#large animal practice

[sistersorrow]

Something in 40k which I find interesting, very funny, and also both realistic but a really weird worlbuilding choice for a setting that is meant to be at least somewhat satirical is that the Imperial Cult of the Imperium of Man is in many ways more tolerant of heterodoxy than the real world Catholic Church

[vargaslovinghours]

It's here! It's the big one-oh! Get ready for the 10th! (1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9)

Starting off with some Just Desserts stuff; it's not exactly against the rules to modify Pets with features they wouldn't naturally have - like a cat with wings - but it is side-eyed by other players

He might be projecting just a little bit lol

Obviously he'd support Joel wiping the floor with other Pets in the arena haha

Next one's a continuation, comic-style!

Since they've only got the one pet between them, they have to take turns directing Joel so he doesn't get confused on who to listen to haha, I'm sure it doesn't help that they have similar voices and Scriabin is constantly butting in. I think in this setting Edgar might be able to get away with pushing him around a little more haha ♪ He'll still pay for that later :)

FNF x Vargas! Quick, who wants to collab as I know Nothing about music composition lol - what might their voices/instrumentation sound like! I’ve always been a fan of strings for Edgar, piano for Scriabin personally :)

These were the two poses I had the absolute strongest mental images for, so they get the big pretties! Scriabin having a secondary feature to his Up animation (not just pointing a finger gun but also “shooting” it), only being visible when the note is held ah, I just love the animation in my mind’s eye lol

Two poses inspired by their bouncies! Edgar’s Down and Scriabin’s Right - I didn’t have them onhand for reference, but I’d definitely push them closer to the originals :D

I really like the idea of most of Edgar’s poses being smaller, more closed-in, and Scriabin’s being big and bombastic, but their Lefts are the opposite! Haha ♪

I've seen a good several songs that have a mid-level transformation which I find Very cool :D I suppose these could also be for different stages, but going from a whole Edgar to him missing an eye and actively bleeding and screaming and stumbling around to the music - I just think it's a neat concept lol

Scriabin's transformation would be with his wings of course!

More of the WOY idea! Scriabin's being so nice 😈♥

You know I had to draw Jake in this style, he's too cute not to, I had to! Fun proportions hehe

Two little balls of sunshine <3 This was the one where I really couldn't decide what art style I was most reminded of between Steven Universe and the rest haha

A rubber hose smooch! Cartoony mwah!

Don't be fooled Wander, kisses are temporary, bullying Edgar is forever

The topic drifted at one point to the idea of Scriabin and Edgar being able to turn their brain-sharing on and off which gave me a Two Yeses/One No idea

Started with them on equal footing - both of them can say no to oppose the other, and in order to link back up they have to both agree! And how that might look depending on who initiates hehe <3

I think it'd be good for them to have hard boundaries in place, not able to be coerced into giving up their privacy :)

As well as them being able to just tap in and Know again, Scriabin using it to be lazy and not try to communicate with his mouth haha

But even with those hard stops in place, how would sleep affect things! If he tried, could Scriabin break into Edgar's dreams? Even if he gave permission, would his subconscious allow that? :0 It's interesting!

Quick break for a scribbly concept of how I wanted my first Vargas Drabbles soft cover to look haha - I didn't end up using the red inlay but it's definitely an idea for next time 👀

Back to brain-sharing, but this time featuring a return to body-sharing! :00 I hadn't considered it until Zarla mentioned them physically phasing together and then became Very interested in exploring it, when isn’t Scriabin annoying tho lol. It’s because you love him, Edgar!

Falling back into old habits of emotionally degrading Edgar, but he has the power to kick you out now! Just try your smart mouth on him from out here, where it hurts less!

Get back in on good behaviour, or because he misses him too much ♥ I love his sweet face here I 💕💗💖❤️💞💝

How dare he be so inviting, Scriabin has to deal with a physical heart and you are trying to kill him, cruel mean Edgar (lol)

Inspired by the hug test haha ♪ Hug him!

This was supposed to be a sweet moment :( Scriabin can't help it, being vulnerable is icky haha

But when offered the opportunity, you take what you can get <3 They are so damn cute, gah

Hehe ♪ There needs to be Some level of awkwardness to it, it's still Vargas after all. Would it hurt? No, maybe more like an organ shifting back into its correct position :)

How's he supposed to help it when you make it so easy

They'd have to negotiate safe and opportune times to share minds if it required them to share a body! Scheduling when to be apart would probably be stressful, but so would being together haha

Edgar doesn't want to deal with this until he's more awake, and maybe not at all if he gets jealous hehe

And finally again, we've returned to the Two Yeses/One No idea - who gets to decide who's "No" counts once they're already enmeshed? :) Introducing the Lobster Trap ✨

“slrch” is such a gross sound effect haha

Really struggling with the concept of Scriabin’s autonomy! He quite literally exists outside of you now Edgar, you have to let him grow on his own!

Scriabin probably just wants out to do something Edgar morally objects to, enough to suffer his company while pissed. The idea of Scriabin having his own body and still having to take Edgar over to exert his own personhood again, ugh, it’s so fraught <3

The Lobster Trap has so many potential outcomes, even discounting one side over the other! Obviously I had to make as many as I could come up with lol; starting with Scriabin getting to decide when he hops in, and Edgar getting to decide if he lets him out - two yeses all around to show it As Intended, all going well :)

And here are Edgar's No options: his no overrides letting Scriabin out, but does nothing to deter Scriabin from coming in without his permission. I think this is one of the worst configurations for them haha ♪ It’s so easy for them to be cruel to each other!

Now the other way around! Scriabin has to get Edgar's permission to come in, so here's their Two Yeses :D Obviously he did it to annoy Edgar, he'll never get to read in peace haha. Not that he would even without this hehe

Edgar's No would shut Scriabin out, which I think would be good for them honestly; Edgar gets time to process things on his own without Scriabin manipulating him from the inside, and Scriabin gets to eat humble pie

Two Yeses again, though it was hard to imagine a situation where Scriabin would willingly hop out at Edgar's request - to make fun of him though? Yes ✨

And again, Edgar's No not overriding Scriabin's Yes - I think this would be really good for them! Edgar doesn't get to hold him against his will, and Scriabin doesn't get to burst in without his permission!

But really, it'll always be messy with them <3 Even in the best scenario, if Edgar's Yes overrides Scriabin's No of being forced inside - even if he couldn't hold him there, just the action of making him see from his point of view and all that entails... ♪

Little jailbird, just wants to fly away on clipped wings 💔

Now for something completely different lol. Scriabin wrote a resumé! I’m sure it’s full of accurate information to help him land a proper interview :)

Good, good, dates, prior experience, employers, skills, conquests-

Scriabin insists he's a sexpert but if there's a degree on his wall I haven't seen it

There is such a Massive difference between writing resumés and actually doing the work the resumé is required for, come on. I do love just how miffed Edgar looks tho haha

S: >:3c | E: Yeah alright point taken

Tiny spacefiller - he's so mad! He's gonna tell you all about it!

Oh hey wow Nny's still here, that's neat. Originally there was an Edgar next to him but only the main character turned out cute, rude

Quietly cutting potatoes <3 Domestic

I love Scriabin getting scared inside Edgar but him having to put on an outwardly placid face so he doesn't freak Nny out in turn haha. Nny's love language is knives

But that's where the nutrients are! Speaking of Ghost-

Teaching him how to flay skin, not necessarily strictly on potatoes hehe. I like the idea of Nny kinda spacing out when it comes to his favourite activities - yeah he hates touching people, but that takes a backseat to talking about murder and playing with knives

Obviously Edgar's a bit distracted himself lol. Nny just casually talking about what happens when you separate the flesh from the body and Edgar and Scriabin are over here discussing Just how gay this is haha

I went and reread one of my old drafts of One Way Mirror recently and ahh I’d forgotten how sassy they are with each other lol

I'm still crazy about them <3 They drive me absolutely mad 💕 I think it's funny too, since I started writing OWM while deeply fixated but didn't think much of the Flavour of my writing I didn't expect anything from rereading, but it does taste a bit like mainfic hehe ♪

I love when Scriabin argues how much he wants to "help" Edgar while controlling him up and down, Edgar's not about to take this sitting down if he can help it! Also emasculating insults my beloved ♥

Thinking again about Hunchback; not quite any of the already-established stuff (they're not playing the roles, nor are they separate and seen the movie! What!), about why Scriabin would side-eye Edgar so much during Out There. It's a good song for him :) And I love drawing him like this haha, proud and haughty angle <3

Edgar with slightly less floofy hair and the closed-line nose style from a few years ago lol ♪ I do like bridge/bottom of the nose style I've grown into, but it's still a fun style to return to every once in a while :)

And one last sneaky cheeky kiss for smooch practice before the very end! Just try and stop me! Why did Scriabin turn out so pretty tho ♥

So that's June through September, again-again! Well, almost - turns out I actually made too many sketches for my Blank Slate AU/fic - literally as many as are featured here! - so it needed its own post. So please look forward to that!

[iheartvmt]

During an especially chaotic day

Me: So I saw this ad...

Doc: yeah?

Me: What do you say we quit our jobs and move to England and become cattle TB testers?

Doc: Can you find something with sheep or goats instead? I'd rather not be mushed.

[weaselle]

i think a very telling point about modern western society is

we have an industry that people pay to spread poison and torture devices around to kill mice and cockroaches and rats and snakes and things and we also have an industry that people pay to breed and sell mice and cockroaches and rats and snakes and things

and you will find both of these businesses in the same town

[strangeryetstranger]

on one hand i know that realistically omega wouldnt have much of a personality outside of what weil made him for because thats kind of part of the point of his dynamic with zero, how zero grew into a hero beyond what he was made for and how omega is incapable of doing that

but on the other hand: this world is mine to do with as i please and if i want omega to have a hint of Silly Funny disease i shall do it. this may or may not be because some of my first exposure to omega beyond the man on the internet cover of cannonball is of this one ao3 fic called finders keepers by @tyrantchimera where omega adopts aile and watching him slowly start to care about her more and more... it does things to me. maybe im just a sucker for the trope of the Big Bad getting attached to Some Kid but i love this fic so fucking much. gurl help. so much of my omega characterization is based on that fic alone

[cruelsister-moved2]

its just weird bc with energy usage or whatever, we recognise that telling someone to turn the lights off and not overfill the kettle is a distraction from the unfettered consumption of big industry etc, but when it comes to food suddenly you people are like no no it’s the consumption of tofu that is the real issue here!! I’m so sick and tired of this debate because whether or not you eat meat, as leftists and as people with any care for the environment, we should be united in recognising the harms of industrial animal agriculture.  and at a certain point the choices of foods to get mad at in particular start to just come off like an appropriate outlet for your discomfort over someone else eating differently to you. why is it always soy and quinoa and never corn and wheat?? at a certain point you have to acknowledge that all of us consume plant products, and vegans/vegetarians are a very small proportion of that. plant agriculture is perhaps as ethically and environmentally fraught as animal agriculture, but that means we should desire to improve both, rather than NEITHER

[girlwarlock]

slight pet peeve about the metazooa game--it has eumetazoa as a clade, in the sense that the game can say ''the answer isn't a wolf, but a wolf and the answer animal are both in eumetazoa!!'' but doesn't have any guessable animals outside of it. I know that--from a normal person's body of animal knowledge--there's only one animal outside eumetazoa (even though there are a lot of different varieties of sponges) but it would be nice to be *able* to guess that

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְה Vi tsu derleb ikh im shoyn tsu bagrobn. [my best translation] Hear Israel (beginning of a prayer in Hebrew) I should outlive him long enough to bury him. (an old Yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.

[f474]

unfortunately I think if I was a vampire I would also fuck with my food like lestat does. sorry lestat haters but you'll never be him

[mongrelmutt]

Oh man, so Dr. McCall, a local vet whose CE lectures I've attended, wrote a book about being a large animal vet in rural Virginia -- and for the audiobook, the publisher got a voice actor from freaking NEW YORK CITY to read it, and she puts on the FAKEST sounding "Southern" accent 😭😭😭

Anyways, it's a pretty good book. If y'all want to check it out, the title is "Driving Home Naked and other misadventures of a country veterinarian."

[probablyasocialecologist]

Analysis of data from dozens of foraging societies around the world shows that women hunt in at least 79% of these societies, opposing the widespread belief that men exclusively hunt and women exclusively gather. Abigail Anderson of Seattle Pacific University, US, and colleagues presented these findings in the open-access journal PLOS ONE on June 28, 2023. A common belief holds that, among foraging populations, men have typically hunted animals while women gathered plant products for food. However, mounting archaeological evidence from across human history and prehistory is challenging this paradigm; for instance, women in many societies have been found buried alongside big-game hunting tools. Some researchers have suggested that women's role as hunters was confined to the past, with more recent foraging societies following the paradigm of men as hunters and women as gatherers. To investigate that possibility, Anderson and colleagues analyzed data from the past 100 years on 63 foraging societies around the world, including societies in North and South America, Africa, Australia, Asia, and the Oceanic region. They found that women hunt in 79% of the analyzed societies, regardless of their status as mothers. More than 70% of female hunting appears to be intentional—as opposed to opportunistic killing of animals encountered while performing other activities, and intentional hunting by women appears to target game of all sizes, most often large game. The analysis also revealed that women are actively involved in teaching hunting practices and that they often employ a greater variety of weapon choice and hunting strategies than men.

These findings suggest that, in many foraging societies, women are skilled hunters and play an instrumental role in the practice, adding to the evidence opposing long-held perceptions about gender roles in foraging societies. The authors note that these stereotypes have influenced previous archaeological studies, with, for instance, some researchers reluctant to interpret objects buried with women as hunting tools. They call for reevaluation of such evidence and caution against misapplying the idea of men as hunters and women as gatherers in future research. The authors add, "Evidence from around the world shows that women participate in subsistence hunting in the majority of cultures."

[iheartvmt]

Piggehs! All fighting to eat my boots :P

[tandyn-draws]

[titaswrld]

deadpool!

….as your boyfriend.

description: deadpool as your boyfriend!

pairing: deadpool x you!

contains: 18+, mentions of sex!

|an: just saw deadpool & wolverine.. couldn’t help myself.

- awful with emotions but always finds a way to make up for things whether through humor or sex.

- speaking of humor you’re never not laughing with him, or bickering, or fucking

- you’re the only person he can actually feel vulnerable and comfortable with, he cherishes that and he loves you so much for that.

- you’re his person, he would genuinely kill for you if it meant he would lose someone so important in his life.

- if someone makes you sad, mad or uncomfortable ooo…not his babygirl.

- he usually doesn’t keep people or friends in his loop often, they could find him annoying or over the top but not you.

- you love absolutely everything about him, his outlandish humor, his extroverted personality, his big ol’ mouth. you think it’s so hot.

- so hot when he’s mean to you so hot when he’s soft with you

- you literally bicker like two teenage girls all the time and he always somehow clocks your tea it’s ridiculous but you also find it impressive that he always has something to say that you cannot come back from😭

- god you need to pray that no man ever even has the thought of coming on to you… he’ll experience some banter with your boyfriend before it’s lights out.

- not only are you his but he’s yours! he’s super loyal and if he can’t get someone to back off , you sure will!

- you’re always having fun with him date nights are some of the best times of your life, he always finds a way to entertain you no matter what you’re doing.

- always gotta hand somewhere, your ass, a singular cheek, a titty, somewhere. how could you expect him not to! you’re all his.

- you literally have him wrapped around your finger, he’d do absolutely anything for you.

- also always bullying you he is so straightforward😭

“hon that has got to be the ugliest shirt i’ve ever seen on you”

“wade-“

“i know you got better in that closet that i snoop through and try on all your clothes when you aren’t home now go!”

- he’s so tall so if you’re short oh wow…you’re never catching a break

“soooo how’s the weather down there.” wade said, placing his elbow on the crown of your head.

“prick…”

…

“yeah that’s enough of that dirty mouth!” your boyfriend had announced before bending down and wrapping an arm around your behind, throwing you over his shoulder and positioning his palm on your ass.

“god, wade put me down!” you’d laughed playfully hitting his back.

“don’t make me have to spank you!” he said, lighting pinching your ass.

- do not get an animal bc it will quickly become his center of attention and he will defend it over you.

“wade, we’re having my mom over please put it in the room”

“ugh…she’s so mean isn’t she sugar?” he’d said stroking your pet, followed by a “yes she is yes she is!” as the animal licked his face.

sigh.

- good lord we got a cuddle monster on our hands!

- absolutely adores any type of affection and practically begs you for it 24/7. he loves being little spoon specifically. also loves it when u scratch or message his back, bc that also gets him going..

- speaking of, you got this guy rock solid 24/7

“hungry for seconds?” he joked, hugging you from behind and pressing his hardened cock against your ass.

“we literally jus-“ you’d started just to be interrupted mid sentence.

“so! cmon baby throw a dog a bone.” he muttered, hand already gripping your inner thigh.

you’d sighed, god you can’t resist him.

- it doesn’t matter what you’re doing he finds anything you do hot i stg

- a M-U-N-C-H! for life, literally came in his pants from eating you out once! he loves making you feel good.

- a goofball during sex he cannot do shit seriously😭 he be talking you and your pussy thru it!

- again, if you’re petite god help you bc he is large.

- babe, you better match his freak because yall doing anything.

- trying a new thing every night multiple times bc that sex is never vanilla and that dick is never tired! at some point he’s just making positions up😭

[strangelittlestories]

After shoving Hansel in the oven, the witch turns to Gretel - who is currently fending the witch off with a gingerbread chair - and says:

"I can't believe you thought a trail of breadcrumbs would save you. I mean, honestly, this is a forest! It's full of animals. Honestly, the very idea that a dumb shit like you thought you could get the better of me is absurd."

Gretel hits her in the face with said chair. To be fair to the witch, she takes the chairshot like a champ.

"Ow!"

"Did you know," says Gretel, "that crows are capable of facial recognition?"

"Eh?" Says the witch, clambering to her feet and pulling a candy cane sledgehammer off the wall. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Not only that," Gretel continues, "but they can remember both friends and enemies. And they'll often follow people they remember as friends."

The two fence with their sugared weapons for a moment, before the witch knocks the chair out of Gretel's hands.

"Enough with the bird facts! Honestly, this whole attempted escape has been utter clownshoes. Get in the fucking oven!"

She seizes Gretel by the collar. Gretel immediately sandbags, letting her whole body go limp. This eminently practical defense forces the witch to try and deadlift her. Which is hard, as the witch often skips leg day.

"For example," Gretel says, as the witch struggles and grunts, "if you feed crows a lot of breadcrumbs, they'll probably start to see you as a friend and follow you in the hope of more food."

The witch stops. Outside, she hears the thunder of wings.

"They'll even bring you shiny things they find as presents!" Says Gretel, as a corner of the gingerbread ceiling is suddenly cut away by a large crow with a knife in its mouth.

"Oh shitballs." Says the witch, as the crows descend. "I hope you know this is a great unkindness."

"Technically," Says Gretel, "It's a murder."

---

Thank you for reading. If you'd like to support my writing, you can do so at https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[troublesomesnitch]

Meeting Vhagar - Drabble

Aemond x Wife!Reader

Much to your dismay, Prince Aemond insists on bringing your little son to Vhagar. Set sometime during the Dance.

Contents: Just a little practice thing... Dad!Aemond, Targaryen parenting, subtle fluff. Little bit of subtle angst too. No filth this time..

Words: 3000, and very sloppily proof read.

The carriage can only take you so far as to the Iron Gate. 

Beyond its massive doors, the Rosby Road winds North, poorly maintained and full of potholes, as it is the shortest of the main roads, and thus the least important. It is not as busy as others, and the gate is not guarded as well - clearly, as the men who should be protecting it are presently engaged in a game of cards, laid out on top of a large, flat rock.

That is where the driver will wait, but it is not your destination. 

There is another little trail. One that runs in the opposite direction, scarcely used and partially hidden, visible only to those who know it. No horse or wagon can make the journey, and there is no option but to walk - first along a narrow, trodden path, and then further still, down treacherous steps, carved into the very rock the city rests upon. Past the watchtower, and across the Northern beach, to the vast caves of Maegor the Cruel, where Vhagar has made her nest.

You walk alone, just the two of you. The prince in his coat and boots, and yourself in attire much less suited for the occasion. Fine shoes, fine skirts, and with your little son cradled in your arms. 

The gentle rocking of the carriage has lulled him to sleep. Four months old, he is, and a source of such joy that your poor heart can scarcely contain it. From his first high-pitched cry when you brought him into the world - oh, the pains of labour were all but forgotten, as was the threat of the raging war. And when the prince came to see his son, you could hardly even bear to let him hold him. 

He wanted to bring the boy much sooner, but both you and the dowager queen staunchly put your foot down against that. Children should not be brought outside the home until they have at least lived through the first perilous weeks, and possibly even their first fever. And even then, most would argue, they have no business being around ferocious animals. 

“I don’t like it,” you say, for the umpteenth time, taking the hand offered to you by the prince to help you cross a treacherous stretch. “It is mad, bringing an infant to such a beast - ” 

“Vhagar should know him,” he says, steadfast and determined. As he has done whenever you voiced your concern. 

It does nothing at all to calm your nerves. But it is his most compelling argument, and the only reason you have allowed this lunacy in the first place. So the dragon would recognise the boy as his, and as one of her own. So she would know to protect him, if - something should happen. 

You make it halfway across the pebbled beach before the prince pauses. And you do too, lifting your gaze to follow his line of sight; see what he is looking at. 

An enormous, greyish mass, some yards away, that at first you thought was a moss-grown rock, or years of washed up seaweed. But the mass makes a rumbling noise and begins to shift and lift itself, slowly and carefully, as though with much effort. Part of it becomes a leg, another part unfurls into a great wing, and the rock nearest to you becomes a head, with a mouth full of jagged teeth, and two eyes opening slowly. Amber in colour, and with slitted pupils staring straight at you. 

“She can sense me,” the prince declares, with no small amount of pride, lifting his chin and straightening his back. 

You, however, are paralysed, utterly shocked by her vastness. You have never seen Vhagar this close before, and though you knew of her impressive size, it is one thing to see her soaring across the sky, and quite another to be right next to her, unprotected and vulnerable.

It seems to you that the span of her wings could cover half the city, that entire buildings could fit in her mouth. And certainly, she could end all three of you with her fiery breath, or with a single swipe of her claw or her massive tail. One wrong move, even if accidental, even if she did not mean to - you would all be dead. 

“Come,” the prince says, pushing at the small of your back. But you stall, digging in your heels, frozen in place at the sight of her. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” you stammer. “We should go back - it is not safe…”

The prince gives an overbearing, if somewhat irritated sigh. 

“Dragons are loyal beasts,” he reassures. “Vhagar is loyal to me, she obeys me - ”

“She is a beast,” you hiss, hugging your drowsy son closer to your chest. “She cannot be trusted. It is too dangerous - I won’t let you bring him any closer - ”

Prince Aemond does not like to be challenged. He turns around to look at you coolly, his voice low and scornful as he speaks. 

“Is your opinion of me so unfavourable, wife, that you think I would risk harm to my own son?”

“No,” you respond, quietly, but truthfully. Since you were married, your opinion of the prince has only risen, slowly but surely. And it continues to do so, still - though perhaps not right now. “I don’t like it - ”

“Mhm - so you said,” your husband says dryly, all but wrenching the swaddled boy from your arms. 

He does not complain, the boy. Prince Aemond comes to visit often, at least once a day, and sometimes more. He sits with the child, reads to him, lets him fall asleep in his arms - not for very long each time, but it is at least enough for the little boy to recognise his father’s low voice and stern face as something safe and comfortable. As is evident from the way he now settles against the prince’s leather-clad chest, tangling his little fist into a lock of his hair. 

The beast remains still, pensive as her rider approaches, her serpent’s eyes fixed on the thing in his arms, on what he is bringing her. Your most precious treasure, your life’s very purpose, completely at the mercy of the greatest dragon in the world. 

You might have felt more at ease if the soft, sparse hair on his head had been silver like his father’s, but alas, it is not. It is exactly like yours, and only the bright violet of his eyes gives away his true inheritance. 

And that seems like too little a thing for such a large creature to notice. 

Prince Aemond calls out in that strange language of his, with the open vowels and the rolling R’s. It is beautiful, especially in his mouth, and the dragon responds at once, contorting herself to let him touch her wrinkled neck with affection. Which is a strange sight, but what is even stranger is the way she grumbles - as though she likes it. He speaks to her as if she was another person, in long, full sentences that are much too complicated for you to even attempt to understand. There is only one word you can make out, for the sole reason that he says it twice - yoreliatzeh, or yorelatzya, or something akin to that. You haven’t a clue as to what it means. 

Vhagar snorts once, and the prince steps back to give her room to move, to rise up onto her legs and bring her head closer, her nose almost touching his hip. While you stand at a distance, staring at the utterly bizarre scene playing out in front of you. A fearsome, vicious beast, sniffing the child like a dog would. Gently and carefully, only she is so big that each of her cautious breaths is like a small gust of wind, making your husband’s hair billow about his face. When she makes a grunting noise, he carefully unwraps some of the swaddlings, holding the child up to let her see him better, smell him better. 

He is bright, your darling boy, and curious, like all babes and children. His eyes are wide as they take in Vhagar’s scaly form, and he gives a soft squeal of surprise or wonder, kicking his little feet under the blankets. Reaching his arm towards the beast's massive head, her massive teeth -

“Aemond, please - ” you gasp, clutching your hands to your throat. 

The prince turns his head to give you a stern look, one that clearly shows he is running out of patience. And maybe this time it is justified, because your fearful outburst startles the boy, who begins to squirm unhappily in his father’s arms. Fussing and whimpering; a sound that is as painful to you as salt to an open wound. 

“Bring him to me,” you plead, “can’t you see that he is frightened - ” 

“He is frightened because you are frightened,” the prince says, as soft spoken as always, but with a hint of something sharp underneath.

He cradles the boy closer to his chest, bouncing him gently, holding his head and murmuring soothing words. Exactly as you would do, and to the same effect. It calms him down, and his big, round eyes start darting around again, taking in his surroundings. The dragon, the grey sea, the fine silver clasps on his father’s clothes. It does seem that the latter intrigues him the most. 

Vhagar lifts her neck and tilts her head just slightly, seemingly very interested in the child, in this tiny little creature; the way he moves his little limbs, and his soft coos and noises. There is an almost… thoughtful look in her eyes, or at the very least a curious one. 

It makes you wonder about the extent of her perception. Whether she truly knows that this is Aemond’s child, that it came from him, from his body, his flesh. If she can sense it somehow, through the bond they purportedly share, or if she understood it when he spoke to her. 

How intelligent is a dragon? Are they like dogs or horses, able to learn the meaning of certain words, but not the full breadth of language? Or do they think as people, with nuance and emotion, and a mind as vivid as your own. 

You do not know. You suppose no one really does. 

“Come,” the prince calls, reaching his arm towards you, beckoning you closer. However, a single glance at Vhagar, whose mighty gaze is now focused on you, is enough to inspire disobedience in even the most well-behaved wife.

“I would really rather not - ”

“She must know the both of you,” he insists. 

“Is that - necessary?” you squirm, wringing your hands, very much aware that you are not a dragon rider, that you haven’t a drop of Valyrian blood. “Vhagar has no reason to think fondly of me…”

The prince scoffs. 

“Are you not the mother of my child?” he says. “Now, come.” 

You must go to him. He is your lord husband, and he is a prince, and such is the way of things. But you are not at all glad to, and you walk with shaky, reluctant steps, gripping onto his elbow and cowering behind him like a frightened child. 

You close your eyes when the dragon lowers her head once more, bringing it towards you. A sudden, low-pitched growl makes your heart tremble, but the prince speaks a soft command. Lykirī, Vhagar. Lykirī.

It has a calming effect on you too. As does the arm he keeps outstretched in front of you - solely for your comfort, you assume, as it would make no difference whatsoever, should Vhagar decide that she does not like you. But you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.

The air is warm, this close to her, and your skirts move around your legs when she breathes, slowly and deeply, while the prince speaks to her in soft tones. That word again, the one from before, and many others. You know the words for wife, for king, for father, brother, sister, even for dragon, but he says none of those now, so you have no guess as to what he is telling her. Or if she understands. Or what he would call you, if not his wife. 

This woman is my - spouse? lady? lover?

You do have a kind of love for him, and sometimes you think he does for you, too. Sometimes. One can never be sure of anything with the prince, who keeps himself so closely guarded. Even after more than a year of marriage. Even now that you have given him a child. 

The birth went mercifully well, but your recovery was long, and he has only recently begun to come to your bed again. And so far, only a handful of times. The first time, it was so painful for you that the act could not be completed, and the second time, he finished so quickly that it barely even counts. The third was better. Pleasurable for both of you, but still strange after going so long without it - at least for you. It is both likely and possible that the prince satisfied his urges elsewhere while your body was indisposed. You do not know. Nor do you wish to. 

The ground shifts beneath your feet, and the heat around you lessens, as does the heavy smell of burned flesh and brimstone, the very same one that so often clings to your husband’s clothes. When you open your eyes it is to the sight of Vhagar, settled onto her belly, her head laid atop her claws. Calm and docile, and with a deep rumble coming from her chest - one that is probably a sign of contentment, even if it sounds utterly terrifying. 

“Touch her,” the prince commands, giving a gentle push to your back. “You have nothing to fear, touch her.” 

It is quite clear that Vhagar is unruffled by your presence, that she is resting. But with her eyes heavy and half-closed, it makes her look so menacing, so evil - even though you know that evil does not exist inherently in any beast. Only in those who train it. 

You draw in a steadying breath, gathering up your courage, reaching your hand out - only to then think better of it and let it fall. 

“I am afraid to,” you whisper.

The prince sighs. But his hand closes gently around yours, bringing it to rest on the side of her nose, first the tips of your fingers, and then your whole palm. 

It is like nothing else you have ever felt, her scales. You always imagined that a dragon’s skin would feel like leather, but Vhagar’s skin is so much tougher, so much rougher, like running your hand over little rocks. And she is warm - so warm, as though a fire is always burning somewhere in her throat. 

She does not object at all to your touch, even when the prince withdraws his own hand, leaving only yours. Only you and Vhagar. The largest, oldest being in the world. 

To think, the things she has seen. The conquest, the Dornish Wars, the very founding of the realm of the Seven Kingdoms. Dozens of castles have crumbled in her fire, and thousands of people have perished, and she has fought and won hundreds of battles; torn through stone, rock and earth as though it was boiled jelly. 

It is at once terrifying and romantic, like something from a fairytale, or stories of ancient times. A creature of such myth and legend that you almost feel as though you should bow down to her, as one does before a great matriarch.

Vhagar the Conqueror. Queen of all Dragons. 

She closes her eyes when you draw back. 

“He might ride her too, some day,” the prince says quietly. Wistfully. 

“But dragons only have one rider - ” you protest, cutting yourself off when you realise what he meant. What he left unsaid. 

This is war. The realm is at war. Death is everywhere; at the end of a blade, in the point of an arrow. And if not on the field of battle, then in tainted water or plague-ridden camps; empty bellies or festering wounds.

“You shouldn’t say such things,” you mutter, looking down at your feet. Your dirtied shoes. 

The prince does not answer. A heavy mood has settled over the rocky beach, something vast and bleak and empty, only compounded by the surroundings. The colourless sky, the sombre crashing of waves. Even Vhagar gives a doleful sigh, as though she too is weary of what is to come.

She has been the prince’s companion since childhood. He was born to the queen, but Vhagar made him what he is, made him ruthless, made him brutally ambitious. Made him Aemond One-Eye, Aemond the Kinslayer. Prince Regent, Protector of the Realm. She has known him boy and man, as well as any, and better than most. She has known him in life, and she may yet know him in death.

You push that thought away as forcefully as your mind allows. You shouldn’t think such things. 

A coo from your son breaks the tension, and his eyes turn to the sky, where a large heron is flapping its wings. The afternoon is turning to evening, and soon the bell will ring for supper - something warm and comforting, you hope. You are cold, your breasts feel sore, and you have most certainly had enough excitement for one day. For several days, in fact.

“Can we go, please,” you breathe, looking up at your husband with wide, pleading eyes. 

“She is tired,” he says, with a soft glance at Vhagar’s terrifying face, and a gentle touch to her side. “Yes, we should.”

—

You walk slower on the way back. Uphill, with sore feet, and your boy now fast asleep in your arms. Safe and snug where he belongs. 

“My Prince,” you begin, sweet and innocent. “What does… yoreliatzeh mean?”

There is a sly little smile on his face when you look at him, a self-assured look in his remaining eye.

“Jorrāeliarza,” he corrects, with an artful pause before he continues. As though to keep you in suspense. “It means dear. Or… beloved.”

If he sees the sudden blush on your face, he does not let on. 

“Jorālitzeh.”

“No,” he says. “Jor-rāe-liar-za.”

“Jor-rāe-liar-za,” you repeat, trying your very best to mimic the exact movements of his mouth, the way he gently rolls his tongue. “Jorrāeliarza.”

“Better,” he nods, and then you round a corner, just in time to see the guards hastily hide their cards away, and the driver shuffling back towards the carriage, eagerly shoving his winnings into a pocket. 

Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. Jorrāeliarza. 

Dear. Beloved. 

You like that very much.  

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Tags. @arcielee, @targaryen-madness, @aemondsbabygirl, @qyburnsghost, @blackswxnn

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