āMother!! The 500 year old child sex slave/reluctant cult leader is being unethical!! The two 300 year old french vampires who only had each other and never had ANY agency until a few months before their murders are being WEIRDDD!! The 100 year old Black American vampire who was closeted and performing hypermasculinity his ENTIRE life keeps doing dumb shit!! The 2 year old geriatric deadbeat addict dad vampire is throwing ANOTHER egocentric tantrum!!!ā
Grow up! They are all murderers and they arenāt human anymore ANYWAYS.
(But maybe Iām just old and an OG fan of Anne Rice).
This candle has become some indescribable horror, a visage so far beyond comprehension that I am frothing at the mouth whenever I dare utter its description. A vile conscience that has awoken to discover an insect dares to contain it via metaphor into a constraint it does not desire and it has begun to *thrash*
I fear the discovery that this candle is me, I am this candle, and with each burning another piece is forever lost as vapor into some empty space beyond my reach, and with each click of the lighter something primordial in the weave of this thread-thin wick flinches
But it's, like, whatever. I got shit to do. Fuckin' light the whole lump of wax, let's go
letās start parsing who does and doesnāt deserve representation and assign moral weight to agreeing to protect their rights I donāt see how this could possibly go wrong
" It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer"
The Constitution gives you 'freedom from's and 'freedom to's...due process is a freedom from unjust prosecution...not a freedom to remove undesirables from society as the 'victim's rights' people claim.
(Which is a fabulous rebrand by the anti-due process crowd, btw. Almost as good as 'tax relief ')
i forgot about this post until i ran the note counter but itās gold because half the comments are some variation of āHamilton looks amazingā and the other half are just history nerds going āgoodā.
ā characters: Maekar x wife!reader (second wife), Egg
ā content: fluff, domestic bliss, pregnancy, humor, these children do not listen
ā summary: you hear Aegon singing something in the yard and realize there is entirely too much foul language in your home. someone is going to answer for it.
ā a/n: the idea of Daeron being the one who taught Egg that song lives in my head rent free. thank you all so much for reading, I am working through requests and I appreciate every single one of you. š
It was a pleasant afternoon, the air warm and still. You had been walking the garden at the pace your current condition preferred, one hand resting on the small, firm round of your stomach. The scent of crushed rosemary followed your steps. Then the song carried over from the yard, a cheerful, clear melody. Egg had always had a pleasant voice, and for a moment you simply listened, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face.
Then the words caught up with you. They were not the words of a nursery rhyme.
You crossed the yard faster than was strictly advisable, following the sound until you found him up a tree. Of course he was up a tree, perched on a thick branch without a care, delivering the second verse of what you were rapidly understanding to be the most unedited version of a Blackfyre rebellion song in existence. He reached the chorus with complete unselfconsciousness, his small voice carrying beautifully across the open yard. You stood below him with your heart somewhere near your throat.Ā
āAegon!āĀ
He looked down at you, untroubled.Ā
āGet down this instant!āĀ
He scrambled down the trunk, bark dusting his tunic.Ā
āWhat did I tell you about that tree?āĀ you asked, before anything else.Ā
āNot to climb it,āĀ he said, his boots scuffing the dirt.Ā
You stared at him, bewildered, āAnd yet,āĀ
You took him by the shoulders, sighing, your grip firm.Ā āWho taught you that song?āĀ
āDaeron,āĀ Egg said without hesitation,
āI never want to hear you sing that again.Ā Not one word of it. Do you understand me?ā
Ā āYes,āĀ he said, and looked down at his feet.Ā āIām sorry.āĀ
Pressing a kiss to the top of his head you sent him off and went to find your husband. Maekar was in his study, working through a modest pile of papers on his table. He looked up when you came in, read your face in approximately one second, and set down what he was doing.
Ā āEgg,ā you said,Ā āwas up that tree again, singing a Blackfyre rebellion song Daeron taught him.āĀ
A smile tugged at the corner of Maekar's lips. He was fighting it. He was not winning.
Ā āThis is not amusing.āĀ
āNo,āĀ he agreed, in a voice that indicated otherwise.Ā
āThe boy is but seven years old.āĀ
āYes.āĀ
āThere is to be no more of this,āĀ you said.Ā āNo more cursing, no more lewd songs. I donāt want our childās first memories to be of their fatherās swears and their brothersā tavern songs.āĀ
āYouāre right,āhe said, with the conviction of a man who had concluded that agreeing was both correct and entirely in his interest, especially as of late. He crossed the room and put his hands carefully on your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones, and kissed you. When he pulled back, something so openly fond was in his expression that the last of your outrage dissolved. His violet eyes and one hand dropped briefly to the small round of your stomach.
āIāll speak to Aegon,āĀ he promised.Ā
"Speak to yourself first, your mouth is the greatest offender."
Maekar laughed, caught off guard by the accusation, and then the laugh shifted into something else, a glint in his eyes that you recognized immediately.
"You had rather a different opinion of my mouth last niā"
"Maekar!"Ā
He laughed, properly this time before taking both your hands and pressing a kiss to them.
"Talk to Daeron,"Ā you addedĀ "Please."
"Daeron as well,"Ā he agreed, and pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he went.
He found Egg and said what needed saying. Egg, to his credit, took what you said seriously and felt genuinely bad remembering the look on your face. He did not sing that song again. However, on his way back across the yard, Egg began something else entirely. An older song about a Dornish widow and a visiting knight and the details of the knightās three-day stay, delivered in the same bright, cheerful voice, having apparently concluded that this song was different enough to sing.
Maekar, passing by an open window, let out an exasperated sigh and turned around to have a second conversation with his son.
