Emilia Clarke appreciation 19/-

winchestver​:

“I’m gonna try my best.” Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure that him and Sam could help her, but he was sure he was going to try. To call him kind was a little bit of a stretch — sure he did good things, but only because there was no one else around to do them anymore — quite literally. Even if this girl was beyond helping, Dean was going to do his best to help her anyways; even if helping her only meant taking her to the bunker so that she was angel/demon proof. 

He could almost sense the anxiety in the air, and the last thing he wanted was to further make her uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t wanna just jump right into this and overwhelm you, so I’m gonna start by saying that there are many things on this Earth that good people are unaware of. Speaking in the most friendly of ways, you can tell that you’ve got some sort of magic about you, and that you’re vulnerable in you’re current state. You may not be, but it seems that way. And if it seems that way to a human, I can only imagine what half of the other supernatural creatures would view you as, in your current, very clearly discombobulated state.” Dean couldn’t read her at all, but the one thing he did notice was the confusion that was practically written onto the small woman’s forehead. He didn’t know why, but he had an urge to keep her safe, just as if he would any other innocent they found when working a case. 

Dean knew there was a lot to explain to her, and he would answer any questions they had, once they weren’t out in the open. “I’m going to send my brother, Sam to get help from another friend of ours who can maybe help you out some, too.” He said, referring to Castiel. “In the meantime, are you comfortable coming back with me to a safe place?” Dean always liked to offer it as if it were an option first. Considering, he didn’t know if she was a threat to him or not, he had already much decided that if she didn’t come willingly, Dean was going to do what he could to get her to comply.

He says he’ll try his best. It’s strange -- she believes him, to an extent. A wiser, older voice in her mind tells her to beware. In her thoughts she sees three mares, all donning hairs of white. One bears a crown of flame. The other is mounted by a headless huntsman, and the third, a man with a face she can’t discern -- though she knows he’s as lovely as he is dark. The phantom pain still lingers in the line of her breast. “I feel fine,” she tells him, stern, violet eyes flickering up to his. They hold the color of aquamarine seas. 

She debates his question. These men could be capturing her. Though she can’t fathom why they would. This man has already explained to her the state of things -- and she can hardly stifle the feeling of discomfort at the mention of supernatural. She’s never heard of that word, really. She garners that he means creatures that would do her harm.

And how does she know that’s not what he plans to do? “I suppose I don’t have a choice,” she says, softer than before. “I’ll go with you.”

honestly daenerys has so many power moves and among my favorites is when the slave masters call her a whore and threaten to kill her dragon... “do you think it’s hard to kill a dragon?” and shes like “theyre harder to kill than slavers to be sure bro”

The gods have heard my prayer. “Unsullied!” Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. “Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see.” She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air … and then she flung the scourge aside. “Freedom!” she sang out. “Dracarys! Dracarys!” “Dracarys!” they shouted back, the sweetest word she’d ever heard. “Dracarys! Dracarys!” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire. – A Storm of Swords

Daenerys Targaryen, A Song of Ice and Fire 2021 Calendar by Sam Hogg

get to know me meme: favorite tv shows [1/10] game of thrones (2011-2019) Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.

I say that's my baby and I'm really proud

rosebeavty​:

           stories had never been far from her ears  …  it had been margaery who had encouraged tommen to attend small council meetings and with him, he brought back tales of the dragon queen who existed on the other side of the narrow sea. the mother of dragons, was what they had named her  –––  breaker of chains, the unburnt. it certainly seemed as though daenerys targaryen was an extraordinary woman and she must have been, for her grandmother to have pledged allegiance and sat upon her council. highgarden had been sworn to this dragon queen, though they had died all the same whether they had been sworn to any side other than house lannister. the tyrell had wondered that if she had perhaps, made it back to the castle that she had grew up in with enough time, would her grandmother and their bannermen have suffered the same fate? or could margaery have talked them out of their actions, shown them a better way?

there were no hostilities  ;  only heartache. once upon a time, the tyrell had everything that she could have dreamt of and more. but savagely, it had been stolen from her  …  much like everything that once belonged to daenerys had.

there was one difference between both women  –––  margaery tyrell had been raised, taught the true etiquette and had been involved with her familial political affairs for as long as she could remember. it was as though she been taught nurtured to sit by the side of a king and reign upon the seven kingdoms as queen consort. now however, she wanted no part in it. margaery tyrell could not care about who sat on the iron throne, as long as it was not a lannister. no matter what amount of justice or kindness was brought upon the realm, it would not replace what had been taken from her by those who lusted to see her demise. daenerys on the other hand, had been smuggled as a babe. kidnapped from her own home and sailed across the rocky waves to carry her to safety.

ringlets dance around her waist, rose pins placed delicately against the auburn of her crown as she enters the cold and dark room that is barely lit by flames. even the fireplace is not enough to warm the castle that she now resides  ;  a thousand leagues from home and everything that she has known. the climate did not agree with her  …  margaery tyrell was southron, from the way she styled her hair to the way her tongue curved as she spoke, utterances escaping her petals. but now, she dressed as though she was from the north. and no amount of cold could ever match to the lifeless feeling that attacked at her veins every day she awoke. the black cells should have stolen her mind  –––  insanity filling that precious head of hers, but nothing could be worse than this.

“ your grace. i must apologise ––– for my absence in the courtyard on the day of your arrival. ”  a polite smile tugs upon her lips, though sapphires are still filled with sadness. so, this is the woman who her grandmother had swore alliance to. wispy lashes fell to her cheeks, bowing ever so slightly as though it could add to her regret but she refused to dwell upon it. daenerys targaryen had abandoned her own war  …  one that margaery desired to see go ahead much more than she would ever be able to explain to sansa or any other northerner that she now lived amongst. but she was not northern. nor was she harsh, stubborn or abrupt. margaery tyrell was much like her grandmother.

“ i thought it was time that i met with you. whispers reached my ears that my grandmother had pledged herself and the tyrell forces to you before she was  –––  ”  the words cannot leave her lips and yet, she knows that she must utter them. if this dragon queen was going to deliver justice to cersei, then margaery would have to be strong. they were her words after all, weren’t they? growing strong. not quite as powerful as others that belonged to the many houses that once dawned upon westeros, but meaningful to her nonetheless.  “ before she was murdered. i know that i may come across as a threat, a usurper perhaps but i wanted to let you know  …  i stand behind you too. i would swear you my bannermen, swords and shields but it would appear that i have nothing left to swear to you. ”

Oh, how lovely and beautiful. Daenerys had heard the rumors of the fair features of the Tyrells -- and Margaery is certainly fair. Charming. Daenerys shakes her head. “There’s no need to apologize. I understand my presence is quite... unnerving to most.” The dragon queen come to take their lands and their homes. To burn their stone castles into the dust. Raised in savage, wild lands. Perhaps it is that difference between them that makes Daenerys fit as a ruler -- having grown up a slave to her brothers whims. She better understands the people. Her silver brows pull into a frown, pinched. 

Margaery Tyrell. Yes, she had suffered. A fresh new queen tossed ruthlessly to fanatics. Daenerys can’t possibly imagine the fortitude and will it took to survive that -- mentally and physically. To turn your back on the very foundations of which you were raised. It was all an act. Daenerys’s throat feels tight, belly fierce. “You’re the furthest thing from a threat,” she assuages, her hands clasping over her center. Her eyes drift to the fire, Margaery’s words still settled on her ears. Little promises of her loyalty. There’s a gnawing blackness at the corners of her mind -- telling her not to trust, not to give.

Too many times has she been fooled. Tricked. She is no longer the naive little girl playing at queen. She has the lives of millions on her hands, and a throne that rests in quicksand. Her eyes go back to Margaery. “You owe me nothing,” frankly said, a softness to the tilt of her voice. “Though I appreciate the sentiment. I wish for nothing more than your alliance. And you’ve given me that in spades -- your grandmother gave me that.”

Her lips twist, recalling the memories. “She was a good woman. She offered me the wisest council I’ve had in a long while,” she nears the flame, palms oustretched to sap some of its heat. “Come, sit. Would you tell me about her?”

Emilia Clarke as Qi’ra, Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018) Dir. Ron Howard

Remember who you are, Daenerys, … The  d r a g o n s  know. Do you?(x)

She is the blood of Old Valyria, no doubt.

298 AC: Queen Rhaella gives birth to Princess Daenerys.

Rhaella spent the duration of her pregnancy on Dragonstone. Nine moons after sailing from King’s Landing Rhaella gave birth to her only daughter, whom she named Daenerys, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. Rhaella died shortly thereafter from complications of childbirth. Daenerys was born nine months after their flight, while a great storm raged above Dragonstone, sinking what remained of the Targaryen fleet; for this reason she is known as “Daenerys Stormborn” Her mother died in labor,but not before naming her.

me: does half a draft me: im done

@rosebeavty

Daenerys isn’t particularly fond of the north. She finds herself reminiscing about better days -- much... warmer days during her time in Essos. The cold doesn’t bother her as it would another, yet it still pricks her fingertips with chill. Her blood runs hot. She still clamors to a fire for warmth. How long it had been since she feared flame. The red woman told her she is the princess of fire. The one who was promised. She thinks of that memory with a taste of hesitance, a near bitterness as well -- she is the mother of dragons. Mother of monsters, some would call her. She is no saint. 

And yet there are some who still call her mother. Mother, she recalls. The thousands of thousands of throats cheering her name. The only children she can ever have wear crowns of fire. Fire and blood. Dragons plant no trees. Dragons harbor no kindness. Only affection to their allies. Is she the same? She stares into the flickering flames. Her so called allies have been slaughtered for being openly aligned to Daenerys Targaryen, the mother of dragons. Mother of monsters.

Olenna Tyrell had been more than an ally, to Daenerys. She was the closest thing to a mother she ever had -- and how sad is that. She’s been surrounded by men the day she was born. Men who have tried to kill her, men who have loved her and would kill for her. Margaery Tyrell had lived through the atrocities that occured in Kings’ Landing and now resides in the North. Much like the weather, the Starks are cold to Daenerys. Jon is the only one who shows her kindness -- and she supposes that’s only because she supplied them with Dragonglass. And dragons. 

How can she rule a kingdom that doesn’t want to be ruled? They’d sooner hate her than accept a helping hand. Her knuckles rub her lips in thought, her left hand fiddling with the end of her chair. How can she show them that she’s not her father?

“Your grace,” Jorah says. Daenerys’s head rises. Everytime he looks at her he sees something he didn’t before. A million fragmented beauties tucked away on every corner of her face. “Lady Margaery is here to see you.”

A silver brow rises. “Willingly?” she asks. Jorah gives a smile, gray eyes twinkling. She too relents with a smile. “Alright. Send her in.” She stands, the furs draped around her legs falling to the side. She brushes off her dress, somewhat sheepish -- fretting over the way she looks. She wants these people to like her. 

The Tyrell woman steps in, her hair lovely and long. Daenerys greets her with a smile. “Lady Margaery. A pleasant surprise. To what do I owe this visit?”

Chapters of A Song of Ice & Fire - A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III      “He will not come,” Kraznys said.      “There is a reason. A dragon is no slave.” And Dany swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver’s face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back, the blood running red down his cheeks into his perfumed beard. The harpy’s fingers had torn his features half to pieces with one slash, but she did not pause to contemplate the ruin. “Drogon,” she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. “Dracarys.”

@winchestver​

dean had been there before, there was no doubt about that. but there was something oddly different about this girl, and all of the evidence from the case him and sam had been working led straight to her. her different colored eyes automatically led dean to believe she wasn’t of this world, but his first guess wasn’t that she was evil. of course, he could’ve been dead wrong and blinded by her beauty — which was also something other than this world. “All of them? Do you think you could tell me anything that you remember?” he wasn’t sure if he was going to end up helping or hunting her yet, but he wouldn’t know if she couldn’t get out any details of who or what she was. “If you don’t, that’s okay. My brother and I can help you.” whatever she was, dean wanted to keep her off the map from every other supernatural being on the planet while he and sam did their best to figure it out, or help her out. “Come with me.” he said softly, offering his hand to help her up from where she was, eyes fixed on the girl in curiosity. whatever she was, she wasn’t safe out in the open like this.

Vaulted azure skies and inky black spires are foggy in her mind. A tree lined with yellow fruit -- lemons, she thinks... no, she knows. But why would she remember that? Sour citrus? Somehow the image fills her with loneliness, her eyes seeing but not processing the two men who stand in front of her now. She looks down at herself, smoothing her hands over her clothes. They’re covered in soot, dark and lovely. Come with him? She eyes him warily. He reminds her of someone she once knew. The name lingers on the tip of her tongue, a sweet memory waiting to wash over her teeth, and yet she can’t recall it. She can however recall the salt and pepper of his face, and the warm lines of his gray eyes. 

The longer she remains cognizant, the more her wits return to her. She extends her hand, her eyes brought to the ring coiled around her finger. Two pearls glinting under the moonlight. It belonged to her mother. Strange, how she can know that -- yet she can’t remember her own name, let alone where she came from, or who she is. “You can help me?” she parrots him, her tongue feeling foreign. She’s brought to her feet, and it becomes apparent just how small she is compared to these men. Do they possess some... magic to return her memories to her?

His hand feels warm in hers. And yet she can’t meet his eyes, trying to look elsewhere. “You are very kind. I fear I may be beyond helping.” She mindlessly touches her chest, a sting lingering on her skin. Why does it hurt?

i hadn’t even realized but i’ve had this blog a whole year !!!