#a dreamer reborn

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ The rats play when the cat is gone ]

"Rook's Rest was a blessing in disguise. Aegon would be gone for days, maybe a fortnight even. It would be her and Helaena, every night just like they longed for. No longer did they need to wait or hide. They could bask in the sweet taste of each other's lips without the fear of being caught."

[ I commissioned this from seasmoked on tiktok / wattpad ] 📖: THE CONQUEROR REBORN ( published ) 🖋: -iamagoddess ( wattpad ) ❤: Aegon ii Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen 👥: Roselyn Tully-Hightower, Helaena Targaryen & Aegon ii Targaryen

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

@danytar

---

Comment below if it you'd like to be tagged in future 'THE CONQUEROR REBORN' posts. ( Where to read is linked below )

[haddieyu]

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||| 0:19

🎧 - Daddy issues

[curse-of-art]

🫠

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hourly DPRIAN concert (@hourlydprianconcert)

[fyeahdprian]

[Paris] dprian IG Story 🧸

dprian Instagram Story November 15, 2024

Ian posted on his Instagram Story DREAMER soulofdpr's edit of him in his bear outfit acting out having his picture taken by the coffee store owner.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by SOUL OF DPR 🇹🇭 (@soulofdpr)

[ilynpilled]

Also, while Jaime started the process of 'killing the boy' in Bran, it's Bloodraven who'll finish it. Bloodraven, who's the oldest character in the series, shows how long the cycle has been going.

Also, in general, it's already tragic how Robb, Jon, Jaime, etc. Had to 'kill the boy' as teenagers, but now Bran has to do it before he even reaches double digits.

tragedy enjoyers when the cycle is cycling

[thenextchapterbegins]

"Two days..."

[sinecosinewheel]

ok so here's a bloodborne post. every dream or nightmare in bloodborne needs two things:

1. a host/dreamer

2. a being to create the dream

in the nightmare frontier/nightmare of mensis the dreamer is micolash and the creator is mergo.

we know for sure the nameless moon presence made the hunter's dream, and the obvious conclusion is gehrman is the dreamer. my personal pet theory is the doll is a second dreamer, the real host of the dream, because you find her sleeping in the old abandoned workshop

when you end a dream you have to kill both the host of the dream and the creator, ex, killing micolash then mergo, killing (freeing) gehrman and then the moon presence

so here where i get a little confusing okkkkk. the doll is the reason the game loops. the purpose of the hunter's dream is to keep hunters alive, at least when they start out hunting. hunters can leave the dream, like eileen and djura, but can they really? they reset when you start new game plus. everything resets. you are able to end the nightmare of beasts by ending the mensis ritual, but micolash was already long dead and a skeleton when he 'woke up', meaning gehrman would be as well. the doll, however, would just go back to sleep. she has an immortal doll body, if she wakes up there is no actual consequence. in the childhoods beginning ending you become the new creator of the dream, and the doll is the host, so gehrman is unnecessary. in the ending where you replace gehrman you are replacing his role as the surrogate child of the moon presence/collateral, and the doll is the host. in yharnam sunrise you 'leave' the dream, but you can't actually leave. the only thing left is new game plus. there is no way to permanently kill the doll in the game, and you need to kill both the dreamer and the maker of the dream to end it

i believe the moon presence created something unintendedly bigger than herself with the dream, it's become an endless self powering cycle that resets the entire world instead of just keeping a few hunters alive. the great ones are sympathetic in spirit, but she didn't really understand what laurence (and associates) was asking for because she can never actually die. so now no one can ever die! N that's my post

[skulkingfox]

The results are in!

With more than half the votes, Octopath traveler 2 was chosen to be my next game to play!

I started yesterday, Temenos and Osvald are in the party and I've been having fun mugging and coercing info out of everyone i can find 😂

Persona 3 portable and Spiritfarer are next in line :)

Shoutout to poor Diofield chronicle for getting no votes at all! 😅😅

Thanks to everyone who voted!! :D

[fyeahdpr-reality]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by jawnsownworld (@jawnsownworld)

The Dream Reborn World Tour 2024 Bangkok

Food support for DPR team

[purcaholic]

In a low-poly realm where joy takes flight, History dances in geometric light, Each polygon a tale, brilliantly reframed, Moments reborn, vividly reclaimed. Kings and dreamers, in faceted splendor, Laugh through ages, a timeless blender. With every vertex, stories intertwine, Crafting a past in jubilant design.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE CONQUEROR REBORN. [ SO LONG, ROSELYN HIGHTOWER ]

"In his last moment of power, Otto Hightower ordered everything and anything that held a fragment of Roselyn Hightower's memory to be destroyed. She was his most grand failure, a pawn to manipulate Aegon, and the world did not need to know of it. She would be just another ghost that haunted the Red Keep. He would make sure of it."

[ I commissioned this from seasmoked on tiktok / wattpad ] 📖: THE CONQUEROR REBORN ( published ) 🖋: -iamagoddess ( wattpad ) ❤: Aegon II Targaryen & Helaena Targaryen 👥: Roselyn Tully-Hightower & Otto Hightower

---

this is for you my fellow TGC and angst simp’s

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

[haddieyu]

I'm so anxious

so meet me at eleven-thirty

I love the way you're talkin' dirty.

• ✧ . ๑⁠ ˙⁠ ❥

[haddieyu]

Actually sobbing

Can you not..?? 🫠

[fyeahdprian]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Christian⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ (@seraphmiito)

DRWT Barcelona Ian with Dreamers

The Dream Reborn World Tour 2024 Barcelona, Spain | Razzmatazz November 12, 2024 | 8pm

[lola-writes]

One-Eye & the Dreamer

(Aemond's POV)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x O.C Aylana Velaryon

Word Count: 2,2k

Themes & Warnings: slow burn, friends to enemies, enemies to lovers, violence, blood, targcest, sexual themes, tension, drama, angst, fix-it of sorts, eventual smut, sexual inexperience, forbidden love, high valyrian, dance of dragons, POV first person

Summary: Aylana Velaryon foresees Aemond Targaryen's fate and assigns herself to alter it.

Written from Aemond's POV.

More chapters

Gravity had nothing on us, my dear. 

You can’t untie red strings of fate. 

This is how it feels to fall in love with the atmosphere. 

The world surrendered to a symphony of wind.  Turbulence thundered in my ears and whipped my hair untamed as I ascended the skies. Rising higher and higher, the clouds enveloped me in a blinding haze, and the elements of the earth below decreased into a mosaic. I conquered the celestial at such speed that I felt like Aegon reborn. 

Vhagar was an extension of myself, her undulating muscles beneath my straddling body felt as if connected to my own, forcing our masses through the heavens with an effortlessness. I commanded her higher still, and she heeded my command. We defied gravity in a dance of grace and power.

As we approached the stratosphere where air ran thin, I straightened in my saddle, and my mighty Vhagar leveled out, conforming to every delicate change in my movements. The world below became an inverted dreamscape as we sailed the vague interstice that marked the transition between sky and oblivion - the clouds beneath were the unconquered sky, and the indigo above was the ocean, and I was flying upside down. 

Together, Vhagar and I, were limitless.

The memory of when I first claimed her was so potent it eclipsed everything else, real or imagined. It was like walking penniless and finding a mountain of gold at your feet. What was one to do with such power? A power so raw and exhilarating, it consumed. Suddenly, I had no fear. Suddenly, I was not alone…

I leaned into Vhagar’s warmth and she folded her wings against me. We plummeted back down towards the earth, a thrilling drop that sent a jolt of pure ecstasy through my veins. My stomach lurched, and beneath me, Vhagar’s thorax vibrated – a deep, primal roar that resonated through my very bones. In that moment, I mirrored her, a guttural exclaim of pure, unadultered joy escaping my lips.

Never had freedom tasted so sweet.

The force of our descent sliced through the nebulous clouds like a knife through cotton, and as we emerged, the Narrow Sea gaped wide, glittering beneath the noontide sun like a crystal embellished blue silk. I leveled out again and watched Vhagar’s twin loom out of the water. 

In the distance, the seven huge drum-towers, proud sentinels of pale red stone, rose out of the sea on their stony summits, and the tolling bells welcomed me back home. An unfamiliar fleet of ships coasted down Black Water Rush like wooden beads along a blue mesh - an unremarkable observation, as nobles from every corner of the realm had been descending upon King’s Landing for the wedding. They had all come through the gates by horse and carriage, none by sea. 

Traders perhaps? Coming just in time to fortify our stores for the upcoming plunder. 

So many fucking mouths to feed. I had seen them endlessly pour through the castle gates in a river of gold, silver, and polished steel – their banners displaying the sigil of house Lannister, Baratheon, Tully, and I could’ve sworn I saw a direwolf banner among them. Would the Starks truly find a Targaryen wedding of such importance that they would bother dragging themselves out of their frozen pits? It was to be a grand affair, to be sure. A celebration with tourneys, hunts, feasts, and dancing, to last for at least a fortnight.

If I had it my way, I would escape and race the wind on Vhagar. But mother’s orders were a bittersweet curse. We were to be on our best behavior, a euphemism for me babysitting my nuisance of a brother, to ensure he does not imbibe every wine cask in the keep, and to hearten my sweet sister who always grew gauche in social gatherings. 

One could hardly fathom I was the youngest.

But the chief of my worries was Aegon. He already had an inclination of getting unreasonable drunk on a plain day. I shuddered to think of the lengths he might go to in tribute to his own nuptials.

Unease filled my gut.

But it wasn’t the vigil of my siblings that rendered me apprehensive.

As I drew close enough that I could make out the banners, I realized that these were no ordinary trading ships. In fact, these weren’t traders at all. I tugged at the reins and Vhagar gathered air beneath her leather and sprung up high, casting her mighty shadow atop the vessels. 

Memories consumed me like a bad aftertaste. The sigil-emblazoned sails draped across the masts below needed no introduction. The seahorse and the three-headed black dragon caught the wind. 

It could only mean one thing…

The thought got knocked right out of me as a bone-jarring impact to Vhagar’s thorax threw me off my saddle. Her earsplitting roar resounded across the blackwater, as I tumbled down her back. Instinctively, I snagged my wrist through a loop in her saddle ropes, dangling precariously until she steadied herself. I hauled myself back up, heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline pouring into my bloodstream. I scouted the skies for an attacker in a glassy bewilderment, growing acrimoniously aware of my disability. But the firmament was still and empty. 

What in the Seven Hells?

Another blow. It knocked me aslant, and I felt fury consuming me like poison. Gritting my teeth, I gripped the saddle horn and twisted the reins twice ‘round my forearm, and perceived every muscle of Vhagar’s back contracting beneath me, waiting to charge. 

Who would dare challenge me?

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A shape, shrouded beneath Vhagar’s wing membranes, was soaring alongside us. And when I turned to look, my eye met a stranger, masked and cloaked, stalking us on a dragon as black and swift as a raven. But the beast was miniscule in relation, just the age to breathe fire, and yet had nearly forced me to meet the gods. 

Humiliation morphed into a blinding rage that seethed through my veins and marred my vision with a red mist. “Ossēnagon, Vhagar!” Kill. I growled, and steered her toward the trespasser. But the figure crouched down in their saddle, and their dragon dove towards the city. 

Fucking craven.

We went after them. Their descent was swift and inaudible, while mine was slow and thunderous like a moving mountain. The pale orange rooftops of King’s Landing, bleached from the summer’s scorching sun, spread out like a vast rust beneath our darkening shadows. I pursued them to the Hill of Rhaenys, where we landed opposite each other outside the crypts of the dragonpit. 

Dismounting, I started towards them, each step a measured threat. The steel of my dagger sang its lethal warning as I drew it from my scabbard. But the stranger stood their ground, defiance flickering in their shadowed form. My anger, already a simmering cauldron, boiled over. I closed the distance between up, a growl ripping from my throat, raw and primal.

“You!” The word barely a breath before my blade bit their throat. A desperate struggle ensued, but my palm collared the nape of their neck, locking them to the steel. A Kingsguard’s alarming exclaims sounded in the distance, but the words faded underwater. 

“The Stranger requests an audience.” The contiguity drowned my voice into a whisper. I took pleasure in that I towered over them, and felt their hot, humid breath against me, hitching beneath the sharp edge.

“My prince!” Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, came running towards us. His voice, booming like thunder, always sufficed in snapping the whole court to attention. But it wasn’t his timber which stirred me this time. “Let her go!” 

His words carried me out of my raging inferno.

Her?

I blinked through my apprehension and scavenged the stranger’s frame with my eye, as if I’d awoken from a dream and seen them for the first time. A tug, a rustle, and their hood fell back and settled around their shoulders. 

A wave of ice ran down my spine. 

It was like seeing a ghost. The protagonist of all my nightmares coming alive, ready to haunt me. 

Aylana Velaryon.

Her eyes, the color of sunlit amber flicked with gold, held mine with an unsettling intensity. She seemed to see right through me, demanding answers I could not provide. Then, a knowing smile played on her lips.

“Skoros iksos pirta, kepus?” What’s wrong, uncle? A sardonic edge laced her voice. “Gaomagon ao daor gīmigon issa?” Do you not remember me?

The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallowed, stunned by her High Valyrian.

For a moment, I believe I stood petrified, unable to tear my gaze from her, unable to utter a word.

A torrent of questions, accusations, apologies – years of unspoken turmoil – churned within me. But now, with her life literally in my hands, the words deserted me. My tongue, usually an agile weapon, felt like lead. This was the person who had haunted my every waking and sleeping thought for years, and all I could manage was a stunned silence. Perhaps my countenance spoke volumes where my voice failed.

She echoed the girl I remembered, but time had woven its changes. I had to take it all in. Her voice, saccharine and laced with a hint of mockery, was a stark contrast to the playful child I held in memory. Her once youthful features had sharpened, cheekbones higher, lips fuller. Then, my gaze, fell upon the one jarring element – a crimson scar that snaked across her left eyebrow, expressing a raw pink sheen beneath a shell of transparent skin. Years had passed, yet the wound looked fresh.

The accident.

My jaw tightened as venom seethed through my veins.

I could still see her crumpled, lifeless form in the dirt, her skull cracked open, every time I closed my eye.

And I was holding the bloody rock.

Shame coiled in my gut like a suffocating weight. I could not bear to look at her.

“Some things never change,” she said facetiously. “Don’t you agree, uncle?”

Shit.

I was still holding my knife to her throat. I recoiled with such force that the effort pushed her back as well. A bright seam of red welled up at the lip where my blade had kissed her and painted the length of her neck like dark fruit. 

I reviled myself. I had tried to kill her. Again. 

But she just smiled, a dimple flashing in her cheek. As if we were still kids and she had made a humorous jest.

I realized I had been holding my breath when a gasp escaped my lips and air rushed back into my lungs. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy.

“Aylana.” I spoke her name derisively without intending to, as I sheathed the knife at my waist where my gaze lingered a moment, dreading to meet hers. 

My stomach turned. I never used to call her that. It sounded so formal and distant on my tongue, just like ‘uncle’ on hers. But that’s what we were to each other now - our friendship no more than a distant memory. I no longer assumed myself worthy of her alias. I had lost that privilege. Just as I had lost my friend. 

The weight of the past pressed down on me, suffocating.

Agitation infiltrated my mind and my whole disposition must have come off as reticent and hostile. I watched her pull her gloves off finger by finger and release the clasp of her cloak. There was an attitude in her movements and a poise in her posture. Beneath she was dressed in sable flying leathers that clung tightly to her body. 

I averted my gaze. 

Frustration clawed at my chest, and whatever other feeling it was that made my mouth dry and my palms clammy. 

“You look well, nuncle,” she said. 

My eye met hers and I noted them briefly flicker across my eyepatch. Her scrutiny made the leather singe my skin with awareness. Growing diffident, I looked away. 

“Hmmph,” I said, my favorite expression of disdain. 

I knew what she was implying. That if I had only listened to her that night, instead of acting like an arrogant scoundrel, I wouldn’t be looking like a eunuch with one eye at present.

And she was right in mocking me. If her insults were the currency for my betrayal, I would gladly become a spendthrift.

My breathing shallowed as I gazed at the damage I’d caused. I had to get out of there. 

“I hope we did not frighten you earlier,” she said, interrupting my escape. “I only thought I might test the mettle of the largest dragon in the world. She truly is remarkable. A fair exchange, to be sure.” 

I turned to look at her, and I didn’t know what I must’ve looked like, because the playful smile that had been dancing between her lips our entire encounter, vanished. There it is, I thought. The realization. The Aemond you knew is gone. This is the monster you forged.

“Ser Harrold,” I said. “Escort the princess to the Red Keep. And make sure she does not test the mettle of anyone else in the city.”

“Certainly, my prince,” said Ser Harrold, the Lord Commander who was the very first person to see my face after the loss of my eye. This fact made him remarkably significant somehow.

I mounted Vhagar and took to the sky, watching Aylana and Nymax blur into mere specks on a canvas. 

This would be a celebration I was sure to remember…

More chapters

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played CHANGELING THE DREAMING ?

By White wolf

You’ve never really fit in, people often say you’re too busy daydreaming, that you have your head in the clouds, that you should be focusing on working instead of dreaming. This world is choked with banality, war and famines destroying anything it touches. Churches demanding your belief in them and them alone. All the while you are expected to live the rest of your life working in a cubicle and using your off time managing your side hustles all in order to survive. That is banality, when the mundanity and darkness that has infested the beautiful world forces dreamers not to hope and dream, but survive and suffer. This world no longer has the time to dream.

You thought it horrific, as others were far too gone to notice their blood is greasing the gears to the machine of banality. You knew something was wrong and then the realization dawns on you, in an explosion of glamour. You were at one point, a Faerie, a creature of hopes and dreams. The very same entities that taught humanity to hope, to dream, to fear and to fight. You have been reborn as a human in an effort to survive in this banal world. You are a changeling. While your memories of your Fae heritage may be fuzzy, the world has become more clear. You see the chimerical world hiding in the mundane. Dragons patrol the sky, the tree in the way to work has a smiling face and loud mouth and your reflection shows a Fae where once a regular person once was.

Mundane humans don’t see the chimerical, to them you still look the same but others of your kind see the truth. The Fae never left, they walk among you in human shells all trying to not just survive this banal world, but to fight it back. Changelings have complex kingdoms and courts as well as a divide between the Noble and the commoner Fae. Faeries from different cultures and folklore could be found all over along with their strange magics and treasures. You are part of this new world set before you, will you survive banality? Or fight it back and inspire humanity to dream again?