He Tried His Best To Cheer The Innocent Baby When He Knows Himself The Catastrophe Theyre Facing. Ya

He tried his best to cheer the innocent baby when he knows himself the catastrophe they’re facing. Ya Allah, please protect the people of Gaza. You know what is best for them. Grant us the imaan, patience and bravery You gifted them

via @/writer_liltash on twitter

Roadtrip

A call cuts through the solemn silence of the night, stirring you off the shallow waters of a restless sleep. You take your keys and hit the road, headed to nowhere street.

They said you’d find them beyond the crossroad, a little off to the right side of a ghost town, not too far away from an abandoned gas station. You drive for minutes, hours, days but the starless sky does not leave your side, always watching over your head.

Dust welcomes the soles of your feet on the ruins of a city that barely holds onto its name. One step at a time, you wade closer to the roaming darkness of your heart. You set camp in the middle of an empty road and start digging, for minutes, for hours, for days but the starless sky bears witness to every drop of sweat you shed. A soft breeze whispers at your ears to dig deeper, to lean in closer to the gaping hole you just made ;

it lurks in the inner corners of your mind

it glares from the inside out

it latches onto you

it crawls under your skin

it whispers

it breathes

it whispers

it drums your heart to its own beat.

You lose yourself to the melody till another voice joins it and you get lost in its slurred words and you lean in closer and you fall along with the night and you shoot for the stars and you spin against the world and you swim against the current and you run to the end of the day and you fade into twilight and you wrap your arms around the shadows, enshroud yourself into their veil and you turn your back on dawn, pull the blinds and hide away from sight, from mind, from light.

You wait and wait, till the first rays of sun close in on you ;

you hesitate to say a prayer before you think better of it. You cover your work, turn around without a goodbye, coaxing the memories to follow you back into the car, to haunt your days and nights forevermore.

As you drive back home you can almost feel it, sitting at the passenger seat, switching radio channels and tapping a tune on the board. And you don’t dare turn around for they live at the corner of your eye ; somewhere close enough to itch but far enough from reach.

And you drive away from home away from the city away from the crowd. And you lean onto the stick shift, willing your hand to become its extension. And you stare ahead onto the outstretched road, willing the scenery to snatch your soul. And you glance up at the rearview mirror, willing your reflection to become a stranger.

You drive through cities, old and new, you watch as well-made roads turn askew. You drive through rain and storms and tricky view. And when you catch the deer in the headlights, you run it through. And when it lays on your way, you drag its blood on your trail. And when the fusty smell mixes with petrichor well, you keep on driving with a body in your backseat. You keep on driving with a ghost in your passenger seat. You keep on driving with murder on your mind.

And when it’s time to take a break, you lean back on old days ; you look behind you, you look in front of you. Anywhere your eyes travel, you see the bars of a jail in time, a prison of your own making. And as the darkness seeps out of your eyes and joins the night, as it dances under the streetlights to a silent tune, as it travels over your pores and sprouts weeds that climb up your throat... You look ahead and hit the gas once more.

The ghost next to you, humming to a song you cannot hear. The deer behind you, writhing, giving its last breath. The moon overhead, glaring at you. The stars around it, teasing you. The silence you paid a hefty price for, wrapping itself over your shoulders, putting a blanket of quiet over your head.

Red lights shine blue in front of you. Red flags turn white as sheet, forgetting their color, falling like snow on either side of the road where a thousand names lay forgotten. Bloodshot eyes stare back into yours and offer you a sip. The ghost smiles with all its gleaming teeth ; it’s mouthing something, you think it’s calling you angel. You think it’s asking for a kiss. You think it’s telling you to let go of the wheel.

The ghost smiles with all its gleaming teeth, and you can see yourself trapped between them. And you can feel it as they pick at you, as they peel off your skin. As they hang your wings to the rearview mirror and you dangle into the void. As they call you their lucky charm. As you bleed on their knuckles and drain into the air vents.

The deer in the backseat has stopped fighting, and as your blood dries on their hands, they wash you off their nails and wipe away at the corners of their mouth. They gurgle the taste in their throat with water and take over the wheel.

How good it feels, to let someone else lead the way ; to wash your hands off your own fate and see it unfold as a passenger. You watch as they run you both into a wall. You watch as the curtains of night let in the blinding light. You welcome the concussion and the deafening noise. And when darkness welcomes you into its gaping maw, you trust the fall more than anything you know. And as they pull your body off the wreck, you watch shadows dancing over your head ; their mouths agape in a symphony you cannot recognize, their hands pulling at your limbs, their eyes flashing headlights. You brace yourself for the collision, you wait to join the carcass in the backseat.

It never comes.

So you sit up in bed and watch the ghost hovering around the hours between night and day ; only ever present for the price of your sleep and dreams.

So you sit up in bed and talk to the darkness and ask questions with no answers and tell stories with cliffhangers steep enough to slip back into the peaceful silence of your car on a road to nowhere.

Nah cuz she was 15 going after a SECOND son with two sons while,

the heir was alive with a daughter and could still have other children. Bitch queen of what what crown was she running after, She chooses baelor because he was the only brother left, and as all targaryen daughters she was poisoned with the idea of «sister wife», she didn't sought-after a crown but a protector.

She was afraid after what happened to her sisters (Alyssa, daella and saera), and had no saviour, her own mother was saving her 30 years old brother from her, her father had no saying in marriage business (tell that to poor daella wont you), and she asked baelor to save her didn't she do that, she begged him to save her before doing anything and he didn't care like all of them.

And her last resort was "seducing him", her last resort was done while she was so drunk it took two maids and a knight to help her up.

15, never forget she was 15 getting literally bullied by her mother in the name of her 30 year old brother, same mother who decided to merry her of to a four time widower far away from home, a man with multiple heirs whome all would see her as a danger for themselves and whome would have alienated her, same mother who married for love encouraged her sons to marry for love and lost a daughter to a too young marriage to an elderly man.

She was 15 and had no one to protect her, good queen alysanne can go to hell, I really hope her daughters death broken her far more than the books describe, cuz she never tried to protect any of them, be it from the world from the men's in their entourage or from herself.

Queen Alysanne Targaryen being portrayed as this “pro-women good queen” but literally trying to force humble her daughter Viserra is my villain origin story!!!!