#gaindragon

headcanon questions | accepting

tarsals : regret—a feeling most familiar, a bitter consequence of his frequent mistakes. something he felt often, something he could identify easily & put a face on. regret was helaena, and how horrified she looked when he stepped on a moth she was playing with. regret was mother, and the way she turned around & walked out when he dared to shout back at her. regret was that one serving girl he tried to kiss, that stray dog he once kicked, that dragonkeeper he tried to make sunfyre eat—

regret had many faces, many shapes. none had haunted him thus.

none had screamed as loud. none had bled as much. all other faces blurred and faded into nothingness when this one joined the fray.

regret was aemond, whose suffering the king remained blind & deaf to as the creatures whose company aegon once preferred huddled into their mother's bosom—as if feigned innocence could ever make their grubby little hands any less drenched with his brother's blood.

aemond had to close an eye so aegon could finally open his own. behold ! now this was the only face his regret would wear until the end of his days.

radius :

sweet wine. sweet food. sweet touch. sweet melody. something to lull, something to soothe the constant bitterness he's surrounded by. he turns to anything that can dilute the taste of decay, even if temporarily. make it less agonizing to swallow.

he turns to the gods when sweetness fails to soothe, when he needs to rest beneath the shadow of something more ferocious. he turns to the dragon who only ever loves him because he knows no better. he turns to the mother who's both the savior and the headsman. he turns to the brother who's both the shelter and the storm. & no one will ever turn to him.

ribcage :

himself his children. please, gods, they are innocent as he once was. let them know true happiness, let them feel loved. let them live without fear and the need to turn to anyone but themselves.

lazare has seen time and again that privilege makes men blind to the realities of lives that are not their own. for those born to higher families, those lives oft mean little enough to not be worth considering at all. the difficulties of the life of a witcher surely are not.

"what would you have me do? strike out? make a further target of myself? inspire greater the ire of every guard, armed force, and villager with pitchfork and torch?" the witcher's expression is set into the appearance of hard indifference, his cat's gaze set resolutely on his hands as he tugs at the fingers of his gloves, pulls each off in turn, and tucks them away. he cannot hope for aemond to understand in any meaningful way. explaining anything at all then, perhaps, may be a waste of time.

he tries nonetheless.

You weren’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here.

　　　　❛❛　It seems as though you should not be, either.　❜❜ 　　A smile does not creep onto her face, but she does feel bad for Aemond in truth —— she tries to feign comfort but it does not come as easily as it does with her own children, and it's easy to forget that the young lad standing besides her is but her own brother. If she looks closely, she can see something within him; a familiarity, like she's known him since she was a girl. She shuts down the thought of it.

　　　　Roughly twenty seconds pass and as she watches Sunfyre & Dreamfyre coo and whistle, a small smile finally laces itself upon soft porcelain. 　　❛❛　In Old Valyria, thousands of dragons roamed the skies, and we were not the only family to share a bond with them. There are more dotted around the seven kingdoms, there are even some running wild on Dragonstone. When the time is right, I am sure you will find one to saddle, Aemond. Or maybe, it will find you. 　❜❜

where  do  you  get  inspiration  for  your  writing?

many  sources!  from  artwork  ,  from  research  ,  from  movies  &  shows  &  games  &  books  ,  from  poems  and  folklore  and  myths  ,  from  traditions  and  cultures  when  possible  and  appropriate.  sometimes  i  take  a  walk  and  i  stop  to  look  at  my  surroundings  and  the  scene  i  look  at  aligns  perfectly  ,  like  looking  through  a  picture  frame  ,  and  that  alone  is  enough  to  inspire  me  (  can  be  urban  landscapes  ,  nature  ,  moments  ).  other  people  inspire  me  ,  of  course.  so  when  i  say  art  ,  any  art  goes.  scrolling  tumblr  and  reading  threads  or  hcs  has  inspired  me  in  the  past.  and  ,  of  course  ,  music!  the  biggest  driving  force  behind  anything  ,  really.

what’s  your  proudest  thread  or  RP  moment?

@gaindragon asked: “ some things there are no names for. ”

"Everything   has   a   name.   We   just   haven't   found   the   right   word   to   speak   of   it   out   loud."   Alys   speaks   softly,   but   her   voice   carries   around.   Harrenhal   is   cold   most   days   of   the   year   nevermind   the   weather   around   them,   but   she   did   not   felt   it   like   others   do.   And   her   paths   had   crossed   those   who   carried   dragon   blood   and   while   she   is   aware   that   their   personalities   matched   the   fire   in   their   blood,   running   hot   like   dragonfire,   she   brings   him   coats   and   furs   to   use   to   warm   himself.  

a YELP, followed by an unintelligible curse that was to remain between him & the gods ! the perpetrator did not even need to speak— there's only one person he knew who would have done such an INSOLENT THING ... and in public too, no less.

"oh i do wish i were a mummer instead," he muttered through gritted teeth, staring ahead ... denying him any more acknowledgement than that. denying him his gaze. hoping to make him feel small again !

@gaindragon asked: "everyone was already afraid of me."

Alys   only   smiled,   slow   and   knowing,   as   if   she   had   expected   those   very   words   to   fall   from   his   lips.   The   firelight   flickered   against   the   cold   stone   walls   of   Harrenhal,   casting   long   shadows   across   Aemond’s   sharp   features.   His   eye   burned,   violet   and   fierce,   but   she   did   not   shrink   beneath   its   weight.

"Fear   is   a   powerful   thing,"   she   murmured,   stepping   closer,   her   fingers   trailing   along   the   edge   of   the   table   between   them.   "And   yet,   you   came   to   me.   many   fear   Harrenhal,   and   the   ghost   that   whisper   on   it's   halls."   That   much   was   clear   by   many   that   had   arrived   before   him.   She   tastes   the   bittersweetness   of   his   arrival,   her   family,   much   gone   now   and   now,   all   she   has   left   are   her   Gods   and   the   man   before   her.

"They   feared   you   as   a   prince,   as   a   warrior,"   she   continued,   tilting   her   head.   "But   fear   alone   does   not   make   men   follow.   It   does   not   fill   their   cups   with   loyalty   or   their   hearts   with   purpose.   And   now,   you   are   here,   in   this   place   where   kings   have   burned   and   ghosts   whisper   their   names."   Daemon   had   sought   loyalty   through   fear   too.   Soon   he   gained   loyalty   by   other   means.   She   and   Aemond   would   not   fule   one   another   through   fear,   not   entirely.      She   reached   for   his   hand   then,   her   touch   feather-light   against   his   wrist.   "You   do   not   wish   only   to   be   feared,   my   dragon.   You   wish   to   be   something   more."

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐃 & 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑. viserys has passed, no longer did he linger in pain or in some state of in between living or death. though, with his passing comes her dread over the succession ... of what will happen. the relief in his death is he is no longer in pain, but that alicent herself is free of him. ( it makes her seem like an awful person, to wish for one person's death especially when that person is your own husband. viserys was a kind man, as good as he could be, yet he hurt her in other ways. he hurt their children by neglecting them, by having a favorite & this she never forgave him. ) hands play with themselves as the dowager queen enters his chambers, surprised to see the door mostly open. night had fallen, viserys still being prepared by silent sisters for his funeral the following morning.

@gaindragon LIKED FOR A STARTER !