#n idk that i like either??
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inkskinned · 2 years ago
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the rise of AI art isn't surprising to us. for our entire lives, the attitude towards our skills has always been - that's not a real thing. it has been consistently, repeatedly devalued.
people treat art - all forms of it - as if it could exist by accident, by rote. they don't understand how much art is in the world. someone designed your home. someone designed the sign inside of your local grocery store. when you quote a character or line from something in media, that's a line a real person wrote.
"i could do that." sure, but you didn't. there's this joke where a plumber comes over to a house and twists a single knob. charges the guy 10k. the guy, furious, asks how the hell the bill is so high. the plumber says - "turning the knob was a dollar. the knowledge is the rest of the money."
the trouble is that nobody believes artists have knowledge. that we actively study. that we work hard, beyond doing our scales and occasionally writing a poem. the trouble is that unless you are already framed in a museum or have a book on a shelf or some kind of product, you aren't really an artist. hell, because of where i post my work, i'll never be considered a poet.
the thing that makes you an artist is choice. the thing that makes all art is choice. AI art is the fetid belief that art is instead an equation. that it must answer a specific question. Even with machine learning, AI cannot make a choice the way we can - because the choices we make have always been personal, complicated. our skills cannot be confined to "prompt and execution." what we are "solving" isn't just a system of numbers - it is how we process our entire existence. it isn't just "2 and 2 is 4", it's staring hard at the numbers and making the four into an alligator. it's rearranging the letters to say ow and it is the ugly drawing we make in the margin.
at some point, you will be able to write something by feeding my work into a machine. it will be perfectly legible and even might sound like me. but a machine doesn't understand why i do these things. it can be taught preferences, habits, statistical probability. it doesn't know why certain vowels sound good to me. it doesn't know the private rules i keep. it doesn't know how to keep evolving.
"but i want something to exist that doesn't exist yet." great. i'm glad you feel creative. go ahead and pay a fucking artist for it.
this is all saying something we all already knew. the sad fucking truth: we have to die to remind you. only when we're gone do we suddenly finally fucking mean something to you. artists are not replicable. we each genuinely have a skill, talent, and process that makes us unique. and there's actual quiet power in everything we do.
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chococrystal · 6 months ago
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Messy Cinder doodles surprise, figuring out how to draw him lol
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j-k-writes · 25 days ago
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The Bronze Targaryen - 5
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Summary - Two and a half moons after (Y/N)'s arrival in Kingslanding he must grapple with his new title as a dragonlord, wedding festivites, his grandsire's sudden illness, and his relationship with his father. The prince tries to balance all of this as the royal wedding looms over him.
Warnings - minor injuries, general HOTD warnings, drinking, canon character death, consummation scene (its minor and a fade to black)
I have decided to mold the lore to my own desires because there is almost next to nothing on House Royce during this time period. Also was going to break this into two parts because its so long but wanted all the wedding festvites to take place during one chapter.
(Y/N) winced as the maester prodded at his nose, the maester made humming noises as he examined the prince’s injuries. He applied a few plaster’s to (Y/N)’s nose, before wrapping it in soaked wool. 
“His nose shall heal fine, my prince.” 
Daemon nodded, “Thank you, you may go.” 
The maester bowed to the two princes, gathering his supplies and leaving (Y/N) alone with his father. Daemon watched as the man left the room, and waited until the doors were shut before turning on his son. He crossed his arms leaning back against a chair, and (Y/N) braced himself for a lecture. 
“How are you feeling?” 
(Y/N) blinked, “What?” 
Daemon pushed himself off the chair, making his way over toward (Y/N). He slowly reache
d his hand out, gently tracing the scratches and bruises on (Y/N)’s face, and (Y/N) was too shocked at his father’s actions to react. “Are you in pain?” 
“I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, looking up at his father. “I’ve had worse.” 
Daemon frowned, and (Y/N) wondered how much his mother had told him of his childhood mishaps. “What were you doing so far off Rosby Road?” 
(Y/N) flushed, “I- uh, snuck out.” 
“You snuck out?” His father’s face lit up, and he took a step back laughing and shaking his head. “How did your uncle react?” 
“Well he doubled my guard for one.” (Y/N) said, remembering his Uncle’s fury when (Y/N) showed up the next morning, face covered in blood and dirt. He had some choice words for the young heir, and (Y/N) was confident Daemon had heard his brother’s opinion on the matter as soon as he stepped foot into the keep. “But he was more interested in the dragon than my misbehavior.” 
“Ah,” Daemon smirked. “Yes, it must have been quite a shock.” 
(Y/N) rolled his eyes at his father, “I know you did something.” 
“What did I do, (Y/N)?” Daemon asked, raising an eyebrow at his son. “I did not drag Vermithor to you, or you to him for that matter. Vermithor made his choice.” 
“And it’s just a coincidence that as soon as you leave for Dragonstone, Vermithor leaves and seeks me out randomly.” 
“Perhaps it was fate.” Daemon shrugged. 
“You don’t expect me to believe that.” 
Daemon approached (Y/N), placed his hands on his shoulders. “It does not matter what you believe, all that matters are the facts. And the facts are that you have claimed Vermithor, you should be proud.” 
“I did not wish to claim a dragon, I never have.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s face hardened. 
“You are my son.” Daemon said, and (Y/N) hissed as his grip on his shoulder tightened. “You are a dragon, you cannot escape that.” 
His father’s face softened at (Y/N)’s expression. He released the boy, and seemed to hesitate before smoothing his hair back out of his face, “You should rest, you have had quite the number of shocks these past few days.” 
(Y/N) watched as father turned on his heel, and exited the chambers gently shutting the doors behind him.
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“Lykirī.” (Y/N) smiled, as Vermithor pushed his snout into his chest. He pet the dragon with a gloved hand, laughing as the dragon continued to push him. “You must relax if you wish to fly.” 
(Y/N) had spent almost a week avoiding Vermithor after the dragon chased him down in the woods. Hoping that if he ignored him long enough the dragon would take the hint and leave, but eventually the Dragonkeepers sought him out, telling him that Vermithor had been untamable since he’d arrived in the Dragonpit. So (Y/N) resigned himself to the life of a dragonrider. He’d spent every day since then with the dragon, slowly but surely adjusting to his presence, and Vermithor had calmed drastically with (Y/N)’s visits. 
(Y/N) had taken to flying easily, much to his father’s delight and, as much as he hid it, his own. Although he had felt sick at the idea of claiming a dragon at first, he had come to find pride in the quick developments in his relationship with Vermithor. 
Rhaenyra too found delight in her betrothed’s new life. 
Anytime (Y/N) was free Rhaenyra was dragging him to the dragonpit, insisting Vermithor and Syrax go flying together. Viserys, at first happy to have another dragon in the family, soon grew inpatient with the two teens. Irritated at their constant absence from court, but (Y/N) paid him little mind. (Y/N) had no real place in his court, and he had not yet raised Rhaenyra, his heir, from the role of cupbearer. 
(Y/N) saddled Vermithor, leaning down to whisper to the dragon, “Sōvēs” 
The wind was cool against his face, blowing the strands of hair that had escaped his bun around in his face. (Y/N) had been wishing for clean and open air since he’d arrived in Kingslanding, this just isn’t how he expected to find it. Vermithor rumbled under him, and he laughed, leaning down so that he could rub the dragon’s neck. 
“I know,” (Y/N) spoke, almost shouting to be heard against the wind. “I am sorry I was late.” 
He’d been stuck in court all day, listening to his father and uncle bicker over details of the upcoming royal wedding. His uncle, ever the peacekeeper, had wanted Rhaenyra and (Y/N) to be married in the faith of the seven, as he was to Aemma and later Alicent, his father had other ideas however. 
“I do not worship the New Gods, uncle.” (Y/N) pointed out. 
“It is the tradition of the royal family.” The Grand Maester spoke up, as the other lords of the chamber had gone silent as soon as the tensions started to rise, seemingly fearful of angering any member of the royal family. Not that (Y/N) could blame them, he’d heard stories of his father’s infamous fits of anger. 
“(Y/N) follows the Old Gods like his mother,” His father looked pained to speak the words, but (Y/N) gave him an appreciative nod all the same. “And I have not known Rhaenyra to spend her days in the sept. We are Targaryens, they should marry in the tradition of Old Valyria.” 
“The faith-” 
“Fuck the faith.” Daemon spat. “I will not ask my son to forsake his gods so that some fat septon is comfortable, and we cannot bring a weirwood here so this is the only equitable compromise I see.” 
His uncle and the members of his council had grumbled at the idea, but eventually they conceded knowing this was an argument they could not win without insulting someone. His uncle dismissed them all, brows pinched in frustration. (Y/N) had caught his father’s arm on the way out, stopping him from walking away. 
“Thank you.” He did not meet his father’s eyes. “I know faith is not important to you, but it is to me so- just- thank you.” 
His father gently cupped his cheek, bringing (Y/N)’s eyes up to meet his. His father smiled at him, “You do not have to thank me. It is no secret that I hold no love for your mother’s house, but you do, and you are my blood. I will always defend you.” 
His father’s words still hung over his head by the time (Y/N) and Vermithor had returned to the Dragonpit. 
Rhaenyra was waiting for him as he dismounted, accompanied by a slew of Kingsguard and a royal carriage. The Kingsguard watched Vermithor warily as he grumbled, huffing as though he could sense (Y/N)’s apprehension at the sight laid out before him. 
 “Lykirī.” (Y/N) whispered, urging the bronze beast to return to the Dragonpit. Vermithor huffed one last time at the men, causing (Y/N) to chuckle, before returning. (Y/N) walked over to Rhaenyra, untying his hair and letting it tumble down to his shoulders. “That is quite the party, Nyra.” 
She sighed, “Our presence is required at the keep. We must be readied to greet the lords arriving at the court.” 
A Kingsguard opened the door of the carriage, and (Y/N) offered his hand for Rhaenyra to take. She took his hand, using it as leverage to step into the carriage and (Y/N) followed suit, taking the seat across from her. 
“What troubles you?” 
Rhaenyra blinked at (Y/N), “I am not troubled.” 
“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) said, smiling slightly, “I can tell something is troubling you. Is it tonight?” 
“No,” She shook her head, leaning forward and placing her hand on (Y/N)’s knee. “No, it’s not tonight, it is this morning. My father is still blind to the schemes of some of those present in his court, they seek to undermine our family in favor of the Hightower children.” 
“Your father will not claim Aegon over you. You are his heir, you will be Queen and no scheming lord can change that.” 
Rhaenyra smiled, squeezing his knee slightly before releasing him and sitting back. (Y/N) turned to look out of the carriage, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. He heard Rhaenyra chuckle softly, before the exhaustion of the day overtook him and he slipped away to sleep.
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“You seem nervous.” (Y/N) turned, coming face to face with his cousin. He gave his best attempt at a smile, he fiddled with the collar of his shirt, and Gerold stepped forward. He adjusted the leather jerkin, allowing (Y/N) to breathe easier. “It is odd to see you in such formal attire.” 
(Y/N) laughed, “At least they don’t have dragons on them.” 
“No? I have heard a rumor that you’ve become quite the dragonlord in your absence.” 
(Y/N) reddened, ducking his head slightly, “It was an accident.” 
His cousin laughed, patting him on the shoulder, “There is no need to be nervous, cousin.” 
His cousin smiled at him one last time before joining his other cousin in the precession line. (Y/N) frowned at the sight of Gunthor, he’d been informed when his family and their court had arrived that his grandsire had fallen ill not long after (Y/N) departed, and in his heirs absence his cousin Gunthor, second in line, had taken his place as regent. His grandsire had been too ill to make the journey to Kingslanding, sending (Y/N) his well wishes and Gunthor in his place. 
A sudden hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He turned his head to catch his father smiling, he squeezed his shoulder. “The tailors did well, you look like a prince.” 
“I am a prince.” (Y/N) said, and his father’s smile widened. 
“Yes, you are. Remember that, as there are those that would hope you forget.” His father nodded in the direction of Gunthor, and (Y/N)’s expression soured. 
“I do not trust him, I cannot say why but-” (Y/N) frowned, staring at his cousin’s interactions with the Valemen around him. “He did not write to me to tell me of my grandsire’s illness. I am the heir, I should be regent, not him, and yet in my absence he swooped in.” 
His father nodded, “Good. You must recognize the snakes before they strike.” 
His father stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the Valemen. “I am aware that we do not have the best relationship-” 
(Y/N) snorted, and Daemon laughed rolling his eyes. “Yes I know, but you are my son, my blood. And I would like to be not just your sire, but your father as well. I was not there in your youth, let me be there now.” 
(Y/N) frowned, hesitating. He swallowed before finally speaking, “May we speak of this after the feast?” 
“Of course,” His father lightly touched his cheek, “Come we should join the others.” 
He and his father took their places at the front of the party, Gunthor to (Y/N)’s left and Daemon to his right. (Y/N) took a deep breath as the doors opened, keeping his gaze on the two banners bearing the sigils of House Targaryen and House Royce hung in the back of the Great Hall as his family entered. 
“Ser Gunthor of House Royce. Acting Lord of Runestone, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. And Prince Daemon Targaryen. And his son and heir to Runestone Prince (Y/N) Targaryen the future King Consort.” 
The guests of the hall stood, clapping as they walked down to the high table. The amount of eyes on him made (Y/N) uneasy, but he kept his head high, posture exuding the confidence expected of one of his station. (Y/N) made eye contact with Rhaenyra at the end of the hall who offered him a comforting smile, he nodded to her. 
They paused at the beginning of the steps, bowing to the King, before Rhaenyra stepped around the table making her way toward the crowd. (Y/N) stepped forward, meeting her halfway, he took her hand as his father had instructed him when going over the etiquette required of him at the feast. 
“You must act every bit the king you will one day be, no matter how unused to these events you may be.” His father had told him. (Y/N) scoffed at the advice, he was raised to be the Lord of Runestone, he knew how to act at a feast. 
As (Y/N) pressed a chaste kiss to Rhaenyra’s hand, and claps echoed around the hall, he cursed himself for not taking his father’s advice seriously. He had never known a feast quite like this, hosting the most important lords of the whole of Westeros. Lords he’d never met before like the Lannisters, Hightowers, and Velaryons. He took his place by Rhaenyra’s side at the table, his father and cousin taking the seats by his left. 
He let out a breath as he sat down, scanning the crowd as his uncle started to speak. Rhaenyra grabbed his hand under the table, squeezing it in reassurance, it was only then that he allowed himself to relax, if only slightly. 
"Be welcome,” His uncle smiled out at the crowd, “As we join together in celebration. Tonight is only its beginning. We honor one of Westeros' oldest houses, and a fierce ally to the crown, House Royce. Just as House Targaryen reaches back to the blood of Old Valyria, House Royce reaches back to the blood of the first men. With House Targaryen and H-"
Viserys paused, and everyone averted their gaze to where his lingered. (Y/N) tensed once more as Queen Alicent Hightower made her entrance into the hall. The color of her dress a clear statement to anyone who knew any of the histories. Reluctantly (Y/N) made his way to his feet with the rest of the guests, he shot an amused glance to his side where his father still sat, eyes narrowed at the young queen. 
Alicent addressed Rhaenyra, “Congratulations, step-daughter. What a blessing this is for you.” 
Rhaenyra gave no indication of thanks, and Alicent kissed Viserys on the cheek before taking her seat beside him. 
He’d not yet had any real interactions with the young queen, only knowing things told to him by Rhaenyra and Daemon. He had taken them with a grain of salt, wanting to make his own judgment of the girl, but with the blatant display she’d just shown to the lord’s of Westeros, (Y/N) decided that maybe Rhaenyra and Daemon had been right in their worries. Perhaps the Hightowers did have their own intentions with the crown. 
“Please be seated.” 
(Y/N) traced the rim of his empty goblet as his uncle stood silently, only picking his eyes up from the table when he started to speak. 
"With House Targaryen and House Royce united, once again, I hope to herald in a second Age of Dawn and Dragons in Westeros.” Viserys spoke, and the hall erupted into applause.
“And after tonight’s small affair,” Laughter sounded through the halls, and (Y/N) had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Seven days of tournament and feasting! And at the end of it all, a royal wedding. Between my daughter, my heir, your future queen. And Prince (Y/N) Targaryen, heir to Runestone.” 
As Viserys sat, and everyone else followed suit, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) rose from theirs. They approached the middle of the aisle, and began their dance. (Y/N) had never been much of a dancer, and suffered through the lessons given to both he and Rhaenyra. 
“I feel like a fool.” (Y/N) whispered as Rhaenyra and he side stepped each other. 
“You are doing wonderfully.” Rhaenyra whispered back, taking her place back to back with him. “Ignore everyone, pretend it is just you and me.” 
When they finished, bowing to one another the halls once again erupted in applause. (Y/N) took Rhaenyra’s hands in his, kissing them softly as she gave him a knowing smile. As the rest of the courtiers took their places on the dance floor, (Y/N) tried to escape back to the high table, longing for a cup of wine. He was stopped before he could reach the table much to his dismay. 
“My Prince.” The lady, who (Y/N) did not recognize, blushed, bowing to him. “May I have this dance?” 
(Y/N) gaped at her, before remembering who and where he was. “Yes, yes of course Lady-” 
“Reyne.” 
“Lady Reyne. (Y/N) smiled, mourning his cup of wine. He gestured toward the lords and lady’s dancing, “Lead the way.” 
He had to dance with five young ladies before he finally found his escape. He flopped, very unprince-like into his seat, immediately grabbing the cup of wine laid out in front of him. His father laughed, waving over a servant to refill the cup once (Y/N) had finished. 
“Not a fan of dancing?” Daemon smirked, “Or is it the ladies asking you to dance you are not fond of?” 
“Both.” (Y/N) spoke over the rim of his cup, “They only wish to dance with me because I am to marry Rhaenyra, if I were just the heir to Runestone they’d pay me little mind.” 
“I don’t know about that,” Daemon said, “You are a comely young man.” 
(Y/N) smirked, “Ladies don’t wish to dance with comely young men.” 
“Neither do lords.” His father raised his eyebrows, humor sparkling in his eyes. 
(Y/N) shrugged, smiling at his father’s tone, “You have been talking to Rhaenyra.” 
Daemon leaned close, patting his son on the leg, “I am just glad you two have made this match work for the both of you.” 
“We are not married yet, father.” (Y/N) reminded, “Things may yet just fall apart.” 
Before his father could speak, another lady made her way to the table. She bowed to both (Y/N) and Daemon. “Prince (Y/N), may I have this dance?” 
Daemon snickered, taking (Y/N)’s cup out of his hand. “Well go on, dance.” 
His father had disappeared from the table when (Y/N) had finished, and his cousins were wrapped up in conversation with a lord (Y/N) did not recognize. He made his way to the sidelines, stealing a full cup of wine, and pressing his back against the wall to avoid being spotted. 
He spied his father in the middle of the dancing, twirling Laena Velayron around, and (Y/N) frowned. His father’s wife, (Y/N)’s own mother, had died only three moons ago, and as far as (Y/N) knew Laena Velayron was engaged to some Brasvosi. 
“You would never know this feast was in your honor the way you frown.” 
(Y/N) turned to face the owner of the voice, smiling as Ser Harwin took a place next to him. “Ser Harwin.” 
“Are you not enjoying the feast, my prince?” Harwin smiled, leaning closer to the prince. 
“I am enjoying the wine, some of the company less so.” (Y/N) said, and Harwin laughed. 
“I understand the sentiment.” 
(Y/N) brought the cup up to his lips, smiling around its rim. Harwin grabbed an empty cup, flagging down a servant who filled both of their cups. (Y/N) watched as his father continued to dance with Laena, and Rhaenyra moved through the crowd, followed closely by Ser Laenor. 
Harwin raised his cup up, and (Y/N) followed suit, “To your marriage.” 
“My marriage.” (Y/N) and Harwin laughed as their cups met. 
(Y/N) spent the rest of the feast by Harwin’s side. Harwin had stopped drinking by his fourth cup, watching in amusement as the prince got drunker and drunker with each cup of wine. As the feast died down, and the lords and ladies took their leave, Harwin had found (Y/N) a seat, and was watching him ramble fondly. 
“I do not care for this court, Harwin.” (Y/N) sighed, leaning his head back. “It was simpler on Runestone, but here, here there are too many lords I do not know. I do not trust them.” 
Harwin laughed, patting the prince’s leg, “Perhaps a hall filled with those lords is not the place to have this conversation, my prince.” 
“(Y/N).” (Y/N) said, straightening. He looked Harwin in the eye, placing his hand on top of the knights. “Please call me (Y/N).” 
Harwin’s eyes softened, “Of course, (Y/N).” 
(Y/N) smiled at the knight, keeping his hand where it was before two twin coughs behind him startled him. (Y/N) jumped, spilling his cup of wine onto himself. Harwin laughed as (Y/N) turned to look at the people behind him. Daemon and Rhaenyra stood above him, both with twin amused smiles on their faces. They had never looked more related, (Y/N) mused. 
“Having fun?” Rhaenyra asked. 
“I was informed that this feast was for me, and that I should try to have some fun.” 
Daemon laughed at his son's words, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up out of the seat. “I think it’s time you take your leave.” 
Harwin stood, grabbing (Y/N) to help Daemon keep the prince upright. Rhaenyra sighed, a smile still gracing her face. 
“I am glad you enjoyed yourself, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said. “But perhaps next time you can entertain yourself with less wine.” 
(Y/N) stepped forward, stumbling slightly and both Harwin and Daemon’s eyes widened as he moved. Freeing himself from the men’s grasps, (Y/N) approached Rhaenyra pressing a kiss to her cheek. 
“I am sorry that I left you on your lonesome.” (Y/N) said, letting his hand rest on her arm. Rhaenyra smiled, at his words or his drunkenness (Y/N) could not tell. 
She pressed her palm to his cheek, “You are fine. I enjoyed myself plenty.” 
(Y/N) nodded. “Good, because this is for both of us. So we should both enjoy ourselves.” 
“(Y/N),” Rhaenyra laughed, shaking her head. “Let us get you to your chambers.” 
Daemon and Harwin grabbed one of his arms, ignoring (Y/N)’s protests that he could walk by himself. Rhaenyra followed the three men, laughing at (Y/N)’s attempts to break free from the two men, and his drunken rambles to all three of the people accompanying him. When they finally reached the room, with some incident much to Harwin and Daemon’s dismay and Rhaenyra’s delight, Daemon turned to Harwin. 
“I have him from here, Ser Harwin will you please make sure the princess makes it back to her room.” 
Harwin nodded, and Rhaenyra pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s cheek. “I will see you tomorrow at the tourney.” 
“Goodnight, (Y/N), Prince Daemon.” 
(Y/N) and Daemon bid the both of them goodnight, before the guards at (Y/N)’s door open the doors to his chamber and Daemon practically dragged his son into the room. Daemon instructe (Y/N) to lift his arms, and when he did he undid the jerkin and brought the tunic over his head, tossing it to the side. 
“Undo your boots.” 
(Y/N) complied, and when he was done Daemon led him toward the bed. When (Y/N) was seated on the bed, Daemon turned to leave, but (Y/N) grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. “We have not had our conversation.” 
Daemon smiled, “Rest, we will have it tomorrow I promise.” 
(Y/N) nodded, “Alright.” 
Daemon pressed him down into the bed slowly, pushing the blankets back so that (Y/N) could get underneath them. He brushed (Y/N)’s sweaty hair out of his face, smoothing it down not unlike his mother used to do when he was ill. (Y/N) leaned into the touch, and Daemon smiled. 
“Sleep.” 
(Y/N) closed his eyes, slipping quickly into rest. But not before he felt the ghost of lips pressed against his forehead.
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(Y/N) hated himself the next morning. 
He closed his eyes as he bathed, letting the warm water alleviate some of his migraine. He dressed slowly, groaning as a loud knock sounded throughout the room. 
“Come in.” 
Daemon strolled into the room, taking a look at his son’s appearance before chuckling. “How are you feeling?” (Y/N) just glared at him, causing Daemon to laugh again. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” 
Daemon placed a small vile in front of him, and (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. 
“It’s watered down dreamwine,” Daemon said, “For your head.” 
“Oh,” (Y/N) took the vial, opened it and sniffed it a bit before downing it. “Thank you.” 
Daemon nodded, turning to leave. 
“Are you not here to continue our conversation?” (Y/N) called out, and Daemon turned back to face him. 
“I just wanted to see if you were well.” 
“I am.” (Y/N) smiled, “I just have a headache, I will live.” 
Daemon nodded, taking a seat across from (Y/N). He looked nervous at the thought of continuing their conversation from before the feast, it endeared (Y/N) to see his father’s usual tough exterior come crumbling down at the idea of a conversation. 
Giving his father some respite, (Y/N) changed the topic of conversation, “I saw you dancing with Laena Velayron last night. Is she not already betrothed?” 
“A man cannot dance with a lady?” Daemon asked, although his expression gave him away. 
“Not when that man is you, father.” (Y/N) said. “Do you wish to get remarried? You have no real need for any more heirs.” 
Daemon shrugged, “Perhaps I wish for company.” 
“You are lonely?” (Y/N) almost laughed at the thought. He could not imagine the so-called Lord of Flea Bottom wanting for the comforts of a lady. 
“Well my only son prefers to spend his time at Runestone pretending I don’t exist.” 
(Y/N)’s mood soured, and he frowned. He turned away from his father, crossing his arms like he wasn’t a man of seven and ten and instead a boy of nine. “You did not give me a choice. I was just saving myself from the pain I would feel when you inevitably wouldn’t arrive.” 
“I know.” Daemon ran his hand down his face. “I did not mean that I apologize.” 
“You know you have missed my last ten name days.” (Y/N) whispered. 
“I know.” Daemon said. “I sent you presents but I know that does not make up for my absence.” 
“I never received any gifts.” 
Daemon looked up in confusion, his expression contorted before he let out a bitter laugh. “No, of course you didn’t. Your mother probably never gave them to you. She never held any love for me.” 
“I remember you did not hold much for her either.” (Y/N) spat. “She told me that you fled Runestone the night after I was born, and did not return until my first name day only to flee that night as well.” 
“I was a boy, no older than you are now.” 
“That is no excuse!” 
“No it’s not and I have regretted my decisions every day! I was scared, (Y/N)!” Daemon stood. “When I found out your mother was pregnant I was terrified. We held no love toward each other, and I feared that our hatred toward each other would impact you. I was an idiot boy so I fled. Then you were born, and I was still just this boy, and you were so pure and I could not corrupt that with my hatred so I feld again. I fled again and again, because I was scared I could not be a good father to you, as I could not be a good husband to your mother and she could not be a good wife to me. When I finally realized what an imbecile I had been it was too late, you had no idea who I was.” 
(Y/N) remembered the day of his fourth name day vaguely. 
“(Y/N),” His mother gestured to a skinny man with pale hair and eyes like (Y/N). “Your father is here to see you.” 
The man approached him, and (Y/N) stepped back, placing his mother between him and this stranger. The man’s face fell, and he stumbled back. 
“Perhaps it would be best if I left.” 
“Daemon-” 
“It’s fine.” The man handed a wrapped package to his mother. “Give this to him.”
"You're running? Again?"
"Look at him Rhea-"
"No, run. Like you always do."
The man opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to think better of it. He turned on his heel and left, and (Y/N)'s mother scoffed.
He had seen his father only a few times after that day, and their meetings had always been brief and curt. His mother had certainly not helped (Y/N)’s view of his father, only ever nodding and staying silent when (Y/N) would complain. He had once asked her why Daemon did not stay for more than a night, and his mother had replied that his father hated the Vale and many of those who resided there. It had crushed (Y/N) to hear, but after learning of the gifts his father had sent that he had not received he could only wonder how much of his own hatred for his father was just what he learned to feel from his mother. 
“I am sorry for my absence.” Daemon said. “I can never make up those lost years, and I know my youth and stubbornness is no excuse but-” 
His father took a deep breath, “(Y/N), I wish- if you would allow, for us to start again. I know I cannot ask you to forget the years I was not there for you, but allow me to start again.” 
“I understand.” (Y/N) said, “I cannot forgive-” 
“-I wouldn’t ask you to-” 
“-but I understand. I understand more than I did at the very least.” (Y/N) said, and the tension in his father’s shoulders eased. (Y/N) smiled, it was probably a bit pained, (Y/N)’s head throbbing even more with the revelations of the morning. “We can try to start again. I make no promises, but we can try.” 
His father smiled, a genuine smile that (Y/N) had never seen across his father’s face before. “Thank you.”
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“You are not participating, (Y/N)?” 
(Y/N) looked at the queen from where he was seated next to Rhaenyra, shaking his head politely. “I am not a knight, Queen Alicent.” 
Alicent looked him up and down, the motion making him squirm a bit. She did not respond but she nodded, turning her gaze back to the tourney fields. 
His father was not participating in the tourney either, instead taking a seat in the stands. Ser Harwin was participating though, much to Rhaenyra’s delight. (Y/N) did not find much delight in tourney’s, bloodshed was not a game to be played. 
In all honesty, (Y/N) was bored watching the tourney. Ser Criston had won, wearing Alicent’s favor which (Y/N) could tell irritated Rhaenyra. By the time the melee rolled around the next day (Y/N) was dreading spending the hot day in the stands of the tourney grounds. 
“May I have your favor, princess.” 
Rhaenyra laughed, giving Harwin a small piece of cloth. He tucked it into his armor, turning to (Y/N) who smiled. 
“I don’t have a favor,” (Y/N) said, and Harwin smiled, cheeks reddening slightly. “But I wish you luck.” 
“Thank you, (Y/N).” 
Their luck and favors did Harwin no favors in the melee. Rhaenyra had shrieked when Cristion’s morningstar made contact with Harwin’s collarbone, shattering it and his elbow. But the worst injury of the day had been to Ser Joffrey, and (Y/N) could not get Laenor’s cries out of his mind even as he fell asleep that night. 
There were no more tourney’s after that as a solemn mood had fallen over the royal court. Ser Harwin would live (Y/N) and Rhaenyra discovered, but Ser Joffrey was not likely to. And as it happened six days later, Joffrey passed, and Ser Laenor was inconsolable. Rhaenyra and (Y/N) both tried, even if (Y/N) was not as close with his cousin as Rhaenyra was, but in the end the knight took his leave back to Driftmark before the wedding even happened. 
(Y/N) spent the night before the wedding with his father. His father told him the story of his wedding with (Y/N)’s mother, describing how (Y/N)’s grandfather, Baelon, had to drag Daemon to Runestone. 
“If it is any comfort,” (Y/N) mused. “You had to drag me to Kingslanding.” 
Daemon laughed, “I did. But you will have a much happier marriage than your mother and I.” 
(Y/N) lifted his cup, “One can hope.” 
The wedding itself snuck up on (Y/N), the events of the week leading up to it not allowing him to worry about the ceremony. It was only now that he was dressed in red and gold Valyrian robes, standing atop Rhaenys’ hill, surrounded by the lords and ladies of Westeros, that the nerves started to reach him. 
He could hear the distant roars of the dragon’s in the dragon pit as the priest spoke. (Y/N) lifted the dragonglass blade, handed to him by the priest. He made quick eye contact with his father, who only nodded, before slicing Rhaenyra’s bottom lip. He gathered the blood from the cut, dragging his thumb down her forehead. Rhaenyra took her own blade, repeating the action on (Y/N) before slicing her palm.(Y/N) dragged the blade against his palm, taking Rhaenyra’s hand in his. They joined their blood as the priest spoke. 
(Y/N) took the cup handed to him, drinking from it, before handing it to Rhaenyra who did the same. The priest finished his rites, and (Y/N) cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, he could taste the blood as he brought her lips to meet his. (Y/N) rested his forehead against Rhaenyra’s as cheers were sounded around them. When they pulled away and faced the crowd, he could see his father and uncle smiling. 
Their hands were wrapped by the priest, covering the open wounds, and they descended down the hill. Rhaenyra did not let go of his hand as they went, smiling at him as he helped her into the carriage waiting for them. “Thank you, valzȳrys.”
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Both he and Rhaenyra were dressed in their small clothes separately. He’d been offered food and wine before he was brought over to Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he turned them down. He did not wish to spend his wedding night addled by wine. 
Viserys had insisted on a bedding ceremony, and Daemon had no qualms with the idea. But both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra protested. The meeting had ended unsuccessfully, but (Y/N) suspected Rhaenyra had private words with her father, as by the next meeting the topic had been dropped completely and it was agreed there would be no such ceremony. 
The doors to Rhaenyra’s chambers were opened by the guards, and (Y/N) stepped into the room. Rhaenyra was sitting by the vanity, brushing her hair in a velvet dress that hung loosely from her body. (Y/N) felt like a hedge knight in his plain cloth clothing. 
She smiled at him, placing the brush down on the vanity. She glided across the room, coming to stand in front of him. “Valzȳrys.” 
“Ābrazȳrys” 
Rhaenyra gently grasped the laces of his tunic, undoing them slowly. She kept eye contact with (Y/N) as she did so, letting his tongue wet her lower lip as the laces were fully loosened. (Y/N) grabbed the bottom of his tunic, bringing it up over his head, and placing it on a chair next to him. 
Rhaenyra took a deep breath as she watched (Y/N), she brought her hand up and gingerly traced the contours of his abdomen. (Y/N) took her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 
“Turn around.” (Y/N) said, and Rhaenyra complied. 
He stepped forward, brushing her hair to her front so that he could see the back of her dress. She shivered as his breath touched the back of her neck. He undid the laces of her dress with careful precision, causing her to laugh and joke. 
“Done this before?” 
Instead of responding, (Y/N) let the dress fall down her shoulders, leaving her bare. She stiffened as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before relaxing as he moved his mouth up her neck. She turned around and (Y/N)’s mouth went dry at the sight of her bare in front of him. She grabbed his neck, leaning up and connecting their lips. She grasped the laces of his trousers, undoing them in haste and shoving them down his legs. (Y/N) stepped out of them, groaning into Rhaenyra’s lip as she grasped him. He could feel her smile against his lips, and he pulled away bringing his mouth to her chest, eliciting a gasp from the princess. 
“(Y/N),” She gasped, and he kissed up her chest to her collarbone and back up to her lips, swallowing her next words. 
He pulled her close to him, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist and carried her to the bed. He gently set her down, and she smiled up at him. He returned the smile, before reconnecting their lips. Rhaenyra gasped as (Y/N) pulled away to mouth at her neck, she tangled her fingers in his hair pulling him up from where there would inevitably be a mark on her skin the next morning. 
“Stop teasing.” 
“Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”
---
Translations -
Lykirī - be calm
Sōvēs - fly
Valzȳrys - husband
Ābrazȳrys - wife
Hen rhinka, ñuha ābrazȳrys - of course, my wife
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festering-bacteria · 1 year ago
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some more shippy drawings :33 some polycule stuff n some w/ just abe n confucius bc i haven’t drawn just them yet.,,.
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torantuga · 8 months ago
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quick ass doodle but
i just really wanna see his reaction to todays episode's ending
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jessamine-rose · 1 year ago
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Dottore’s lover who is salty about the death of his Segments. They know it was a necessary sacrifice for the Electro Gnosis, but they were so fond of his younger clones!!
In an act of pettiness, their home is redecorated with a family altar that has photos of the fallen Segments. His lover will regularly light incense and leave offerings of Dottore’s favorite food for them, preferably in front of the original and Omega Build. If Dottore objects, they will just say it is part of their grieving process >:/
And if this lover is Pantalone, he should also expect a grand funeral held for the Segments.
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scourge-sympathiser · 7 months ago
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SCOURGE SUNDAY 030/???
i didnt finish
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lolkitkatbar · 4 months ago
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You know what? Fuck you!
*un-testosterones your N*
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measlyscrapofseafood · 7 months ago
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kings & their knights
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in-a-mountain-pool · 10 months ago
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Hi everyone, my name is Emily, and I am SO over the head!canon that Michael Gavey likes bimbofication, and I think it's a bit anti feminist, and weirdly not in character. But hey ho, everyone is allowed an opinion, I'm just feeling a bit icky about it today and I'm looking for reassurance that it's not only me~
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grecoromanyaoi · 5 months ago
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hm i was wondering. do u prefer british or american humor (as represented thru comedy shows/movies)? (feel free to elaborate in the tags and/or reblog for sample size)
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sneeb-canons · 5 months ago
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mind can rarely crack his joints bc his bones are metal and whatever and usually run pretty smoothly. but on the rare occasion that he can crack them. it sounds like the entire house is being torn apart by fireworks and violent explosions. his back snaps like a godsamn whip and his neck cracks so hard it's a surprise he didn't break his own spine. every single joint in his body will pop louder than anyone in the house has ever yelled, without fail.
he'll always make sure to do this in direct vicinity of both heart and soul because as he rearranges his internal structures they will stare on in sheer, absolute horror, especially considering that once he's done, he just continues on with his task as if it never happened and as if every atom in his body hasn't been split in two
Headcanon #632
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madamemiz · 2 years ago
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you have a hard time vocalizing after work sometimes, but he talks plenty for the both of you
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suckishima · 10 months ago
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okay this is so small but makes me really happy. taketora just got done talking about how much he admires tanaka and how cool and "manly" he is, which like makes sense right, both tanaka and taketora are always being shown as these like loud "boy's boys" archetypes who do everything with power, talk about girls, and emphasize "guts" and "manliness," so obviously taketora would respect tanaka
but then he immediately turns to also think about how much he admires fukunaga in the same way—fukunaga who doesn't display any of those same qualities that taketora was just admiring about tanaka. fukunaga is quiet, fairly low-key and doesn't flaunt anything ever. dude just goes around making weird puns that 1 people often barely even hear and 2 apparently seem to baffle everyone. but taketora sees all of that and sees how fukunaga still shows up and gets the job done more than successfully—he's one of the top point getters on the team—and taketora respects him for all of that, still calls him a "man's man" and tbh more than respects him, he admires him and sees him as a rival
and idk that just makes me happy, like 1 it's a nice small way of furudate saying that yeah "manly" is a thing that's important to taketora but it doesn't just mean one stereotypical thing—like it's showing that taketora isn't as one dimensional as we would have thought and that he sees things from multiple perspectives (we also saw this from him back during the whole "guts" thing with kenma and how he respects him too)—and it's also an example of seeing fukunaga from another perspective too. it's because he's so low-key that even we as readers have probably barely noticed how much of a rock he is for the team, but if you got back through their matches you can see how often he does score—he's quiet but he's always there. and i just like that furudate takes a moment to not only acknowledge fukunaga but to do it from taketora's pov in order to really hit it home to us how true it must be
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dukeofthomas · 5 months ago
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I need people to realize how horrible 'stalking/constant surveillance/breaking into each other's homes is how the Batfamily show love' is. Like i really need someone to just acknowledge how horrific saying this bullshit is.
Like even fics where they're shown as happy and healthy and with good ties, you've always got this thing where none of them have privacy or any boundaries with each other. Which is directly antithetical to actually having good relationships. And this invasion via hacking and stalking and breaking into homes is portrayed as a positive, good thing; it's just how they show love and care to each other, after all. But for some reason I just personally don't find stalking, lack of privacy or boundaries, and emotional manipulation funny, endearing, or healthy, and just end up disgusted at the attempt to sweep it all under the rug.
#my dc posting#dc#batman#batfamily#jason todd#barbara gordon#bruce wayne#dick grayson#tim drake#damian wayne#listen i can only take so much of it before i just breakdown okay#apparently controversial opinion but a family where its normal to vreak into each others homes and manipulate each other and stalk and#invade boundaries and autonomy and privacy can NOT be healthy#no matter how much you try to dress it up all cute w 'this is just how they are' 'its how they show their love' its never not gonna be#unhealthy and bad and toxic#like yeah they do do that. they are like that. either acknowledge it or stop trying to justify it#god this actually irks me so much#i try to idk. suspend my disblief but theres only so much i can actuallt fucking take before just#its just. im trying to read happy fluffy fics. but i cant be comforted by a family that normalizes breaking boundaries n invading privacy#and its specifically that the author aleays disregards it. instead of fixing it or making it better they opt to keep it and come up w excuse#s for it#and thats what actually triggers me#'i broke into ur house cus if i asked if i could come over ud say no' is actuallt fucking horrifying stop trying to make it seem loving???#im writing this while having a panic attack dont mind me 👍#but its like. if you can write the batfam w/o bruce hitting his kids or any other horrific thing that they do#then why must you keep the boundary&privacy breaking? why cant anyone even seemingly try to write a batfam#where theyve worked their issues abt this out best they can n have healthy established boundaries w each other??#like if u can write them all hanging out together 24/7 n bruce being s good dad why is this one simple thing the One Thing#nobody even tries to address properly???#'aw dick broke into jason's saehouse bc he wanted to hangout but jason would say no if he asked' aw. maybe dick should learn 'no means no'
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realsafari · 5 months ago
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actual thing that happened yesterday
me, finishing a rant about a fic i read: so yeah, the reason that he's such a well thought out and developed character, despite his appearance as a stereotypical cliché, is why he deserved a more powerful death than what we saw. It is also important to note that-
my horse i'm talking to: ...
horse: *nudges my hand as i absentmindedly pet him*
me: -and THATS why i am SO PISSED at the author for DESTROYING MY little meow meow's happiness despite the GLARING LACK of an angst tag-
horse: *snorts because a fly landed on nose*
me: oh my god, you're so right slim! *proceeds to feed him a peppermint* thats my good boy~
slim: *tosses his head because he likes mints*
me: oh yeah did i tell you about that one time-
my brain: ah yes. talking in detail to a horse, which has a brain not larger than a walnut shell, about complicated topics related to literature, is a completely normal and sane thing to do.
my friend standing behind me who came to watch me compete in my jumper competition: okay blue, what the FUCK are you on.
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