#toxic mothers tourney

[toxic-mothers-tourney]

Toxic Lightning Round 2: The Locked Tomb

Pelleamena Novenarius vs. Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity (Commander Wake)

Why they're the Worst (TM)

Pelleamena Novenarius

Killed 200 children (the entire child population of the planetoid she ruled) in order to give birth to a supernecromancer, emotionally abused the resulting supernecromancer daughter including making sure she knew she existed because of the deaths of 200 children, when said daughter committed a horrible blasphemy mostly by accident at 10 she and her husband killed herself and tried to get her daughter to kill herself with them

Couldn’t conceive so she murdered 200 children (an entire generation of the population of her planet) to use their life source to conceive a child. Told said child about how she was conceived from a very young age, causing the child to feel immense guilt about the deaths of all the other children and an extreme pressure to be worth it.

Awake Remembrance of These Valiant Dead Kia Hua Ko Te Pai Snap Back to Reality Oops There Goes Gravity (Commander Wake)

Commander Wake conceived her daughter specifically to sacrifice her in order to kill God and destroy the solar system. Wake further only refers to her daughter as Bomb throughout the entire pregnancy and the only reason that she did not manage to actually kill her daughter is because she died before she was able to do so. Wake then proceeded to haunt her daughter's sword as a revenant in order to attempt to invade the mind of her daughter's best friend.

Had a baby specifically to kill her in a blood ritual to release a “monster” believed to cause the apocalypse. Failed.

Had a child for the sole purpose of killing it as part of a ritual to open the door to the locked tomb. She refers to this baby as “the bomb” throughout her pregnancy.

mod notes: what in the everliving hell happens in these books...

[tournamentdirectory]

Toxic mothers are everywhere, but in fiction, we can make them fight. @toxic-mothers-tourney finds the most toxic mom in fiction.

Run by the same person as @red-black-aesthetic-bout; see their entry.

[bucknastysbabe]

For king aeg and his smutty angst...

What about a forced/arranged marriage (potentially a team black lady/princess kept by the greens and made to marry aeg?). Of course, she absolutely supports the blacks and therefore hates aegon and the greens. But it's their wedding night, they have to 'do their duty', right?

Brain didn't really come up with anything more than that. It's basically hate sex 😂

ℜ𝔢𝔡 𝔅𝔢𝔡𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 - 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 ℑℑ 𝔵 ℌ𝔞𝔩𝔣-𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯!ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

I FINALLY DID IT BABY I HIPEBYOU ENJOY MWAH MWAH MWAH MOTHER LANA ILY AND YOUR GOOD VIBES ALWAYS❤️

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: TW//blood play, Degredation, rough handling, Aegon being a fuckhead, some fighting from her, attempted murder, very toxic. Time skips, Consensual sex, pnv!sex, tiddy sucking, FERAL👹, arranged marriage, tb reader

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @aemondfairy @arcielee @dr-aegon @elaratyrell @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @jacesvelaryons @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @targaryen-madness @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

Divider creds: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

You were a hostage by law. You were the younger sister of Rhaenyra. Barely made it past a day when your mother died in the birthing bed while a tourney went on, the Maester’s sure you were to be the boy so dreadfully sought after.

Your sister fought for you to be married elsewhere, perhaps a Celtigar or another Velaryon. Viserys had his mind set on uniting his two different lines of progeny.

Therefore you were betrothed to Aegon, born a mere two years after you. It wasn’t on the forefront of your mind as a child, shadowing Rhaenyra for comfort. In a way, she was the motherly figure you had lost. That was more important than some silly thing that would occur far, far away.

Soon she reached her wedding when you were nine. Life grew tumultuous after that. The ever-present Ser Criston was gone and soon replaced by Laenor and Ser Harwin. Rhaenyra had her first child, Jacaerys. You remember holding him and cooing. He was perfect, yet you were not dumb, the babe’s dark hair was frighteningly similar to Ser Harwin's.

By your six and tenth nameday— you faced being surrounded by your other side of the family, aptly named the Greens for their colors of Hightower. After the tragic fight at Driftmark, Alicent quickly sequestered you off. You had wept and torn at your dresses, Ser Criston holding you back with a stiff arm and stiffer face. Your full blood, the only true connection, left on ships and dragons. Your father didn’t seem to even care, too sickly and worn down.

You’d spat at Alicent, “I hate you.”

She shook her head and sighed, “In due time you will thank me. You’ll be a queen.”

Shoving yourself off of Ser Cole, you glared at the man. He spoke, quiet but brutal, “Consider yourself lucky staying back. Wouldn’t want to get caught up in other affairs.” He earned a sharp retort, to which the queen scoffed and you stormed off.

Alone. To be utterly alone.

That was what the next few months encompassed. You were a ghost in a lively keep. Aegon began to peek his unkempt blonde hair around the same time, the prince growing into a young man. He’d already gained a reputation for an insatiable thirst for wine and women— at the mere age of fourteen.

“So will you be eager to bed me? I have quite the experience,” he said. Aegon sat sprawled on the settee across from your seat, nursing some wine. You raised a brow from your needlepoint and hissed, “Oh yes, of course, I cannot wait to have your Flea Bottom-infested cock within my pristine cunt.”

He snorted, red wine dribbling down his plump lips. Aegon grinned, seemingly not phased by your insult. The prince hummed, “How sweet. I’m saying it now, you’ll come to love it.” A rip tore through the air— startling you both. Your eyes peered down at the needlepoint. You’d grown so annoyed you ripped the fine fabric.

Eyes flicking up to Aegon you barked, “Out of here! Now!”

He scurried away, giggling, promising, “Our wedding is going to be fantastic, my lovely blackened heart!”

You grimaced, standing up to dust your gray dress off. Rhaenyra had kept a line of letter with you— urging you to kill Aegon in his sleep or abscond to Dragonstone. Peering at the unstable, absolutely lethal Ser Criston Cole standing outside your door, those options seemed impossible.

You were well aware of the threat Aegon held to the claim as the heir. The Hightowers were pushing it into every corner they could, pulling strings, lining coats with Lannister gold. Perhaps once you married the idiot, things would be different.

Using your body and status to change the outcome of a disputed throne seemed too silly. Hatred and frustration began to boil within you from that day forward. To the Seven Hells with your father and the green-blooded Hightower children. You hoped the Stranger would take Alicent and her loyal armed dog too.

Nyserion was in the dragon pit. You never got to see your mount. The queen knew you'd escape if possible. He waited for you, you could feel that much.

No.

You'd not flee.

To face your fate whether in victory or flames was a source of pride. You'd marry the whoreson, be the good princess, and wait for the time to come. You would not be overtly kind, but you’d come off as subdued, no longer the biggest threat to their plans. You would walk the line.

Your hatred for Aegon grew as time wore on in the Red Keep. The wedding had arrived. You remained stone cold kissing Aegon and taking your vows. Aegon was now eight and ten. The lanky boy had grown into a handsome, yet sulky and difficult man. He recently chopped his hair off, another sign of rebellion.

You could understand wanting to be far away. Emptiness filled your chest when the red and black cloak of yours was covered with green and gold. Rhaenyra performed the sacred act, tears in her violet eyes. Your father was too weary to do the damn thing he declared so long ago.

Aegon had whispered, “I hate this too, you know.”

“Good.”

Then the bells rang and you two were back to the mummer’s farce. Smiling and waving getting into the carriage, the small folk cheering- tilting your stomach. Aegon’s face morphed into that sullen look he carried around when he was sober. You slumped back against the cushions, sighing.

His violet eyes bore into your pale blue ones. Aegon sniffed, “I expect to be bedding you tonight. It is my right now.” Crossing your arms, you looked out of the small window. The prince cleared his throat, waiting for an answer.

“As is my duty, lord husband,” you sneered.

Aegon giggled— that annoying shriek of his. You lashed out, “Glad that is an entertaining topic for you. Go back to your whores once you've done the deed.”

“Maybe. I have to make sure I get an heir off of you. Gods forbid you're anything like your mother.”

Your vision went red, hopping across the wheelhouse to scratch and claw and scream at Aegon. He gasped in surprise, catching some nails across his pale throat, a part of his hair ripped out. The prince forced you down, holding your arms tight to your chest. He frowned, eyes filled with something.

“I’m sorry, okay, relax, we have to finish this night. Relax!”

You didn’t want to cry, yet the tears fell as you warbled, “You’re cruel. Have some shame.”

He sighed, blonde hair a mess now. Aegon gently helped you back into your seat, ordering you to stay put. He knelt beside you, a big hand touching your shaky knee. Aegon’s eyes seemed to hold some guilt as he murmured, “That was wrong. I…apologize…wife.”

The rest of the ride went in silence, Aegon retreating to his side, poorly attempting to reshape his waves. Neither of you smiled entering the keep to be presented to everyone. The first dance was a boring affair, you found no reason for happiness. Rhaenyra was the only boon, her hugging you and speaking words of revenge.

“You shall have whoever you wish. He will not be your source of unhappiness. When I am queen.”

You blocked out the rest of her words, milling over the idea of Viserys dead— Aegon being thrust upon the throne. It would be war, all-out war. Nodding blankly, you hugged your sister once again to head back to the table, heart beginning to beat fast.

Aegon was slouched back in his chair, eyes lazily roving around the dancing. He was quite drunk, slurring as he spoke. The prince asked, “Y’wanna finish this shit?”

“Make the call,” you replied.

The drunken prince stood up and roared, “It’s time for the fucking!”

Men cheered, and women squealed. Rhaenyra was held tight by Daemon— his face placid. Alicent was embarrassed by the crass wording, a ringed hand covering her face. Soon men lifted and tore at your clothes, exposing you horridly. Aegon laughed as the ladies rid him of his garments.

The pair of you were thrust into his dark chambers. You bounced once from the way they tossed you, grunting in pain. The feeling of handprints and raw skin sent a shudder down your spine. Aegon flopped onto the bed, mumbling.

“Well?” You asked.

“I don’t want to fuck you. Not yet anyways.”

A sigh of relief escaped your lips. The tension leaked out of you as you escaped being groped and defiled by the prince. You thanked him quietly, crawling onto the side of the bed, and covering yourself up. Aegon fiddled around before stating, “I’m going to sleep, too drunk to get it up.”

You don’t know why you cried when his breathing turned into a soft snore. Maybe all the emotions boiling over. Soon the tears turned to anger, pissed off from how callous and awful he was. How he would steal the throne. The very image of everything that held you to this gilded cage full of spiders and snakes.

The thought came to you. Lying naked in his chamber, eyes roving around the strange whips and discarded wine bottles. You lit a candle, Aegon dead to the world in his drunken state. You peered around his room, finding a display of carved cocks and plugs of sorts at the end of the bed, frowning. Deviant.

You walked further, stopping as a sharp pain nicked your big toe. Picking your foot up with a hiss, a piece of glass was lodged in the flesh. With a grimace and grunt you pulled it out, eyes trailing up to the broken mirror, smashed to bits. Cornflower eyes scanned the shards.

You peered over your shoulder to the sleeping Aegon, disheveled, shirt off. He almost looked innocent, spared your maidenhead after all. But the shard spilling his blood…seemed all too good. The claw marks from earlier reminded you of what he was. Take the potential usurper heir, one less dragon to deal with. You wouldn’t have his spawn. Your sister was the true queen.

Slowly grabbing a shard, maddened Targaryen bloodlust rising, you crawled atop the bed. Closer and closer you crept, straddling his hips, eyes full of fury. Aegon smiled, eyes closed, plump lips curling upward, “Ah, I told you I’d sway your blackened heart one day. You want something, wife?”

Your hand began to shake as you realized the severity of what you could do. What would happen? Aegon stirred as he didn’t hear your response, violet eyes meeting your own before noting the thick glass. You spat, “I can’t allow this.”

Aegon’s eyes flashed with something besides apathy or sick humor. He was angry. You tried to move, Aegon sending the glass flying with the spatter of blood across your pristine shift. He growled, shoving and pushing you onto your belly.

“Are you that stupid? I always thought you to be more shrewd than that display. Stabbing me in my sleep…You’d be burnt before I bled out, whore.”

You bucked against him, spitting, “You’re a future usurper, a drunk, and a whoreson, your face fills me with rage! I fucking hate this Aegon.” He laughed as he ran his bloody hand down your cheek.

He sighed, a terrifying edge to his usual easy, lackadaisical nature.

“Kind words, dear wife, you think I want to be king? Like I want to rule? Your cunt sister can have it, I have no taste for it.” Aegon readjusted himself, lips almost caressing your skin.

“You’re a bitter little bitch you know that? I didn’t choose this, be mad at our father!” He laughed again, wide grin and sharp teeth glinting in the low light. Aegon’s hand spilled blood onto your nightgown as he whispered into your ear, acrid venom dripping.

“You can be mad all you want, spurn me, I don’t care. But you’re going to learn to deal with me, take my seed, and never pull such idiocy like this ever again!” You grunted in pain as Aegon’s thick fingers curled around your throat.

His plush lips caressed your ear, “That’s reasonable isn’t it dear wife? I’m not a monster. Perhaps you should look in the mirror.” He picked up the shard again, your bloodied face and hateful eyes in the reflection, Aegon grinning. Tears welled up at your nigh unrecognizable face.

He threw it away, still holding your throat, silver hair tickling your pulsing neck. Aegon hummed, “Now promise me. You're going to be a good little wife and take my seed, then no more nonsense.”

You nodded, choking out a ‘yes’!

Aegon let go, you falling to the side to hold your neck, breathing in harsh pants. He looked over you, eyes calculating, dark. You shucked off the bloodied shift, throwing it to the side. He raised a brow. “What’s this?”

You pushed him backward, nails digging into his pale shoulders. Aegon grinned, hands coming around to rest on your hips, smearing more blood, something about it was primal and arousing— the tacky feeling, iron in the air.

Disgusting anger filled you, anger at your own body betraying you, anger at his snarky face, and anger at the whole fucking lot of dragon seed in this Keep. It made you unbearably aroused in a sick way, seeking to fuck the anger out, the anger made you want carnal pain. Aegon is a piece of shit but he could provide that.

Leaning forward, breasts pushed to him, you sneered, “Yes, lord husband, I’ll do my duty. Take your cock and seed as you see fit. No better than I, you’ve thought about it before.”

“Wringing the life out of that slim neck, watching that haughty look of yours fall off your face? Magnificent.”

You huffed a laugh at that, feeling his full prick swell against your bare cunt. Sealing your lips over his puffy ones, it was a battle of teeth and tongue. More blood spilled from your lip as he bit at it, lapping it up as you moaned, squirming atop him.

Aegon smacked your ass, sucking and nibbling your jaw as he murmured, “Gods you're an uppity bitch, yet I've wanted to fuck you for so long now.” He nipped at your neck again, moving down to pop a nipple in his mouth, moving you around.

You moaned in delight, arching and rolling your hips along his shaft, earning his noises, and stimulating your sensitive buds further. Yanking on his hair you breathed, “I didn't want to catch a disease from you, but you've grown comely, little brother.

The blonde pinched your other nipple roughly, popping off with a string of drool. Aegon grinned. “That’s the closest thing I've gotten of a compliment for you. No diseases I’m aware of, I pay fine money for my whores.” He smacked your ass again— sharp and loud as you cried out.

“You want to ride my cock dearest? Have your illusion of control?”

“Fuck you.”

He shrieked in laughter as you rose, slick cunt dripping. Your toned thighs, thick with muscle from dragon riding, lowered upon his prick. You bit back the guttural noise forced out of your throat, his prick tearing and bullying its way into your untouched cunt.

Aegon groaned, his hands digging into your hips as you panted, feeling blood join your slick. With a harsh pant, you leaned forward again, hands on his shoulders as you rode Aegon’s thick cock, the sight of blood and slick making his eyes shine.

He growled, “That’s a good princess, you’re mine now, such a little freak, getting all hot from blood and pain. A true Targaryen aren’t you, angry, vicious cunts.” He moaned when you slapped him, splitting his puffy lip. Crashing your lips against his, you lapped it up, slipping your tongue to mix with his.

He met you halfway, cock spearing you as you rolled down in quick jerks, nothing pretty. It was raw, grunts and rough slaps filling the room. Aegon’s big hand cracked down on your ass, your eyes rolling up as he dominated the kiss.

He panted against your lips.

“Gods— you’re fucking divine. Should’ve known you’d like it like this. Hard and fast, bloody, like some degenerates in those houses on the edge of the Street of Silk. I oughta take you some time. We can fuck someone together, hm?”

Your hips stuttered at the thought, mouth falling open to groan his name, gargling out a ‘fuck yes!’ Aegon grinned, groaning as you rode him harder, tits bouncing as you forced his thick length deeper. Your pussy was dragging and pulsing, wanting more and more, tightening.

The prince’s back arched as his cock pulsed, grunting your name as he shivered. He was close as you, groaning, “Good fucking wife, yes, gonna stuff you full of seed, take you out before you have to sit around and let me stuff you with more— our godsdamned babe. Want that?”

You nodded, hips moving at a breakneck pace, pleading, “Yes, yes, let’s take the town, show me, show me before I’m stuck to this wretched godsdamned keep. I’m your only cunt then, fit for you to fuck.”

He grew breathier at the idea, greedy hands massaging and plucking at your tits, lips biting and nipping your neck while groaning. You felt a jolt from him, Aegon crying out huskily as he emptied into you, forcing you onto your back as he fucked his seed into you with loud squelches.

You cried out, back arching at the sensation, the flood of hot gush drawing your climax out, milking Aegon further, begging him to fuck you more, the prince whining until a second one hit you, lurid squelching filling the room as he chanted your name, falling forward as you writhed and squeezed him, about to rip his pretty hair out.

Silence finally fell over the room save panting.

You knew there was a method of waiting, waiting until the seed could take. blood and cum were tacky on your body. He finally relented, pulling out with a sweet peck, hissing. You made a soft noise as your cunt leaked his spend, chest heaving.

Aegon laid on his back next to you. He smiled his little smile, lips puffed and lip-sided from busting the bottom. He splayed a hand over your belly, laughing, “And what a claim this will be, huh?”

Dread filled you once again. But with his babe in your belly, you could swing some leeway. With a hoarse chuckle, you replied, “Indeed a claim it is. I think it’s all over us.”

He laughed again, eyes sparkling, “Eh, I thought it would be worse.”

Could it?

[atopvisenyashill]

i was thinking more about characters Performing Gender, but not necessarily Transgressing Gender. I wound up focusing on Ned and Sansa bc I feel like I understand them the most but-

Sansa as a hostage is imo the most obvious (bc it’s so well done) moment of someone clearly Performing Gender but not being transgressive in that performance. Which isn’t to say it’s not a complicated performance; it’s a fine line Sansa walks between weaponizing her gender to protect herself without seeming too fake. She’s trying to placate the Lannisters by playing the perfect, dedicated, air headed betrothed because it’s the only defense she has - if she outwardly rebels, she will be punished in a likely violent and/or sexual way (which isn’t even conjecture - when she says “or maybe he’ll give me yours” Joffrey has her struck with an armored hand). She’s not quite successful in being convincing but that’s because it’s a rather extreme situation; despite no one believing her, she does make herself seem meek and stupid enough that no one suspects she’s plotting to escape with Dontos until she’s well away from KL. The fact that she even has Dontos to confide in is because of Sansa’s relationship with gender! When she saves him, she covers her rebellious slip by playing up Joffrey’s intelligence & his role as King; she reaches for “tools” of her gender AND of ~proper manhood~ to save a life and herself from another beating. Her retreats into the godswood and silence are very much Sansa attempting to recharge from these draining interactions, the same way a knight would need to stop and eat and rest after a fight. She is fighting, constantly, by forcing herself to stay within the narrow confines of a specific type of gender performance as a way of shielding herself from harm.

Ned yelling at Cat is another big one, and I’ve seen the scene referred to as Ned using his patriarchal power to scare Cat, which is a great description. It feels like a Performance because Ned is putting on this terrifying Lord Stark mask in an attempt to get Catelyn to stop asking about Jon (and Lyanna). This is not how he usually acts with those he loves! When Ned is with His People, he is welcoming of questions, curiosity, emotion, even transgressive thought (to a point! the idea that Ned is a feminist because he lets Arya learn to fight is Not accurate but you can’t deny he allows significantly more flexibility wrt gender expression than most of the fathers we meet in this series. the bar is in hell tho). Yet when Cat asks him about Jon’s mother, Ned scares her so well she stops asking & still remembers the moment bitterly over a decade later. And if that snippet we see through Bran’s eyes of Ned praying that Cat will forgive him does come after she asks (like it’s suspected), it’s clear not only that this is a performance he’s putting on & weaponizing against Cat, it’s one he does not like using as a weapon against someone he is close to. After using the power his gender gives him to cause harm, he retreats to the godswood and silence to pray and rest, much like Sansa. A spiritual cleanse, the way a soldier may pray after battle, to reset and reconnect Being A Proper Man to Being A Kind Man.

I think there’s something interesting in that two of the characters most widely defined by how well they adhere to Westerosi gender norms both dislike feeling like they had to weaponize their gender. They are exhausted by the performance, because it’s a performance. This isn’t Sansa getting excited over tourneys, or Ned teaching his sons to fight; it’s toxic masculinity, it’s structural misogyny. It’s something they’re good at, excel at, and connected to something they enjoy but when it’s paired with violence, whether done by Ned or done to Sansa, it crosses over in their minds from an innate part of themselves (The Gender) to a performance necessary due to survival (The Gender Role). And that after these performances, both retreat to nature & god as a way of resting and cleansing from the experience.

[dysfunctional-family-fight]

Submissions Closed!

Welcome to the tournament to find the most dysfunctional fictional family! This will be your typical bracket format, with 64 fucked up families competing. Biological or adopted, if they're family and they have issues about it, submit them here!

Submissions closed July 16.

Rules and Guidelines

You can submit as many families as you want, but don't submit a specific family more than once. Any more than that will not be counted.

Families don't have to be abusive, just dysfunctional.

You are free to send propoganda on what makes a family so messed up, but let's be civil here. No death threats, no attacking others, no hate.

No real families will be included. Fictional only.

No OC families.

inspirations include: @found-family-tournament, @toxic-mothers-tourney, @most-irresponsible-guardian, @bestfictionaldivorce, @shittycartoonmomshowdown, @terrible-child-tournament, @siblingshowdown, @controversial-blorbo-bracket, @foundfamily-tournament

[sigma-showdown]

Is your fave a loner? Is she "not like other girls"? Is her conceptualization of ethics, romance, and/or hygiene incongruent with the rest of society? No, she's not a femcel. She is SIGMA!

Submit your Sigmas to the SIGMA FEMALE SHOWDOWN and prove who is the ultimate girlfailureboss

Rules:

Characters must be Sigma

Characters must be Female (defined broadly)

Submit as many Sigmas as you want, but don't make multiple submissions for the same one

Real life people aren't allowed unless it's funny

Submissions may be disqualified at the tournament runner's discretion

If you have any questions about qualifications, contact me

Submissions are accepted for the rest of the month.

Inspired by:

@girlbosstourney @dumbass-duo-showdown @autismswagsummit @top-teacher-tourney @white-boy-bracket @toxic-mothers-tourney @hot-take-tournament @techgirltourney

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter seven: the fate of wagging tongues

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5746

“May I present Princess Maetilda Targaryen, first of her name, Lady of Runestone. Daughter to Prince Daemon Targaryen and his late wife Lady Rhea Royce!”

There were more people gathered in the Throne Room of the Red Keep than she had ever seen gathered at Dragonstone, outside of tourneys. The crowd was similar in size to that of her late stepmother’s funeral. Oh, the delightful spectacle that was her family’s fate. The logic of it was painfully reasonable. Of course the Realm would care to know. The state of her family was thought to reflect the state of the kingdom. What troubled the Crown, troubled its people. A healthy royal family was more likely to bring forth a thriving realm. Reversely, every little argument or skirmish was the omen of their collective downfall. Nothing could ever just be what it was. Especially the Hearing. It was not simply the settling of an inheritance; it would also set a precedent. If Lucerys’s inheritance was ruled illegitimate, so too could his mother’s. Maetilda’s mind struggled to imagine what would happen without the favor of such precedent, but she knew the entire conclusion would be disastrous. She had entered the hall alone, and was announced on her own. She bore a title that her brothers did not. She held an inheritance that no one disputed, no one questioned. One that even the Arryns of the Eyrie backed. Their house and that of her mother had been respectful rivals for generations, constantly waged in honorable competition. They were the far less vitriolic Blackwoods and Brackens. The Royces of Runestone had knelt to the Arryns of the Eyrie at the end of the Era of the Bronze Kings. All because one Keep was easier to defend than the other. Yet they all knew who held more power. An older branch of the Royce family held the Keep of the Arryn’s winter home. Surnames of Royce could be found all throughout the Vale. Their blood ran deeper than any ocean or valley. Lady Rhea had been loved and respected, and thus her only child was too. If only the same treatment could have been extended toward the girl’s step brothers. Ser Laenor himself had loved the boys, and treated them as his own. No matter what the whispers had said.

The princess descended the front steps alone, just as she had entered, with no man on her arm to accompany her. It was a symbol of strength. A calculated move that her father had dictated long ago. It would especially help that day. Without his daughter’s own strength in legitimacy, his wife would have even less of a leg to stand on. While Rhaenyra had the King’s word, the King no longer sat present at court. Instead his prudent and pious wife and her shrewd Hightower father took his place. The two of them stared down over the court with owlish eyes, watching every move. Ser Otto stood higher up the steps than his only daughter, ready to sit when the proceeding began. Indistinct whispering filled the room as Maetilda made her way over to the side of the room where her father and stepmother stood. Eyes watched her steps for any sign of falter. Lucerys stood towards the front, next to his mother, in full view of the court. He tried to hide his nerves, but the princess could tell by the shifting of his weight from leg to leg that he was ready to run at a moment’s notice. Jacaerys stood next to her father. He was more impassioned than anxious. His shoulders rolled back in an honorable and confident manner. He looked dignified and respectful. Firm and just. Just as the heir’s heir should. Both princes were dressed similarly in red and black. Dragons decorated their surcoats, collars, and jewelry. The princess’s attire fit in well with theirs. Maetilda assumed the small spot next to Jace. Ser Gunthor flanked behind her in his full bronze armor regalia.

With a scan of the room, the princess quickly determined that they were all waiting on her cousin, Princess Rhaenys. The Queen that Never Was never seemed to miss an opportunity to make an entrance. She had no problem with making the Court wait. It was a quality, among many others, that the princess had always admired in her older cousin — her confidence, her poise, her style, her discernment, her cunning. Even when all of Court was waiting on her, the princess-by-title felt nothing but awe towards the woman. The day before, Maetilda had noticed in the brief moments she saw the three just how much Rhaenys’ likeness had rubbed off on Baela and Rhaena. They had each followed on Rhaenys’ sides like Laena-esque clones. Even down to the way that they walked, the twins replicated each aspect of Rhaenys. The princess-by-title’s twin sisters had been raised by their royal grandmother ever since Lady Laena’s funeral, while Maetilda was kept on a ball-and-chain close by her father at all times. She often wondered what her life would have been like if Princess Rhaenys had taken her in too, but those were only privy dreams. The princess-by-title anxiously turned her head to look at her sworn knight behind her. It comforted her to know that no matter what, she would always have her friend at her side. Even when her family wasn’t, her knights were. When her eyes caught a glimpse of Ser Gunthor and his beautiful protection rune-covered armor, the knight had already seemed to have his eyes focused on something. He was looking just beyond her, straight over her head. She followed his eye, turning back around to find Prince Aemond staring back at them from his place with his mother and siblings on the high steps. The sight caused her to jump in surprise, not expecting it. Her cheeks heated up as she caught the attention of Jace who leaned toward her.

“Did you just spook?” He whispered as he held back laughter.

“Like a bloody horse.” She joked.

The prince laughed at his step sister’s expense before turning to his mother and stepfather. The two were whispering to each other off in their own world, and it was clear he wanted to know what they were saying. He did not spare his step sister another glance. Something she was thankful for, no more attention drawn her way. Prince Aemond’s gaze was unrelenting. It had not budged. Nervously, she glanced back at her knight. He had not moved, his stare had not broken either. For a moment, she wondered if the two had simply been innocently staring at each other, but she knew better than that. None of her knights had ever shown interest in pissing contests, certainly not one with the King’s second son. It was something she had always appreciated. They had always been more concerned about each individual hair on her head than how their names appeared on the tourney lists. Yet in that moment, her gut could not determine who had started the stand off. It told her the culprit could not have been her knight, but she also could not understand why the prince would have cared to stare otherwise. Had Ser Gunthor overheard something that had angered him? Her mind raced with possibilities. A small part of her worried for the worst. Perhaps the Hightowers had forgotten themselves completely and he overheard them question her. Her name, her title, her inheritance. She would be beyond naive to think the green-clad family would avoid stooping so low. From the very state of the castle, they had already proved they were not above treason. Deciding that whatever the reason may be, she would agree with her knight, the princess turned back toward her cousin and glared back at him. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders for good measure. She watched as his interest visibly peaked at her actions. He even had the audacity to smirk. As if by some miracle, the doors to the Throne Room opened behind them all. It gave her the perfect excuse to break their trance.

“I present Princess Rhaenys Targaryen of Driftmark, wife to Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Driftmark and Ser Lord of the Tides. She is accompanied by her granddaughters, Ladies Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, daughters to Prince Daemon Targaryen and late Lady Laena Velaryon.”

The princess’s sisters and their grandmother were beyond elegant; they were ethereal and imposing. They took the breath away from the entire room as they descended the steps and took their place behind Rhaenys’s late brother-in-law’s son, Ser Vaemond Velaryon. Gazes lingered on the three, including that of Maetilda’s, even after they had ceased walking. She wanted nothing more than to be like them, to be one of them. It was even harder to quell such feelings when she saw them together. Like watching a life she could have had play out in front of her eyes. A throat at the front of the hall loudly and pointedly cleared all obstructions in order to gain the room’s attention. Careful not to catch the prince’s eye again, Maetilda snapped her focus onto the Hightower as she turned.

“Though it is the hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark.” Ser Otto began, his voice echoed across the hall from his position in front of her Uncle’s throne, “As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.”

With finality, he sat his pompous posterior on the chair of a thousand swords, “The Crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.”

Lord Vaemond was a proud man. She could tell by the glance he threw in her stepbrothers’ direction before he stepped forward before the court. His steps were slow and deliberate as they, too, echoed. His silver locks were pulled away from his face and he donned the ocean green colors of his house. He looked every bit the part of Lord of Driftmark. Perhaps Lucerys should have worn Velaryon colors too. Although she wondered if such a frivolous distinction would truly bring about a better outcome.

“My Queen,” The son of the second son bowed his head to Alicent before doing the same toward the Throne, “My Lord Hand.”

An uneasy air filled the room in the moment of his pause. He was relishing in his moment, smugly confident. He held his arms behind his back as if he were ready for any challenge. His chin was pointed straight into the air as if her entire family sat below it. Something in her gut told Maetilda that he seemed too confident. Wondering if she had been reading the man wrong or over thinking matters, she spared a glance toward her family to gauge their reactions. She spotted her father’s sharp stance and hawk-like eyes immediately. It was clear that he was feeling similarly, which was slightly comforting. It was even better to see his anger directed at someone that was not her after the morning they had.

“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.” His speech began, “When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that if they were to fail, it would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name.”

As Vaemond spoke, the princess let her eyes move away from her family and about the room. From the looks spread across various faces, his words were resonating loud and clear. They seemed to hang onto his every word, cogs turning his sentences over in their heads. It was clear they held many meanings, both innocent and blasphemous. Her blood warmed at the thought of what he would say next. The faces of Court did not help to calm her. Before she could stop the thought from physically moving her muscles, she quickly glanced back at Aemond. His eye still had not moved. It seemed to have been fixed on her the entire time. An intense, unreadable stare.

The son of the second son fixed his surcoat before continuing with more diction, “I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my uncle’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood.”

Jace’s body stiffened next to her. She could see Lucerys do the same beside his mother out of the corner of her eye. Had the King been present, the knight would have been treading on thin ice. But the King was not present. Those with the deciding vote shared in the knight’s sentiments. Her family had yet to shake the nest, yet the wasps swarmed regardless. The little green wasps had begun to bite and sting, yet she knew the worst was to come. Aemond only smirked at the son of the second son’s implications. Their eyes remained locked together as the princess stewed. Of course, Aemond had made his own stance on the matters clear the night that Lucerys had taken his eye. He had used the treasonous slur and was questioned by the King in front of everyone. Yet, there a man with lesser standing stood and hurled the same venom — unharmed and likely to be rewarded. It must have felt gratifying for him. Knotting her hands behind her back, she sent Aemond a pointed glare before glancing back at her knight. Ser Gunthor stood as steadfast as always, eyes still pointed directly at the prince. She hoped that he had at least blinked. By the looks of him, she could not be sure.

“The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.” Lord Vaemond stole her focus and attention back onto himself.

“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” Rhaenyra remarked, audibly rolling her eyes, “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambitions.”

“You will have your chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard,” Alicent interjected firmly.

Not good. The green-clad peacocks would most certainly accuse Rhaenyra of hysterics if she continued with outbursts. They would claim she lacked foresight or patience. That was all they needed as proof. It would be all too convenient for them. As if to make her point, the son of the second son spun defiantly on his heel to face the King’s heir. Rhaenyra kept her gaze held forward at the Throne, not sparing a glance in the cocky man’s direction. Such attention would have only encouraged him.

“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.”

To punctuate his statement, he gave Lucerys a hard glance before turning back to face the Hightowers perched on the high steps, “My Queen, My Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my uncle’s successor, The Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond.” Ser Otto smiled curtly from the Throne.

The entire hall was silent aside from the footsteps of the proud knight returning to his spot in front of Princess Rhaenys. The weight of his words took time to be fully realized. He had truly implied treason in front of the King’s heir, the Hand, the Queen, and all of Court. He had done so with his full chest with no hesitation or remorse. Not one person voiced a complaint, aside from Rhaenyra herself. The Queen had defended his right to speak. For a moment, Maetilda had wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But of course, she locked eyes with her cousin once more. His brow was furrowed in concentration, only to rise in challenge when she looked at him. He was smug, he stood comfortably. Relaxed back with a majority of his weight on one of his legs. His arms were held behind his back. She wanted to slap the look off of his face, take her anger and uncertainty out on him. She wondered if he could sense it, her bloodthirsty rage. His face was getting harder and harder for her to read, more difficult than any book. Once again, she glanced back at her knight for reassurance. Was he seeing what she was? Did he know the castle well enough to smuggle her out if need be? He had his hand on the hilt of his sword. If any of the Kingsguard noticed, they could start an avalanche. She felt as if she were trapped inside a cauldron over a fire. The temperature would only grow hotter if she did not get out.

The second son on the chair of a thousand swords savored his next words. He rolled them around in his mouth with a proud smirk before he smugly granted, “Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

The princess-by-title felt no more comfortable as the Realm’s Delight took her own confident and defiant steps forward. Her moniker almost seemed to serve as a mockery in that very moment. All of the Realm seemed to look down upon her like the statues of the Seven that towered to the ceilings of the hall. Her hands were fidgety like Lucerys’s, despite how much she tried to keep an air of authority. Maetilda admired her stepmother. If nothing else, she was an incredibly brave and resilient woman. She killed boars, rode dragons, challenged the word of arrogant lords, endured many deaths of those close to her, and had even jumped in front of a valyrian steel dagger wielded by the Queen. She was much more than simply a delight. She was a force to be reckoned with. However, the world had been flipped on its head. The Heir seemed pathetically powerless in comparison to the Hightowers on the high steps. Her hands were tied. Despite the strength he brought in spades, all her husband behind her could do was stand menacingly and glare. Maetilda’s hair on her arms and neck stood on edge as she put the pieces together in her mind. All they seemed to have was names and looks and words, no bite to accompany their bark. While they were at Dragonstone, they had been leashed. Without any sort of warning. If the Hightowers truly had already made up their mind, there was nothing Rhaenyra could say or do.

Her own proclamation started off in an exasperated tone, “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very—“ Her words fell into nothing as the sound of the Great Hall’s doors squeaking open echoed above her.

The room simultaneously turned to the entrance, curious as to who would have the audacity to interrupt so late into their assembly. Tiredly bent in the center of the doorway stood the King. In all his grandeur. Maetilda’s heart skipped a beat before she dared to rub her right eye in order to assure she was not seeing anymore figures.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” The page proudly announced.

The walking stick echoed about the room as His Grace made his dignified entrance. The entire room held their breath in awe before respectfully bowing their heads in greeting. Slowly but steadily, King Viserys limped down the steps and across the hall. His breath and pace were labored. His limbs shook from strain. His robe struggled to stay in place atop his frail, haggard shoulders. But he had never looked more strong, more kingly. The fires around the hall burned brighter as his presence blew a breath of life about the room. Maetilda stood straighter than she ever had before. She could not help the victorious grin that had spread across her face. The tables had turned. Rhaenyra’s words would no longer fall on closed ears. The King was there. Ser Otto descended from his unrighteous place to make way. His Grace huffed and puffed as he approached. Maetilda could have sworn she saw the Hightower tremble with fear. It filled her with the utmost pride.

“I will sit the throne today.” The King triumphantly declared.

“Your Grace,” Otto nodded.

Without another word, King Viserys began to climb the last set of stairs. He took to the first steps uneasily, stumbling back a bit. One of his Kingsguard rushed forward to assist him only to be exasperatedly shook off. The King’s niece had full confidence in him. He had made it all the way through the Red Keep already. The last steps would be the most familiar ones. Just as she knew he would, his Grace took each step at a time. But it was clear that the all-too-familiar steps seemed to be the hardest as his momentum was wearing thin. He hunched farther and farther over his walking stick as he relied on it to pull his body upward. Seeing him just turn down the knight, her feet felt planted in their spot. Internally, she prayed to the gods that had sent the black cloak away. She begged them to carry him up to his rightful place for all of the Court to see him. As if in direct answer, her father emerged forward. The rest of the hall seemed to be just as frozen as the princess. No Kingsguard reacted as he ascended the steps. The sound of metal clanking echoed from the front of the hall and up into the rafters, but the source was obscured by her father’s figure. As soon as he reached the King, the Rogue Prince gathered him before taking on a majority of his weight. The brothers finished the last steps together. The younger sat his elder in his rightful place and ceremoniously sat the displaced crown back onto Viserys’s head. With the most respect she had ever seen her father give someone, he bowed to the King before returning to the place he had previously occupied. The princess could have sworn she was still dreaming in her bed. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at breakfast. The King’s chest rose and fell with great effort as he sat up to begin speaking.

“I must… admit… my confusion.” He stated, “I do not understand why petitions are being held over a settled succession.”

The entire room shifted.

“The only one present… who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

The eyes around the hall were suddenly all on the Queen Who Never Was. She seemed hardly phased by them all. As if not a single one held any significance to her. She looked at no one, but her cousin. No other person was worthy of her knowledge or her gaze. It made one want to look at her all the more. Her presence was mesmerizing.

“Indeed, Your Grace,” She smirked before stepping forward.

Like a crane moving through water, she took soft, calculated strides to the front. Much like her husband’s nephew, Princess Rhaenys savored her moment. She assured that she had each and every ear and eye before she began, “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his true-born son, Lucerys Velaryon.”

At her words, the entire hall lurched back in whispers and gasps. It should have been the reactions they had to Vaemond’s insults. Instead, it was in reaction to the King’s own will. Such a display nauseated the princess-by-title. The Kingdom truly had been turned on its head. But Rhaenys was not done.

“His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

The Court had lurched back in shock before, but they completely dissolved into hysterics after that. The lords and ladies around the room tried pathetically to keep their voices at a hush as they gossiped into each others’ ears. It was a watertight proposal, two watertight proposals. They politically sealed much of Rhaenyra and her brothers’ claim. Their only other problems would be Aegon, his two small boys, and Aemond. But they were a bridge to be crossed upon arrival. The entire hall seemed to be buzzing, yet the princess-by-title remained frozen in place. Maetilda felt like the floor had been pulled out from underneath her. All of her siblings of age had been betrothed in one fell swoop. She was happy for them, happy for what their marriages meant, but she was utterly terrified of what it meant for her. The last one left, the least desirable, the spinster. Her father had hated Runestone and everything about it, reminded her frequently. Perhaps no one wanted Runestone. Or worse, did not find the castle worth putting up with her. There had to be a deeper explanation. Her father allowed for his two other daughters to be engaged, both of them. But not her. She also felt guilty for thinking of herself in such a moment. A moment where she should have been congratulating her four siblings. Instead, she was thinking of herself and why her father did not love her like he loved her sisters. He had always spent more time with them, wrote more letters to them, and bought them more presents. She scolded herself for not seeing it coming sooner. Yet something about the entire arrangement felt too calculated. Like an internal pull she could not shake, her gut twisted with suspicion. Something wasn’t right. It did not feel right. Suddenly becoming aware of the dryness in her eyes, she blinked back out of her head. The King was wheezing as he spoke. He was listing off the titles that Corlys currently bore, likely proclaiming Lucerys to be the inheritor of them. She was not sure how long he had been speaking for, but the hall was eerily silent. Feeling an itch on her nose, she peaked at Aemond out of the corner of her eye to see if he had been watching her drown in her inner turmoil. He had been.

“You break law…” Vaemond stepped forward again with a menacing passion, “and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who desires to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Once again, the entire room shifted. Was he mad? He was undoubtedly furious, but he had to have lost his head. After double checking that her knight was still located diligently behind her, the princess-by-title gawked at the son of late Lord Corwyn’s second son with an open mouth. It was like she could see the sword fight about to break out in front of her. Shoulders tensed, hands moved to hilts. The cauldron over the fire that they were all trapped in was about to boil over.

“Allow it?” The King dared, “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

Vaemond stared at him blankly before shortly pivoting with an accusatory finger pointed at the boys, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra pushed her sons toward the doors before turning to the proud man, “You have said enough.”

The boys fell back, but moved no farther away. They were not children anymore. They would not run and hide at their mother’s command as they used to. Rather, they stood behind each side of her as she turned back to Ser Vaemond, ready to fight him with her bare hands alone. Her breath was heavy and uneven. Her fists shook with barely contained rage. She opened her mouth to spit insults back, only for her beloved father to start speaking in her place.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… no more than a second son of Driftmark.” The King reminded him.

“You… may run your house how you see fit… But you will not decide the future of mine.” Vaemond seethed, “My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. Gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this—“

He was smart enough to hold his tongue from speaking any farther. The air of the hall felt so hot and thick, it was as if it were on fire. And like a burning fire, the princess could not look away. She stared wide eyed in hardly masked horror. Her gut screamed for her to run. Whatever happened next would not be good. But she could not move, it would be inappropriate of her. All she could do was watch.

“Say it.” Her father smiled a soft alligator grin.

“BASTARDS! The lot of them!” Vaemond bellowed.

Hot silence permeated the room as the Velaryon decided to throw all further caution to the wind while he gestured toward the future Queen, “And she… she is a whore!”

Gusts of wind blew through the windows. Rats squeaked and scurried through the walls. Servants tip toed about their responsibilities. It was so silent, one could hear all the other activity happening around the Keep. In the expanse of the Great Hall, not a single being or creature moved a muscle. Most held their breath. At the front of the room, from on top of his throne, the King’s chest heaved. With all the strength that he could muster, he unsheathed the dagger from his side and stood on shaky legs. It was as if Aegon the Conqueror had possessed his great great grandson himself. Pure fire poured from out of his eyes. His ears smoked. He fought to catch his breath amidst his emotions.

“I… will have… your tongue for that.”

Before the King could even enunciate his last word, Vaemond Velaryon’s head was sliced in two — right down the corners of his mouth. The top slid off the bottom. His legs remained standing in the seconds his muscles still held strength. Maetilda’s heart stopped as she watched the man’s body hit the floor, wincing with each individual splat. The sound of it echoed off of the walls. The hall remained silent. What a quick and final conclusion. There was no longer a matter to be settled. All arguments had turned into puddles on the floor. Wiping any blood or other bits off of the beautiful blade of Dark Sister and onto his pristine black surcoat, her father stood proudly at the dead man’s feet. His kill.

“He can keep his tongue.”

“Disarm him!” The commander of the Kingsguard declared after processing the moment. His subordinates unsheathed their weapons and pointed them at the King’s brother.

“No need.” As nonchalantly and unapologetically as a cat in the sun, Daemon stepped back and sheathed his sword.

Maetilda could not peel her eyes away from it. Sounds of the King’s groaning and the Queen calling for maesters were muffled in her ears as her senses numbed to hone in on sight alone. She had never seen inside one’s skull before. She had seen blood and entrails before, always at a distance from her place in the royal box at tourneys. She had seen the mangled flesh of Aemond’s eye socket as the Maester at Driftmark sewed it shut with careful hands. She had seen her stepmothers’ multiple childbirths including the passing of the afterbirth. Yet never before had her eyes gazed upon that which belonged inside someone’s head. She could have sworn it was still moving and twitching — thinking. The pink and dark red muscles and nerve endings that were once tightly coiled together started to sag out of place from where they once were. There was so much blood. It leaked like a water vase full of hairline cracks. The man’s body that was once so full of life and anger and passion was left limp and sagging and motionless on the Throne Room floor.

The same shoes that once stood at the dead man’s feet began to move towards her, careful, quick steps. It sent her heart into a panicked race. She was next. It was her turn to pay the price. It was her fault. She had disobeyed orders and now the man was dead. She could already hear the words coming. Her own shoes backed away in the direction of her knight. She hoped and prayed that he had remained to protect her. Her eyes lost focus as the blurry figure moved forward. The breaths in her chest scratched at her throat as it tightened. She needed to run, she needed to get out. Her blood pumped quicker as her limbs itched for movement. She should fight back. The blurry figure halted suddenly, she did the same. The blob’s shoulders bounced with angry breaths. Her breathing only got harder. Desperately, the princess clutched at the stays covering her chest. Where was Ser Gunthor? Why wasn’t he coming to her aide? The figure attempted a second approach, but she evaded it once again. She put more space between them this time, backing up until her back hit that of another person. Forgetting her manners, where or who she was, the princess did not turn to apologize. Instead her gaze focused on the black leather shoes. Not knowing how to fight back, she shook her head ‘no.’ Fear, relief, confusion, panic, despair, paranoia, a confusing conglomerate of it all. She wondered if that’s what Vaemond was feeling before he had died. She wondered if he looked down upon them then. If he floated idly over the scene while he waited for the Stranger to come and take him. If he knew what was to happen to him, would he have still spoke the words he did? Would he have expressed remorse at a trial? Were his words truly worthy of death? What crime could ever be worthy of such a sentence?

A/N: This is the longest chapter I’ve written so far!! (there are some even longer ones locked in the arsenal) This is also the first chapter that’s majorly based on one of the scenes from the show. You like?????

oh and also, I may or may not talk up the importance of House Royce for my own convenience, let’s all just enjoy this ride together 0:)

xoxo messy

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Gertrude Robinson art courtesy of @spiralstain.

Propaganda under the cut.

Mapleshade:

Ok I also submitted her to the toxic mothers tourney, so my description here is the exact same thing that I submitted there. THIS IS NOT PLAGIARISM. I AM THE ORIGINAL SUBMITTER. Mapleshade was a cat who died several generations before the main series began. She had kids through an illegal relationship with the man who killed her leader’s son, and she and her very young children were ultimately exiled from their Clan when the truth of their parentage was revealed. Mapleshade tried to take them across the river to their father, and all three kittens were swept away and drowned. Mapleshade then went on a grief-fueled killing spree, driven by hallucinations of her dead children urging her to kill the cats she perceived to be responsible for their deaths. Eventually, she confronted her ex and his pregnant mate (bc oh yeah, it turns out Mapleshade was the Other Woman), and the ex was killed protecting his pregnant mate. Mapleshade also died in this fight, but her hatred was so strong that she basically became a demon in cat hell and declared eternal suffering on her ex’s entire bloodline. Two generations later, the ex’s grandson breaks his jaw as a kitten and is rejected by his mother. Mapleshade swoops in as a maternal figure and promises to make the poor kid into the best warrior he can be, despite his broken jaw being a significant disability. She grooms and manipulates him throughout his entire life, and every person he loves dies horribly, one by one. Whether or not Mapleshade actually caused these deaths is unclear, but she does make Crookedstar (the cat she’s been manipulating) believe that she’s caused them. This is because when Crookedstar was a small, rejected child, she made him promise her that he would always put his Clan first. Being a kid, Crookedstar made the promise without a second thought, not realizing that Mapleshade meant that he could never be close with anyone (since that would mean putting his loved ones before his Clan). Therefore, Crookedstar thinks that every death of his loved ones is a punishment from Mapleshade, his maternal figure, for breaking the promise he made as a kitten.

Gertrude Robinson:

She is the definition of the trolley problem. Sacrificing those who trusted her in order to save the world, only to find out the world would have been safe either way.

Gertrude is a badass old lady who killed many people and many monsters, ate people’s fears and forced information out of them. She manipulated folks into doing what she needed, neglected the health of one of her closest allies, and stopped several apocalyptic rituals. She was only stopped because the guy trying to manipulate her into ending the world shot her in the chest three times. Morally gray queen, rest in violence maam

She once dismembered a guy and dumped him in a sinkhole, destroying an entire town, in order to prevent the end of the world. She's dedicated to preventing various armageddons, and her favorite methods to do so involve plastic explosives.

[toxic-mothers-tourney]

Toxic fictional mothers tournament!

About

this bracket is focused on finding the WORST unhinged woman inflicting psychological damage to the people around them, especially their families/kids

no real people or OCs

this poll is not meant to glorify or romanticize abusive behavior. be safe and use your best judgement for yourself

a note on content warnings: obviously every entry here will involve some degree of emotional abuse, manipulation, etc. and physical abuse is also common for many of the characters. for cases that include further CWs am adding a content warning at the beginning of each character-specific propaganda in the poll. as stated earlier, I will not be including any character whose nomination is due to sexual violence or abuse. PLEASE let me know if you'd like anything else warned for

mod: bi, uses she/her, and is pro-choice I love abortion and trans rights 💪 also I hate proshippers get a life

Other info

all art is either official, a screenshot/panel of the media, a stock image, or from the wiki page

bracket will be 32 characters and rounds will run for one week each

updates may be slow as I work fulltime but I will try to run each character poll, starting on saturday, for 1 week, and post a new one the day after it finishes

Propaganda: tag me or reblog with your propaganda to ensure I see it. I will reblog propaganda replies if I see them

I may be an atheist but it is the official stance of this blog that God is a woman and uses she/her pronouns

[blond-jerk-tourney]

Blond Sweetheart Tourney: Round 1, Poll 50

Propaganda from submitters Under Cut

Cinderella

She had a shitty life but she was still kind. And she made clothes for the mice and birds!

"Have Courage and Be Kind" She lives a hard life that she did not deserve because her step mother had no affection for her. Cinderella makes friends with the mice (and birds) and treats herself gently in the cruel house. And she isn't expecting more than one night, but she shines and the Prince demands more for her. In the 1950 and 2015 she and the Prince are so cute and perfect, then Cinderella 2 and 3 she is so supportive of Anastasia

Dave Strider

he explicitly starts off as a douche but also he's 13 so like, ykno. it's about the JOURNEY. the GROWTH. the unlearning the extreme-to-the-point-of-abusive toxic masculinity he was raised with. so yeah at first he's a dick but he does love his friends and more than anything loves to joke around and make stuff to amuse himself and others. anyways, yadda yadda three years or so pass in canon and he's just affectionate and adorable. he's getting snuggling with his alien boyfriend(unofficial?) and giving out hugs and fist bumps left and right. he's getting flustered when he meets his bff from online for the first proper time irl then almost immediately tries to have an awkward heart to heart convo about compulsive heterosexuality. he is canonically described as adorable by others and occasionally himself multiple times. by nature he's a thoughtful, creative, and kind of passive goofball who hates fighting, but, as required: will die over and over for his friends (time travel shite), or get into in-depth feelings jams to talk them down from an anxiety spiral, or just clown around and make them laugh. all the things an adolescent superhero/god might need, ykno? also, is a massive mamas boy pretty much immediately after meeting his "mom" (alternate universe teen version of his biological mother who he never even met in the first place). because he's a BABY BIRD. and he's FULL of LOVE.

it's been a while since I read homestuck to be honest and I'm sure in the wider consciousness sweetheart isn't the first word that would come to people's minds for him but trust me. he is. he's my perfect lad, a puppy

[bangerbattlethemes]

battle of the battle themes

I've been following these poll tourneys very closely and got an idea for one of my own! I love video game OST's and thought it'd be fun to make one about that, especially since music has been a less explored venue than characters.

Qualifications:

Must be from a video game

Must coincide with some kind of battle with the video game's enemies. Something that hypes you up and makes you feel unstoppable!

General battle themes or boss fight themes welcome

Some examples I had in mind: With Twilight of the Gods from Shadows of Valentia, God Shattering Star from Fire Emblem Three Houses, Song of the Ancients (Fate) from Nier Replicant/Gestalt

Y'all can submit those or whatever you want! In fact I'm excited to find new OST's to listen to!

Rules:

I won't tolerate any rudeness or toxicity. Any offenders will be blocked.

No botting/cheating either, please. Let's just have a fun time here.

No video games that are very NSFW in nature please!

You can only submit your song once but you are free to send in multiple. Basically, no flooding with a repeat confession.

Propaganda is welcome, especially during the submission phase if you want a song submitted- though for the most part the music will be speaking for itself I think!

This is something very new for me and I don't rlly know much about tournament seeding or w/e so it'll probably be randomized. Please be patient with me!

Submissions have been closed early so I can include more people- sorry about that!

Other poll tourneys that inspired me to make one:

@pinkhairswagtourney @redhairswagtournament @sleepsmackdown @mad-scientist-showdown @purplegreenbracket @patheticmenscuffle @redandgreenpoll @fashiondisastertournament

Have fun; current polls are under read more for ease of access!

All Polls

Ace Attorney | Winner: Pursuit ~ Cornered ARMS Preliminary | Winner: Name Redacted Bravely Default Preliminary | Winner: Serpent Eating The Horizon Dai Gyakuten Saiban Preliminary | Winner: Partners ~ The Game is Afoot! Earthbound/Mother Epic Battle Fantasy Preliminary | Winner: Return of the Snow Queen Fire Emblem Preliminary | Winner: God Shattering Star Final Fantasy | Winner: One-Winged Angel Genshin Impact Preliminary | Winner: Scaramouche's Theme Granblue Fantasy Preliminary | Winner: Paradise Lost Hades Preliminary | Winner: God of the Dead Hollow Knight Preliminary | Sealed Vessel Kingdom Hearts Preliminary | Winner: Vector to the Heavens Kirby Preliminary | Winner: Masked Dedede Mad Rat Dead Preliminary | Winner: Ghost of Culvert Miitopia Preliminary | Winner: The Darkest Lord Monster Hunter Preliminary | Winner: Bewitching Dance (Mizutsune Theme) Octopath Traveler Preliminary | Winner: Decisive Battle II Persona Preliminary | Winner: Rivers in the Desert Pokemon Preliminary | Winner: Battle! Champion Cynthia/Battle! Pokemon Wielder Volo Splatoon Preliminary | Winner: Fly Octo Fly/Ebb and Flow The Legend of Zelda Preliminary | Winner: Revali's Theme 2 Toontown: Corporate Clash Preliminary | Winner: Guilt and Resentment Touhou Project Preliminary | Winner: U.N. Owen Was Her Transistor Preliminary | Winner: In Circles/_n C_rcl_s ULTRAKILL Preliminary | Winner: The Death of God's Will Undertale/Deltarune Preliminary | Winner: Death by Glamour Xenoblade Chronicles Preliminary | Winner: You Will Know Our Names Yakuza Preliminary | Winner: One-Eyed Slugger

Preliminaries We're Working On (Up Next)... None, all have been posted!

[addamvelaryon]

Thinking more about Jace & Daeron…. They were supposed to be different from the rest of their family…yet they ended up following their family’s example anyways.

From the moment of their birth, efforts were made to foster a positive relationship between the two boys. All so they could grow to be as close as brothers. In their lessons, at the training yard, at feasts and tourneys, they would always have to be together, by royal command. But it’s not enough, not when the lines have already been drawn between their families. The toxic influence of the Green vs Black factions left no room for love to exist there.

“It all goes back and back,” Tyrion thought, “to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads.”

[whatisthebestanimal]

New tournament!

This is a tournament to find out what the best animal in the animal kingdom is. You can submit anything, breeds included. So you can submit a dog or chihuahua. Mythical or extinct animals are not allowed. The total of animals that will be in this tournament will be 128 (maybe more, depending on the number of submissions) Please follow this tournament to follow the progress, and who knows, maybe your chosen animal will reign supreme! You can submit any amount of submissions, though i ask that you do not send in the same thing twice, as that will hinder the choice of animals. Sending in multiple animals in 1 submission is allowed.

If i tagged you, pls reblog! (Reblog if ur not tagged too)

Tags: @bestsiblingstournament @tournament-winners-tournament @toxic-mothers-tourney @tournamentideatournament @pink-oc-tournament @tournament-winners-tournament @purplegirltournament @puppetshowdown @prideflagcontest @blue-character-brawl @bluehairpronounsbracket @orangecharactersmackdown@tournament-announcer@controversial-blorbo-bracket @who-do-i-know-this-man @video-game-kids-tournament @favoritepokemontournament @blue-hair-and-pronouns-tourney@let-me-date-them-bracket

[bugbrawl]

It's bug time.

Inspired by the inimitable @ultimate-rat-bracket, I raise you another Bastard Animal to fight over: bugs. (For the purpose of this competition, "bugs" will extend beyond the order Hemiptera and will include anything that Seems Like A Bug.)

Some quick ground rules:

All submissions must be, in a physical way, bugs. No cute anime girls with antennae, no humans with "bug energy", just straight-up bugs.

I shouldn't have to say this, but by following this blog, you consent to seeing pictures of bugs on your dashboard. If you don't want to see bugs, don't follow.

If using someone else's art to accompany your submission, make sure you have permission to use it.

Don't be a dick. No spamming submissions, no angry messages if your submission doesn't make it into the bracket, no anti-propaganda, etc.

Both the definition of "bug" and the scope of the contest are being kept deliberately vague. Interpret it however you want!

Submissions closed!

Tournament tags:

@retirement-home-rumble @scrunkly-tournament @toxic-mothers-tourney @patheticmenscuffle @silly4sillypoll @underrated-adversaries @adhdvsautismbracket @the-mouse-joust

[unlikely-adversaries-bracket]

shoutout to the tournaments that are yielding multiple entrants!

@toxic-mothers-tourney @catholic-character-tournament @character-of-all-time @divorced-tournament @insanepoll

[sigma-showdown]

Is your fave a loner? Do they have zero friends? Are they chronically unsuccessful at romance? No, they aren't losers. They are SIGMA!

Submit your Sigmas to the SIGMA MALE SHOWDOWN and prove who is the ultimate lone wolf.

Rules:

Characters must be Sigma (male is optional)

Submit as many Sigmas as you want, but don't make multiple submissions for the same one

Real life people aren't allowed unless it's funny

Submissions may be disqualified at the tournament runner's discretion

If you have any questions about qualifications, contact me

Submissions end on August 12th

Inspired by:

@generic-man-in-suit-battle @autismswagsummit @top-teacher-tourney @girlbosstourney @white-boy-bracket @toxic-mothers-tourney @hot-take-tournament