#hotd spec

[jacketpotatoo]

Emma D’arcy one chance,,,,

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: king!aegon ii targaryen x afab rhaenyra’s child!reader

cw: CANON TYPICAL incest/targcest, boot worship, free use, public, voyeurism/exhibitionism (non con on the guards part 💀), hints of reader being just as much of a weirdo i’m sorry (rhaenyra can’t blame them tho), used a valyrian translator so if there’s any mistakes no there’s not <3, fucking on the iron throne as a celebratory end of work day thing, everything is 100% consensual on reader’s part, one use of “whore”, aegon’s pet names are all food related 🥴 (deadass almost had him call reader beer for the joke)

wc: 888 (🎱✨)

block & move on if uncomfortable !!

do not repost, translate, or give ai my work

last hotd fic for a bit bc i’m out of ideas

kinktober masterlist

“Ry paktot, ilagon ao jikagon, jorrāelagon (all right, down you go love).”

You and your uncle Aegon have the strangest end of day ritual. It always starts with you being shoved on your knees, his hands cradling your shoulders to protect you from the sharp iron throne.

All others are sent away from the room, save for a few guards that had been eyeing your body far too much for his liking. You were yet to be married but numerous whispers of your sexual exploits ran through the castle like wildfire. Aegon II Targaryen, was a king that one could not even sneeze in front of for fear of setting him off. So he is careful to keep those shrews' musings away from you, it was a feat of strength to coerce you into being as bold as you are now.

“Come now, elilla (honey). Clean my shoes so i can give your cunt the fucking it deserves.” He orders you, and you are all too eager, especially with the eyes of the uncomfortable guards on you.

You pray to the Gods that Aegon does not catch them looking with their peripheral vision, pausing your fun to murder more of the staff would really rain on your parade.

The shoes of your king are cleaned before you put your tongue to them, something that you’re almost disappointed by at this point. You are tempted to ask him to turn away the shoe shiner for next time.

His crown has the same red haze surrounding it that lives deep within Aegon, and it commands your attention all the same. You let your eyes softly fall shut as you run your wet tongue along the edge of his boot. The metallic tang has become an old friend, as well as any paltry specs of blood you find. You fear that you could possibly develop a craving for it.

You prostrate yourself before your betrothed as if you were a humming bird that had come face to face with Balerion himself. A house kitten mewling for the attention of a tiger. It is not unlike performing a blow job. Your lashes become the sheer curtains you look out of and your mouth fulfills its purpose.

You flatten your tongue and begin to dip into the crevices, getting every inch of his shoes slick with your spit. Aegon has his weeping cock in the firm hold of both of his hands, and he times his strokes to every flick of your tongue.

Your “services” last for what feels like an eternity. Your uncle’s eyes wander to keep the forcibly voyeuristic guards in check. You can hear their feet shuffling on the ground as they squirm behind you, and Aegon is so pleased by this that he returns his attention to his beloved pet.

“Prūbres (apple), that is quite enough. Come back up, darling.” He says while gingerly rubbing the heel of his boot into your cheek.

“Yes, qȳbor (uncle).”

You clamor into his lap, taking the initiative by lifting your previously stretched hole over his cock. One of his hands claws into the flesh of your hip to steady you, and the other positions his cock upright. Once you get past the pink tip, your walls are snugly wrapped around his entire length in seconds. You both groan as he bottoms out. Aegon wastes no time and digs his nails into your other hip, lifting you off of his cock until the tip catches against your entrance and swiftly dropping you back down.

“My whore, a jewel worth more than any found in my crown.” The word comes out between gritted teeth, but the thumb drawing loose circles on your pearl is kinder. “Not one of those filthy dogs will ever know the pleasure of a cunny as sweet as the one made for me.”

“They will not.” You whined, relishing in the red marks his nails were no doubt leaving on your jiggling ass as you bounced on his girthy cock. “Only you, qȳbor (uncle), only my king. They could hang for all I care.”

You have an awful habit for letting words flow from your mouth with no thought of their consequences. It’s not your fault though, you muse as Aegon scratches at your moving globes of flesh, your cunt takes priority more often than not. You ignore the spark that ignites in his soul at the foolish declaration.

His thumb stops teasing your clit and rubs it harshly up and down until your rapid bouncing ceases in favor of chasing that high. He only has to spank you a single time for you to shatter around his cock with an angelic and blissfully soft moan. You let your torso fall to his and you bury your face in his neck as his other hand travels to grope your other ass cheek.

Aegon spills into you with an embarrassingly long and loud groan, licking at the pulse point of your neck as he fucks himself into overstimulation. This is the only time he will allow the guards to drink your sex in, so they can gawk at the pure amount of spend that leaks out of your ravaged cunny. He pretends not to notice or enjoy the stares, spreading your fat cheeks to give them a better view.

“Leave us be.”

[liaa--qb]

This might sound overly dramatic, but I'm so sad and disappointed right now because of all those horrible leaks. I know they still might be false, but honestly I believe that save for some details, they are mostly true. There are few things that sadden me the most :

1. Helaemond not being canon. I know that this ship has been controversial, especially among TG, but it really had a lot of potential and was one of my favourite (still is). And I don't care what antis say, there were a lot of hints and undertones in s1 about helaemond, more than for Alicole and look, Alicole apparently becomes canon in the worst possible way. Which brings me to the second point -

2) Alicole being canon. Don't get me wrong. I like this pairing, but it would be much better and more in character if they never acted on their feelings. Not to mention that two sex scenes in ep 1 (if the leak is true) will seem too much and out of nowhere. And to include it in B&C scene with helaena walking in on them having sex right after Jaehaerys is brutally murdered is an atrocious writing decision. F*ck you Condal and whoever is responsible for this.

3) B&C made into a joke. According to the leaks, Helaena won't be given a choice, there will be some upsetting details about getting naked the children and so on..and to have her walk in on her mom having sex with a member of a kingsguard.. Again, f*ck you Condal.

4) Aemond and the brothel madame. Why would he go to the same woman who SAed him when he was 13? And he obviously felt uncomfortable around her in ep 9. And to make him cry while naked in fetal position...I also read on reddit that they will include a mommy kink with breast sucking and whatnot... but this seems way too much and is probably someone's shitty headcanon. At least I hope it is, because if true I'll vomit.

And this is only the first episode. Idk, if this turns out to be true, I'll probably stop watching and it sucks since I really like this universe and was excited about s2. Two years of waiting and for what.. Not only the shortened season but also all this garbage. We'll see in few days, I guess, but I'm not hopeful. Anyway, thanks for reading my rant. I would love to hear your opinion on this.

Ya the way heard about leaks is sooo😂😂😂😂😂😂😭😭😭☠️ wtf they have done 😬☠️☠️

IT'S MY ANSWER FOR ALL QUES LIKE THIS FILLED IN MY INBOX CZ I GOT SAME QUES FOUR TIMES in different ways😅, so I am answering for them all but it's but long

See it's a kind suggestion from me very sweetly that it's better if you are not expecting something high from makers n watching it without any expectations because if we are hating just because they did some ships wrong then acc to that alot of changes were already done since s1, like Rhaenicent , Larys alot of things but we never had problems.

Listen I am kinda sad also but you know what..... be happy because you know Ewan and Phia are shipping helaemond🥰. They acknowledging it , loving it and adding some own elements to this ship is really amazing of them moreover just for a fan service.

Like "do it for helaemond" 😭 they are so adorable. See I knew very well that it's not gonna happen, I had a very less surity and that's how exactly it turned out.

But you know what not a single ship is going to have any good romantic future 😂 either all of them even Daemyra main centre couple is not being done well by the makers. What can you expect for others ?

because I knew helaemond had lit ceslu potential but it has to be done correctly and Ik hotd makers would ruin it or make it bad even if it was shown canon look at Alicole now. So being non canon yet addressed by makers and actors who specially said they would act on it for fan service is a kind of little serve.

To me it's like I won ( but at what cost 😭😅) but also winning well wasn't there on cards ever. Every ship is going to be destroyed by makers. see what they did with Helaegon(ik it wasn't any good already) but like I am crying on leaks ( I thought atleast this s2 helaegon would be done but better for Aegon's sake but no😭)

All ships barely are going to have small amount of time without any romantic bullshit, just in one or two scene then seperating apart n dying 😂☠️ as I said earlier so to me Ewan phia trying their own things for helaemond in background in genuinely a small cake😂. ( Atleast we have some scenes with them, idk if there would be😑😬 not expecting much)

One thing I really hate that you know they gave Juan and Cesare arcs to Aegon n Aemond making their pair up way intresting to watch. I really wish that Helaena was given the same authority or bit of freedom of exploring herself like Alicent. Sorry if someone as strictly religious like Alicent can do it then it was way easy for Heleana. And whole Borgias recreate would have been so interesting to watch.

I wish I could see Helaena scolding, shouting at Aemond for starting all this shit n hating Aegon for being a useless father after b&c. There should be a sense of of cheating or fraud when she sees her mother who claims to be a religious person but doing everything against it while she had to suffer her whole life with bad marriage.

Not seeing her any active is what which annoys me so much.

they gave her dreamer arc for Nothing just being ignored by her important family members.Phia should be awarded for her acting n carrying heleana despite of their dirty writing.

The thing is Helaemond would have been a shock and surprise more fitting for audience, making Helaena active with this part instead of doing Alicent dirty an don't even ask how I am feeling about Helaena catching Alicent and Cole . It was sooo😭🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️😑

And most ironically funny thing is that same thing happened with Borgias, Cesare and lucrezia were not canon initially and never meant for canon, both actors said we will just play into into it but when I rumours started later runners had no choice to make it canon for later season 😂

So never loose hope or stop loving or hyping any of your ship or helaemond I would say because Ryan can pull any stunt any time. The way he is going I don't think he gives much f about book canon, he is doing anything he wants😂😂

So who knows... if he ever liked Helaemond he can pull it anytime 😂(I m not kidding) bcz Alicole fucking specially between b&c since s1 is so ooc I could not even describe. I am not even hardcore FNB fan but they quite messed up Alicole angst and guilt arc which could have been so beautiful. It's so inconsistent with their parts from S1 like what ?🤦🏻‍♀️

And I hate that blood & cheese should have been how Helaena is suffering instead I am afraid whole light will be thrown on Criston/Alicent fucking reveal.

no couple is gonna have any beautiful story so it's kind of better if they are just playing with helaemond behind back.

Atleast there is so much for Helaemond content and on other hand my other ship Rhaemond is literally carried by lil warriors Leo and Eva 😭 on their shoulder with that one scene for all seasons. I never gonna see them interact again😿.

And yes I also hate how Aemond is sent to back his abuser. Like they could have used any other female if they have to show his milf attraction or some kind of guilt kink something but not his groomer. It sucks he is finding comfort in her arms. Like these show runners forgot how all these characters were exactly in season1 bc such changes r so😭

Overall I would say don't leave the show just in terms for ships to be endgame as not a single ship is going to have any happy ending or any romantic drive in HOTD main focus will be on Rhaenyra, Alicent getting depressed and Daemon will be haunted 😭 but still it's your choice in the end😅 I am no one to say anything.

Now I am mainly watching for Aegon & Aemond n how other new entries like Alys, Alyn, Cregan or Addam are gonna introduced ( well who knows if Daeron is also gets his Cameo in the end )

if I am being honest just like the way I started this show after reading book without having any great expectations. It works better that way and may be for Ewanphia Crumbs for few secs if they don't cut their scenes of which I have very much doubt.

( while how I wanna see Ewan phia/Phiwan crumbs on screens in delulu mind😭😭 :

Like this is how I wanted Helaena to jump n beat the shit out of Aemond after b&c n that's how it should be bc that's his brother not any stranger, she had full right to , but there... it's complete opposite :

[desiresiwant]

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 4.4k~

warnings: violence/mild gore, death, prostitution (living at a brothel), strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes & crushing on an older man (slight grooming), and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 1st chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black OC. It’s also my first ever posting a fic on here so If there’s more I should add to my warnings that I skipped or whatever, please let me know.

MASTERLIST | NEXT->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗢𝗻𝗲 | 𝗧𝗼𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱

𝑺𝒀𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑨 𝑷𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑬𝑫, letting the air within her lungs expand and release through her lips as she listened to the earth move around; the brushing wind as hot as a blowing breath and the sun, beating down sweat against her deep brown skin that clung her dirty beige shirt like water and clay. What was once loosely fitting, now tight and wet.

        The wooden bow she made for herself rested at her side. Her sweaty fingers covered in dry sand curled around the thin string and held the arrow in place to release whenever.

        With her shoulders tensed and ears open, Sylvia stepped over browning leaves and hopped rock to rock to cover her footprints. Yanis' words replayed in her head, reminding the girl to move with the earth and not of the ground. She never understood his silly sayings but loved the way it sounded off his tongue. Proof he cared for her more than he led on.

        She stood on the heels of her worn-out boots when leaves shuffled somewhere to the left. Backing against the tree, a clear view of an antelope with pointy antlers chewed on plants. A beautiful brown creature it was. Sylvia lifted her bow and leveled the sturdy weapon with the tip of her nose. Stretching the arrow as far back as it could, she released it and allowed the wind to carry the rest.

        The antelope fell.

        Sylvia lowered the splinter-prone bow with a victorious smile suppressing her youthful face.

        "Yes!"

        She jumped off the rocks and followed wet trails of a failed escape, finding her prey bleeding out with an arrow sticking out its head. Using her foot to help pull out the arrow, even more blood poured. Its legs twitched.

        "How did I do?" Sylvia asked, wiping its blood along her trousers, still too big for her waist.

        Over her shoulder stood Yanis, leaning against a towering tree with his arms across his ash brown attire, head slightly tilted, with not one spec of shared delight. His expression was more grim, disappointed. He jumped off the hill in one clean movement and headed toward her. Even then, Sylvia couldn't stop the blood from rushing her cheeks.

        There was a reason women fancied Yanis. Besides his thick accent, his adventurous encounters around the world, and the obvious fact that Dornish people were most beautiful, he was perfect. Glistening golden skin, thick dark curls reaching his neck, deep mud-brown eyes. A skilled swordsman, a former knight, a true seeker of the world, and a great lover—which she only knew because he'd spend his leisure time at pleasure houses, one where she and her mother resided.

        Women loved when Yanis came around. He had the power of making those around him feel beautiful and loved inside and out. It was why her cheeks burned often, why her pulse spiked and warm tingles were felt between her thighs—she liked him. A lot. He made her feel both beautiful and loved despite her unique features.

        Silver hair.

        Grey eyes.

        Scales.

        The scales she bore since a babe weren't any ordinary scales often mistaken as Greyscale—they were dragon scales.

        They stretched along the center of her left cheek to her chin and scattered her neck on the same side. Few along the blade of her left shoulder, and back thighs. Black as the night sky but shined a dark shade of purple and blue even green against the rising sun or close-up. Thick loose curls white as fresh fallen snow with a warm undertone. Eyes grey like pouty clouds during a terrible storm with a mauve tint mixed into the pallet, known when it's bright out. And to those who have yet compared her to a monster or an unknown disease, she was quite a beauty. But hid her feminine frame beneath men's clothing and her beauty, beneath a black scarf.

        Unlike a mother who cuddled her children from the dangers of the world and left unprepared in a life that waited for no one, Sylvia knew herself well. She's a bastard. Her father whom gifted her uniqueness, Daemon Targaryen, was prince of Dragonstone and a commander. He fought wars for the king, his brother who ruled the Seven Kingdoms, and won. A fearless warrior with a heart of stone, skin of burning fire, hands stained of innocent blood, and a stare that lugs fear. But he was kind too. At least to her mother, he was. He granted her knowledge of his world during his stay in Dorne and sought only her comfort before he left.

        There is pride in what you are, Sylvia's mother often reminded. And she was proud of her inheritance. To be born a bastard with royal blood in her veins made her feel special even if her father knew not if she existed. Yet, not too prideful that she must cover herself so as not to stand out.

        There weren't any white-haired people in Toland. None with grey eyes or dry scales. They were all of black and brown with black and brown hair and black and brown eyes. Sylvia stood out regardless.

        "Sloppy." Yanis replied.

        "Sloppy?" Sylvia repeated with much distaste. "I killed it with a clean shot! What do you mean I was sloppy?"

        He snatched the arrow from her hand. And instead of wiping it clean as he normally did, he pointed the sharp end toward the stain on her trousers, careful not to pierce her. Blood.

        "That is what's sloppy. Might as well admit your guilt while its blood still drips wet. Because you are a woman, no one would expect you to be strong enough to kill a man. That is why no evidence of your kill should lead its trail back to you unless you wish yourself an early grave." He tapped the rounded side of the arrow against her forehead with two taps. "Keep that in mind. Your body can't please everyone, but your skills can build a kingdom. Your blood is a kingdom."

        Sylvia rubbed her forehead, no care for his words. "That is why I have you to teach me this stuff."

        "Only because of your silver hair do I give you the time and day."

        Sylvia drew blank as Yanis curled his finger around a loose strand of her white hair. His tall frame hovered like a tree shading the sun as his breath blew warm against her burning cheeks.

        Her brows rose with mild shock at his obvious response. "Is that so?"

        "It is," Yanis said, and while she knew he was teasing, there was a vein of seriousness beneath his voice.

        "And that is all?"

        Stepping closer to minimize the gap, Sylvia looked into his eyes for more than he offered. A sign that all this hunting and pointless preparation for whatever reason was in fact courting with an end goal of being wedded. Why else would he choose to stay in a shithole for five years when the world called for him? Why else would he tease her with gentle touching, even once almost kissed her, and profess his need to protect her from the dangers ahead?

        He must know his power over her. How her body responded to everything that involved him. And if not a coward, Sylvia would have stood on her toes to kiss him. To end this vacancy and choose their future for them.

        Sylvia had recently turned nine-and-ten years (19) and he was six-and-twenty (26). Still a maiden, still young enough to birth children though she was crossing the line of being considered too old to marry, and they got along well. He was the only man at her side, the only she wanted to keep forever.

        But as affectionate as Yanis was, he was naturally nice and welcoming which was why Sylvia failed to decipher between the two. It was why she couldn't kiss him no matter how desperately she wanted to.

        The corner of his lips tugged upward. "That is all."

        Yanis didn't look at her but was rather intrigued by her hair, as he stated once too many times.

        "If my hair intrigues you so much, why not take me as your wife so our children may share the same trait?" Sylvia boldly asked, and at that, Yanis chuckled. She could tell he saw her as a child and not a woman. "Don't let my clothes fool you, I'm a woman through and through. A woman who will need a husband. A husband who not only provides and protects, but a husband who knows how to fuck."

        His chuckle grew into a full-blown laughing fit, as though what she said was funny. Even Sylvia was convinced and didn't know how to react besides copying him. Her teeth were shown, slightly parted, yet nothing came out. She possibly appeared more confused than humored. This wasn't a laughing matter. . .was it?

        "And what do you know about fucking? You're still a virgin, yes?" Yanis' laughter never died and it was starting to irritate her.

        "Yes."

        "Then what do you know?"

        Untouched by a man, but not by a woman. Not that it was important or he needed to know.

        "So teach me." Sylvia flung her arms around his neck, his beautiful head of curls soft beneath her fingers, and they were now inches from kissing. "Teach me how to fuck. Teach me as your wife. You obviously know more than I do, why keep it to yourself? Why waste another second on hunting when the prey you seek stands before you, ready to be consumed?"

        If her mother was standing in this very predicament, watching her daughter fling herself onto a man, she'd be gravely disappointed. It was the man who should do the chasing, not the woman. Her mother taught her better than that. How to lure a man without outwardly doing so. Be seductive while being seduced. Speak of lies with small truths, enough to gain his trust and feel as though she would have his back against the world. Know her options, and within those options, know which games to play to keep a roof over their heads and a man running back for more. For only a woman can do so much, but a man with wealth and power can open true doors to eternal happiness.

        But Yanis wasn't a game. He was just a man Syliva wanted.

        She was almost tempted he would finally give in and make her his. . .until he was no longer laughing, a grim expression overtook despite his smiling attempt that grew smaller and smaller. Until he removed her arms from his neck and placed them at her side. Until he realized there was no enjoyment from his humor because she wasn't teasing, she was serious.

        "Cover this up." Cold air rushed between as he removed himself from Sylvia's vicinity, and she frowned, feeling embarrassed and an ache in her chest unable to decipher. "Help me get this to the butcher, then we and the house shall feast tonight."

        He took Sylvia's bow and arrow to bury in the bushes—a spot they picked together—and bent to grab a strong hold of the antelope's antlers to drag. Her black scarf was back over her head to hide her braided hair and wrapped around her face with only her eyes showing.

        Sylvia then helped drag the antelope to the town's butcher without another word or rash confession. Once the animal had been dropped off, Yanis instructed her back home before her mother grew worried, not that it would be a problem as she was to be washing and drying sheets outside before he distracted her.

        She quickly unpinned sheets drying under the sun and shoved them in the straw basket where it was last left. Rushed into the white-bricked house built three floors high, hoping she wouldn't run into Madame Marget and her pissy mood swings. The smell of sex and shitty ale burned her nostrils, passing various rooms of laughter and moans of pleasure, even those who didn't have time to make it to a room.

        It was a house that attracted men and women from around the world when docking at Toland either to trade, hide from their crimes, or stop for supplies to be on their merry way. Sylvia loved when outsiders would visit. She'd listen to drunk stories of their world and silly customs and marital problems and wars that were waged on bets, pride, and revenge, learning more from them than her own mother.

        As she hurried room from room replacing dirty sheets—god knows what substances were spilled whether it was vomit, bodily fluids, blood, alcohol, and worse—with clean sheets, the basket fumbled out of Sylvia's grip when she bumped into someone exiting a nearby room.

        "S-sorry," Sylvia was quick on her knees shoving the sheets back into the basket. She kept her head lowered not to attract any unwanted attention. As she was taught; when your head is kept down, no curiosities are to be made.

        The blazing sun stitched delicately along the hem of the man's shirt was clear indication he was a man of status. A man who could do great harm just for the fun of it, if his peaceful day was ruined.

        Kissing his teeth, he kicked at the basket which tilted everything out again. "Watch it, boy." He insulted as he took his leave. The musk of sex lingered behind.

        And the breath she held finally released itself.

        Another pair of brown hands decided to help with the mess. "No need. I can do so my—" Sylvia's words choked down her throat when her mother stood before her. "—mother."

        Her sheer dress of yellow hung off her shoulders, the roundness of her brown nipples pinched through the fabric, and her loose curls hung lushly at the blades of her shoulders. The deepened crease between her soft brows conveyed disappointment, yet Sylvia had no idea what she had against her now.

        "Have you gone hunting with that man again?"

        Well, that was something to hold against her.

        To avoid the conversation and further disappointment, Sylvia shoved the sheets into the basket with one big scoop. The basket hugging her chest as she stood. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Been busy with chores all day." She lied with ease, rushing to get away from her.

        But she grabbed at her trousers. "And this?"

        Sylvia didn't need to follow her gaze to the smeared blood, evidence which Yanis advised earlier.

        "I told you to stay away from Yanis," now she remembered his name. How funny. "Yes, he is handsome and treats the women here well, as he is wise with his words. But I don't like the way he looks at you. Or the fact he knows about. . ." Her narrowing eyes completed the sentence.

        About her defects. Which she was to be proud of, but couldn't if she was to be treated like a creature of the night.

        "All the women here share the secret of my white hair, so what if one more person knows?" Sylvia slipped her trousers from her grasp and continued her journey to the kitchens. Her mother tagged along. "And I don't like the fact you fuck him knowing I l—" She caught herself from spilling truths. "—that I meet with him every now and then."

        "This is my job, Sylvia. My life. Our survival. And he pays for my services as he has paid for countless women here. Should I turn him down?"

        "Yes."

        Sylvia picked up her steps.

        "Sylvia," her mother called. When she didn't stop the first time, her mother then grabbed her hand and forced her to look into her brown, sadden eyes. "I don't wish to fight with you, I am sorry. I failed to consider your feelings and I will do better. Do you truly hate me?"

        Of course, Sylvia could never truly hate her mother for what she does to provide for them. She was born and raised in this house, therefore, her world was only within these walls. But was she selfish to want more? To experience more? To see more of the world that has yet been discovered in her gaze?

        That was what Yanis gave Sylvia—hope. The many people who visited the small town of cultured backgrounds which lies at the mouth of Greenblood River, gave her hope.

        She held no judgment toward her mother's sacrifices nor her promiscuous lifestyle. Beautiful inside and out and quite young when Syliva was born, the two almost like sisters, she was everything to her and most girls here. But she has wondered. . .if she wasn't like most children who would drown in discomfort and with shame to learn their mother fucks men and women at any time of the day, and often in the bed they slept in. To hear conversations of lovers who described her skills in detailed manners, or seeing nothing but balls and tits daily.

        But it was just them. Sylvia and her mother.

        And when one was born into a life that seemed no more than ordinary, it was hard to view it as. . .unordinary.

        With a sigh, Sylvia leaned forward to kiss her mother's cheek. "No, I could never hate you. I just don't see why you hate Yanis so much."

        "I don't wish my life to be yours, Sylvia. Why do you think you're scrubbing floors, washing pissy sheets, and cleaning up after shitty men until your nails are weak and bones brittle? If the madam had it her way, you would've been warming beds long before you bled, starting even younger than me." Her mother continued with great passion. "I've protected you as long as I can and will continue doing so because you deserve better. And with Yanis, he won't give you what I want you to have."

        "And what is that?"

        "For one, a husband. You deserve a man who will love you as you are as a person, a woman, and not by the color of your hair. A true equal who sees you and one you can learn from. Two, a generosity of wealth and titles. He's a drunk and spends his leisure time in pleasure houses. You'd be broke by the day of your wedding. Your children will inherit nothing but sand and you will be unprotected, left on the streets begging for scrapes. Yanis has his charm, but you're no ordinary woman. You are the daughter of a legendary Targaryen, a ruthless prince. Should my letters reach him and he comes to claim you, you will be a legitimate princess, a noble lady. And a princess deserves better."

        Sylvia said nothing. She doubted her father would acknowledge her after nineteen years. Countless days her mother would spend by the window watching and waiting for a sealed letter or her father to come swoop them away to a life of riches and wealth. Even Sylvia would wait and braid her mother's hair to pass time, or be rocked on her mother's lap as she sung and spoke of promises her father made.

        Together they would wait and wait, until one day, Sylvia accepted the truth. No man will come save them. Her father would never come. But her mother thought otherwise. Still, to this day she waits.

        Her mother meant well and their views aligned when it came to finding Sylvia a husband. Although, she was unsure how they would find all of that in one man when Sylvia had spent the rest of her life within these walls cleaning and cooking after everyone. The men here were no good for her, as her mother said. But, she would love to see her mother try. Or that day to come.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

                    𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝒀, the antelope Sylvia killed was ready to cook. The knights monitoring the area would set campfires along the street and outside of the pleasure house, or hang around the diner area to drink their asses to death and fuck any lover they please.

        Sylvia sat far from the gathered group around the campfire playing with her soup and picking at the cooked meat. After a long day of chores and avoiding curious outsiders wanting to know what's hidden beneath her scarf, she looked forward to nights like this. Where she hid best and where the most interesting stories were told.

        The air was cooler at night and stories of battles and petty fights filled her ears. Men would project their scars and penis' to prove their manly hood and wow whichever whore stuck at their side for the night.

        A pair of boots filled her view.

        "Why don't you join our campfire rather than sit so far away?" Asked Yanis.

        Sylvia shrugged while playing with her food, the steam warm against her face which was exposed. He knew the reason she sat away from everyone when guests were around, and was surprised he came up to her after her foolish confession. It still left a shameful bitterness on her tongue.

        "I like being alone." She told him. It wasn't a lie, but she preferred friends over loneliness.

        "Why not be alone with me? At our campfire?"

        A beautiful smile stretched his lips when Sylvia lifted her head, her breath caught in her throat. Such a contrast to earlier and it was confusing. Men were confusing. No, he was. What he wanted from Sylvia was unclear and it was infuriating playing a constant game of tug-a-war.

        Yanis didn't give Sylvia an option to respond before taking her arm, dragging her over to their campfire, and sat her next to him. The flames were awfully close her toes grew hot and sweat lined her upper-lip, but it was oddly comforting. The campfire was shared with two knights who were too drunk to sit properly and one who couldn't keep his hands to himself.

        "Is this not nice? Alone with company." Yanis said.

        "I guess so."

        He then offered a cup of ale and held her breath at his lips brushing the rim of her ear as he whispered with breath thick of shitty alcohol, "Don't worry too much tonight. I will look over you." He nudged the cup until it was in her hand. And pulled away.

        He knew what he was doing. He did.

        The bitter taste soured her face and nearly choked swallowing it down. Sylvia never been much of a drinker and because her tolerance was quite low and given the environment, she likes to remain clear-headed in case she needed to defend herself. However, Yanis promised to protect her. So one cup became two, then four.

        Laughter echoed at her sixth or seventh round before ripping through her meat.

        Brianne, a close friend and whore sold from Myr—a woman Sylvia has kissed twice—sat across the fire. A knight was currently kissing roughly into the crook of her neck while fondling her tan breast. "Why not take off your scarf, Sylvia? You'll be comfortable, yes? Men here are too drunk to remember, and we are familiar." She proposed.

        The guard kissing her neck looked to the girl who struggled to hold up her head. "Aye, the boy is a bitch?" He questioned with interest.

        "Be quiet!" Brianne slapped his hand away from her breast. "Or you don't touch me again ever."

        Wiping the ale from her greasy lips, Sylvia looked to Yanis for an answer she could've answered herself. Something she would never do but her stupid brain thought him closer than he actually was. He shared the same concern with her mother when it came to keeping herself covered to avoid future conflicts.

        As though he felt her gaze and knew why she looked at him, Yanis shrugged nonchalantly. "Do as you please. At your pace of drinking, you won't remember either."

��       Yanis slouched over the wooden bench and rested his elbows on his knees, staring out into the fire.

        But Sylvia knew he was watching from the corner of his eyes as she unraveled her scarf finally revealing her bold hair braided down her back, then placed the scarf in her lap. She waited for comments to roll in, but as Brianne said, they were too drunk and occupied to care.

        "Pretty like your mother." Brianne gleamed. "Don't you agree, Yanis?"

        A weird but warm feeling expanded her belly when Yanis turned his head to view Sylvia under his curled lashes. He's witnessed her a million times without the scarf, so why was it different now? Was it light from the fire which glistened in his eyes? The dark stubbles outlining his handsome face? The frizzy curls being pushed so that he may hold this gaze with her? Was it a drunk illusion of what she wished would happen?

        "Yes," his voice barely whispered, which only she heard, then grinned brighter than the moon. "Very beautiful. Always have been."

        His grin found her face. Sylvia lowered her head to hide the blush creeping red amongst her already flushed cheeks. Everything her mother listed about Yanis not being a perfect match was thrown out of the window. Their earlier encounter, thrown out. And as confusing as he was, one fact stayed true—I think I may love him, a lot more than I intended to.

        But her thoughts were erupted by a piercing scream filling the smoky air. Her muscles tensed when a wet substance splattered across her face, almost blinding her. She lifted her shaky fingers and touched her face. Blood. But she wasn't hurt nor did any pain send signals.

        Thump.

        A figure beside Sylvia fell at her feet. The color from her face fled and her pulse spiked at an arrow shot deep and clean through his skull, out his eye socket, now catching fire.

        Yanis.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀��𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read more here

[queenifice]

CHARACTER FRAMEWORK !!! a brief overview of alysanne's stats and relationships.

NAME . . . alysanne kersey

NICKNAMES . . . allie, alice, the undead queen, the traitor of the north (verse dependent)

AGE . . . 21-25

BIRTHDATE . . . april 9th.

SPECIES . . . human (verse dependent)

NATIONALITY . . . american (verse dependent)

GENDER . . . female

PRONOUNS . . . she / her

ORIENTATION . . . bisexual

FACE CLAIM . . . s.ynnove karlsen

PARENTS . . . greggory kersey, kathryn lewis (both estranged)

SIBLINGS . . . none

EXTENDED FAMILY . . . verse dependent (usually in-laws)

SIGNIFICANT OTHER . . . verse dependent

CHILDREN . . . verse dependent, vhalyssa, vaemond, vhaerra, vhaeanne, vhalaena, and vhaegon targaryen (hotd verse)

EYES . . . brown, the color of milk chocolate with amber specs in sunlight.

HAIR . . . naturally light brown. golden highlights in sunlight, naturally wavy almost borderline curly when wet. likes it long but can't help but cut it short.

HEIGHT . . . 5'5''

BUILD . . . very small frame, often mistaken as younger than she actually is. is barely 100 lbs soaking wet (even tho she has a big appetite)

tagged by: @stormbcrn 💞 tagging: @florietiae, @fallsheavy, @scrunchie, @denydefeat, @devilsnare, @bcrbleue, @isefyres, @ironwoven, @moonvibing, @velcryons, @lcveblossomed, @pirtirys (your choices of muses xoxo)

[heartofmortis]

Lionheart ✶ Prologue

Robb Stark x (Baratheon/Lannister!) Reader

warnings: none!

note: so this is also an oc fic on wp, but i wanted to try out something new! in rewriting to second person, some edits have been made. there will be no y/n, and there are other ocs in this fic (since that’s what i usually write) and reader does have some physical descriptions. // there is minor canon divergence regarding hotd/f&b here, which links to my other asoiaf fics and there are a couple of ocs mentioned in the chapter (hopefully that won’t be annoying lol).

word count: 2k

tag list: @houseofamidala @madeofstaardust @tojisrealwifey @justmymindandstuff (lmk if you want to be added of removed!)

You were four when blood first touched your innocent skin. Your skin was no longer pure, neither was your heart. All children learn the fragility of life in time, you learned of it through the sacrifice of a tiny bird.

The creatures always circled King’s Landing as vultures searched for the dead. “The little birds are always looking for trouble,” came Cersei Lannister’s warning in the castle gardens with you nestled close in your mother’s arms. “Watch your step or they’ll be waiting in your shadows all your life.”

When you were set down, your feet steady on the ground, you raced on ahead. Your long skirts clung to your little legs, blonde curls bounding behind you. The air was thick with sweet pollen and fruit, signs of a happy summer. Moss grew between the bricks on the cobbled ground, pushing the stone in uneven directions — you skipped over them easily, pausing to gaze at the bumblebees nestling inside tight flowerheads and the ladybirds crawling across bright green leaves. You wished it could be only you and your mother in the gardens forever. You slipped out of your mother’s line of sight to steal berries and press as many as possible into your mouth, licking sweet juice from your fingers to keep your dainty snack a secret.

Then you came to a sudden halt, almost tripping forwards in your haste, when you found your path blocked by a tiny bird — a bundle of brown feathers dappled with grey and white and red. Its body was horribly twisted, but it was still moving. You took the bird in your hands, scarlet smeared across your fingers. You did not want the poor creature to be damaged further. The bird squeaked desperately and tried to flap its broken wings.

You brought the bird against your chest, cupped with both of your delicate hands, and ran back across the path you had come down. You took the bird to your mother, who was quick to scold you for touching a dying animal. “But can’t the maesters help?” Your eyes were wide and glassy, mouth warped into a mournful frown. (Your mother always had the right answers — she was the smartest person in King’s Landing.)

Cersei laughed. It was not a cold sound, more of a marvel at her daughter’s naivety. “The Maesters can only help us, sweet girl. They cannot help a little bird.” They always look for trouble.

You huffed, deeming your mother’s response to be an unacceptable response. “Why?”

The Queen motioned for one of their guards to come over and take the bird’s frail body from your hands, which became a struggle with your reluctance. “We’re all built very differently. A dove is not a wolf, and a stag is not a lion.”

“But it will die!”

“All things do, eventually.” Cersei ushered forth two handmaidens that walked behind the two of you. “Now you have blood all over you — go and get cleaned up. There is no use in helping the dying while the living are still here.”

You walked with heavy steps back to the Red Keep, muttering about the unfairness of the bird’s fate ��� it was a baby, why could it not be saved? If all things die, why is life not more precious? Any day could be the last.

“Where are you scurrying away to, little doe?” Your father’s voice was a formidable boom when he caught you in the corridors, flanked by handmaidens, wandering towards your rooms.

You showed your father the specs of blood across your dress. “Mother says I have to clean up.”

Robert Baratheon laughed. He shooed away your company and picked his daughter up with one strong arm. “A little blood never hurts anyone. You’re a Baratheon, my stormbird. You’ll get used to blood in no time”

The King took you to the throne room. You liked it here: the tall ceiling, the ivy-strewn pillars, the warm glow of sunlight, and the Iron Throne. Robert took his seat and rested you on his knee. You stared around the room, you had never seen it from this angle before. Between the tower of swords from the first Dragon King, still sharp enough to tear you in half, it felt powerful to sit here. You could imagine hundreds of people knelt before them and understood why men spent their lives chasing power. (You felt like a true Princess.)

“This would have been your’s one day if your mother had not had that damn brother of yours.”

Your father’s voice was rough with bitterness. His words pulled you out of her daydream. Only a year younger than you, your brother, Joffrey, was a terror. Your mother doted on her children equally, but you knew your father had his favourite. You were secretly happy with it — the less time you spent with Joffrey pulling heads off flowers and doing worse, vicious things, the better.

“One day,” your King father continued, “you will marry a great lord, a good lord. But you should always have a place here, my daughter.”

/✿✿✿/

Robb Stark was eight when he learned what real summer felt like. In the aftermath of a rebellion in the Iron Islands led by his father and the King, Robb and his twin sister, Alys, travelled to King’s Landing with their father to attend Robert Baratheon’s Name Day celebration. Spring had passed and the snows around Winterfell were low. Robb spent half the journey complaining about how he wanted to ride his horse next to his father while their septa told him to pay attention to their lessons. Watching the country change shape along the Kingsroad did keep Robb moderately interested — glimpsing the lands outside of the North was rather novel. Alys shared Robb’s adventurous instinct and they ran amok, hiding between trees and tents of their father’s company every time they stopped for a meal. But there were only so many games two eight year olds could play.

For all Ned Stark had told his children about King’s Landing and the Red Keep, Robb found it all rather underwhelming. There was no grand welcome for the Starks when they arrived. The city streets were too busy and the air was too hot.

Robb and Alys were brought before the Iron Throne — the hideous, towering King’s Seat made with a thousand melted swords — to be presented to King Robert Baratheon, their father’s oldest friend. Robb was aware he had been named after the King (just as his half-brother Jon had been named after Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King). Perhaps Robb’s father saw greatness in his son’s future, a boy worth naming after a king. Robert Baratheon was not the formidable giant Robb had expected to meet. Robb could imagine the warrior king that had won the throne and broke the Greyjoy Rebellion and hoped he would never fight in a war.

The Starks were escorted to their guest rooms for the duration of their stay. Alys and Robb’s rooms lay next to each other. Before Robb could finish unpacking his chest, Alys snuck into her brother’s room. She laid back on his bed, Robb made a fuss when his sister got her boots on the sheets.

“I want to explore. Will you come with me?”

Robb did not hesitate before he nodded, a grin spread across his face. Unpacking was boring anyway.

The twins barrelled through red corridors, ducking under maids and Kingsguards. The castle was theirs for the taking.

The Red Keep was bigger than any of the Northern castles the twins had visited before, full of labyrinthine corridors. A maze without a centre for Robb — but Alys seemed to know where she wanted to be.

Robb and Alys were stopped in their tracks when Robb almost tumbled into a girl. She was their age, if younger by a few moons, dressed in pink and gold with dark blonde curls. A huge black cat with a grumpy expression was clasped in her arms. Alys recognised the girl first. Robb felt a winter chill blow through him, tethering him frozen in place. The girl was pretty like a colourful bloom in the snow. She looked at the twins, wide-eyed and curious. She held the kind of warmth the North only felt during fleeting spring days. Alys punched her twin brother in the stomach and Robb mimicked her bow.

You smiled, a pink glow on her freckle-dappled cheeks. “You must be the Stark twins. Father told me about you.”

“Can you take us to see the dragons?” Alys asked quickly, eagerly rocking on the balls of her feet. “I thought I knew the way but…”

You paused, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. The cat in your arms jumped free — he rounded the twins, giving judgemental looks, and brushed against Alys’s legs before darting away. “They’re all underground now,” you explained. “We aren’t supposed to visit them, but I know the way.”

It was evening by the time you and the Stark twins entered the cellar room beneath the castle. Golden hour light faded, leaving the underground room in growing shadows. Robb had not been as enthusiastic as Alys and Jon about House Targaryen in all their lessons, but his heart thundered in his chest, mouth agape when he saw the nineteen dragon skulls.

The smallest dragon skulls were even smaller than direwolves, tiny dog-sized creatures but their teeth were still dagger-sharp. As the three children ventured down the room, the dragons grew bigger. You explained that many of them were unknown. Robb wondered how magical it must have been to live centuries ago and see dragons patrolling the sky. The largest dragon skulls were those of Meraxes, ridden by Queen Rhaenys, Vhagar, ridden by Queen Visenya, and Balerion the Black Dread, ridden by Aegon the Conqueror. Most dragons have more than one rider, but later riders paled in comparison to the conquerors.

“This one is Vermax,” you told Robb, pointing to another dragon skull halfway down the room. “Ridden by King Jacaerys, First of his Name. He married a Stark. An Arya, I think.”

Robb turned to his sister to tell her that one of their ancestors had married a dragonrider, but Alys had stepped away. She was distracted by another dragon.

“That’s Syrax,” you said quietly to Robb. “She was ridden by Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Alys touched Syrax’s skull and smiled wistfully. “She was yellow.”

You tensed. “I don’t think we’re allowed to touch them. I’m not supposed to come down here after dark.”

Robb approached his sister, whose stormy eyes still gazed wistfully at the dragons, and touched her arm. “Let’s go to the kitchens. See if they have lemon cakes.”

Finally, Alys looked away and nodded. She cracked a smile. “But don’t tell Sansa — she would be upset if we had cake without her.”

Together, the children left the cellar room. Robb stared at the dragon skulls for as long as possible as you closed the door. To see a dragon fly over Winterfell… He sighed sadly and wished there was more magic left in the world.

You showed them to the kitchens. Alys skipped on ahead, wondering out loud about how wonderful it must be to live in the Red Keep and you were happy to fuel her daydreams. The three of you scurried up a spiral staircase, for once Robb did not challenge his sister to a race. Which was probably a good thing as Alys was ahead and she did not see him trip up the stairs. Robb threw his hands out, scraping his skin against the rough stone to catch himself. You looked at him and Robb turned red, embarrassed to make a fool of himself in front of the princess.

You helped him up. Blood from a small cut on Robb’s palm smeared onto your hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s only a little blood. Here–” You sat Robb down on the step and took the hem of your dress to dab away the blood.

Robb clenched his fist and moved away. “You’ll ruin your dress.”

You took his hand back, gently uncurling his fingers. “That doesn’t matter.”

You dabbed at the thin beads of blood, holding for a few seconds. You both waited as the blood stopped spilling. “I’ll ask one of the cooks to help you.” You stood and reached out to take Robb’s other hand. He took your hand gratefully and stood. “Don’t worry,” you added, “everything will be alright.”

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

Also, on another note, I'd like to ask what do you think of show!Alicent, for far she's very sympathetic e I'm not sure if it was Milly ou Emily who tried to add a subtext of them being each other's first love. I'm wondering how it will play out the complete end of any kinship (obviously because of the conflict of their children and Ottos' scheming) but also how she'll react to having these asshole kids. Like in Cersei 'I'm kind blind to Joffrey's cruelty and incapability'. What do you think?

oh i love show alicent! i think the best creative decision they could have possibly made for this show was to have made them best friends/quiet gal pals who don't know they're gal pals. it can, will, and does make everything that happens between the two of them that much more visceral and since rhaenyra's war is ostensibly with aegon, it's as much with alicent (if not moreso). so yeah, give me that friends to enemies please, make it hurt so bad and so good all at once. i think that emily's done a fabulous job with the role, and can't wait to see how she appears post-timeskip.

i think alicent is going to be a very different queen than cersei in this show. for one thing, i think she isn't going to be fighting for her father's approval (even while also being used as his pawn) or for her own legitimacy in her own terms the way that cersei was. i think she'll be fascinating and rich and deep, but i think there will be some very key differences. (for years, i've seen people talking about the rhaenyra-cersei parallels far more than the alicent-cersei parallels. i'm gonna be interested to see how and if the show plays those because i do think those have the capacity to be fascinatingly striking.) that said, i don't think this is going to be to diminish alicent's richness as a character or her powers as a queen. i just think that the way she engages with the throne, her children, and her concept of power is going to have a lot of differences from cersei's.

re: the end of their kinship, i saw some post (idr if i reblogged it) about how the fact that rhaenyra lied about daemon while swearing by her dead mother is probably gonna be the kicker here, and honestly? it's such a beautiful knife to twist for both of them, given how alicent is haunted by her own mother's death, how she helped rhaenyra through her grief. it's crossing a line (and circles back to my point about how aemma's death is the whole point) in such a way that it feels very "fuck you, the dragon you rode in on, and everything you stand on" sort of way.

(aka i'm really excited for tonight's episode!!!)

[esther-dot]

Is it me or is the prophecy a dream Aegon had? The part abt "aTarg must be seated on the IT" is only interpretation/wishful thinking or not? Forgive me, I am not native English, but Aegon's dream appears as a fact and it doesn't include "a Targ on the IT". At least this is my understanding. Am I wrong??? If not, the Targs wreacked chaos for nothing, lol! (a Targ on the throne, another way for M. to throw shade on the Targs and prophecies)

also the prophecy is a double edged sword for targ/dany fans because accepting it as a justification for aegons conquest would mean that they'd also have to accept that dany did not have justification beyond her desire to rule. the prophecy definitely wasnt passed to her, she was in exile (unless rhaegar or the mad king passed it to viserys and he told dany?). or am i wrong?

(about this post I reblogged)

No worries about your English! It's perfect!

I don't know the context for the clip we saw, or how they'll choose to develop this. I'm not into Targ history or the Targs at all, really. In ASOIAF, Dany doesn't mention Viserys sharing such a prophecy with her, so unless there's gonna be a forgotten memory/retcon in her future, it isn't her reason for going to Westeros or believing she must be queen.

I saw someone say this prophecy thing in HOTD was from Martin though (I don't know the sources), and if it is, I think it's possible that he'll continue to give Dany visions in TWOW and that might serve her drive to take KL at all costs, to tie this all together. She has her Rhaegar vision and asks about TPTWP so it's possible I suppose, and since she is Aegon come again, it makes sense to give them to her too only for her to misinterpret them in the same way. She heard Rhaegar mention a song of ice and fire and that’s what was mentioned in the clip, so there are links there in canon that they’re grabbing at. Maybe Dany will get more info in a dream/vision in TWOW. Again, this is all totally uninformed spec, I'm not watching the show and I have the tags filtered so I'm not even seeing all the content the people I follow put on my dash.

I think you’re right though, that there was clearly misinterpretation influenced by self-aggrandizement because that seems to be the Targaryen way. Rhaegar reads something and believes he is the prophesied hero:

"I would hear it from you."

"As you wish," said Whitebeard. "As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"

"And he was!" said Dany, delighted.

(ASOS, Daenerys I)

It’s all very Targy, and seems to always lead to the same thing: death.