#people says funny things to me about my quotes but that was one of the strangest lol

[thecheshirerat]

On TAZ-

Wow that sounds like I’m about to summarize some sort of discourse but I promise I’m not. I guess I’ll say that I really like this show and I will keep listening even if my worst fears come to pass, so keep that in mind!

For reference, I started listening near the end of Amnesty.

I’ve noticed, with the past few arcs- really since Ethersea- the narratives have just… not been fulfilling their promises, so to speak. They’ve been placing a lot of guns that don’t go off. What I mean by that is, the characters are great. Excellent, really. Lady Godwin? HELL YES. Emerich Dreadway? Fuck yeah! And so on! And the settings and premises have been epic- the goofiness and also horrifying nature of Engrave, the mad and thrilling world of Steeplechase- these things are COOL AS FUCK.

and then the actual narratives keep flopping?

And honestly, I notice it most in the endings, because you can really tell when an ending doesn’t land. You feel the sense of disappointment. But with vs. Dracula, for example, I could kinda see leading up to it that the ending couldn’t really BE anything special, because they lowkey didn’t set themselves up for it.

They spent the campaign fucking around in Engrave, finding clues and solving problems and not really experiencing any particularly meaningful character arcs or growth or, idk, forming relationships? So there wasn’t much to pay off, I’m not gonna lie!

Of course it doesn’t feel quite as dissatisfying when you’re in the thick of it, because they’re funny and the stuff is cool and- oh hey! Lady Godwin’s been turned into a werehorse against her will?? that’s got some real potential for a LOT of allegories and exploration of some fun character development! And then it’s kinda played as a joke. And then they do that again and again.

And they actually said that that was a move they made intentionally, in the TTAZZ. I’m not quoting them perfectly here, this is from memory, but I do remember them mentioning that they wanted lighthearted comedy without the burden of real life story stuff. And I get that, honestly, but… it’s not the choice I would’ve made. I do think you can keep a lighthearted tone while also, idk, forming relationships and wholesomely engaging with some amount of emotion. And sometimes going way too deep is funny as a tone shift!

But I digress. One thing that’s also popped out to me is the almost complete lack of any kind of romantic storyline or even references. This becomes obvious if you’re in a fandom because everyone is always dying to ship SOMEONE, and you can tell when people are really getting desperate. I don’t blame them for not wanting to roleplay romance with their family, and I do think stories lacking romance are COOL and SHOULD BE ENCOURAGED!

However if you can’t find ANYBODY to ship together… that may mean you just don’t have character bonds. The growing popularity of the PC polycule is interesting to me; I wonder if it’s partially because

a) none of the pcs have significant relationships outside of their party and

b) even within the party, there doesn’t seem to be much chemistry between any given pair of characters…? I hope I’m making my point well here- the PCs all seem equally close and have more or less the same relationship to all of their compatriots with little distinction, meaning, essentially, no shipping fodder that doesn’t involve just all of ‘em.

Either way, it makes me wonder if I can blame the “Graduation has too many NPCs!” critique. They really stopped giving the parties tag-along main NPCs after graduation, with the exception of maybe.. Urchin? Kodira? Shlabethany? Poppy? and even they get relatively little “screen” time. Steeplechase has great NPCs, I love them to death, but none of the PCs seem to ever have one on one conversations with NPCs or each other that do not explicitly focus on the plot. And I think that’s part of why the characters feel so underdeveloped despite having spent a lot of time with them- because in this character-driven genre, we get very little insight into their feelings or motivations or even their rudimentary backstories.

I started watching Fantasy High recently and it made me realize a couple things about TAZ.

1) Recently, TAZ has sooo few core NPCs, and it’s weird that the characters aren’t doing more one-on-one purely character based scenes. And that makes it really tough to develop them.

2) TAZ is- and I should have realized this before- one of many good dnd podcasts. They’re probably looking for a niche they can master.

And it sounds like they’re trying to get back to that old “Here there be Gerblins!” energy. They’ve referenced it so many times in recent TTAZZes- they wanted to be job-focused, allowing story stuff to happen organically, so they tried a more open world vibe with Ethersea. They wanted to be less afraid to kill stuff, so they tried playing criminals (and were still afraid to kill stuff). They wanted to be silly and light on character, as they tackled with taz vs dracula. Now they’re trying to bring in the silly cartoon vibe with Abnimals. I think they’re trying to make that family-friendly, funny and goofy show their niche. Something other actual plays can’t be better at them at.

And honestly it kinda makes me sad, that they keep trying to go back to Balance while ignoring everything they learned during it. Because I loved Dust. Because I loved Amnesty. Because I loved Ethersea. I loved these past arcs! But they keep doing their brilliant characters dirty for some reason!!! And i don’t know why!!!!

You know that meme about people who ask questions in movies and then the person responds “Have you ever been to a movie before? You watch them and the information is revealed.” There have been so many times in TAZ recently where information has Not been revealed and if they keep doing it the audience will stop bothering to suspend their disbelief, because the trust just isn’t there.

What is Montrose’s deal? What on earth was Carmine Denton’s whole thing? Tell me more about Zoox’s feelings, about Devo’s past, about Amber’s future. Show me how Lady Godwin feels about the body horror that is her life- like, seriously! WHY DID WE HAVE TO COMPLETELY DISMISS THE OPPORTUNITY TO DISCUSS GENERATIONAL TRAUMA IN MUTT’S LIFE FOR A JOKE??

Do you remember in Steeplechase where the boys were getting medical attention or something- i don’t remember, but they were all in one room and only talking about The Plot. And Poppy literally banged on the door (speaking for both Justin and me, tbh) and was like “does anyone want to share any feeeeelings??” and they were like NOPE! and they moved on!!

like. cmon. you can’t just put a character like montrose out there and then leave them severely underdeveloped to the point that what would be interesting in proper context, with audience insight, becomes confusing and chaotic.

I just wish they would take their stories as seriously as we do.

It feels to me like they don’t believe in themselves, and it makes me sad. Maybe they didn’t get the response they wanted from Ethersea and so they’ve been trying to pivot, hoping to recapture whatever it was that earned them a loyal audience.

Again, I love them. They’re so funny and I’ll keep listening until the day they stop making this show, and when it happens I’ll cry.

But i KNOW they have more in them. Remember the “we’ll grow gills” monologue from Justin in the Prologues? Remember Travis’s SOLID acting with Devo? Or his awesome choice to give Lyndon/Beef a clearly delineated work/irl identity? His excellent narration and prose? Remember when Montrose described being lonely?! Remember all those moments where Shit Got Real and you cared??? The nanofather said some dope shit! dracula and victor and sweater dracula had such a wild dynamic! Clint’s acting in Dust 2- I can’t remember the characters name right now- was ASTOUNDING, I genuinely didn’t know he had that in him and it blew me away!

I’m not referencing Balance on purpose, both because the fandom is way to hung up on it and because I want to prove that you don’t even have to look at Balance, or even Post-Balance arcs, to see this kind of good cool stuff!

GAAAAAAAGHHHH!!! I want them to have fun. But also. We’re starving out here.

[loganslowdown4]

Thinking about the time that someone told me they found one of my incorrect quotes funny but they didn’t really get intruality as a ship because they didn’t think Patton & Remus fit together—

Understandable, I said, not every ship is everyone’s cup of tea

Yeah, they said, I just don’t see Patton being with a side who is basically insanity—

Me: *staring at my phone*

Me: you think that Remus is… insanity?

Them: yeah, he’s crazy, he says crazy things

Me: uh huh, yeah, I’m gonna need you to rewatch DWIT a couple more times—

The amount of effort it took me to not lose my marbles lmao the complete misunderstanding of his character SENT ME INTO ORBIT HOLY SHIT 🥲🙃

[dream-sans-mogai]

Anyway, because I'm considered a bigger creator within the mogai community and I have a responsibility to address things given my bigger audience-

Please remember that Tumblr, especially LGBT Tumblr concerning discourse and intracommunity issues, is a hyper niche, reactive, violent, sensitive community with next to zero basis in reality at large and you should not take any of its opinions as absolute fact. Especially the mogai community's opinions.

A lot of people on mogai Tumblr talk big game with very clearly fake the-whole-bus-clapped stories about the real world concerning acceptance towards mspec monos, Neopronouns and Xenogenders and it's my job as an adult and guiding voice to remind people these experiences may happen but rarely do and you absolutely should not just tell random people you use purr/purrs pronouns or your a bi gaybian or you identify as Chronosian or other things like that because it's really fucking dangerous even in hyper progressive places like new york, cali and Detroit. It can be deadly in many many small towns, including ones in progressive states. Especially dangerous in non accepting states.

I don't say this to burst your bubble or ruin your hopeful world view but many stories of acceptance are fake, even if some are true, most of the community is underage and just cause your teacher may approve of your Soniccharic identity, doesn't mean they won't tell your transphobic parents. It's scary and dangerous out here for trans and gay people rn and I won't be one of the idiots who tell you to run and frolic with your Xenogender pins Infront of increasingly hostile transphobes. I want the younger gen z trans people to survive and I won't lie to you about the reality of the battle we all are staring down concerning project 2025.

Most of the people telling these stories live in progressive states and do not tell you about the failed times or exaggerate the acceptance they supposedly received. I'm telling you from the mouth of someone who grew up in a tiny town in South Ohio with less than 1,000 people, it's still just as dangerous as it was 10 years ago. I still get followed in my home town. I still get stares in my home town. My actual home town, a place I grew up in where people knew me as the gnc dyke for a good while in my last 2 years of school. Do not spread this shit around to everyone. Nex didn't think they would become a victim, Brianna didn't think she would be one of the unlucky ones, plenty of those we've lost did not think they would die in hate crimes. I almost died in two of the hate crimes I've experienced.

You need to be really fucking careful and although I love than Neopronouns and Xenogenders are becoming more accepted by the larger LGBT community, you need to be very very VERY careful about what you do, what you wear and who you tell what because word spreads fast in suburbia and hate spreads faster. You do not want to be wearing a pin the day some white cishet magat decides he's tired of the "pedophiles" and chooses you as the first victim because you were the first he saw. Don't hide who you are but Be. Fucking. Careful.

[cerealmonster15]

i dont think i ever felt more annoyed at commercials than when those mean girls walmart ads were playing a few months ago or whenever that was

[magentagalaxies]

i really want to start making a table collecting statistics on the audience demographics i'll perform my aubrey material for (like what generation most of the audience is, whether i'm performing in a predominantly queer space, etc.) and how well the jokes land bc like. i need to collect more data points before i can properly present my findings but the results so far have been fascinating

[shopcat]

i think w avatar in my own base... world that i draw/think. in. of. you know what i mean like the main reality to ME that i've developed the pairings would be well zuko sokka and then i can't decide if i prefer mai ty lee and azula having something weird going on where ty lee and azula have been dating for years and mai orbits them orrr suki and/or azula meeting through ty lee being in the kyoshi warriors (and then the classic mai lee) which i think would be a really fun dynamic to be honest i wonder why i haven't seen it much. anyway. yue and jet are also nebulously alive just cuz idc. i like yue katara i think that's cute even if it's still funny to steal ur brothers ex but i justify it by well as much as they were cute they truly went on like one ? date and just liked each other it just so happened to end very dramatically. it would be the same if sokka dated idk... jet ... anyway. though her and aang are still cute. mostly not like i am centring pairings and Shipping and such it's just easier to have things established just thinking things in my mind U_U i also am pondering an au to do with zuko and yue where they're friends and i'll leave it at that bc i think it's a fun idea i haven't seen around. rubs my hands together.

[deepspaceclawstation]

It's been roughly a month (or maybe a few months?) since I've been in a depressive mood and life has lost all shine. I can't decide if this is because of the August-end events, festive season, seasonal depression, increased workload, or a mix of all of these. I'm going to go touch grass for a while and try for some vacation time in December, so I'll not be here here for a while. Sorry if I left any conversations hanging I'll catch up later!

(The tags get weird. Fair warning)

[blacksurvivalnostalgichanges]

i feel like noting something rn for the non-brazilians

rozzi’s journal has a moment that implies she was nicknamed bela/bella (from isabela, or isabella, depends on whether the parent is close or distant from the brazilian equivalent of kayghtleighn parents, which is something like my sister’s classmate who was named ysabelly)

that wouldn’t happen, i think. i’ve only ever seen isa as a nickname for isabela. partially because, like

you know how calling someone bella is like ooo it sounds ~foreign~ so americans pull that shit all the time in media with a foreigner that’d speak french, italian, or spanish when they’re flirting with a lady?

it’s not a foreign word here. when directed towards a person it’s basically like saying they’re gorgeous or beautiful. brazilian translation of beauty in beauty and the beast is bela

it’s choosing to call a little girl a word that deliberately means beautiful. yeah, there’s non-weird connotations, but it would sound kinda weird and a bit creepy, so if you had the choice you’d just pick the other part of the name that will not sound weird

realistically she’d be nicknamed isa and to me it’s mildly funny that they could not get the names 100% right every time because of a technicality

[omotelie]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[antiparticular]

omg I just saw the first vaguepost about my metalhead gerry posts what a milestone. for the record, goths can listen to metal and metalheads can listen to goth music. I'm emphasising that he's a metalhead bc we literally never get any indication that he's a goth and yet that's all people ever call him

[celandeline]

The Throne Was Meant For Us, My Dear

Aemond x Targaryen!Reader, mostly canon compliant (yes, people are still dying/getting maimed), heavy on the smut, incest (they are targaryens, obv), a little angst

9.5k words (buckle up)

You were born at the end of a long summer’s day, just as the last sliver of sun was sinking below the waves of the bay. Your sister was born on the same day, just after the sun had completely disappeared below the horizon. Twin Targaryen girls, Helaena and Jaenara, the second and third of Alicent Hightower’s children. 

The summer has always held a special place in your heart - not only because of your nameday, but because of the way the heat of the day lingers in the air long after the sun has set. The sound of a warm breeze as it rustles through the courtyard flowers, spreading the lovely floral scent. The feeling of the sun on your skin - the taste of fresh fruit grown outside the city. You’ve always loved the summer. You love it especially now, the only thing making this godforsaken funeral bearable. 

Next to you, Aegon snags two more glasses of wine from a passing serving girl, handing one to you with a limp wrist and a sigh. He downs half his glass in one long draught. “I don’t understand why Helaena.” He grumbles, gesturing to where she sits on the ground with his glass, the wine sloshing inside. “If I must marry at all, why not you?”

You take a long sip from your own glass, leaning back against the store railing overlooking the sea. Driftmark, while much more drab than the Red Keep, has one thing going for it - the pleasant smell of salt in the air, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Our mother thinks that if we were to be wed, I would enable you.” You say. 

Aegon snorts, finishing off his drink. “As if Helaena will do anything to stop me from my hedonistic desires.” He jokes, quoting Alicent. “If it’s not to do with grasshoppers, it’s not to do with her.”

You neglect to snicker along with him, simply pressing your lips to the rim of your glass as you watch your dear sister pass a spider back and forth between her hands, muttering under her breath. She’s always been something of a dreamer, your Helaena, something the rest of your family doesn’t seem to notice. But you, always in tune to your sister from the moment you were born, know. Threads of omniscience run through her mutterings, though deciphering them sometimes is beyond you. 

“Some could say the same about you, with wine and whores.” You say, glancing knowingly at Aegon. “We all have our compulsions - some worse than others.”

“I only jest.” Aegon says, defensive. You can tell he’s getting drunker, his movements becoming more loose, his words louder. 

“Hm.” You finish your glass, setting the empty cup on the railing beside you. “Is it truly in jest if you are the only one laughing?”

“Perhaps it is better that I marry Helaena instead of you.” Aegon says, leaning close enough that you can smell the wine on his breath. “You do have a way of inciting my annoyance, Jaenara. No, I do not think you would make a good wife.”

You lean even closer, all too ready to play Aegon’s game. Your teeth scrape over his ear as you retort, “No, you’ve always liked the ones who won’t fight back, haven’t you?”

The tension breaks as Aegon laughs, tossing his head back as he steps away, putting a respectable amount of distance between you again. You chuckle as well, until another voice - softer, younger - cuts through your chortling. Aemond.

“What’s funny?”

Aegon, not subtle at all, rolls his eyes. “Nothing.”

“We were just discussing Aegon’s betrothal.” You say, shifting so that Aemond can lean against the railing beside you. You’ve never understood Aegon’s disdain for your baby brother - something your nephews seem to share. “Or rather,” You cast a joking look to Aegon. “Aegon was complaining about it.”

“‘Tis your duty.” Aemond says, ever so serious. 

Aegon rolls his eyes again, gesturing widely at Helaena. “Look at her.”

“Aegon-” You start.

“I would do my duty, if only mother had betrothed us.” Aemond retorts. 

Aegon flaps a hand. “The both of you.” He dismisses, eyes scanning through the thin crowd. “I’m going to get more wine.” And with that, he’s gone, sliding between chatting relatives in the wake of a serving girl, chasing after the wine she carries. 

You place a hand atop Aemond’s head with a sigh, gently carding it through the silky silver hair there. “He can be such an ass, our brother.”

Aemond looks up at you with a thin smile. “Mm.”

The blood on your hands is not yours, but your brothers, smeared across your forearms from when you’d clutched his face in your hands, holding closed the gash across his eye with your thumbs as the maester stitched the wound back together. Now, he smears tears and snot across the bodice of your gown, the good side of his face pressed against the thin fabric of your nightclothes as he clutches you with shaking hands. 

Your mother is screaming. Aegon is huddled against the wall of the room, no doubt already suffering a hangover from how much he drank. Helaena stands to your left, her eyes fixed on the wall behind the scene before her, gaze absent. You watch in horror as your mother wields a knife against Rhaenyra, spitting insults like venom. Ser Cole is pressed almost chest to chest with Daemon. Your little nephew, Lucerys’ face is bloodied. 

You have no idea what happened. But Aemond is missing an eye. And Vhagar is now his dragon, instead of Laena’s daughters. You knew - known, now - that his lack of a dragon had always been a sore spot for Aemond, but you never would have guessed that he would go to such drastic measures to claim a beast of his own. And Vhagar, no less. 

You expect him to cry, to whimper in pain, to react, but he just holds onto the gauzy fabric of your nightdress and keeps the unmarred side of his face pressed close to your chest. Hiding, almost. 

You soothe a hand down his back, pressing him closer. “It’ll be alright.” You say, your voice lost amongst the carrying on. It won’t be. He’ll be scarred forever, he’ll have to re-learn how to walk, how to write, how to do anything that requires vision. It’ll take him years to recover fully. 

“I know.” He says, voice soft. Level. Even. 

And it’s his calm reassurance that makes you believe your own words. It will be alright, one way or another. 

Hand in hand, you walk your brother through the halls of the Red Keep, towards the training yards, for his swordsmanship lessons. Servants and nobles alike avert their eyes as you pass, some out of respect, some out of disgust. It’s true - the scar across Aemond’s face is nothing delightful to look at, a motley of yellow and purple swollen skin, the scabs leaking pus. But you do not look away. He is your brother, and he receives enough torment from Aegon already. 

He clutches your hand tightly, holding it like a bannister as he puts one foot in front of the other, his good eye steadfastly looking ahead. Sometimes his balance sways (especially around turns or on the steps) but he’s getting better. “You’ll be able to come and go as you please again soon.” You say, not bothering to hide the pride in your tone. 

He scoffs. “I can’t stay a cripple forever.”

Aemond was never sweet. But the loss of his eye has only soured him more. You roll your eyes, teasing, “You’d do well to save your bitterness for someone who’s not capable of causing you to fall down the stairs at a moment's notice.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Apologies, sister.” He mumbles.

You sigh. “I only joke, Aemond.” Aegon has ruined him, picking at all of his insecurities without remorse until he bristles at the slightest hint of humor, thinking an insult is coming. 

His good eye shifts away from the hall in front of him for a moment to cast you a sidelong glance. 

“Not all of us are Aegon.” You insist, rounding the corner with him to step outside into the afternoon sunlight. Ser Cole is already waiting, whirling his sword from hand to hand idly as Aegon straps himself into his practice armor. Aemond lets go of your hand as soon as he sees Aegon, taking shaky steps onto the field proper, alone. 

Aegon pays him no mind, his gaze falling on you. “Jaenara. Come help me.”

“Your lack of manners is appalling.” You say, walking over to him anyway, taking the leather straps of his breastplate from him and tightening them over his shoulders. “What would mother say?”

Aegon just grins. “Meet me tonight.” He says, his voice dropping into a more conspiratorial register. He doesn’t have to say where - you’ve snuck out with him before. You know the route. “A traveling troupe has arrived in Flea Bottom, supposedly.”

“Sunset?” You ask, dropping your hands from the straps on his shoulders to the ones near his waist. 

“Mm.” He watches you work, still grinning. 

“Alright.” You say, stepping back. 

His grin widens into a smile as he twirls his sword. “What fun we’ll have.”

The sun has begun to light the sky when you stumble back into the Red Keep with Aegon, giggling under your hoods as you sneak past the white cloaks back to your chambers. Really, it can barely be called sneaking anymore - you know they see you return, you know they saw you leave. The only reason they don’t trail you through the streets of the city is because Alicent doesn’t know, and hasn’t ordered them to, so why do the extra work? 

You sway into Aegon’s shoulder as you walk, all the wine that you drank making your head spin. Taking you by the arm, he only makes it worse as he begins to waltz you down the hall, jauntily humming the same tune you’d been dancing to in a tavern earlier. Laughing like a fool, you tip your head back and let him dance you about, until he deposits you against the wall by your bedroom door, caging you in against the stone. 

You know he’s going to kiss you - he always does, at the end of the night. Gently, he presses his lips to yours, and you smile into it. He doesn’t kiss you like he kisses his whores - nor do you kiss him as you do yours. It’s a chaste thing, only a moment before you’re both pulling back to look at each other. 

“As sweet as wine.” He whispers.

“Mm.” You bite your lip in a grin. “Goodnight, Aegon.”

“Good morning.” He giggles, pushing away from the wall to stumble back to his own bed. 

You slip into your own room, dropping your cloak and dress from your shoulders, one after the other, as soon as you are inside. Just in your shift, you turn to flop into the soft comfort of your bed, only to see a lump under the covers that wasn’t there when you left. Slowly, you peel back the sheets to reveal Aemond, face pressed into your pillow, soundly asleep. 

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips as you climb into bed beside him, doing your best not to disturb his slumber. He stirs anyway though, good eye cracking open with a jolt, softening when he realizes it’s you. Extending an arm, you make space for him to curl up against your chest, and he does, tucking his face under your chin.

“You were with Aegon.” It’s mildly accusatory, but mostly sleepy.

“Mm.” You don’t deny it, stroking a hand through Aemond’s hair. “And you were here. In my bed.” You press your nose to the top of his head. “What troubles you, Aemond?”

“My eye.” He says. “The pain. It’s more than just the skin, it… it stabs me through the skull, sometimes. Makes it hard to fall asleep.”

“We will see the maesters in the morning.” You say, still gently stroking. “Perhaps they will be able to come up with some tincture to soothe you.”

He lets out a sleepy little hum, and settles more against you. Your own eyes flutter shut, and your stroking hand moves to wrap around his shoulders instead. It’s quiet, for a while, and for a moment you think he’s drifted off, but then,

“Will you take me with you, once?”

“To Flea Bottom?”

“Mm.”

You pause for a moment. “If you wish. Perhaps when you’re a bit older.”

“How old?”

“At least as old as I was when Aegon first took me with him.”

“And how old was that?”

You smile into his hair. “Give it a year.”

“Mm. Alright.”

The quality of Aemond’s eye improves drastically over the course of a year, so that by the time he dons his own cloak and takes to the streets of King’s Landing with you and Aegon, it almost blends into his face. The scar is a long pale thing that trails down his cheek, and the only part of the injury that escapes the eyepatch. Under the shadow of his hood, it’s barely noticeable. 

He trails a half-step after you and Aegon, clearly unsure. You don’t blame him, it’s quite a change from within the walls of the Red Keep, but an exhilarating one at that. Arm in arm, you and Aegon lead the way, moving smoothly through the crowds to one of your favorite haunts, a little brothel tucked away near the edge of the city. 

You can hear the sounds of pleasure emanating from within before you even step foot in the building, and the area around the door is crowded with hangers-on, men who can’t pay their whores dues. Aegon pushes through them all easily, and you glance back to make sure Aemond isn’t lost before following him inside. 

The place reeks of incense, barely covering the smells of sweat and sex, but it’s familiar to you. On instinct, your eyes scan the crowd of the main chamber, searching for your favorite whore, a beauty named Falyse with long lashes and plump lips. You can feel Aemond pull closer to you in the presence of such debauchery, and you glance down at him again, to find him already looking at you. 

“This is a brothel.” He says.

“Aye.” You grin, glancing at Aegon. 

Aegon smiles wide, clapping Aemond on the shoulder. “Tonight is the night that you become a man, brother! Your first taste of the best pleasure the world can offer.”

Catching sight of a familiar shock of black hair, you turn, meeting Falyse’s eyes through the throngs of men. “I must take my leave.” You say, petting Aemond’s head. “But you are in good hands with Aegon. And I won't be far.”

“Alright.” Aemond says. He’s still unsure, clearly, but there’s no time for hesitation once Aegon’s swept Aemond up in his frenzy. You slip away, weaving through the writhing bodies until you reach the other side of the room, where Falyse is pouring a glass of wine for another patron. She’s barely clothed, so you can feel the goosebumps that rise when you snake an arm around her middle and rest your chin on her shoulder. 

“Princess.” She greets you with a sultry purr. 

“My lady.” You return, laying your lips in the junction of her neck. “I’ve missed you so.” 

She’s quick to pull you away from the main room, behind a thick curtain to an empty bed. It’s a familiar dance that you do - she makes a show of ridding you of your clothes, running her soft hands up and down your body until you’re dripping. Then she lays her mouth on you - her wonderful mouth that could pull honey from even the most stalwart of noble women. She never lets you rest with only one peak, no she delights in working as many from you as she can, until you’re pushing her away. Then it’s your turn to return the favor, licking at her until her sweet moans fill the air and you can feel her clenching around your tongue. You’ve earned her devotion in that way - on more than one occasion, she’s confessed that no man has ever thought of her pleasure, on their own. 

“Well, I am no man.” You’d responded. 

It’s an exhausting affair, this dance, so it often ends with you curled around her on the bed, listening to her share the latest gossip of the smallfolk whilst you twist her hair into intricate braids, the kind only Targaryens wear, a sign she’s been with royalty. You’ve just finished your handiwork, laughing along to a story about the smallest cock she’s ever seen, when the curtains part, and Aemond slips into the room, clearly close to tears. 

Immediately you sit up, paying no mind to the fact that you’re completely bare. “What’s wrong?”

Holding back tears, he hesitates for a moment before climbing into your lap, pressing his face between your breasts with a shaky sigh. You clutch him to you, guilt and regret sinking into your heart. Too young. He’s always been more sensitive than you, or Aegon, you should have waited to include him in your revelry. Too young, too young. 

Falyse sits up as well, raising a questioning brow. You shake your head, and run your fingers down your brother’s back. For a while, the room is silent as Aemond’s breathing calms, and then he pulls his face away, sliding out of your lap to sit next to you instead. Looking down, he hides behind long curtains of hair, but not before you catch a glimpse of his expression. Shame.

Gently, you break the silence. “Aemond, this is my friend, Falyse. Falyse, my dear brother.”

Falyse smiles warmly, peering underneath Aemond’s hair. “A pleasure to meet you, my prince.”

“You must tell him what you were telling me.” You say. “Oh, it’s hilarious, Aemond, you must listen.”

He perks up slightly, as Falyse starts her story again - and she does get him to laugh, but the hurt doesn’t leave his eyes, and the guilt begins to pool in your stomach. 

The sapphire is weighty in the pocket of your gown, and bounces heavy against your leg as you rise from the dinner table, dipping your head towards your father before you take your leave, following your siblings out of the hall. Aemond’s nameday feast was a small affair, per request of the prince, and he only received books from both of your parents - leatherbound histories of Valyria that look entirely too large in his little arms as he carries them back to his bedroom. 

“Aemond.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, and you pluck one of the books from his hold, tucking it under your arm. With your other hand, you pull the sapphire from your pocket, and hold your closed fist out to him. “Here.”

Looking at you curiously, he holds out a hand, and you drop the sapphire into it. “A sapphire.” He says. 

“For your eye.” You explain. “I had the masons fashion it so that you can slide it into the socket. I thought it might suit you.” Jokingly, you add, “And perhaps improve your standing with the court ladies.”

He huffs out a little laugh, examining the gemstone with a careful eye. “Thank you Jaenara.”

You smile, reveling in the first laugh you’ve won from him in a very long time.

Ser Cole and Aemond behind you, you lead them through the streets of Flea Bottom in the early morning light. It feels like a bit of a betrayal, showing them all of Aegon’s usual haunts, but the situation is dire, and your brother needs to be found. Your father is dead, and it was his dying wish, your mother said, for Aegon to be king. 

The brothel looks different in the daylight, drab and empty. Gathering your skirts in one hand, you bound up the steps to the door and bang the heavy knocker twice on the wood. With any luck, you can get a hold of Falyse - if Aegon was here last night, she will let you know, free of charge. 

It is not Falyse that answers the door, but the brothel Madame, Sylvi. A familiar face to you, albeit one that you have not had the pleasure of knowing under more intimate circumstances. Her eyes scan over your face, and then Aemond and Cole behind you. Stooping into a short curtsy, she asks. “And what can I do for you, my lady?”

“I am looking for my brother.” You say. 

“He seems to be behind you-”

“My other brother. Aegon.” You clarify. “Was he here last night?”

“I’m afraid not.” She says. 

You turn back to face your companions. Cole sighs, glancing around the streets like he might spot Aegon passed out in the mud. Aemond’s eye is on the Madame, a mixture of contempt and something else stirring in his gaze. 

“Where else, then?” Cole asks. 

“I don’t know.” You wrack your mind, tracing through all of the taverns and brothels you frequent with your brother, all places that you’ve stopped before arriving here, all with the same result. “This was the last place I could think of.”

Cole swears under his breath. 

Aemond breezes back down the steps, his mouth set in a determined line. “He must be somewhere. Come, we will try the fighting pits next.”

You murmur your thanks to the Madame before following after Aemond and Cole, worry sinking into your gut. Leave it to Aegon to get swallowed up by the city when the realm needs him most. 

Meleys’ breath washes over you as you stare down the dragon’s maw, expecting to see the glow of fire any moment, signaling your end. There is no time for action - in the few seconds you would have before flame reached you, there is no way you could reach your own dragon, Vermithor, to have any hope of combatting Rhaenys. Instead, you grasp Helaena’s arm and try to ignore how your hands shake. 

Aemond steps in front of the both of you, obscuring your view of Rhaenys atop her dragon with one hand on his sword. As if something as feeble as that will do anything against a dragon. 

You wait, feeling your sister with whom you shared your mother’s womb tremble underneath your grasp. 

You wait, watching Aemond’s shoulders rise and fall with each breath in front of you.

You wait, watching as your mother steps in front of Aegon, one hand wrapped around his wrist like a vice. 

A tidal wave of relief floods through you as Rhaenys pulls at the reins, and Meleys backs off, slipping through the doors of the dragonpit just before they swing closed, casting the room into semi-darkness. Alive. You’re alive - as is Helaena, and Aemond and Aegon. All of you, alive. You watch your mother almost fall to her knees as the relief washes through her, and then you are wrapped up in Helaena’s arms as she crushes herself to your chest. You return the hug with vigor, your eyes finding Aemond’s over her shoulder. 

Alive. Alive. Alive.

Something is happening. They’ve been locked in the small council chamber even since Aemond returned from Storm’s End. It’s been hours since your brother dismounted Vhagar, soaked to the bone and looking more shaken than you’ve ever seen him. You have no idea what happened, or what’s being discussed. Now, more than ever, you curse not being born a man. 

Still, there is nothing to do but wait. 

So you do, steeping in the burning hot waters of Aemond’s bathtub, idly flipping with damp fingers through a series of poems you’d found in your great-grandfather Jaehaerys’s saddlebag when you’d claimed his dragon. Some of them you recognize as things he’d copied from other poets, some are his own musings about his wife, Alysanne. He wasn’t half bad, in your opinion. 

You snap the booklet closed as the door to the bathroom opens, and Aemond slips inside, still dressed in his soaked riding leathers. He stills when he lays eyes on you, obviously not expecting anyone to have been waiting for him. But you just smile, and set your book aside. 

“I had them draw a bath.” You say. “I figured you would want a soak, after flying in the rain. Scalding, of course.”

He smiles, and starts on the buttons of his overcoats, the fabric falling to the floor with a wet slap. His trousers are next, and then his eyepatch, set on top of your book before he slides into the bath behind you with a sigh, his head falling back against the edge of the tub. 

“Very thoughtful of you, sister.” He says, eye fluttering shut. 

“Mm.” You turn around in the tub, collecting a rag that you’d draped over the side and dipping it into the hot water, beginning to run it over his skin that isn’t submerged. For a moment, the only sounds are the echoes of droplets falling back into the tub as you wash him, until you speak again. “What business kept you in council so long?”

A tension settles in his jaw. “Lucerys Velaryon was also at Storm’s End.”

“You failed to win their allegiance?” You ask, surprised. 

“No. Lord Borros was easily won when I promised myself to one of his daughters.” You brother opens his eye. “But Lucerys is dead, at my hand.”

You set the rag aside, your mind spinning. Lucerys, dead. As if things weren’t already pointing towards all out war after your father changed his mind about the succession. “How?”

Something in his expression shifts and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to burst into tears. “Vhagar.” He says, his voice cracking slightly. “I only meant to scare him, but she knows my anger… I cannot pretend that I did not fantasize about killing him. I did not think that she would…” He swallows, collecting himself. “Our mother is less than pleased with me.”

“Our mother could never understand the bond between dragon and rider.” You say, consoling. You lay a hand gently on his face, over his scar, and run your thumb under the sapphire that sits in his eye. “You cannot be blamed for your anger at the boy who maimed you. Vhagar cannot be blamed for sharing that sentiment.” You pause. “It is a regrettable accident. And I am sorry for Rhaenyra and her children.”

He takes a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around your middle, and pressing his face into your shoulder, holding you to him as tightly as possible. Already wet from the bath, the few tears he sheds onto your skin make no difference. You say nothing, but pick up a comb from the short table beside the tub and begin to work it through his hair. 

You wake up to a sharp pain in the side of your neck, like the skin has been sliced open. One hand flies to the wound, and the other slips under your mattress, pulling the long dagger you keep there free of its sheath in a smooth motion. You sit up, the knife brandished before you, only to find your bedroom empty, the only motion being that of the curtains fluttering from the breeze of your open window. 

You pull your other hand away from your neck, expecting to see blood. Your palm is blank, the skin unmarred. In the reflection of your blade, you inspect your neck, only to find nothing. A phantom wound, perhaps from a dream. Anyone else would have simply gone back to sleep. But this is not the first time you and your sister have shared each other’s injuries. 

You rise quickly, knife still in hand as you dart from your chambers, heading down the hall at a quick clip. It’s eerily empty - not a white cloak in sight. Something is wrong, you’re sure of it, the echo of your footsteps on the stone only serving to further put you on edge as you approach the nursery. The door stands ajar, flickering candlelight seeping out into the hall from within. 

Slowly, carefully, you peer around the door. The room is empty - silent. The door creaks as you edge your way inside, turning to glance at the children’s beds. It is then that you see it - the headless body of your nephew, blood still seeping out of the stump of his neck into his bedsheets. Your blood runs ice cold, and then burning hot as rage fills you. Your gaze drops to the blood spatters on the floor, little droplets lead out into the hall. 

Readjusting your grip on your dagger, you break into a sprint, following the trail. 

Your bare feet slap in harsh rhythm against the stone, your eyes flicking back and forth from the floor to the hall in front of you as you follow the blood splatters. It is too late now. Jaehaerys is dead already, but you have to do something, you must. You can see candles being lit as you whip past door after door, the Keep slowly waking as the horror sets in, but you do not stop. 

You do not stop even when you turn an ankle as you round a corner, because there he is, a tall man in a hooded cloak, a burlap sack tightly clutched in his hand, blood dripping through the fibers. Stumbling, you push yourself back up with your hands, and with a mighty scream, leap at the mans back, knocking him forward. 

The bag tumbles to the ground, and Jaehaerys’ head rolls out, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

“The fuck-” The man growls, knocking you from his back. You fall to the ground, but force yourself to your feet again, diving forward, your dagger poised to strike. Bigger and stronger than you, he grabs your wrist, bending the bone until it snaps. Tears flood your vision as the pain washes over you, but you do not stop. Gritting your teeth, you drive your dagger into the soft skin of his side, between where his ribs end and his hips begin. 

He groans, releasing your wrist, and you leap at him again, clawing at his face as you sink your teeth into the side of his neck, biting as hard as you can. You can feel the blows he’s raining on you, but you hold on, savoring the taste of his blood as it floods your mouth, coppery and strong. His hands wrap around your broken wrist, and you wail again, your voice muffled by his skin in your mouth. 

But then there are hands around your waist, and the clank of armor fills your ears. Two white cloaks tackle the man to the ground as Aemond pulls you from his grasp, pressing your back to his chest. 

“Kill him!” You shout, eyes locked on the man as the guards beat him into submission before hauling him up to his feet. “Kill him!”

“Jaenara.” Aemond’s voice is low in your ear. “The maesters…”

You try to shake him off, but your brother doesn’t relent, gently steering you away from the guards and little Jaehaerys’ head on the floor, back into the relative calm of the halls. As the adrenaline fades, pain begins to wrack your body in waves, and you find yourself leaning against Aemond as tears fill your vision. 

“Helaena,” You gasp, chest heaving as sobs build up in your throat.

“With Cole, and our mother. Jaehaera, as well.” Aemond assures you. 

“They,” You say, working around the lump in your throat. “Put a knife. To her throat.” You bring your fingers up to the side of your neck, where the pain had awoken you. “Here.”

“I’m sure she’s being tended to.” He says. Gently, he pulls your arm up, inspecting your wrist, bent at an odd angle and already starting to swell. “We must tend to you too.”

Too exhausted to insist that there are more important things to be dealt with, you let him steer you along. 

You watch little Jaehaerys’ body bounce with the movement of the carriage in front of you, slightly obscured by the mourning veil you wear. Helaena sits beside you, pressed between you and your mother, eyes firmly pointed up at the sky. She’s empty, you can feel the echo of it in your own body, as you’re sure she can feel a hint of the festering anger you yourself are harboring. 

It will only be a matter of time now, before you don your armor and mount Vermithor for battle. You pity the fool who will fly to meet you. 

The wails of the smallfolk fill the city streets as you pass, petals filling the air as they toss handfuls at the carriages, shouting their grief in harmony. The news of Jaehaerys death had swept through the city like fire, just as your grandsire had suggested it would. Now, more than ever, the smallfolk hated Rhaenyra - there would be no public protest of the war that was brewing. 

But you cannot help but feel angered by the whole thing as your little nephew’s body shakes with the movement of the carriage in front of you. To be reduced to a martyr, at such a young age. And knowingly, by his own kin. It is an ugly, ugly thing. 

Helaena’s eyes finally drop from the sky, and your mother shifts, extending a hand to touch her arm. Helaena shrinks away instinctually, leaning further into you, and you shift, allowing her to press herself against your side, her head falling into the crook of your neck.

You do not need to speak to know what she is thinking. You rest a hand on the back of her head, and let her curl into you, feeling her heartbeat against your own. 

“Cole and I will cut them off entirely.” Aemond says, laying another marker on the map, over Rook’s Rest. “And with Rhaenyra confined to Dragonstone, it should be simple enough to take Harrenhal without interruption.”

You let your gaze sweep over the map, stopping at each marker Aemond had put down. “A clever plan.” You agree. “And Aegon also approves?”

Aemond scoffs at that, leaning back in his chair, the light from the fireplace dancing over his face. “What does it matter?”

“He is the king.” You say simply, lifting your gaze to look at your brother. “It is his war that we fight.”

“He is a figurehead.” Aemond says, rising from his seat to circle around the table, coming to stand behind you. “At the hands of our mother and grandsire. His only purpose is to lend them free reign.”

“He is our brother, and liege lord.” You say, standing from your own seat and turning to face him. “You speak treason, Aemond.”

“Mm.” Aemond hums, eye drifting over your face. “I forget, sometimes, that you are partial to him.”

“He is my brother.” You repeat. “And my Helaena is his wife.”

Silence permeates the room, and for a moment, the only sound is that of the crackling fire. But Aemond’s soft voice breaks through again. “Did you ever let him fuck you?”

The question takes you aback, and you laugh. “What?”

“In all your whoring together, did you ever let him fuck you?” He asks again, unwavering. 

“No.” You say. “I have no taste for his particular flavor of depravity.” Not that Aegon ever tried, either. That wasn’t - isn’t - the nature of your friendship. 

“Hm.” Aemond hums, turning back to the map sprawled across the table. “Vermithor will be needed to secure the Riverlands.” He continues, like the discussion never strayed from battle in the first place. He leans over the map, tracing a long finger over the stretch of the reach. 

“Of course.” You agree, confused. 

It’s been too long since you last did this. 

Wine flowing through your veins, you walk arm in arm with Aegon, leading the way to the old brothel, his friends and squire - the reason for the night - behind you. The crowd parts as you step through the brothel doors, a hush falling over the gathered patrons. The quiet only lasts for a moment before whispers take its place, hushed words about the king himself being a patron tonight. 

Aegon, of course, pays these whispers no mind, dropping your arm in favor of grasping his squire by the shoulders, speaking grandly about the pleasures of manhood. It makes you think of a similar night many years ago, when you’d brought Aemond to this very brothel. Guilt floods you for a moment, but is quickly quelled when soft hands wind over your shoulders, and a sultry voice whispers in your ears. 

“Princess.”

You turn, delighted to see Falyse - delighted enough, that with the wine already in you, you plant a wet kiss to her lips before resting your forehead against hers. “My sweet lady, my own heart.” You croon. “It has been far too long.”

She laughs, raspy and seductive, her eyes crinkling at the edges with her smile. “I did not know that all three of you would be joining us tonight.” She says, winding her arms about your shoulders. “Just like when you were younger.”

“Mm.” You find yourself agreeing before her words really register. “Wait, three? Is Aemond-?”

But it’s too late, you know it is as soon as Aegon’s raucous laughter booms through the room. You turn away from Falyse, finding your brother amidst the crowd, having abandoned his squire in favor of sinking next to Aemond on a bed, a wide grin crawling over his face. 

You can’t make out what he’s saying, but you can see Aemond shrinking in on himself, curling away from the Madame, who he’d been laying with. Winding Falyse’s hands away from your shoulders, you bring her knuckles to your lips, pressing a kiss there. “Another time, my lady.”

“Of course.” She says, understanding flashing across her gaze. 

You push through the gathered patrons towards your brothers, but Aemond meets you halfway, stalking through the crowd naked as the day he was born, clearly fuming. He pauses when his eye falls on you, clearly not having expected you to be here as well, and you watch his lip tremble ever so slightly. But he does not cry. 

“Aemond.” You say, unsure how to broach the subject. 

“Jaenara.” He returns, icy.

A pause stretches between you, and Aemond turns to leave, but you grab his arm, stopping him. “Come back home with me.” You say. 

You think he’ll spurn you, hiss some insult that’s more for Aegon than for you, but he sighs, “Fine.”

He does not speak to you until you stand at his bedroom door. You feel as though you should say something, apologize on Aegon’s behalf in some way, but you don’t get the chance before Aemond is beckoning you into his chambers with a quiet, “Come.”

You do, not realizing what he wants until the door is shut behind you and you’re pressed against it, your brother's lips pressing insistently into yours. You only hesitate for a moment before kissing him back, giving him what he wants. He melts into it, softening as he realizes that you won’t reject him, cradling you into his arms. 

When he pulls back, his voice is breathy. “I’m going to kill him.”

It sends a spike of fear through you, thinking of one brother killing the other, but the look in Aemond’s eye leaves no room for doubt. “I’m sure you will.”

Apparently the correct answer, Aemond resumes kissing you with a fervor, steering you away from the door and towards his bed. “I’ll kill him,” He says, rushed between kisses. “And without an heir, I’ll take his place.” His hair tickles the side of your face as he presses his nose into your neck. “Make you my queen, as he had Helaena.” He nips at the thin skin, making you hiss in pain, pulling at his hair. 

He lifts his head as he pushes you down onto his bed, crawling over you. “You’re betrothed to another.” You say as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress. 

“As are you.” He responds. You bat his hands away from the laces as soon as you hear fabric rip, and begin undoing them yourself. “Both empty promises made by our grandsire for armies.”

You shimmy out of your overdress, and kick it off the edge of the bed, left in your shift. Aemond strips himself of his shirt before tugging at the hem of your slip, urging you to take it off as well. Before long, you’re both naked, and he’s hovering over you again, trailing his nose along the swell of your breast. You take the opportunity to free him of his eyepatch, enjoying the glitter of the sapphire you gave him. 

His eye finds yours as he quietly asks, “Will you let me?”

As if you really even have a choice in the matter. “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needs to lift your hips with one hand and slide his cock into you with the other. You wrinkle your nose as the sting of the stretch as he works himself into you, his eye fluttering shut. With a deep groan, he begins rocking himself in and out, grinding into you slowly. It’s not the most pleasure you’ve ever felt (no, he would be hard-pressed to compete with Falyse), but it isn’t unpleasant. 

You relax into the bed as he begins to fuck into you in earnest, whimpering to himself as he takes a breast in his mouth, lost in your body. You suppose you should have expected something like this, eventually. It was odd, that he’d asked if Aegon had ever fucked you, but you hadn’t thought that he himself wanted to. Now, his intentions in asking seem obvious.

He releases your breast with a pop before tucking his face against your neck, words trickling directly from his lips to your ear. “My Jaenara…” He moans. “Always so good to me. So kind, so sweet, so fierce. Hm.” He pants heavy, his hips knocking against yours frantically. “Seeing you covered in that mans blood, the chunk you ripped out of his neck with your teeth… my dragon.” He croons. 

You wind a hand into his hair, wincing as your wrist twinges in pain. It’s gotten better under the maester’s care, but it still complains when you move it in certain ways. The pain vanishes quickly though, and you begin to stroke Aemond’s hair just how he likes, pressing your lips to his temple. 

He whimpers again, almost like he’s in pain. “I will put us on the Iron Throne.” He swears, voice breathy. “Our dragons will burn Rhaenyra and her armies alive, and it will be our line that continues the tradition of our ancestors.” He all but growls it, snapping his hips with such force that you have to stop yourself from slamming into the headboard. “I swear it to you.”

“Aemond.” You gasp, overwhelmed with the vigor of his thrusts. The last thing you would have expected was for Aemond to get you to peak, but you can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of his rough fucking and devoted words stirring your insides. 

“Tell me that you are mine.” He says, demanding and begging at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm, pleasure no doubt creeping up on him the same as it is for you. 

“I’m yours.” You swear. “I’m yours, Aemond.”

He whimpers, and it’s the whining sound that sends you over the edge, your body tensing in his hold as you clench around him. With a loud gasp, you come, and Aemond’s thrusts reach breakneck speed. 

“You’re mine.” He whispers in your ear. “Mine, mine-” He comes with a rough groan, pressing his hips to yours and holding them there. He sinks into you immediately, collapsing onto your chest, his breath coming in pants against your skin. 

You bask in the quiet of his room as his cock softens within you, mind spinning as you take in what just happened. “Did you mean it? All that you said?” You ask softly, stroking his hair again. 

“Mm.” He affirms, sleep heavy in his voice. 

You say no more as he drifts off to sleep on your chest, cock still inside you. He intends to make you his queen. To kill Aegon and take his place. 

You love Aegon, you do. He is your brother, and one of your closest friends. But you would be lying if you said he was a good king. Perhaps it would not be so bad, if Aemond were to take his place, especially with you at his side. 

But does Aegon really deserve to die?

Aemond is insatiable now that he knows you won’t spurn his advances. You can’t say that you mind too much. 

Your elbows resting on the table before you, he takes you from behind as you both pore over a map of Westeros, markers indicating where your forces lay. A letter from Ser Cole sits open on the table beside you, informing Aemond of his most recent conquest as he nears Rook’s Rest. You run your fingers against the wood of the table, moving pieces along the map like chess, the sounds of Aemond’s breathy groans and the rustle of your skirts shifting as he takes you the only sounds in the room. 

“You will have to - ah - take flight on Vhagar soon then, if you are to meet Cole at Rook’s Rest.” You say. 

“Hm.” Aemond’s hips smack into yours as he leans over your back, moving the piece that symbolizes Vhagar to the edge of the crownlands. “The conquest should not take more than a day. Any longer and I would send Aegon in my stead - I would be loathe to leave you.” He jokes, pressing his nose against your neck. 

“Mm.” You hum, letting him stretch you further across the table and angle your hips to better receive his thrusts. Planting his hands on your hips, he pulls you back to meet each snap of his hips, the map forgotten as he pleasures himself with your body. There’s something intoxicating about his unwavering devotion, something rewarding. It feels like all the time you spent comforting him as a child is paying off; after all, he intends to put you on the throne. You wind a hand behind you to caress his cheek. 

He melts into the touch, extending his body over your back, pressing himself to you completely. It’s intoxicating, the power you have over him. The simplest of touches, the softest of words, and the most fearsome dragon rider in the world bends completely to your will. 

“You must tell Aegon of your plans.” You say, laying your head down on the table to peer at the man behind you. 

“He will no doubt find out on his own.” Aemond says. “Either way, they don’t involve him. Rook’s Rest is nothing Cole and I cannot take on our own.”

“And if someone were to show you the same insolence if you were the king?” You retort, biting back a gasp as his thrusts increase pace. 

“When.” He corrects, almost growling. “When I am the king. And I would exile them for such an insult.”

“Yet- mm, Aemond, ah - you do not fear such retribution from Aegon.” You say. You know he’s getting close, his soft pants turning into longer whines, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You clench as tightly as you can, reveling in the breathy moan you pull from him as he stills, hips still pressed against yours, spent. 

You feel him make himself comfortable against your back, not bothering to pull away just yet. “Our brother is a fool, not fit for the duties of the crown. How can one be expected to respect such an undeserving monarch? No,” He says, pressing open-mouthed kisses onto any patch of your skin he can reach. “We will be much greater.”

It’s treason, even just entertaining thoughts of taking the throne from the rightful king, but the more Aemond speaks of it, the more you find yourself indulging in the fantasy. Never before did you truly consider what it would be to be queen, but after truly thinking about it, you find yourself enchanted with the idea. With anyone else, you have no doubt that you would have been subjected to the life your mother lived, but as Aemond’s queen, you would have more power than any woman before you. 

“You sound so sure already.” You tease, pushing yourself up on your elbows as he slips away, tucking himself back into his trousers and pulls your skirts back down over your legs. 

“That is because I am.”

Aegon presses his face into his hands, groaning. While he’s not looking, you slide the wine decanter away from him. Full when you sat down, it’s almost empty now, most of the contents having been poured down the kings throat. He’s been drinking more, in the aftermath of little Jaehaerys’ death. You can’t blame him, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t concerning. 

“They plot behind my back.” He says, his face still hidden in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. “Aemond. My own hand - and our mother, she…” He trails off. “They mock me. Think me an idiot. I cannot…” He reaches for the decanter, only to find it missing, and lifts his head out of his hands. “My wine.”

“Perhaps you’ve had enough.” You say, doing your best to be firm. 

He looks at you blankly before gesturing for the decanter again. With a sigh, you fold, sliding the container across the table to him. Let him drink himself to death if he wishes - it would be a better end than whatever Aemond is planning. 

It’s hard to look at Aegon, knowing that your other brother is plotting his demise. He doesn’t deserve to die, not after all he’s been through. Sometimes, you think you know Aegon better than yourself. You’ve seen him at his drunkest, in the streets of Flea Bottom, at his most desperate before his coronation, at his lowest, after the death of his son. He never asked for any of this. He never asked to be king. He doesn’t deserve to die because of a crown he never desired. 

But one cannot simply resign from the throne. 

You watch as Aegon empties the rest of the decanter into his glass, and then misses the table as he sets the pitcher down, shards shattering across the tiled floor. He stares down at the floor, eyes blank. “Ah.”

“Aegon.” You groan. 

He flaps his hand. “Someone will clean it up. Someone always does.”

“Perhaps it is behavior such as this that deters Cole and Aemond from sharing their plans with you.” You say, utterly annoyed at your brother’s actions. 

Aegon scoffs. “As if you weren’t also kept in the dark.” His eyes lazily slide to yours, and you don’t look away quickly enough, it seems, because he catches it in your gaze. “They told you? And not me, their king?”

“I cannot help that our brother seeks my opinion on such matters.” You say. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Aegon demands, angrily rising from his seat to level an accusatory finger at you. “You are supposed to be my closest confidant, I expect you to be on my side-!” He cuts himself off. “But no. Of course not. As soon as Aemond gets his claws into you you’re just like the rest of them.”

“Aegon,” You try, placating. “I meant no offense. In fact, I urged Aemond to tell you himself-”

“No, no, you cannot fool me again! I am not as stupid as you think me to be, I am not.” He shouts, harshly backing away from the table as you rise from your seat. There’s an anger in his eyes that you’ve never seen directed at you before, and it gives you pause, guilt and shame sinking into the pit of your stomach. What were you thinking, going behind his back like this? He is your brother, one of your closest friends, your king. Curse Aemond and all his sickly sweet words. 

“Aegon-”

A loose hand thrown up in the air, he silences you with a harsh glance before stalking out of the room, leaving you alone with the shattered pieces of the decanter for company. 

Aegon returns to you on a litter, melted into his armor by dragonfire, barely conscious. The smell of charred flesh and dragon blood fills the hall as the kingsguard rush him to the maesters, and you press yourself as far into the wall as you can to let them pass. There is no rage in you, only shock and despair. You had not thought it would be so soon, that Aemond had his revenge. 

“Jaenara.”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and he stops in front of you, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into the pocket of his leathers. There’s an energy about him that you haven’t seen before. Leftover adrenaline crackles over his skin, the pupil of his good eye blown wide, almost lustful. 

“What have you done?” You demand, cringing at the frightened quality of your voice. 

“What I planned to do.” He says, taking you by the arm. “Are you not delighted? Aegon is indisposed, he will be crippled for the rest of his life - however many short years he has left, in this state. None will stand in our way.”

“I…” You aren’t sure how you feel. Aegon isn’t dead, but he will be in incredible pain for the rest of his life. Likely, he won’t be able to walk on his own, or ever ride his dragon again. It is an awful fate for someone you love. But you cannot pretend a part of you - the same part seduced by Aemond’s ambition - isn’t elated at the downfall of the king. 

“Come.” Aemond says, tugging you away from your palace pressed against the rough hewn stone of the Keep walls. You fall into pace beside him, stumbling over your own feet as you process how reality is shifting around you at this very moment. Aemond and the council will have to speak on Aegon’s behalf, puppeteering him even more so than before. You are one step closer to ascending the throne. Your brother is half-alive, melted into the armor of his namesake. 

You don’t realize where you are until Aemond is pushing you down onto his bed with one hand and rucking your skirts up around your waist with the other. He does not wait for you to react before he scoops your hips up to insert himself into you, groaning in relief as he slides home. “My queen.” He gasps throatily, pillowing his face in the crook of your neck. “Have I pleased you?”

“Mm.” You hum, unable to say the words ‘yes, of course’. It proves to be enough though, for Aemond sighs again, slowly beginning to grind his hips against yours. It’s more fervent than his usual fucking, spurred on by the bloody battle he’s just come from. You can smell the smoke in his hair from where it lays across your face. 

“It will not be long now,” He says, breathy and rough. “Soon, you and I will sit the throne. Have our own heirs - will you give me an heir?” He asks. “Will you give me more than one?”

“As many as you’d like.” You choke out. There isn’t another option for you now, not with Aemond so intent on having you by his side when he takes his place as king. As you’re sure he will. 

“We will put Jaehaerys and Alysanne to shame.” He declares, placing his hands under the small of your back, causing you to arch against him. Holding the tops of your hips, he fucks you against him feverishly. It does not take long for him to finish, already keyed up on the high of his plans coming to fruition. 

He collapses against your chest with a heavy sigh, and instinctually, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“I love you.” He whispers against your skin. 

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, though you’ve known it for a very long time. Of course Aemond loves you. 

“As I, you.” You return. 

What you can’t decide, is if you feel the same.

[ms-demeanor]

making my own post because nobody needs my bullshit on their post:

OP:

Reblog 1:

Reblog 2:

My response:

The IRA blogs were here and they were active and they were quite popular; their posting patterns did not match normal tumblr users (i was followed by lagonegirl and followed back only to be put off by the account reblogging the same five or ten posts every hour for a day before selecting another five or ten posts to reblog hourly the next day - it was clear engagement bait).

Tumblr has never been as transparent about these accounts as both Twitter and Facebook were, but several of the accounts had shared names across platforms and you can find a significant amount of data that was released by both facebook (ex: ads purchased by the IRA accounts) and twitter (over three million tweets from IRA accounts). Academic researchers have published papers on the data released from facebook and twitter. Several papers. So many papers. Soooooo many papers. We have a LOT of direct evidence that you can explore for yourself that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) of IRA accounts that were created on Facebook and Twitter. Of those accounts, some shared usernames across platforms, and of those accounts, a few had tumblr accounts that posted the same content on twitter and tumblr.

To quote a buzzfeed news article from the time:

The Russian-run Tumblr accounts used the same, or very similar, usernames as the account names contained on a list of confirmed IRA accounts Twitter submitted to congressional investigators. In some cases, the Tumblr and Twitter account has the same profile image or linked to each other in their bios. Some IRA Tumblrs and Twitter accounts also cross-promoted content between platforms, further linking them together.

Current tumblr user @ alwaysbewoke (who I don't want to tag because I'm sure he's got better things to do) is interviewed in that article and talks about following one of the blogs identified by tumblr as an IRA blog that had a matching account on twitter identified as an IRA account but unfollowing when the left-leaning blog supposedly run by a black creator started rooting for trump in the election.

Dr. Jonathan Albright is heavily quoted in the article; the data review he collaborated on is one of the only reviews of this subject that includes data from Tumblr and Reddit.

One of the claims that I've seen is that tumblr just deleted funny black people, but these were blogs with thousands of followers on tumblr who never recreated, never popped up on another social media site, never started a reddit account after getting banned; nobody ever showed up saying "hey this is 4mysquad, I got banned on tumblr and twitter, follow me to pillowfort". These very popular blogs got deleted and, as far as I know, nobody ever popped up claiming to be a person who was deleted - and it's not like tumblr users haven't figured out how to evade bans.

What you are doing when you make posts saying that the IRA accounts on tumblr never existed is *absolving tumblr of guilt for their utter lack of transparency.*

Tumblr is not the only tech company that has tried to fly under the radar as its larger counterparts face regular scrutiny in Congress and in the press. Earlier this month, Reddit revealed it too had deleted hundreds of accounts with ties to the Internet Research Agency. A WIRED investigation found more than a thousand links to Russian propaganda websites are still live on Reddit, and unearthed two suspicious accounts that Reddit immediately shut down.

So should you believe what Tumblr says? No, because Tumblr has been functionally fucking silent on this issue and the information about this subject aside from the list of blogs has come from the hard work of data scientists, journalists, and researchers.

(For the record; some of those bot accounts that were recorded by Dr. Albright also had Google+ accounts in 2017 - there is every possibility that they had myspace accounts).

Now, the reason that I'm popping onto this post as an annoyed anarchist is that I was tracking a similar group of blogs for a while and was discussing them and I stopped precisely because of the galaxy-brained liberals who are now trying to dunk on communists for criticizing electoralism. One of the people who was following my project was one of the ones who started calling out the "joe biden kills dogs" posts as disinfo and I realized they were using some of the guidelines I'd written up to "identify" misinformation and that is very a rock fucking stupid approach to what was clearly a leftist making jokes and was horrified and realized there was no way that I could continue documenting what I was documenting without someone attempting to call actual leftists russian bots.

I've seen the post that OP is referencing [it's one where someone makes a very obvious joke about the democrat presidential ticket and people jump on to call them a bot and then someone tries to do the "AI tell me a story" thing and OP is just like "I don't want to :(", proving that they are in fact a person and not an AI] and have deeply enjoyed the humor of watching liberals a) not understand a very, VERY obvious joke and b) become the unwitting butt of a joke they were trying to make, but also I am so exhausted by watching normie dems call leftists AI bots after years of watching normie dems call real live actual leftists who hold actual political views that real people actually have, like prison abolition, russian bots.

But I am also so fucking tired of left conspiracism and how stupid it sounds when leftists dismiss a preponderance of evidence that is easily accessible and publicly available for analysis as "lol so you just trust everything tumblr tells you?"

No, dipshit, learn to click a fucking link or twelve.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

[pretzel-box]

Could I perhaps request a part two of sun kissed where either Painter draws reader exactly or reader just waltzes in as an experiment?? If you already have something planned don’t worry abt this request <33

Remember to take breaks!! <33

-💫

—SEQUEL TO SUNKISSED [CLICK HERE]

tags: Established Relationship [Marriage], fluff, gender neutral reader, reader just talking to P.AI.nter about the proposal, comforting little drawing session with P.AI.nter

words: 1,1k

“He always had the habit of biting his cheek and doing that thing with his eyebrows,” you remarked, your voice light as you reminisced. P.AI.nter listened attentively, his virtual eyes fixed on you while his digital hands sketched away on the screen. “You know, the way he raises his eyebrows at everything that irritates him.”

The soft sound of pencil on paper filled the room as you sat across from him, your face illuminated by the dim glow of his monitor. You were sketching in your own little notebook, the movements of your hand so fluid and natural that P.AI.nter couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. “And he rolls his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching. He’s so fed up with people sometimes that it’s cute. He’s so expressive!” You giggled, brushing imaginary sweat from your forehead with your sleeve before lightly tapping your paper with the pencil. “Sebastian was always a grumpy-pie. A cutie pie, but with mood swings.”

If P.AI.nter could nod, he would have. He found your description of Sebastian spot-on. It seemed that, despite everything, Sebastian was still the same man you fell in love with all those years ago—only now with more trauma etched into his soul. The AI felt a strong urge to speak up, to say something—anything—but he hesitated. The image of Sebastian’s sun-kissed proposal lingered in the background of his mind, waiting to be shared. Yet, deep down, P.AI.nter knew it wasn’t his place to reveal Sebastian’s feelings before he was ready.

Just as P.AI.nter was about to say something, you interrupted his thoughts. “And on the day he proposed, he had this unbelievably cute smile on his face.” A bright smile spread across your own lips as you recalled the memory of Sebastian on the beach, standing at the shore with slightly trembling hands and a blush that outshone the sunset. The nervousness had been written all over his face, yet the pure determination in his eyes made that moment unforgettable.

“He went down on one knee, the waves lapping at his leg, and he looked me straight in the eyes with this gaze… the kind that says everything without a word.” You gently set your papers aside, placing them on the ground. “Oh, P.AI.nter, being looked at like that is something everyone should experience at least once in their life. To be loved unconditionally by someone who sees you for who you truly are.”

You placed your warm hands on the side of his screen, your gaze soft and full of warmth. P.AI.nter couldn’t help but notice how similar it was to the way Sebastian looked whenever he spoke about you. It was clear that the two of you were a perfect match.

“Somewhere between the long, deep talks and the funny moments, I fell for you. And when I finally realized it, every moment with you felt like I had come home, to the place where I belong. To the person where I belong.”

You quoted Sebastian from that day on the beach, where the sky was awash with the colors of the setting sun. The golden light had gently highlighted his usually dark hair, his eyes filled with refreshing determination, and the sparkling diamond ring he pulled from his pocket gleamed in the light, rivaling the pure ocean waves.

“You are my home, and I would be lost without you. Please, will you marry me?”

P.AI.nter had never truly understood what love meant, but hearing your side of the proposal stirred something deep within his programming. He began to grasp that what you and Sebastian shared was something rare and pure. It pained him to know that Sebastian, his friend and partner, was just outside the door, separated from you by only a thin piece of metal.

Sebastian leaned against the wall next to the door, two of his arms crossed, clenching on something, while a third wiped away the tears streaming down his cheek. He listened quietly as you spoke so fondly of your proposal, and though he was just a few feet away, you had no idea he was there.

Why was he crying when he was already home?

As you continued to reminisce with P.AI.nter, your voice softened, carrying a warmth that seemed to fill the entire room. “You know, P.AI.nter, the proposal was the best thing in our lives. I actually invited him that day. I now he liked that beach as much as I did. And I brought a small black box with me, a ring.”

P.AI.nter listened intently, his virtual sketching slowing down as he focused more on your words than his drawing. He stopped in the middle of another paint stroke as he realized what you just revealed. This wasn't a part that Sebastian told him.

“And god, his eyes, P.AI.nter, his eyes. The moment he proposed and showed me the ring was the moment I pulled out the box, and his eyes, he started to cry.”

You paused, a dreamy smile spreading across your face as you recalled those tender moments. “He broke down crying in my arms, telling me over and over again that he accepts. I didn't even need to say anything.” P.AI.nter’s screen flickered gently as if responding to the emotions in your voice. He wanted to offer some words out of his own mind, the memories of his drawing session with Sebastian but he knew that the memories you were sharing were special, meant for you and Sebastian alone. The AI simply continued to listen, absorbing every detail of your love story not daring to interrupt it.

Suddenly, your recollections were interrupted by a faint, unusual noise coming from outside the room. You furrowed your brow, pausing mid-sentence. “Did you hear that, P.AI.nter?”

The AI paused its sketching. “Yes, I detected a sound from the hallway. Perhaps just another angle- Where are you going—”

Curiosity piqued, you gently set down your sketchbook and stood up, walking over to the door. You opened it cautiously, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway. The corridor was empty, the faint hum of the facility’s systems the only sound you could hear. You stepped out, glancing up and down the hall, but there was no one in sight.

“Hello?” you called softly, your voice echoing slightly. You waited for a response, but none came. After a moment, you sighed, feeling a strange sense of disappointment as you turned to go back inside. But before you closed the door, something caught your eye—a small, folded piece of paper on the ground, just outside the door.

Curious, you picked it up and unfolded it, revealing a hastily scrawled note. It was a messy little doodle of two people, standing at a beach in each other's arms. And then it hit you. He was here.

[stupidphototricks]

Dwarf tradition, in The Truth. Long quote but there is so much to unpack here.

"A dwarf needs gold to get married." "What… like a dowry? But I thought dwarfs didn't differentiate between--" "No, no, the two dwarfs getting married each buy the other dwarf off their parents." "Buy?" said William. "How can you buy people?" "See? Cultural misunderstanding once again, lad. It costs a lot of money to raise a young dwarf to marriageable age. Food, clothes, chain mail… it all adds up over the years. It needs repaying. After all, the other dwarf is getting a valuable commodity. And it has to be paid for in gold. That's traditional. Or gems. They're fine, too. You must've heard our saying 'worth his weight in gold'? Of course, if a dwarf's been working for his parents, that gets taken into account on the other side of the ledger. Why, a dwarf who's left off marrying till late in life is probably owed quite a tidy sum in wages—You're still looking at me in that funny way…" "It's just that we don't do it like that…" mumbled William. Goodmountain gave him a sharp look. "Don't you, now?" he said. "Really? What do you use instead, then?" "Er… gratitude, I suppose," said William. He wanted this conversation to stop, right now. It was heading out over thin ice. "And how's that calculated?" "Well… it isn't, as such…" "Doesn't that cause problems?" "Sometimes." "Ah. Well, we know about gratitude, too. But our way means the couple start their new lives in a state of… g'daraka… er, free, unencumbered, new dwarfs. Then their parents might well give them a huge wedding present, much bigger than the dowry. But it is between dwarf and dwarf, out of love and respect, not between debtor and creditor… though I have to say these human words are not really the best was of describing it. It works for us. It has worked for a thousand years." "I suppose to a human it sounds a bit… chilly," said William. Goodmountain gave him another studied look. "You mean by comparison to the warm and wonderful ways humans conduct their affairs?" he said. "You don't have to answer that one. Anyway, me and Boddony want to open up a mine together, and we're expensive dwarfs. We know how to work lead, so we thought a year or two of this would see us right." "You're getting married?" "We want to," said Goodmountain. "Oh… well, congratulations," said William. He knew enough not to comment on the fact that both dwarfs looked like small barbarian warriors with long beards. All traditional dwarfs looked like that.* *Most dwarfs were still referred to as "he" as well, even when they were getting married. It was generally assumed that somewhere under all that chain mail one of them was female and that both of them knew which one this was. But the whole subject of sex was one that traditionally minded dwarfs did not discuss, perhaps out of modesty, possibly because it didn't interest them very much, and certainly because they took the view that what two dwarfs decided to do together was entirely their own business. — Terry Pratchett, The Truth

I super love the footnote, of course, but unexpectedly now I kind of want this version of a dowry to be a thing. I mean, the dowries of the bad old days where the man basically bought the woman from her parents, that's not okay. But this.

I'm a parent, and in no way do I feel like my kid owes me for their upbringing, education, or even (I'm anticipating) a few years of post-college living at home. Not at all. I can't imagine not taking care of them or attaching any strings to that care.

But that's not what this is. Really, ideally, it's a way for parents and children to give each other the gift of the child's independence, their autonomy, their adulthood. To officially and tangibly say that their relationship from this point on is no longer parent/child, but something more on an equal level.

For that matter, I imagine the child is free not to have a relationship with their parents any more at all, if they want. No obligation, no guilt. If parents want to be in their kids' lives when they're adults, they'll need to make sure their kids actually like them as people.

Well. I know that our world of humans doesn't work like this. Even if we put a monetary value on what we owed our parents and paid it, we'd still feel obligated to them, at least a little. Even if our kids paid us back, we'd still feel like we had the right to control them, at least a little.

But man. That g'daraka thing sounds wonderful.