#got a lot to say about him apparently

[quiddling]

Do you have any more lore about your Saera son targ oc? 😊

My sweet sweet boy.... The Bastard of Volantis !!! I love this guy sm so I do actually have a lot... and i realise now I haven't said anything about him other than he is Saera's son on tumblr before so i'm going to ramble on and on after the break heheh [:<

Aenor Targaryen, an infamous natural son of Princess Saera Targaryen. His father's identity remained an enduring mystery. Aenor was born in 98 AC and raised in the Free City of Volantis, where his mother ruled as proprietor over a famed pleasure house. Though born bastard, Aenor inherited the distinctive Valyrian features of House Targaryen - pale silver-blonde hair and deep purple eyes. Aenor himself made no public assertions for the crown much like his mother, though he took pride in his dragonblood heritage.

He is an irreverent and cocksure young man who revelled in the luxurious vices of the Volantene lifestyle. From a young age, Aenor displayed a keen intellect and a natural charisma that set him apart. He inherited his mother's sharp wit and political acumen, quickly learning to navigate the complex social dynamics of Volantis' upper echelons. Despite his bastard status, Aenor carries himself with the confidence and poise befitting his Targaryen heritage.

Aenor's relationship with his mother, is one of the defining aspects of his character. Despite the unconventional nature of their lives, Aenor loves his mother dearly and would defend her with his life if necessary.

As a boy, Aenor would often sit at his mother's feet, enraptured by her tales of dragons and the legendary Dragonpit of King's Landing. Saera's stories painted vivid pictures of scaled behemoths soaring through the skies, their roars echoing across the realm. These tales instilled in Aenor a lifelong fascination with dragons and a secret longing to one day see one with his own eyes.

Occasionally, in rare moments of nostalgia or vulnerability, Saera would share glimpses of her life as a princess in the Red Keep. These stories were always tinged with a mixture of fondness and bitterness, revealing the complex emotions she still harboured towards her past. Aenor learnt to treasure these rare insights into his mother's former life, understanding the trust she placed in him by sharing them.

However, Saera's recollections of her father, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen, were infrequent and laden with resentment. The lingering pain from their estrangement was evident whenever she spoke of him. This unresolved conflict between Saera and Jaehaerys left a lasting impact on Aenor, shaping his own complicated feelings towards his heritage and the idea of family loyalty.

Through his mother's stories and silences alike, Aenor developed a nuanced understanding of power, family, and the weight of the Targaryen name. This understanding would come to influence his own ambitions and his approach to navigating the complex world of politics and personal relationships in Volantis and beyond.

I'm still not 100% sure on most of this part of his lore i just wanted my sweet boy to have a dragon and see the rest of the world....but regardless of his illegitimate status, Aenor managed to claim a wild dragon in Essos. The beast, which Aenor named Naerion, was described as being a medium-sized dragon with brilliant orange scales that covered most of his body, while his underbelly and wing membranes were described as pale striking gold. His distinctive colouration made him easily identifiable in the skies, earning him the moniker "the Sunset Wyrm" among soldiers and smallfolk alike. His wings, when spread, cast a shadow the colour of sunset. During the Dance of the Dragons, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, on behalf of his mother Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, sought to bolster the blacks' forces with additional dragonriders. Jacaerys dispatched envoys to Volantis, seeking out the Targaryen Bastard. He was initially reluctant to involve himself in Westerosi affairs. However, the promise of legitimisation and lands upon Rhaenyra's victory swayed Aenor and he agreed to cross the Narrow Sea with Naerion.

[black-and-yellow]

[sysig]

How much of me is me? (Patreon)

[yardsards]

do people who have listened to taz balance but not graduation Know that it was HEAVILY IMPLIED that lup and barry eventually adopted a lil sorcerer child who got disowned by his family for his natural necromancy magic, and they taught him how to use his powers for good and were overall great parents that he looks back on fondly

(and said child grew up to be a dimension-hopping lich, caretaker of the dead, and very sweet adoptive father of a major npc)

[leupagus]

Am I writing this largely because I enjoy the idea of Sansa and Stannis constantly hissing at each other like two belligerent cats? Listen,

x

By the first week of the siege, Sansa was forced to admit — if only to herself —that warfare was far less exciting than she'd imagined. When she had been told of Robb's victories in the Riverlands she had always pictured him triumphant upon a fearsome destrier, sword held high as he cut down his enemies before him. Then he'd been killed and she had lived through the Battle of the Blackwater, waiting either rescue or slaughter by the very man who was now her ally. That had not been exciting, precisely, but it had not been this dull and plodding affair. A far cry from the valiant knights and noble battles she'd read when she was a girl; but she'd had precious little turn out the way she'd been taught.

She slept at the camps near the front lines, in the same soldier's tent she and Brienne and Podrick had shared for the past four months. Stannis had made all sorts of ridiculous protests about "ladies" and "danger" until she'd had to remind him, once again, that her eight thousand men gave her the freedom to dictate her own movements.

"All very well while we're waiting out here, my lady," he'd growled in response, after his requisite glare at her flawless logic, "But when battle joins, you'll be nothing more than a nuisance."

"In which case, I'll be quickly killed and you can have Rickon installed as Lord of Winterfell instead," she'd replied, "as you were hoping to do in the first place." That had shut him up, at least, and he'd gone back to scowling at Winterfell's walls.

Every night when she returned to the camp, she stopped at Stannis's tent and joined the conference with their commanders and lieutenants. It was then that she learned about the waging of war: how men were best deployed, how training was maintained even in the midst of a siege, how sickness was kept at bay so that it did not kill more soldiers than did the battles. Stannis disliked her presence there, too, but she was rapidly coming to understand that he would only be truly happy when she was out of his life for good. Possibly not even then. He did not seem a man much given to smiles.

The men did not share Stannis's view, at least; as she walked through the lines each morning and night they stood to bow to her, and press the back of her hand to their foreheads as she remembered they had done to Mother so long ago.

"They say that the old gods have brought you back to us," Lord Reed told her one day, as he accompanied her on her daily walk to the winter town. "That they were angered when the Starks were driven from Winterfell, and that they're drawing you all back here one by one. They say that Robb Stark may come back from the dead, such is the rage of the gods, and avenge all who wronged your house."

Joffrey had been diligent in recounting every detail of what had happened to Robb's body after Roose Bolton had killed him. She repressed a shudder to think of it and held more tightly to Reed's arm, grateful for the warmth of him at her side. "I hope they are not disappointed if all they get is me and Rickon."

Reed chuckled. "They're well-satisfied, my lady," he said. They walked into the winter town just as the sun broke over the mountains. "You're a sight prettier than the Young Wolf ever was, that's certain."

The winter town was where her real work was done each day. It was the custom every winter for the smallfolk of the North to leave their hides holdfasts and journey here, bringing what they could cart or carry. The winter town would eventually house nearly one in three of every soul living in the North, seeking shelter together to endure the cold.

The Boltons had not bothered to do their duty, laying in no provisions and building no new housing. Up until now it had mattered little; even as the winds had begun to blow, few smallfolk had dared to come take shelter under the banners of the flayed man. The town itself had been all but abandoned, until word of the Starks' return had begun to spread throughout the North.

Now the winter town seemed to double in size with each passing day despite the ongoing siege of the Keep. Sansa had her hands full in directing builders, organizing kitchens, allocating what resources they had to feed and shelter everyone. In this she was aided by any number of friends and allies: those servants and household members who had first escaped during Winterfell's seizure by the Ironborn, or who had endured that but had fled the Boltons' brutal takeover; the households of her lords who had come to support the siege; even Lady Umber and her formidable staff lent a hand before she returned to Last Hearth. Her most steadfast assistants were Rickon and Shireen, who at first had joined her out of boredom but were now her little lieutenants, breathlessly updating her on all events of the previous night as she joined them for breakfast each morning. She received aid also from her men in the armies, assigning their builders to fortify the town in much the same way they were fortifying the siege camp.

Her lords approved of this; Stannis, of course, did not.

"You seek another threescore soldiers?" he demanded one evening.

The siege had now dragged on near a month. Bolton's men showed signs of distress, Lord Flint reported with no small satisfaction; they would not last much longer. But this had brought a fresh concern, and Sansa had broached it during their evening conference.

"We need to build up the palisades along the eastern side of the winter town," Sansa insisted, pointing at the map spread out along the table, with the various pieces representing the various companies all arrayed neatly atop. Stannis's wooden flaming hearts were outnumbered by Sansa's wolf heads two to one, though many of hers appeared hastily-carved from whatever spare wood was at hand. She reached for a flaming heart on the far side of the Keep, well away from the siege. "It need only be for—"

"Give me that," Stannis snapped, snatching it back. "Those men are covering the huntsman's gate, should any of Bolton's forces be cowardly enough to attempt escape rather than stand and fight."

"And you anticipate that happening in the next day?" she demanded, resisting the urge to lunge for the piece the way she used to with Robb when he had teasingly stolen her embroidery, holding it just out of reach. "There must be fifty or sixty men out of twelve thousand that can be spared."

"Why are the palisades in need of building up in the first place?" Stannis demanded, as Lord Glover opened and then shut his mouth to reply to her. "This winter town of yours is folly — you cannot grant entry to every farmer and tinker who pleads for shelter."

Sansa gaped at him in outrage, though even as she did so she was heartened to hear the murmur of her lords at such a comment. "That is precisely what is done, and has been for every winter since before Bran the Builder set stones to build Winterfell!" She glared at him. "This is a refuge, Your Grace."

"This is a siege, my lady," he retorted, looming over her. She thought longingly of the beautiful heeled shoes Margaery wore; she needed only a few inches to match Stannis's height, and see what good his looming did him then. "The smallfolk congregate here at their own risk!"

"My people congregate here because they believe I will keep them safe, and I will do so. With or without Your Grace's help!"

"Without, if it pleases my lady!"

Half-ready to club him over the head with the nearest chair, Sansa grabbed the flaming heart out of his hands and waved it in his face. "What are these men supposed to do, if Bolton and his soldiers escape out this way?"

Stannis looked too near a fit of apoplexy to reply, so it was Lord Cerwyn who cleared his throat and answered, "They are charged to report back, my lady, with some following at a safe distance to see where they go."

"It's perfectly obvious where they'll go," Sansa snapped. "Lord Bolton will make for the Dreadfort."

"Of course he will," said Stannis, finding his voice at last, though he did not try for the wolf's-head piece again. "That doesn't mean—"

"I know three dozen local boys who could hide along the route from the huntsman's gate to the eastern road and bring back reports, without clomping about the forests in full armor," Sansa said, slamming the piece down at the winter town. "And they might be able to bring back some food, while they're at it. Unlike your soldiers, they know how to hunt in the Wolfswood without frightening off half the game."

A few days later, she had her men.

[bunnieswithknives]

sorry if idk this but what do you think about Wordgirl now in 2024 do you still like it do you still want to make art or talk about it or are you just done with all of it forever and plus i seen that you haven't made art of it since 2022 so you just done with all of it oh yeah and what about The Magnus Archives + Wordgirl ao3 fic too like is that just going to be and i know that your working on 2 au's now just wanting to know that's all

My interests tend to come in intense bursts and then fade. Unless something like, big happens like it gets a reboot its unlikely I'll be coming back to it anytime soon. As for the fic I don't have any current plans to finish it unfortunately.

[seventh-district]

7am, eating cold leftover teriyaki stir-fry for breakfast and crying over blorbos

[worstloki]

Jujutsu Kaisen asks many important questions such as: mentally healthy daughters that are happy but racist OR son that isn’t racist but is so mentally unwell he rarely smiles and has no will to live

[anxiously-sidequesting]

So I don't know if it was ever revealed how Duncan felt when we killed Malistaire all three times but I'm wondering if maybe some part of him could hate us for that too. Like you hear that and you go "but why. Malistaire was terrible and even Duncan knew that(?). Why would he hate you for getting rid of him."

But like I think it's so....... interesting in a very, very, very sad way how Duncan so easily latches onto anyone who directly feeds into his delusions of grandeur. And that's no fault of his own that he was manipulated by the nasty Schism but when you think about how desperately clung to the idea that Malistaire, easily one of the greatest necromancers any of us had ever heard of (at that time), somehow actually recognized Duncan's talents (even when canon supports that Duncan wasn't all that talented, at least no more than the next necromancer) and then praised him for it so often that Duncan believed that he would be the next Death Professor is. I mean ☹️

So like with that mindset I unfortunately feel like it would be quite easy to twist even Malistaire's death as something that's horrible and awful and all our fault. ESPECIALLY if the Schism was feeding into Duncan's already broken mind and shattered ego and was constantly telling him that everything bad that ever happened to him ever in his life was Our Fault. That's like a realistic conclusion that someone like Duncan could come to

And like, at this point in time, are Malistaire's crimes even a factor in how he thinks????? Was Duncan ever able to separate Malistaire's talent and skills and prowess from the terrible and awful things he did? If Duncan wasn't able to consciously tell that distinction in the first place I can't imagine it would be any better during the years he was being manipulated and isolated and lied to

Like in Duncan's mind it probably isn't, "maybe I shouldn't idolize a national criminal, or idolize anyone at all for that matter, and aspire to be like someone so harmful when I can recognize my own talent and build from there" it's probably more like, "you (the wizard) permanently got rid of a brilliant mind, an innocent person who just made a few mistakes, and someone who believed in me no matter what just so that you could be the better than me and loved by everyone else" and that's! very sad actually!

[lillotte17]

..

[deepseawave]

obsessed w the tags on ur last reblog

Omgg, thank you haha, it was a quality post so I just had to appreciate it in full force 😂❤️

Can‘t believe someone would actually enjoy my yapping :,D

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I always smh at people who dub Jason as “whiny” “and therefore ooc” in tt 29. If you died and all everyone did was taint your legacy, and not a single person remembered you fondly or deemed you worthy of commemoration after your death, wouldn’t you be a bit upset too?

[silverselfshippingchaos]

one thing about all my y.akuza s/is is that they love older men

[lostwanderer42]

Been doing a lot of thinking lately with peoples obsessions with punishing fictional characters who did bad things and i dont have any coherent thoughts yet but i am like. Are yall ok

[sci-bax]

Does anyone else find that music gives them inspiration for stories? Im working on my first game's story rn and quite a few songs have helped me figure out what i want some of the places/characters to be like

Spider Girl and 1000 Doors helped so much with thinking up a certain part of the game😭

In terms of dialogue, Ive got some dialogue options for a shopkeeper but nothing past that💔