiliar reflection. The gown clings to you in shades of red and gold, Lannister colors draped over Targaryen blood. And the braids, laced with golden thread, feel like a chain, binding you in a way more powerful than any metal could.
“Fitting, indeed,” you murmur under your breath, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. To anyone else, this might look like elegance, like opulence. To you, it feels like an ironic jest, as if Tywin himself were mocking your heritage, stripping it away strand by strand.
The older woman watches you carefully, sensing the tension but saying nothing. “Lord Tywin values appearances,” she says finally, her voice neutral, almost mechanical. “A mark of respect, my lady, to make you feel at ease.”
“At ease,” you echo, a quiet scoff escaping despite yourself. “Yes, I’m sure his intentions are nothing but respectful.”
The woman says nothing, only inclines her head in a gesture of polite acknowledgment. There’s no room here for rebellion, no space for protest, and she knows it. Her role is simply to prepare you, to mold you into the image Tywin desires. To make you presentable, obedient, fit for his plans.
Finally, they finish, the servants stepping back to assess their work one last time. The young girl looks at you, her eyes shining with pride as if she’s just created a masterpiece. “You look beautiful, my lady,” she says softly, a note of genuine admiration in her voice.
You manage a tight smile. “Thank you.” The words feel hollow, an acknowledgment of her work rather than any reflection of your own thoughts. As you rise, smoothing the folds of the gown, you catch a final glimpse of yourself in the mirror—transformed, adorned in Lannister colors, the last threads of Targaryen fire hidden beneath layers of Tywin’s calculated opulence.
They lead you to the door, and the weight of what lies ahead settles over you like a shroud. Every braid, every glint of gold, a reminder that Tywin’s influence is woven into every part of this encounter. You steel yourself, breathing deeply as you prepare to face him, feeling each golden thread in your hair like the bars of a cage.
The servant by the door opens it, bowing low as she gestures for you to proceed. “My lady,” she murmurs, voice soft with a hint of reverence. You take one last glance at the mirror, the reflection now foreign, then step forward, leaving the chamber behind.
Tonight, you wear the colors of the lion, but the blood of the dragon remains, burning beneath the surface, silent yet unyielding. And as you make your way to the private dinner Tywin has orchestrated, you cling to that thought, holding onto it as your only reminder of who you truly are.
The dining hall Tywin has selected for tonight is secluded, almost intimate, a stark contrast to the grand banquet rooms of the Red Keep. The servants lead you to a table set for two, where Tywin sits waiting, his gaze fixed upon you the moment you enter. He surveys you with his usual piercing scrutiny, noting the golden thread woven through your hair, the crimson gown that drapes over your form—an image carefully crafted under his direction.
As you approach the table, your eyes catch the carefully arranged plates, and you feel a jolt of surprise. It’s a meal reminiscent of days long past—rich dishes that you once enjoyed as a princess, delicacies served at your family’s table in the Red Keep. Each plate a small piece of memory pulled from a life you’ve long since lost.
The first dish is braised quail in honeyed wine, garnished with sprigs of rosemary and roasted chestnuts. Next, a bowl of spiced chickpea stew with saffron and sweet currants, the same recipe your mother once had the cooks prepare for Rhaegar’s nameday feast. A platter of thick slices of duck, glazed with honey and dusted with ground cinnamon, sits at the center, flanked by roasted figs and fresh pomegranate seeds. And beside your plate, a familiar goblet of chilled summer wine, the floral scent wafting up as it mingles with the rest of the meal.
Tywin’s gaze follows your eyes as you take in each dish, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I trust the menu is to your liking?” he asks, voice cool and unruffled, though there’s a note of satisfaction beneath the surface.
You settle yourself across from him, lifting the goblet and taking a measured sip, the sweet wine coating your tongue in flavors that feel almost foreign after so long. “It seems your memory is as sharp as ever,” you reply, setting the goblet down. “Or perhaps I should say, disturbingly accurate.”
Tywin inclines his head, his gaze unyielding. “One does not achieve much in this world by forgetting details… especially not ones that are so important.”
Your lips curl into a faint, sardonic smile. “Important,” you echo, glancing down at the spread before you. “Yes, I suppose there’s value in knowing how to replicate the past.”
A ghost of amusement crosses his face, and he leans back slightly, watching you with those steady, calculating eyes. “I thought it fitting to make you comfortable, Y/N. You are, after all, accustomed to a certain… standard.”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead selecting a piece of quail, savoring the tender, honeyed meat. The taste is perfect, achingly familiar, yet tinged with bitterness. “Comfortable,” you repeat, the word tasting strange in your mouth. “And yet, the golden thread in my hair, the crimson gown… it seems comfort isn’t the only thing you had in mind.”
Tywin’s smirk grows, his gaze unwavering. “You always had a sharp tongue. I appreciate honesty, even if it borders on impertinence.”
You place your fork down, fixing him with a steady gaze. “I’m not here to amuse you, Lord Tywin. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
For a moment, he merely watches you, a faint glimmer of amusement lingering in his eyes. “I didn’t bring you here to pretend, Y/N,” he replies, his voice laced with that unyielding authority he wears like armor. “I brought you here because you are a valuable asset. Because, regardless of your feelings on the matter, our union will strengthen both our positions.”
You scoff softly, not bothering to hide the disdain curling in your voice. “A union?” you echo, your tone sharp. “Forgive me if I find it difficult to see myself as anything but a tool in your grand design. What I think, what I want, seems irrelevant to you.”
Tywin raises an eyebrow, clearly unruffled by your bluntness. “What you think does matter, more than you may realize. I respect intelligence, even if it comes with… resistance.” He lifts his own goblet, regarding you over the rim. “But you would be wise to remember that, in this world, power is the only true form of freedom. I’m offering you that power.”
You feel a bitter laugh rising in your throat, barely holding it back. “Power,” you repeat, your voice laced with irony. “The illusion of control, perhaps. Yet you know as well as I that this marriage would bind me to you, to your family’s name and interests. I would simply be another piece on your board.”
A flicker of something passes across his face—amusement, irritation, it’s hard to tell. “You are correct in that it binds you,” he replies smoothly. “But you are wrong to think that it would leave you powerless. The position of Lady Lannister, bound to both the lion and dragon, is one of influence. You would be free to wield it, to shape it as you see fit.”
You take another sip of wine, letting the silence stretch between you, refusing to yield to his steady, piercing gaze. “So, in your mind, this is generosity?” you ask finally, the skepticism clear in your voice. “A benevolent act, done out of kindness?”
“Kindness?” Tywin repeats, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No, Y/N. This has nothing to do with kindness. It has everything to do with legacy—yours, mine, ours. Together, we can reshape the foundations of this realm. I thought you, of all people, would understand the value of that.”
Your jaw tightens, and you set down your goblet, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. “And do you think I’m so eager to cast aside the name I was born to? To let it be consumed by yours, to be dressed in red and gold and paraded as your prize?”
Tywin’s gaze sharpens, but his expression remains composed, almost amused. “You think yourself diminished by the name Lannister?” he asks, his voice quiet yet cutting. “You are mistaken. Names change. Blood, however, does not. You would do well to remember that.”
The statement hangs in the air, a reminder of the power struggle woven into every word between you. For a moment, you study him, this man who seems both captivated by your resistance and determined to conquer it. His amusement, his tolerance of your sharp words—it is almost as if he relishes the challenge you present.
“Perhaps you find my bluntness inconvenient,” you say, choosing each word carefully, your voice cool. “But make no mistake, Lord Tywin: I am not some empty vessel to be filled with your ambitions. I am a Targaryen, and that will not change, no matter how tightly you try to bind me.”
He chuckles softly, a sound that somehow both soothes and chills you. “Good,” he says, surprising you. “I would not want a weak-willed bride. It’s your fire that interests me, Y/N. You may resent this arrangement, but I know that you, too, have ambition.”
You hesitate, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. He’s not wrong, and he knows it. You’ve spent your life as a toy in others’ games, yet a part of you longs for something more. Tywin sees it, and he knows how to wield that knowledge.
“If you think flattery will convince me,” you say, voice softer now but still guarded, “you’ll find it a difficult task.”
He merely lifts his goblet again, taking a slow sip before responding. “Flattery?” he echoes, an eyebrow arching. “I don’t waste time with it. I’m simply offering you a choice—join me willingly, and wield the influence you deserve. Or resist and remain a tool of others’ ambitions, a relic of a fallen dynasty.”
His words settle over you like a weight, cold and unrelenting. This is Tywin’s game—a careful blend of power and persuasion, of promises and threats. And though you’d rather cast aside the gown, the golden thread in your hair, the Lannister colors binding you like chains, you know that this is the hand you’ve been dealt.
For tonight, you’ll play along, if only to see what more Tywin Lannister will reveal. You lift your goblet, the bitterness easing just slightly, and meet his gaze across the table, the sharpness in your eyes matching his own.
“To legacy, then,” you say, voice cool, raising your glass in a half-hearted toast. Tywin’s smile deepens, as if sensing the smallest flicker of surrender.
“To legacy,” he replies, his voice as steady and unyielding as the stone walls of Harrenhal, sealing your uneasy alliance with the clink of crystal and the promise of a future neither of you fully controls.
Arya slipped down the dimly lit corridor, her footsteps silent as a shadow. She’d left the kitchens moments ago, her heart pounding with the thrill of sneaking away from her tasks and Tywin’s ever-watchful gaze. She moved carefully, glancing over her shoulder to be sure she wasn’t followed. Finally, she ducked through a small doorway that led her toward the lower halls, where she hoped to find Hot Pie and Gendry.
After winding her way through the damp stone corridors, Arya spotted them near the flickering light of a sconce, their backs pressed against the wall as they whispered together. She crept up, tapping Hot Pie on the shoulder, causing him to jump.
“Ary! Thought you’d gotten caught,” he hissed, relaxing once he realized it was her.
Arya grinned, her grey eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and determination. “Not yet,” she whispered back, casting a glance down the hall. “I’ve got a knack for not getting caught.”
Gendry chuckled softly, crossing his arms. “And where’ve you been? Thought Tywin had you running about all day.”
Arya nodded, her expression sobering. “I’ve been doing what he wants, yeah. But I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Hot Pie shuffled his feet, glancing nervously between Arya and Gendry. “Ary,” he began, voice low, “is it true? That he’s got a… you know, a Targaryen locked up here?”
Arya’s expression softened at the mention, a flicker of emotion flashing across her face. She’d been careful not to speak too much about it, knowing the danger it might bring. But these were her friends, her brothers in everything but blood. She could trust them.
“Yes, it’s true,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “Y/N… she’s like a sister to me.” Her voice grew stronger, her gaze fierce. “And we’re going to help her escape.”
Hot Pie’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard by her resolve. “But… but she’s a Targaryen,” he stammered. “Aren’t they… dangerous?”
Arya’s gaze turned steely, and she crossed her arms, giving him a pointed look. “She’s not dangerous, Hot Pie. She’s family. More than most, anyway.” She looked away, her thoughts drifting back to the days they spent together in Winterfell—the shared laughter, the stolen moments of peace in a world that always seemed to be on the verge of war. “If anyone deserves freedom, it’s her.”
Gendry glanced between them, his brow furrowing as he took in her words. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said, voice quiet but understanding. “You want us to help her escape, along with ourselves?”
Arya nodded, her jaw set with determination. “She doesn’t belong here, locked up under Tywin’s watch. Once we get out, we’re taking her with us.”
Hot Pie shuffled his feet nervously, casting a wary glance down the hall as if expecting Tywin himself to appear out of the shadows. “But… how? Tywin keeps a close eye on everything. Even if we try, there’s no guarantee she’ll get out in one piece.”
Arya looked him dead in the eye, her tone fierce and unyielding. “We’ll find a way. She deserves better than this. And if there’s even the smallest chance we can get her out, we’re taking it.”
Gendry nodded, giving Arya a supportive look. “I’m in,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “If she’s as important to you as you say, we’ll help her. But we’ll need a plan.”
A flicker of relief crossed Arya’s face, but her voice remained steady. “We’ll think of one. Just keep your eyes open, and stay close. The moment we see an opportunity, we’ll act.”
Hot Pie sighed, shifting uncomfortably but nodding all the same. “Alright, Ary. If you say so.”
She gave them both a small, grateful smile, feeling the weight of her resolve settle more firmly on her shoulders. She knew the risk they were taking, the danger they faced. But for Y/N, for her sister-in-heart, it was worth it.
As they huddled closer, discussing possible ways to slip past the guards and navigate the castle’s many corridors, Arya’s eyes caught a familiar figure in the distance. The shadows played tricks in the dim light, but she recognized the silhouette of Jaqen H’ghar, his silent, calculating gaze lingering on her for just a moment before he turned and disappeared around a corner.
She felt a shiver run down her spine. Jaqen was mysterious, unpredictable—a man of many faces and secrets. And while he’d saved her life once, she wasn’t sure what he’d make of this plan. With a last, wary glance, she turned back to her friends, ignoring the figure as best she could.
“Alright,” she said in a hushed voice, returning her focus to Hot Pie and Gendry. “We keep to the shadows, stay out of sight, and don’t get caught. And when the time comes, we get her out of here. No matter what.”
With nods from her friends, Arya felt a surge of determination. She didn’t know how, or even when, they would make their move. But one thing was certain—they wouldn’t leave Harrenhal without Y/N.
#game of thrones#a song of ice and fire#fire and blood#asoiaf x reader#asoiaf#house of the dragon#got x reader#got x you#got x y/n#got tywin#tywin x reader#tywin lannister#tywin x you#tywin x y/n#house lannister#house targaryen#legacy
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I loved the artwork, the colder expression, the scar and the eye patch❤️❤️. An ice queen, literally, and someone who has been through a lot. Eleazar must be proud of the heiress he created, even though the process of changing to be who he wanted cost her, and him, dearly 😔
finally got around to finishing this.
My MC Apricity from @bloodlegacies's game, pretty lady but also her heart is as cold as ice at this point. her mother's death really changed her and I feel like her and her father are probably really scary if you think about it... god she's probably worse than her father.
going from not being able to kill and being so sweet to having no problem with killing and being just as cold as her ice powers. 😔
#blood legacies#fanart#I love the arte ❤️❤️ and the mc#family#right?#If#art#Although she understands his motives#Eleazar can be quite paranoid#or even cunning#depending on the point of view
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Another Blood Legacies fanart (@bloodlegacies). God. I am just trying to keep my mind off classes starting. This is a picture of Eleazar, Alexandra, and baby MC (Bianca). This is just how I imagine her parents. ❤️ I know it is not the best but my friend really enjoyed it and she is also in love with Blood Legacies. I made another fanart of Bianca and Hayden's family posing for a family painting (link)
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Alexandra sighed, pinching her husband's side. Eleazar didn't even react besides giving her a small glance, which made the painter clear his throat to remind the Lord to look forward to the painting.
Bianca, in the Warriors arms, leaned her head against her father's chest, about to fall asleep. Eleazar narrowed his eyes at the painter, who just seemed engrossed with his work, and Eleazar felt another pinch, however, this time to his buttocks, which made him jump a little.
"What are you doing?" Eleazar hissed toward his wife.
Alexandra only rolled her eyes and kept her eyes on the painter. "Smile. This is a family portrait."
Eleazar retorted back with a little bite. "I don't smile."
Alexandra raised an eyebrow. "Now, my dear, we both know that is a lie. If I remember last night clearly, you smiled quite a lot."
Eleazar didn't reply, but Alexandra saw the faintest touch of red on the tip of his ears. The lady of the house just sighed again.
"Is there a reason you're so stubborn?"
Eleazar pressed his lips together before whispering.
"This will be looked at by our people, our allies."
Eleazar said the word allies with dismay, and Alexandra didn't have to question which "ally" Eleazar was thinking of.
"I want to look strong, not like some soft lord that those thick-headed nobles think they can step on."
There was silence for a long moment before Alexandra spoke up. "You really can't expect to look tough with a baby in your arms, did you?"
Alexandra nodded towards their three-year-old, her curious eyes roaming the walls to look at the painter's other works. Eleazar started to say a retort but was stopped by a look from his wife.
"I don't agree; I understand where you are coming from; however, I will make a deal with you. I want another portrait of us all together when Bianca is older, and I want us all smiling in it."
Eleazar scoffed but just nodded his head after a quick moment. "Agreeable, but it will be a private portrait, not one that we have to send out to the court."
Alexandra stood on her tiptoes and kissed her husband's cheek in thanks, getting a small outraged cry from the painter for moving too much, whom the couple both ignored.
"It could be a present for when she is older, something to remember us by." Eleazar nodded his head in agreement, a soft look in his eyes as he looked at his love before turning back menacingly at the painter, which Alexandra had to hide her smile at.
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iris: i better tone it down with the longing gazes or everyone's gonna figure out i'm obsessed with hayden
the longing gazes in question:
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/d91c99a72a55ba2b1d9a3254cb1befb1/3a59fc54233e26c1-4b/s540x810/dec008e3032eefaba4c171a4789dd400414591e8.jpg)
#she's stoic af AND she has blue eyes#like girl pick a struggle !!!#hayden: *walks in* iris: 🧿👄🧿#anywayss i'm like OBSESSED with blood legacies#i can't stop thinking about it#blood legacies#blood legacies hayden#bl: iris#clown.txt
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“yes sir, i’ll have her “your daughter calls home by 9pm.” me daddy too.”
#i wonder how it felt for emily to leave for three years and come back to Her#the change in her whole demeanour is palpable#remember when i used to post serious things#jennifer jareau#jj jareau#jennifer jj jareau#this probably lines up funny on desktop i didn’t check#criminal minds#criminal minds gif#luthqrs#luthqrscm#luthqrsgifs#crim s2#crim s9#cm 2x22#legacy#cm 9x20#blood relations
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Ep.38.02- Main Chairacter Syndrome
#FORGOT I HAD TO POST TODAY#SORRYYY#i really like this one#dndads cover project#dndads art#dndads#dndads fanart#dungeons and daddies#dungeons and daddies fanart#dndads s2#dndads season 2#dndads legacy#Episode 38.02#cw blood#tw blood
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