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oneshots-imagines-random · 10 months

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Klaus M. x Reader x Elijah M. - Bruises

***This was posted like 20 years ago (it was really only 2018), but got taken down or in review or whatever I actually don’t know. And I got bored so I edited it a bit and decided to reupload it***

A/N- I wrote something, not entirely sure I’m so proud of it. It’s kinda all over the place but I wanted to post something for now. But yeah this is a Klaus x Reader relation and Elijah x Reader sibling thing.

Warnings: black eye, mention of a fight

Word count- 1136

Masterlist

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I knew it was better to not go out at night, but I wanted (favorite food) so bad and we didn’t have any left at the compound. So that’s what led me to my current predicament. My need for the food so strong that I was on the verge of being kidnapped right now. Well, that’s what it looked like, but I knew how to handle myself and got out of there in a breeze.

The only downside of this entire adventure, Klaus is going to be pissed. He’ll be upset that I left the house without him or any of his siblings yes, but that will hold no flame to how pissed off he’ll be once he sees me. Living with the Mikaelsons has taught me how to handle myself. They always tried to protect me, Klaus’s little human spouse, but they also made sure to teach me how to take care of myself just in case something ever happened.

And that’s exactly what happened tonight. I handled myself just fine except the downside is I now have a black eye due to the guy getting a punch in.

Welllllllllll, it’s not exactly my fault the dude was trying to kidnap me…. I think to myself as I walk back to the compound. At least I’m going back in one piece.

I enter the compound like an overdramatic spy in the movies. I check around every corner and listen very intently to make sure there is absolutely no Mikaelson sibling there before moving on. And it was working, I was almost in my room until I hear Elijah speak up from, thankfully, behind me.

“My dear, whatever are you doing?”

“Just playing around. Do you know where Niklaus is?” I retaliated, not looking at him so he couldn’t see my eye.

“I believe he just went out to find you. Are you alright, (Y/N)?” He put a hand on my shoulder and attempted to walk in front of me.

“YES!” I paused as I realized that maybe wasn’t the best course of action. “I’m sorry, I’m fine, just tired. I’m going to go lay down.” I try again before walking away and into my shared room with Klaus, locking the door behind me.

I knew all the Mikaelson siblings in the compound overheard the conversation due to their heightened hearing and knew I was going to be in trouble. However, all I can think about right now is trying to cover up this bruise the best I can and hope I can pass as being alright. Before I can even step away from the door, I hear a soft but firm knocking.

“Little one, are you alright?” I hear Kol’s voice come through the door.

“I’m fine, Kol. Just tired,” I whined and walked into my bathroom.

I may as well try and clean this up before Klaus gets back. If he, or even any sibling, sees this bruise, there will be hell on earth. And I don’t feel like calming them down again.

I grab my makeup and get to work but nothing is working. I’ve tried everything in my bag and followed almost every single YouTube tutorial on covering bruises and everything.

“WHAT THE HELL?” I screamed and threw a hairbrush across the bathroom. “(N/N)? Can I come in?” I hear Bekah’s sweet voice come through my door.

“No! I’m fine! Why can’t you all just leave me alone?!” I screech yet again not helping my case.

Wait case. Where the hell is my food? Fuck, I must have dropped it when I was fighting that guy.

“FUCK!” I wail and drop to the ground. All I wanted was my damn food and now I don’t have it.

I don’t even have a chance to realize that I’ve started crying before the door busts open and Klaus rushes in with his siblings behind him.

“Love, what is wro- Who gave you that bruise? Why are you crying? Are you hurt any further?” Klaus starts panicking over everything.

But I can’t talk because I’m so overwhelmed. I almost got kidnapped. I got an ugly bruise that hurts like hell. I left my food back on the streets. And now Klaus is in my face yelling. I get that he’s concerned, that they are all concerned, for my well-being. But for now, I just need a second to decompress before I go any further.

And I believe ‘Lijah sees this as he ushers his siblings, including Klaus, out of the room. I don’t pay attention to everything happening around me. Elijah talks to his siblings in the hall before coming back in and assessing my state. Then without saying anything, gently picks me up and lays me on my bed, tucking me in and sitting beside me.

After a few minutes, Elijah starts talking. “Are you alright?”

I sigh, “Yeah.”

“My dear, then why are you crying?”

“We ran out of (favorite food) and I went to get some more. And before you start, yes, I went alone. Yes, I know how dangerous that is. But I didn’t want to bother you guys. Plus, I can handle myself. But then a guy tried to kidnap me until I beat his ass. Although, he got a nice right hook in. And then I came home to try and cover the bruise up with makeup so you guys wouldn’t freak out. But then none of that was working and stressed me out. And then I realized I dropped my food in the fight. So, all of that stupid stress and stuff for nothing.” I start crying again after I explained everything just because of how tragic yet childish it all sounds.

“Don’t worry, (N/N). We all have bad days. Do you want me to get Klaus for you?” He asks as he strokes my hair.

“Yes, please. And thank you for being such a good big brother,” I sincerely reminded him as I started getting sleepy from the exhaustion of the day.

“You’re welcome. And don’t thank me, you’re like a little sister to me. I would do anything for you.” He said as he softly smiled and pressed a kiss to my forehead before leaving the room.

While you stayed in the bed, half-asleep, Elijah went out and explained everything to Klaus, who was holding fresh (Favorite food) that he went out and got while Elijah took care of you.

As Klaus entered the room, I just stayed right in my bed. He thought I was asleep when I was only half-asleep. And he climbed into the bed behind me after putting the food on my bedside table. He made sure to move carefully so he didn’t wake me up as he moved closer and held me in his arms.

“I’m sorry for stressing you out even more, Love. I just panicked and wanted to make sure you were okay. But I just want you to know that I am right here to protect you and take care of you and you will never be a bother to me or the family. I love you, (Y/N).”

I just smile to myself and let myself fall asleep knowing that I am truly loved and protected.

#honestly I dont even know this was supposed to be a Klaus oneshot but turned into an Elijah one and yeah merry chrysler #also will i ever post again? idk find out on the next episode :)#the mikaelsons #the mikaelsons imagine #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson x sister!reader #klaus x reader #fluff

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aye-of-newt · 2 years

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Klaus directly after resurrecting from the dead for the seventy-fourth time, having just looked god in the eyes and telling her he doesn’t believe, stumbling in and wiping key plot details off his boots like mud, fumbling in his pocket for a pill and spilling some loose insights that complete change a person’s perspective on themselves and life in general: damn. I really am the most useless member of the academy 😔 it took me ten whole minutes to recover from all of my organs being removed. I’m such a weakling. I shouldn’t be asked to do anything because I have absolutely no useful skills to contribute. sorry guys but I’m stupid and powerless. hope it works out for you but there is no way I can help because I’m a worthless idiot. oh and by the way I found this notebook laying on the ground outside. it looks like it contains the evil villains’ entire step by step plan on how they want to take us down complete with diagrams. but idk if it’s like relevant or not.

#and then they’re all like yeah klaus you’re fucking useless #shut up about that bomb with three seconds left on the timer #I DOUBT it’s relevant 🙄#but for real poor klaus #he’s so useful and no one knows it not even him #please i’m begging for someone to listen to him for once #it would save so much time #klaus hargreeves #tua

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luluwquidprocrow · 5 months

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like a row of captured ghosts

kit snicket

teen

2,568 words

Kit Snicket visits a house in the city.

for @asouefanworkevent's woevember day 2, the baudelaire mansion! featuring my enduring headcanon that the baudelaire mansion was previously the snicket mansion, and b+b get it when they marry lemony. i am 100% willing to admit it is Unlikely, however let us not forget kit saying “our families have always been close”, so, yknow

title from welcome home by radical face

Kit could get in if she wanted. She’d been given lockpicks expressly for the purpose, because the locks on the house were special, but she didn’t need them. She knew the statue in the back of the garden had a hairline crack in one of the hands – she didn’t remember which one, but it wasn’t as if there were many options – that, when pressure was applied, opened a brick in the patio. Under the brick was a lever. If one were to pull the lever, the little window in the hidden attic opened, roof shingles shifting out of the way, and one could wiggle themselves in, with enough effort. Her grandfather had put a number of clever little secrets in the house, and Kit had gone looking for them when she was very, very young, so she knew a decent amount of them. Few others did.

(The lockpicks confirmed that. If they thought that was the only way someone could get into the house, Kit was not going to correct them. And there were worse things, weren’t there, than simple theft, things for which no real defense existed.)

Night air bit at her ankles, her fingers, her neck. She wasn’t dressed nearly warm enough for November, having grabbed her blue spring jacket in her hurry, but the cold was of little concern to her. The mansion stood across the street, set back from the road, with that winding brick path up to the front doors, the maple trees scattering their leaves around the yard. It was in the heart of the city but in a place one would never know unless explicitly looked for – a turn off an erroneously marked dead end, then another, to an old avenue along a river with more trees than houses. Her grandparents had picked it on purpose. Presumably safe, but close enough.

They had added to the windows. Neat, decorative ironwork, curled into hearts and vines.

Kit put her hands in her pockets and crossed the street, her footsteps the only noise.

The fence out front had been replaced as well. Kit’s grandmother had done most of the architecture, and Bernadette Snicket had favored a simplistic, practical style in her work, but the new fence matched the intricacy of the window grates. That just-too-big space in the bars a person could slide themselves through if they desired, that Kit had, years ago, when she’d – that was gone. Kit walked the length of the fence twice, considering. She couldn’t linger long. There was a light on in a downstairs window, glowing soft behind the drawn curtains. Kit could not put it past them to eventually see her. She walked down the sidewalk one more time, picking up her pace. There was no way around the fence. Climbing over it didn’t seem like an option. The points at the top of each iron bar looked sharp, glinting in a stray hit of light from the streetlamp over near Kit’s car.

(Kit wondered how much was a choice – how much was a needed decision – how much was meant to erase. She couldn’t judge Beatrice and Bertrand for that. Not without damning herself, which Kit was not, overall, in the habit of doing.)

Of course there was a sewer grate nearby, and of course Kit pushed it up soundlessly and slipped down inside.

Her grandfather had three boxes – one Kit had already taken some years ago and given to Bertrand, for reasons better left unsaid. One had been given to Lemony. The third was still in the house and held a very specific map of the city. Headquarters wanted it, among other things. And if Kit came across one of those other things, she was at her liberty to take them.

(She and Beatrice had argued, Kit remembered. The sewer was dark and icy, and Kit shivered hard, grinding her teeth together. They’d argued about those other things, and Kit had not been able to give Beatrice, or herself, a satisfactory answer. It was one of the last conversations they had, if not the last. Most likely the last, if Kit was honest. Beatrice had made it clear where she and Bertrand stood, and where Kit stood, and that it was no longer in the same place. And it never would be.

Kit told herself over and over that she would never do it. There would always be another option, as long as Beatrice and Bertrand were alive to emphatically refuse. Right now, there was this option – Kit was going into the house. She was taking the box back. Nothing else. And the box wasn’t even going to headquarters. There were other plans for that box.)

The box would be in the downstairs office, under a floorboard. Probably Bertrand’s office. The windows were one of the ones her grandmother had put the stained glass in, and shards of blue fell over the green floor when the sun sat just right in the sky. It was a good room for thinking, and Bertrand likely did a great deal of it there. Kit swallowed and hurried further through the sewers, past the names that didn’t matter, and started scanning the curved ceiling. If one knew where to look, there was a sloped hatch up there that led up into the passage between the house and 667 Dark Avenue. Kit would open the hatch, get inside, go into the house, and then leave the same way. And there it was. Tucked in a shadow, just waiting for her. Kit reached up for the wheel, ready to heave the door open. It was going to stick with so little use.

The wheel turned easy under her hands.

Kit jerked back, her whole body seizing up. Someone had been here. Someone who was not her. Someone who wasn’t just checking. Kit spun the wheel frantically and the hatch fell open.

(She’d brought Olaf here. Her grandparents hadn’t cared who knew the location of their house, but their generation had been different, and Kit’s parents had stressed, when they could, the importance of keeping this secret. Her associates thought it was a safehouse, one they could never quite find the location of, and wrote off as another ruse. She’d driven Olaf, pointing out landmarks the whole way, because she’d thought –

Kit was not foolish enough to think she’d get married. But Olaf was important to her, and she was foolish enough to think he’d stay important, and that when Lemony inevitably married Beatrice and they took the house, Olaf would be there too.

They crept in through the fence. Olaf chased her around the maple trees. Kit took him into the house through the font doors and showed him what her grandparents built. And he understood what the Snicket mansion meant, in the way he had to understand what the Count’s mansion meant. Some time later, Kit realized he had not.

Olaf’s memory was shit, except where it mattered. Except in the things she wanted him to forget. He’d remember where this house was and it was only a matter of time before he – before anyone – got their hands on the Baudelaires.)

Kit hoisted herself up into the passageway. She tugged the hatch closed behind her, then felt around in the black for the dip in the center. Her fingers kept slipping, shaking, pushing into metal that wasn’t right, nicking her nails, her heart thudding faster and faster in her chest and rising to a crash in her ears – where was it? There. She found the button and jammed her thumb into it. The metal hissed as it sealed from the inside. It wasn’t enough, Kit knew. Nothing would ever be enough now. But it would have to do.

She ran along the passageway, keeping one hand on the wall. It came to an abrupt end, and Kit had her hand ready to pull open the trap door into the office when her mouth went dry. She swallowed, and then did it again. Once more. She let the trap door fall open and climbed into the Baudelaire mansion.

The office was dark, as expected. Bertrand kept his desk by the windows, because of course he would. Not because Kit’s grandfather had, but because Bertrand would obviously like the view. The bookcases still lined the walls, but the books must surely be different. Kit wondered what he kept there, but there was no time to get into it. She could see the strip of light hovering under the door. It was poetry, probably. He probably kept poetry. Fairy tales he read to his children. The chair at his desk was different than the one her grandfather had there, perfect for sitting in and telling stories. She turned and faced the wall.

The floorboard was in the far left corner, at the front of the room. Kit moved slowly, quietly, barely breathing. Bertrand had covered the whole floor with a thick, heavy carpet, so at least that was in her favor. She bent down, tugging the corner of the carpet up, and lifted the single loose floorboard.

(She always wound up doing this, she thought, in a voice that sounded stunningly like Lemony’s, wry as he ever was. Sneaking into someplace to steal something important. At least now she had experience.)

There it was. Just as it had always been, another secret waiting for its time. The small, jeweled box with the complicated lock with the code her grandfather had taught all three of them. Kit tucked it inside her jacket and replaced the floorboard.

It hit her like a shot, her breath catching in her throat. The sewer hatch locked only from the inside. She couldn’t go back that way. She whirled around, clutching the lump in her jacket to her chest. The best way to leave – the closest way out – that was through the library, two rooms down, through the passageway in the wall and up to the hidden attic. But that meant leaving the room. Standing in the hallway. Walking to the library, unseen.

(She did not have experience. That voice sounded like Jacques, if Jacques had ever been so straightforward in his disappointment. She had to get out of this house before she kept thinking.)

Kit waited. Listened. She couldn’t hear anything from here in the office. She went through the map of the ground floor in her head, the foyer at the front, into the parlor, the living room to the left, the kitchen to the back, the dining room to the right – the hallway behind the kitchen, with the office, the billiard room, the library. The left wall in the library, where the hidden door was. Conceivably, it was easy. Wasn’t it?

She turned the door handle and left the office.

The hallway was half-lit from the living room at the end of the hall. Now she could hear the phonograph, playing a jazz record she didn’t recognize. Beatrice and Bertrand had to be in there, and it was right across from the library. Unless they were in the library. Unless they were – Kit gave herself a shake. She wouldn’t know anything until she moved. She just had to move. She just had to move. Kit just had to move.

She couldn’t see the green floors. Beatrice and Bertrand had rugs everywhere, in elegant red and ivory. Kit tiptoed over it, hesitating. Paintings hung in groups down the hallway, flowers and little portraits and framed children’s drawings, scribbles of the garden hung with the same care as the art. They must be Violet’s. The jazz record kept going. Kit’s grandmother had liked oil paintings of flowers. She’d had a few in the hallway herself in her time.

(Katherine, Bernadette Snicket had said.

No, Kit insisted. How old was she then? Four? Just Kit. And her grandmother had looked pleased, like Kit had passed a test. Everything was a test and always had been, tests she’d completed perfectly, and why did it hurt? How far had Kit gone down the hall? The box sat against her ribs like another heart, heavy. Everything ached, especially her jaw, clenched shut like her life depended on it. And it did. This life around her she wasn’t a part of anymore, this family, this safety, Kit’s life existing outside of this place, everything depended on Kit, on her walking out of here alone, back to her apartment. The whole series of events spooled out in front of her as a nightmare unraveling. Was she crying? Why was she crying?)

Kit took another step, then another. The library was one foot away on the right, a mile away, mere inches, an eternity. The passthrough to the living room on her left gaped open.

Bertrand hummed a bar of the jazz record. And then –

“What’ve you got there?”

Kit froze.

“I knew I left it somewhere in here – ha! That book I was looking for, for Violet and Klaus.”

“You really want to do the cob, don’t you?” The smile was clear in his voice, and Kit pictured Bertrand leaning forward in his chair, his hand on his chin, gazing at Beatrice and bursting with delight.

“I absolutely do! I get to do a fake death scene and everything. How many kids books are going to give me that kind of opportunity, Bertrand?”

They were alone. Their voices were far enough into the room that they shouldn’t see her at the doorway. They joked like she remembered, exactly like she remembered. Did they joke like that with their children? Would they have joked like that with Lemony, here, like they used to? With her? Would Olaf have – would her grandparents – wasn’t Kit supposed to be here too, not because it was hers, that wasn’t what mattered, what mattered was –

Kit held her breath and didn’t let it out until she’d slipped into the library, until she’d rushed to the wall, until she’d nearly slammed her hand into the door hidden in the dark wallpaper, until she was safe in the narrow passageway. She wanted to run, to keep running. But they’d hear her in the wall. She took it step by step with her chest burning, traveling up two floors to the hidden attic. There was the little window in the roof, waiting for Kit to wiggle her way out. She did. The climb over the roof and down the trellis was harder, with her whole body trembling, but she made it.

She stumbled through the garden, racing over the brick path back to the road, to the fence – she shoved her heels into the ironwork, scrambling over it, the tip of a bar slicing into her calf and her palms. She slipped on the way down the other side and her hip met the sidewalk, pain skittering through her leg and up her side. Get up. Get up, Kit. And Kit did, back to her car across the street, into the driver’s side.

Kit took long and deep breaths. In and out, until her head was back on straight, with the plan set right in her thoughts, as it was supposed to be. Everything was as it should be. She set the box down gently on the passenger seat. She did not look at the Baudelaire mansion. She would patch herself up later, when she had time. She took another breath and put the key in the ignition.

She had to go back home.

#asoue #woevember #no you do NOT see my unformated dashes shhhhhhhh i am so tired okay :) i'm not fixing them i'm going to bed :)#uh. this fic is a Time. in many ways. like.................#kit snicket and the terrible horrible no good very bad evening of Situations. by lulu vandelay #where is this in canon????? uhhh. tentatively violet and klaus are like toddlers i think. yeah?#i struggled with the title. frantically scrambled for a new one bc my original one. look i thought it was tonally too creepy. i think that #was what was freaking me out about it.#AT. 1:56 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING #the next day 2:23 pm update -- changed some words/smoothed some things/left a lot of the passive voice bc i think it's needed here

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morningstargirl666 · 9 months

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FIC REC FRIDAY #4

ad aeternam. by darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

His eyes are intent on her. They always are, but never so strong, never so scorching, as when he’s needling for information she’d rather not give.

“I want you to come and …” She sighs. This is more difficult than she had expected it to be, and that’s saying something. She’d expected it to be like pulling teeth, but the feeling is more akin to ripping off an arm. “I want you to come and pretendtodateme.”

There. Done. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

No, not at all.

Klaus’s face smooths over, washed of all emotion. “Would you mind repeating that?”

Guys. Listen. I don't go searching for fake dating AUs. Mostly because I'm not a fan of human AUs. When I'm reading klaroline fanfiction, I'm here for the fantasy element, the age old hybrid falling in love with the blonde baby vampire. Therefore, fake dating AUs just don't really blip up on my radar. But. Guys. Guys. THIS FIC ALRIGHT. THIS FIC HAS OVERHAULED MY ENTIRE BELIEF SYSTEM???? LIKE? IT'S POST-CANON DIVERGENCE???????? YET A FAKE DATING AU????????????? DO YOU SEE THE QUESTION MARKS HERE IT DIDN'T EVEN OCCUR TO ME THIS COULD BE A THING AND YET IT IS AND IT IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CREATION TO EVER EXIST?

Anyways. Yeah, go read it.

OR I AM DISOWNING ALL OF YOU

#klaroline fic rec friday #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #i mean i am bias because it is a gift for me but #the fic wasn't even tailored to my tastes????#and yet I swear to god #it has become one of my favourite kc fics of all time #like #h o w #ella how do you this to me every time #anyways go read it #you will laugh and cackle and scream and squeal #best shot of serotonin to the brain ever #caroline's relatives are absolutely awful and bringing a wolf to the dinner table was perhaps her greatest idea ever #klaus is utterly DELIGHTFUL in this #i've actually forgotten the key things i screamed over now that I try to think #my remembrance of it is just a haze of pure happiness #it's like when you got drunk last night and you KNOW it was a good night out because you can't remember a thing #yeah if you check the comments section my thoughts were pretty incoherent #ella i hope you're proud you broke me with this #fic rec

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deicidedruid · 2 years

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I love Klaus’s character development throughout the seasons

Season 1: Sad

Season 2: Sad

Season 3: still sad like really sad like can someone please get this guy a cookie and some boundaries.

#like he wasn’t even angry when Reggie killed him #he was just annoyed #and he was like yeah fair being dead was tight #goddamn #klaus hargreeves #tua s3 #tua3 #the umbrella academy #tua

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the-halfling-prince · 17 days

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Goodness forbid I watch anything without being hit with the intense urge to cosplay the main character

#This is about renegade nell.#It'll be quite the ambitious project but alas #Me to my two younger sisters: Omg we should all be the sisters from renegade Nell. You two would be great for George and Roxy.#My sisters who did not watch a single full episode: No.#Devastating moment for local... Me.#My sisters and I love cosplaying as siblings.#Me and my teen sister are always dipper and Mabel from gravity falls. Me and my little sister are always wirt and Greg from otgw #Next con my teen sister and I are gonna be Klaus and Violet baudelaire. She's gonna be Violet. Yes I am older than her :(#Devastating moment for local short king.#my posts #After being dipper and Mabel twice my sister and I have a running joke where everytime we go anywhere we say we're gonna pretend to be twin #The topic never comes up but it's still fun.#Because of course we're the same height. And she's even taller with those tall ass goth shoes she wears #Damn #Wait what was this post about again #Oh yeah I'm gonna cosplay Nell at some point I've already started the costume piece list on my cosplay spreadsheet

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navree · 1 year

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I think it is very funny (and by funny I mean infuriating and appalling) that people's reactions to a mother being terrified to death for her children's lives is "boohoo Alicent is stupid!" and not "poor thing, that's not how a mother should be made to feel by HER OWN FAMILY"

This is such a problem with literally any TV show or movie, which is that people forget that we are an omnipotent audience. We see everything, we know everything, we are the only people involved in the story that have complete and utter control over all of the information of the story. None of the other characters do, and that's why they make the decisions they do, and if they seem somewhat nonsensical to us that's because we know everything and they don't.

(seriously, as someone who was in The Originals fandom for a time, season 2 was the hardest time to be Hayley fan when half the audience forgot that her decisions made total sense if you just looked at the information she had access to, not all the information of the entire story.)

Alicent's information is this: 1) Rhaenyra lied to her (lies by omission count as lies), and then 2) appears to have leveraged those lies to strip away the last of Alicent's support as well as anyone partial to her children's place in the line of succession. 3) Rhaenyra is then callous enough to drive a man to suicide and, in the process, get another man killed, with no outward remorse. 4) Over the next ten years Rhaenyra commits at best a huge social faux-pas and at worse an outright treason and 5) the products of that treason are cruel to her own sons which Rhaenyra has done nothing to stop (or really do anything to bridge any gap in their relationship) until 6) she proposes the Jace/Helaena marriage, which just looks like an attempt to take Alicent's only daughter hostage when you have an uncharitable view of her. 7) Rhaenyra then does nothing about her son maiming Alicent's and in fact 8) demands that Aemond be tortured for having eyes that can see and 9) vocally approves the plan to maim Alicent's son and Alicent herself for also having eyes that can see, because it helps her succession and that of her sons. And the coup de grace is in 10) Alicent seeing Rhaenyra murder her husband so she can marry who she wants and gather more strength to her side.

That is all the information Alicent has on Rhaenyra as heir to the throne. That she is callous, thoughtless, bloodthirsty in the pursuit of getting what she wants, uncaring towards others, with the capacity towards coldblooded murder to anyone who gets in her way (and who are in her way? Alicent's Targaryen children, especially Alicent's firstborn Targaryen son), and no remorse or thought to consequence for anything she does. Of course, we, the audience, see things from more than just Rhaenyra's point of view, we know that her thoughtlessness is borne out of being sheltered, that she's lighthearted and playful, that she is genuinely just trying to find love within the confines of an incompatible marriage, that the faults in her relationship with Daemon lie with Daemon as the adult and senior figure, that her attempts to reach out are genuine, that she's held the best belief in Alicent for a long time ("I do not believe Alicent is capable of cold blooded murder") that she did not murder Laenor, and that she has no intention of hurting Alicent or her kids and genuinely wants to be a good ruler and pass down the Targaryen legacy/Song of Ice and Fire (whether she can be a good ruler is debatable at best, and also God I hate the stupid prophecy fuck it so hard).

So to the audience, yeah Alicent's reactions can seem irrational, but most people with basic competence and understanding of storytelling can also understand that the impression we have of the story is something no one else in universe does, it's why I'm also willing to give grace to Rhaenyra for sometimes thinking the worst of Alicent because she doesn't have access to the information that we do.

But let's be real, ASOIAF/GOT/F&B/HOTD and all adjacent fandoms have been horrifically toxic and misogynistic, a mindset that extends far beyond characters and even to the actors, no matter which side of certain debates you fall under (yes this is a fandom wide callout I've seen all teams be gross as Hell), as I'm of the belief that insulting Matt Smith's looks and harassing his mother is in fact just as bad as bullying Emily Carey off Twitter, and relentlessly castigating Sophie Turner for no reason including when she was a child is in fact just as bad as mocking Emilia Clarke's brain injuries, this shouldn't be controversial. So I'm not surprised that this toxicity exists towards the character, and there's a lack of understanding in how yeah, Alicent should not be made to feel that her children are in active danger due to the actions of not just their sister but also their literal father, her husband (and that the worsening of the relationship post-Driftmark is entirely on Team Black for not doing anything to make amends for what happened to Aemond whatsoever and refusing to even be contrite years after the fact, Vhagar eating Luke was too merciful for him I said what I said).

A lot of the people who think this way are mostly casual watchers, or just really die-hard Team Black Twitter stans, so we can at least take comfort in the fact that most people with media literacy, whether they be regular fans or even critics, are more willing to extend Alicent the grace she deserves, and us Greenies can stan her hard enough to power a major metropolis in the meantime.

#personal #answered #anonymous #yeah this isn't an hotd specific issue unfortunately enough #the originals season 2 was just.......bane of my existence #'hayley's so evil for running away with hope' klaus confessed to murdering her friend for no reason (and when he didn't even! he's stupid!)#after a year of him bullying her and trying to railroad her every decision and being an asshole to her #after already having a thousand year old reputation of being a remorseless monster #like yeah no shit she eventually decided to cut and run with her kid #the information she had was that this guy was toxic as hell and couldn't be trusted around her or her child #it's only because we saw more than just her pov that we understood where klaus was coming from #i mean god i don't think anyone on the internet understands the concept of POINT OF VIEW #like you know how in the books we the audience know the lannisters are shits but in the first one sansa doesn't in her pov #because she's a child and she doesn't have the information we do about how bad they are #or how dany tends to refer to her marriage to drogo as a love story when we the audience with a modern lens and viewpoint are like uhhhhhhh #god people are dumb

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