#she was one of my 2 egg hatches

[leggo-my-eggo-sum]

Oh I love her

---

Shale/Brown/Sunshine Gen1 Hatch Yesterday, from the Galore eggs.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Alright know what here's a little Guild Wars 2 reblog game for everybody; what mounts (if any) do your characters have in their canon, do they have names? Personalities? How'd they meet??

Spill it all below, tell me about all your creatures!!

[astralprisms]

New gith who dis?

Saving her for patch 7 since I'm finally going to run Durge. Haven't settled on a name yet but I'm very into this look.

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[bestanimal]

Round 2 - Arthropoda - Pycnogonida

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Pycnogonida is a class containing one order: Pantopoda, which means “all feet.” A fitting name for creatures that seem to be made entirely of legs. Commonly called “Sea Spiders”, they are not spiders, nor are they arachnids, but are actually a sister group to all other living arthropods.

Pycnogonids live in most oceans. Most are tiny, living in relatively shallow water, though some can grow to be quite large in antarctic and deep waters. Some pycnogonids are so small that each of their muscles consists of a single cell. They have a proboscis which they use to suck nutrients from soft bodied invertebrates such as cnidarians, sponges, polychaetes, and bryozoans. They can also insert their proboscis into anemones, though this rarely kills the anemone. The pycnogonid digestive tract extends into their legs. They are segmented, with the first body segment (the cephalon) consisting of the proboscis, the ocular tubercle with up to 4 simple eyes, a pair of chelifores, a pair of palps, a pair of ovigers, and the first pair of walking legs. Ovigers are used for cleaning themselves, courtship, and caring for eggs and young. Nymphonidae is the only family where both the chelifores and palps (sensory organs) remain functional. In others, these limbs are reduced or absent, instead relying on a well-developed and flexible proboscis equipped with sensory bristles. Pycnogonids are usually comprised of eight walking legs, but the family Pycnogonidae includes species with ten, and the families Colossendeidae and Nymphonidae include species with up to twelve legs! While most species have up to 4 eyes, some deep-sea species lack them entirely. Pycnogonids do not have a traditional respiratory system, instead absorbing oxygen through their legs and diffusing it throughout their body via hemolymph. Their small, long, thin hearts beat vigorously at 90 to 180 beats per minute, creating substantial blood pressure. Their nervous system consists of a brain which is connected to two ventral nerve cords, which in turn connect to specific nerves. Like other arthropods, they molt their exoskeleton as they grow.

Pycnogonid reproduction involves external fertilization after a brief courtship involving the male stroking the larger female with his ovigers and receiving the eggs if she is responsive. The couple must adjust their position until the genital pores on their legs are perfectly aligned. Only males will care for eggs and young, and in some species only the males will have ovigers while the females do not, as these limbs are used mainly for carrying and cleaning the eggs. Larvae consist only of a head with chelifores, palps and ovigers. Extra segments and legs emerge as it grows into an adult. There are at least four different types of larvae. The typical protonymphon larva is most common, is free living and gradually turns into an adult. The encysted larva spends its larval days as a parasite, finding a host in a colony of polyps, burrowing into one, turning into a cyst, and not leaving the host until it has become a juvenile. The atypical protonymphon larva lives on or within a temporary host such as a clam or polychaete worm, does not encyst or otherwise harm their host, and leaves them as an adult. Lastly, the attaching larva hatches as an embryo and immediately clings to the legs of its father, only leaving once it has two or three pairs of its own walking legs.

The pycnogonid’s cerebral appendages are unique, not found anywhere else among arthropods, except in fossils like Anomalocaris. This could mean that pycnogonids are the last surviving (highly modified) members of an ancient stem group of arthropods that lived in Cambrian oceans.

Propaganda under the cut:

They are good dads. All of them. Perfect fathers made of legs.

Their leg arrangement allows them to move forward, backward, and sideways without turning their body.

The genus Colossendeis (image 2) includes the largest pycnogonids, which live in the ocean depths. Some of them are even bioluminescent! The largest is Colossendeis colossea which can reach a leg span of 70 cm (28 in). However, their body length, including proboscis and abdomen, only reaches 7 cm (2.8 in).

About 20% of the known species of pycnogonids live in Antarctica. The cold never bothered them anyway.

One known species, Ascorhynchus corderoi, is hermaphroditic, having both ovaries and testes.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Devil Wears Armani 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you’re the CEO’s new PA and you find the work too much to handle. (short!reader)

Characters: Tony Stark, this reader is known as Georgie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

---posting to the correct blog lol---

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After the week you’ve had, the need for a strong drink is irresistible. You’re almost there. Friday. You just need to make it through the day. There’s only one obstacle in your way. Mr. Stark. 

You bring him his ritualistic cafe au lait just after noon. He has an airpod in his ear, chattering on a call as he clicks around his floating computer screen. You keep your head down, making yourself invisible as you place the cup on a coaster. He leans back in his white leather chair as he speaks, reaching quickly for the coffee. 

“Yeah, Rogers, maybe, I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to invest right now. I got enough eggs to hatch...” Stark sips as he rests his other hand on his thigh.  

Before you can retreat, your eyes flick over and see the moving image on the monitor. You don’t react. You just backpedal and return to your desk, gently closing the door as to not disturb your call. You might commend him for multitasking if it wasn’t so inappropriate. 

You cup your chin and zero in on your screen, fighting the images seared into your eyes. The woman’s ass spread wide as the man... nope. Not today. 

Mr. Stark’s reputation is less than pristine. Everyone knows how he is but he’s the CEO. Who’s going to say anything? Or do anything? Coming into the role, you expected a demanding workload and a finicky boss, but not everything else. Not the blatant disregard for others and brazen lack of shame. 

You glance over at his door before you dare to take out your phone. You lay it next to your keyboard and keep your hand under your chin. You look down as you press to unlock and read the messages from the other girls. Izzie can’t make it, she’s out in the field, but the others are down. Awesome. 

You scroll through the gif catalogue and send a celebratory reaction. Mr. Stark’s door startles you and you slide your phone up under your monitor stand to try to hide it. You put your attention back to the calendar and swoop your mouse around the pad. 

Stark approaches as he slurps loudly over the brim of his cup. You feel the weight of his gaze and meet it shyly, pushing your glasses up your nose as you sit up. You can’t quite smile as your jaw locks up. 

“Sir?” You greet him in confusion. 

“So, Friday,” his brown eyes dip down to consider the depths of the mug, “got any exciting plans?” 

You look left then right and back at him. Your brow twitches in surprised confusion. Mr. Stark never asks about your personal life. He only ever talks about his private jet and high-life getaways to locations you could never dream of. Your cocktails are meagre compared to his elite lifestyle. 

“No, sir,” you say. “How about you?” 

He smirks and tilts his head. He slowly prowls around your desk and you swivel your chair to face him as he nears the corner to your right. You tilt to look up at him. 

“Ah, the usual, there’s this sweet little blonde thing down in Barbados waiting for me,” he chuckles as his eyes rove over your desk, “no dates? No... partying?” 

“Sir, I... just errands.” 

“Uh huh,” he clucks and reaches for your mouse. Nope. He swerves and swipes up your phone as it lights up beneath the stand. Shoot. “Social hour, huh?” 

“No, sir. I just shut off an alarm and forgot--” 

“You’re a bad liar, stop it,” he warns as he brings your phone up and reads the messages popping up, “girls’ night?” He looks at you over the cell, “that sounds like more than errands to me.” 

“Well, sir, I didn’t think... it was important.” 

“Must be if you’re texting at work,” he tosses the phone at you and you catch it as it lands in your lap. “You been to Barbados?” 

“Barbados? No?” You answer dumbly, no expecting the question. 

“Wanna go?” 

You hesitate. Is this some trick? It’s like when he was taunting Walker last week, baiting him into giving answers that made him look stupid.

“Sir, maybe one day, I guess, I never thought--” 

“No thinking. I know you’re not that fucking simple,” he reaches to poke your forehead and your recoil. “Don’t get too fucking crazy tonight, sweetheart, jet takes off at six. In the morning.” 

You frown and shake your head. He can’t mean what you think. 

“Should I have your luggage--” 

“Be there,” he demands and gulps back a mouthful. He slams down the empty mug on your desk and backs up, “if you’re still thirsty, they got cocktails on the plane.” 

He turns and strides away, whistling as he checks his watch. He sighs as he approaches the office door, pausing, “when Odinson gets here, make sure he has everything he needs.” He glances back with a smirk as you peer around your monitor, “and smile, sweetheart, you got nice lips.” 

You stare after him as he closes his office door and you sit back. You chew your thumb and look down at your phone. You sniff as you watch the others messages stream over the screen. Now you know better than to have your phone out at work. Now you get to do overtime. Fun. 

You rub your cheek and roll close to your desk. You’re not going to miss tonight, even if Mr. Stark wants to take away your weekend. You’ve been waiting for this and you need the boost before you face whatever he has planned.  

A message blips up in the corner and you click it, not daring to ignore Mr. Stark’s icon. The window spreads over the screen and the message floats over the reply bar. ‘Don’t forget a bikini’. 

Huh? 

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 2 - A Fair Exchange

Word count: 3.1K (sorry)

Laena Velaryon was dead. 

The details of her passing brought tears to Daenys’ eyes: burned alive by her dragon as an act of mercy, following complications during her baby's delivery. Daenys recalled Laena from a visit to King’s Landing a few years prior; she remembered feeling jealous of how lovingly Laena treated her daughters— the kindness in her eyes when she looked at them, the honey in her voice as she called their names. 

It was decided that they would all depart for Driftmark right away— Daenys, Aegon, and Helaena on their dragons, while the rest sailed to the island. She would never admit it to them, but Daenys loved flying with her siblings, especially with Aegon: he was insufferable on land, always drowning in his cups and picking on the weak, but while riding Sunfyre he turned into someone high-spirited and lively. It was the only time Daenys felt truly close to her eldest brother. As they both circled around Dreamfyre, trying to playfully disrupt Helaena’s imperturbability, Daenys was able to catch sight of Rhaenyra’s family, coming from Dragonstone opposite to them: her half-sister on the beautiful Syrax, hatched from one of Silverwing’s eggs when it was placed in Rhaenyra’s cradle as a babe; Jacaerys on his young dragon Vermax; and Lucerys on Arrax. Seasmoke was nowhere to be found, and Daenys guessed Ser Laenor was probably already at Driftmark, sick with grief. The fear of ever losing one of her siblings haunted her thoughts for the rest of the journey. 

_______________________________________________

High Tide was damp and dark, but there was something about the Sea Snake’s castle that Daenys found enthralling. The marble of its walls looked like mother-of-pearl in the afternoon sun, and its halls were as beautiful as they were unsettling, crowded with bronze statues covered in corals and sea sediments that reminded every visitor of the Velaryons’ deep connection with the sea.

The families were gathered at the low cliff by Blackwater Bay, the one which Daenys assumed was intended for ritualistic purposes. She could make out the coffin containing Lady Laena’s remains by the edge of the cliff, the narrow box carved to resemble the woman’s appearance. After Vaemond Velaryon’s speech about the thickness of their blood—an odd choice since it had little to do with Lady Laena’s legacy—the guests moved to a small plateau where, as per tradition, they were to wait for the tide to carry the casket further out to sea. 

Standing by her brothers, Daenys noticed Rhaenyra speaking to her eldest son, which reminded her of the abrupt and rather suspicious death of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong only a couple days prior. If the rumors were true, which Daenys was certain they were, perhaps Jacaerys was sad. Just as Baela and Rhaena had lost their mother, Jace and Luke had lost their father. Daenys wondered if someone had offered their condolences to the boys in any way, but quickly discarded the thought.

“We have nothing in common,” Aegon declared as he observed Helaena with a furrowed brow and a cup of wine in his hand.

“Have you ever tried to at least show her any regard for her interests?” Daenys asked him, squinting up at him against the sun.

“What interests, exactly? Bugs and riddles?” he inquired, making a face. “She’s just so… odd.”

“She’s our sister,” Aemond intervened.

“You marry her, then,” replied Aegon.

“I would perform my duty, if mother had only betrothed us.”

“If only,” Aegon scoffed. “We can exchange, if you want. You marry her, and I’ll marry this one,” he added, pointing at Daenys with a nod of his head. “At least I know she wouldn't bother me, since she spends more time in the sky than at home.”

“I would rather have my dragon chew me up,” Daenys deadpanned, Aemond chuckling next to her. 

After a grimace and a long sip of wine, Aegon intercepted a cup-bearer. “We actually do have one thing in common,” he said, giving his siblings a look as he took another cup, “we both fancy creatures with very long legs.”

Daenys gagged at her brother’s comment, to which he replied by smacking her on the back of her head.

“Aegon!” she protested, hitting him back as he laughed, but the sibling squabble was quickly brought to an end by Queen Alicent’s reprimand.

“What is the meaning of this?!” she whispered, her eyes on Daenys.

“He started it!” the girl tried to excuse herself, and this time her mother believed her, swiftly sending Aegon away from the group to take his mischief elsewhere, out of everyone’s sight. 

“I’ve told you many times, Daenys, you must not fall into your brother’s provocations,” Alicent warned, fixing her daughter’s hair where Aegon had hit her. “Why don’t you go speak with the girls? I am sure they could use a kind word from someone their age.”

Daenys nodded, eager to comply with her mother’s instructions, and immediately made way to where Baela and Rhaena were sitting. The twins offered her a sad smile as she approached them, making room for her on the wooden bench.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Daenys spoke.

“Did you know that my dragon was born from one of Vhagar’s eggs?”

At the mention of their mother’s dragon, both girls smiled as they nodded.

“I’ve always wondered if dragons can… sense who their mother is. Silverwing does have her occasional spat at Sunfyre, but I believe that is just because he’s Aegon’s,” she said, making the girls chuckle.

“It would be nice to see Silverwing interact with Vhagar, but she is too sad now…” said Rhaena, looking down. 

“And without a rider…” added Baela.

“Then you should claim her,” Daenys quickly resolved, grabbing Rhaena’s hand. “Wouldn’t it be nice to ride your mother’s dragon?”

Rhaena smiled timidly, and Baela spoke what her sister was thinking.

“She still waits for her egg to hatch. I’ve told her many times to just let it go, but… she keeps her faith.”

Daenys nodded, understanding. “It’s a rare gift, bonding with the dragon given to you at birth. I can see why you would want to hold on to it.”

Rhaena thanked her kindly, finding comfort in the princess’ sympathetic words. Before she could speak further about the topic, the three of them noticed Jacaerys standing next to them. He seemed unsure, hesitant, probably having been sent to speak to the girls by his mother, just like Alicent had sent Daenys.

Daenys found it difficult to meet his gaze, for the brown in his eyes told a story of treason and deception. Yet, she felt inexplicably drawn to them, as if Jace were some creature from a bedtime story rather than just a boy.

“Sorry,” he blurted out, looking at his feet. His shoes were dirty, covered in ash from riding his dragon. Queen Alicent would never allow her children to walk around in unkempt clothes.

“Thank you, Jace,” said Baela, smiling warmly at him.

The boy was clearly not a wordsmith, unable to elaborate on his condolences any further. Instead, he just stood there, holding Rhaena’s hand, until Princess Rhaenys came to comfort her granddaughters, allowing him to slip away.

Giving them their privacy to mourn their loss, Daenys quietly followed Jace to a nearby firepit, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows between them. She couldn't explain the impulse that led her to speak.

“I was sorry to hear about Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin,” she uttered, keeping her gaze fixed on the flickering fire to avoid his eyes. “They were kind.”

The princess could feel Jacaerys’ eyes on her, perhaps filled with confusion, or gratitude, or distrust. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to know. 

As Jace poised to speak, Daenys simply turned around, retracing her steps to her mother’s side without uttering another word. 

Queen Alicent stood tall, engaged in a quiet conversation with Ser Criston Cole, her sworn protector. Daenys held a fondness for Ser Criston; he had taught her archery and the nuances of horseriding, despite her insistence that mastering the latter was second nature to her as a dragonrider. He was ever-present, a stalwart guardian always ready to assist, escort, teach and protect.

Her mother acknowledged her presence by concluding her conversation with Cole, and turned her gaze to Daenys with expectation.

“The girls feel better, I think,” she informed. “We talked about dragons.”

“Of course you did,” Ser Criston quipped, eliciting a smile from Daenys.

“Good girl,” her mother approved, gently stroking Daenys’ hair. The brief display of affection quickened Daenys’ heartbeat, leaving her to ponder if this was Alicent’s way of apologizing for the incident the other day.

“Perhaps I could show them Silverwing up close tomorrow, if Uncle Daemon allows it. I gather they would like it.”

Alicent breathed a sigh and nodded at her daughter’s suggestion 

“You can ask him later, should he be willing to talk.”

“Yes, he must be terribly upset…” Daenys concurred with solemnity, missing Ser Criston’s glance at her mother upon the mention of Daemon’s grief for Lady Laena.

The crowd parted to make way for King Viserys. It was growing late, and the ceremony was becoming too long for him to remain outside. Viserys had his good and bad days, and on the latter, Daenys often wondered how she would feel if he were to pass away. Would she feel grief, or sadness? Would tears come as easily to her as they did now for Baela and Rhaena, mourning the loss of their beloved mother?

Daenys bowed her head as her father walked past her.

“I’m going to bed, Aemma,” he announced.

The confusion was nothing new. Daenys had lost count of how many times her father had mistakenly referred to her by Rhaenyra’s name, especially since his illness had begun to deteriorate not only his body, but his mind as well. 

“Shall I see after Queen Alicent, Your Grace?” Ser Harrold asked, attempting to gently remind the king of his wife’s name, but Daenys knew the damage had already been done.

As Viserys retreated inside, Daenys squeezed her mother’s hand. Queen Alicent, momentarily paralyzed by her husband’s error, met her daughter’s gaze, finding within it a look of the purest sympathy. For a fleeting moment, it seemed she might embrace Daenys, but instead, Alicent let go of the girl’s gentle grip on her hand.

“Go with your sister,” she ordered coldly, and walked away from Daenys, Ser Criston following closely behind his queen.

_______________________________________________

It was well past the hour of the Owl when Helaena woke her sister with a gentle shake on the shoulder, Daenys making a great effort to open her eyes as she had been deep in her sleep just mere seconds before.

“Something’s happened,” Helaena announced, her tone filled with anguish, prompting Daenys to sit up immediately.

“Are you hurt?” Daenys asked, reaching for her sister's arm to check for injuries despite the dimness in the chamber. 

“Not me,” the girl reassured, already getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she questioned, still confused and groggy from sleep.

Pausing in her steps, Helaena turned to her sister. “Will you come with me? I’m afraid to go alone,” she pleaded, looking once more like the youngest of the two instead of the other way around.

Unable to deny her sister, Daenys threw back the bed covers and joined Helaena by the door, both of them barefoot and clad in their sleeping gowns.

Slowly opening the door, Daenys's heart sank as she saw several guards rushing down the corridor, confirming her sister’s premonition.

Now filled with curiosity and a strange fear, the girl followed them quietly with Helaena right behind her, fist clutching Daenys’ robe. Together, they arrived at the room of the Driftwood Throne, where chaos reigned. 

The boys were there: Aegon, Jace, and Luke, and so was Ser Criston, Ser Harrold, and the King.  Baela and Rhaena stood aside, embracing each other. Sitting on a chair, Aemond sniffled, their mother at his side while a maester examined his bloody face. Heart shrunk in anguish at the sight of his injury, Daenys took a few steps closer, gasping in horror as she realized that her dear brother was missing one eye.

“Wh- How did this happen?” she was able to ask, wincing as she watched the maester finish stitching the boy’s flesh.

“I claimed Vhagar,” Aemond answered, and Daenys thought she saw a hint of satisfaction in the curl of his lip, despite the pain.

Before she could even begin to question how he had gotten his injury, Ser Criston effortlessly wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the horrid scene.

“Baela, Rhaena!” called Princess Rhaenys, descending a nearby staircase with Lord Corlys close behind. “What happened?”

Almost simultaneously, Rhaenyra hurried into the room with Daemon, rushing to check on her sons, who sported bloody noses and scratches on their cheeks.

Upon the Princess' inquiry into her sons' injuries, accusations flew from both sides of the dispute while Aegon, Daenys, and Helaena watched with a mix of doubt and curiosity. Only after the King commanded silence did the protests from both parties cease.

“Aemond,” he called, visibly exhausted as he approached the boy, using his cane for support. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.”

“What else is there to hear?” Alicent questioned on behalf of her son. “Your son has been maimed; her son is responsible.”

“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra defended, further infuriating Alicent.

“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son,” she declared, and the image of the knife cutting through her brother’s face made Daenys’ stomach turn.

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them,” Rhaenyra stated firmly. “The legitimacy of my sons’ births was put loudly to question.”

“What?” questioned the King. It was still a mystery to Daenys how her father could be so short-sighted when it came to his grandchildren’s parentage.

“He called us bastards,” Jace interjected, and Daenys was once again unable to meet his eyes, fearing he might accuse her of all the times she had participated in her brother’s mistreatment of the Velaryon boys.

“Aemond,” Viserys called once more, bending slightly to meet his son’s gaze. “Look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

Daenys felt her mother tense next to her as she waited with bated breath for her son to answer the question, knowing full well she had been the one to share the truth of the matter with all her children.

She had nothing to worry about, however, as Aemond’s loyalty to their mother was unwavering.

“It was Aegon,” he lied, and it even caught their eldest brother by surprise, as Viserys quickly advanced towards him demanding he confess where he had heard the accusations. 

“We know, Father. Everyone knows,” Aegon replied, eyes still fixed forward. “Just look at them.”

The silence that befell the room felt asphixiating, broken only by Viserys’ comandment for harmony between the younglings. 

Otto Hightower, who had been observing from afar until then, approached the King and whispered something in his ear. Viserys nodded, glancing briefly at Daenys before clearing his throat to speak again.

"I believe this is an opportune moment to announce the decision the Hand and I have reached, in hopes this endless strife may finally cease," he addressed those gathered.

"Father," Rhaenyra interrupted, briefly meeting Daenys' eyes, leaving her more confused than before. "Do you think now is the best time to tell her? After tonight's events?"

Daenys looked up at her mother in search for an answer, but the woman’s eyes were fixed on her husband, wide in panic as if she already knew what was coming.

“What is the meaning of this, Viserys?” she dared to ask.

The King held his wife’s gaze, unbothered by her tone. “After conversing this afternoon with Princess Rhaenyra about the future of House Targaryen and House Velaryon, we have decided that my daughter, Daenys, shall marry her son, Jacaerys, when they’ve both reached the appropriate age.”

As soon as those words left her father’s mouth, Daenys’ face, which had been tinted a soft shade of pink from the adrenaline of such an unfortunate night, turned pale as if she had suddenly transformed into a corpse. She opened her mouth, but the torrent of words piling up on the tip of her tongue failed to come out, as she felt an unfamiliar tingle at the tips of her fingers.

“No,” Alicent disagreed immediately, shaking her head as she firmly grabbed her daughter’s wrist, keeping her close. “No, you may do as you please when I’m dead, but I will not have my children taken from me anymore; you’ve already sent Daeron away, such thing will not happen again.”

“The decision is final, Alicent,” said Ser Otto, not a trace of fatherly love in the way he looked at her. “I understand your discontent, but this is for the good of the realm.”

“This proceeding is at an end,” the King declared, already turning towards the corridor connecting the throne room with the apartments. “The Princess Daenys shall part for Dragonstone on the morrow, accompanying her sister and her family, and remain there until they decide to return to King’s Landing. Is that understood?”

No one dared to utter a word. The crackling flames emanating from the fireplace felt suffocating instead of comforting, and Daenys’ eyesight became blurry as the tingling sensation from her fingers spread up to her head.

The events that followed happened too quickly: Alicent rushed to grab Aegon the Conqueror’s blade from Viserys’ belt, wielding it as she charged at Rhaenyra, who was quick to stop her before she could harm her. Screams and commands surrounded the scene, chaos reigning once again.

“You’ve gone too far,” Rhaenyra accused, arms keeping Alicent —and the blade— as far away from her as possible.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me?” the Queen cried. “And now, not happy with having taken my poor son’s eye, you wish to rip my daughter from me? She’s mine, Rhaenyra, mine!”

“Exhausting, wasn’t it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. The kingdom, the family, the law: you don’t care about those things, only yourself…” Rhaenyra affirmed, her voice wavering with the effort of keeping Alicent away. “But now they see you as you are…”

The sound of Valyrian steel cutting flesh silenced the room immediately. The women separated, and everyone, included Alicent, watched in consternation as blood slid down the Princess’ arm. 

The silence was broken by Daenys’ small voice.

“Mummy?” she called, before collapsing onto the cold stone floor.

_______________________________________________

Just some quality time with family, what could go wrong?

The time jump is coming, just bear with me!

Also, Daenys being a little devil on every single dragon-less Targaryen's shoulder whispering to them to 👏 just 👏 claim 👏 one 👏.

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject

[thebadboyfanclub]

You Will Pay (Harwin x Reader)

I wanted to write something a little more angry, as you guys know by now I love creating mad women and just portraying the emotions as borderline psychotic, so I hope you guys love this as much. Also please leave a comment it really helps me

The books and the maesters had very descriptive stories about the war of dragons, sisters, and brothers who went to war and detailed tales of the members and which side they resided with.

One particular story that a lot seemed to gloss over so carelessly was one of the most complicated ones, (y/n) Velaryon, the older sister of Laenor and Laena Velaryon, a comely girl and a fierce dragon rider as her egg hatched while she was in her cradle.

The maesters and fools describe her as a vicious woman, a power-hungry lady that cared for nothing but herself, but when had the maesters ever taken the time to look past their nose?

Aegon had bestowed her the title of the king's hand which caused a riot amongst the council, to force your grandsire to step down from his post, and for a woman at that, it was more than something Lord Otto could stomach, still (y/n) thrived as she meticulously plotted her vengeance against Rhaenyra.

“She took everything from me, my dignity, my love, my life, it is time for Rhaenyra to pay her debt to me”

She had confessed to Dowager Queen Alicent and her father whilst she sat next to Vaemond, urging her uncle to petition against Lucerys, some even wholeheartedly believe the Lady had gone rogue after she saw her uncle's head cut off, though she had to admit that being witness to her uncle calling Lucerys a bastard and breathing life to the shameful past (y/n)s late husband had forced her to a darker path.

How convenient would that have been? To blame the unquenchable thirst for revenge on that, no, her sulking ran deeper than that, like a venom slowly releasing droplets on (y/n) 's heart.

Despite it all (y/n) had proved to be more detail-oriented than any man, she had foreseen a plethora of moves from the blacks' side, (y/n) knew her father's mind and her mother's heart like the back of her hand, hiding in the shadows and observing for most of her adolescence was now (y/n)s strongest trait.

Seastar and (y/n) flew to the skies in numerous battles, (y/n) had been forced to face her mother, to go against her in battle whilst Seastar burned countless of Corlys’s ships, (y/n) watched her mother fall from the sky and inevitably to her death, she had wrapped her mother's body in cloth and send it back to her father in dragonstone, it was then that Corlys decided to join the green side, (y/n) was the only family he had left, he could not bare to lose her.

There was a time that (y/n) was not bitter, she was perceived to be as sweet as the fruit from the lands, back at a time when she wore a wonderful dress and was wed to Harwin strong, a glowing bride who smiled from ear to ear at her beloved lord husband, the couple danced the night away after the ceremony and the maids would gushed over their marriage.

(Y/n) gave birth to 5 children, 3 girls, and 2 boys, all of them inherited a wild mixture of their mother's and father's hair, albeit the common trait amongst them was their mother's eyes, a deep violet color that pierced through souls, the children were given devoted love and attention by both parents, Harwin had been an excellent example of a father figure to all of them, he never shied away from bouncing his youngest while the others ran around like a tornado.

He had even insisted on being there for all of their births, and as the first cry of each of them would be heard, Harwin would brush away the strands of hair from (y/n) 's sweaty face, plant a loving kiss on her forehead and then on her hand, smiling sheepishly she would nod at him basking the feeling of accomplishment and euphoria that a newborn would bring as it would curl on her arms.

One would think 5 children would be enough of a proof that there was at the very least attraction between the couple, though life has never been proven to go by a book.

“Laenor”

(Y/n) breathed out as she fell in her brother's arms in desperation, the death of their sister hit them hard and the macabre nature of her ceremony was similar to adding salt to an open wound, Laenor held her tight as he too suffered the pain of his twin being ripped out of life far too soon.

“Let us go for a walk, I wish to speak with you”

“Of course, I too yearn to get away from all the false empathy”

She hissed from between her teeth as the siblings held on to one another and step by step the ever-exhausting role of whatever title they carried washed away from the sounds of the ocean.

“As the eldest, I worry about you, brother”

“As the youngest, I worry for you, you remember her first breath, and now you are here as she took her last”

“It is not how nature intended, I was the one that had to cross over first, I guess Laena always had a Niche for sudden disappearances”

Laenor only scoffed, (y/n) was a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve for most of her life, still Laenor could detect that the burdens she carried were heavy, it was forcing her to bend her ever-defiant backbone and suffer in silence as the priding eyes of the court stood by her side, judging any beat of sweat or a wrong bat of an eyelash.

“Laena never cared for what nature intended nor any of the ton thought, she was a young maiden when she rode her dragon with him”

“I wanted to kill her, she was never dim-witted, quite the contrary I like to believe, why did she force herself to even breathe behind the shadow of… her?”

“I would venture to ask the same from you?”

“Of me?”

She was taken aback by the question, quite frankly she could not fathom what could Laenor possibly have intended by it. Puzzled she tilted her head to the side as her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes never leaving his as Laenor somewhat hunched, he looked uncomfortable and defeated.

“Come on (y/n) it is just me”

“I do not follow”

“You cannot point your finger at Laena when you suffer the same fate”

“Suffer? Have you been drinking your grief away?”

(Y/n) was evidently annoyed by Laenors riddles, naturally her mind went to just drunken sentences, Laenor shifted on his feet as he scoffed at her, his arrogance slowly burned out as he detected that (y/n) kept sturdy with her act.

“You… do not know?”

“Know what?”

“About Harwin”

“For the love of everything holy spit it out”

“Harwin is fucking Rhaenyra!”

Laenor exclaimed as fast as his tongue allowed, (y/n) 's blood ran cold at a drop of a hat, her eyes widened as her breath halted right at her lungs, and all of a sudden the wind felt like pricks piercing her skin, then as Laenor waited for the curses and any type of reaction he was shocked to see (y/n) start from a soft giggle to a full-on belly laugh.

“(Y/n), sister”

Laenor went to wrap his arms around her but (y/n) dodged it away, continuing to laugh when her hands went to her knees, her body shook from the snickering and tears started to look in her eyes, escaping fast making her eyesight blurry and the draws of breath harder by the second.

“Please (y/n) say something”

“This is… perfect”

She managed to spit out in between her shrieks of laughter, Laenor took a step back out of fear as (y/n) hiccuped, the only way to describe this was that (y/n) was walking on a tight tightrope in between sadness and insanity, the anger began to coil on her insides as the sudden sensation of pain clawed on her heart. (Y/n) fell to her knees whilst tears made her eyesight blurry, Laenor felt helpless against her, as guilt was written on his face he worried if he had made the right choice, he had let her in the bliss of ignorance for far too long.

“I must, I must go”

“Where will you go?”

“To hell, most likely, but for now I will go to my lord husband, if you can call him that”

She mumbled mostly to herself as she struggled to get up, stumbling from time to time as she walked back to their chamber, some that happened upon her described the sight as a drunken pale ghost, a demeanor that was highest unexpected of her, she could never recall how she had mastered to walk back, she had guessed that the force of habit or the desperate urge for privacy forced her legs to move one after the other and to the door that with the last ounce of power she managed to push.

Her legs had given up as the door closed by itself and (y/n) fell on the floor, she merely switched sides so she could face the ceiling and waited for Harwin, she could have been waiting for hours but to her, the thoughts had wrapped their cloak around the aspect of time, tears had ran dry and her mouth was as dry as sand yet she refused to move.

Harwin had almost stumbled over her when he walked in, it took him a second to register what was happening, his lady wife laying on the floor consciously yet the air felt like something had happened, the obvious guess was the grief overcame her.

“My dear, do you need help?”

“Don’t touch me”

“(Y/n)-“

“How long?”

“Pardon?”

“How… long?”

Her voice was low yet a hint of poison dripped out of her dry lips, as her throat begged for water all she was concerned about was how the ceiling felt like it would clash on her, the part that scared her was that she secretly hoped it did but only if that meant Harwin would go down with her.

“What has happened?”

“That is supposed to be my question, what happened that made you weak in Rhaenyras arms?”

Harwin only blinked, his mouth slightly agape as he was caught off guard by the question and confrontation, he had played cat and mouse with her for years and now the cat had seemed to just give up after she figured out that a mouse was hiding from her.

“(Y/n)-“

Harwin made the mistake of taking a step closer to her, out of impulse (y/n) used her foot to trip him resulting in him falling next to her, Harwin could not react as fast as (y/n) 's blood thrust and he had only a mere second to stop her from landing the dagger that she had so comically gifted him from stabbing him, the loud grunt was heard all around the room when she mounted him and attempted to land the dagger on his chest.

“I will fucking kill you”

“Stop!”

“I will watch as you tucking die you filthy excuse of a man! Let me do this”

Her eyes were wide and unfocused, she spat all over him as she threatened him with her teeth gritting against each other, Harwin had to put actual pressure on her hand and hurt her as she yelled out of pain and let the dagger off her tight grip, however (y/n) was not ready to give up the fight, her hands found his neck and tighten around him as much as he could.

“I will do it to you, to her, to your bastards, I gave you everything! This is how you choose to repay me? You are a demon!”

Harwin's airway was severely restricted, it was the first time that he feared his lady wife, not only was he scared of her taking his life, but the scariest part was as Harwin withered away (y/n) seemed to have a ghost of a smile and a hint of satisfaction in her eyes.

“You’re killing me” he managed to get out

“Good”

It sounded almost like a moan the way she spoke, (y/n) couldn’t even have the decency of hiding how much joy this brought her.

Harwin years of training went into defense and he pushed her off with so much might that (y/n) fell back on the floor with her back. Coughs escaped her and so did Harwin as they gasped for air, (y/n)/ back was on fire but nothing could match the shame and anger that shimmered in her heart

“You sick bastard”

She yelled frantically as she dragged herself with her elbows a few inches away before her arms gave out on her and collapsed back on the floor with coughs shaking her.

Such a tragic scene, a couple that had burned bright for all of the seven kingdoms to watch was now inflicting torture on one another, emotional, physical, one could argue generational given the fact that (y/n) could not stand the idea of her children being eclipsed by Rhaenyras bastards.

Both of them gasping for air on the floor as (y/n) supported herself with her arms to gain some distance from the wooden floor, all one could hear was their panting and the groans in between out of agony and pain, the sight of them would bring pity on both of them, as a couple that once found comfort in each other now brought them a breath away from death.

“This is not the way to discuss this”

“I had given you my life, I tore myself to give you children, a wife anyone would envy, a life full of whatever you wished and what did you do?”

“You know I love you”

The only response (y/n) considered to be right was a swift kick at his leg causing him to flinch and hiss in pain, Harwin had remained motionless on the floor as (y/n) struggled to raise herself and stand up, she had made it about halfway and was up on her knees when a pain as sharp Valyrian steel sliced her across her stomach.

“I will never forgive you for this”

“(Y/n)”

he called for her as sweet as he always did, a few hours ago she would have melted with a happy smile at the sound of him calling her name.

“Get out! OUT!”

She was crying a screaming at him, spit escaping her mouth, Harwin gazed at her with guilt written all over him, (y/n) had endured the worst, scenarios that would make anyone break and yet she had managed to stand strong, all for him to blow it down like a withering deck of cardamom

Harwin got up and shamefully walked away from her, leaving her to cry, what he did not know was that (y/n) was not just grieving their marriage, she was grieving a child, blood was trickling down her leg and the pain only worsened by the moment, she was so excited to call the babe Laena, after her late sister and now she lost that chance as well.

She did not want to tell him yet, maybe inside her, she knew it would not last, but how could Mother be so cruel to her? Take away the last offspring of her love that now was sniffed out like a candle in the wind, the very last memory of the blissful marriage she thought she had.

(Y/n) placed her hands on her stomach as she wept, images of them together kept on clouding her mind and judgment, one that persisted was the day they welcomed their first child.

(Y/n) had suffered at the hands of the maesters, men that could not fathom the idea of a woman knowing better than them even though it was her that split into two pieces to bring a son into the world.

Harwin hastily had burst through the doors at the first sound of that marvelous cry the babe had managed to spit out and fill the room with sighs of relief.

“Praise the Gods, you have a son”

“Out of my way”

Harwin had mumbled before he shoved away the maester making his heavy metal chain click against its charms before he kneeled before (y/n). She was sweaty though her skin was cold, her eyes could not seem to focus and moved at glacial speed, she had managed to make her thighs touch as she had probably collapsed after the labor, and her calves were one in the east and the other in the west.

“My beautiful, sweet (y/n)”

“Harwin, stay”

“Of course, you did so well”

“I’m tired”

Her voice was barely above a whisper and her heavy breathing made it harder for him to listen to her words, as a sign of comfort Harwin placed his hand on the top of her head and started to pet her ever so softly, a sheepish smile appeared on her lips, after such intense act his caress brought her such security that the pain seemed to leave her body.

“Is he alright?”

“Healthy and kicking my lady, would you like to hold him?”

“No, I can’t, Harwin”

She begged, (y/n) could not even get out of bed for days, her body was wounded severely and all she seemed to want to do was sleep, Harwin would often jest that (y/n) only did it to make up for the nights her belly kept her awake, he had stayed by her side, holding their son, making sure she sees him and even helped her to hold him once she had regained her strength.

Now look at them, Harwin kneeling behind the door of the bed chamber as she yelled and cried, (y/n) was pushed into madness, she plunged herself deeper in the sea of chaos and salt of unfairness ached the scratches on her heart, a babe ripped away from her too soon and her lord husband stripped from the shinning armor of honor.

“You will pay! All of you will pay!”

Requests are open!

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat #2: Viserys's POV learning of the twins

After another tight race, the treat of the day is Viserys's POV when he learned of the twins!

And @textbookchoices managed to win a bonus treat, which will go up a little later today!

x~x~x

Viserys set Daemon’s letter down, the bottle of dreamwine beside his meal entirely forgotten as he stared out the window, into the glow of torches and lamps lighting the yard of the Red Keep at night. There was another, bearing the seal of Runestone, and he opened it next to find the maester’s own reporting of events—and rolled up within it, Rhea Royce’s own confession. It was written in the maester’s hand, but the signature was hers.

It was not that he thought his brother a liar. Quite the opposite, in fact. Daemon had never been one to dissemble, ever ready to speak his mind, unheeding of the consequences. But if what was written in his brother’s letter was true, then House Royce had carried out the boldest of treasons.

What woman could be so heartless and cruel as to deny not only herself the company of her own sons, but their very existence? To deny them their birthright and father, and Daemon the joys of fatherhood?

Every time he had sent Daemon back to Runestone, it had been with the hope that this time, it might yield a child. He knew his brother. He knew that he would find purpose in fatherhood, and he had hoped that doing so would settle his restless nature at last.

Instead, he had dismissed Daemon’s furious tirades about his wife’s hatred and scorn as the tantrums of a spoiled prince. And when he had slipped from the holdfast with Rhaenyra to the Street of Silks, endangering both her maidenhood and her suitability as heir in the eyes of the realm, Viserys had thought it motivated by the desire to win his way onto the throne another way: through marriage.

She must have hated him like no other, to wall off her heart and plot so vile a treason. Or she had been too in love with power, and unwilling to suffer the threat of two sons that might one day supplant her.

Or perhaps there had been other considerations. How had warlocks come to learn of Daemon’s sons, to have hatched a plot to steal them away by ship? With dragon eggs in hand, no less.

It was treason enough to hide royal children from the Crown. But children of House Targaryen were no ordinary children. They were all potential dragonriders, and Viserys did not doubt that any sons of Daemon would be fierce dragonriders. There is no greater treason against the Crown than secreting away our children to foreign realms seeking dragons of their own.

It had not been so long ago, Elissa Farman’s theft of three dragon eggs. Had they ended up in Qarth, with the Free City waiting and scheming for the first opportunity to steal away children who might hatch them? Fifty thousand dragons was a colossal reward to offer for anything less than the greatest of prizes.

His hand tightened around the tip of his cane. Even at a goodly pace, a caravan from the Saltpans to King’s Landing would take three weeks. There was no telling if other assailants awaited along the path, eager to claim such a reward.

Viserys leaned back in his chair, body aching for the sleep promised by the dreamwine on the table. He called for Ser Harrold instead, who entered with a bow.

“Send for my good-son,” he ordered. “It is a matter of urgent business.”

Viserys returned to the letter, tracing the lines with a bittersweet fondness. For all the letters he had sent to the Stepstones over the years, he’d received none in reply. He had not even seen his brother in six years, Viserys’s last words to him choked with fury and betrayal over what had seemed either a shameless attempt to steal the throne through his daughter—or an act of breathless stupidity. He had dealt with Daemon as he always did in such moments: by sending him away, lest Viserys lash out in anger he might regret later.

For such an act, punishment will be expected, Otto had reminded him, as though his Hand were not party himself to Rhaenyra’s disgrace in his eagerness to tear her down in favor of Aegon. It was advice Viserys had applied to Otto as well, cutting off both who had spited him.

Perhaps it meant something that as Otto returned, contrite and comforting in his wisdom, now Daemon would as well.

But six years had been so long. One would think that Viserys had been the one who had transgressed, rather than Daemon. He visited Rhaenys in Driftmark. Rhaenyra and Laenor at Dragonstone.

But not Viserys, no matter how he had urged him to return. Instead, he had spent the past five years missing that fire, both like and unlike their father’s—more like the mother Daemon could not remember, but Viserys did. A careless fire, one that burned both Daemon and those around him. But the warmth of it could not be denied.

He is one person to whom I am more than the crown I wear. Otto had always raged at Daemon’s familiar address, the way he would speak freely to Viserys, in both challenge and jest. You cannot let him think he is your equal, his Hand had constantly insisted. But for all the ceremony and protocol and commands, he knew that Daemon still saw him as his brother first and his king second. And he found himself needing that more than he ever had before. These days, it felt like his crown was welded to his head, a slowly tightening vice.

Viserys read and reread the letter again, almost able to hear his brother’s voice, the fatigue clear in his writing, scratched in a trembling hand.

They have been hurt in ways I do not yet understand, and I cannot breathe from the rage. I am a stranger to them, yet they are the world to me. I may have rescued them from this peril, but I cannot take back the years with them that have been stolen from me.

A kindred anger echoed in his own heart as he thought of the past eight years he had been denied his brother’s company. With twin sons to care for—born just after Aegon, so long ago—Daemon would surely have settled in King’s Landing, his sharper edges softened so that he did not cut himself or Viserys as often. As a father, he would have recognized how unforgivable it was to leave a girl of sixteen to fend for herself in the Street of Silk.

He would have been here. I would have had my brother, and nephews to spoil. In stealing his sons, Rhea Royce stole him too.

A knock sounded at the door to his chamber, announcing Laenor’s arrival, and Viserys rolled the letters back up. “Come in.”

Laenor entered with an air of apprehension, unaccustomed to being summoned alone to attend to him. “Your Grace? I was told you have need of me.”

“Yes,” Viserys said. “I have an urgent errand for you and Seasmoke.”

[rayroseu]

💚Mallevan/Levanoa Headcanons (2/?)

PART 01 PART 02⬇️

you guys dont know how often i brainrot about these couple who never even talked in game yet KDJAKSK

Am glad to see that Levan's receiving the "Yuusona treatment" because of the various ways that twst artists draws him lolol

• • • Headcanon 2.

Malenoa is the strongest of the trio. Because she is a royalty, she is much more knowledgeable about magic— particularly if its related to dragons. Naturally, she became kind of like a magical tutor to both Levan and Lilia when they were children.

i really like the thought of eastern dragons in TWST🥰 its a nice foreshadow that Levan is a Long bcs thats Malleus' Halloween costume✨

(if its really like that,,,, im going to cry bcs that means Malleus dressed up like his papa who he never knew 💔😭)

(also I'm praying with all my heart he's not some plot twist jerk in game like King Stefan from Maleficent 1 😭)

I think dragons are rare on TWST not only because they're really particular on their mates but also because raising one is extremely high maintainance.

Its 1: life threatening to the caretaker, 2: needs constant attention and love, 3: once it grows up, you even need to withstand its tantrums and emotions (who are btw magically powered) 😭💥

That's why I think ??? there's limited knowledge about mediating their power (so they just get stuck in this cycle of being the strongest but that very strength can bring disaster bcs its uncontrollable)

Thus, I thought of Malenoa being Levan's friend who teaches him about controlling his draconic powers because Levan doesn't really want to accidentally harm others because of his uncontrollable strength--✨✨✨

I like to think its because of Levan's pacifist nature that Land of Briar chose to have war treatiest first instead of just crushing the Silver Owls through Malenoa's military strength. He's aware that killing off humans would just make them more hostile to faes in general, and I don't think both Malenoa and Levan wants Malleus to grow up in war once he hatches-

—

Levan's fire is purple because I remember getting surprised when Overblot Malleus used that on his attack despite Land of Briar/Malenoa (?) being "mainly green colored" all this time...

So, I think that's one magic he got from his father??? because most of his features already derives from Malenoa (horns, tail, magic (i think his green fire is from Malenoa), straight hair, etc)

The purple fire might've originate from Malleus' mastery of void magic (I hc their dorm spells' element are their forte magic and Dorm Malleus is double void card) but we've never seen void magic used like a fire... its usually like an energy beam right? I think it was so exciting when he attacked like that💜👆‼️✨ (I literally squealed lol its so pretty?? but I know I'll die from that lol)

I love the thought that Lilia is the "mom friend"/"sensible friend" of this trio... 😂 because he says hes the one constantly working for these couple... mostly to deal with their antics lol

plus Lilia is literally the sole person working for Levan and Malenoa to meet together right now---

since Levan's missing and Malenoa can’t really leave the castle since she’s guarding unhatched Malleus--- and its just a bad move to send the best queen on the frontlines when they can just send Lilia yk 😆

i hope we get more dragon egg lore and also specifically egg malleus reveal🙌🙌 like how do THEY take care of a dragon egg anyway.... do they put it on cradles as well like human babies??? or their parents will hold them since they require vast amount of love-

i'd used to think malleus backstory would be his child self being lonely (which in the future might??? but for now?? his backstory is literally just him being an egg and all of us are crying over an egg JDHJWJD 😭😭😭

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair were dark, but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen and her wrath was not different from the one that burn inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 2

Ysilla had been right. Her dragon had survived for the first weeks of his life, and it kept getting bigger. No one believed it, but he did, and the girl spent the majority of her time with her dragon.

Since it survived, her lady mother had agreed to make the Maester write to King's Landing so that the keeper of the Dragonpits could take a look at the dragon.

Soon, Ysilla found herself on a ship, cradling her dragon in her arms, heading to the Capital.

She had been when she was only two, or at least that was what her mother had told her. She had to go because her uncle wanted to meet her. But Ysilla had little memory of that. At that time, her aunt Aemma was still alive and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. But only some months after her visit, she had died, giving birth to her son.

Her aunt came from the Vale as well, and Ysilla would have liked to remember her. But she really couldn't.

"You'll be taken care of," she whispered to her dragon, caressing his head. He seemed to like her touch, which made her giggle. "You are a strong one," she said proudly as his tail circled her wrist and moved his black wings.

Ysilla arrived at King's Landing by ship in five days. When she could see the shape of the city, the girl ran to the front.

King's Landing was huge, and she could already see the Red Keep and the Septon of Baelon. It looked so different from Runestone. Her castle was set on the tall mountains, and it was smaller than the Red Keep.

When her ship arrived at the dooks, her eyes noticed a knight wearing the white cloaks of the Kingsguard. He was a young man, olive-skinned and dark-haired. For some reason, his features made her blush. Her mother didn't let her hear songs much; Royces were strong warriors, and in a hard land like her own, there was no time for stories. But the few that Ysilla had heard talked about beautiful knights, such as the one that was waiting for her at the docks.

"Princess Ysilla," the knight greeted her with a bow of his head, which she reciprocated, holding her dragon in her arms.

"Good day, Ser," she answered politely, feeling a faint blush creep upon her cheeks at the realization she had no clue what the knight's name might be.

"Ser Criston Cole, my princess," he said gently, "I'll be escorting you to the castle. The King is waiting for you." He gestured towards a big carriage. The girl blinked her purple eyes in amazement. She never used those in Runestone; her mother taught her how to ride as soon as Ysilla could. Even her ride to the port had been made on the back of her pony.

Ysilla nodded silently, ready to follow the knight, but she didn't miss the way Ser Criston's eyes lingered upon her dragon.

"He is good," she said, suddenly afraid that they didn't want her dragon to enter the carriage. "He always obeys me, I swear," she assured him.

Since her dragon was born, Ysilla has never separated from him. He has become a dear friend to her, and he was always with her.

"Do not fear, princess," he smiled down at her, "Shall we go?"

Sadly, the carriage had no windows. Ysilla would have liked to watch the busy streets of the city, but she could only hear the people outside. She could not understand any words; they were just buzzing. Riding on horseback to the castle could have been more entertaining.

The dragon in her hands moved, and Ysilla looked down at it. He was still trying to find a way to move as swiftly as possible, trying to put all his strength into his front legs. Sometimes, he hurt her with his claws, accidentally scratching her skin. But Ysilla was patient with him.

"How old is he?" Ser Criston Cole asked her. She knew he had seen her dragon's missing legs, as he had noticed her dark hair streaked with silver.

"Almost two months old," she answered, biting her lower lip, feeling a bit shy. "Ser Criston," she called after some moments of silence, "Is my father here in King's Landing by any chance?"

The knight shook his head, "I'm sorry, princess. Prince Daemon is still fighting on the Stepstones." She flushed with shame. She should have known, but she stupidly had hoped that maybe he would have came in King's Landing after hearing of her arrival. She had just being stupid.

"Oh, thank you." The little claw of her dragon trying to keep himself up made her look down so that their eyes would meet.

You are here, though, she thought, caressing its head.

Once they arrived at the Red Keep, Ysilla felt so small looking up at the stone that built the castle.

"Ysilla Targaryen," her presence was announced as she stepped down the carriage, helped by Ser Criston. On the steps at the entrance of the castle, Ysilla noticed a man with long silver hair wearing black and red vests. On his face, there was a short beard, and he was smiling at her. He was the King Viserys and Ysilla's uncle. Next to him a young lady, with auburn hair tied at the back of her head. Her hands were resting upon her swollen belly. She must have been the young Queen Alicent, her aunt.

"My dear niece," the King said, walking towards her with open arms.

"Your Grace," she knew how to talk to the King; her Maester had thought of her well.

"You've grown so much, my dear," he said, gently smiling at her. At that, Ysilla felt like blushing. She knew how she was supposed to talk to the King, but not so much to her uncle, so she decided only to smile.

"You must be tired," the sweet voice of the Queen got her attention to see her stopping next to her husband, "And hungry."

"You are very kind, my Queen," she spoke shyly, "But I'd like to ask you to make sure my dragon is healthy."

Both the King and the Queen looked at the little beast in her arms. And Ysilla noticed their eyes linger at on the dragon, searching for the hind legs.

"It is-"

"Strong," she spoke, interrupting her uncle, blushing, "But we do not have Dragonpit in Runestone."

"Then we should bring him to the Dragonpit," another voice said from behind the King. She was a pretty girl with long silver hair and a smile, dressed in a soft yellow gown. Ysilla knew who she was: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne.

"You want to think about it, Rhaenyra?" Ysilla's uncle asked. The girl noticed the princess making a strange face when her father spoke as if she didn't want him to share words with her. But when Rhaenyra's eyes went back to Ysilla, she smiled again.

"Of course," she said, gesturing towards the carriage.

"He is so pretty," Rhaenyra told her once the carriage moved again to bring them to the Dragonpit. Then she frowned as she got closer, taking a better look at the hatchling. Ysilla brought him closer to her.

"Thank you, princess," Ysilla answered, waiting for a comment from her cousin. She knew she would; everyone did. Ysilla's mother was not even sure that he would have survived.

"How's he called?" The question surprised her. She was ready to answer any question about her dragon, but not that. Ysilla blushed.

"I still have not named him," she admitted, ashamed.

"And why is that?" Asked Rhaenyra curiously.

"No name fits," the girl answered, caressing the head of her dragon.

Rhaenyra smiled. "It will come," she assured her, "Give it time."

Ysilla looked up, her lips curling up, appreciating her cousin's words. When she did so, she noticed the neckless of smoke-grey steel with a deep red ruby in its center. It was shining brightly, even if there was not so much light inside the carriage.

"You like it?" Rhaenyra asked, touching the necklace with her fingers. Ysilla nodded shyly.

"It's Valyrian steel," her cousin said, and Ysilla's eyes grew large.

"Like Lamentation!" She exclaimed, remembering the Valyrian Steel sword that House Royce possessed.

"And Blackfyre, or Dark Sister," Rhaenyra said, talking about the swords that one Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wife Vysenia possessed.

"Father wields Dark Sister!" She knew all about those matters. Ysilla loved Valyrian Steel. Rhaenyra chuckled, nodding her head.

"Exactly!" She exclaimed before touching the neckless once again, "This was his gift."

Those words confused Ysilla. Her father had given that necklace to Rhaenyra? Why? Perhaps for her name-day, no doubt. If not, why? But did her father usually give gifts on name-days? Ysilla never received anything from him, nor did she know. Or maybe he did!

He must have if he had given something to Rhaenyra, Ysilla though. Her mother probably never gave her presents because she was still a little girl of five—too young for such jewelry.

It must be it, she thought, looking down at her dragon when he moved in her hands.

The Dragonpit was huge. Set atop one of the hills of King's Landing. The Hills of Rhaenys, Rhaenyra called it. The main door of bronze and iron was so tall that Ysilla felt her neck ache when she tried to look up. The Dragonpit was the home of the royal dragons of House Targaryen. Ysilla looked at her dragon as they walked inside, wondering if he would have liked to stay with the other dragons more. Maybe, that was the right place for him.

The Maesters of the Dragonpit were like nothing Ysilla had ever seen. They spoke a strange language that she had never heard before.

"Do you know High Valyrian?" Rhaenyra asked from next to her. High Valyrian was the language that was spoken by the people of Valyria. But Ysilla did not know it. No one in the household was Targaryen. And her mother wanted to raise her proud and strong like the people of the Vale and Ysilla wanted to be. But a part of her wanted to be Targaryen. She was a Targaryen, and she felt ashamed when she shook her head, admitting that she did not know High Valyrian. Rhaenyra observed her for a moment before starting to talk with the Dragonpit Maester. The man spoke to Ysilla, who only frowned, but then Rhaenyra touched her shoulder with a gentle smile.

"He'd like to see the dragon," Ysilla held it a little more, knowing that she had to let him go. The man was waiting, but she could only focus on the dragon moving in her hands.

"It's going to be alright," she assured, looking at the purple eyes of the hatchling. You are a good dragon," she said before moving her arms so that the man could take him. He squirmed, complaining as Ysilla took a step back.

The man put the dragon on a stone table. The little beast had some difficulty staying still due to the lack of its hind legs. But Ysilla observed him proudly as he found his balance using his wings, his long black and purple neck standing eloquently as he got more confident.

The man started to talk, and Ysilla turned to Rhaenyra, who was waiting for her to translate.

"He is deformed," Rhaenyra said, "The hind legs had not developed. He should have been dead by now," Ysilla's heart beat fast, full of worry, "And yet he is strong." Rhaenyra added, "Strong muscles, strong wings. It is unlikely that he will perish." Ysilla felt tears in her eyes, "He is growing good for his age. He says it is a miracle."

"So he will be fine!" Ysilla exclaimed happily. Rhaenyra nodded her head with a happy smile. Then the man talked again, and Ysilla waited patiently for her cousin to translate.

"He needs to be watched over," she said, "If he survives the furst year of age, he will be fine."

Ysilla was so glad to hear, and after asking the permission to go to her dragon, she happily caressed his head.

"You are going to be fine," she assured him, "And we are always going to be together."

________________________________________

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[rufflesandbows]

Made of Fire

Aemond X Reader (Rhaenyra Daughter)

Promises had been made. Maybe as children, but it would appear Aemond has not forgotten them. Not through the passage of time and not through the pain and the hate. The feud is coming to its sharp edge, and now he means to fulfil that promise. Claiming it is for duty and devotion, both of which you doubt.

Warnings: Incest, kidnapping, non/dub-con touching and heavy kissing Word Count: 2400 (Part 2/Final)

The sharp whip of winds chilled your cheeks and rushed past your ears. Most of your body was ice cold, except your back and around your waist, a firm grip keeping you upright. Your hips ached a little, and the world seemed to waver lightly, as if on calm waters. To rub your face, you attempted to lift your hands only to feel a harsh yank around your wrists. Your head snapped up, looking at your hands and in the night you could make out ropes binding you. In a panic you pulled again when a dragons deep rumble startled you, feeling the vibrations through your legs.

You were flying high in the full moon sky, tied to a dragon. In a gasp your heart jumped up your throat and you pressed back at the warm wall behind you, pulling on the ropes.

A sly shush came beside your ear. “Easy now.” You recognized that voice, a trembling sigh came from you. Gods above, just what did Aemond think he was doing!? “I had a difficult time convincing Vhagar to let you up here. She remembers what your brother did to me.”

The great dragon tilted her head to look behind herself, hearing her name, showing all those jagged teeth to the moonlight with a growl. It took a moment for you to catch your bearings, taking in the clouds against a twinkling sky. The great wings gave slow but heavy beats you could feel pulse through your body. You began to tremble all over, the fast winds, the darkness below, this was the first time you’d ever ridden a dragon. The egg that never hatched still sitting on your shelf back at Dragonstone. “Aemond. Think this through-”

Aemond pulled his face into your neck, taking a deep breath in and sending you on high alert. His arm didn’t tighten on you, he caressed you. Running his touch up and down your side. Your breath hitched, nervously shifting on the saddle. “It is as you said. You and I should have been wed ages ago.”

Quite the devoted claim. If only he meant it. You anxiously tried twisting your hands free of the ropes. “We should of been; to unite our families and put the petty feud behind us. I’m not a fool. I know you care nothing for me. You’re only taking me to upset my brothers.”

“Is that what you think?” He chuckled. In frustration you tugged the rope and Vhagar gave a lurch. She growled and shivered, the saddle swaying as if she might toss you both off. You cried out and gripped the bone of the saddle, panting hard with panic.  Aemond however remained relaxed, adjusting the reins in his one hand and soothing his beast. “She knows you’re trying to escape. It would be in both our best interest if you stopped fighting. Besides, where will you go? You shove me off she won’t follow your command. She’ll kill you.”

“Where do you intend to take me?” All the resolution in your voice was gone, still frightened from your near plummet to the ground. “What do you plan to do?”

If he wanted to take your virtue, leave you humiliated he didn’t have to take advantage of your use of poppy milk to steal you away on dragonback. 

“We’re going far from both our families. To Harrenhal, where we will wed as we should have been long ago.”

It didn’t make any sense. His words were plain but they couldn’t be simple. Why now? What did it matter to him when he’d done nothing but mock you and your brothers at dinner? You couldn’t help but think the worst. That he had something truly horrific waiting for you. That he meant to keep you as his plaything and break your body and mind. Even now his hand on your hip was roaming your body. Crossing your stomach, running up your chest, grabbing your breast through the thin night gown and placing a kiss on your jaw. He wouldn't stand less than five feet from you during the visit to Kings Landing, where was this coming from? The wind whipped away your tears before they could fall. “And then what?”

“We’ll be married. You will live with me. You will bear my children.”

And what else? What was he not telling you? “Aemond, I don’t understand-”

He laughed, his breath hot on your neck, his hand dropping back down to your hip, holding you steady against his lap. “Do you desire me no longer? Do you not remember all our long talks at the library? Our kiss under the weirwood?” His voice dropped low into a tease. “Do you think I didn’t catch you watching me train this morning, or sneak glimpses at the dinner table?”

You remembered all those events clearly. They all meant nothing in the wake of a kidnapping. With a thick swallow down a dry throat, you admitted, “I’m frightened.”

He gave pause before asking softly, “You think I’d hurt you?”

“I don’t know.” You gestured to the ropes around your wrists, keeping you tied to a beast that hated you. Looking into his face brought you no clear answers, only that whatever was in his mind was felt intensely. You felt his hand begin to move again, raising up to curl around your shoulder, to softly touch your cheek, to keep your eyes on him. 

“When I take you to bed, you will know.”

You took back, parting your lips to speak when his mouth crashed to yours. Aemond buried you in his heat, pressing into you, fingers digging into your jaw to keep you locked to him as he delved further. You could taste a spiced sweetness on his tongue as it ran along yours. Could feel his chest rumble at your back as Vhagar’s did beneath your legs. Heat jumped down your spine, awakening your whole body to the winds chill. Your knees rose up on the saddle, trying to not pull on the ropes as he had his way with you. You squirmed and whimpered, helpless against his eager exploration.

When Aemond finally released you, you were both left gasping. You could feel his arousal against your backside, and unfortunately, the wind made you very aware of the dampness beneath yourself. Of the blood thrumming with life through you. You licked your lips, tasting one last time that spiced sweetness, gulping it down. His free arm wrapped around you again, tightly pressing you against his chest, growling in satisfaction. 

He whipped the reins, Vhagar weaving up before diving lower. You could see the lake of the Gods Eye glittering, shocking you that you could see all sides of the great lake from so high up. As Vhagar drew closer, she began to pick up speed, descending faster and faster, your stomach crawling up your throat. You held onto the saddle for dear life, feeling yourself lift without the proper harness reserved for Aemond. 

At a certain level Vhagar beat her wings and slowed, lowering herself into an open field a short distance from Harrenhal. Quickly the old dragon settled, but she had her head tilted just lightly, watching you and Aemond. 

“Are you ready?” Aemond asked as you were still trying to catch your breath. 

As you spoke, your voice was shivering. “Surely there isn’t a Maestor waiting at this hour.”

Aemond scoffed, “No. We’ll be staying at Harrenhal for the night and wed in the morning. That is, if you cooperate.”

Cooperate. Meaning you didn’t make a fuss about being kidnapped. That you play along as a woman madly in love with the prince, ready to take him to husband, take him to bed. The pregnant pause of your hesitation agitated Vhagar, her impatient roar amusing Aemond. You had tensed and he gave you what was supposed to be a comforting squeeze. “Hm? How about it, beloved?”

Neither Aemond or Vhagar were giving you much choice. Worse yet was thinking how it would unite the two bloodlines once again. Something both your mother and his had been desperately avoiding. Was it then your duty to the Realm to quell the mounting tensions on the edge of destruction? What was the price you were willing to pay to make that happen? Letting out a slow sigh, you nodded, “Alright. I’ll play along.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.” He pulled a blade from his hip and sliced the rope, freeing your wrists. You felt Vhagar’s gaze the entire decent down her side. You didn’t know a dragon could hate so personally. When your bare feet touched the ground, you gave a small cry at how cold it was, looking down at the instant chill seeping into your joints. 

“Here.” You didn’t know where he produced them from, but he handed you a pair of your slippers. Uneasy, you slipped them on and let him take your hand. Aemond kept you locked tight by his side as he led you to the looming silhouette of Harrenhal, the pale moon touching the melted stone of the towers. 

When the gates came into view, it was Lord Larys himself who greeted you both with a small bow. “Prince and Princess, it is an honor to house you both here.”

He could see the state you were in. The nightgown, the trembling, the clear fear in your eyes, yet he smiled back when you said nothing. 

Aemond asked, “The rooms are ready?”

You looked between them, feeling ever more trapped as Larys nodded, “Oh, everything is ready, as you requested. The wedding will be underway first thing in the morning.”

It was clear they were working together, that it was planned for longer than your visitation. That no one would be sending you help, not even if you screamed and cried. Aemond nodded, pulling you along deeper into the cursed fort. “I apologize that it won’t be a grand wedding befitting a prince and princess, but we don’t want to draw in too much attention before the union can be consummated.” 

A flush of fear sapped all the heat from you, making you shiver. “Then why not do it now? Get it over with?”

Aemond looked at you, a softness in his gaze. “Because you deserve more than that.” Still, you couldn’t understand him. A soft curl of his lip came as he stopped in the hall, “You’re not a concubine, or a whore to me. You might doubt my intentions, but I do intend to make you my wife, and give you every respect as such. You’ll have a wedding, a proper wedding and a feast. And when we return home, our houses will be united, as is our duty.”

You shook your head, “Then why didn’t you ask me? Why take me against my will? Why mock my family if you intend to share in our name? If you think I am nothing more than a bastard?”

“I only mock your brothers to rile them, the truth of your parentage matters nothing to me.” In spite of your very serious questions, he leaned in with a growing smile. “And you did promise yourself to me, once.”

You were not amused. Aemond however was tickled as his chuckle bounced off the stone walls and he led you further in. He stopped before a door at the very end, opening it up for you and for the first time, let your hand go. 

Timidly, you walked in, looking around the properly decorated room for a noble guest. Your eye fell on the bed and you stiffened, spinning around quickly to watch Aemond. He stayed by the door, a wicked grin playing on his lips and a glitter in his eye. “Don’t you worry, I am no scoundrel. I will wait properly for the consummation. When you are my wedded wife.”

The word consummation made your stomach drop, pooling low at your waist. When you didn’t respond, just clutched yourself as wild thoughts of what was to come invaded, Aemond stepped forward. His movements were gradual and assured. He reached up and cupped your cheek, running his thumb along the still chilled flesh. There was such a daze as he looked at you, his eye roaming every detail of your face. His gaze fell on your lips, lingering there a long while. You gulped with anticipation, thinking of that kiss mid flight. It was far from the first between you, but it had been years ago that you two practiced in secret, with all the flair of amateurs. The very last having been under the weirwood, giving a promise to one another that you were made for each other. That was before Driftmark.

Aemond moved forward and you flinched, but didn’t pull back. Your heart was racing wildly, your body growing hot with uncertainty and inaction. Looking into you, the air was heavy, his intense gaze boring into you. More slowly he closed the distance, his eye not leaving yours for a single second as his lips softly placed on yours.

It was at the touch of your lips that his eye rolled to a fluttering close. His grip tightened, locked you against him, Aemond nodding deeper into the kiss. A whimper slipped from you, your hands planting on his chest. He was burning under your touch, Aemond breaking the kiss only to swallow you up again. A gasp parting your lips and allowing him to taste you once again. 

His hand dropped low on your back, crushing you flush against him. It was suffocating being between his hungry embrace. Your choked breathing turned into panting, fanning his mouth between his lavishing dive into you. Aemond moaned, nearly picking you up off the floor as he gripped you again, eager to have you hop onto his waist.  

A loud wet smack parted you and you took the split second moment to chide him, “Aemond.”

His breath hitched, stopping himself. “You’re right. Of course.” His words were rough with quick rapid breaths. He licked his lips, as if starving for more of you, savoring what little he could get. Slowly, his body trembling, Aemond set you down and pulled his arms from you. There was a pink flush in his cheeks, his lips glistening. Swallowing thickly, he dipped his head and stepped backwards toward the door. “Sleep well.” 

The door shut behind him, and a moment later you heard the lock turn on the outside.

___ Let me know if you enjoyed the read! ♡ Art by Daniel F. Gerhartz

[sapphire-writes]

no matter what ~ Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Aemond x fem!reader

Summary: Your daughter worries about her egg not hatching. Dad Aemond to the rescue. Cuteness & fluff.

Word Count: 0.7k

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: Wanted to write some soft Aemond, let me know what you think!

update: part 2 drabble where baby girl gets her dragon 🥺

Requests are open 💚

Your daughter had been laying in front of the fireplace since returning to your chambers after supper. The usually rambunctious child was eerily calm, watching the flames lick the sides of her dragon egg.

She had been presented with an egg when she was a baby in cradle, a tradition that honors the Targaryens, hoping the egg would hatch and she would bond with the dragon inside.

Years had passed and as your daughter grew, the egg remained unopened.

You smiled softly as you watched from where you sat, a book across your belly, swollen with child yet again. From where you sat, you could not see the silent tears that rolled down your daughter's face, her eyes transfixed on the dancing flames.

The door to your chambers opened, and your husband Aemond entered. He waltzed over to you first, placing a kiss on your head before kneeling in front of you.

You smiled at your husband as he placed a hand on your stomach.

"How is our little dragon today, my love?" he asked, concern written on his face.

"Restless today, it seems," you tell him honestly, placing your hand atop his. As much as he loves seeing you pregnant with his child, Aemond detests the pain it brings you late in the pregnancy.

Aemond turned to look then at the other dragon in the room. He glances back at you, and you give him an encouraging nod.

Aemond stands, walking over to your daughter.

"Skorkydoso iksos issa byka mēre?" he asks, stroking his daughter's silver head affectionately (How is my little one?).

Your daughter sniffles, running her sleeve across her nose. Aemond sits swiftly, pulling the small girl into his lap.

"Skoros iksos pirta issa dōna hāedar?" he inquires, as she snuggles into his chest (What is wrong my sweet girl?).

"It shall never hatch," she cries, hopelessly, "I shall never have a dragon to ride." She answered in the common tongue, causing your face to fall into a sad expression. Aemond meets your eyes, his expression mirrors yours.

"Why do you say that?" Aemond asks, beginning to rock your daughter back and forth, soothing her sobs.

"I-I- heard th-that sometimes," the tears come harder, your daughter struggles to find the words between her sobs, "sometimes...it never-"

She is cut off by a small hiccup, you bring a hand to cover your lips, tears filling your eyes. You have never seen your daughter so distraught.

"Shhhh, it is alright," Aemond purrs, "do you want to hear something?"

Your daughter hiccups again, turning to look up at Aemond. Her violet eyes are large and watery, and more tears threaten to spill over.

"I did not have a dragon in cradle, nor was I a dragonrider until I was much older than you are now."

Your daughter's eyes appeared to widen, as she sat up looking at her father. Aemond smiled softly at her.

"You didn't have an egg?" she asked, sniffling. Aemond shook his head. He reached forward, wiping the tears from his daughter's reddened cheeks.

"The gods are mysterious, indeed," he began, "sometimes they place greatness in our laps, other times they wish to see what challenges we can rise to."

You smiled softly, looking at your daughter. Her full attention was on Aemond, drinking in every word he spoke. She simply adored him.

"I claimed Vhagar, and she claimed me," Aemond said, smiling at the memory. He took his daughter's hands in his.

"So perhaps your egg hatches, or perhaps it does not," he says, pursing his lips, in thought. "There is more than one way to become a dragonrider and you, my daughter, will be a dragon rider."

Your daughter smiled widely before her brow furrowed.

"What if the gods truly wish for me not to fly?" she whispers, the fear still fresh in her young mind. Aemond hums before answering.

"Your mother is not a dragonrider," he says, looking towards you, "and she is the fiercest woman in the seven kingdoms."

Your daughter giggles as you smile at your husband's kind words.

"We love you, no matter what," Aemond assures and your daughter throws her arms around his neck. Aemond hugs her tightly, and you can't stop a happy tear from falling down your cheek.

You feel so lucky for the family the gods have blessed you with.

[housecow]

What would your pokemon team be if they were real? •3• and can I draw them for you?

very good question honestly…

stoutland

tyrantrum

furfrou (debutante and heart trim ❤️ i love standard poodles irl and was crazy abt furfrou in gen 6. i was wonder traded a shiny 6IV one i assume was hacked but she’s literally my baby and resides in pokemon home rn)

perrserker (i spent 2 weeks shiny egg hatching for galarian meowth and literally hatched 2 shinies one after another, my girls gouda and havarti)

my shiny furret named pimento. he’s PINK

porygon2 (i used to play competitively and for some reason porygon2 w eviolite was on every team i made)

if you wanna draw them that would be amazinggg!!! but no worries and i’m happy to just share this info 🥺

i’d be a normal type trainer tbh 🤷‍♀️

[escapismmaxing]

mudwing headcanons

(PLEASE click on her she is so beautiful to me and tumblr kills her with hammers)

physical traits

another huge tribe; longer than ice wings, shorter, but very bulky and muscle-y (think alligator)

alligator is pretty much the keystone of my design for them, and also their design is probably the most canon compliant one i have (said moments before i go against this)

i do like the idea of giving them thicker tails, more adjacent to seawings than any other land dwelling tribe, and also just leaning into the swampy aspect of them more

depending on how aquatic of an environment they’re incubated in (and also depending on parent’s genetics) a mudwing can hatch with fins! it’s not entirely uncommon (fins smaller than seawing fins)

mudwings can have tail fins, fins running down their stomach, and their neck. this is distinct from seawings as mudwings never have fins running down their spine or fins on their limbs

mudwings have HUGE horns and ears to siphon heat away from their face

they also have a throat sac like icewings! they produce a variety of throat song, mostly akin to various frog sounds

also,,, tusks protruding from their lower jaw! (that i just realized i forgor to draw,,,,) this is used for foraging, and also agriculture (tilling soil, etc) which mudwings are particularly proficient in

mudwings also tend to have ecosystems growing from them,, algae and duckweed etc on their backs, necks, and tops of heads which helps camouflage them

speaking of camouflage,, colors,,,, well you know

mudwings only being brown is actually the most boring concept i've ever heard 😭so they’re not! brown is still the most common, green is also very common, muted reds, oranges, and yellows as accents float around as well

culture <3 (social structure)

okay i actually love the SCRAPS of culture content we have of the mudwings

so i guess i want to start out with family structure and community,,,

the whole “breeding night” is so fucking funny to me,,, and it’s staying. i will keep it. i think this can also coexist with courting and mating and committing to another dragon singularly, and maybe all mudwing communities just consist of really complicated polycules 

although parents aren’t always directly and singularly involved in the raising of their clutches, the adults still communally raise/look after the hatchlings, even if it’s somewhat from a distance

also, i think clutches know their parents and vice versa, even if there’s no special connection, you have to avoid incest somehow,,,,

so sib groups grow up together and rely on one another, like how it is in canon

if a bigwings egg is a “dud” and doesn’t hatch or is,,, abducted from the nest for the purpose of a false prophecy,,,, it’s actually really detrimental to the other eggs and can put them at risk to not hatch

clay’s sibs successfully hatching and growing up is,, a miracle im saying. the bigwings is the CRUX of everything. first to hatch, fastest to develop, grows the biggest, etc etc

i also think bigwings can produce fire at a slightly wider range of temperatures in order to keep their sibs warm if they’re ever under duress

on the topic of clutches and bigwings and,, everything

one egg clutches are considered crazy bad luck, and they need a lot of maintenance from an older dragon in order to actually hatch

if it’s feasible (like a clutch of a bigger size was laid on the same day) the single egg will be transplanted into that bigger clutch asap

also a similar feeling about 2 egg clutches, but it's not as bad

single and 2 egg clutches happen VERY frequently with hybrids, so often a hybrid will be in another sib group and all of their sibs go “yes they are us. oh they’re purple? they’re literally us what do you mean”

on the topic of hybrids, seawing and mudwing hybrids are insanely common, to the point where the majority of mudwings on that border are at least a liiiiitle bit seawing

there’s a lot of communal learning and passing down traditions in agriculture, farming, and animal rearing, and oftentimes a family farm is passed down from one sib group to another

(i don’t only make humble farmer mudwings though, there’s also a lot of artisans, scholars, the equivalent of dragon environmentalists, etc)

so moving away from family groups and stuff,,,,, onto wider society, let’s start with the royal family

mudwings pass the crown down from eldest daughter to eldest daughter, through a “royal” line

basically, one group of sibs has the crown, then the oldest/first clutch will be promised the crown, but it can very easily be abdicated and passed to a different clutch if the oldest clutch doesn’t want it or seems not fit to rule

there’s not a lot of competition for the crown because sib groups rule together, and the queen position really doesn’t mean anything, at most acting as a tiebreaker

obviously, sibs never fight sibs for the crown. that’s like speed running a revolution from the mudwing commoner population. but also, cousins don’t tend to fight either because of this strong wider communal feeling

fashion, jewelry,,

i think mudwings don’t have a lot of fashion/accessories because of how swampy and wet their environment is. royals will have jewels embedded into their scales (like moorhen) but even this requires somewhat regular cleaning to actually look,, pretty and shiny? so it’s not common

other jewelry consists of tight bands of wood and clay around horns, clay earrings, rings and armbands

clay jewelry is especially common! including clay beads that represents their sibs

clay fired earrings, strings of clay beads draped across the body, etc is commonly found

jobs! (and also a rant on cuisine apparently)

briefly touched on earlier, idk how much expanding i’ll do here tbh

farming is pretty common, crops including rice, cranberries, watercress, taro, water spinach, water chestnuts,,,, you get the point. there’s a lot of crops to be grown and mudwings grow them!

not in monocultures though, there’s a lot of mixing of crops on the same farmland

also with farmers, animals are raised! but closer to the less swampy edges of the kingdom

they’re still partially wild honestly, but mudwings rear cows and boars very commonly

so much of mudwing economy revolves around food, so they have a very robust cuisine, and they grow/trade for a lot of spices and herbs (with the skywings) and they have a lot of practices surrounding food/sharing of food being sacred

oh god.,,,, the tangent is taking over,, im so sorry

marriage!! i think when mudwings want to get married there’s a long string of cooking for one another!! back and forth making beautiful dishes for one another until they make a beautiful dish TOGETHER. god i love them

aside from farmers, a lot of mudwings are artists! they carve wood and make clay sculptures and jewelry as well as weave baskets and jewelry and thatched roofs from fronds and other wide-leafed plants

pottery is also common

tanners make leather from cow and boar hide, and bookbinders make books (after contact with pantala) and trade with sandwings for dried parchment

also butchers, cheesemakers (cows milk)

as well, the typical circle of scholars and nobles that keep rigorous records on the queendom’s history

and of course, royal diplomats

religions/superstitions

less superstitious than icewings perhaps,, but i do think they have some shared beliefs

perhaps just in a “mother earth” “all mother” type of concept? a dragon that gave them swamps, and then all other life came from swamps, etc

of course, the egg superstitions from earlier

there’s a lot of superstitions/outright magic about sharing food and the etiquette around sharing food

oh, one of you dropped your utensil while eating? in the future you’re going to save each other from mortal danger

someone gifting dishware is considered a proposal,, but it can be platonic or romantic

the monarch spilled their drink? the rainy season will be rainier this year

just a lot of really niche things

yoppee, i love mudwings so much. i think there is so much untapped potential and what we have now is beautiful. love drawing them, love their color palettes, love their sib groups. yeah not much else to say here. as always, send a dm or an ask if you want to know about something further!

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Thoughts about the supposed direction Rhaena's storyline is going in Hotd and the apparent Nettles erasure? Disappointing but... I can sort of see where they could take it? Idk... looking at grrm's posts in hindsight kinda makes me even more disappointed if he is as well (he just can't get his adaptations right atp but idk)

Well. Pre-ep7, we're still pending any Rhaena-Sheepstealer bonding, but I'm basically 😑🫠 about the rumors. (I dislike borrowing trouble, I'm not even sure how many of the rumors are true -- actually I'm pretty sure many of these supposed "leaks" are straight up lies -- and yet. Still *disgruntled meh* and *"we're all fine-everyone's fine here" dread*.) Rhaena is one of my more beloved F&B characters (it's the Sansa parallels, I can't help myself), and Nettles has been a super fave since TPATQ and TWOIAF. (Particularly TWOIAF, since the Burned Men fire-witch reveal; heck, I think my little dollmaker is still one of the few fanarts of Nettles in the mountains.)

I mean, sure, I understand that Rhaena's book storyline during the Dance, where she's offpage from basically the start of the war until nearly the end of it, socializing in the Vale and waiting for her egg to hatch, would be difficult to adapt in an action-oriented visuals-oriented television show. (Like Rhaenyra this season sure isn't just catatonically crying from Luke's death until Jace's.) And I'm glad Rhaena's getting more to do, and I'm glad it's directly addressing her feeling slighted and ignored by her family since she doesn't have a dragon. However...

I do not want Rhaena merged into one character with Nettles! I do not want Rhaena to have Sheepstealer and not her hope-for-the-future (doomed hope, and yet) baby dragon Morning, that hatched for her. Also note how pink Morning, worn as a fashion accessory, so suited Rhaena's coquette personality vs her sporty, adventurous twin sister... I mean, I've said before, I understand adaptations can be different, this still wouldn't make HOTD even close to a "loose adaptation".* But I do not want this adaptation to lose Rhaena's personality that I loved.

Or for that matter, to lose Nettles's character, and her importance to the themes and worldbuilding of ASOIAF. (See also.) And her importance to the plot -- but god knows, they're doing all sorts of things with Daemon and Rhaenyra on this show, toxic romance or what have you, who knows if once Daemon reaches his emotional breakthrough or whatever at Harrenhal this season, if they want to backslide him into a cheating plot in S3 while Daemon is again stuck in a castle for months.** Nevertheless, I'd be deeply disappointed to lose scenes like "as well as her dragon, the girl had taken to riding Daemon", or the last morning in Maidenpool scene... and um, you can't really fit Rhaena in there, or if you did, it would certainly put the lie to the ship denialists' "he just treated her like a father, platonically bathing naked together!" (Also the pretty blatant fake S3 leaks including one where Rhaenyra decides Rhaena has betrayed her... are pretty blatantly fake, sorry.)

And then there would be the frankly racist erasure of the one book black character. "Oh but the show made the Velaryons black, so it's not erasing, it's adding more!" No, sorry. (1) I was and am all for adding more racial diversity to the show and especially to Valyrians, but face it, when you take the book's secondary character Velaryons, two who get killed off early and are portrayed as lesser to the "true" Daemon/Rhaenyra marriage, and make them black, you've already done a lot of hinky damage there. (2) What, it's that hard to write three distinct black girls with very different personalities and one from an incredibly different background? I don't see Addam and Alyn getting merged. I don't see Aemond and Daeron getting merged. I don't see Hugh and Ulf getting merged. But I'm not really one to speak here, for this particular discussion I'd point you to @ride-thedragon and @venusintheblindspots-blog and @chrkrose, among others, they have many many posts on this subject in far greater detail and better argued than mine.

OK, so. I still have hope that Nettles -- even if not cast for this season (sorry y'all, that extra is an extra) -- may appear next season, and all this worry will turn out to be a tempest in a teapot. Per last report from the HOTD panel at SDCC, the rumor of Rhaena and Sheepstealer definitely doesn't happen in ep 7, though, yes, there's one episode after. And if it does happen... I'll be strongly disappointed. Deeply, deeply disappointed, and probably far more suspicious of future adaptational changes. But, for me at least, it's not a dealbreaker like GOT S5 was.*** I won't be happy at all about the storyline, but I would like to think the show will remain high quality re themes and character and all. Time will tell, though. Time will definitely tell.

As for GRRM, when his complaints seem to be "wild dragons shouldn't be in the Vale" and "the heraldry with four legs is wrong", well, I struggle to see that he's that disappointed in the adaptational changes. Believe me, I am well used to reading between the lines re GRRM and adaptations, something like the fact that he's not visiting the HOTD writers' room when he's in the UK is nothing. Catch me if at Worldcon or his Oxford lecture in August, GRRM again says that he could write a whole novel about Nettles, or if actually says something about non-Valyrian dragonriders, ok?

*I was just reading up on The Beast (2023) vs Henry James's “The Beast in the Jungle”. lol HOTD doesn't compare. Don't even think it, man.

**You know, this reminds me of how the Dance in F&B is not paced very well for individual characters, they keep going offscreen for months at a time. From shortly after Rhaenyra's crowning to the Fall of KL, Daemon just sits at Harrenhal and occasionally ventures out into the riverlands. From shortly after the Fall of KL until the Battle Above the Gods Eye, Daemon just... sits at Maidenpool and occasionally ventures out into the riverlands (with Nettles). Yeah, obviously a show would need to write more for him to do, he's a main character.

***Thank god HOTD isn't the sort of exploitative shitshow that GOT was. All y'all thinking it was a better adaptation because of your nostalgia goggles (and/or shitty memory) need to actually reread the books (especially AFFC/ADWD) and then submit yourself to the real-world misogynist and homophobic nonsense of S5-6 again, ugh.