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daemonsdivorcerock · 1 year

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THE HEIR WHO NEVER WAS || d.Targaryen

IN WHICH: a decade after the two rogues of house targaryen run away, they live a content life in pentos until they are invited to laena velaryon’s funeral on driftmark and are forced to reunite with their dysfunctional family.

REQUESTED: yes/no

PAIRING: daemon targaryen x fem!reader

AUTHOR’S NOTES: sequel to “taming of the shrew”. i advise that you read that first. also reader is described as having silver hair. meraxes, the dragon of the first rhaenys targaryen, is alive for selfish reasons/j. sorry if this is shit.

WARNINGS: incest (bucket loads), westerosi shenanigans, mentions of death, childbirth, children, daemon being daemon, otto hightower, maiming/bodily injury, angst, fighting, dysfunctional family, targaryen shit etc

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

“THAT’S IT, PRINCESS, ONE MORE PUSH!” the young Pentosi midwife joyfully encourage, crouching at the end of a double bed, the white sheets tarnished with the crimson blood of the Heir Who Never Was.

(Name) panted, chest heaving. Sweat clung to her brow, eyebrows knitted, eyes closed and nose scrunched as her features contorted with pain. Her hands were occupied. One gripping Daemon’s alarmingly pale one in a vice-grip and the other holding her swollen baby bump.

“I AM PUSHING YOU CHILD-LOOKING CUNT!” (Name) shrieked hysterically. Daemon covered his mouth in a failed attempt to conceal his snicker, “DAEMON, SHUT THE FUCK UP! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU ARE NOT BEDDING ME EVER AGAIN, YOU STROPPY SMALL-COCKED GIT!”

The room was soon filled with the loud set of shrieks that the whole castle could here. (Name) began to son happily as Daemon kissed her sweaty brow. “A boy, my Princess,” the midwife happily said, holding the naked, squirming, blood-stained babe in her arms.

“It is all over now, my shrew,” Daemon softy whispered, kissing her temple lovingly, “The babe is safe. He is healthy. He is kicking like a goat. Our son,”.

Minutes later, the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing sat on the bed, doting on their new son. The sound of subtle whispers, odd for their daughters, came from the corridor. The door softly opened, revealing their brood of silver-haired daughters in tow with a servant, Elaine.

“Come here, girls,” (Name) beckoned, smiling happily at her daughters, “Come and meet your younger brother,”.

Their eldest, Daenerys, was mature for an almost eleven-year-old and led her younger sisters. After an encounter in a brothel in the weeks leading up to Rhaenyra’s wedding to Laenor Velaryon, (Name) refused the Moon Tea from the Grand Maester and she hadn’t regretted it.

Daenerys was the eldest of now six children. Aemma, Rhaenys, Alyssa and Rhaella followed their eldest sister. “Girls, this is your brother,” Daemon said, holding three-year-old Rhaella on his lap, whilst five-year-old Alyssa climbed onto the bed with the help of nine-year-old Rhaenys.

Seven-year-old Aemma sat closest to (Name), doting on her brother. “This is Baelon,” (Name) told the girls, gesturing to the slumbering babe in her arms, fondling smiling at the sleeping baby boy.

The girls gushed over their new brother, each getting a turn to gently hold the babe. For none of them knew what the future held for them in the days coming.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Laena Velaryon was dead. Set herself aflame after failing to give birth. The funeral was in to be held on Driftmark, as she had wanted. She’d left behind her husband, Ser Harwin Strong, and their twin daughters, Baela and Rhaena.

The funeral was teemed with tension and was a sombre occasion as Laena’s stone coffin was lowered into the sea. Laena’s mother Rhaenys looked devastated. Ten years it’d been since (Name) had seen her family. And much had occurred in ten years.

Alicent had bore her father two more sons, Aemond and Daeron. Rhaenyra had bore three sons, Jacaerys, Lucerys and the infant Joffrey, who were in no method possible Laenor’s biological children and had an, as Daemon put it, “entirely coincidental and unmarked resemblance to the Commander of the City Watch”.

After the initial funeral procedures, (Name) had noticed how the girls had made Baela and Rhaena smile a little and how her daughter Rhaenys had taken a shining to Aemond. Daenerys and Aemma were in deep conversation with Helaena. The interactions made her smile.

The girls had yet to meet their cousins, Jace, Luke and Joffrey. Or their aunt, Rhaenyra. Rhaella clung onto (Name)’s skirts, hiding behind the thick, black velvet of the dress’ material.

Baelon was a heavy sleeper, currently residing in his mother’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each breath he took and gave. She’d reunited with her cousins, Rhaenys and Corlys Velaryon, offering her sympathies for what happened to Laena.

As children and teenagers, (Name) had shared a sweet friendship with Laena, comforting her after the events at the Heir’s Tournament all those years before. They’d danced at the celebrations for Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding ceremony.

Her father looked terrible. His hair had thinned and he looked frankly horrible. Yet, he somehow gave his eldest daughter a smile. “(Name),” Viserys spoke. His voice sounded heavy as if it pained him to utter the word, “It is…good to you, my daughter,”.

(Name) gave him a half-curtsey, careful not to wake Baelon. “As it is equally good to see you, father,” she spoke, half-smiling, “Ten years. It certainly has been a long time,”.

Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Alyssa and Rhaella trailed behind their rogue of a father. “Brother,” Daemon greeted, “Time hasn’t been too kind on you,”.

(Name) thought he’d be upset but Viserys laughed slightly at Daemon’s comment. “These are your granddaughters,” (Name) said, “Daenerys, she is ten. Rhaenys is nine. Aemma is seven. Alyssa is five. Rhaella is three,”.

Viserys fondly smiled at each of his granddaughters. “They have their mother’s beauty,” the King mentioned. (Name) noticed how he’d visibly tensed at hearing Aemma and Alyssa’s names but smiled, “Is this my grandson, who cried a little during the precessions?”.

Daemon smirked. “His name is Baelon,” he casually mentioned, causing the king to visibly tense again, “After Father. He was born but three weeks ago,”.

“That was around the same time as when Joffrey was born,” a voice chimed in. Rhaenyra, with her sons,“Sister. Uncle. It is good to see you both again. And meet my nieces and nephew,”.

(Name) was elder than Rhaenyra by a year. Their relationship soured when Rhaenyra was named the heir to the Iron Throne, despite (Name) being Viserys’ eldest child. “Sister,” she smiled, “Those must be my nephews. Jace, Luke and…Joffrey, he’s inside, is he not? They will be good knights, so…Strong,”.

Viserys’ face blanched. Rhaenyra glared whilst the boys looked confused. “Do not take is as an insult, boys,” (Name) spoke in a manner that bordered on mocking, “It is good to be Strong, is it not, sister?”.

Daemon began to snicker. (Name) handed Baelon to Viserys, who held him in his remaining arm. (Name) sharply elbowed Daemon in the ribs, causing him to spill his cup of wine slightly.

Rhaenyra huffed, walking away to speak to Laenor. Luke followed Rhaenyra suit. Jace lingered. “Aunt,” he asked, catching (Name)’s attention, “May I ask you something?”.

“Of course, dear boy,” (Name) spoke, smiling at the brunette boy, “You may ask me whatever you wish,”

“Mother will not be honest with me about this matter…” Jace spoke, nervously fiddling with his fingers, “Am I a…bastard? Is Ser Harwin my father?”.

(Name)’s eyes widened in horror. Was Rhaenyra truly planning to put a bastard on the Iron Throne? She always knew her father was metaphorically blind, but not this blind. She was blatantly aware of her father’s favouritism to Rhaenyra. But she never knew it was this bad.

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, “I cannot believe your mother is not being honest about this to you. Harwin Strong is your father. Laenor is not your father. Nor is he Luke or Joffrey’s father. I am so sorry, dear boy,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Earlier in the day, whilst Daemon was holding Baelon, (Name) found herself skulking around in black velvet after Laena’s casket had been lowered into the ocean.

“Hand turns loom…” the dreamlike voice of her younger sister, Helaena Targaryen, uttered, letting a spider crawl across the skin of her hand, “Spool of Red…Spool of Black…dragons of flesh…weaving dragons of thread,”.

(Name) crouched next to Helaena. “Sister,” Helaena greeted, smiling at her older sister, “May I tell you something?”.

The older woman smiled at her younger sister. “Of course, Hel,” (Name) spoke, “Anything,”.

As an infant, Helaena was restless and cried with her whole being unless she was held by (Name). “I have…strange dreams,” Helaena confessed, “And those dreams…become real as time goes on…do you think that is normal?”.

(Name) placed a hand on Helaena’s shoulder. “My dear Helaena,” she spoke, catching Helaena’s attention from the spider, “It is. You see…many years ago, before the fall of Old Valyria, our ancestor, Daenys, had a dream. She dreamed of the fall of Old Valyria two and ten years before it actually happened,”.

Helaena’s eyes widened, beckoning her sister to continue. “As Targaryens, we are known for our ability to ride dragons. Some Targaryens had the ability to dream of the future. Dragon Dreamers. I am a Dreamer, just like you. My sister, don’t ever let Aegon make you feel inferior without your consent. You are a marvel,”

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

The sun was barely setting when she discovered a horrific sight. Otto Hightower, who’d been reinstated as Hand of the King, was roughing up Aegon, who was half-drunk and slumped against the wall.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Lord Hand?” (Name) spoke, glaring at hole into Otto Hightower’s soul. Her voice had a frightening steeliness to it.

Otto bowed. She truly resented Otto, as a man and as Hand of the King. “Princess,” he greeted, “There is nothing to see here. I suggest you rejoin Prince Daemon inside,”.

She scoffed. “I would rather feed myself to Meraxes than listen to a word you have to say,” (Name) spat, folding her arms, “I know a few dragons who would gladly set you alight, akin to a torch. Caraxes, Meraxes, Vermithor and Silverwing, for instance,”.

Otto visibly tensed. He bowed and walked past her. “Sister,” Aegon drunkenly slurred, as (Name) heaved teenager up from the ground, “-Nice to see you again! I missed you!”.

“I missed you too, Egg,” (Name) smiled to the boy, placing his arm across her shoulders for support and guiding him up the stairs. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, sweet Prince,”.

•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

It was the late evening when (Name) had been approached. The events following Laena’s funeral had been drastic. Young Aemond had claimed Vhagar as his mount, causing a fight between him, Jace, Luke, Daenerys, Rhaenys, Aemma, Baela and Rhaena.

It was an honest accident when Daenerys maimed Aemond and caused him to lose and eye. Alicent understood that. What she did not understand was that it was in defence of Jace and Luke’s legitimacy.

It’d blown up into a full-blown fight between Rhaenyra and Alicent, one of which had come at the other with a Valyrian Steel Dagger belonging to Aegon the Conqueror. (Name) had stepped in and gotten cut across the bridge of her nose.

There was a sharp knock at the door, catching both the attentions of the Rogue Prince and the Shrew of King’s Landing. “Enter,” (Name) spoke. The doors opened, revealing the visage of Otto Hightower.

Daemon blanched. “Lord Hand,” he bitterly spoke, “Have you come to darken our door for the ordeal earlier?”.

Otto sent a steely glare Daemon’s way, causing the Rogue Prince to mockingly smirk at him. “I have not, Daemon,” Otto spoke. Alicent stood behind him, guiltily staring at (Name), “I have come to speak to Princess (Name),”.

This caught (Name)’s attention, who was rocking Baelon softly in her arms, their daughters had since retired to the guest chambers with Baela and Rhaena hours prior. “Speak plainly, Lord Hand,” (Name) commanded coolly, briefly making eye contact with Ser Criston Cole, “What brings to you my chambers at this time of night?”.

“I believe we are…aligned,” Otto mused, adjusting the pin on his emerald-coloured lapel, making Daemon scoff, “In our beliefs in regards to the legitimacy of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and the line of succession,”.

He was putting salt into the all the right wounds. (Name) was still evidently bitter about her younger sister being named heir over her and her plans to put her bastard son on the throne.

“My father is a fool,” (Name) confessed, softly stroking Baelon’s silver-coloured tufts of hair, “Nothing would change that. He is blind to the truth. Rhaenyra is his favourite child and nobody can deny that. He cannot accept the truth that Jace, Luke and Joffrey are bastards,”.

Otto smirked. “What if it did not have to be that way?” Alicent asked. This made (Name) glance at her stepmother, “What if another were to inherit the throne after the King’s passing?”.

“How would you like to be Queen, (Name)?” The Hand of the King quickly asked, making (Name) glance at Daemon, holding Baelon closer to her chest.

#house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf #fanfic #daemon targeryan #daemon x y/n #reader insert #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x y/n #daemon x you #daemon targaryen #matt smith #xreader #targaryens #house targaryen #a song of ice and fire #the shrew of king’s landing

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sanikori · 3 months

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Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes. Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lyseni girl. “These are no common servants, sweet sister,” her brother told her as they were brought forward one by one. “Illyrio and I selected them personally for you." “Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly acts of love.” He smiled thinly. “She’s very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to that.” - Daenerys II, AGOT

Yoon Young Bae as Irri

Chuluun Khulan as Jhiqui

Magdalena Mielcarz as Doreah

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiafedit #irri #jhiqui #doreah #asoiaf fancast #valyriansource #valyrianscrolls #agot #a game of thrones

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jaeedraszaerysz · 11 months

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YOU CANT EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED ☆ JOFFREY BARATHEON

Masterlist

Warnings: joffrey obviously, swearing, mentions of murder and war, mentions of incest.

Summary: being joffrey baratheons cupbearer as the last targaryen in Kings landing was bound to be eventful, just not in the way that pleases you. Until...

Notes: reader is FEMALE also to fit in with the context of this fic, joffrey is around 17-18 and the reader is 19 ish making her 6 years younger than viserys and 4 years older than daenerys in season 1

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☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

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Being born a targaryen was like a game of Russian roulette. You were either blessed with great kindness and gentleness or cursed with madness and cruelty. In your case, it had been the former thankfully.

According to the maesters and other occupants of Kings landing you had been the most peaceful of the three targaryen babies to have been born of aerys II, the mad king. You had never cried or wailed or screamed, only smiled and attempted to befriend any lord, lady, knight or servant who came to cross your path.

But when the rebellion came and your father was dethroned and executed by jaime lannister your life had been flipped. Your brother rhaegar was dead along with all of his children, your other brother viserys and your mother, pregnant with another targaryen had fled, leaving you.

You didn't know why. You were still only a child of 3. No one else seemed to know either. So, Robert baratheon, the new king of the seven Kingdoms, decided to keep you. You were to be raised in Kings landing by a nurse and tywin lannister, having worked on your father's council before his death, made sure that you were educated properly.

By the time you had turned ten years of age, it was almost that your taragryen lineage had been forgotten, except for the obvious snowy hair and violet eyes. But no one that actually mattered seemed to pay attention to it any more.

You had grown close to cersei lannister in your teenage years, despite her being almost twenty years older than yourself. She was nice to you and as you grew, so did her eldest son, Prince joffrey. And then her others, princess myrcella and Prince tommen.

You were a bright girl, smart and kind. You had even been known to summon a smile from the Knight commonly referred to as the hound, sandor clegane. However, you had very little friends and were often seen wandering around or sitting by the flowers in the gardens, staring out into the sea or the city below.

By the time you had turned ten and seven you were truly a sight to behold, having inherited the targaryen beauty of your ancestors. But, as the small council came to realise that marrying off the only targaryen in westeros to a rich or powerful lord may not have been the most amazing idea, the king decided to appoint you as joffreys cupbearer.

You were good for the job, you listened attentively, you were smart and quick. And most importantly there wasn't anything distinct about you that joffrey could complain of and have you removed for.

So that's what became of you. You became his cupbearer and followed him around the red keep, accompanied him on his hunts or his short journeys and poured his wine, brought him his food, or anything else he asked for. Of course you were not immune to his cruelty, the opposite actually. He often mocked your unnatural eyes and Strangely perfect competition, he called you a witch, trying to enchant the castle and accused you of whoring about with the knights although you had never been with anyone.

He overworked you and reprimanded you but you were always there to listen, happy to be given a chance. He noticed this and it aggravated him. To see someone who was supposed to be miserable so joyous at the idea of bringing the king his meals and wine and suffering his abuse day and night for the rest of his or her life.

It confused him, how he had his ways so easily with you but not through fear, anger or blackmail, but through pure loyalty and gratitude that your life had been spared and you had been given a chance and something other than death or imprisonment.

He wasn't stupid. He heard the Lords and ladies whisper as you walled behind him. He heard the knights mock as you passed by. Eventually it grew to anger him slightly whenever your name was put down or insulted.

Only he was allowed to do that. And that in mind, joffrey became rather possessive of you in a way.

You listened to him rant. Listened to his drone on about his parents or the peasants or his siblings. About the food and the weather and the sheets. About everything.

And that is how you ended up here, stood in his chambers, listening to him speak of the lady sansa stark and his new betrothal to her. And listening to him rave about how he was still expected to marry the traitors daughter. And you knew ned stark was no such a man, and you were sure he did to, but you listened all the same.

He paced quickly around the room, hands behind his back, until he was called for a meeting of the small council. He was quite busy as of late, what with stannis baratheons army, renly baratheons army aswell now. And the north's new rebellion, robb stark, son of the late ned, proclaiming himself king in the North and marching closer by the day.

Joffrey was the king now, and he was much more cruel as of late, and you thought about it on your way back to your chambers that night. They had been decent enough to give you a separate room in the servants quarters, what with your family name and the risks of you forming alliances that had become more prominently discussed in the recent months you had noticed.

You had heard that viserys was marrying off your sister to the dothraki khal in exchange for an army but the conversation was dropped a while ago.

You had changed into your nightgown and were now stood, brushing your hair gently and staring out of your window to the crashing waves below. They calmed you, but that calm was interrupted by a harsh collection of violent knocks at your door.

You had set aside the brush and quickly gone to answer. Noticing it was joffrey which was unusual as he always sent someone for you, never venturing anywhere near the servants end of the castle.

"Whatever is the matter, your grac-"

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into your neck. He held you in an embrace and you were stunned for a moment, eyes wide and staring at sandor clegane who stood across the hall and shrugged and you.

You had slowly and anxiously returned the hug, moving your hand gently up and down his back as he slowly began to cry. It was almost silent hut you could feel him shaking.

"Your grace, do you-" you let out a breath. "Do you want to come in and sit for a moment?"

He nodded into your shoulder and you guided him into your room, ignoring the silent laughs from the hound as you closed the door, sitting joffrey down on your bed, he rested himself against the headboard, on the side closest to the window.

You had quickly grabbed him a cup of water and offered it to him, he took it and you stood infront of him cautiously.

"Are you alright, your grace?" You asked quietly.

He stopped his slow crying for a moment and looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm a terrible king. I don't know what to do about all the stupid Lords and ladies constantly wanting my attention. I don't know what to do about uncle renly or uncle stannis, about robb stark or my mother or anything."

Your face softened with sympathy for the boy king slightly as you replied.

"You are no such thing, your grace. War is a strange and chaotic thing, no one ever really, truly knows what to do. You're handling it well I'm sure of it, your grace."

He looked down into his lap and them out if the window and into the dark sky.

"Do you really think so?"

"I do, your grace."

He paused and and studied your face, your beautiful eyes and hair, your skin and lips, your figure and everything else about you.

"Why are you nice to me? I am nothing but cruel to you and yet you are happy to serve me. You listen and you don't tire of me. Why?"

"Because, your grace," you spoke softly. "I cannoted ever repay the generosity your family had shown me and I do not find it a chore to listen to you. I do not have any friends, I do not have people to speak to for no one ever wants the risk of speaking to the mad Kings Daughter. But you, your grace, you speak to me, about everything. About your problems, about your feelings. You don't see me as the targaryen girl, you see me as your cupbearer. Nothing more, nothing less, your grace."

You say nervously on the end of your bed, gazing at him. He gestured for you to sit closer and so you shuffled up the bed until you too were leaned against the headboard.

"Your grace, it is improper for someone such as yourself to be laying in such a room, are you sure I cannot escort you back to your chambers, get you some food or some wine?"

He didn't not reply, he just yet again stared out of the window.

"I think of you as much more than that you know." He mumbled.

"I'm sorry, your grace?" You asked, confounded by the statement.

"I think of you as much more than just my cupbearer. Much more."

"Your grace, i am afraid I do not understand quite what you are implyi-"

He lent forward slightly as cupped your check with his hand, his beautiful brown eyes staring into your own vivid, violet ones. He tinged his head slightly and kissed you.

His lips were soft and warm, his kiss gentle. Not at all like you had expected. He pulled away slowly, still keeping eye contact.

"Your grace, i-"

"Joffrey."

"I, I'm sorry i-" he placed a finger over your lips, shushing you softly.

"Just joffrey."

And he kissed you again, this time much more passionately, your lips moving in sync with each other and your heartbeats rising, bodies getting closer and closer.

And that is how you stayed until the morning when cersei found you both, but she never said a word, to either of you, instead choosing to leave quietly.

As she walked back down the corridor, she was joined by tyrion lannister and she looked down at him.

"Well that certainly was not expected to happen any time soon." He stated.

"Well, dear brother, you can't expect the unexpected, can you?

#joffrey baratheon #joffrey lannister #game of thrones #got imagine #joffrey baratheon x reader #joffrey #game of thrones x reader #imagine

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meanderingstar · 9 months

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the way Daenerys treats Irri in the books is incredibly disturbing and I hate how it's overlooked by both the narrative and the majority of the fandom.

Daenerys uses Irri for sex at least twice over the course of the story, once in Storm and once in Dance. I really, truly cannot overstate how horrific the power imbalance between them is: Daenerys is her khaleesi, her queen and her employer; Irri was formerly a slave in her service and is now her maid with absolutely nowhere else to go. She has evidently been conditioned to believe that displaying absolute obedience to her higher-ups, including sexual services, is her "duty", which Daenerys recognizes and still actively exploits for her own pleasure. This is also why consent between them is utterly impossible – contrary to some asoiaf blogs who claim that consent was not a major issue in this situation (lol) or that Irri freely consented, Irri’s conditioning means that she will never be able to freely consent to someone like Daenerys, who is her employer and holds absolute power over her. Daenerys herself acknowledges this and feels guilty (damning in itself), but ends up using her in such a manner anyway, despite explicitly recognizing that Irri's kisses "tasted of duty" and nothing more.

What makes this even worse is that despite using her in this way in Storm, Daenerys has no issue saying that Irri and Jhiqui (who are her age and have had the same, if not worse, experiences than she has) are "only girls" in comparison to her. She also dismisses their (pretty sensible, imo?) concern about her touching sick and dead people by calling them "utter fools" and saying the Dothraki were only wise when it came to horses. She says all this AFTER sleeping with Irri, which makes it twice as bad - Daenerys considers her a little girl and a fool when it comes to advising her, but still finds it perfectly fine to use her for sex? This condescension extends to their sexual relationship as well, where Daenerys refers to Irri as "the maid", "her handmaid" and "the Dothraki girl" as she has sex with her. It's patronizing, disrespectful and exploitative at best, outright dehumanizing at worst.

While I highly doubt this was Grrm's intention, Daenerys's dynamic with Irri is clearly reminiscent of the horrific way Cersei uses Taena Merryweather. Dany is obviously not as vicious with Irri as Cersei was with Taena but that really doesn't change the fact that she was still a queen exploiting her employee's obedience and conditioned sense of "duty" for her own pleasure, made even worse by the fact that Irri, as a servant and former slave with no family, no connections and nowhere else to go, was 10x more vulnerable than Taena was and certainly more dependent on Dany. It's bizarre how Cersei's treatment of Taena is recognized as fucked up by most of the fandom but Daenerys's treatment of Irri is not, even though the power imbalance between them is infinitely worse. (also: Grrm writing about TWO white queens using their brown maids/ladies-in-waiting for sex is flat-out racist. I'm also extremely uncomfortable with how both wlw interactions are dubiously consensual at best and arguably revolve around Cersei/Dany's relationships with men to some extent: Cersei uses Taena to reenact her trauma by Robert, and Dany not only "pretended it was Drogo holding her...only somehow his face kept turning into Daario's" when she was having sex with Irri, but also explicitly states that "it was Daario she wanted, or perhaps Drogo, not Irri").

Certainly, Daenerys and Irri's dynamic is part and parcel of Grrm's fucked notion of consent and piss-poor writing of wlw relationships (both of which he should be called out for far more than he is, btw), but it doesn't change the fact that in-universe, these are Daenerys's textual actions. Grrm seems to believe that Drogo didn't rape Daenerys (a 13 year old who was forced into marriage) on their wedding night because she said "yes", just like he seems to believe that Jaime didn't coerce Cersei to have sex with him over their own son's dead body because she eventually responded to Jaime's advances, but I clearly recognize them as rape and coercion. The same logic and same standards apply to Daenerys and the way she uses and exploits Irri and she should be judged accordingly.

#asoiaf #anti daenerys #anti daenerys targaryen #irri #grrm criticism #anti grrm #asoiaf criticism #grrm critical #queue

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k4marina · 8 days

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— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now.

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today.

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas.

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face.

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence.

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out.

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.”

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck.

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?”

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.”

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.”

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle.

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys.

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned.

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.”

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.”

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates.

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased.

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.”

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.”

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down.

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down.

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?”

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled.

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass.

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field.

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.”

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me.

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?”

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.”

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet.

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs.

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience.

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm.

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.”

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax.

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular.

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons.

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King.

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched.

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.”

“What?

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me.

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded.

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass.

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks.

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me.

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him.

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.”

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon.

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me.

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off.

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice.

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right?

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes.

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky.

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz.

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.”

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears.

“Your dragon,”

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings.

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I.

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end.

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible.

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely.

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle.

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.”

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly.

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.”

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub.

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

comment to be on the taglist!

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @daenerys713 @ministark @laanswife @idohknow @jromanoff

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lenskyq · 11 months

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it really annoys me when people write things like "Jon is the true heir of House Targaryen, a dragon raised by wolves" and all these things.

It was Daenerys who was banished from Westeros because of her Targaryen ancestry. It was Daenerys who, because of her Targaryen ancestry, was forced to run from town to town from Robert's killers (it doesn't even matter if Robert really sent assassins after her and Viserys or it was Viserys' paranoia). It was Daenerys, because of her Targaryen ancestry, who survived on the streets with her older brother, who psychologically, physically and sexually abused her. It was Daenerys who, because of her Targaryen ancestry, was sold into sexual slavery. It is Daenerys, as the last Targaryen, who is forced to bear the burden of responsibility for the legacy of her dynasty, because if she leaves, her house will leave with her.

and all this in order for some people to say that Jon is the heir of House Targaryen due to the fact that his father was Rhaegar (Rhaegar, whose actions led to Daenerys and Viserys being in exile and surviving on the streets, just saying). Jon, who has only northern themes and Stark House themes in his story. Jon, who grew up not even knowing about his connection with the Targaryens, and therefore grew up in the castle as the illegitimate son of Eddard Stark along with the legitimate Stark children, receiving maesters, servants and those who taught him to fight with a sword (let's not pretend that Catelyn's rude attitude and ignoring Sansa is comparable to Dany's life on the run and with the way viserys treated her). Jon, who has no emotional connection to House Targaryen and has done nothing for House Targaryen.

Daenerys literally revived the dragons, but the "Targaryen heir" in the eyes of some readers/viewers is still Jon. even after years of my joining the ASOIAF\GOT fandom, I hate it so much.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys stormborn #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #i hate this show but yeah #I'm a good guy so I don't use j*n tag for this post so as not to upset his fans

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writeshite · 1 year

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Puppy Love

Summary:

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace. “I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” You chuckle, “I should say the same; wolves are equally as captivating."

Pairings:

Robb Stark x Male Reader

Tags:

Targaryen Reader | Fluff | Smitten Robb Stark

Words: 2122

Author's Note:

I have not actually watched the show or read the books fully 👉🏾👈🏾 I know things, but most of my knowledge is sporadic and random; it'll be like 60% accurate, I think....in my defense, I want dragons, and I also want Robb Stark, so like what else am I supposed to do 💀. Also, sorry if the High Valyrian in here is shit; I'm very behind in my Duolingo course.

“The dragons have taken back the Iron Throne.”

Robb didn’t quite know how to react to the news; his battle had been for the North, and the workings of the other kingdoms and their squabbles had never immensely mattered to him as much as he knew they should. The ball had been his mother’s suggestion, correction insistence, “As king, you should set an example and get ahead of the other kingdoms.”

The Targarayens arrive on dragon back - each on a separate one - the beasts shake the ground when they land, thunderous roars echoing into the skies. Her Majesty, Daenerys Targaryen, is poised, expression calm as she descends her dragon; another figure follows behind her - the Queen's Hand Missandei - the other dragon rider, steals more of Robb’s attention. Expression perhaps more joyful, you appear rather ill-equipped for the weather, furs less than satisfactory in Robb’s opinion. Your attire appears snow-touched, with little color - a touch of red on the collar of your coat - and dragon detailing on the lapels. Your silver locks are platted back in a simplistic rider’s style, held together by an intricate golden band.

Your company trails behind, arriving just moments later. Robb is accompanied by his mother, Sansa, and Arya, the latter of the three stares in awe at the dragons. Robb picks up a bit of conversation as you approach them, dying down when you come to stand in front of them; the words are of another tongue - High Valyrian, he thinks. “Your grace,” he greets, “welcome to Winterfell.”

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she gestured to one side, “you know of my wife and hand, Missandei,” Robb nods, and she gestures to you, “and my cousin.”

“A pleasure,” you greet him.

Robb had yet to follow etiquette, and in the spirit of that, he responds to your greeting and awaiting handshake with a kiss - placed on the back of your hand. Your skin trembles in the cold, cool to the touch; he rubs his thumb along it in an effort to create some heat. The purple of your eyes was entrancing, deep pools that drew his gaze easily. His mother’s cough draws him back; her disapproving and mildly irritated glance is counteracted by Sansa and Arya’s amused ones. The servants lead you to your temporary quarters, and Robb’s linger on your retreating form; his mother’s lecture drifts elsewhere in his mind, barely settling before it’s tossed aside by the glee of seeing you once more at the welcoming banquet.

Winterfell was colder than you expected.

The invitation had seen no hurried response - with the rebuilding of King’s Landing, a new Dragon’s Pit, and many other matters - coming to Winterfell had primarily been driven by the need for a break. You rode on Morghon, Daenerys, and Missandei rode on Drogon, with Rhaegal and Viserion following and a company of Dothraki followed from the ground. The cool weather had been the first thing you’d noted, the second being the admittedly attractive King in the North. He donned a thick fur cape overtop his attire, a ringlet crown surmounted by iron spikes, and three wolves at the central front.

“Dubāzma,” you shrug at Daenerys’ warning tone; you hadn’t done anything; you simply glanced at the man.

You counter such, “Eman gaomagon daorun, ivestragon zirȳla Missandei.”

Missandei shakes her head, amusement in her tone, “Iā bughegon isse suvion iēdar kostilus,” she jests.

You shake your head, and the conversation breaks off as Lord Stark welcomes you to Winterfell. Daenerys responds with light introductions for both Missandei, then you.

“A pleasure,” you say once introduced, hand held out, ready for a handshake. Lord Stark does something far different. Taking your hand, he turns it over and lays a peck on the back of it, causing Lady Stark’s eyes to grow wide in surprise and his sisters’ expressions to morph into grins.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replies, eyes locked on yours as he does so. His hand remains with yours for seconds longer, thumb caressing the skin, and when her ladyship breaks the brief haze with a cough, he leaves behind a phantom warmth.

The temporary chambers are cozy, readily warm, and stocked with furs; you set your luggage by the bed and don’t dwell too long on them - furs, a bed, fire, and comfort - as the welcome banquet requires far more attention. You replace your traveling coat with one more suitable for festivities - dark with gold embroidery and light fur trimming on the bottom. You exit the room to find Lord Stark’s figure leaning against the wall opposite, and a smile lights his face at the sight of you.

“Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?” you inquire.

“If you’d allow it,” he responds with a hint of hope. You chuckle and nod, drawing out a broader smile on his face. The hall is not as far off as you’d imagined; light chatter filters through the open doors as people mill into the open-spaced hall. Far from the entrance sits a horizontally set long table - the Starks on the right, Taragrayens on the left - the other tables line the sides, leaving the middle empty.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the announcer declares, drawing attention to you both; he announces you next, “...of House Targaryen….” It had been your idea to drop your name of Velaryon, “...Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.” The latter of the titles stood more as a slight mockery, with your old life on the remnants of Old Valyria, those that had spotted you and Morghon had called you that in whispers.

You take the two remaining seats at the long table, Robb near the center, you near the edge, close to Missandei. The food is wonderful; meats, deserts, ale, and various Northern delicacies are brought to the tables - the honeyed chicken may well become one of your new favorites. People begin to mingle after the main courses as music fills the halls in steady beats; you follow suit at Lord Stark’s request to dance.

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip, circling each other at a slow pace.

“I would agree.” His arm moves up, and you meet it, wrists side by side, “dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.”

You chuckle, “I would say the same; wolves are equally as captivating,” your arms turn, both palms now against the other; he laces his fingers with yours, a cheeky grin on his face. You turn to circle in the opposite direction, the crowd around you filtering out as you remain fixated on each other. You draw back, hands still intertwined; coming back again, he places his other hand on your shoulder as yours goes to his hip. A few paces and you should separate from the other, turn to another person and carry on the dance, but you don’t, remaining in each other’s grasp as you drift across the floor.

The music changes and a joyful beat begins; the formality is lost as the crowd of dancers switches to more upbeat and expressive movements. Lord Stark tugs at your arm, head tilting towards the doors; you turn briefly to glance at the long table - Lady Arya is immersed in conversation with Daenerys; Missandei and Lady Sansa are the same; Lady Stark herself, however, appears to have swallowed a lemon, eyes glaring daggers at his Lordship. You return your attention to said man and allow him to drag you away from the hall.

Robb hadn’t paid much attention to his mother’s lecture; her words went in one ear and out the other; she wasn’t angry, not truly, merely cautious. The interest seemed mutual to some extent, though the matter of marital affairs would be complicated - gods know the Lords of Westeros would turn their noses high in disgust - his almost engagements had all fallen through when he’d paid them little mind.

“Robb Stark!” His mother’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “I understand your attraction circumvents what the realm would regard as suitable, but that is no excuse, do not trifle with him; we don’t need them setting our lands ablaze.”

“You’ve outdone yourself this time,” Sansa comments after their mother leaves.

Robb purses his lips; a wise man would take the words to heart and cease whatever he was doing - even if this interaction bore positive fruit, there was no certainty it would be in the best interest of the North. Her Majesty could have him abdicate his throne in favor of moving into the Targarayen household, or she could disapprove of him and feed him to her dragons. Robb was a man of heart, the kind that intercepted the servant at your chambers and took it upon himself to escort you personally to the dining halls.

Your previous coat has been replaced by a darker one; golden dragon heads decorate the cuffs, and it sits tighter on your person, with the fur trimming at the bottom fluttering delicately as you walk. “Have you come to escort me, Lord Stark?”

“If you’d allow it,” he responds, and gods, he hopes you would. He feels himself smile wider at your agreement, arm threaded with yours; the short walk to the dining halls leaves him ecstatic.

“Lord Robb of House Stark, King in the North, Lord of Winterfell…” the declaration echoes in the hall; brief glances become more fixated on your intertwined arms. His mother’s eyes squint, a frown on her face, “...of House Targaryen, Dragonheart of Old Valyria, and Prince of The Ashes.”

Robb thanks the gods; his mother’s seat is further from him; if looks could kill, he’s certain he’d have died at the entrance. “You’ve taken to my cousin quite quickly, Lord Stark,” Her Majesty’s voice draws his attention.

Her gaze is steady as she regards him, “I suppose, your grace, is that a problem?”

It’s no secret that certain parts of Westeros and their rulers disapprove of other attractions; Robb’s not quite sure where his father would have stood on the matter - he imagines him supportive - he knows his mother prefers he be less expressive on the subject. Queen Daenerys had been quite clear on her stance, disregarding the disapproval of her new laws and marriage, though that’s not to say she would like to have him as her in-law.

“Not as long as he is happy, and well,” she answers, “I have little family left; I cannot help my worry.”

There is an underlying threat to her words, and Robb nods in understanding, and it satisfies her enough to turn away from him. The food is brought in just after - honeyed chicken, venison pies, cod cakes, ale, candied bread - the music begins near the tail end of the feast. Some sway to the tune, conversations carrying in the air, as the music changes to something more befitting a dance. He stands and moves down the long table towards you, “Care for a dance?”

“One would think you’ve become besotten with me, Lord Stark,” you quip.

“I would agree; dragons are a rare sight in the North; anyone would be enamored.” Your arms meet in the middle, level to your heads, as you circle each other; even as the other dancers switch partners, you remain together. Up until the music changes and a less formal tune carries in the air, you follow suit, hand in Robb’s as he drags you from the hall. You stroll idly through the halls, hands held together and swung lowly and sharing idle chatter.

“What do you call your dragon?”

“Morghon,” you respond, “it means death, a fitting name. Would you like to see him?” Robb pursed his lips, and you chuckled at his hesitation, “Don’t tell me you’re scared of dragons,” you teased; coming to a halt, you tugged him closer, “certainly not after flirting with one.”

He can feel the heat creep up his neck and imagines his skin pinker at the moment, “What if he bites?”

“He won’t,” your graze drifts a little lower, “but I could.”

“Is that an invitation to your bed, my prince?”

“If you’d like, you could show me how warm the North could be. I’m sure a few hours of demonstration should suffice.”

“The demonstration will have to wait for another time, your grace,” his mother’s voice cuts in. You both jump apart, hands loosely held together; she grabs Robb by the arm, “I apologize for the interruption, your grace, but we have some familial matters to attend to.” His face pinches into a frown as his mother leads him away; he remains turned enough to send you a brief wave and a smile and is thrilled to see you return it.

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this mess. Stay hydrated.

#robb stark x male reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones imagine #shut up i want dragons alright #i am disregarding canon because i think he's too hot to die #and also cause there's like a few solid male reader fics i think and the rest aren't so here comes the petty dragon riding bitch #if you came here expecting canon accuracy go touch some grass this is fanfic we don't know the meaning of that word

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atopvisenyashill · 2 months

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"Daenerys has done a lot of wrongs" and said are killing slavers

thanks for this one actually because you gave me an excuse to talk about that for a bit.

now first of all - i find it very frustrating that when people say “this was wrong” everyone defaults to “why do you care about slavers” when usually, when i’m talking about things dany has done wrong, i’m talking about mirri maz durr, sacking astapor, sexually abusing irri, and taking a profit off slavery. mirri wasn’t a slaver, she was a slave, and she was blood sacrificed by dany. sacking a city, regardless of who is in that city, is always messy and bad - ask Cleos the Butcher and the people he rules over how they feel about the Sack. Ask the people of King's Landing how they feel about their houses being set on fire every few decades. Ask Missandei how she really feels watching the woman she put all her faith in take a cut off the selling of slaves. Hell, Dany knows that Irri does not want to have sex with her and is doing it because she feels "obligated" because she's a slave and Dany still uses her as a bed warmer and then bars her from expressing an interest in Rakharo because she doesn't believe Irri is ~worthy~ of Rakharo (worthy to fuck but not to love and don't I fucking know about attitudes like that coming from white straight girls lmao).

But let's move past all of that (you certainly seem uninterested in talking about the personhood of slaves like Missandei and Mirri after all, despite ostensibly defending them here) and dig into the crucifying of the Great Masters. In fact, let's turn to Dany's own thoughts over this, bolded part mine:

In the plaza before the Great Pyramid, the Meereenese huddled forlorn. The Great Masters had looked anything but great in the morning light. Stripped of their jewels and their fringed tokars, they were contemptible; a herd of old men with shriveled balls and spotted skin and young men with ridiculous hair. Their women were either soft and fleshy or as dry as old sticks, their face paint streaked by tears. “I want your leaders,” Dany told them. “Give them up, and the rest of you shall be spared.” “How many?” one old woman had asked, sobbing. “How many must you have to spare us?” “One hundred and sixty-three,” she answered. She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon. But later, when she passed the men dying on the posts, when she heard their moans and smelled their bowels and blood… Dany put the glass aside, frowning. It was just. It was. I did it for the children.

Immediately after doing it, Dany regrets it. She recognizes she did it while angry and impassioned and reckless, and that the deaths were agonizing, that she did it not for the children but because she was angry and humiliated. This scene has never been as righteously clean morally than people would believe from the moment it was on page! She recognizes she did a fucked up thing but rationalizes it away because she can't admit she made a mistake. She reflects on it later again as she's ruling Meereen:

She had not forgotten the slave children nailed up along the road from Yunkai. They had numbered one hundred sixty-three, a child every mile, nailed to mileposts with one arm outstretched to point her way. After Meereen had fallen, Dany had nailed up a like number of Great Masters. Swarms of flies had attended their slow dying, and the stench had lingered long in the plaza. Yet some days she feared that she had not gone far enough. These Meereenese were a sly and stubborn people who resisted her at every turn. They had freed their slaves, yes … only to hire them back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat. Those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the streets, along with the infirm and the crippled. And still the Great Masters gathered atop their lofty pyramids to complain of how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves, and whores. To rule Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however much I may despise them.

She lets the bodies of the people she wants to rule rot, the smell lingering in the plaza for weeks, reminding the people she is trying to make peace with that she can and will viciously murder their families and gloat over their corpses and they cannot stop her. Then doesn't put in any rules about wages, anything to help the sick and disabled. She blames the Great Masters for working within the system they've had for generations despite yelling at them to get a new system and doing nothing to help them move to that new system. She judges them, she hates them, and she wonders why she has the Meereneese version of the KKK springing up afterwards. She is just as ineffective as Andrew Johnson is during Reconstruction, too focused on her own feelings to look objectively at what this destroyed city actually needs from her, instead judging them from her own lofty pyramid with her own slaves and her own superior culture and mopes about how much she wants the Seven Kingdoms.

SHE is the one who decided she was going to rule this place. But instead of focusing on reconciliation, she focuses in on revenge. And that is why she sets herself up to fail.

#ya'll are so fucking annoying #anti daenerys targaryen #anti dany stans #slavery in essos #asks #anons

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fragileheartbeats · 2 months

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Is there any bad member of house celestyr?!

⭒ 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗻 ── 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 ✮

He had grown up with the thought of revenge for his father's death. His mother, Naesa Celestyr, was captured by Maegor The Cruel and was forced to marry him. Naesa and Aevon were supposed to marry each other. Aevon was about to go to a war but before leaving he slept with his sister, Naesa. And Naesa became pregnant. When Maegor forced her to marry him, he didn't know she was pregnant. Naesa died in childbirth, but Maegor was so happy because of his son. Maegor named him Matavon. When Maegor was killed by Aevon, he swore to avenge his father's death. He didn't know that Aevon was his father. He did many horrible things and killed many innocent people. Although he was not related to Maegor by blood, he had his personality. He was the one who started the third period of Frozen Inferno War and caused many deaths and misery.

⭒ 𝗦𝗲𝗹𝗮𝗲𝗵𝗿𝗮 𝗜𝗜 ── 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘺𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 ✮

She was manipulative and had a deep hatred for Targaryens even though her father was one. She especially hated Rhaenyra, her sister. She was also a sadist. She enjoys torturing others. She slept with Daemon just to torment Rhaenyra. She was very beautiful and behaved very well in front of others, but all this was just a mask that she put on to hide her true self. She had a beautiful but dangerous she-dragon named Silver tail. her dragon was beautiful with shining silver scales, which shone like melting silver in the light, and ruby red wing membranes. When Aegon was two years old, Selaehra gave him Silver tail's only egg, which was Sunfyre. And in doing so, she not only tormented Rhaenyra, but marked her side by calling young Aegon the king. "A golden egg for a golden king" she said. She made many people like Rhaenyra, Alicent and especially Aegon miserable and she did so many horrible things.

⭒ 𝗠𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗼𝗻 𝗜𝗜 ── 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘭 ✮

He was a prince with a very beautiful face. Many people considered him to be the most beautiful man born in the history of the Celestyrs. Not only was he beautiful but he was charismatic, witty, flirty and a good swordsman. But he was very greedy, he did everything to sit on the iron throne, and he did but this had a great price. One day he fell ill. His body was burning with fever and his headache was terrible. But then a witch told him that if he feeds on humans, he will be fine. And he did and it worked. Then he changed slowly. One moment he was laughing like a madman and the next moment he was crying. Some servants even said that they could hear him talking to himself in the middle of night. One night he had a bad dream. And the same witch told him that the interpretation of his dream is that a son will be born from house of Celestyr who will kill him. So he beheaded all his family members, men, women and children.

⭒ 𝙅𝙖𝙚𝙣𝙮𝙭 ── 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘔𝘢𝘥 𝘋𝘰𝘨 ✮

He was a slave that Daenerys had freed. When he was a slave, he was trained to be a savage killer, just like an animal. He was also horribly tortured for a long time. So when Daenerys freed him and showed him kindness, he became obsessed with her (he literally saw her as his god and worshipped her). He was very loyal and would do whatever Daenerys asked. But he was not an obeyed pet. One time he gouged out a man's eyes just for looking at his queen in wrong way and gave them to Daenerys as a gift. He was very bloodthirsty and crazy. He had no mercy and did whatever he thought was right (which were never right).

@fragileheartbeats . Don't plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

@emily2003alzaga @nash-dara @altaircc @heavenly1927 @omgsuperstarg @asoiafhyperfixation

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writingsofwesteros · 1 year

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concept for drunk!daemon, alicent, aemond and daenerys

Alicent: It is not something she allows herself to be on a regular occurrence; only when she was emotionally unstable. Just as she was on her return from Driftmark. You knew there was something different even when you saw Aemond’s missing eye, which was why you followed her. Thankfully, the King’s health had declined and there was privacy in that moment. All Alicent could do was sob into your neck. Your arms were wrapped around her tightly.

Aemond: Another one that does not drink to get drunk on many occasions but sometimes the pain in his eye gets too much. The drink can dull this. You would find him alone as the servants poured his cup. His clinginess would become even worse and the touches only for inside the chambers came through in public; much to your delight.

Daemon: The Prince is drunk on many occasions - usually on the street of silk or in his own private chambers. This time you found him on a cold evening surrounded by whores and knights alike. He soon tugged you into his lap. Your legs spreading as his hands were groping you before you could stop him; not that you truly wanted him to.

Daenerys: “You are drunk, my Queen.” You whispered into her ear as you gracefully moved to stand behind her. Your fingers brushing through her locks as you began to undress the woman. Daenerys only hummed as she lent back into your touches. Those bright eyes looked up at you with a slight haze to them but her smile was only widening.

#alicent hightower x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #daenerys targaryen x reader #concepts

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two-white-butterflies · 11 months

Text

coaxed you into paradise - c. 14

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Fourteen: Reformation

Daemon slams his hand loudly on his brother’s desk - rage simmering inside his purple irises. “Your city has fallen to greed and incompetence.” he bemoaned - teeth bumping into each other with the last syllable. His brother takes a deep and cautious breath, thinking of ways to shoot down his accusations. “What is the meaning of this, brother?” the King asked.

“My men tell me that Ser Harwin is not properly executing his duties.” he accused, still staring at his brother with a dragon’s wrath. “You mean, he’s not executing people.” Viserys mocked, laughing at his humor.

“Well he’s not saving people either.” Daemon defended.

He wanted to kill the Commander of the ‘Yellow Cloaks’ for his irresponsibility. He’s built the entire thing from scratch - and now all that’s left of his legacy - turns tarnished. “The nobles are satisfied with his work.” Viserys asserted, leaning on his chair with particular uneasiness.

“Nobles like Otto and Lancel.” he snides.

“I’d be happy if you were commander, brother - but I am King. I cannot give positions just because I desire it.” Viserys reasons, and his brother’s posture grows weak and without confidence. The only person who could hurt Daemon was Viserys - and he has done so countless times.

“Do I not deserve the position?” he insinuated, Viserys’ eyes softened. “Of course you do.” His brother was quick to comfort. “ - but Harwin has only started his post, it would be rude to take it away.” he chuckled nervously, thinking that Daemon would agree with him.

“You are dismissed, brother.” Viserys dismissed, not waiting for his reply.

—

Saera’s hair was a sacred thing - only few were allowed to touch it. Mysaria continues braiding her hair, careful to not strain or pull on her hair. “I heard something last night, my princess.” she conveyed, placing a ruby clip on the silky locks. “What is it?” Saera raised her eyebrows.

“It is about your husband, my princess.” Mysaria whispers.

“And?” she hums - finding herself caring about his well being. They’ve been married for a year, and it was normal at this point. “ - and your sister.” Mysaria gossiped, pausing for a while to create suspense.

“They’re friends - Harwin told me.” Saera shakes her head. He wouldn’t, right? They had a promise that they’d never lay with another person - despite having romantic feelings for them. Saera has held her bargain, denying her uncle from sleeping with her, but has he?

“More than friends.” Mysaria reports, finishing the braid with ease. “One of my worms told me that - they could be heard last night.” She eases the information, not wanting to keep a single detail away from her lady and friend.

“Heard?” she inquires, aware of the inflictions against her sister’s maidenhead. “ - Lord Laenor asserts that it was him, but the servants saw Ser Harwin enter.” Mysaria informs.

Saera bites the inner corner of her lips.

“What an interesting turn of events.” she ponders.

—

A year has passed since the start of Rhaenyra and Harwin’s affair - now they are blessed with a child. The Princess placed a hand on her stomach, it was swollen and round with pride. “The child will come any time now.” she smiled, sitting on one of her father’s garden beds. She was surrounded by her family, Saera, Daemon, Viserys and Harwin.

“Have you thought of names?” Saera asks, reaching for a pastry on the round table. “Laenor insists upon Jacaerys and Aegon if they are boys, and I have chosen Daenerys and Rhaenys if they are girls.” Rhaenyra beams with pride - a smile that reaches her eyes.

Saera was happy for her sister - glad that she was about to become a mother. Saera was yet to be with a child. She looked to her side, and Harwin was smiling at Rhaenyra. She was fuming at the sight of him - anger burning through her lungs.

He was a man, it’s what they do.

He can sleep with her sister all that he desires - but Saera? Gods be damned if she was in the presence of a man for more than a second. Rumors would spread and her reputation would be ruined. She did not hate her sister for finding love - but she hated Rhaenyra from hiding it, and flaunting her pregnancy. It was a punch on the face - hurting her pride.

Daemon senses the deep thought within his niece - so he wraps his arms around her, smiling at her throughout the entire ordeal. They were together - but not sleeping with each other (she wasn’t comfortable with that yet.) He was happy, inquiring about the possibilities of him and Saera staying in Dragonstone.

“Jacaerys is a wonderful name.” Harwin pipes out, smiling at the Princess. He was happy to provide comfort. “Fit for a prince, I say.” Viserys agrees.

There was no doubt in her heart that Jacaerys would be loved. Loved by his fathers, and grandfather. “Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the next King of the Seven Kingdoms.” Viserys breathes, his legacy was written in stone.

The next rulers lay in front of him.

—

Saera slams the door loudly, shaking the paintings on her uncle’s walls. “Qogralbar pōntoma! (Fuck them all)” she yelled, throwing a pillow in a random direction. “Saera, g��da ilagon. (calm down.)” Daemon commands firmly, and her eyes bolt in his direction.

“Skorkydoso? (How?) Rhaenyra never wanted to become a mother - I wanted to be, and the gods have denied that.” she fumes with rage.

Daemon takes a step in her direction, wrapping his arms around her body. Embracing her with a warmth that only an uncle could provide. He lifts his hand, combing through her hair - comforting her through her rage. “There is a reason for everything, little girl.” he hums, pressing a small kiss on her cheek.

“I feel useless, they all whisper behind my back - my marriage with Harwin is longer, and yet I am the last one to have a child.” She rested her head on Daemon’s shoulders. Allowing the tears to flow out of her eyes. “Do you want a child, ñuha riña?” he asked playfully, and she nodded her head.

“Kessa, tepagon nyke iā riña kepus. (Yes, give me a child.)” she whispered, breaking the embrace and starting their kiss.

He removes her corset with ease, allowing her gown to drop on the floor. It was the fastest that a piece of clothing has ever been taken off her. “How many?” he joked, slithering his hands to be pressed upon her chest - pushing her down the bed. His bed.

“As many as you desire,” she responds - staring at him while he removes his tunic. She attempts to stand up and help him, but he pushes her down with a stare.

“Tubī iksis mirre nūmāzma ao, (Today is all about you,)” he proclaims, throwing his tunic in a random direction.

He frees his cock, pumping it a few times at the sight of Saera in her underclothes. “Gevie,” he whispers - sending electric sparks all throughout her body. “Qogralbar nyke, (Fuck me,)” she cried out - the warmth in her legs began to pool. “Mazverdagon jorrāelagon naejot nyke, (Make love to me.)” he corrected with a smirk and she nodded her head.

“Please,” she whispered and he lifted the hem of her underwear, exposing her unclothed body. His hands grazed the tops of her cunt. She smelt like strawberries, and he craved that. He leans down, taking a lick of her pearl - a smile playing at his lips as they share a stare. He taps her thighs, telling her to look at him - and she does, ignoring the pleasure that told her to close her eyes.

He takes another lick - slurping and lapping at her insides. His tongue expertly reached her g-spot in no time. Tonight wasn’t about Daemon. It was about pleasuring his gorgeous girl. She was divine - and he knows every part of him. Every indent, every scar - he memorized it.

A moan escaped her mouth.

He stops licking, moving to her level. He presses a kiss on her collarbone, and she lifts herself to a sitting position - both hands pinned by his own and her back in an angle that allows her to slump on the bed-frame. “I love you,” she whispered in his ears, hot breath sending shivers down his spine and engorging his lust. Saera, his god, one whose touch provided him comfort. He would die a hundred times if it meant sharing her bed.

“You want me,” he taunted, lining his cock with her warm gaping hole. She nodded desperately - not wishing to be gone from her peak. “Use your words my little girl.” he bites the insides of his lips, his gaze met hers.

“Please, I want you.” she begged, his fingers dancing up to her face - resting on her lips. He pressed another kiss on her - allowing her to taste her own juices. He shifts again, his body straddling her own.

He positions his cock - inserts it into her, a smile entering his lips as her eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Yes,” she moans and he lets go of her hands, arms resting on her shoulder while bouncing on her - doing his best to be gentle, wishing only to provide her with pleasure and not fucking.

He looks at her eyes - not wanting to be robbed of any moment with her. “Daemon,” she prays, burying her face in his chest. The pleasure sending a thousand moans out of her mouth. In his ears, it was the sound of heaven - her voice was akin to melody.

They were burning. As dragons were supposed to.

He releases his seed inside of her - womb brimming with seed. Daemon cared less - the peak that mattered was his wife’s, and he was going to give it to her. Saera’s grip on his tunic softened, her eyes and mouth gently opened. Another moan exits her mouth and her body slumps back on the bed-frame. Daemon pauses for a while, taking his sweet time in removing himself.

“Thank you,” she moans - he places a kiss on both of her cheeks. “I know that you feel pressured to have a child, but you shouldn’t worry about it. Kepus will provide,” he promises, and she lays down on the bed.

“I know.” she whispers, wrapping her body with a warm blanket.

next chapter>>

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#daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen headcanon #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fluff #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon headcanons #daemon prince #daemonism #hotd daemon

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