#ps verse

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

Does anyone maybe want to give me prompts for shorter entries into my Princess of Summerhall fics? I’m trying to ease back into writing stuff.

[honeysuckle-venom]

I have really, really conflicting feelings about The Lost Fairy and I actually feel kind of genuinely upset about some of it.

Musically, it’s my favorite of The Fairypunk Trilogy. The music is absolutely brilliant. And I absolutely love everything with Han Mi and Raven and Lloyd, and everything with Symbel and Jane, and with the Mayer and the Meme. And my favorite parts of all of his albums are the bits of world building and the tie ins between albums, and this album has some amazing call backs and bits of explanation about the universe. When Jane sung Priscilla’s refrain and then Xander’s refrain literal chills went down my back. And then when Han Mi stepped into the story and sung and we learned who Jane really is...incredible.

But I have some major problems with the villain of the story. It feels so stupid to be upset about it, but I guess I’m feeling extra sensitive with The Crowded Room coming out or something. The villain is a man named Jakob, who shares his body with his brother Jesse. It’s not meant to be a direct representation of DID; this is a fantasy world and no real explanation is given as to how or why they share a body. And Jesse has permanent control over the left arm while Jakob has permanent control over everything else, which is not how DID works. But there are clear elements of DID. Jakob holds all of their rage while Jesse holds all of their sadness from the traumatic event they went through when they were young. And at one point Jesse is referred to as Jakob’s “alternate.” And Jakob is a soldier determined to kill every last member of the Fae and his trauma is the explanation for why he wants to do that and it just feels really upsetting to see that narrative as someone with DID. Idk, I know it’s not actually about DID and anyway it’s not like Shapera owes me anything but his work is so important to me and I can’t help but feel a tiny bit hurt by it, even though I don’t actually know him and that’s not how fan relationships work. I think I’m just really sensitive right now, but it’s bothering me.

[wiz-witch]

I always take full responsibility for everything that happens in my stories. You know, as long as there aren't any characters to blame ^^ (Blacked out portions are spoilers)

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

Snow blew in her face, and a coughing fit cut off her song. Her eyes filled with water, and she struggled to breathe through the biting wind. But Rhaegar continued to sing. “Nainam chindanti shastrani!”

The song had shifted. Now the king sang in Rhoynish. And even though the torrents of snow muffled all the noise in the world, Rhaenys could still hear her father.

She could hear him. And she raised her own voice to join his once more. “Nainam dahati pavakah –”

She’d never learned the language, not properly, not like her painstaking study of High Valyrian as a child and practice speaking it with Essosi nobles. Aegon had always been better at both. Rhaenys’s knowledge was mostly limited to a handful of phrases…a handful of phrases and this song. She stammered over the words, but Rhaegar sang with her, and his voice was steady. So became her own.

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

“Is that…” she said and cut herself off – of course it was. That slim smoky blade, the edge still sharp even when the man that had famously wielded it last had been there so long the flesh had half rotted off his bones. Dark Sister.

The corpse lord fixed that eerie eye upon her and said, “Take the sword, Rhaenys Targaryen.”

She was a princess of the House Targaryen, the only daughter of the king, trueborn and noble. She needed no permission to take the sword that had always been hers by right. Still, she began, “I don’t know how –”

“Take the sword,” the lord repeated, insistent now, and as much as Rhaenys hated being told what do to by anyone, let alone a bastard oath breaker that had once been sentenced to death, she found herself obeying.

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

Who was this, more dead than alive and alone at the edge of the world? She would not have known, if not for her father’s stories when she’d been small, stories of Targaryens past. Not stories he’d ever told Aegon, she didn’t think, and certainly not Jon or Daenerys. Viserys, perhaps – he was older than her, after all, born before everything had changed forever. All she could be sure about was herself.

She would not have known but know she did.

A thousand eyes and one.

For centuries, Targaryens had been returned to fire. The bastard at the Wall had frozen instead.

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

“No,” Rhaegar said, and Rhaenys started. Her father had a voice made for stories, rich and deep and soothing even when she hated the words it formed. But now those words were a command when he’d never demanded anything of her, and his iron tones rang out as if she were one of his vassals, sworn to obey without question. “Absolutely not. I won’t allow it.”

The tone was so alien, it took her a moment to rally.

“I thought this was what you believed in, Father,” she said. “You’ve always wanted us to save the world.”

“Not if it means this. Not if it means you.” Rhaegar’s eyes, normally so soft and childish, might as well have belonged to someone else entirely as he glared at her. “I will not let you believe the only way forward is a suicide mission.”

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

Rhaenys wrapped her arms around the egg. She liked having something to hold onto, and the egg was a reassuring weight in her arms. It didn’t belong in a drawer, locked away in a box, it belonged with her.

Was this what it had started as, all the madmen and monsters that had led down to her? A dragon egg and dragon dreams and dread enough to drown in? Surely, this was a sign she ought to fling the egg away and ask her maester to give her potions for a dreamless sleep. But the dread would still be there in the morning, and the dread was enough to make her want to cling tighter to the egg and never let go.