#Where Dragons Dare
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
maletarg!readerxalicent holds a place in my heart, im not even a guy or interested in girls but im as curious as a cat and i love your writing. It’s so sweet to think about ali getting a husband who loves her back, and their children finally getting a good father figure (i love u vizzy but i dont like you). I appreciate how everything didn’t magically erase the possibility of the dance happening. Very baller and cool (i didnt sleep for over 15+ take my appreciation gang)
First of all, thank you for sharing your thoughts with me and for reading my story. 🫶
Alicent is a highly underrated character (which HOTD only bashed further 😑) and it was a breath of fresh air to create something nice about her for once. I actually enjoyed writing this short series very much, and this wonderful idea comes from @witch-of-letters. All kudos goes to her regarding the plot. I was just lucky enough to transform her brilliant idea, which she shared with me, into the story. ☺️
10 notes
·
View notes
Text


#PZPTH#Penn Zero: Part-Time Hero#Boone Wiseman#Poll#FvF P3#The Princess Most Fair#Where Dragons Dare#Alpha Bravo Unicorn#Fairy Godmother Boone#Cadet Cupcake Boone#Dragon Boone
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Moomin + other picture book characters by ネヲ
Illustrations of Moomin characters together with characters from other picture books, plus one extra.
#moomin#guri and gura#my father's dragon#very hungry caterpillar#where's wally#swimmy#gaspard and lisa#Pénélope#nenaiko dare da#tonari no seki no masuda kun#crossover
430 notes
·
View notes
Text

my roman empire will forever be canon-compliant brunette rhaenys.
#how dare they not give her her mother's hair#rhaenys targaryen#house of the dragon#i forgot where i got this edit please message me for credits!
273 notes
·
View notes
Text
More Mating Dance Than Battle
artwork by cch__0117
#valyrianscrolls#fire and blood#asoiaf#daeron targaryen#daeron the daring#addam velaryon#addam of hull#addam x daeron#addaeron#tessarion#seasmoke#seasmoke x tessarion#the dance of the dragons#asoiaf art#art#I guess this is an au where daeron doesn't die at the start of second tumbleton#so he's also part of the mating dance with his dragon + addam & seasmoke
113 notes
·
View notes
Text
No but I'm still so mad at people believing Rayla's Arc 2 writing is misgogynistic. Just say you don't like female characters having actual development outside being girlbossy just say it.
#“her whole character is about loving callum” bitch where#“she hasnt grown they just watered her down to love callum” BITCH WHERE#“rip rayla ruined by misogynistic writing” BITCHHH WHERE#i have to accept the fact that most of my fave girlies will get hate even with good development#just because they dare loving a man#if rayla was a guy people would praise how sweet they are and how good his development was#fck this noise#rayla#tdp#the dragon prince#god forbid women do anything#i cant believe rayla is happy now why cant she be a sad traumatized girlboss💔💔💔💔
36 notes
·
View notes
Text
While everybody else is melting down, she's kind of holding them all emotionally and holding together herself emotionally. She's got on the back of that dragon and she's gone out and she's been basically doing all the work! I feel like she's sort of coming back, she's absolutely exhausted, she hasn't had a bath for ten days, completely knackered, she's been riding around on this dragon, sort of not crying and just dealing with everything, dealing with it and getting on. She comes back to this group of total halfwits, who are all in pieces, melting down left right and centre. And seeing the world around her melt down too. She's carrying a very, very heavy load and I think she's absolutely shattered and emotionally shattered.

#halfwits = daemon#rhaenys they will never make me hate you#she's been holding things together since episode 08#this woman has not had time to BREATHE since Corlys was reported on death's door#dare i list what has happened throughout??#there's not been a moment where she could be at peace or breathe or be happy or unburdened#it's just been crisis after crisis and politics after politics and death after death#all on her own because she can't lean on anyone else#house of the dragon#eve best#rhaenys targaryen
72 notes
·
View notes
Note
Thank you for this wonderful review of the story. Your reblogs always brighten up my day. 🫶
Hey again! 😃 Ok, so I've got 4 requests for you (since now it's 1K words per person).
I was thinking of some "lost" scenes from that Alicent fic I requested, but this time it's about the Reader's bond with each of his children.
With Aegon - A scene in which R catches Aegon drunk after a night out, and pulls him aside to listen to his concerns about fulfilling his duties and being responsible in general. Reader remains understanding and tells Aegon that no matter how old he gets, he can always count on his help, but that he has to find his way on his own (Aegon looks more closely at his father and sets him as an example of how a prince/king should behave.
With Helaena - A scene in which Reader takes her to Essos for a trip to a jungle (idk if there exists jungles in Essos, but let's pretend they do) on a quest to find more exotic bugs. Should be fun and playful! Maybe R trips over a root and lands on his bum, and that's what makes his darling daughter laugh so much.
With Aemond - That one scene after he gets gifted with "The Pink Dread". The Reader comforts him and even dares to tell him that should he have had a pink(ish) dragon, that's the nickname that he would bestow upon it (think of how people would expect TPD to be some small creature - yes, like a pig - but no, it's a FRIGGIN' DRAGON! 😂😂😂). Also, R mentions how he sees a lot of himself in Aemond (particularly related to his own youth).
With Daeron - The scene where he visits him in Oldtown and where R goes all buddy-buddy with Gwayne (one of the only sane guys in HoTD, I swear). Daeron impresses R with his musical skills and takes him to see Tessarion (who is happy to play the part of a big puppy - like rolling around on its back and bearing its belly to get free scratches 😉).
Where Dragons Dare (Lost Chapters)
- Summary: Unrecorded moments with each of your children, that no Maester will ever write about.
- Pairing: father!reader/targ!children (platonic)
- Note: Since this was regarding your previous request that was turned into three part series, I've made an exception for you. Enjoy. ❤️
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Previous part: 3/3
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog
You stride through the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep, the evening air heavy with the scent of incense and wine from the feast held in your honor. A king’s life is one of constant vigilance, not only for the realm but also for your own blood. The weight of your crown and responsibilities settles upon your shoulders, the unspoken burdens of the Iron Throne. It is a life you have come to accept.
But not everyone does.
The clink of armor catches your attention, and you hear a hushed voice speaking to one of the guards near the side entrance. You already know what you will find before you round the corner. Aegon—your eldest son, your heir—is once again trying to sneak into the keep after a night in the lower city. His form, slightly slouched, leaning against the doorway, makes it clear that his night's indulgences have taken their toll.
You sigh softly, but there is no malice in it. This is not the first time. It won’t be the last.
"Aegon," your voice, even and steady, cuts through the stillness of the night, causing your son to stiffen. He turns slowly, his eyes glassy, yet there is a flicker of recognition. His silver hair, unkempt, falls into his face as he gives you a sheepish smile, one that reminds you so much of his mother when she tries to conceal her worries.
"Father," he mumbles, straightening himself as much as his state will allow. He’s a prince of the blood, but in this moment, he looks like nothing more than a wayward boy caught in the act.
"Walk with me," you say simply, motioning for him to follow. There's no need for a reprimand, not yet. You both know where this conversation is headed. You step into the open air, out onto one of the quieter terraces that overlook the city below.
Aegon follows, his steps slightly uneven, but he doesn't protest. The two of you stand there for a moment, the distant sounds of King's Landing below humming in the background. The city never truly sleeps, much like a king’s responsibilities.
After a while, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You’ve been out drinking again."
Aegon leans on the stone balustrade, staring at the lights flickering in the darkness. "It’s not like anyone missed me," he mutters, his voice heavy with bitterness. "I’m no good at all this. What does it matter?"
"It matters because you’re the future king," you reply, your tone calm but firm. "Your actions don’t only reflect on yourself; they reflect on the crown, on our family."
At this, Aegon snorts softly, his lip curling into a sardonic smile. "Aegon the Unready, that’s what they’ll call me," he mutters, almost to himself. "They all expect me to be like you. I’ll never be that. I can barely stand the weight of their stares, let alone a crown."
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below. The firelight dances across the sharp planes of your son’s face, making him seem older than he is, and yet still so young. You can see the weight of expectation, the fear of failure, all of it etched into his features.
You step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, the familiar comfort of a father’s touch. "I wasn’t always certain either," you admit, the words carrying the weight of your own journey to the throne. "When I was young, I doubted myself just as you do now."
Aegon looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. It’s rare for you to speak of your own vulnerabilities. You are the king—stoic, dutiful, unwavering. But tonight, you let that mask slip, if only for your son.
"You don’t need to be me," you say quietly. "You need to find your own way. Being king isn’t about perfection. It’s about responsibility, about understanding that you carry the hopes and fears of an entire realm on your shoulders. And yes, sometimes it’s heavy. But that’s why we’re here—to bear it, so others don’t have to."
Aegon’s gaze falls to the ground, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone railing. "I’m not sure I can," he admits after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to fail you."
Your heart clenches at the vulnerability in his words, the rawness of his fear. You step closer, turning to face him fully. "You won’t," you say firmly. "Not as long as you’re willing to try. You will make mistakes, we all do, but that’s part of the journey. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, Aegon, always."
His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you see not just the rebellion, not just the stubbornness, but the uncertainty and the longing for approval. He is so much like you were at his age, fighting against the very things that would one day define him.
"You’ve always been there for me," he says, his voice softer now, more introspective. "I just…I don’t want to be a disappointment."
"You’re not," you reply, without hesitation. "And you never will be. You will grow into this role, just as I did, just as many before us have. But it takes time. You will find your way, but you must be willing to take the first steps. Recklessness won’t serve you well when you sit on the throne."
Aegon nods, swallowing hard. He’s listening now, really listening. You can feel the shift in him, the internal battle as he begins to process your words. His posture relaxes just slightly, and he looks at you with a newfound respect.
"I look at you," he says quietly, "and I see what a king should be. You always know what to do. How did you learn?"
You smile faintly, the memories of your own trials and lessons flickering in your mind. "By making mistakes. By learning from them. And by trusting in those who love me. You’ll learn too, Aegon. But you have to start by taking responsibility for your actions. If you want to be a good king, you have to be a good man first."
He nods again, more resolutely this time. There’s still doubt in his eyes, but also something else—a spark of determination, a glimmer of hope.
"I’ll try," he says, the words holding more weight than any drunken apology ever could.
"I know you will," you reply, squeezing his shoulder one last time before stepping back. "But for now, let’s get you to bed. You can begin to prove yourself tomorrow."
As you guide your son back into the castle, you feel the familiar pull of duty and love intertwine within you. The road ahead will not be easy for Aegon, just as it wasn’t easy for you. But tonight, at least, a small part of that path has been cleared, and your son—your heir—is beginning to take his first steps toward the man he will one day become.
The warm, humid air of the jungle clings to your skin as you lead Helaena through the dense foliage, her excitement as palpable as the buzz of insects that fills the air around you. She’s always been different from her siblings���quiet, introspective, but with a mind that sees wonders where others see only the mundane. Today, her joy is infectious, and as you glance over your shoulder, you see her eyes wide with fascination, darting from tree to tree in search of her beloved bugs.
"Father, look!" she exclaims, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She crouches down, her slender fingers delicately picking up a beetle with iridescent wings, the colors shifting from emerald to sapphire in the dappled sunlight that pierces through the canopy above.
You smile at her, marveling at how her joy lights up the whole forest, making even the most alien surroundings feel like home. "That’s a beautiful one," you say, stepping closer to inspect her latest find. "What do you suppose it eats?"
Helaena tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she watches the beetle crawl over her hand. "I think it feeds on nectar from the flowers," she muses, "or maybe the sap from the trees. Look at the way its legs move—so delicate, but strong."
You crouch beside her, nodding as you study the small creature. "You could be right. You always know more about these things than I do." Your tone is light, teasing, but there’s truth in your words. Helaena’s understanding of the natural world has always been beyond her years, her connection to it deep and mysterious.
The two of you continue your journey deeper into the jungle, the air growing thicker with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Vines drape lazily from towering trees, and the occasional call of a bird echoes in the distance. Helaena moves with purpose, her gaze constantly scanning the ground, the trees, the air above for any new creatures she hasn’t yet discovered.
"Do you think there are bugs in Essos that no one in Westeros has ever seen?" she asks suddenly, her voice filled with a childlike wonder that makes you smile.
"I’m sure of it," you reply, pushing aside a low-hanging branch to let her pass. "That’s why we came here, isn’t it? To find something new, something no one’s ever written about in their tomes or sung about in their songs. Maybe you’ll discover the most magnificent bug the world’s ever seen."
Helaena beams up at you, her lavender eyes shimmering with excitement. "And I’ll name it after you," she says with a giggle, skipping ahead a few paces. "A beetle, maybe, or a butterfly—something regal."
You chuckle at the thought, shaking your head. "I can’t think of anything less regal than a bug named after me. But if anyone could make it sound important, it’s you."
The laughter between the two of you echoes through the trees, light and easy, as you continue on your way. You’re not following any particular path—there are no roads here, no guides to lead you. Just the two of you, father and daughter, on an adventure through the wilds of Essos.
As you step over a moss-covered log, you glance back at Helaena to see her crouching low again, examining a cluster of bright red flowers. Her fascination with the natural world has always been a source of pride for you, something that sets her apart in a family so often consumed by politics and power. Out here, in the quiet of the jungle, she’s in her element.
You’re so focused on her that you don’t notice the thick root winding through the underbrush until it’s too late. Your foot catches, and before you can catch yourself, you’re tumbling forward, arms flailing as you lose your balance. You hit the ground with a soft thud, landing squarely on your backside.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then—
Helaena bursts into laughter, the sound bright and musical, like the ringing of silver bells. She clutches her sides, doubling over as the laughter shakes her small frame, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"Father!" she manages to gasp between fits of giggles. "You—you tripped on a root!"
You sit there for a moment, stunned, before letting out a laugh of your own. "Apparently, your father is no match for a jungle root," you say, shaking your head as you sit up, brushing leaves from your clothes. "I was so busy watching you, I forgot to watch where I was going."
Helaena, still laughing, steps over to you and offers a hand, her grin wide and infectious. "Here, let me help you up, Father. You’ve fallen in the dirt like one of your regal bugs."
You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet, though it’s more symbolic than anything—she’s small and slender, and you mostly stand up on your own. Still, the gesture warms your heart, and you smile down at her.
"I suppose even kings can fall every now and then," you say, brushing off the last of the dirt from your breeches. "Especially when they’re distracted by a daughter who’s far too clever for her own good."
Helaena’s laughter finally subsides, though her smile remains, bright and full of affection. "I’m just glad I was here to see it," she says, her voice teasing but sweet. "I’ll have to remember this next time Aegon or Aemond try to act all serious."
You raise an eyebrow at her, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. "Oh? Are you planning on using this against me?"
She shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe. It depends on how much I need to bargain with them next time."
The two of you share another laugh, and the moment feels light, easy—like the weight of the crown and the responsibilities you both bear have been left far behind in Westeros, forgotten in the simplicity of a jungle trek and shared laughter.
As you continue walking, you let Helaena lead, her steps more confident now as she moves through the underbrush. The jungle is alive with sound—chirping insects, rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen animals—and you find yourself marveling at how small and vast the world can feel all at once.
"Father," Helaena says after a while, her tone more thoughtful now, "thank you for bringing me here. I know there are more important things you could be doing back home, but…this means a lot to me."
You smile at her, feeling a swell of pride and affection. "There’s nothing more important than spending time with you, Helaena. The realm can wait a few days. Besides, I think we’ve both learned something valuable today—like how to avoid tree roots."
She giggles again, but there’s warmth in her eyes, the kind of warmth that makes you realize just how precious these moments are. The crown may be heavy, the throne demanding, but here, in the jungles of Essos, it’s just you and your daughter, sharing an adventure neither of you will ever forget.
"Now," you say, clapping your hands together as you glance around at the trees towering above, "shall we see what other exotic bugs we can find? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me falling on my backside this time?"
Helaena grins, her face lighting up with renewed excitement. "Let’s!" she says, darting ahead into the greenery, her laughter trailing behind her as you follow, ready for whatever adventure lies ahead.
The halls of the Red Keep seemed quieter than usual today. It was a rare stillness, the kind that hung heavy with unspoken tension. You could sense something had happened, though no one had yet brought it to your attention. You had spent much of the afternoon in the library, pouring over old maps of the Narrow Sea, but something in the air felt wrong.
As you rounded the corner toward the private wing where your children’s chambers lay, you heard faint sniffling. The sound was quiet, but unmistakable. You quickened your pace and followed the sound until you found Aemond, sitting alone on the cold stone floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His face was buried, but even from this distance, you could tell he had been crying.
"Aemond?" you called softly, kneeling beside him. "What’s happened?"
Aemond looked up at you, and your heart sank at the sight of his tear-streaked face. His usual stern, stoic expression was gone, replaced by vulnerability, the kind only a young boy trying so hard to be a man could wear.
"It’s nothing, Father," he muttered, wiping furiously at his eyes, though the gesture did little to hide the redness.
You sit beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Something has upset you, and I would like to know what it is."
For a moment, Aemond says nothing, as if weighing whether or not to burden you with whatever weighs on him. But eventually, his resolve crumbles, and he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s them. Jace, Luke...and Aegon. They—they played a trick on me."
You feel a tightening in your chest. You had heard rumblings before of the teasing that occasionally happened between your sons and your sister Rhaenyra’s sons, but this felt different. There was something more painful in Aemond’s voice.
"What kind of trick?" you ask gently, though you already have a sinking suspicion about what might have occurred.
Aemond’s cheeks flush with shame as he looks away. "They—they told me they had a dragon for me," he begins slowly, each word weighed with embarrassment. "I’ve always wanted one, and I thought… maybe this time…"
His voice trails off, and you feel your heart break for him. You know how much Aemond has longed for a dragon of his own, how he watches his siblings and cousins with their dragons, envy and longing etched into his every glance.
"They said it was waiting for me," he continues, his voice shaking. "So I went to the dragon pit. I was so excited, Father. I thought—maybe, finally—" His breath hitches as fresh tears well in his eyes, but he quickly wipes them away, trying to be strong.
"And then I saw it," he says bitterly. "A pig. They dressed up a pig and called it the 'Pink Dread.' They were all laughing, all of them, even Aegon."
A cold anger flares in your chest at the cruelty of the prank. You can picture it all too easily: Aegon and the boys snickering behind Aemond’s back as he approached the animal, thinking, for one precious moment, that his dream had finally come true. You know how deeply this would have cut Aemond, how much it hurt him to be humiliated in front of his family. But for now, you push that anger aside. This moment is about Aemond, not them.
"Come here," you say softly, pulling Aemond into your arms. He resists at first, too proud to cry in front of you, but after a moment, he lets himself lean into you, his small frame trembling as he clutches at your tunic.
You stroke his hair, the familiar silver strands soft beneath your fingers. "I’m sorry that happened to you, Aemond," you whisper, your voice full of warmth and understanding. "That was cruel, and you didn’t deserve it."
He pulls back slightly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "They all have dragons," he says, his voice thick with frustration. "Why not me? Why am I the only one without one?"
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. "Sometimes, life doesn’t seem fair," you say honestly. "It can feel like the things we want most are the things we’re denied, no matter how hard we wish for them."
Aemond looks up at you, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "But one day, Aemond," you continue, your voice full of quiet conviction, "you will have a dragon of your own. I know it. And when you do, you’ll be a better rider than any of them, because you’ve waited. You’ve longed for it. That’s something they’ll never understand."
He listens intently, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words settle in. "And you know," you add with a smile, "if you ever did have a dragon that was pink, you could give it a name far more fitting than they ever imagined."
Aemond blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"
You lean in conspiratorially, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Think about it. A pink dragon, breathing fire, soaring over the battlefield. No one would laugh then. And you could call it the 'Pink Dread'—a name that would strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. They would hear it and tremble, knowing what it meant."
For the first time, a small smile pulls at Aemond’s lips. The idea takes root in his mind, and you can see his imagination sparking to life. "The Pink Dread," he murmurs, as if testing the words. "That… that would be funny. No one would laugh at a pink dragon breathing fire."
You nod, your heart warming at the sight of his growing confidence. "Exactly. They may laugh now, but one day, you’ll be the one laughing."
Aemond looks up at you, his blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you see a younger version of yourself reflected in him. The same yearning, the same fierce determination to prove oneself, the same frustration at being left behind while others surged ahead. You had been that boy once, trying to find your place, trying to prove you were worthy.
"I see a lot of myself in you, Aemond," you say softly, your voice filled with quiet pride. "When I was your age, I often felt the same way. I watched others get what I longed for, and it made me feel… less. But it didn’t stay that way forever. And it won’t for you either."
Aemond frowns slightly, looking down at the ground. "You were like me?"
You chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. "More than you might think. I wasn’t always so sure of myself. It takes time, but you’ll find your way, Aemond. You’ll grow into your own, just like I did. And when you do, there will be no one more capable than you."
Aemond’s small smile widens slightly, the last traces of tears fading from his eyes. "I’ll remember that, Father," he says, a quiet strength returning to his voice.
You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You are strong, Aemond. Stronger than you know. And one day, the world will see that too."
As you sit there with him, the warmth of the Red Keep surrounding you both, you know that the sting of today’s prank will fade, but the lessons Aemond is learning now—about resilience, about strength, about finding his place in the world—will shape him into the man he will one day become. And you will be there, guiding him, as he grows into the prince, and the dragonrider, you know he is destined to be.
It had been far too long since you’d visited Oldtown, and the excitement of seeing Daeron again filled you with anticipation. His letters had spoken highly of his time here, his training, and how much he had grown, but there was nothing quite like seeing it for yourself.
The familiar scent of saltwater from the Whispering Sound mixed with the spices and perfumes of the bustling city as you made your way through its cobbled streets. Your memories of Oldtown were filled with childhood games, racing through the alleyways, and the company of old friends. One of those friends, you knew, was waiting for you just inside the Hightower.
As you passed through the gates, you saw him: Gwayne Hightower, your childhood companion and steadfast friend. He stood tall, wearing the colors of House Hightower, a broad smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you.
"Your Grace!" Gwayne called out, his arms open in welcome as he walked toward you with the easy confidence that only an old friend could have. "I was wondering when we’d see you again."
You smiled broadly, clasping his forearm in a firm handshake before pulling him into a warm embrace. "Gwayne, it’s been far too long," you said, clapping him on the back before stepping back to look at him. "You haven’t changed a bit."
Gwayne chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I could say the same of you, but we both know a crown has its way of changing a man."
You smirked, shaking your head. "Perhaps, but Oldtown doesn’t. It feels like I’m stepping back into my youth."
"And that’s just what Daeron’s been waiting for," Gwayne said, his voice filled with pride. "He’s been practicing something special for your arrival."
The two of you made your way into the Hightower, exchanging stories of the years gone by. Gwayne filled you in on Daeron’s progress, not only in his studies but in his musical pursuits, something that had come as a surprise to you when you’d first heard of it. Daeron had always been a quiet boy, thoughtful and dutiful, but you hadn’t expected him to take to music with such dedication.
As you entered one of the private chambers, there he was—Daeron, your youngest son, sitting with a lute in his hands. His bright eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly set the instrument aside to rise and bow.
"Father," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I’m so glad you’re here."
You smiled, stepping forward to pull him into a quick embrace. "It’s good to see you, Daeron. I’ve been looking forward to this visit."
Daeron stepped back, a hint of shyness in his expression, but there was also pride. "I’ve been practicing," he said, gesturing to the harp behind him. "Would you like to hear?"
"Of course," you said, sitting down as Gwayne settled in beside you, both of you eager to see how much Daeron had improved.
Daeron returned to his seat, his fingers brushing the strings of the lute with ease. The melody that filled the room was soft at first, delicate and sweet, but soon it grew into something more complex, full of emotion and depth. His fingers moved skillfully, the notes flowing effortlessly across from the lute, creating a sound that was both soothing and captivating.
You watched him closely, impressed by the concentration and passion in his playing. He had grown so much, not just in skill, but in confidence. When he finished, the last note lingering in the air, you clapped your hands together, beaming with pride.
"That was beautiful, Daeron," you said earnestly. "You’ve improved so much. I never knew you had such a talent."
Daeron blushed slightly but smiled, pleased with your approval. "Thank you, Father. I’ve been practicing every day. It helps me focus."
Gwayne leaned over, grinning. "He’s the pride of Oldtown, your Grace. Everyone speaks of his music as much as his dragon."
At the mention of Tessarion, Daeron’s eyes brightened even more. "Speaking of which, would you like to see her?"
"I wouldn’t miss it," you said, standing and motioning for him to lead the way.
The three of you made your way through the halls of the Hightower and out toward the dragon stable where Tessarion was kept. As you walked, Daeron talked animatedly about his time in Oldtown, how much he had learned, and how attached he had become to his dragon. You could hear the excitement in his voice, and it warmed your heart to see him so full of life and purpose.
When you reached the stable, you were greeted by the sight of Tessarion, her blue and silver scales gleaming in the soft light of dusk. She was still small by dragon standards, no larger than a large horse, but she had a regal air about her. However, that air of regalness disappeared the moment she saw Daeron.
With an excited rumble, Tessarion bounded toward him, her wings fluttering slightly as she lowered her head and rolled onto her back, exposing her soft underbelly in a clear plea for scratches. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—this mighty dragon, one day destined to be a force to be reckoned with, now behaving more like a playful pup than a creature of legend.
Daeron laughed too, kneeling beside her and rubbing her belly with both hands, her tail thumping happily against the ground.
"She’s just like a dog!" you exclaimed, amusement bubbling in your chest.
"She likes to be scratched here," Daeron said, his voice full of affection as he rubbed Tessarion’s side. "She’s still young, but she’ll grow big and strong. One day, she’ll be the fiercest dragon in all the realm."
"That, I have no doubt," you replied, watching as Tessarion nuzzled into Daeron’s hand, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
You knelt beside Daeron, reaching out to touch Tessarion’s shimmering scales. Her hide was warm under your palm, her breathing slow and steady as she basked in the affection. "She’s a beauty, Daeron. You should be proud."
"I am," Daeron said quietly, glancing at you. "She’s my closest friend."
There was something in his voice, a depth of connection between boy and dragon that was rare and powerful. You had seen it with your other children and their dragons, but with Daeron and Tessarion, it felt different. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that ran deep.
You smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "She’ll be a great dragon, Daeron, and you’ll be a great rider. Tessarion’s lucky to have you."
"And I’m lucky to have her," Daeron replied, his hand never leaving her side.
For a while, the three of you sat there in the dragonpit, Tessarion’s soft rumbles the only sound in the still evening air. The world seemed far away, the troubles of the realm forgotten in the warmth of family and the comfort of an old friend.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Oldtown in shades of gold and pink, you looked at Daeron, filled with pride at the man he was becoming. He had found his place here, among his studies, his music, and his dragon. He had grown into himself, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held for him.
"Thank you for bringing me here," you said quietly, your voice filled with affection. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."
Daeron smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "I’ve missed you too, Father. I’m glad you’re here."
And as Tessarion rolled over onto her side, thumping her tail against the ground with contentment, you realized that moments like this—simple, peaceful moments with your children—were worth more than any crown or throne.
266 notes
·
View notes
Text





#PZPTH#Penn Zero: Part-Time Hero#Rippen Ghhbrhhhrnnen#Rippen#PZPTH Rippen#Poll#FvF P4#The Old Old West#Amber#Number One Number Two#The Princess Most Fair#Where Dragons Dare#Alpha Bravo Unicorn#By My Ghost#Cowboy Bandit Rippen#Crossbow Rippen#Sorceress Rippen#Sergeant Mittens Rippen#Dragon Rippen#Ghost Exterminator Rippen
3 notes
·
View notes
Text



this scene lives rent free in my head
#this scene is perfection#like lucanis gives them an out multiple times but they're like no i'm good i like it here ;)#also that lil daring touch is so good it's like they're testing him with a gentle touch prob something he's not used to#and dare i say they're purposefully touching where his heart would be as if they're saying they want that?? aaaaaa#rosemary#rosemary de riva#rook de riva#datv#dragon age the veilguard#dragon age#rook#video games#oc#lucanis dellamorte#rook x lucanis#lucanis#lucanis x rook#rookanis
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
They're so sick for this
& was gonna originally leave it in the tags but then I liked it so why not:
I do think this parallel helps contextualize why Claudia's offer is there in the narrative beyond just characterization "she knows this is a loss the boys have experienced, and there is possible room to convince them," or beyond "I doubt they're going to bring Harrow back fully (if at all) so why tease it" and well: I think this parallel is exactly why.
For starters, there's the sheer difference in presentation that help to contrast and compare Callum and Claudia as characters. More importantly for next season, I think, is that it ties together Claudia wanting to save her father is what led to her working with Aaravos in the first place versus Callum wanting to free Rayla's parents likely being something that is just going to put him further on Aaravos' dark path of destiny for him, if not outright lead to disaster. The road to ruin is paved with good intentions, after all - even if he's being selfless about it because it's not even for himself or one of his direct loved ones, but purely by proxy
#tdp#the dragon prince#dragons liveblogs#it's like poetry it rhymes#where can i put it down?#show me a garden that's bursting into life#callum x claudia#personal fave#idk why it only hit NOW just how similar these are#i think it's bc claudia is offering as a manipulation tactic &#callum is 100 genuine (maybe too genuine) and rayla would never dare Ask but. who knows#either way We're So Fucked#5x09#tag ramble#parallels#5x04
82 notes
·
View notes
Text
I don't understand people who say things like 'but it doesn't matter if we don't pay artists/writers for their labour, or use free AI programs to replace artists/writers to improve our profits, because in a perfect world everyone would have UBI so it wouldn't matter xxx'
like. yes. but until we reach that perfect world, artists and writers need to eat?
why are you promoting AI replacement of creative people instead of working towards UBI? Until we have UBI, supporting generative AI in the creative field is no different to supporting supermarkets laying off all their till staff to turn to self-check out, or supporting factories who shut down and move overseas to exploit workers in countries with fewer human rights legislations?
Yes, in a perfect world, everyone would receive UBI. Therefore, people across the globe couldn't be exploited by corporations, and artists could create for the joy of it, in whatever way we desire - including with AI!
But we do not live in that perfect world.
Do you seriously expect this move towards generative AI to encourage people to support UBI, as opposed to people being forced into jobs they hate to make ends meet or no longer being able to support themselves financially?
Especially all the disabled people who make a living creating art and writing/editing, because that is, in fact, a career that is often far more available to disabled folks than a regular 9-5 or a retail job where you're expected to be on your feet all day (miss my disabled ass with the 'anti-AI = ableism' stance lmao).
This is not going to create your army of revolutionaries. This is just going to result in more independent creators being crushed under the boot heel of capitalism, as anyone who would've hired them flocks instead to the free alternative, and they're forced back into an incredibly exploitative labour market.
I agree that generative AI by itself is just a tool and is not inherently a problem.
But it is being abused, in ways that hurt creators.
If you support generative AI... what are you doing about that?
#generative AI#nanowrimo#seeing some real bad takes#and don't get me STARTED on the ableism take. I cannot hold a pen due to disability. I cannot do calligraphy.#I can use Dragon voice-to-text in a calligraphic font. That is not the same as doing calligraphy.#It's okay to acknowledge that.#If you pretend it IS the same and try to award me in a calligraphy contest...#that is in fact patronizing and - dare I say - ableist#if someone needs so many adaptations that they are no longer doing the same thing as abled people you don't have to pretend otherwise#like with my dancing! I can't dance in a way that would be recognised as such by abled people. but I don't want to be measured against them#even as a weird 'consolation prize' for not being able to master the same skills due to disability!#I'd much rather take part in a disabled dance event where we all do our own thing and celebrate that for what it is!#because IT *IS* DIFFERENT. DUE TO DISABILITY. and that's okay! that's not shameful!#hell make a generative AI celebration week where you support disabled creators! if you care so much!#but pretending generative AI is the exact same thing as plotting and writing a novel or learning how to draw#is really patronizing and not the hot take you think it is
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
Daeron, my son, where are you? I need to complete the set!!
#house of the dragon#hotd#fan art#aegon ii targaryen#aegon ii#hotd aegon#fire and blood#aemond targaryen#king aegon ii targaryen#where is Daeron#hotd daeron#daeron the daring#daeron targaryen#prince aemond#aemond one eye
128 notes
·
View notes
Text
bioware where is the dao epilogue slide that has my warden going to par vollen with sten. where is it bioware.
#dao#dragon age#dragon age origins#da:o#sten#sten of the beresaad#how dare you have him call my warden kadan and then make him leave. im going with him be so fr#maybe i'll write a fic eventually with one of my wardens leaving with him#or alternatively a fic where sten stays behind with the warden. for a time. he has to go home eventually.
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
WAIT OKAY i need to talk about something before i forget. something that REALLY docks points from Veilguard until they fix it.
people have observed that a fat Rook is 1) not even fat really 2) basically the only "fat" character in the game. what i haven't seen referenced yet is that, uh, near the end of the game they give you cutscene lipo???


for reference, here's how she normally looks in this armor:


& even before that, when Neve and my Rook were having their cute little sex scene, during pillow talk the camera pulled back and my Rook (who had her boobs out due to the underwear i picked) suddenly had pecs??? i wish i had screenshots, but my lover who was sitting next to me noticed it too.
did this happen to anyone else? playing on PC btw
#it was only at the very end of the game too. like did you think i wouldn't notice? or did you just not care lmao#just for this i'm gonna make a game where the default bodytype is fat with maybe a token ''thin'' alternate#& if i'm too fucking lazy to model the finale properly i'll just have the body snap back to fat#honestly how dare they!#dragon age#datv spoilers#i guess.
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
"The Hightowers are marching."
If this doesn't mean Daeron, I swear to god I will swim the oceans, find my way to Ryan Condal's house and slash all his tires.
#ive been waiting goddamn it#where is my son??#house of the dragon#hotd season two#hotd spoilers#daeron targaryen#daeron the daring
27 notes
·
View notes