#this is eons late

[ministarfruit]

Can I have motivational Kaito and Kaede..? I just feel really stressed atm and your art inspires me so much! ♡

WOOHOOOO HECK YEAH YOU’VE GOT THIS

[dcrnishdragcn]

"I wish I could change everything"

He had always admired his lord father, he had always longed to prove himself worthy, to prove himself his equal. As a child, Jon had moved them from place to place, always vigilant, always wary. Many a night the young prince would go to sleep on the hard ground, the pangs of hunger tormenting him with the tales of the beloved Silver prince to sustain him. All he knew was that Rhagar Targaryen was noble, he was just, and that such a man was his true father.

Aegon was no longer a child, clouded by want and longing to be the son of such a man. He had gone to Dornem, he had learned of the affair with the lady Lyanna, had learned the details of his Lady mothers death, his sisters. As a child, he had always known his mother and sisters fate, but never of any detail concerning it.

Here and now face to face with the father he had never known, the man who had given up everything for a prophecy, Aegon felt the anger stirred within him, making his limbs shake, as his eyes water. He would not cry, he would not cry for the life they could have had. Instead, the boy bites the inside of his cheek, focussing on the rage and pain. As much as he tries to be angry, to rage and shout, he just feels defeated, a weariness settles in his heart as the image of his childhood hero shatters. “So do I, my lord.”

[rex-sidereus]

I would love to be made into a fantasy character in your meme thing, if you have the time!

you are a weaver of baskets. but is anything ever that simple in a story..

there is a village on the edge of the lowlands and the marshes, which straddles the sides of the old imperial road - now much less in use since the grandfather of the current emperor ordered the construction of the enormous glistening geometry of the canals to the east. but the settlement which started as a sediment life pouring through the convenient meadow still holds, busy with life but along different lines - the sign of wear on the empire’s shield, the fuzz on her lip.

there are storytellers, and craftsmen, and farmers complaining about the weather, and the local order of augurs trying to reason with the gods about it, and tappers who know their way across the marshes, and the heralds and traders crossing the great sea of grass to reach bigger cities and grander news, returning with small scepters of their office. there are a few swords, some leaving with only their mother’s tears behind, some staying to fight against the bears and the bush, grubbing the stumps during the summer to eventually marry that girl who keeps an eye on all the kids. no one is suspicious of mage’s magic - he is terrible at poker, and the duke meets his lover here once in a new moon.

you do not stand out among all, but you have power over it - your authority is so deeply interwoven within the fabric of this life, that the moment when eyes turn to you or your hand gently rests on someone’s elbow or your eyebrow goes up is entirely unnoticed - so natural it is.

but there is nothing in you that marks you as other or sets you aside. you are a woman and you weave your baskets, you have happily seen your sisters into life, your loves and your loses are your own - you do not fall into a single trope of a reclusive or wizarding woman. you are. and yet your power is nearly absolute, and you steer your small ship confidently and gently, half-aware that you are actually is chief.

when the adventurers arrive into the settlement, they first think they’re charmed. they are a ragtag group, raffled and scared, but the seal of doom, a revelation, a fundamental shift in the modus of the world they have witnessed left a brand on their expressions and brought them closer than any bonds of brotherhood and kinship.

they need to act, they need to go - fast, urgent, and yet there are utterly lost in their kinetic impulse. when they are in your domain, they try to gather themselves together and, with the eyes that have seen a break in the pattern in the world, they search for same wrongness and off-ness - interpreting anything uncommon as such, burdened. they sense what they think a disruption, in your walk and your gesture, in the way your voice rings quiet. and they suspect you in similar what they have witnessed, scarred by fear.

it takes a confronting the entire village with pitchforks, a little love story, someone falling into the lake, mushroom pies and a trial of faith - until they realize that you are not, in fact, a dissonance. in fact, you are simply true - as the people and the land around you. and you give a confused flattered laugh as they ask for your blessing, not knowing what they have seen. they don’t know either - but are sure what their way is.