#and your issue is the TERMINOLOGY?’

[bucksboobs]

Buck and Tommy hurdle is that Buck wants to throuple with Eddie and finds out Tommy calls it a “triad” and Buck thinks that sounds pretentious as fuck. Eddie also calls it a triad, which makes the situation worse.

[yuripira4e]

trying to explain to other otasune fans that snake is NOT the one with internalized homophobia in their coupling

[jakeperalta]

I don't think there is a single topic of discussion that makes me think "I am begging you all to go outside and interact with the real world for five minutes" more than whether straight people should be able to use the word partner

[sangfielle]

average person who uses the word female in basically any capacity

[abyssalpriest]

Kick my ass if I don't put out Vepar content

[terriblebicho]

They should invent a psychologist that doesn't make fun of you when you mention you suspect you may have a disorder they haven't yet considered.

[boomstab-papa]

"We are still to this day harassed and told we deserved it by some."

Kind of like how terfs treat trans people, eh, butch-reidentified? Sound familiar? Fuck off.

Your bigotry is part of the fucking problem.

The way you start your blog off by demonizing trans women with accusations of "autogynephilia" - being sex perverts - precisely mirrors the way homophobes demonize LGB+ people as sex perverts. It's the same demonization that leads to hate crimes like this one.

Shut the fuck up.

The largest mass shooting in American history was a hate crime against gay people. Don’t ever forget that.

[sodacowboy]

people are allowed to be annoying people are allowed to be cringe people are allowed to be annoying people are allowed to be cringe

[bmpmp3]

i NEEED to be more annoying about being mixed race in public i keep forgetting how dire it is. sometimes i point out stuff in like visual culture classes about like a magazine cover with a biracial model or something and it blows peoples MINDS because the whole class forgot mixed people were real

[nemiisnemisis]

slight vent: nemi talks ab a teacher edition

frustrated with a teacher bc she told me to stop going ahead of the class during lecture....

IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT YOUR LECTURE GOES TOO SLOW FOR ME TO THE POINT I GET BORED.

literally wanted to cry in class bc i genuinely enjoyed the class and now it's ruined for me.

so to more healthily channel my frustration, and out of spite, ill be drawing leona while taking notes in her class

it's either this or i just start skipping her class like a couple of my classmates have been doing

it's so disappointing bc this is the 2nd time I'm taking this type of class and ive had bad experiences both times

[lilietsblog]

(btw shoutout to Sister Claire for doing this, Maman is the bestest ever and Oscar is lovely)

to cis artists, yr allowed to draw trans characters to be clockable, in fact i encourage it. it's not politically incorrect or offensive to depict trans people as being obviously trans, especially if you're drawing cartoons. its not a stereotype a lot of us just look like that

[dcxdpdabbles]

Interdimensional FMK (fuck, marry, kill)

The High King of the Infinite Realms (aka Danny “I’m either gonna marry my childhood best friend or die alone again” Fenton) was assigned the judge and now ghosts are teaming up to present three candidates from each of their favorite dimensions to present for the game. A ghost from the DC comics Dimension (cough cough Deadman) nominates that the candidates for his dimension should be heroes from the Justice League!

In his defense, the last time they did this game the previous king didn’t actually SUMMON the candidates.

Or

Danny’s best friends married each other so now his subjects are desperately trying to get him to enter the dating scene again because he’s being mopey and the last time the ghost king had a broken heart he turned into a tyrant.

"My King, would you like to play a game while we wait for the Goblins' to get their computer to work?" Asks a man in a circus outfit, his voice ringing over the crowd waiting in line to have an audience.

Danny fights not to scowl, already fed up with today's duties. He knows it's essential to give his people time to speak to him so that their worries about him becoming a tyrant can be addressed and put to rest, but recently, it feels like everyone, including their mother, wants to marry him off.

Oh, they hide it in some issue about the zone, but somehow, it always turns back to "Have you found a spouse, Your Highness?"

It was worse than going home for Thanksgiving. At least there were only his distant family members who did not know about Danny's rule. They just all assumed he was living off his parents, jobless and uneducated.

His parents and sister did their best to tell them off, which was a nice defense, but Danny had no issue snapping back at them. He really liked to rub his aunt's divorce into his face whenever she started, as she believed his sister was better than Danny in every way.

But that was family. He was allowed to be disrespectful when they were disrespectful. As King Phantom, the high ruler of the Ghost Zone, he can afford to be less than regal.

Danny attempts to ease back on his sicky-sweet smile to stop twitching at the edges as he responds. "I don't think that would be appropriate. The Goblins' technical problems are not their fault, and taking my attention away from them would be rude-"

"We don't mind!" One of the little creatures cuts in. He was the ambassador sent to speak about his people's expansion request. "We almost got the system back up anyway."

Dang it.

"Alright. What is the game?"

"It's a really popular one back in my home dimension." The circus man says, floating over the people who all suspiciously let him pass without complaint. They planned this, the rats. "FMK. It stands for-"

"Fuck, Marry, Kill," Danny interrupts, smiling at the surprise on the ghost's face. He sometimes forgets that nearly none of his subjects know he is human or that he commutes from said Earth. Despite his very obvious modern terminology, they all assume he's as old as Clockwork. "I have played before."

"Oh, well, great! Wonderful! I was thinking FMK for Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman, " the ghost says nervously, rocking his heels. "I can describe them for you if you need me to?"

Danny blinks at the offer before he snaps his fingers and calls upon the powers of the Observers. Images of the mentioned people flash through the grand hall, showcasing their events. It seems like they were heroes of some kind—the fond memories that bring—and because the ghost had used their code names, only events within costume were displayed.

He learned this little trick during his second year of being on the throne after the council of eyeballs attempted to regain their power over the Zone.

It was nice to show them that Danny didn't need them. He could easily do his job, and he reminded them every day that they remained in the council on his goodwill alone.

Mutters of wonder echoed through the room as his subjects swung their heads around, trying to see the three heroes simultaneously. Danny smiled as one particular ghost split his head into two so he could watch Superman and Batman at the same time.

Circus Ghost claps excitably. "What do you think, your highness?"

He hums, rubbing at his chin, considering the images. The entire room leans in closer as Danny's green eyes flicker from one hero to another, and then he snaps again.

"Kill." The images shift to only Superman. The crowd groans in disappointment. He's pretty sure he heard someone exchange some coins.

"Fuck" Woman Woman poses with her sword as the ground room is overwhelmingly filled with her image as various battles rage on. There are cheers from the ghosts.

"Marry" Batman stands majestically on top of the towers of his city, but unlike his comrades, the images shown for him are none of his fight scenes. Instead, they showcase how he and his various children interact. "I like a man who's good with children."

"Good to know," the circus man mutters, suddenly writing on a glowing green clipboard. The volume suddenly increases as everyone in the room starts speaking at once, bubbling excitement and anticipation floating into the air.

The Ghost King is just about to ask why they care so much about a silly game when a bright white flash runs through the room, leaving behind the very same heroes he was just speaking about. They look confused to be in the room of the undead, obviously just been summon against their will.

Superman has a half-eaten donut in his mouth and is holding onto steaming mugs that the other two were about to grab.

Danny's face spams, but no one seems to pay attention to it because Circus Man races up to Batman and throws an arm over his shoulder. "Your Highness, you have chosen contestant number 3! He's Gotham's dark defender, father of nine, and one hell of a detective. Give it up for Batman!"

"Deadman, what is the meaning of this?" Woman Woman demands as the crowd erupts into cheers.

"I will explain later." Deadman- apparently, that's the ghost name he willingly chose?- promises but never takes his eyes off of the King. "First, Batman has a date with the Ghost King!"

"No," Batman growls. At the same time, Danny shouts, "Absolutely not!"

"But Great One, you need love. I know things have been rough since Samantha left you for Tucker." Out of all the ghosts that could have betrayed him, FrostBite speaks.

Danny gawks at him, sputtering, "It was a mutual breakup! We dated as teenagers, and Sam got with Tucker in our mid twenties! I'm thirty!"

"My King." The yeti says gravely, "Do not lie."

"For Clockwork's Sand! This is worse than my parent's house!" Danny groans, covering his face with his hand. "Send the heroes back, please. I'm not dating Batman."

"But-"

"That's an order." He doesn't quite yell, but Danny puts every ounce of authorization, which is far more effective. FrostBite and Deadman immediately cower. Danny glares at them briefly before swinging his gaze to the waiting crowd. They flinch. "And the rest of you, if you pull another trick like this, Pariah Dark will look like a kitten compared to me."

"Wait-" Starts Superman, but the living are gone in another flash, cutting him off from whatever he was going to say. This is getting out of hand, and he's so tired of it. He needs a vacation.

He should visit Sam and Tucker, the two newlyweds who just moved to Gotham after Sam inherited her grandfather's company when her Grandmother passed. The last time they spoke, they were talking about a fancy gala hosted by Bruce Wayne.

He could go for a night of classy drinks and pretty men or women as a treat.

Danny sighs. "Now, what was that about the expansion?"

[yutarot]

IN PERFECT SYNC [j.jh smau]

genres: humour, friends to enemies to lovers, secret relationship, forced proximity, college au, dancer au, hiphopdancer!jaehyun, fboy!jaehyun, balletdancer!yn

synopsis: your dance college wasn’t the easiest to get in to, let alone was it easy to stay. so what happens when your college decides they need to cut two of the dance teams from competing ever again, the ballet team and the hiphop team. will both teams get along in order to solve their connected issue, or will they fight to get their own team back to competing again? only you and hiphop dance team captain, jeong jaehyun, can decide your teams fates. but there’s one problem, you hate eachother.

WARNINGS: mention of drugs/alcohol, language, jokes about sex, mention of injury, some usage of ballet terminology, lots of extensive lore?, angst, lots of angst, slowburn as fuck obviously, major character betrayal, lots of lying, i mean LOTS of lying, jaehyun is an asshole for like 50% of this, the plot gets v messy and confusing but i live for that so

DISCLAIMER: all portrayals of people are fake and from my imagination, in no way am i claiming that they act like this irl.

written wc: 8.8k

STATUS: complete! — 09.03.24 - 10.02.24

TAGLIST - OPEN!

MASTERLIST

[profiles one] || [profiles two]

[one — jungwoos scared of girls]

[two — that can’t be good]

[three — well that sucks]

[four — he’s stalking you]

[five — we were just friends]

[six — the man he was] half written

[seven — i need to talk to you]

[eight — i’ve waited so long]

[nine — roses]

[ten — im over you]

[eleven — ur over me?]

[twelve — betrayal] written chapter

[thirteen — dimples]

[fourteen — conflict] written chapter

[fifteen — i never knew]

[sixteen — you’re welcome, btw]

[seventeen — she deserves to know]

[eighteen — it was me.] written chapter

[nineteen — hey guys…]

[twenty — collab of the century]

[twenty-one — i’m happy he’s over u]

[twenty-two — i did it for you] written chapter

[twenty-three — no one knows except..]

[twenty-four — that same old dimpled smile] written chapter

[twenty-five — everything about you]

[twenty-six — however hard it may be.] half written

[twenty-six and a half — it’s finally happening]

[twenty-seven — they can wait]

[twenty-eight — ive nothing to fear] written chapter

[twenty-nine — they don’t know we know they know we know]

[thirty — in perfect sync.] written chapter

end.

replies, likes and reblogs are all greatly appreciated! feel free to send thoughts and requests in my asks: characters, scenes, chapters etc.

[untiltheshadowscease]

accidentally mentioned i had been dissociating when talking to my mother and got to be lectured on why i shouldnt use terms like that because i clearly don't understand the ~implications~

...like ma'am I dissociate all the fucking time. idk what implications youre worried about but if they arent bullshit then theyre probably actually applicable lmao

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

The Dragon and the Dragon-less

Pairing: Aemond x Strong niece reader

Summary: The night Aemond had lost his eye, his sweet niece was the only one to provide him any sense of comfort. Many years later, when she returns to Kings Landing with her family, what should become of the two? ;)

Warnings: bad ship terminology (idk boats y'all sorry), Rhaenyra being kind of a bad mom (love her tho), Targcest/incest, softer Aemond, smut in the dragon pits, this one is kind of long haha

AN: Hey y'all! Since my first fic seemed to be received so well (thanks so much to everyone for that:) I decided to write another one! I'm staying on the Aemond train since I've never left it since day one haha. Let me know tho if there are any requests!

PS: I haven't gone through and totally edited this so don't mind the spelling or grammar issues if there are any!!

It had been awful, you remembered hearing the screaming and shouting from your chambers. The screeching having woken you up from a rather pleasant dream about eating cake–

In nothing but your night clothes, and a quilt draped around your shoulders, you padded down the chilly hallways of Dragonstone. 

“ – it was my sons who were attacked!” You hear your mother yell. Concerned you took a few more steps forward, finally able to make out the scene before you. Your mother and your brothers to one side, while Alicent and her boys on the other, the fire raging in the hearth between them. 

Your wide lilac eyes meet those of your stepfather, Prince Daemon, he reaches a hand out towards you as if to say “Come here”. Your feet did not move, rooted to the spot, eyes glancing around the room once more. You see something you hadn’t noticed before, Aemond, in the corner of the room, surrounded by maesters. A hand over his eye, thick, sticky fluid oozing from between his small fingers. Gasping, your own hands fly to cover your lips, perhaps to muffle the noise, or maybe to tame the scream building in your throat. Aemond’s healthy eye meets yours, pain, sadness but most of all fury over taking his features. 

Just then your mother turns to meet you, her gaze worried and frantic, “My sweet girl! You should return to your chambers this is no sight for you dearest,” her hand, also bloody you notice, rests above her heart.

“Mother, w-what has happened? Aemond, h-he, is he alright–” You begin to question, Daemon takes a step towards you and you take one forward into the room. Your concerned gaze flits over to Aemond once more. Despite the fire in the hearth, the chill of the room has set into your bones, causing you to pull the quilt tighter around your shoulders. 

“Come now byka zaldrīzes (little dragon) let us return you to your quarters. Aemond will be fine,” Your father attempts to comfort you. Maybe you are too tired to argue, or too shocked, your mind still attempting to comprehend what has happened. But you let your father guide you back to your chambers, the quilt trailing behind you like a cloak. 

With a lullaby and a pat on the head, Daemon bids you good night once more. Closing the door softly behind him, his heavy footsteps receding off into the distance, presumably back to your mother and brothers. It feels like hours as you stare at the ceiling, listening, straining your ears for even just a morsel of information. But the halls beyond your door remain as silent as the grave. The chill in your bones is stubborn, making you shiver. Sitting up and swinging your feet over the side of the bed, you wrap the quilt around your shoulders once again. As silently as possible, you open the door, the hall is empty save for the torches lining the walls. You’re bathed in the fiery orange glow as you step fully into the hall. 

You’re not quite sure where your feet carry you until you turn the corner and are met with Ser Criston Cole. His tall stature taking up the door frame of the young prince's room, his gold cloak behind him like an inverse shadow. It’s not until you come to stand in front of him that he addresses you. 

“Princess, you should not be here. You should return to your chambers,” He looks down his nose at you. Your knuckles turn white from the tight grip you have on the quilt.

“Please, Ser, I must see the Prince. What has happened to him? I must know if he is alright–” 

“Your brothers have maimed him. Who’s to say you aren’t here to do the same? Perhaps your whore of a –” The door behind him creaks a bit, one of the maesters appears in its place. Bloodied rags and a needle are held in his hands. He sighs “The prince says she may pass Ser Cole,”

With one last look of annoyance and a warning mumbled under his breath, the knight lets you pass. The room is dark, lit only by a few candles on the bedside table. Aemond’s hunched form lays on the bed, the blankets up to his chin. As you make your way closer you can see the true horror of what has happened this evening. Where his eye once was, now lays only marred flesh, red and angry, the stitches pull at the swollen skin. You gasp, shocked, a sick feeling settling into the pit of your stomach.

“Ugly isn’t it?” Aemond asks you, bitterness lacing his voice. As he speaks you make your way to his side, sitting lightly on the bed, next to his hip. Your small hand searching for his under the covers, to comfort him, or maybe to warm your own. 

“H-how did this happen? Who could possibly have–”

“Your brothers. Lucerys stole my eye. But an eye for a dragon is a fair price to pay is it not niece?” A proud, sad smile graces his features. While your brothers had dragons since they were but babes, you were not as lucky. Syrax had not laid a full nest, and your mother had decided it was best to give your brothers the two eggs. All the while you have remained dragonless. 

“Vhagar is now mine, and on the morrow, we shall leave this wretched place. And I will fly on dragon back to the Red Keep.” His singular lilac eye meets yours. “I promise you, sweet niece, one day I shall take you for a ride on dragon back. Show you the freedom that comes with it,” His previously bloodied fingers intertwined with yours. 

“I would like that very much uncle,” Looking down at your joined hands, a small smile of your own matching his. 

— — — — — — —

The waters of the sea lap against the side of the ship, the slap against the wood echoing around you. Overpowered only by the screeching of your family's dragons above you. Alone, you ride on this ship, well alone save for the ship hands and captain assigned by your father. Still, at the age of nine and ten, you remain dragonless, made to travel to the Red Keep by boat.

Your brothers claim to Driftmark had come into question, prompting the visit back to your old home. You hadn’t been back here since–

Your mother and father had determined it best to keep the family at Dragonstone after Aemond lost his eye. Although you had always suspected part of the reasoning for that was your mothers fear of retribution from Alicent for what your brother had done. Perhaps it was a long time coming though, your brothers as well as Aegon had picked on Aemond ruthlessly for years prior to that night. You had been spared only by the simple facts that you were a little girl, and just weren’t in there presence as much. Despite your pleas to join in the yard for training you had been denied, and turned towards the library instead to study “things more befit for your station” as your mother had put it.

“We shall dock shortly Princess,” the ship captain’s voice drifted to you from behind the wheel. You stood on the platform with him, looking beyond the masthead, you see Syrax and Caraxes land in the dragon pits. You sigh, it looks like you’ll arrive alone at the Red Keep, not expecting your mother to wait for you. Her and Daemon needed to prepare for the events of tomorrow. 

Arriving at the Keep felt haunting, the lack of a welcome only contributing to that fact. Once docked, you were met by a singular carriage and it’s driver. The captain had assured you that your belongings were to be delivered to your chambers shortly. For all your fathers faults he did have good trust and faith in those he employed. The ship’s captain had been with your families since you were a girl. He and yourself not unfamiliar with these lonesome journeys. 

The gates of the Red Keep came into view as you rolled over the bumpy roads of Kings Landing. Gold Cloaks lined the gate’s walls, closing the massive gate doors behind you, shutting you in, locking you within the castle grounds. The carriage comes to a jumpy halt, the driver offering you his hand as you disembark your ride. Your fingers slip into his as your boots squelch in the mud below you, the clanging of swords and metal meet your ears. 

“Nephews, have you come to train?” A voice says, one you could not recognize. From across the yard you see your brothers, you wave to them, hoping to catch their eye. Luke turns his head towards you, a small smile playing at his lips. Noticing this, the source of the voice follows his gaze, a singular lilac eye meeting yours.

“Niece, how you have grown–” Aemond’s lone eye takes in your figure. My how you’ve grown indeed. Last time he had seen you you barely came up to his chin, your silver locks a messs contained in small braids. The flush that never seemed to leave your cheeks remained however. You had grown taller, still standing shorter than himself, which he finds excites him a bit. More than it should perhaps. You had grown into yourself in a way that was very pleasing to his eye, your face fuller and lovely. Your curves soft and plush, inviting him to touch and caress them. 

“Uncle,” you offer him a small curtsey. You can hear Jace scoff, as if annoyed by the action. Wanting yo say more, but not knowing what, you continue to look at one another. Your own eyes take in your uncle, he had grown taller, much taller. His muscles lean and corded beneath his tunic. His silver hair almost as long as yours, is pulled back slightly in a braid. Some hanging free, escaping their confines during his sparring. His eye was now covered in an eyepatch, made of black leather, the tops and bottoms of the scar still visible even with it on. 

The arrival of another carriage turns your gaze to the left, where you yourself had arrived only moments ago. Vaemond Valaryon steps out of the carriage and into the yard, sparing a glance at the Prince and your brothers. A look of disgust crosses his face as he lays his eyes on Luke. 

— — — — — — —

The meeting to question Lucerys’ claim to Driftmark is long and dull, at least in the beginning. Mustering his limited remaining strength your grandsire had sat the thrown. Disputing Otto and Alicent in their claims. He looks horrible you think. His skin looks to be gray and sloughing off of his bones. The Stranger would be coming for him soon. It is not until Vaemond brings into question your brother’s parentage once again, that the apprehensive peace shatters. 

“And she is a–”

“Say it,” your father’s hand that rests on the hilt of Dark Sister tightens, knuckles whitening. 

“ – a WHORE!” In one swift blow, Daemon sends Vaemond’s head rolling across the floor of the throne room. Blood trailed behind the appendage like a snail’s trail. The room is filled with gasps and short screams. Your own eyes widened looking at the head on the stone floor before you. By no means are you unfamiliar with your father's violent nature, and nor should the rest of the court. 

“Let him keep his tongue,” Daemon wipes the blood off of his blade, stepping back, sheathing the sword once more. 

As if some kind of magic pulls you, you lift your eyes from Vaemonds severed head and meet those of your uncle. A smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, he looks to be well entertained by the violent display. Caught in your staring, Aemond’s gaze rises to meet your own, his smirk widening into a more sadistic smile. 

“Now, for the final order of business. A more pleasant way to end this affair,” the king says, his mellow voice carrying across the stone-lined room. “I am blessed by the Gods to have such a large family, but it appears that the Gods hope to bless us some more,” It was becoming increasingly more clear that Alicent’s love for The Seven has bled not just into the castle but its people as well.  You think maybe it gives the king something comforting in his final days. 

“My son, Aemond, a fine warrior and scholar,” Aemond stands rigid and straight, uncomfortable with the new attention from his father. “And my granddaughter, if your mother had not already claimed the title of Realms Delight then it would be most certainly passed to you.” Your cheeks flush a bright pink, warmth rising to the tips of your ears. 

“This family has been divided for quite some time, I tend to rectify that. Aemond, my son, and my granddaughter the princess, shall be married,” The reactions around the room are mixed, some people applaud, some cover their shock with their hands. Wide, prying eyes jump between you and Aemond. You dare a look in his direction, he is still staring, the smile gone from his face now. Confusion, shock, anger? You cannot tell but it is not sweet, and it is not kind.

A wave of confidence washes over you as you step forward, “What is the meaning of this? Why have I not had any indication of this until now?!” You feel your mother’s hand grasp your elbow, urging you to stand beside her, silently. “It is the wish of your grandsire, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon). He is dying, do not fight him,” Your head whips aside, meeting her eyes, eyes filled with sadness. Did she know of this? Did she approve of this? Your father would not meet your eyes, nor your brothers, Jace toeing at an invisible stone on the floor. Did they all know, except for you? 

You tear your elbow from your mother’s grasp, she opens her mouth to speak once more, but your back is already turned. Your feet lead you towards the grand door. You had to leave, you needed to be anywhere else but here. Your chest tightens, your breathing ragged. Not with sadness or grief, no, but with anger and fury. You feel as though you could breathe fire as the dragons do. An angered scream tears past your lips, reverberating off of the stone walls of the Red Keep. 

— — — — — — —

You had decided it best to skip the family feast. And a good thing too, unbeknownst to you it had gone horribly. Lucerys mocking Aemond over the roasted pig, Aemond's “final tribute” to his Strong nephews. No, instead you had taken your dinner in the library, back amongst your beloved books. The sun had set an hour or two ago now, the torches along the halls lit. You didn’t know how late it was, you had been much too absorbed in your novel Lady Coryanne Wylde, A Cautionary Tale for Young Girls. 

The wax on the candles had burned low, and your wine had turned cold. It was time to retire. Taking the book with you, you began to make your way toward your chambers, your old chambers. The last time you had slept there you had been but a girl. As you turn the corner you are met with a hard wall of warm, corded muscle. Your book tumbling to the ground. A pair of strong hands plant themselves on your shoulders, to steady you. 

“Careful niece, someone might think you are up to no good, wandering the corridors, at night–alone” The smile from earlier returns to his lips, and just then, he notices the book on the floor. His smile becoming impossibly wider, you don’t think you’ve ever really seen Aemond smile, not like this anyway. It’s nice, you think to yourself.

“What’s this dear niece,” he bends down to pick up the novel, his slim fingers sifting through the pages, his eyebrows lifting. “Well, well, who would have thought–”

“Give that back!” You reach to snatch it from him, like a child, but he just holds it higher over his head. “Tell you what, I made a promise to you. Do you remember?” Of course, you remembered, you still thought about it sometimes, but all hope of fulfilling it had left you.

“Yes–” it came out more hoarse than you had intended. Your hand frozen, outstretched, Aemond still held the book over his head. 

“Come with me to meet Vhagar, for a ride,” he leaned closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “Come taste the freedom of the skies with me niece.” He had tucked the book behind his back. Aemond wasn’t a man who typically waited for an answer, nor was he one who liked when people disagreed with him. He’d throw you over his shoulder if he must. Even though his hatred for your family ran deep, he could never seem to hate you. You had endeared yourself to him time and time again as children, but the night he lost his eye. The night you visited him, the only one not angry, the only one not repulsed by his face. He knew then that he could never hate you, no matter how hard he’d tried. 

Words had suddenly failed you, your tongue dry. You simply nodded instead. In response, Aemond straightened to his full, imposing height, and turning without a word, he began his stride down the hall, towards the dragon pits. You followed him, but neither of you spoke, the halls of the Red Keep filled with an odd sort of comfortable silence. His hair had grown longer, much longer, and he walked with a sense of confidence that hadn’t been there before. 

The night air was chill, a slight breeze blew through your hair, tousling the strands. You were glad you had worn a gown with longer sleeves, it must be chilly up in the clouds. Aemond was sporting his riding clothes, the leather over his tunic reaching his wrists. He looked good, really good, you thought to yourself. The flush from earlier returning to your cheeks, as well as the warmth in the tips of your ears. 

Aemond comes to a stop before the pits, waiting for you, the book still behind his back, taunting you. You suppose that was his insurance policy in case you had said no to joining him. You can only imagine your father's reaction to seeing you read such debauchery. You were his sweet little girl after all…

“Come now niece, no harm shall come to you while I am near,” He held his hand out to you, and you slipped your fingers between his. His hands are much smoother than the ship captains from earlier, you thought. His hand was warm, the blood of the dragon coursing through his veins. The sound of beating wings from up above drew you out of your daze. A dark shadow crossed over the pair of you, coming to land only several passes in front of you. Vhagar stood proud and strong, if not slightly tired. Her form was weathered by time and battle. It’s a blessing from the Gods that she can still take to the skies as she does. 

Aemond drew you nearer to her, your hand still held tightly in his, like all those years ago. “Give her a pat, she won’t bite, not unless I tell her to,” He chuckled a bit at his own joke, your eyes widening slightly, making him laugh all the more. “No need to be frightened, she’s quite gentle actually,” He guided your hand up to the beast's snout, his fingers had moved to circle your wrists, making the action easier. Your hand lay splayed out before you against Vhagar’s scales, her skin impossibly hot. The hand on your wrists moves to cover your own on the dragon. From behind you, Aemonds other hand rests on your waist lightly, like a whisper on the wind. Mayhaps this marriage won’t be too bad after all? Your anger from earlier was not directed at him you realize, but rather at the other members of your family. You were never pleased when things were kept from you when you were lied to. You like his hand there, you like it a lot, it provides you a sense of comfort and security as you stand before this large beast. You wonder how his calloused hands would feel elsewhere…

Aemond retracts his hand, yours following closely behind, you can still feel the heat of Vhagar’s scales on the skin of your palms. You begin to be tugged backward in the direction of Vhagar’s saddle. Aemond motions for you to begin climbing the ropes that lead to the mount, he follows behind you; prepared to catch you should the need arise. The saddle is less like a saddle and more like a small chariot on top of the dragon. It comfortably seats the two of you, and could even squeeze in a third. 

Aemond positions you in front of him, his legs caging yours, his arms reaching around the front of you to grasp onto the reigns. “Are you ready?” The question is whispered to you, his lips brushing your ear once more as he speaks. You rather like this position, the warmth radiating off of his body will surely keep you warm above the clouds. 

“Yes, yes I think I am,” Your own hands come up to rest atop his, surely just to steady yourself, and not at all because you were becoming increasingly more desperate to touch or be touched by the man behind you. 

“Sōvēs Vhagar!” Aemond pulls back and yells into the night air, sparring your delicate eardrums. The beast below you growls and jolts into action. She takes a few long strides before beginning to beat her wings, as she takes off into the crisp night air. 

Eyes glued shut you think you yell out a little yelp of initial fear and surprise. Aemond’s legs press tighter down on your own as if to reassure you that you are safe with him and his dragon. As Vhagar evens out her flying, coasting just above the clouds, you dare to open your eyes. Behind you, Aemond cannot stop the smile from spreading across his lips, he cannot see your face but he hopes it is a happy one. He’ll take you out flying every day that you are married if it will make you happy. He would burn the world down if it meant he could keep you safe and happy. To make you his. 

Truthfully he wasn’t all that surprised by his father’s announcement of your betrothal. As a boy, even before the incident, he had asked his mother and grandsire, Otto, what lords would court you, and if any would be good enough for a princess. It wasn’t until after he lost his eye that he first breached the subject of marriage to his mother. He’d told her he deserved it, that after all the pain he had gone through, it was only fair for him to spend his life beside someone whom he cared so deeply for. At the time his mother had just given him a kiss on the forehead saying “Perhaps one day, we shall see,” A sad smile had crossed her face then.

He’d given up on the hope of marrying for love after that. The ladies of court found him elusive and repulsive, opting to flirt with his brother, despite his marriage to Helaena. A few moons ago, Aegon had made a jest at Aemond’s expense, something about being tied to a Strong for all eternity. He had ignored it, deeming it nothing more than one of his brother's drunken comments. However, after the events of today, it seems he was not jesting after all.

Aemond is broken out of his thoughts by a lovely, bubbly sound. You’re laughing, your arms spread wide, fingers splayed out letting the wind rush through them. He immediately goes to grasp your waist, his legs still caged around yours, steading you, anchoring you to him and the saddle. 

“What the sweet Hells are you doing?! Put your hands back on the reigns!” He exclaims. You giggle some more, the wind drying your teeth as you smile. 

“I cannot uncle! You were right, this is marvelous! I feel as though I could rule the world from up here!” He had never seen anyone as dazzling as you were in this moment. Vhagar gave a slight jolt as she began to descend back downwards, causing you to jump forward a bit, hands grasping the reigns once more.

“I told you – “ He murmurs against your hair, placing a small kiss on your head. After another moment Aemond begins to guide Vhagar back towards the dragon pits. There’s a strain in his trousers he can ignore no longer. Years of pent-up desire and want boiling over. Ever the gentleman, he assists you in descending the beast. This time he goes first, his hand in yours as he helps you with the final jump down. 

“That was incredible, uncle that was truly –” Aemond uses his grip on your hand to tug you forward, clutching you to his chest, his lips meeting yours. You gasp into his mouth, surprised by the boldness of his actions. Before you are given the opportunity to reciprocate, he pulls away, a slight frown on his face.

“My apologies, I should not have–” 

“Yes, you should have actually. Why did you stop, I was quite enjoying myself,” You pull on the collar of his tunic, tugging his chapped lips back down to yours. Aemond uses his taller stature to guide you back up against a pillar within the pits. The two of you made only out of sight by half of a pillar, and Vhagar’s sleeping form. 

“And what if I were to take you, right here? Right now? Like a scene from your debaucherous novel,” He exclaims, his lips moving, forming a trail from your jaw down to your collarbone. Surely leaving marks, and love bites as he goes. Oh if only his brother could see him now, he thinks that perhaps Aegon would congratulate him on finally “getting it wet”. 

His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. He was everywhere, all of your senses were overwhelmed by him. The smell of the oils used to wash his hair filled your nostrils, the smokiness from Vhagar had made a home in the threads of his clothes. You’re nearly positive that you must smell similar, you’ll need to get your gown cleaned certainly. 

Your hands began to fumble with the belt of his trousers, your fingers making clumsy work of the buckle. Aemond pulls away only for a moment to assist you, then he begins to work on the strings of your corset. His movements were desperate and quick, neither of you having the patience to wait much longer. All the while his lips never left your skin. You feel him smile against your skin as Vhagar makes a slight noise of annoyance at your escapades. Somehow between your messy kisses, your skirts had been rucked up to your hips, Aemond’s deft fingers making contact with your small clothes. 

“You’re rather wet dear niece. Do I rile you up so huh? I wonder how wet you’ll be with my cock inside your sweet cunt,” He says that last bit almost more so to himself rather than you. In response, a small whimper escapes your lips. Aemond looks up to meet your eyes. A certain twinkle reflects at you from his. 

“Another night I shall spend hours ravishing you, but I need to be inside you, now.” He gives his cock a few strokes, preparing himself. Your eyes widen at the sight, his shaft long and thick, his head red and leaking arousal. It was, invigorating, knowing that you could illicit such a response from him. With a delicate kiss to your lips and one final look of permission, Aemond sheathes himself inside you. Your warm walls squeeze him perfectly, welcoming him in. Gods he could stay right here like this forever. 

“ – move. Aemond Gods move please,” You begged him, your walls had adjusted to him. Feeling wonderful and full. He began slow, his thrusts taking on a rhythmic flow. Aemond tucks his face into the crook of your neck, smelling your hair, his grunts and groans in your ear. You drag your nails down his clothed back, perhaps next time you’ll be able to fully leave your marks on his skin. Thank the Gods Vhagar had decided to remain put, it would ruin your honor should anyone find you like this; even though your virtue was promised to him already.

“Fuck– I don’t know if I’ll be able to last much longer ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved). You are just too perfect–” He cuts himself off with a grunt.

“Finish then, let go Aemond, let got for me please, I–” You beg him, you need it just as much as he does.

“Not before you ñuha jorrāeliarzy (my beloved).” Aemond moves down to circle your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. The pace of his thrusts picked up, your hands remained looped around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.

“Aemond, oh Aemond, Gods I’m gonna–” The words that left your mouth made hardly any sense. The words and phrases twist and turn into a bizarre hymn to your betrothed. 

“Cum, cum for me Jorrāelagon (love), give yourself over to me–” Aemond begged you. His lips biting and nipping at the flesh of your neck. On his command, a wave of pleasure washes over you, like the seas crashing into the shores of Driftmark. You remember drifting off to sleep as a girl to the lullaby of the sea. Aemond’s own release follows closely after your own. Still nestled inside of you, he rests his forehead against yours, sighing contentedly. 

“You know, when I was a boy, I had asked my mother to ask Rhaenyra for your hand. I had begged her actually,” He chuckles a bit at his anecdote.

“Did you?” You laugh along with him, less at the story and more so at the ridiculousness of your current situation. You feel him nod, his forehead brushing against yours as he does so. 

“Well,” you say in response, “ I had always wanted a dragon of my own. I had begged my mother actually”, you imitate Aemond’s words, giggling a bit as you do, “but now I need not ask any longer. For I have my very own dragon right here.” You place a kiss on his nose as you say this.

“Well my love, no longer shall you be dragonless, not as long as I am around anyways,” Aemond reassures you. He supposed he had two dragons now as well, with Vhagar he would burn the world down, but you gave him a reason to do so. With fire and blood he would protect you, love you, for that is the way of the dragon, that is the way of Prince Aemond Targaryen, your beloved betrothed. 

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[iokheaira]

As a pro translator to and from Finnish (a fairly small, non-Indo-European language) who occasionally deals with AI, or machine translation, let me expand a bit: first, some things aren't worth the cost of money and time of being translated by a human person, even a rank n00b, so before they didn't get translated at all.

Second, the "new jobs" are often proofreading machine translation, commonly called post-editing. This ranges from genuinely helping translators deal with masses of text and making reasonable money, to causing a giant headache for shit pay.

IMO translation really shows the strengths and failure points of large language models (LLM) commonly known as "AI"; to wit, they're really, really good at predicting the most likely outcome based on known data, with occasional randomness that sometimes produces a genuinely great solution, and they're absolute crap at maintaining a consistent terminology and cohesion within a text, they can't know specialised terminology if it hasn't been scraped, and they just cannot deal with cross-references to other documents (because they often treat them as text strings, so instead of copying the translated name of an EU Directive or its common abbreviated name, available online in all of the languages of the Member States, the machine makes up a new translation which may or may not lead the reader to the correct document...)

The worst part is when the machine is good enough to sound confident but keeps generating errors in meaning or references or consistency, because then you need to read things through more carefully than when proofreading the work of a competent human, so that in the absolute worst case you spend as much time checking as you would've spent on translating from scratch - for half the pay. In the absolute best case? You can do a quick read-through, make a few corrections and you're done.

Note that specially-built translation engines can be made to work with glossaries and specific references, but 1. those only make sense for things that already generate massive amounts of text, like the EU, and 2. they're harder to retrofit to generic translators like DeepL at least without specialised translation software, which is another beast entirely.

Also... the gig economy has been present in the translation industry since at least the 2000s, or from what I've heard, maybe 1990s; most of it is outsourcing. You either learn to be a business or don't make a living wage. Entry level has always been full of random people who get a decent grade in high school or study literature in university and think: how hard can it be? And then end up reinventing the wheel. (I did an MA in translation studies and have found it useful, though I already started working after the BA like many others.)

Uhhhh... where was I?

Right! Go ahead and use Google Translate or DeepL to understand what a foreign website etc. is talking about, or turn on the automatically generated and machine translated subtitles on YouTube. No human would be paid to translate those anyway, so why not use the service? Just keep in mind that they are based on probability calculations, and nobody has checked that the text makes sense and uses accurate specialist terminology, or tried their best to make it understandable to you (because ultimately, the translator's job is communication).

Eta: though the impact of AI on the next generation of translation students will be interesting. Any teacher worth their salt will hammer the need for a sanity check through their skulls, but will the political climate mean that funding for translation studies will dry up because "we have AI for that"? And what about the random people who enter the field with zero clue because it sounds easy, if they've grown up blindly trusting that ChatGPT doesn't lie? Now that will be interesting.

Eta2: important to note, I'm a technical translator, not a translator of literature, and also opinions on machine translation vary wildly in the field! Personally I think some texts are more suitable for machine translation than others, and it's not always the ones you'd expect that are a problem. Well, anyone would probably excpect poems being an issue - and translating those is more co-creation than anything anyway.

Alt text is so incredibly useful when it comes to speakers of other languages. I follow a bunch of fiber artists from different parts of the world, Ukrainian fashion designers and Chinese antique garment collectors and Iranian university professors of textile art history. There are discussions happening in different languages, and resources like books and scholarship, simply not available in the English or French I know.

And a lot of them never even use the Latin alphabet a lot of the time! So sometimes I can photograph a book page or screencap an Instagram story and get my phone's OCR to give me text to paste into Google Translate, and I can sometimes use a Cyrillic keyboard to type out what I'm seeing, but but as soon as something is antiquated or handwritten or viewed at an angle, my goose is cooked. I can't even get the original phrase to try to translate at all.

Unless there's alt text. Because alt text gives me exactly the data I need in the exact right format to take to a dictionary and get the gist of what's going on.

It makes me reconsider how my own content is accessible or inaccessible not just to blind or visually-impaired people, but people who aren't perfectly fluent in English. Because I and a lot of my friends are native English speakers who usually only speak 1-2 languages total, I'm prey to assuming that everyone in my intended audience is like us. That of course everybody can easily process English text, whether it's printed or written in cursive or using some antique calligraphic hand. And of course, that's not true. Now when I look at my analytics for my business's rare medieval name, I occasionally see translation site traffic where people in Farsi or Ukrainian or Chinese have translated me in return.

The curb-cut effect is a wonderful thing, I think. The primary reason I've used alt text is a good one, and it also turns out that it's really useful for a lot of other people too.