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chaotic-minds-think-alike · 11 months

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Finally finishing all these guys we’ve got charts and headcanons! (Long post)

(Height)

(Wingspan)

(Body length & basic shapes I used) (it might be odd but ignore any detail on the back, the shapes are for general body shape)

Headcanons:

Seawings: - Colors range from red and purple to yellow - Aquatic is based off areas of bioluminescence rather than singular scales (because no one wants to draw all of those) - Although they average small compared to the other tribes, gigantism is more common - Wing bioluminescence gene is always present but for some doesn't show, thus aquatic doesn't utilize the wings

Rainwings: - Can change the texture of their scales alongside color - Weakest bite due to their fangs, probably why they're vegetarian - Mimic interesting behaviors - Have forked tongues

Mudwings: - Colors range from olive green to purple-ish red - Very resilient - Able to breathe fire regardless of body temperature, the heat of the flame depends on body temp - Their horns constantly grow and sometimes have to be cut due to dangerous growing patterns - Love gnawing on things, tough foods like jerky is popular - The horn covers of fallen siblings are harvested and turned into instruments to remember them by

Leafwings: - Colors range from gold to teal (and pink to olive green during cold seasons) - Can appear to have false eyes - Bug-like just like the other Pantalan residents (because they're just some weird outlier like what is going on here) - Leafspeak doesn't actually allow them to hear voices from plants but rather increase the sensitivity of their antennae which pick up on the changes in plants - In colder seasons, regions that have deciduous trees influence leafwings in that their scales change into warm tones similar to fallen leaves for camouflage but this also negatively impacts one's leafspeak ability; this doesn't apply to evergreen leafwings however

Hivewings: - Colors range from hot pink to olive green - Can appear to have false eyes - Have elbowed antennae just like their "cousins", Hymenoptera (wasps, bees, ants) - Tend to disregard personal space/get close out of habit, being close means better temp regulation and better communication - All hivewings have stingers, wrist stingers, and a venomous bite but it largely depends on preference of which they choose and like muscles, they can be exercised to become deadly weapons - They're not capable of "emitting a horrible stench"

Icewings: - Colors range from white to pale indigo - Melanism is still very rare but more likely in icewings - Can be iridescent in any color, especially visible in lighter scaled individuals - The scales on their face is very fine and is flushed with blood which darkens the area and allows them to see in the snow by absorbing light, otherwise the glare from the sun reflecting off would be a hinderance - Their wings are thin and thus have visible veins most of the time - Idk how to describe their scales other than its kinda like basalt formations - From the side they appear large but are actually thin and flexible - They can freeze to death if they've gone without cold for a long time and then reintroduced too quickly - In hybridization, they have dominant genes, partially because the animus gene - The extra mane of horns can appear randomly on the body in singular spikes, they also make a clink sound when they collide as if they're made of ice, making a pretty scary rattle when disturbed

Nightwings: - Colors range from orange to purple - Albinism is still very rare but more likely in nightwings - Dwarfism is more common - Teardrop scales are always present, highlighted when the dragon has powers regardless of type - Pitbull ready to bite kids - They CAN hang upside down as the books suggest but not for long - By taking dust baths, they dull their scales to reflect less light and blend in better in the dark - Have white fire but cant breathe for long due to how hot it is (this is mainly to add onto the mysterious factor of em and I always liked the idea) - Due to eye sensitivity, they hate sudden bright lights and will close their eyes as they breathe fire

Silkwings: - Can have black or dark accents but never as a whole body color unless they've hybridized - Wing shapes vary widely - Can appear to have false eyes - Flamesilk is rarer than one might think - Very flexible and have strong tails used as a sort of 5th limb in climbing - Albino or melanistic dragons still keep their iridescence - Silk is emitted through a spinneret on the chin rather than the wrists - Prefer to travel in pairs (instinct)

Sandwings: - Colors range from red to olive green - Dark patters often mimic a snake's - Horse-like in complexion - Alongside their snake-like appearance, they have pit organs - Tend to move like birds - Poor eyesight but good hearing - Their horns angle upwards sort of like a bull

Skywings: - Colors range from red to yellow (and green because skywings are meant to be your typical fire breathing dragon which is most often depicted to be red but can also be green) - Tend to move like birds - Weaker than they appear - Green skywings are incapable of being or having flamescales - Their horns constantly grow and have to be filed down - A flamescale cant melt rock or metal by touch alone, only via fire is it possible - It's not that they don't want flamescales that they kill them, it's more of a mercy killing because of how lonely their life can be

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arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

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Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

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darknight3904 · 2 months

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Rhaella is 18, Aemond 17

132 AC

"You are acting like a child."

His mother's words fall on deaf ears.

"It is not fair. Fat Lord Tyrell's son does not deserve her." Aemond seethes

"She is heir to Runestone, she needs to take command and have her own family, Aemond. Did you think that your father and I were going to let her flit about the castle with you? Reading books and flying off to the lake in the Kingswood to swim?" His mother asks as if the answer was plain as day.

"Bethrothe her to me. We will strengthen our bloodline." Aemond says staring at his mother

"Aegon and Heleana are strengthening the bloodline. You and Daeron will secure alliances when you are married." Alicent sighs and rubs her forehead, like he is asking an impossible feat.

"Fuck alliances," Aemond says

Alicent looks at him, and Aemond is unsure if it is a look of pity or anger.

"You will forget about her. It will take time, but you will. Happiness can be found in all places." She says, trying to assure him of his future.

"Is that what you and father have? Happiness?" He mocks

"Your father and I are friends. Something that is important in a marriage." She says

"Rhaella and I are friends!" He cries

"You can make more friends." Alicent dismisses

"I don't want more friends. I don't want some lords's daughter to be wed to. Engage me to Rhaella mother. You will not regret it." He says, determined.

"No. What's done is done. She will leave for Highgarden in a fortnight." Alicent says, "Now go, I'm sure you have training with Cole."

Aemond storms out of his mother's chamber, unwilling to accept what was occurring. Surely his father hadn't conceded to this after all Viserys spent all day in bed now riddled by milk of the poppy. His mother had to be pulling the strings behind all this.

He finds his legs taking him towards Heleana's chamber. Fuck Cole and his training, that could all wait.

He could hear Rhaella's musical laugh as he got closer. She is entertaining the twins and Maelor with some fairytales of Wrights and the brave men of the Night's Watch. He pushes the door open just enough to peek inside. Rhaella sits on the floor surrounded by his niece ad nephews who laugh when she mimics the flight of a dragon with her hands. Heleana smiles, a rarity, as she looks up from whatever bug she's holding.

How could his mother send Rhaella off? She was an integral part of their family. Even Aegon was not so bad to her. Save for his rather explicit comments when Rhaella was not listening...

He couldn't believe he was going to have to let her go. Let her fly off to Highgarden and those stupid golden roses.

"Brother." Heleana greets, spying him lurking in the hall

"Sister, Nephews, Niece." He greets as he enters and sits down on a small stool, "Rhaella."

"Aemond."

Rhaella looks up at him, her face is joyful but her eyes are sad. Perhaps she is here distracting herself with the youngest Targaryens to pretend she is not being forced to leave.

"I thought you had training with Cole." Heleana said

"I do. I'm...finding myself rather bored with him these days. All he speaks of is tourneys. I want real combat." He admits, too proud to say he missed Rhaella.

"Is it not better to not have to fight? It means the realm is at peace." Rhaella says

"I suppose so. I want the experience though." He says

Rhaella lets out a small hum and then reaches to help Maelor with his wooden blocks.

"Shall we build a tower?" She asks him

Maelor, who can't speak yet nods and smiles. He babbles what sounds like a yes and picks up a red block to hand to Rhaella.

Aemond is fully focused on Rhaella. HIs heart squeezes as he watches her laugh and help the baby build. He never wanted to share that laugh with another. Every smile she gives, every laugh, the crinkle in her eyes when she smiles, he wants it all. Rhaella is consuming every fibre of his being and he hopes it is the same for her. He has seen her eyes on him every day, how she watches closely if he rolls his sleeves up during a hot day of training. He swears he saw her even lick her lips once.

Aemond wants Rhaella. He wants to keep her with him forever. No other perfumed lord should even look in her direction as far as he is concerned. He wanted to curl up beside Rhaella the way they did when they were younger at the lake. He'd rest his head on her chest and listen to the steady beat of her heart.

Fuck. He was losing his mind.

Aemond is officially the definition of down bad. Get him a mega simp shirt or something.

Super short part. My trip is going well. Hope you enjoyed it. We are going to be going back to the main plot soon so strap in!

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the-original-skipps · 1 month

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Frieren reader x Himmel Suo??? 🗣️🔥🔥🔥

omgg I’m so sorry for the lateness me and my pea brain I hope you’re still here!! goshh I love frieren and himmel 😭💗

❥ So so I imagine it would a party of four just like in Frieren. Where Sakura is Eisen and Nirei is Heiter, together you are the party that will slay the demon king!

❥ Sakura is blushing really hard every time Suo tries to show affection to (Y/N), sometimes Nirei has to physically make Sakura turn around before he combusts into flames. However, with the rate of how many times Suo tries, Sakura says he's getting used to it. He's still not used to it.

❥ Suo absolutely loves to tease you at various moments, whether you're fighting monsters or sitting idly by the campfire. It's his life's mission to get you to blush at his words at least once. However, he's the one who ends up inwardly flustered because you're just too unconsciously cute. He swears his heart leapt out of his chest when you blew a flying kiss towards him.

❥ Speaking of dungeons, Suo knows you are fully capable of protecting yourself but he can't help but keep an eye out for you. Especially because you tend to fall into mimic traps too easily. In which he has to pull you out of the monster's mouth and sometimes your skirt dangerously rises and he has to look away, cause he's a gentleman like that.

❥ Every time you use your magic, Suo and the whole team are in awe. They can't believe they managed to convince you (it was Suo who convinced you) to join their party. You make magic look so effortless and he absolutely adores the way you always try to look for more spells to learn even if it's not the coolest spell. Suo even fought a dragon just so you get the spell book that contains the spell that automatically irons your clothes.

❥ When visiting a town, you and Suo were walking around the market place until your eye catches a ring at the jewelry stall. Suo immediately noticed and pulled you to the stall despite your insistence of not being interested. It was a ring with the flower of the mirrored lotus. He bought the ring of course.

❥ You completely forgot about the ring until one day as your party was in a field of flowers. Suddenly, Suo calls you over to him. You walk towards him unknowingly only for him to get down on one knee in front of you, taking your hand in his as he slips the ring he bought to your ring finger. Unbeknownst to you that the ring - the flower on it symbolizes his eternal love towards you. He knows you'll outlive him and he hopes that the ring could serve as a reminder to you of him and the unchanging love he has for you.

#wind breaker #wind breaker x reader #wind breaker x you #suo hayato #sakura haruka #nirei akihiko #suo hayato x reader #skipps writes #wind breaker imagines #skipps answers

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craqueluring · 2 years

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will mimics hannibal swallowing his wine in 2x12! i couldn't believe it when i noticed this; he even makes a soft "ah" noise as if he swallowed wine too! (timestamp is 17:08)

his habit of mimicking body language/speech patterns is mentioned in the Red Dragon book:

"Often in intense conversation Graham took on the other person's speech patterns...Later Crawford realized that Graham did it involuntarily, that sometimes he tried to stop and couldn't."

#i posted this in my usual gifset format earlier #and a lot of people are reblogging it saying they never noticed it!#but i only pointed it out in the tags of the og post so i thought that since a lot of people never noticed it #i would repost it in a different format and point it out in the actual text of the post!#obligatory sorry about the quality that episode is so dark and i was struggling #hannibal #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram #mine #pluto gifs #hannibaledit #tvedit #murder husbands #tome wan #plutos greatest hits

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prophecyofwinter · 6 months

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Se Rĩna Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | I

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, I wanted to write something raunchy with plot, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed.

Prologue | Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Chapter I | The Rest and More

With lots of persuasion from you and lady-lessons from your mother, she deemed you fit enough to sail to King's Landing. However she would not send you alone, she entrusted your safety to your slightly elder brother Vaegon.

He had trained for years in the Temple of Light to become a swordsman, and a fine swordsman he was. Brother or not he really did piss you off most of the time, now more than ever. Once he learned of your impending betrothal to the Targaryen Prince he soured up more than normal. He berated your Mother for days on how she could ever allow this.

He would of course still be a bastard even if you were legitimate, this was only so you could marry Aemond.

“What if he is ghastly! You know someone being unmarried for this long most likely means it’s for a reason!”

You weren’t sure what stick Vaegon had up his ass but you wouldn’t let him ruin this for you, this voyage was bad enough. Perhaps you’d be able to claim a dragon, there are plenty laying around on Dragonstone…

“I am sure I will be able to handle whatever Prince Aemonds complexion is, especially having to witness you for the past 19 years.”

————

“In King’s Landing you can’t wear these kinds of fabrics, these are a whores garments there.”

Your mother threw your old clothes to the side and motioned for you to turn around. She put a thick and hard piece of material around your waist and tied up the back.

“Alright my sweet, breathe in and-“

Suddenly all the air in your lungs was forced out in a shriek as your whole rib cage was crushed under the pressure of whatever the absolute hells this was.

“This is beauty in King’s landing! This will become your life, remember this is what you wanted.”

—————

You’d be at sea for about a month or less depending on the winds. You craved to be back on solid ground, your stomach was not agreeing with you. Sleep escaped you night after night, only catching small power naps multiple times a day before the rocking of the ship would wake you once again.

The tight clothes and strict codes for ladies your mother had laid upon you for survival in Westeros weighed in your head. You hoped your husband would not be as overbearing as you’ve heard of Westerosi men to be.

—————

Your mother had called some of her top prostitutes to come in and teach you the rules and ropes of intercourse.

“The merchants from Westeros really enjoy the girls who act sweet and innocent. You will be expected to provide as much as he pleases, and you mustn’t bore him.”

The brunette climbs on top of you and places her hips between yours, both of you fully clothed doesn’t make the moment less intimate than what you’ve had.

“Now, let’s act out how you cry out for mercy, how you beg for him to be gentle on your body.”

She begins to mimic the motions of intercourse to test and see if you are ready for what she claims will become of your life. A weird sense of embarrassment stings throughout your body, you weren’t expecting this kind of training. You didn’t know there needed to be this kind of training.

“Come on my lady, let's hear you!” She taunts you with a laugh, she grabs your wrists and pins them to the bed to really get it out of you.

——————

You could only spend most of your time reading, reading history books and other stories from Westeros. You could speak the language fluently enough, but you will get it fully soon.

Hopefully you won’t have to give up your favorite foods, the Targaryens should be rich enough to import all the finest things from Essos. Pomegranates, Watermelon, Blackberry Wine, Duck and the list goes on…

The salty air fills your nose, it would be lovely if you weren’t seasick constantly. Reading distracts your mind enough to forget your current feelings.

You haven’t heard anything about the other Targaryens outside of the history books, you don’t even know what the current ones are like…

Your mother doesn’t have good views of, well, anyone. She told you to expect the worst from most of them, if they were anything like her father then you should be watching your back at all times.

Amongst all things and her dislike for Westeros, she wanted to see you happy the most. She said time and time again she would allow you to come back no matter what.

She was sweet and kind where a mother should be.

——————

“What if I claimed a dragon? I could visit you at any time I wanted to, right?”

You asked your mother over morning tea, you were to set sail later today. This would be the last time you would see your mother for the foreseeable future.

Saera rubbed her aging finger over the rim of her cup and laughed to herself a little.

“A dragon isn’t something you can promise, most of my siblings never claimed a dragon in their lifetime.”

You huffed and pouted, your motivation to claim a dragon only increased tenfold. Ever since you were a child when you were told you couldn’t do something it would only make you want it more.

“However, if you were to claim a beast… you would fancy Silverwing I believe. Or if you seek to be bitter, my father would roll in his grave if he knew my child claimed Vermithor…”

Saera laughed to herself heartily, entertaining her child’s wild ideas. She doesn’t doubt you would attempt to claim but she doesnt be believe it would be successful.

——————

Viserys was not expecting Saera to accept his proposal. So he was shocked when Alicent burst into his chambers with a letter in and holding it out to him in anger.

“What is this?! You offer Aemonds hand to the daughter of a whore?! What were you thinking!”

He left out a guttural cough into the fabric of his handkerchief. The unexpected stress of Alicents

rage seething onto him, he was gonna tell her… eventually.

“He is my son too, I must leave no Targaryen unaccounted for. I cannot die in peace knowing there is a- a good Targaryen across the sea. You have been trying to get Aemond wed for years, it- it is the best choice.”

Alicent braces herself on a wooden chair and lets out a deep breath with her head down. Her husband is a fool, he will look like a fool to the seven kingdoms and this girl is proven to be used.

The Queen remembers how she would read to King Jaehaerys on his deathbed and he would mistake her for Saera. He would reach out to her and ask for forgiveness, the guilt would eat at her because it was not hers to give. Until the day his body gave out and he couldn’t muster words anymore he would ask for Saera.

To Alicent, Saera had made her choices and she wanted to be where she was. To bring her bastards into it was too far, she had no choice in the matter. Being the Queen didn’t matter if the King already made up his mind.

“You will force me to greet her I presume. You are far too ill to make it to the port.”

Gods, Viserys already fell back to sleep. Rotted skin exposed and clearly pain stricken. Alicent sighed out loud in frustration and stormed out of the room, guards opening and closing the doors for her.

While she would like to think she knows how Aemond will feel about such an arrangement. He has been without betrothal for all his life and the ladies of the court actively avoid him. Perhaps this is something he needs.

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

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wings-of-fire-confessions · 11 days

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Feeling bold today, so I shall be unanonymous with this one

I feel like Clay could be interesting. We wouldn't know this as after the first book, we don't see his pov but...

Imagine all of your life. You're told that you're a monster. Someone destined to kill as that's you supposedly did when you were born and your guardians hit and scream at you both to vent stress and under the belief that you'll become the killing machine they thought you were meant to be, you eventually assume that eventually you'll become this killing machine, Afterall that's how you were when you first came out of the egg, but after time and time again you find that the monster in you never comes out, even in times you believe it will, after a while you realize that you never were a monster, kindness was in your heart the moment you've hatched, you can rest easy now! Or can you?

That brings me to my main point. It could be possible that Clay suffers from survivors guilt. He doesn't want to kill Fjord, but he dies anyway, and in the hidden kingdom, you can see him wincing when Glory mimics Fjord's color pallet. He finds out Asha died trying to bring his egg to the talons of peace, Crane despite having no way of preventing it was killed recently, and while he saves Starflight, Starflight is still badly injured in the process. Clay's personality traits after his pov are probably because in these fleeting moments of peace, he feels relieved, for a little while, he doesn't have to think about innocent dragons dying, despite this death and destruction still manage to come charging in to his life and finds himself failing everytime, afterall what's the point of not being a monster when he still can't protect the dragons in the war or even the dragons close to him and I think those thoughts culminate to what he did in the brightest night

After seeing all these dragons get hurt because of what he believes to be him, he sees what might be Starflight, Sunny and/or Fatespeaker about to be killed by the dragon bite viper, and he saves them sacrificing himself, he knows he's going to die but it's okay because he was able to save his family after all these thoughts of failing to save other dragons he was finally able to save someone, even if it meant he died in the process....

But hey, this is just a theory, a wof theory!

#wof confessions #wings of fire confessions #wof #wings of fire #clay #clay wof

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sayornispress · 4 months

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My most recent project, and most intensive project in a long time!! Halo Effect and Soldier's Heart by @alex51324. Five books in all, totaling over 1700 pages. Details, story spoilers, and more photos under the cut - there are quite a few!

In WWI, English soldiers wrapped their pants and boots with "puttees", and the spines mimic that look. Rather than actually wrapping, or cutting the spine cloth into pieces (which I worried would fray over time, especially with the opening and closing of reading), I pleated it and sewed it to the cover cloth (which is light canvas-y green but otherwise rather plain, so I'm not including photos here). The titling is flat gold heat transfer vinyl.

The bookmark charms relate to the story, of course.

Halo Effect - I felt that Thomas was defined by his status as a footman and this sets up his massive character change throughout the series, so the first bookmark charm is a footman's button, though not a Downton-specific one.

Soldier's Heart, vol. I - This fountain pen nib is from the early twentieth century. I found in the first volume that Thomas's social network, and communication both to and from define this part of the work.

Soldier's Heart, vol. II - My dad collects WWI memorabilia, including bullets (it's in this volume that Thomas is shot). He cut a bullet down for me to use for this binding. This particular bullet is English, rather than from any of the opposing nations, since he doesn't collect those (and I was rather lucky he had even an English one) but tbh I don't have the slightest idea what the difference is.

Soldier's Heart, vol. III - Y'all this is a genuine RAMC WWI coat button. I couldn't not use it. Wholly unmodified, to be clear, so if the book ever needs rebound or anything changes, it can be removed and reused as necessary. I chose this volume for the button because I felt Thomas really come into his own as a member of the RAMC, away from the war - and because I wanted to use the bullet for the last one, and this is the only volume this button would fit on, other than the last, but that's a whole other deal.

Soldier's Heart, vol. IV - Thomas, whose father was a clockmaker, becomes a chauffeur at the end of Soldier's Heart. My first idea was to use some sort of gear that resembled a car part as a charm. I come from a long line of magpies/dragons/Gollum-like creatures, and my grandfather had, in his garage, an alarm clock that belonged to my great-great-grandfather, gathering dust, because my grandpa had been meaning to fix it and just hadn't gotten around to it yet (he'd been saying this since the mid-seventies, at least - my aunt wanted to use it, since it would have matched her quilt). Anyway, we all gathered around the dinner table to take this clock apart, which turned out to be a rather violent act involving pliers, several screwdrivers, an orbital sander, a drill press, and a hammer. I got a few gears out of the deal, and my cousin (a mechanic) selected the one that looked the most like a car part, scaled down. So. Double connection.

It's a bit difficult to tell in the photo, but the speckled edges each have two different colors, and there's, again, a reason for each choice! Each color represents something specific:

Blue - clear skies/relative calm Green - naivety/he's got things to learn Brown - the muck of war Red - blood (Thomas's and others')

Halo Effect: Green and blue Soldier's Heart, vol. I - green and brown Soldier's Heart, vol. II - brown and red Soldier's Heart, vol. III - green and red Soldier's Heart, vol. IV - red and blue

The speckling is also more intense in the middle three books.

My signature throw, as well as a close-up of the hand-sewn endbands (each volume's endbands match the speckled edges of that particular book) and a bit better look at the RAMC button, though a bit blurry.

And next to it, my metadata page and the gratitude from Halo Effect. I'm very much enjoying this metadata layout, and here's as good a place as any to give some general typesetting info:

I used IM Fell Great Primer for the body text, 11pt, 15pt leading.

Next up, the details in the letters--each character has their own handwriting, and a few are showcased here:

Syl drew a face in the margins of one of the letters with Theo, and I mimicked it for the binding. (Yes I was in fact crying as I did it)

Don't be afraid to ask if you'd like to know the names of any of the fonts - all from Google Fonts, since I do my typesetting in GDocs. I love the first one, in particular (Joey's) because I so rarely use it. I'm very happy with how they all turned out, they feel like they match the personalities well, in my opinion, though I should have made a couple a touch bigger.

---

I think that's all of my photos! I'm so so proud of how this binding turned out. It had quite a long turn-around - it's not unusual for me to have less than two weeks between reading a fic for the first time and having a bound copy on my shelf, and I read this fic for the first time over the course of nine days all the way back in March. (Which. okay. Not that long actually.)

I had a really lovely time with the binding, as well, because I got so much input from my family and friends - my dad was integral in the whole process, not only in the donation of the bullet, but also in the design of the covers in general and in answering my WWI questions, and my mom helped me pick colors for the endbands and edges. My grandpa donated a clock, and my boss helped me figure out how to get the charms attached to the ribbons, and her sister helped me with sewing, so all in all this whole experience has been so wonderful, so special. I'm so grateful for it.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #my binds #halo effect #soldier's heart #alex51324 #downton abbey #ficbinding #also this post got so long but ya know what? i used a cut so that's on you babe #sayornis press

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