#last chapter of my winterfell fic

[fanfictiongirlie]

A Song of Sun and Snow - Chapter One

Click here for Masterlist

Parings: Robb Stark x Baratheon Reader

Description: You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him.

Rating: Explicit (Eventually)

Words: 1,411

P.s: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. No use of Y/N. Only description of 'reader given: the fact that she doesn't look like Joff, Myrcella and Tommen (It's hinted she truly is Robert and Cersei's child) Not much though. Like one line. I wrote this in a different style to my usual style, using 2nd person. Hope it's okay. P.s there will be pregnancy in this, the 'reader' wants to have children. Also the ages are completely different in this fic then they are in the show/book.

You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him. You were in Kingslanding for the last time, as you feasted with your family and the Starks. Robb was of course glaring at you from across the table, you noticed his eyes on you, you rolled your eyes and scoffed lightly sending him a dirty look. 

You took another drink from your goblet of wine and turned back to your conversation with Robb's little sister, Sansa. Robb chuckled loudly from his seat, a stupid smirk over his lips, driving you mad was his favourite thing to do. 

A little later into the evening, you had left the feast, you strolled through the castle, sighing softly, knowing you'd be leaving your home soon. Retreating to your favourite room in the castle, the library. Unfortunately Robb had seen you leave the dining hall and decided to follow you, he followed you, hiding within the shadows. 

Once in the library you let out a deep breath, feeling content with the books surrounding you, and happy with finally being alone. You grabbed a random book off the shelf, sat in the huge armchair and began reading. 

After checking nobody was round, Robb entered the library, he chuckled quietly when he saw you sitting comfortable in front of the fire, his feet moved quietly as he walked towards you, and once in front of you, he coughed to get your attention. You looked up at him, instantly feeling annoyed. 

"What do you want, Stark?" You ask, harshly. He looked at you, chuckling, clearly amused at your annoyed face. 

"What do I want, princess? I just wanted to piss you off a little" He answers, smugly. 

"Task achieved, now leave me be" You answer, annoyance dripping from your tone, as you looked up at him. Still dressed in his formal clothes, his hair perfect, ugh it annoyed you. 

"That easy?" He chimes "Didn't take me much effort to piss you off then" He replies with an amused smirk, as he takes a seat near you. 

"I want to be alone" You hiss, your book falling to your lap. 

Robb chuckled again, enjoying how annoyed you were at his presence here. 

"I thought the library was big enough for both of us, princess" 

"Find somewhere else then" You snap, the library was big enough, he could wander to the other end and you wouldn't even have to hear his stupid voice. You tried reading the book again, though since he walked into the room you had read the same sentence at least ten time. 

"Mmm, no, I won't" He leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he continued looking at you, with an amused look. "So I guess you're stuck with me here"

You rolled your eyes at him and then went back to your book. Robb smiled in amusement as he watched you read, he sat quietly watching you try and focus. After some time, he started getting bored and spoke up.

"What are you reading, princess?"

"Huh?" You said, starled from your concentration "Oh..nothing, just a book about cooking recipes" He raised an eyebrow at you. 

"Cooking recipes? The great princess Baratheon heir, is reading s book about cooking?" He asked shock, granted, the shock was warranted. You had never stepped foot in the castle's kitchen to cook, the only time you had been in there was when you and Joff once wanted to steal cakes, that didn't go well. But reading, reading was different, no matter the book, you wanted the knowledge inside. 

"Yes..." You answer him, gritting your teeth. He chuckled loudly, his voice booming through the silent library, it made you flinch slightly, why did he have to be so loud all of the time?

"A princess like you reading books about cooking? I always thought you were too high in the sky to do something as trivial as cooking" 

"You don't know me, Stark" You sneer. He smirked at your words, the fire crackled loudly. 

"Maybe not. But one thing I do know for sure, is that I'm pissing you off" He grinned smugly. 

"Can't believe I have to marry you" You huff loudly. 

"Neither can I" His tone finally matching yours, he didn't want to marry you as much as you didn't want to marry him. "Few weeks princess, and you'll be my wife" He adds, a small smirk on his lips. 

"We shouldn't even be alone" You muttered "My father wouldn't take kindly to it"

"He doesn't have to know, princess, it'll be our little secret" He smirked as he spoke, leaning slightly closer to you. 

"I'd rather not share any secrets with you" You snap, finally giving up on your book and slamming it shut. You watched the fire, watched as the flames flickered, rather than look at him. The warmth of the fire made you feel funny inside, knowing you'd soon be in the land of ice and snow. 

"Don't you trust me?" He said with a feigned look of sadness, holding his hand to his chest as if he were hurt. 

"Of course I don't trust you"

"And here I thought we were actually beginning to bond" He joked, a smirk still on his stupid face. 

"You wish" You say, rolling your eyes. 

"Maybe I do, princess. Maybe I do" He said with that same smirk, he shifted in his sea, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his legs, his eyes scanned over your face and body. 

"Ugh" You groan as you stand up "I'm going to bed, can't concentrate with you watching me" 

Robb chuckled as he watched you stand up, he copied your actions standing up, he towered over you of course, all northmen were tall. He moved slightly to stand right in front of you. 

"Oh, but I was enjoying the view"

"I don't care, I'm tired, and I'm ready to get this ridiculous dress off..Move Stark" You say annoyed, granted you should of gotten out the dress much sooner, but whenever the Stark's, or anyone visited the royals, you had to wear heavy dresses compared to your comfortable dresses. 

Robb laughed at your annoyed look, he stood there, staring at you refusing to move. "What, you need me to help you out of that ridiculous dress, princess?"

"Piss off" You answer, sneering at him. 

"Watch your tone, princess, that's no way to talk to your future husband" He smirked, stepping a little closer and looking down at you in amusement. His eyes scanned your face and body again, not being discreet about it. 

"I outrank you, Stark, now move" You snap, trying to step passed him. He chuckled again, his eyes darkened slightly as he took a step closer to you, your bodies were almost touching and he leans down in close to your face. 

"Or what, princess?" He asks quietly, his voice dark and low. 

"I'll scream" You say, a smirk on your lips now, if you screamed, the servants would come to your aid, maybe the guards. But Robb laughed again, enjoying the annoyance and anger on your face way too much. 

"You would scream and cause a sandal? That wouldn't be very princess like of you, princess"

You huff again, and push past him harshly, leaving you free to quickly leave the library. Robb didn't even try to stop you, he watched you figure leave the library and then smirked, amused that he'd gotten you so riled up. This marriage might be far more enjoyable than he'd originally thought. 

Once in your room, you cried softly against your pillow, knowing you'd have to marry Robb Stark, the boy you hated, the boy who hated you. 

Robb was still in the library, smiling to himself as he pictured your annoyed look. He thought of the sound of your voice and the way you'd look at him. The anger in your eyes and how your dress hugged your figure as you moved.

He realised at that moment that maybe he didn't hate you as much as he thought he did. 

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @whatelsecouldgowrong

[thewriterthatghostedyou]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Chapter 1

Dark! Aemond x Stark! Reader and Jacaerys x Stark! reader

Do I already have like 50 WIPs and am I really writing another story? Yes. Yes I am. But the idea of this has been in my head for a few days so here we go lol. And yes this is yet another Aemond x reader story because y’all we Aemond Stans are getting feddddd with season 2. Also another dark fic because yes I have issues. I may also try something new because I enjoy medieval fashion so I may include pictures of the reader’s outfits below. If you aren’t interested in this part you can ignore it, this just gives me an excuse to look at pretty dresses ;)

Divider by @zaldritzosrose

You had heard all the stories about King’s landing but none of them compared to the real thing.

You smiled widely and slid yourself towards the window of the carriage to take in the hot air. It was never this warm back at Winterfell and you made a promise to yourself to enjoy the southern sun while you were here.

“And if you look to your left, dear sister, you’ll see yet another pompous lordling flaunting about.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at your older brother. He had ridden his own horse the majority of the way but as it was your first time in King’s Landing he wanted to show you the sights himself.

“He does seem to bear an odd resemblance to a bird.” You joined in eyeing the man before retreating back into the carriage.

Your older brother laughed and shook his head with a small smile. You hadn’t seen him smile as much since the death of your sister in law, so you cherished the ones you got, as few as they were. “We should be arriving any moment now.” Cregan’s smile dropped back into his usual pensive expression. “Are you sure you are ready?”

To anyone who didn’t know Cregan Stark, he would seem like he was calmly assessing your future time at court, but you knew better. He was scared. Scared he’d lose you like he lost the Lady Arra Norrey. Like you both had lost your mother.

“You have your duty to the family and I have mine, brother.” You placed a calming hand on his as the carriage jerked to a quick stop. “Perhaps I will find a husband close to home.”

Cregan furrowed his brows but said nothing as the door opened. You could tell he wasn’t convinced, seeing as how you just turned one and eight. Too young to marry in his eyes, but having all the eligible lords in the realm gathered in one spot to celebrate the potentially last name day of the King was too good of an opportunity to pass up. It allowed you some choice in your future husband.

Cregan was the first to leave the carriage, ducking his large frame under the doorway and gallantly offering you his hand.

You took in a deep breath before taking it and exiting after him. As you crossed the threshold of the carriage you were met with chaos. Lords and ladies of all classes were clambering out of their carriages and were rushing to prepare for the upcoming tourney.

Many of them were lodged in nearby manors; however, as one of the great houses you and your brother had the honor of being guests in the Red Keep.

“Lord Stark, Lady Stark.” A young man clad in the red uniform of the Red Keep steward gave you both a curt bow. “I am to show you to your rooms to prepare for the petition.”

“What petition?” Your brother offered you his arm as the two of you followed the servant.

“My apologies my lord, I thought you were informed. As one of the heads of a great house you are invited to attend Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to the seat of Driftmark.”

Your brother scoffed slightly at that. “Not even an hour into the capital and there is already scheming. Lord Corlys made his opinion on that matter clear and that should be upheld.”

“I didn’t even know that the Sea Snake was dead.” You commented as you all ventured into what appeared to be a training yard.

“He isn’t, my lady.” The servant replied slowing as you neared a crowd. “He was injured in battle. I was told the maesters do not think highly of his chances.” He lowered his voice at the last sentence and you realized why as you approached the Velaryon boys.

“My lord, my lady, may I introduce the Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon.”

The princes looked exactly like you had heard in Ravens from the South. Their brown hair standing out from the signature Targaryen white and their eyes a similar color instead of the usual violet.

“Lord Stark,” The older Prince gave your brother a curt nod before doing the same to you. “Lady Stark.”

“My princes.” You curtsied and were very grateful for the days that your septa had drilled you relentlessly on proper form. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours.” Prince Jacaerys said with an easy smile. “I hope the journey south was not too tiresome.”

“It was long of course, but we are honored to receive an invitation to the king’s name day festivities.” Your brother spoke as the four of you strode further into the courtyard with the steward trailing closely behind.

It seemed as if the younger prince was about to speak, seemingly the more shy of the two, but was interrupted by the clashing of metal and cheers.

Curious to what was occurring, your small group wandered over to see the signature White of Targaryen hair battling a Dornish man in a suit of armor. Your eyes widened as the knight swung a flail at the person you assumed to be a prince. The younger man, without missing a beat, blocked it with a swing of his shield before advancing with a sword in his hand. The younger Velaryon winced as the shield was thrown to the ground with a dull thud.

The two men seemed to dance around the other, sending blow after blow before the Prince finally turned around revealing an eye patch covering a scarred eye.

The Velaryon boys looked at each other uneasily at the sight of his face before turning to watch the duel again. You said nothing remembering back to when your uncle had told you about the loss of Prince Aemond’s eye. Lucerys looked especially uncomfortable as the One Eyed Prince finished the duel with an easy swing of his sword.

As the surrounding crowd applauded, Prince Aemond lowered his sword from the man’s throat with an unphased expression.

“Well done my Prince.” The knight said, breathing heavily and dropping his flail to the dirt floor. “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.” You gave Cregan a quick glance, knowing that he was fighting in the upcoming tourney himself.

Your brother looked at the Prince, no doubt storing away what he perceived his weaknesses in battle to be for later. Your father had always told him it was better to use your enemy’s weaknesses against them instead of playing into their strengths.

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Prince Aemond responded coolly and you found yourself scoffing quietly. If he did not intend to fight for sport then what exactly had he been training for?

“Nephews…” His one eye flicked over to your group as he continued. “Have you come to train?”

The two Velaryons looked at each other again but remained in a shocked silence.

You felt Prince Aemond’s eye on you and your brother as he waited for a response that seemed like it would never come as a nearby guard yelled for the gates to open.

The courtyard fell deathly silent as Vaemond Velaryon entered the Keep, flanked by guards and Velaryon banners.

Prince Aemond huffed out a laugh at the younger Velaryon’s discomfort before bowing his head to you. “You must be the Starks.”

“We are, my prince.” Cregan spoke for you, “This is my sister, the lady Y/n Stark.”

“Ah.” The young man said, reaching his hand for yours, which you gave to him politely, before placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. You gave him a polite smile which he returned to you. “I see the tales of the Beauty of the North were not exaggerated.”

“Thank you, my prince.” You didn’t know what else to say under his critical eye. “We are honored to attend your father’s name day celebration.”

“Yes I suppose that will be entertaining, although I find myself more excited for a different occasion.” He gave another smirk at Vaemond’s back as the older man walked away.

Although living in the North you and your brother were not uninformed. And although everyone knew that the Velaryon boys were bastards, you knew that if any spoke on it a worse fate would be in store for the unlucky orator. One that would most definitely meet Vaemond Velaryon if he pressed any further. You; however, did not want to get mixed into the Keep’s dramatics.

“I am personally eager to attend the tourney.” You changed the subject, and looked at the two Velaryons whispering softly together. Though they may be bastards, they were honorable men by all accounts that you had heard. “Will you be competing, my prince?”

When you looked back at Aemond his face wore an annoyed expression as he glared at the two princes. “Perhaps I will.” He muttered softly. Releasing your hand that you had not realized he still held. “I hope we meet again soon, Lady Stark.” He nodded to you politely before returning the courtesy to Cregan and walking over to the knight he fought with earlier.

“As entertaining as this has been, my sister and I must prepare for the petition on the morrow.” Cregan spoke, looping your arm in his.

“Of course.” Prince Jacaerys gave the two of you a smile. “Your steward will show you the rest of the way. I fear we may not be good company for the time being.”

Cregan gave a curt nod to the Prince before the steward reappeared at your side. “We thank you for your hospitality, my princes.”

“It is our pleasure.” Jacaerys spoke as he repeated the earlier kiss to your knuckles his uncle had done. “May we meet again soon.”

You blushed at the touch of his lips on your hand, not noticing the Targaryen scowling at your interaction with his nephew. Your brother, who had spotted the look, thanked the two again before leading you away.

“I don’t like this.” He said under his breath as the two of you entered the Red Keep.

“Prince Jacaerys seems like a good man.” You responded quietly. “He is very handsome.” You felt butterflies think in your stomach as you thought back to the Prince.

“That he is.” Cregan muttered. “But he has many enemies, sister. The Targaryens are on the brink of a civil war and I would not have you getting in the middle of it. Even now we are already attracting unwanted attention from them.”

He sighed heavily as the steward stopped in front of two doors and explained that this was where you were staying before leaving with a quick bow.

“Do you truly think that a war will happen? The King has made his wishes on his succession very clear, to go against it would be treason.”

“Lord Corlys made his wishes for succession clear, and yet here we stand.” Cregan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. At times like this he did not look like the twenty and one years he was but much older and worn.

You nodded slowly, understanding his words but not wishing for the inevitable to happen soon. “I will stay away from Prince Jacaerys.”

“Prince Aemond too.” Your eyebrow shot up at the Targaryen’s name. “I do not like the way he was looking at you, sister. Avoid them all. We will do our duty, do what is right, but that does not mean we must thrust ourselves into the middle of this.” Cregan held your shoulder and looked at you with concern written in his face. “I cannot lose another family member.”

“You will not.” You gripped his hand tightly. “I will find a husband. And with your guidance he shall be a good and kind man but you will never lose me, brother.” You knew you could not promise him you would survive childbirth or the war that was inevitable but this small mercy you could do. No matter how much the thought of Prince Jacaerys made you smile.

To think that you even had a chance with a Prince was a foolhardy idea anyways. Or at least that is what you told yourself as you prepared for dinner.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Riding Outfit

Taglist 🏷️

@dixie-elocin

@shari-berri

@ka1afbr

@sepherinaspoppies

Please let me know if you want to be added!

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 3.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.

shera's voice sounds like blue diamond in this clip. a soft, dreamy whisper.

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence

story playlist

Shera didn’t waste much time getting back to her chambers. She was overwhelmed, confused and overall exhausted— and the day wasn’t even over yet. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she padded the stone to her rooms, hoping to the Gods, the old and the new, that someone wouldn’t stop and speak to her. 

“A bath, please,” Shera asked the chambermaids hastily once she reached her solar. “Scorching, as hot as possible. And… my oils, from my chest— if you please…”

They brought in the large copper tub and filled it with hot water, all the way near the top until Shera could see the wisps of steam billowing from it. The maids poured in vials of oil that she brought with her from Winterfell— lavender oil, rosemary oil and sweet honeysuckle oil. The concoction swirled into a lovely light purple color. 

“Will you need help undressing, miss?” one of the maids asked. 

“N-no,” she murmured. “Thank you— you may go. Return just before sunset.” 

Then she was alone. She could finally breathe. Wasting no time undressing, she shed her veil and choker and outer layers until she met the hard exterior of her corset. Fuck. Mayhaps she should’ve asked for help. Unwilling to call them back in, she grabbed a cheese knife from the small dining table near the balcony, slitting through the bindings of the corset like a lovely aged bleu. 

Moongeist nosed the latch to the balcony, prompting Shera to open it and let in the breeze from the sea. Nude at last, she all but jumped into the bath, which to her delight, was still scorching. She watched as the wolf sat on the terrace, nose poking out through the stone barrier. He took in the scent of the sea, the salty spray and lingering aroma of toiling waves— and of course, barked at a few seagulls. 

Her bones relaxed as she unpinned her hair, tossing the pins astray into the room— to either be stepped on later, or never found again. Shera let out an audible sigh, feeling her skin soften from the oils. This was the pinnacle of her days— she was very fond of baths and made her own bath oils. She loved the warmth, the enveloping heat of the water soothing her worry. It was like the most comfortable of blankets and she loved to get clean, to be clean. It was a ritual and a must for her to have a bath at least every other day. 

Her love for baths started because of Helaena, she supposed. When Shera arrived in King’s Landing all those years ago for the first time, she was a grimy and dirty child, wild to the bone, and detested baths. The maids didn’t know what to do with her, until they bathed Helaena and Shera together. They weren’t far apart in age at the time, Helaena being the polar opposite of Shera— but somehow she reeled her into normalcy. The princess would bring her wooden toys into the bath, much to the chagrin of her mother, and play with Shera, blow bubbles and tell stories. It was odd to everyone around them, as the two seemingly switched personalities when they bathed together. Helaena, usually a quiet child, would tell grandiose stories, while Shera would sit quietly, giving her complete and rapt attention to the princess. 

The girls bathed together until they were both eight and ten years of age respectively, but even then, they would be in the room with one another while they did— reading books out loud, gossiping, or just sitting in silence, enjoying one another’s presence. 

Shera’s undoubted companion in the Keep was Aemond, but she had a very close and special friendship with Helaena— a friendship that the both of them very much missed, subconsciously. It wasn’t as huge of a blow to Shera as losing Aemond, as the Lady of Winterfell and the Princess frequently wrote one another throughout the ten years apart. It was one of the only reasons Shera wasn’t completely mad. But, even so, letters can only do so much, can’t they? 

As much as she loathed this marriage and the ramifications of it… she would still be closer to her family, her real family, upon Dragonstone than in Winterfell. She laid in the bath until the water went cool, her mind wandering back to the encounter in the Godswood. Why would Daemon speak to her and with such a… driven attitude? What did he want? 

Her thoughts continued to flow, a finger tracing patterns in the mingling oils that lived atop the water. Did Helaena still like baths? If she so asked, would they be able to bathe together like old times? 

No– that would require… forgoing her veil and choker. Even if it was Helaena– she doesn’t know if she could truly bare herself to her– to anyone.

—

The hours stretched on until dinner, Shera pacing back and forth, working herself up to a point where Moongeist tugged on her sleeve with his teeth as an indication to calm down.

The maids who’d been assigned to her flittered around her like a flock of ptarmigan hens, pleading with her to let them dress her. She shied away from their touch, only allowing them to dress her in a new corset and skirts. 

She stayed in her veil, accentuating it with a few strings of pearls so mayhaps she wouldn’t look so haunting– a hope that always went unfounded, people found her so very terrifying either way.

Shera preferred to wear dark, muted colors and always had on some item of fur upon her; tonight’s being a gorgeous black and white mink stole, which Cregan had gifted her for her seventeenth name day four years ago. It was accompanied with one of her newly tailored dresses, one she sewed herself just a few moons ago and making some last minute alterations on the journey to King’s Landing. It was black lace, falling down to her feet and dragging behind her like a ghostly shadow. Coupled with a laced black veil, she looked in the mirror. 

The maid behind her glanced at her warily. “Are… are you in mourning, Lady Stark?” she asked timidly. 

“... no?” Shera blinked, taking in her appearance from her reflection. Ah. So, this is why people consist with the ‘Banshee’ title. Shrugging her shoulders, she wrapped the stole around her snugly

Letting Moongeist guide her to the dining hall, to which he followed the smell of roasting meats, she mentally prepared herself. Princess Rhaenyra was to attend, and with Rhaenyra was her brood of children and her rogue husband and the extended clutch of hatchlings– Baela and Rhaena amongst them. She felt sickly at the fact that she would be seeing the twins again, the former of whom was who disfigured her.

Walking into the chamber, the music was in full swing and everyone was already seated. Had she really been so late? All eyes turned to her and Shera scanned them with a bowed head, the tips of her fingers shaking as she locked gazes with Baela. A reminder of the pain that she’d caused, how she wielded the knife that cut Shera’s throat and blinded her in one eye. 

The wolf to Shera’s side let out the tiniest of whines, pushing Shera towards the table, and her seat between Helaena and Alicent– thank the Gods for small mercies. Although, she was directly across from Aemond, who hadn’t even blinked since she entered the room. 

“Oh, it's so good to have you here again, my dear,” Alicent hummed, taking one of Shera’s hands into her own. The queen was so warm, where Shera was cold. “It is just like old times, hm?”

“Beautiful pup, Shera,” Helaena whispered to her, a hand outstretched to Moongeist. “You see so well through him.” she cooed, a smile plastering upon her lips as the wolf licked her open palm.

“Yes… old times,” Shera responded softly, adjusting her veil. She looked to Helaena, who returned with a knowing gaze. “Hel?” she murmured, lower than usual. 

“Yes, dovey?” 

“… I’ve missed you dearly.” Shera whispered, offering her hand to the princess— to which they interlocked fingers. The two separately were considered touch-averse, with Shera shying away from touch and Helaena cringing at it. But the two had a deeper understanding of one another, it seemed. They always had, their bond only outshined by Shera and Aemond’s. 

But now, it’d be different, wouldn’t it? Aemond was a hot and cold mess to Shera— but Helaena welcomed her like no time had passed. It made her chest ache in a nostalgic way, tears threatening to spill. The good thing about her veil is that no one could see her cry. The whole day had been terribly overwhelming, taut with too many people wanting something from her, needing her to be someone she didn’t wish to be— is this how Helaena felt when she was married to Aegon? 

Tears did fall and Shera let them drip down her face, sinking and sliding from the mink stole to her legs. Helaena tugged on her hand. “Don’t cry, dragonfly,” she hummed. “Dance with me?” 

Shera blinked the tears away, even though they were replaced by new ones right away. “I… would love to. I will not be the most coordinated, though— will you guide me?” 

“Always.” the princess replied, pulling Shera from her chair and guiding her with a gentle hand to the space in the hall set aside for dancing. The music was lively and jaunty, with a lovely tune strummed from a fiddle, accompanied with a wooden flute. Helaena placed a hand on Shera’s waist, then kept their other hands interlocked. “Put your hand on my shoulder. I will lead— you can pretend I’m a gallant knight.” 

Shera snorted a giggle. “I do not want to dance with a gallant knight,” she mused as they began to sway. Helaena kept her upright and indeed took the lead, allowing Shera to stay close and follow her movements. “I want to dance with the butterfly princess.” 

“Ah, the butterfly princess!” Helaena cooed. “I suppose that can be arranged. What will that make you? Oh— my little wolf spider.” she giggled in return. 

It was the first time the entire day, mayhaps the entire fortnight, that Shera felt… happy. She felt weightless dancing with Helaena and felt like crying again— damn the emotions. “Please don’t leave me, Hela,” she murmured, almost silently through garbled tears. “I’ve been so alone.” 

Helaena led the dance off to the further corner of the room where they would have more privacy to speak, still swaying. “I wouldn’t leave you, Shera. The wolf spider’s been so alone— so alone in the cold,” she hushed. “Now you’ve come back to play with the dragonflies and the butterflies— but we must watch out for the birds, the black tailed magpies, and oh, the hawks and gulls, my sweet.”

“May I steal Lady Stark for a dance, sister?” Aemond suddenly cut in, so silent in his approach that Shera hadn’t even heard him at all.

“I don’t know,” Helaena looked to Shera. “Say the word, and I shall release a clutch of spiders into his bedchamber.” she whispered lowly, as if telling a secret. 

Shera cracked a smile. “It’s alright, Hela. If he is untoward, Moongeist shall bite him.” 

Helaena embraced her once more before giving her brother a mock threatening glance. Aemond swiftly replaced her, putting his hands on Shera’s waist. It felt… different. Different from how Helaena had them, and how Daemon had touched her earlier in the Godswood. It wasn’t friendly, nor slimy— it made her want to turn tail and run away, but it also made her chest warm, heart thumping like a rabbit’s. 

“My lady.” he greeted, putting one hand on her lower back to help her posture. “I do hope you won’t sic your dog upon me– yet.”

“My prince,” Shera responded, looking up at him. “Mayhaps I won’t, we shall see.”

“Does it haunt you? That they’re all here in one room?” he leaned down to whisper, swaying back and forth to the music, albeit a bit rigidly. He wasn’t nearly as good of a dancer as Helaena.

“I am always haunted,” she echoed, blinking slowly. She wondered if he could really see her face under her veil. He was looking so intensely at her and she was unsure if he was putting her together or picking her apart in his mind. “Are you?” 

“It’s an agitation, like a brood of mosquitoes.” Aemond answered gruffly, looking away from her now. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, she noted. His lone pupil wavered, looking everywhere but at her.

“Do you have nightmares about it?” she asked, fingers prickling under one of the buckles of his doublet absentmindedly. “I haven’t outgrown them. Not even after this long.” 

He scoffed. “Nightmares? I’m not a child.” 

Liar. Liar. Liar.

The servers interrupted as they began to serve the first course— Aemond helped guide Shera back to her seat. 

“Thank you for the dance.” she murmured as he pushed in her seat. 

“Hm.” 

The dinner continued, Shera staying quiet while she prodded at her food. She preferred to eat alone and only ate enough, slipping it under her veil to not seem rude. Cregan was having a jolly time down the table, talking the ear off of Jacaerys. Baela and Rhaena were whispering to one another, as were Rhaenyra and Daemon. Shera’s skin crawled as she stole looks at the four of them– the twins hadn’t said a word to her, nor did it seem they would, merely whispering like mice. Aegon had excused himself after the first course was served and did not return. Aemond remained staring at Shera the entire time.

Blinking, Shera stared back at him finally, raising her head to lock gazes with him. The subtle shift of her veil indicated she had cocked her brow, as if to say ‘Why are you staring?’

The motion wasn’t lost on Aemond, as they fell back into their own silent communications that they were so well versed in as children. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, responding in kind, ‘You know why.’

Alicent stood up, “I would like to propose a toast– to the return of our beloved Shera, as well as the visit of her brother and warden of the North, Cregan Stark. I cannot imagine it was an easy journey, but we are so blessed that you’ve made it, especially to finalize something that has… been in the making for a few years,” she held up her cup of wine, to which everyone else held up theirs, including Aemond. “Princess Rhaenyra, Cregan and I have been in much talk of betrothals and the like. I would like to announce, formally, the betrothal of Shera Stark,” she paused, taking a breath, “And Jacaerys Velaryon.”

Shera’s breath caught in her throat, her nails sinking into the soft of her palm. She focused solely on Alicent, even if she could feel the searing brand of Aemond’s stare on her. She refused to look, she couldn’t— 

But her sole eye betrayed her, her head turning ever so slightly to gauge Aemond’s reaction. He looked like a statue, his lone pupil narrowed to a slit, like a dragon’s. His hands were placed together dutifully, but the veins near his knuckles were bulging with strain, the fervor of what could only be described as fury coursed through him. The look in his violet iris scared the hells out of Shera. ‘Twas only a moment they locked gazes, but she felt, she saw the barely contained rage, the burning of the city and beyond from Vhagar’s back— 

And then it was gone, as if the candle of ferocity had been snuffed out. He sat up straight, giving Shera one last eyebrow raise before turning his attention solely to his mother. It terrified her how quickly he was able to turn it off, to bury deep as if it never existed at all. 

Perhaps she had imagined it. Surely she did– he didn’t have such a volatile temper as a child, if she could remember correctly.

Clearing her throat, she raised her glass higher as Alicent finished the announcement, gesturing in Jacaerys’ direction, who did the same in return to her. She wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of living upon Dragonstone, nor did she feel she was fit to be the wife of Rhaenyra’s heir. But, ‘twas the way of things. 

She thought Jace, as he had insisted she call him, was well and fine. He was a bit taller than she with a boyish charm and curled brown locks. Their few meetings as adults, where he had so gallantly rode all the way up to Winterfell upon his dragon, he always kissed her hand and smiled at her. It was easy to forget that he was a part of her and Aemond’s maiming when she turned her mind off and became the little puppet Lady that she was supposed to be— but then she would wake up crying in the middle of the night, begging for them not to kill her—

“I would like to propose a toast,” Aemond’s voice cut through Shera’s thoughts like a sharpened blade, the horrid screeching of his swiftly kicked out chair causing her to cringe. “A toast— to our lovely banshee, and her strong husband-to-be. I do hope that Jacaerys is keen on sleeping on the floor whilst a dog warms his wife’s furs– and let us pray for Shera’s health once they ruminate over Dragonstone. Do you still get sea sick, my lady? I cannot imagine a wolf gaining sea legs any time soon.” 

“It’s none of your business, uncle–,” Jace countered, pushing back from his chair to stand.

“Aemond, don’t,” Alicent hissed quietly, gripping her goblet with an iron fist. 

“I’m merely expressing my joy for their coming union, mother. Seems the issue is a bit touchy, hm, Jacaerys?” Aemond’s mouth twitched into a toothy smile, but it was nothing of joy. It was like the open maw of a dragon, daring anyone to walk near, lest they be snapped into smithereens. 

Jacaerys walked a bit closer to Aemond, his hackles equally raised in a challenge. Shera’s observation of the two was quickly surmised; Jace was soft where Aemond was razor-edged. A fight between them would be of little challenge. The underlying rage in Aemond was apparent once more, simmering and bubbling in the pot, threatening to boil over and scald everyone within his reach. His words didn’t sound like he was about to fly off the handle– he was in complete control of every carefully placed barb, every pause in his speech was intentional for added dramatics, to piss off Jace– and Shera, it seemed.

“Do you really expect your nuptials to be fruitful, nephew? Have you ever seen her without her veil? I must say,” Aemond nodded his head toward Shera’s direction as he got closer to Jace, whispering in his ear as if not to let anyone else in on their conversation– Shera heard, though. “I’m quite curious myself– do you think that our dear cousin’s blade,” his lone eye looked to Baela, who was arm-in-arm with Rhaena, Daemon looming behind them like the Dragonmont itself, “Was sharp enough, for a clean cut? Mayhaps it’s a mangled mess under there. Best to keep the covering on for your wedding night, hm?”

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys growled, his hand itching as he flexed and unflexed his fist. “You can say what you’d like about me, but you shall hold your tongue before my betrothed.” 

“Jace,” Shera murmured lowly, feeling for Moongeist as she got up from her own chair, shaking. The wolf pressed to her leg, guiding her to where Jacaerys was at arm's length. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, whilst trying to quell the quiver of her bones, while keeping her eye upon Aemond. “‘Twas merely a jest– in poor taste… but a jest.” she had her head lowered diminutively, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Sure, the ‘jest’, as it was, hurt immensely to her already fragile psyche– but she had to keep a level head, especially here. 

Still holding his own goblet, Aemond’s nostrils flared as he watched Shera caress Jace, as if they were truly close. The tip of his brow twitched as he hardened his jaw, lowering his cup and proverbial feathers, remembering himself, remembering where he was. “A jest— of course. Though, I never was the jester of our group, was I? Once upon a time, it’d been you, Jacaerys.” the second son exhaled, eye still trained on Shera. But he approached Jace, hand outstretched. “Congratulations.” he said, his voice clipped. Once again, the rage had been shoved deep down and quelled for the time being.

Jace tentatively took his hand, nodding slowly. “Thank you, uncle,” he squeezed Aemond’s hand before pulling back. “You’re better with a blade than a joke, that is for certain.”

“Mayhaps we shall spar sometime, then?” Aemond suggested. Everyone in the room knew it was a chance for him to kick Jace into the dirt like he desperately wished to do presently. 

“Yes– on the morrow, uncle,” Jacaerys nodded. “Lord Stark should join us, yes? Let’s make a proper gauntlet out of it, then.”

Shera’s hand, in turn, retreated from Jace’s shoulder as she rested a hand on Moongeist’s head. Turning to Alicent, who looked on the edge of an anxious breakdown. “Thank you for the dinner, your grace. I am… feeling quite faint, so I fear I must retire,” Shera whispered, curtsying as best she could. Turning to Rhaenyra and Daemon, she bowed her head. “Princess, prince.” 

Rhaenyra gave a wry smile. “Feel better soon, dear.” 

Daemon said nothing, just nodding his head as his finger traced the rim of his cup. 

“Allow me to escort you, sister,” Cregan was at her side in an instant. 

“It’s not nec—,” 

“I insist.” 

It wasn’t a lie— Shera did feel quite faint from the events and excitement. Letting Moongeist guide her, she escaped the dining hall mostly unscathed, despite feeling a gnawing pain in the pit of her stomach. 

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

“O-okay,” she responded monotonously, as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body, her own words. 

Cregan held her in his steady grip, guiding her out of the hall. He was quiet until they entered Maegor’s holdfast. “Dragons are quite tempestuous, aren’t they?” he began.

“… yes.” 

“Your childhood companion— the prince— he certainly had a lot of great things to say about you, didn’t he?” 

“… Cregan.” 

“Listen to me, Shera,” he said as they entered her chambers. “They’re not your friends— not anymore. They’re strangers to you.” 

“But—,” 

“They don’t know you anymore, they only knew who you used to be.” 

And you’re a shell of who you used to be. But that was left unsaid. 

“You shan’t waste your tears any longer on them, on him,” he continued. “And do not give me that look, don’t think I don’t hear you crying at night.” 

“Mayhaps I cry at night because you shoved me into something I am unfit for!” Shera shouted, her voice cracking, followed by a hiss of pain. Something I do not wish for. Jacaerys helped make me this way, Cregan. Don’t you care? Does it matter more than your fucking oath?

Cregan wanted to bite back, but instead furrowed his brow. “Are you alright? Shall I fetch a maester?” 

“N-no…” she whimpered, her voice broken and full of gravel. She pressed a hand to her throat, swallowing a cough. “… tea.” 

“Of course,” Cregan murmured, guiding his sister to sit on the loveseat near the fire. “I’ll get a maid… and… and the tea.” 

Shera nodded, watching him leave. She didn’t care for the pain, even if it felt like someone was dragging a brush of thorns inside of her throat— she felt like she was falling apart at the seams mentally, akin to her old mended dresses, the threads wilting and falling away. 

She felt lost. Lost in the fact that… she wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere. They thought her not cut out for Northern life from her delicate sensibilities— and she wasn’t cut out for King’s Landing for the same reason, except it wasn’t the physical environment, but the barbed tongues, the venomed words, the games of the mind. 

She didn’t belong. 

Would it even matter if she wasn’t part of the equation? Rhaenyra would get her alliance with the North somehow, Cregan would fulfill his oath, Jacaerys would have a number of other betrothal options. 

It mattered not that she was here. 

Didn’t it?

Keep the covering on during your wedding night– mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there.

Her jaw clenched all night as she nursed her tea to soothe her throat– but every other part of her was purely on fire. The one person in the entirety of this Gods forsaken world who knew what she felt, what she went through– the one other person who was there, who was on her side, who she… she lost everything for– was keen to jest at her disfigurement. 

She stood up from her chair, hours after Cregan had left her, throwing the porcelain at the wall. The teacup smashed into bits and pieces and she sunk her teeth into her own lip until she tasted copper. The kettle was next, hocked upon the mantle of the fireplace as it too, split apart. 

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.

Her damaged vocal cords mustered her wails they best they could, forlorn and haunting and low– 

Where was home? She wanted to go home, home– but she didn’t belong anywhere. Where was her home? 

The banshee yowled like a creature with a broken leg, echoing against the walls, ever enclosing.

[leupagus]

Half of this fic is just me looking for more excuses to put in all the cool women that the show wrote out

Still working on the next chapter for the GOT rewrite from hell, but I had to write a little about how the fuck menstruation works in Westeros (other than "oh you can get married now!" which I refuse to believe is the norm) and also to introduce the Sphinx:

The next morning, Shireen woke up to find blood on her shift and a sharp sort of twist in her stomach, as though she'd swallowed a molten pin. The blood came out easily enough, with frantic scrubbing in the basin, but the pain grew over the course of the morning.

"It's your flowering," said Maester Alleras briskly, when she went to him in a tightly-controlled panic. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," said Shireen, realizing the date. Her nameday had passed two weeks ago.

"And what do you know of flowering?" he asked, smiling slightly at her blush. "Forgive me, but Northerners have queer ideas of teaching their children about these matters. I do not wish to presume your level of education."

"I know it can last for a week or more," Shireen said, thinking of Mother's cycles, how she would confine herself to her rooms to endure the pain in solitude and prayer. "It's very painful and disgusting, but it allows me to bear my future husband's children and therefore is a gift from the gods."

"Hmm. Well, that is what you were taught, at least," grunted the maester. He got up from his desk, rummaging through the cupboard behind him. He was a tall, skinny young man with the deep brown skin and tightly-coiled hair of a Summer Islander, and shared their fondness for brightly-colored nails: they seemed to dance along the shelves until he plucked out a jar and presented it to her with a flourish. "This will help with the pain, and stop the bleeding after this cycle. People of the North use it a great deal."

"Is it moon tea?" Shireen asked, taking it gingerly and wondering at Maester Alleras's use of the term Northerners, which sounded different from People of the North. Perhaps in the Summer Isles, everyone on Westeros was a Northerner. "Why do they use it so much here?"

"It is," he confirmed, "and as for why..." He shrugged. "I've only just arrived in Winterfell, you understand, and as you may have guessed—" this said with another smile— "I was born elsewhere. But from what I've gathered, they must be careful when they have children. The North can only feed so many."

Shireen thought of Fire & Blood, which Father had read to her as a child. The Winter Wolves had been a company of Northerners, who had answered Lord Cregan's call to fulfill the Pact of Ice and Fire with Rhaenyra Targaryen. They'd been greybeards who had knowingly marched to their deaths, for such was the custom of the North back then: at the start of each winter, the old men of each keep and castle and holdfast would choose amongst themselves who would go out into the snows. Some would return home in the spring, having endured the cold or escaped it to find their fortunes in southron lands; most would not.

"Put a thimbleful of this into whatever tea you like best," Maester Alleras continued, gesturing at the jar, his fingernails catching the light as it streamed into the rookery. "Once a day, and come back when you need more."

"Shouldn't I ask—" Shireen bit her lip.

But the maester caught her meaning; his eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you ask your parents? Yes, I suppose you should. But they should be here to be asked, and they should have told you the truth."

"What's the truth?" Shireen asked, instead of admitting that Mother and Father had never told her anything about it. She couldn't imagine either of them even mentioning the subject. All her information had come from books, or from Mother's complaints.

"The truth is that if a cycle is painful and lasts for a week or more, that is the sign of an illness, not the will of a god. The truth is that you may well find it disgusting, but it is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame to you or anyone else." He glared, though it did not seem directed at her. "And as for 'bearing your future husband's children,' the truth is that they are your children, just as much as his — indeed more so, unless he carries them about for the first nine months after their birth. But you will not be a woman grown for at least another two years, and any man who wishes you to bear children until at least that time is unworthy of your hand or your love." He sat back down, his half-dozen maester's links chiming musically. "Now run along, little princess."

Lady Sansa was just outside the door, with her brother beside her. "See, I told you she smelled funny," Rickon said triumphantly.

Shireen scowled at him. "Shut up." It was kind of him, she supposed, to have worked out that something was wrong and to wait for her outside the maester's chambers. But Rickon Stark was the sort of friend who was difficult to be grateful for.

"Yes, please do, Rickon," Lady Sansa said, pressing a businesslike kiss on the crown of Rickon's head before turning him round by the shoulders and pushing him down the corridor. Rickon protested, but went all the same, and Lady Sansa turned back to Shireen. "Moon tea?" she asked, nodding at the jar.

Shireen resisted the impulse to hide it somehow. It is merely something our bodies do and should never be a source of disgust or shame. "Yes, my lady," she said.

"Come along, then," said Lady Sansa. "I have some excellent tea from the Arbor. How does that sound?"

"Could I have a hot water-skin, too?" Shireen asked, as Lady Sansa looped her arm through hers.

"Of course. And the lemon trees in the greenhouse have given up their first fruits — we'll have lemon cakes for lunch instead of venison." She smiled and Shireen thought that even if Sansa Stark never took another husband or had children of her own, she was still all the mother that the North ever would need.

[nuclearpocketwatch]

Fire, Ice, and Blood.

The Targaryens are vampires, the Starks are werewolves, and one Prince Jacaerys finds himself some warmth in the cold of the North. One Cregan Stark finds himself with a problem.

huge lack of jace and cregan fics on this earth so i'm solving my own problem. this has not been proofread so let me know if i missed any grammatical errors or need to add any tags or warnings! enjoy this vampire au. also cross-posted to ao3 here

Fire, Ice, and Blood. - Chapter 1 - nuclearpocketwatch - House of the Dragon (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 1, Cregan

The Targaryens: Gods among men. Pale skin, smooth and unyielding as if carved from a block of marble. White hair, braided into ropes and dripping with rubies and sapphires. Violet eyes, slit-pupiled and piercing. And then, of course, there were the fangs. The mouth full of jagged ivory prongs that mirrored the dragons that shared their cradles. All the marks of the vampire. Of the blood curse that flowed through the veins of the ancient House Targaryen, twisting their bodies into something less-than-human. Dark, sadistic, and beautiful beyond expression, the Targaryens held the Seven Kingdoms in an unflinching grip. Ruling from the confines of the Red Keep, a fortress said to be cursed, they drank, debauched, and drained the blood from the veins of their people. Pain was their sustenance, killing their sport. They were magnificent and cruel and terrifying as only the last remaining trace of the magic of Old Valyria could be. A blood-red relic of the glorious past, Fire and Ice. That was the real mark of the vampire, Cregan supposed. Not that he had ever seen one. There had not been a Targaryen in Winterfell in a century or more. The North chilled their cold-blooded bodies, or that was what his father had always said. They so rarely left Kings Landing, shut up in the decadence and misery of their gloomy castle walls, or defiling the night sky on dragonback. And better that way. They left the Starks alone, as intended, to guard the North in relative peace.

Or they had, at least, until today, seeing as there was a Targaryen in front of him at that very moment. Velaryon in name, the fledgeling prince Jacaerys didn't look much like a Targaryen. Or a Velaryon, for that matter. No gills. In fact, as unsettling as it was to Cregan, he looked very much like a Northman: brunette, dressed in thick furs, and unadorned by any sort of finery. Cregan admitted regrettably to himself that he was rather handsome. Or perhaps pretty was a better term, though he lacked the cold, statuesque beauty that Cregan had observed in portraits of his ancestors. Lean and muscled, he had a regal face, high cheekbones blanketed by warm brown curls, soulful eyes, and lips that curved into a slight smile. The only clue to his true nature, at least to Cregan’s eyes, was the dragon he arrived on the back of, and the narrow, serpentine pupils that could barely be seen in the middle of his brown irises. More subtle than he had expected, if one ignored the dragon.

“I am Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne.” The Prince announced with a flourish, voice playful and almost musical, as he dropped into a quick bow, short fangs visible in his mouth as he flashed a charming grin. The dragon behind him gave a roar and pushed itself into the air, great scaled wings flapping and kicking up the snowdrifts, disappearing into the grey morning.

Targaryens were not known to be particularly subtle, and he was quickly finding out that this extended to brown-haired, brown-eyed Targaryen Princes as well. And their dragons.

“Lord Stark, I have come to petition you on behalf of my Mother, the Queen.” The Prince continued, making Cregan bristle. The leech had come to call upon his men and his resources, as he had expected. Targaryens only appeared when they needed something. His brow lifted, hand straying to perch atop his sword hilt. “The Queen? As far as I know, one King Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne.”

The Prince straightened, eyes narrowing, his pupils thinning out like a cat's. Or a snake’s. The easy humor left his demeanor, though he was not yet openly hostile. Cregan waited. “Prince Aegon is a usurper and a traitor. My mother was named the rightful heir by her father, King Viserys. The throne is hers by birthright.”

“Who claims a chair in that accursed castle of yours is no concern of the North, and no concern of House Stark. You’ve come to ask for my men, and I need my men here.” Cregan gruffed. He had no time for this. It had been a hard winter, and his first concern would always be keeping his people warm and fed. That, and manning the wall. These vampire bastards could squabble themselves to death over the throne, for all he cared. As much as he disliked the Targaryens, the true enemy would always be outside the Seven Kingdoms. This was a truth every Stark Lord learned young.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but it is the concern of the North. War will soon rage across all Seven Kingdoms, and we cannot win it without the support of the North. Would you truly sit back and allow a Usurper King to govern the Seven Kingdoms? Does House Stark not believe in honor?” His eyes turned sly. “I am sure you have heard the reputation of Prince Aegon is… rather lackluster. You trust him to be a just and fair ruler? To Unite the realm?”

Cregan eyed the Prince, frowning, pushing down his rising temper. He refused to be riled by the question to his honor. The Starks were known for their tempers, but Targaryens were known for their cunning.

“Walk with me. I wish to show you something, My Prince.”

So Cregan took him to see the Wall.

The Wall was magnificent in the way Cregan had always imagined the Targaryens were magnificent. Massive, cold, and unforgiving, its creation was almost unfathomable. His ancestors had been spurred by a desperate need, and the seven hundred foot barricade of ice was the product of that desperation. No one but the Wolves of the North could have accomplished such a feat. The North was brutal to those who inhabited it.

“Quite a large wall.” Prince Jacaerys astutely observed, eyeing the grey nothingness before and below them with an unreadable look. Cregan grunted. On the way up, they had shared some small talk. Well, the prince had shared some small talk. Cregan had perhaps been a bit surly, but having this unfamiliar vampire in his home had him on edge. “Still,” the Prince continued, “you truly cannot spare men from the wall? It seems to be doing its job just fine, guarding from.. what? Snow and savages?”

Cregan leveled the Prince with a look. “D’you really think my ancestors spent the effort building a seven hundred foot wall of ice just to keep out snow and savages? Hundreds of years ago, your ancestors were brought to this very spot. They watched as their dragons, the greatest power on earth, greater even than vampires,” he emphasized, “refused to cross it.” Prince Jacaerys looked abashed. “Then what does the Wall keep out?” He asked, turning his gaze away from the impenetrable snows outside the wall for the first time, looking at Cregan.

“Death.” Cregan answered, serious.

“...Death?” The Prince’s face twitched. “Well, it seems to have missed a few.” He grinned.

Cregan shook his head. “Targaryens are not dead. Not truly. You breathe, and you eat, and you have children.” To Cregan, what made a person truly alive was their ability to love, but he couldn't speak on whether Targaryens truly loved or not. “You Targaryens may inflict death, but what's out there… is death. Winter is coming, My Prince, and the Starks must be here to defend the realm when it comes. The North must stand ready.”

“So you say.” The Prince nodded, though an amused light flickered in his eyes. Cregan was not bothered by his amusement. He knew that even in a world of vampires and wolves and merfolk and other strange things, the horror beyond the Wall was difficult to comprehend. The Starks took it seriously so everyone else did not have to. It was their duty.

“You must be cold.” Cregan said. Prince Jacaerys’ lips had taken on a blueish tinge over the course of their conversation. If it had given him some small amount of vindictive pleasure watching a Prince of the great House Targaryen shiver in the light summer snowfall, he kept it to himself. “I will have a room prepared for you while I think on my answer, and some food brought up.” He gestured to a passing man, sending him scurrying off to light the hearth in a spare room and prepare the bedding.

The Prince eyed him coyly. “Food?” He questioned, grinning and tapping a fang with his pointer finger. “You needn’t go to the trouble. I’ll find myself something later.”

Cregan whirled, growing suddenly cold. He had almost forgotten. “If you–”

“Sheep, if you can spare one.” He clarified quickly, hands lifted into a placating gesture. “A cat, or mice if you cannot. I do not drink from men, you needn't worry. Animals sate me just fine.” For a brief moment, he looked almost uncomfortable, but it was replaced with his usual humor quickly enough that Cregan almost thought he had imagined it. He nodded. “It has been a hard winter, but we can spare a sheep. Let me show you to your room, My Prince.”

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: I feel so bad for the reader, no matter what she does, it seems like something is always waiting around the corner for her. Aemond is only going to get a lot worse...

Chapter 25: The Usurper

The Chamber of the Painted Table was lined with guards and knights, your mothers supporters and families all standing around its sides.

Candles were placed under the table in order to light the carvings, a glowing map of the realm outlining the many lands.

Winterfell sat at the north of the table, an engraved castle and triangles to signify the terrain. The rivers looked like long glowing veins, connecting all of the realm together. 

Rhaenyra was the last in the room to arrive.

You and your father stood proudly at the head of the table as she arrived. Your anger towards him singed your veins but now was not the time.

He had motioned for you to stand with him, noting that your brothers were off to the side and you had obeyed. You thought that Jacaerys should be where you stood, now that Rhaenyra had officially named him her successor.

Why had Daemon not brought him to his side?

“Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Daemon's voice rang loudly through the room, all bowed to show their respect.

All but Rhaenys, who you eyed warily.

“Your Grace.” Your father spoke once more, addressing Rhaenyra who stood tall with the crown seated upon her head. A large black cloak was held together by a clasp over her shoulders, with a deep red lining peeking through. 

Your mother stepped towards the table, and the Queens guards stepped forward with her. You watched as your mother looked uncomfortable by their movement before she motioned with her hand gently for them to stay put.

Rhaena stepped forth with a goblet, holding it out towards your mother with steady hands.

“Wine, My Queen.” She spoke gently, smiling upwards. Rhaenyra hesitated, before grasping the goblet.

“Thank you, Rhaena.” She paused, before nodding her head towards the table, “Come.''

Your mothers first deed as Queen was to bring women to the table.

But you were already waiting.

As they walked, she motioned to your cousin/sister Baela to join her to stand in front of the table, opposite you. Rhaenyra stared at her King Consort Daemon.

The air was still. The tension in the air was palpable and you felt unease spread through the Lords on the sides. You waited for her to address the room, but before she did that her eyes flicked to yours, lips slightly pursing before looking back at her husband. 

“What is our standing?” The Queen asked.

“We have 30 knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and 300 men-at-arms.” Your father listed off before continuing, “Dragonstone is relatively easy to defend, but as an instrument of conquest, our army leaves a lot to be desired. We have sent word to my loyal men in the City Watch. I’ll have some support there but I cannot speak to the numbers.”

Maester Gerardys leant forward to speak, “We already have declarations from Celtigar and Staunton, Massey, Darklyn, Bar Emmon.”

Your mother pointed to the map, slender finger stretched towards the Vale, “My Lady mother was an Arryn. The Vale will not turn cloak against their own kin.” 

Jacaerys stepped forward and began to place markers on the lands of our allies. His stern face concentrated on the task ahead. How he had changed so suddenly, the boy you knew was now a man.

Jacaerys could no longer be a boy, he was now next in line for the throne. The successor. The heir to the realm. 

“Riverrun was always a close friend to your father, Your Grace.” Spoke the Maester, “With Prince Daemons acquiescence, I’ve already sent ravens to Lord Grover.”

Your fathers eyes did not move from the table, and you felt the urge to speak.

“Lord Grover is fickle and easily swayed.” You argued, “He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position and that we will support him should it come to war.” 

Your mother watched you, eyes proud as you addressed the room, though something else was present.

“I’m going to treat with him myself.” Came the smooth timbre of your father, as he did not once look at you, instead eyed your mother.

There was an undeniable tension between the two. 

Steffan Darklyn’s soft voice carried across the table, “What of Storms End and Winterfell?”

Another man who you believed to be Bartimos responded, “There has never lived a Stark who forgot an oath. And with House Stark, the North will follow.”

Queen Rhaenyras face twitched in thought, “Lord Borros Baratheon will need to be reminded of his fathers promises.”

A knight with short grey hair stepped forward to grasp at a different shaped marker. He placed the ace shaped metal roughly onto the seat of House Baratheon.

Jacaerys timidly stepped forward, softly placing a new marker over Rooks nest. Your mother turned to address Princess Rhaenys, who stood behind watching from afar.

“What news from Driftmark?”

“Lord Corlys sails for Dragonstone.”

“To declare for his Queen.” Came the petty reply of your father.

“The Velaryon fleet is in my husband's yoke. He decides where they sail.” Came Rhaenys' curt reply.

“We shall pray for both you and your husband's support. Just as we prayed nightly for the Sea Snakes return to good health.” The Queen spoke. Rhaenys bowed her head and smiled. “Theres no port on the Narrow Sea would dare to make an enemy of the Velaryon fleet.”

“And our enemies?” Your mother continued, turning to look at the table once more, awaiting for her council to respond. 

“We have no friends among the Lannisters.” Your father sneered.

You huffed a laugh continuing for your father, “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him. And Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.”

Your mother gave you another look, something she hadn’t given you before. It almost set you on edge.

“Without the Lannisters, we are not like to finding allies west of the Golden Tooth.” Rhaenyra replied.

An ace shaped marker was set above River Run on the table.

Daemon looked down at the table, hands fiddling in front of him subtly, “The Riverlands are essential, Your Grace.” 

An old man, with little to no white hair left on his head, robes of black and red stood forward, “Pray forgive my bluntness, Your Grace,” He bowed towards your father before turning to look at your mother, “But talk of men is moot. Your cause owns a power that has not been seen in this world since the days of Old Valyria. Dragons.”

Your mother liked across the table incredulously, “The Greens have dragons as well.”

Your father sharp voice interrupted your mother.

“They have three adults, by my count. We have Syndor, Syrax, Caraxes and Meleys.”

“Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Baela has Moondancer.” He finished.

“Daemon, none of our dragons have been to war.” The Queen argued.

“There are also unclaimed dragons. Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark. Vermithor and Silverwing dwell on Dragonmont, still riderless.” Your father shot back.

Your hands tightened at your sides.

“They are riderless for a reason, father.” You snipped but he continued, “There are three wild dragons, all of whom nest here.”

“And who is to ride them?” Your mother asked, her tone mocking her husband.

“Dragonstone has 13 to their 4.” Your father started, but you cut him off once more.

“Yet only one has seen war, and that is the one-eyed cravens. Aemond rides the largest and one of the oldest dragons in the world. Vhagar has seen war and has won it. Do we not see this as a disadvantage?” You argued.

Your father ignored you, still looking at your mother, where Rhaena stood shyly beside her.

“I also have a score of eggs incubating in the Dragonmont.” Daemon roughly placed the Dark Sister blade against the table and walked around to the side beside Jacaerys.

“Now we need a place to gather, a toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” He roughly picked up and placed a metal marker on the table, the clunk echoing through the room, “Here, at Harrenhal. We cut off the west, surround Kings Landing with dragons.” He continued excitedly.

“And we could have every Green head mounted on spikes before the fucking moon turns.” His head turns to look at you, then back at your Queen, who stood still angrily staring at the Rogue Prince. 

Before your mother could respond, Ser Eryyk came walking from behind, “Your Grace, a ship has been sighted offshore: a lone galleon, flying a banner of a three-headed green dragon.”

Your heart raced in your chest and you rushed to walk to your mothers side, your father bellowing out a command to the room.

“Alert the watchtowers. Sight the skies.” He barked, racing back to the head of the table to grab the Dark Sister blade before leaving the chambers. 

You looked to your mother who stared impassively at the table. 

“My Queen,” You said gently, “Do you wish for me to mount Syndor?” You asked softly, Rhaena standing beside you waiting for commands from Rhaenyra. 

A beat passed before your mother turned her head to you, looking you up and down before responding, voice strong and decisive.

“No. Go with Daemon.” And with that she turned to leave the chambers, all those present bowing as she passed, before moving to their duties. 

Your feet carried you swiftly to catch up with your father, the sight of his silver hair moving with the breeze of his pace making you speed further. 

“Kepa.” You called, as you tried to catch up.

He did not turn.

“Kepa.” You called again. He did not stop nor did he falter. You stopped in your place.

You would not chase him.

“Daemon!” You yelled, and finally his steps came to a slow halt. The man turned his head, not to look at you, but to show you his profile indicating that he was listening. You walked to stand in front of him.

“Are you so impatient to start a war, that you wish to demean mother in front of her own council? Her own men?” You accused, breaths coming out roughly through your nose.

The Rogue Prince did not reply, instead looked at you with a blank face.

“Do you truly have nothing to say to me?” You asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

Silence.

You felt if there was any more silence after today you would go mad. 

“Answer me!” You shoved his broad chest, hands slapping roughly against him.

The Prince did not budge, though his eyes softened.

“We are wasting time.” He muttered, turning on his heel to start walking as you stood in shock.

Your father had a habit of being a cunt to people, but you were never on the receiving end of it.

“You are a coward.” You gritted through your teeth.

The King Consort stopped abruptly, turning around once more to march back up to you.

“I have lost more in one day than you could ever imagine.” He growled. “Move.” He flicked his head to the side and began to walk.

You sniffed, straightening yourself before walking beside him. The walls of the castle were lined in lit torches as the sun began to set. But a shadow had begun to fall over your family.

Knights and guards walked behind the two of you as you marched out the front of the large stone doors, before beginning down the winding path outside.

As you looked behind you in search of your mother, you saw the castle. It was lit with flames along its sides and in the pathways. The sun's final rays giving the large stone walls an ominous glow. 

You looked back at your father, who had slowed his steps for you to catch up. As you returned to his side he looked down at you, face stern yet his eyes soft.

“You know that I love you deeply, and I know that you wish to tear my head off. Though you must learn there is a time and a place, and now is not the time, nor the place.” 

You went to open your mouth to argue but he beat you to it, “You may scorn me later. For now, you must control your anger and your tongue.” 

You bit the insides of your cheeks, tasting the bitter tang of copper as your teeth cut through the soft flesh. Hands curled into tight fists before releasing them you took a large breath in, holding as you continued down the path before releasing it roughly though your nose.

A large circular space opened on the path, and you stood with your father waiting. Ahead of you, a large stone entrance to the castle. Large steel doors opened wide for the unwelcome guests with two large watch towers flanking each side. 

As you stood you watched the doorway, waiting for the sight of the Greens.

Anticipation prickled your skin, and you felt a wave of anxiety course through you as you looked to the skies. It was beginning to become overcast with large clouds forming above you. You wondered if you would hear ‘Dracarys’ called out from above by your younger uncle.

Though not much time had passed, the anticipation made it feel like an eternity. Daemon paced in front of you, his restlessness making you uneasy, though you schooled your nerves.

You walked forward to intercept your fathers next pace, holding his hand gently before nodding your head upwards.

There, at the gates came the figure of Otto Hightower, behind him half a dozen men. You could tell that your father was itching to use his sword, hand resting atop the hilt of it, fingers strumming loudly against the metal. 

“Gīda aōla, kepa.” (Calm yourself, father.) You gently spoke, hoping to put the man in front of you at ease.

By now, Otto and his men had reached the open space in the path before you. He stood in hideous green robes, a trim of fur around the collar, with the pin of the Hand sitting snuggly upon his breast.

His hair was fluffed back by the winds of his journey on the sea, and you thought he looked awfully uncomfortable, though smug. You noted one of the Maesters from Kings Landing stood behind him.

“I come at the behest of the Dowager Queen Alicent, mother of King Aegon, Second of His Name, Lord and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” Came the pompous drone of Otto Hightower.

The Rogue Princes hands were both on Dark Sister as you stood beside him watching. Your fathers head tilting to the side. You knew he was thinking of slaying Otto in the same manner he did the younger Valeryon Prince. 

“I’ve been directed to deliver her message only to Princess Rhaenyra. Where is the Princess?” He asked.

Your father simply nodded in agitation.

No words were spoken as you both stared at Otto Hightower and behind you, the large screech of Syrax resonated throughout the sky. Both you and your father watched calmly as Otto's eyes were drawn to the noise behind you.

The sounds of beating wings flowed above you, and a gust of wind moved your hair. 

Above you was your mother, crown strong upon her head as she rode Syrax. The great golden dragon let out a loud roar as it flew behind Otto and his men. Otto tensed, body rigid as he watched the dragon land behind them, trapping him and his men between Daemon and Syrax. 

The Rogue Prince smirked with pride as he watched Queen Rhaenyra’s dragon cause Ottos men to clutch their swords in fear, ducking as Syrax screeched loudly into the air. You let out a small huff of a laugh, your father eyeing you from the side as you could not contain the joy of witnessing their fear. 

Your mother sat proudly atop the dragon as it bellowed, lowering itself to let Rhaenyra dismount, before walking through the men to come stand beside you and your father. She did not pass a glance to Otto, and his face held shock as he witnessed King Viserys crown atop her head. 

“Princess Rhaenyra.”

“I’m Queen Rhaenyra now.” Your mother spoke, “And you all are traitors to the realm.”

“King Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms.” Hightower's eyes slid to your figure beside your father before looking back at the woman in front of him.

“Acknowledge Aegon as King and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne. In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son, Jacaerys, upon your death.”

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Dragonstone was yours to claim. Dragonstone was to be your holding, not Jacaerys'.

You sucked in an angry breath, fingers curling into your palm sharply. 

“Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark,” Otto continued. Your father shifted on his feet, both hands on two seperate swords now as he looked at you, then to your mother, watching for her word.

“And all the lands and holdings of House Velaryon. Your sons by Prince Daemon will also be given places of high honour at court:” 

Your father stiffened beside your mother. You watched him in your periphery as you knew that these ‘offers’ were to insult your family further, especially Daemon, who had a long standing history of hatred between himself and Otto.

The Hightower continued, “Aegon the Younger as the King's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the King, in his good grace, will pardon any Knight or Lord who conspired against his ascent.”

Your mind was reeling. Your name had not been mentioned.

Had Aegon forgot of your existence? Or were you, as a woman not important enough in the Greens eyes to be given any ‘grace’ from the King.

Daemon itched forward sneering, “I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken, usurper cunt of a King.”

Your lips twitched into a smirk as you watched the prideful mask of Otto Hightower slip at your fathers profanity. 

Though just as quick as the mask slipped, it was put back, “Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the Conquerors crown, wields the Conquerors sword,-”

“Does Aegon even know how to pick up a sword? Besides the little one he stuffs inside half of Flea Bottom?” You sneered. Your father huffed a laugh beside you.

Otto continued as though you were not there, “-Has the Conquerors name. He was anointed by a Septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every symbol of legitimacy belongs to him. And then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses that have also received, and are at present, considering generous terms from their King.”

“Stark, Tully and Baratheon all swore to me when King Viserys named me his heir.” Queen Rhaenyra spoke.

“Stale oaths will not put you on the Iron Throne, Princess.”

Otto began to stalk forwards, the knights behind your mother clutching their swords, “The succession changed the day your father sired a son. I only regret that you and he were the last to see the truth of it.”

Your mother stormed forward, rushing Otto, his guards behind him reaching for their swords. Her hand grasped the pin of the Hand on his breast, ripping it off of him.

“You are no more Hand than Aegon is King.” She sneered, flinging the pin over the walkway into the depths below.

“Fucking traitor!” She hissed, close to his face.

You took two steps forward, as you watched the knights behind Otto become anxious, tipping back and forth on their feet waiting for a command. 

Queen Rhaenyra's shoulders moved with every harsh breath, anger rolling through her in waves. 

“Aegon is not fit to rule, anyone with two eyes could see that. Though I suppose with your one-eyed craven it may be hard to look past a man who falls asleep in his cup.” You growled, stepping closer to your mother.

Otto looked at you as if you were nothing, treated you as though you were nothing, holding your gaze as you heaved angry breaths. 

“Grand Maester.” Otto called, eyeing your mother again.

The Maester stepped forward, chains on his robes noisily clinking as he reached his hand into the arm of his robe. Your body twitched as he produced a sheet of paper, handing it to Otto silently.

“What the fuck is this?” The King Consort growled, as Otto handed an old torn piece of paper to your mother.

Rhaenyra faltered as she opened it, staring down at the worn page.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. No blood need be spilled, so the realm can carry on in peace.” He spoke quietly to your mother before starting again.

He turned to look at you, “And yours. The Queen wished to encourage you to accept Prince Aemond's offer in marriage.”

He looked back to your mother, your breath was caught in your chest.

You wanted to scream. 

“Princess Y/n would live out her days in the Red Keep with Prince Aemond, who is the second son of King Viserys. Third in line for the Iron Throne. The Princess would have access to all in Kings Landing and would be treated fairly and kindly by the Prince. Queen Alicent believes this is a way for us to further unify our families with the King's gracious offers. Queen Alicent eagerly awaits your answer.” He concluded. 

Your fathers voice cracked through the air, “She can have her answer now, stuffed in her fathers mouth along with his withering cock.” He threatened.

You lifted your head higher looking down at Otto as your mother shook her head softly, a tear falling down her cheek.

“Lets end this mummer's farce.” Your father barked, unsheathing Dark Sister from his side, his knights behind him following.

This set off a chain reaction, the knights behind Otto drew their swords, awaiting a command from the withered old man in front of them. 

You stood strong, unflinching in the space between your mother and father, unwavering from your spot. You wished to see Otto's blood spilled upon the ground at your feet. The viscous liquid could seep deeply into your pores and all would be well. 

“Ser Eryyk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure myself.” Your father commanded, Rhaenyra looking back at him as she stayed quiet.

Syrax roared behind Otto and his men, the dragon sensing your mothers unease. The large golden beast reared back, flapping its wings agitatedly. 

“No.” Came the strong voice of your mother, as she peered back at you and your father.

Prince Daemon sheathed his sword at her behest.

“Kings Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” Queen Rhaenyra concluded, before swiftly turning away from Otto and his men.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[cellsshapedlikestars]

do you plan out your stories in advanced or do you just start writing and hope for the best? I'm trying to get back into writing but I always end up completely deviating from any plan I made beforehand

My writing process is chaos, anon.

For a tl;dr: I just start writing and hope for the best

For a longer explanation of my process, see below the cut. Also, I feel dumb saying this, but spoilers for my own fics, especially the mysteries (which are better examples for plot planning than my romcoms)

1a) I get an idea, something super basic. Like, "time travel murder mystery" or "Sansa and Jon reluctant roommates". The idea then usually forms into a series of scenes or one particular scene in my head - for example: Sansa is dead, Jon goes to her funeral, later is questioned by police as a suspect, then time travel. Or, Sansa is already having a bad day and arrives at her brother's house only to find he's also letting his friend stay there and they were both unaware & kinda pissed about it, which starts them on the wrong foot as she threatens him with a knife.

1b) OR I watch a piece of media, go "wow they fumbled this great premise hard and I want to fix all the things I didn't like" and then I take the inciting incident and build my own story from there. (See: Doona. Business proposal is different, I actually liked the show, but Jon and Sansa did not fit the main leads' personalities so I had to change everything after the inciting incident. Plus I just find it more fun to come up with my own story than following the source material to a T)

2) this idea does not leave my brain, even if I want it to. I don't think you can force this step, tbh

3) I write a first chapter to get the idea/scene out of my head so I can get back to writing the story I'm already in the middle of. I post the chapter to exorcise it from my mind

4) this does not work

5) People in the comments are excited, which makes me excited! I obsessively think about it until I have a vague idea of how I want the story to go. Usually I have an end goal and some important story beats. Nothing is set in stone, and 99% of the time I don't even bother writing an outline, because I know I won't stick to it. The only "outlines" I make are just a string of ideas in the general order I want them to go in

6) I think of scenes I want, then work backwards to how to connect them

7) when I write a chapter, I know what I want the chapter end to be/the cliffhanger, and I write until I get there. Only once or twice have I had to cut chapters in two, but I try not to do this, even if the chapter ends up being pretty long.

8) sometimes you have to throw away ideas/scenes you thought were set in stone. Sometimes you start writing and those scenes Do Not Work anymore, and that's ok

For example, in mongrel heart, there was supposed to be this big, super dramatic showdown with Ramsay, like this big action movie scene. But when I got there, it felt totally wrong for the vibe of the story, so I went with a more intimate/personal final fight. The scene I had envisioned was totally gone. I had to add Oberyn kind of at the last minute, because I had come up with this elaborate world in the background, and needed to wrap that up.

For you on the run, I wrote the first chapter because "Sansa is kidnapped in a library" would not leave my head. I then posted it and had to scramble to come up with a plot. I knew the why, I knew I wanted it to be for Sansa's own safety, but WHO is out for her? I honestly don't think I decided for certain until she's back in winterfell.

In help me out of the shape I'm in, the bad guy was going to be ol' Bobby B, until I started writing chapter 4 when it switched to Joffrey because I had started fleshing out that case more and liked the horror of it being someone Sansa had "dated" more

Anyway, the gist is, I write as I go, and I go where the story takes me as I write. I'll be completely honest and say that a lot of the time, the excitement in the comments makes me excited to write and fuels my creativity. (this can backfire though. The few bitchy/negative comments on trojan horse kinda ruined the momentum for me on that one, which is why I'm not as actively writing it, despite REALLY liking it and thinking those comments were kinda dumb/narrow minded. And I'm not even talking about the rando anon who seems to have made it their mission to be negative on multiple jonsa fics, those people I don't even take into account. It was the ones from people who CANNOT escape a POV trap and make me so frustrated that I don't want to write anymore lol. I feel like how grrm must feel in these moments). But yes, the basic gist is: chaos and my obsessive brain that needs a creative outlet

I know this method isn't for everyone. I know there are authors out there who write an outline before they ever write a sentence, and they post their first chapter with the chapter count already out, bold and confident in their outline. This is not me. I could never aspire to this level of control

Anon, I hope you keep trying! Write those stories! Be creative! Remember the number one rule of fic: it's FUN, so have fun and write what YOU would want to read!

[feyhunter78]

WIP Tag Game!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

I was tagged by the lovely @cchickki

No pressure tag!!! @celestialsolstice @sassypossumm @dilf-superiority

So here’s a banger line that I’m intending to put in that Jon Snow x Lannister reader fic I just started:

“But he was not a poet, and he could not call himself a lover. For he did not have the skill with words others did. He could only say that he was yours, even if you did not want him, even if you fled across the continent, returned to the South and cursed his name for all to hear. He would be yours until the day his breath escaped him for the final time.”

And then a rough scene from the first chapter:

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again, might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

[reginarubie]

“Vengeance is a double edged blade of one doesn’t remember that it doesn’t quite coincide with justice.” Might be too early to tell but so far, I’m really hoping she makes a great ally based on this line alone. Really want her and Sansa to get along even though it’s probably unlikely given the political states right now, but may be after everything is settled and if they survive, a potential match with dorne? Or like Ned fostering at the vale? Their kids could foster sometimes in winterfell and sometimes in dorne - wow look at me already jumping to the end! I can’t help it the writer in me is like, make a fan fic of a fan fic!! That’s how enamoured I am with your stories 😝😝

also Jon named Sansa his HAND!!!! Without context that sounds weird. Anyways, often Sansa is granted the title as lady of winterfell or princess but now also has another role!! Why have I never thought of this, perhaps I just knew they’d be king and queen eventually that I glossed over the steps to get there. Arya also being commander of his battle guard 🥹 bran maybe in a master of whispers?? Rickon please be alive and you can be the coin master because Sansa is hopeless with sum, just kidding Jon has been practicing in castle black for this moment 😂😂

There must always be a stark in winterfell, I wonder who will stay? Arya to hold down castle defences or will she go with Jon as commander of battle guard? Jon for his safety as king in the north or go to solidifying trust? Sansa like last time to keep things in order and as lady of winterfell, or will she join as the hand of the northern king? *whispers* would be solved if rickon was still here, haha digging for a spoiler

-mystic

Hi mystic!

You are really invested in Rickon aren’t you?

Also yes, Arianne is very headstrong but she’s highly adaptable and like the Starks she has quite the example. Both Doran and Oberyn were prime examples of her conclusion that vengeance is a double edged sword but she also learned from them to be fair and still be ruthless enough to do what is needed.

I think she’d either be a great ally or a dangerous enemy.

My lips are sealed, I won’t give ya any spoilers as to how the alliance will, if it will, come to be.

But ehi the new chapter shall be here soon, and we’ll see more of the North and of KL.

Sending all my love~G.

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Completed Chaptered AU Fics (2) Masterlist

part one

88 keys (ao3) - bluessunset

Summary: After years of saving up his money and asking his parents, Dan Howell finally has a chance to attend a boarding school for musical arts. The only thing he dreamed of for years. But the experience is a lot more than he imagined it to be.

a night to remember (ao3) - tinyalligaytor

Summary: roxie, who prefers the label exotic performer over stripper, is a star amongst people who are out when the sun goes down. who better for a close-minded phil who has despised what he labels as lowlifes to suddenly obsess over than Roxie himself?

aka the one where phil gets pathetically hung up on dan, better known as roxie and is desperate to get to know him better.

A Rose of Winter (ao3) - Nefertiti1052 (Succubusphan)

Summary: All Daniel wanted to do was escape the stifling life as a Stark of Winterfell and travel the world. Between the looming threat North of The Wall and the den of lions in the capital, he unexpectedly finds love in the midst of a war set to tear Westeros apart. Caught between loyalty to his family and duty, he is torn in a thousand directions that all point to one man: Philip Flowers.

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

Between The Lines (ao3) - Koolhotsweetloveberries

Summary: Attorney Dan Howell is faced with winning an impossible case or loosing his job.

All evidence points towards his client being guilty. Except for critical evidence provided by Forensic Linguist, Phil Lester.

The man Dan turned down a year ago.

Dan the Personal Assistant (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Dan has to submit an application video to be an assistant for a company President, Mr. Lester. But what happens when he accidentally sends a wrong video?

Forever Frozen Still (ao3) - jestbee

Summary: Phil is a wedding photographer, capturing the beauty of people’s weddings day after day even if it’s beginning to wear a little thin. Then he meets Dan, a cynical and irritating wedding planner who doesn’t believe in love and finally, he finds something that inspires him.

hooked (on you) (ao3) - calvinahobbes

Summary: Rentboy AU. Dan is a hooker trying to make it on his own in Manchester. Phil is his customer who ends up becoming more involved than he expected. What started out as a business transaction ends up being something neither of them anticipated.

I Fell For You (ao3) - TheWolfWithinMe

Summary: Thrown out of Heaven, Dan walks the streets of London, caring about nothing. Absolutely nothing. Except a blue eyed, black haired boy standing on the edge of a rooftop. Angel!Dan Suicidal!Phil

In My Way (ao3) - INeverHadMyInternetPhase (BirbWatcher)

Summary: Daniel Howell is 21 and Britain’s newest star. He’s just been cast in the much-anticipated film adaption of Last Man Standing, the popular teen fantasy novel with a huge fanbase hanging off his every tweet. In other words, Dan has made it big.

Phil Lester couldn’t care less. He’s a stressed out PHD student working part time at a bookshop while he struggles to get into post-production. He’s 26 and still lives in a tiny flat on the fifth floor of a building with a lift more broken than it is in use. He loves books, but he thinks big film adaptions screw with the plot too much.

Needless to say, Phil is less than impressed when Last Man Standing is getting filmed in his hometown. And he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with obnoxious, arrogant, so irritatingly perfect leading actor Daniel Howell.

Just Like Magic (ao3) - waylesssad

Summary: There is a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Mind Reader (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's head was always filled with noise. He'd been blessed/cursed with the power to read minds, but not the power to control it. He heard the thoughts of everyone near him, and the constant voices in his head were close to driving him mad.

That is, of course, until he met Phil Lester, the only one who could make his mind go silent.

My Spirit Love (ao3) - MySecretsX

Summary: If you fall in love with a spirit who drains you both away, do you live together for twenty years, or stay alone each day?

Phil has lived in his house since he was born, but it was when he turned seven he met Dan for the first time. It's all childish games and the muse of a naïve brain until your fifteen-year-old son claims to have fallen in love with the boy you've never seen.

Is anything possible for love?

scratch bark bite (oh, love me, i lied) (ao3) - Tarredion

Summary: Music & Drama teacher Dan Howell has a well-known rivalry with his coworker, English teacher Phil Lester.

An unforeseen event flips everything Dan thought he knew about Phil and himself on its head. Slowly but surely, the grudge withers, and the two of them cross the line between enemy and friend. But what will happen when their true intents and feelings get revealed? And was what they had ever really a rivalry? Was it even mutual?

Sidetracked (ao3) - phanimist

Summary: Dan and Phil are both contestants on ‘The Bachelorette’, but fall in love with each other instead of the girl.

Siren Call (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Beware of the siren’s call, they tell you.

Dan had heard enough horror stories about sirens to be thoroughly terrified. He never wanted to go near the water, but as fate would have it, Dan’s father had to sign him up for on a merchant’s ship bound for the siren’s passage. Dan had a sinking feeling that he was not going to survive an encounter with one of the deadly predators. Those touched by the siren’s kiss were bound to drown. Except… it doesn’t go quite like that.

The Canary (ao3) - galaxy_ash

Summary: Dan is a famous singer called The Capricious Canary, but known as The Canary by his fans and the public. Phil is a paparazzo who hates his job and is assigned to stalk Dan to get insider pictures.

To Dwell on Dreams (ao3) - carltzmann

Summary: “Taking in the whole image, though, it hardly hurt. Watching this perfect version of himself smile and wave and talk to his friends, bathing in success and appreciation, Dan suddenly started to believe that maybe all that was possible, even with the confirmation of a terrifying secret.”

Dan and Phil meet at the Mirror of Erised.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

where we belong (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: “Only you,” Martyn says.

“Only me what?”

“Only you could end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a gay author who writes gay books. Jesus Christ, Phil.”

In which Phil is snowed in with nobody but the mysterious dark haired author next door for company.

[buttertheflame]

They say that fanfiction is all stanning. But has anyone stanned the source material to the point of getting distracted from writing fanfiction?

You know what I mean, bookworms? Just to give you a window into my oscillating thoughts: If my guy Jon Snow has returned to the Wall post-ADWD with his betrothed Daenerys Targaryen, yeah I'm gonna stan what came before and make shit up like crazy. The struggle is real! I love the romance of these ‘soulmates’ but I also love everything that makes asoiaf what it is. (Within reason.)

If I stan too much, I write slow-going passages like this:

Jon’s heart felt full as he left her side, his mind brimming with thoughts of their eventful morning so far.  My love, where do we go from here? He knew where he was going, at the least. He would find Samwell in the Flint Barracks. In the three days they’d been at Castle Black, both men had yet to break from meetings to tend to personal interactions. With the increasing days among the Watch, it became more strange to think of himself and Sam as former members of the order. He’d expected the feeling even before they’d left Winterfell, yet as he walked across the courtyard and felt the gazes of a few dozen black brothers upon his back, it shook him all the same. 

Yet another feeling warred within Jon Snow. On the right step he’d sense the men. On the left step he’d sense Daenerys. Her attention and love thrilled him, as like it had only one other time. On Dragonstone. Their home.

But if I hold back on the stanning, I write meatier passages like this:

It was hard to say if anyone took offense enough to the executioner’s blade hanging above them, for as often as the Northern lords, free folk and warriors large and small came up to the dais to present themselves, did the displays of fealty reassure her of Jon's leadership. Strikingly, the free folk never kneeled, but they did offer gifts, the most sobering of which were a pair of bearskin boots given to Queen Daenerys by a group of spearwives.  

She took them graciously and wondered if the wise men would believe the gesture had given King Jon’s uncertain frown a rosy flush. That he was charmed enough to tell her a tale of the hunter who’d fashioned them was welcomed with her whole heart. As she listened to him describe the father of two who fell to the Others at the event many had come to call the Passing Through the Ice, she wondered if the scribes of history would tell of this pair, the last he ever made. And as Jon sort of sat and looked at her for a long time, she wondered if they would believe she was hopelessly lost for him, as well.

So it's coming! If anyone has read "A Long Way Home" and is waiting for the next fic in the series, I'd like to get Chapter 1 up before House of the Dragon comes out in June. (Because of the competition, you see, from their very same Team Black forebearers.) That's the goal, anyway!

[fanfictiongirlie]

A Song of Sun and Snow - Chapter Three

Click here for Masterlist

Parings: Robb Stark x Baratheon Reader

Description: You and Robb Stark hated one another. Always had, always will. As the oldest daughter of Robert Baratheon, you had been engaged to Robb for as long as you could remember. He however had always thought of you as a southern bratty princess, and you had thought him as a arrogant jerk. You had reached your 18th name day a few months ago, and in a few weeks you'd be travelling to Winterfell to marry him.

Rating: Explicit (Eventually)

Words: 1,325

P.s: Just something I couldn't get out of my head. No use of Y/N. Only description of 'reader given: the fact that she doesn't look like Joff, Myrcella and Tommen (It's hinted she truly is Robert and Cersei's child) Not much though. Like one line. I wrote this in a different style to my usual style, using 2nd person. Hope it's okay. P.s there will be pregnancy in this, the 'reader' wants to have children. Also the ages are completely different in this fic then they are in the show/book.

You ran back into the castle, rushing to where you knew your family would be. The day room, your father and mother sat together, they didn't look like they were enjoying time together, but your younger siblings looked happy enough. You were red in the face and incredibly flustered. 

Everyone turned to you, they were surprised as your appearance since you had never looked anything but calm and controlled. 

"What happened?" Your father asked you, he slurred his words as he spoke. 

"I hate that man" You huffed pacing the floor "I do not want to marry that Stark boy!"

You family looked at you even more surprised, your mother seemed to be hiding her laughter, wretched woman... Your father looked angry, red in the face, granted he usually looked that way. 

"Why don't you wish to marry him?" Your father asked. 

"He is awful father, can't you find someone else for me to marry?" You begged. 

Your father studied your face, he looked red, angry, and mostly, fed up. This wasn't the first time you had begged to not be wed to Robb Stark, but it had been a long time since you last mentioned it. 

"He is the future Lord of Winterfell, daughter...It's an honourable arrangement between two houses, one I will not be breaking" You father spoke, his voice gruff. You knew there was no arguing, he'd never see it your way. 

"Yes father" You answer quietly. 

 Soon it was time for lunch, you joined your family and the Starks in the dining hall. The whole time you tried your best to not look at Robb. He had decided you looked gorgeous when you were pissed off at him. He spoke to you, trying to get your attention, his voice sounded friendly and innocent as he spoke. 

"You look lovely, princess"

"Thank you, Lord Stark" You answered, keeping to formalities in front of your family. He chuckled softly at your response. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes darting over your body again, he spoke in a low voice again, wanting nobody to hear him as he spoke to you. 

"You still look beautiful even when you're angry at me, princess"

"I'm always angry at you" You answer, causing him to chuckle quietly. 

"You know, I can be pleasant when I want to be. And seeing you like this, all angry, it almost makes me want to mess with you even more, princess"

You sigh unhappily, trying to concentrate on any other than him. You watched your younger siblings, all three of them, watched them eat happily at the table designated for the young ones. You'd miss them the most, even Joff, as horrid as he could be, was still your brother. You hoped little Tommen would remember you. 

"You can't ignore me forever, princess..."

"I can try" You whisper as he breaks you from your thoughts. He chuckled again, sounding low and throaty. His eyes kept roaming over your face, over your body. 

"You might try, princess, but you won't succeed..." He whispers. 

Finally once lunch was over you retreated back to your rooms, you'd be leaving in the morning for Winterfell, most of your belongings had been packed, along with a brand new wardrobe for the cold North. There was only the things left in your room to pack, small things you had collected over the years. 

Robb watched you as you left the room. He saw a golden opportunity and discreetly to follow you. He waited a few moments and travelled through the castle until he found your bedroom door. He knocked on the door. 

You didn't answer, wanting to be left alone, you'd assumed it was a random handmaid. They'd leave you alone soon enough. He knocked again, not hearing any response from inside, he spoke again, his voice firm and commanding. 

"Princess, open the door. I know you're in there" 

"You're not allowed in my rooms" You answer firmly. Robb couldn't help the smirk that came on his face. He moved closer to the door, still talking through the door, his voice was now lower. 

"And who's going to stop me if I decide to come in, princess?" 

"The king?" You answer smugly. 

"He won't be around to stop me, princess. Besides, I only want to come in to have a talk with you" 

"I'd prefer to be left alone" You answer. 

Robb almost growled in annoyance, no matter how pretty he found you, you still annoyed him. It felt normal to be annoyed at you, not these other feelings he had been feeling. But he tried to be nice, rather than tease you. 

"Princess, please...let me in.. I won't be long, I promise" 

"Lord Stark, leave me alone, I shall see you in the morning" You say sternly. He sighs in frustration. You were being so damn stubborn. 

"That's all the way tomorrow...I'd rather speak to you now princess. I promise, I'll be gone before you know it..."

You sigh deeply and open your door slightly. 

"I don't feel comfortable with you in my room, you can talk here" You say as you look up at him, his blue eyes sparkling even in the darkness of the hall. Robb smiled in victory. He tried to lean nonchalantly against the frame of the door. 

"I'm quite happy with that, as long as you're okay with me being right outside your room and anyone can walk by and hear our conversation" He said smugly. 

"What do you need?" You ask, rolling your eyes. He chuckled, he was just thinking about why he really sought you out. But he was distracted, by how gorgeous you looked when you were flustered and annoyed. How much he wanted to get his hands on your body again. He tried to stop himself thinking like that, but the thoughts still remained at the back of his mind. He spoke, trying to sound as calm and controlled as he could. 

"I just wanted to check on you, princess? We're starting our journey back to Winterfell tomorrow, and I wanted to see how you were feeling about it?" 

"Since when do you care about how I feel?" You answer, taken back by his question. You looked up into his eyes, seeing that he was sincere in his words. Robb felt a pang of hurt, he knew he had a habit of teasing you since he enjoyed rilling you up, but it hurt a little to think that you really thought he didn't care about you at all. 

"I care about how you feel, princess. I know you find it hard to believe that, but I do care. I just also like seeing you all annoyed and flustered" 

"You live to torment me" You quip up at him. 

"Can you blame me, princess?" He asks, that stupid smirk over his lips. "You're so cute when you're all worked up"

"If that's all, I'll be closing my door now" 

He had wanted to protest, to tell you to let him in, but he knew it would only cause more of an argument. As much as he wanted to come into your room with you, he had to resist the urge and just look at you instead. His eyes eyes roamed over your body, taking all of you in and imagining what you would look like on your wedding night. Beneath him. 

"Very well princess. Get some sleep, the ride to Winterfell will be rough and tiresome" 

You nodded and shut the door on him, retreating back to your room for the rest of the afternoon and evening until you went to sleep. Robb was left standing in the hallway, slightly annoyed that you had shut the door on him. He looked at the door, imagining you on the other side, and he wanted nothing more than to go through and join you in bed, hold you in his arms all damn night... 

"Gods, you're so infuriating"

Taglist:

@quinquinquincy @whatelsecouldgowrong

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Are there other Theon ships you like?

EDIT: I am sorry for this lateness anon. I thought I had posted this back in September (around the time I was getting survey related asks) shortly after it was sent but I just found it on the queue while searching for something else. Sorry. It was very sweet of you to ask so I feel abad about not realising I didn't post it any sooner.

I have weird feelings regarding ships in this fandom so most of the time with "ship" I just mean "I want to see them interact in emotionally intense situations of conflict, affection and resentment" but here are the ones I could think of in which some sort of romance/attraction/affection is part of my preferred dynamic.

Theon/Jeyne (already explained it here. Basically it's just that I am really into circumstantial affection, codependency and the themes of accountability for past misdeeds and irredeemability vs redemption. I like it at best when it's not outright shippy but ambiguous and open to interpretation. I always recommend Girl On Ice (and I won't stop now) but also I honestly feel that Little Brother, although the focus is truly on Asha and her anxiety over her entire situation in the end of ADWD, has probably my favourite post-adwd dynamic for them and it's even more ambiguous in a very tongue-in-cheek manner that I appreciate.)

Jon/Theon (Similar feelings about circumstantial affection but without the same themes. Like the idea of the two unwelcomed somewhat unwilling members of Winterfell being some of the last remainings of it. Also prefer it as something ambiguous and open to interpretation but with slightly more antagonistic feelings between the two. I like Jon but he'll be ultimately relieved to know Theon actually just killed the Miller's boys and that is not necessarily a good thing for me (although I understand and won't blame him for that possible reaction). I admit to being picky because I disagree with some popular takes about Theon having bullied Jon or them hating each other and I also am very strongly against Stark romanticism which often appears in fics focused on them.)

Theon/Barbrey (Everyone thinks I said this as a joke but I actually mean it. Their conversation during the Turncloak chapter made me cry like a child when I first read it and I haven't been the same person ever since. It completely rewired the way I perceive things. I like relationships that grow not out of love but hatred and feelings of mutual hurt originating from similar issues. I like the idea that she might at some point be the one to fully take the Stark goggles off him. Also prefer it as ambiguous rather than straight up romantic. This is one of my favourite fics ever and it sometimes makes me cry. Canon divergent ADWD where she takes him away from Ramsay and Roose (also "Arya" gets saved anyway, don't worry))

Theon/Kyra (Prefer it as horror from Kyra's side but mixed with the possible former feelings of teenage love they might have had. They seemed emotionally close and I can imagine she might have felt more for him than he ever did for her. That's interesting for me given what happens later on during ACOK and that she still tries to save him from the Dreadfort. I like the idea that when he kissed her on the other side of the river she could only feel fear and indignation)

Theon/Patrek (one of the more wholesome ones here and to be honest it only started really interesting me once Patrek was used as a leverage against his father and they literally tied a noose around his neck. I like it a lot more than I express. I like to think that the anger Patrek might have felt towards Theon at that point was somewhat mitigated or that it will be mitigated now that he has been on a similar position. Preferred daydreams involve small one-night reunions when Theon finally gets to go to the Islands and has to stop at Seaguard where Patrek is. Strange type of meetings between people who were very happy and close during a brief time that was violently and abruptly cut get to reminiscence about a past they feel conflicted about. I like to think their relationship would be re-contextualised given Patrek has been used against his father now).

Theon/Baelor (Absolutely no canon foundation which is weird given I am who I am but I have such a desire for a gap filler where the two get to interact during Theon's time in ACOK and Theon is able to see this somewhat well-adjusted version of himself that has even turned into a figure of influence and just feels completely irritated and hateful by the situation.)

Theon/Falia (Been ruminating on this for a long time now and she could embody aspects of the Kyra to his Theon and he the Euron to her Falia so yes enjoy it a lot. Although I've only seen it written once and it was in a post-ados ambiguously hopeful fic. Really liked it. It was very sweet. However on a long term not I'd really like her becoming a strange type of second chance for what he had with Kyra and him a second chance for what she had with Euron. Horny on main ironborn comes to take the castle of the feudal lord whose lands you live in and takes you, a lowborn woman who seems rather willing, to live there for a while and sleep in the bed of said feudal lord. Things change suddenly and you find yourself physically and sexually abused by someone you trusted.)

Sexual relationships I do not ship but read anyway because of interesting dynamics

Theon/Ramsay (It has to be fully non-consensual, full horror and as canon-compliant as possible. If I see Theon referring to him as "master" I am out. Also I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that erotically written stuff triggers me so it's difficult. Implicit rape/non-con mixed with the horrors of depersonalisation and contradicting feelings about whether he deserves any of what happened to him or not are very welcomed though!)

Theon/Cersei (Talked about it here. People take it as comedic and I see why and it makes me laugh but it only caught my attention once I started thinking more seriously about it and I weirdly enough I can somewhat enjoy it as long as the characterisation isn't purely hedonistic-cringe-fail-milf-hunter. Something I think could be interesting is if the marriage were to take place after Theon had spent a significative amount of time at the Dreadfort but hadn't gone through a drastic change in appearance and thus was not visibly weakened and hurt. Anyway, go read Broken Cage! The Cersei POV voice is perfect.)

Open but not fully into it

Theon/Tris (theoretically I think I'd like it and it fits into themes I enjoy. Both of them at some point pursue(d) Asha due to misreading who she really is and are questioned in regards to whether they truly fit to Ironborn culture (they do!) by the same woman who looks down on them a little. So yeah could be cool! but until now what I've perceived of it is basically "Theon gets a wholesome boyfriend who is kind of wholesome in canon too and isn't romanticised by fandom so he doesn't fell ooc!" and that's very nice and makes me happy for him but it's not very interesting to me.)

Theon/Jory (There was this really good fanfic back in 2017 Russian fanfic website and it has sadly been lost to humanity but it was good.)

Theon/Brienne (Irl friend proposed it as a joke but pre-ramsay he fits her type as snarky, fashionable, mockish young man and it could be interesting because he would be a tremendous asshole and would probably emotionally scar her. That's all I have to say.)

Theon/Meera (Quite surprised at how no one has developed anything complex based on his not very-pure-thoughts back in ACOK and their connection to Bran. Could be interesting.)

[cdragons]

Like a Wave, She Broke; But Like the Sea, She Persevered

A Robb Stark x Yi Ti fem!OC/Reader & GOT AU Fic

Chapter One: Farewell/Goodbye

Next Chapter

Author's Note: Hello, so I am very new to writing fanfiction, and also I have never read any of the books, but I have done a lot of research. This fic will be mostly based on the show Game of Thrones, but it will take elements from the books (especially for the characters Euron Greyjoy and Stannis Baratheon). Also there is practically no information of the language/culture of Yi Ti according to GRRM. So taking in mind that it is supposed to be inspired by "Imperial China," I used simplified Mandarin because while I do think Cantonese would be better considering how the geography is inspired by southeastern China, I need pinyin and can only speak Mandarin. I will offer translations at the bottom. Also for the names, I am not perfectly clear how they work so I basically tried to make a name using characters that I felt would have a lot of impact together.

Warning(s): This fanfiction will include dark themes of the following: sexual content, sexual abuse, violence and violent themes, child trafficking, depression, angst (so much angst), and dark/yandere attitudes. (Please comment if I had missed anything)

“I made it… I actually made it.” I thought to myself as I slumped onto the deck, relief flooding my body as my legs start to give out in exhaustion. I managed to get onto the ship just before it left the dock. I close my eyes and try to breath as waves rock me back and forth like a never-ending pendulum. The last time I had been on a ship felt like several lifetimes ago, although I supposed that it was true in more ways than one. For as I had so fervently sworn to never step foot onto another ship, I could not deny that a part of my heart was soothed by the familiar cries of gulls, the thundering orders of those and command, and the waves crashing against the wood of a vessel completely at its mercy. Still, I felt myself turning green, and soon 黛玉 (Dài yù) is curling up next to me, offering much needed comfort. I curl myself around her, and breathe in her fur. Her fur, whether dry from a nearby fire or soaked in red life, smells of cypress, smoked sandalwood, and spices. It reminds me of Winterfell, of the North, of my second home. Once again, I thank Lord Stark in allowing me to keep my sweet shadowcat when I found her as an orphaned kitten from a band of poachers that had already killed her family and intended to skin them for profit. As I continued to stroke her luscious black and white striped fur, I felt 黛玉's (Dài yù) deep purrs turn to breathing becoming deeper and more consistent to signal she was about to sleep. And just when I was about to do the same, hoping for sleep to be dreamless, I heard my name being shouted out in pure agony.

“龙力 (Lóng lì)!” My head shot up while 黛玉 (Dài yù) immediately became alert and ready to strike any figures that posed a danger to us. I turned my head to look at the dock we just left, and to my horror I found a figure so far that he might have been a trick of light. But I remember those eyes, those clear blue eyes. Eyes despite their clarity, were filled with more fury than any storm I had witnessed out in the seas. Eyes belonging to a figure that once stood tall looked broken and defeated, as if their shoulders had been burdened by the gods themselves, although I supposed in a way they had. Next to him was direwolf the size of a small horse holding his head high, and howled so forlornly as if the ship was a floating pyre.

“Robb.” I croak out, my voice sounded so unfamiliar to me. I tried to look away, but I knew if I did, I would never forgive myself. So, I gazed into his eyes trying to shout out every apology I could think of, begging for his forgiveness. When his figure disappeared, I turned around and let out a sob I didn’t realize was there. I curled into myself, reach to my necklace and grasp on the black pendant and pray to any god that would listen. 黛玉 (Dài yù) mewled softly before laying her head on top of mine, even wrapping her arms around me, as if she were a mother soothing a weeping child. I could not bear to see her blue eyes, so frozen yet alive with winter fire. I knew that sleep would never come for me tonight. So instead, I prayed that Robb would not let his impulsiveness cloud his judgement, that he will only focus on the war and freeing the North. I prayed that he will forget me and move on to find happiness of his own and to grow old and happy with a good woman by his side and his siblings all together. But above all, I prayed that he would let me go and let me be free. I do this until my mind blacks out, and a memory had played out as if I was a spectator to moment that did not belong to me.

~Flashback of 7 ago~

“龙力 (Lóng lì),” I decided, gazing at the stone turned dragon pendant handed to me, knowing the confusion that must be filling Robb Stark’s eyes, “my family name is 王 (Wáng), but my first name will be 龙力.” My parents’ sweet “小玉 (Xiao Yu)” no longer existed, she her lullabies were gone forever, but she will never forgotten, not her nor her parents, never again. But “龙 (Lóng)” had taken her place, it was born from the anguish of the small jade in order to a dragon that clawed out of anguish.  “龙 (Lóng)” was a dragon, and dragons carried a magic within them that could never die, not even when the world demanded it. My grandmother was partly right, I was not born a dragon, I was but I was made into one. As for “力 (Lì)”, that would be something of my own. “力 (Lì)” was a testament to my strength. Even before being a dragon, I was strong. I had a strength of my own that belonged to no one but me. And although it had been cracked and broken down repeatedly, it remained. The events forced upon me to realize that strength, however unfortunate, will not go unrewarded.  This pendent was evidence of that, that if a piece of jade can transform and be molded into a strong dragon, then so can I.

I turn and face Robb Stark, the boy I thought was a spoiled and obnoxious brat that had everything handed to him while so many others claw for just a scrap of his fortune, and give him the first hug that I have given anyone since my parents died. I hold for so long and tight that he has to push me away for air. I smiled with tears almost spilling from my eyes, happiness overtaking me for the first time in what felt like a lifetime ago. I kissed both his cheeks, and he turned so red that he tried to sputter out a response, but I beat him to do it.

“王龙力 (Wang Long Li),” I beamed so brightly, “that will be my name. I finally have decided on my name, it is the only thing that was not given to me but what I gave to myself. It is important, too important, but you deserve to be the first to know. I will wear this forever, thank you so much. Thank you so much.” I hugged him once more, and felt his arms wrap around me before tightening and even saw the tips of his ears turning bright red before Maester Luwin came upon us and I showed him my pendent and told him my name. I didn’t have to tell him the meaning of a name, his smile told me enough.

~Flashback Ends~

Waking up I realized that I was still grasping on the black pendant as if it was the only thing that kept me from falling completely apart. I should have left it behind, but I knew it wasn’t a possibility. If I had to take only one thing that could possibly link me to my past, from the youthful joy and spilled blood in Yi Ti, to the beautiful hope and horrendous tragedies in Winterfell, I couldn’t leave it. This pendent meant far too much, for it alone was the sole witness to my life (past, present, and soon-to-be future). It had seen every moment in the life of that once naïve and sweet 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that played along the warm breezes of the Jade Seas, the 小玉 (Xiǎoyù) that laughed to her parent’s singing songs of the Jade Emperor, the same one that witnessed her family’s slaughter and was stolen away until she no longer laughed, no longer smiled, and eventually forgotten her own voice. The precious and rare black jade that was eventually picked from the pockets of tattered rags to be used as a paperweight by Euron Greyjoy, forgotten by the shadow of a girl who was robbed of every joy and security that should have been her right from birth. A girl who became so broken, who’s soul became so lost, she carved through men with her knifes with such masterful and impassioned fervor and searched through the gashes with such sober and languid eyes to see if she could find hers in their bodies.

But it also witnessed the gaining of her strength, starting at the glimmer of remembrance in hearing an old lullaby sung by a mother with features similar to her own. Every time she snuck away to hear the woman sing, her eyes daring to show wistfulness as opposed to chilling apathy, the black jade could feel the little girl that was constantly struck down finally begin to stand and walk again. Every step that the girl took, the black jade that lost its luster from being forgotten had slowly regained its shine. Even when the kind woman that sung so sweetly was broken in, taken by the wicked pirate’s men and himself, her face with warm eyes and tender smiles, was mutilated beyond recognition, the girl did not fall again. Instead, her eyes held righteous fury and body was fueled by liquid lightning. Quick were her hands in drugging those men, meticulous and masterful were her fingers in slicing through their facial nerves, cruel glee dancing in her eyes as they could make no sound but knowing they felt everything, the sheer intensity and determination of her strength in hoisting their bodies underneath the sail’s pole. So easily could the black jade remain forgotten, once more losing its luster and shine, but the girl had decided that she would no longer forget the little girl in Yi Ti. Because although that girl was gone, dying the day she was sold in Qarth, she knew that the girl still deserved to be remembered, as did the people she loved that died with that girl.

With that decision, this new girl took only a blanket and the jade before changing into a pair of breeches and tunic that sagged over her body to prevent any suspicion of her sex, left Euron Greyjoy to venture to a new place. A place where she would meet a kind and good man, one who she would gladly devote her life in serving and protecting. She would meet his family, his wife and children. A wife that would take one look at the girl, and think her too savage and wild. But knowing in her heart that the girl was someone who would torture herself before letting any harm befalling her family. Children, all so different yet each one had a foundation of wildness, and were raised with so much unconditional love and loyalty that witnessing it had quickly thawed the suspicious girl’s icy walls. A place where she would meet another Greyjoy, but a different Greyjoy, a better one. A Greyjoy whose blood was Ironborn, but his heart would be northern. A northern boy whose blood carried the salt of the sea, but whose heart and soul were strengthened and bathed by the snow, the trees, and the winds of northern land. A boy who she distrusted before slowly and surely becoming her found brother, and she becoming his found sister. A place where she who had sea water in her veins, was not born in the biting inland North but the tropical breezes from the Jade Seas, slowly rebuilt herself from the ground up and fortified her soul with new memories, new happiness, and most of all, a new name. A name she gave herself, with the help of a boy with auburn curls and blue crystalline eyes that shimmered with wide smiles as he gave her the greatest gift that she vowed to carry with her so long as she breathed.

I let out a shaky breath as I once more closed my eyes and began to pray. I never prayed so much in my life before now. I was never one to pray, never one to truly believe in higher beings despite the stories of ancient and powerful magic I heard as a girl that I once believed in, the same stories I told to Bran and Rickon when they entered my rooms to protect them from nightmares. But my grandmother told me that there is usually no point in praying to the gods, because the gods never listen, and if they do, they will often do the opposite just to spite you. She said they had already laid out plans, and we were at their mercy without hope to change it. But maybe just this once, she was wrong. But maybe there are gods that listen, that will hear this unworthy girl’s prayer, that might grant her this one thing. I always thought I was a good granddaughter, always following and listening to my grandmother’s words.

I should have listened better.

*Switching POV’s to Robb*

As the Young Wolf stood there on the port, watching as the ship that carried his love farther and farther away from his arms, looking more and more like the broken boy that cried his heart out when his father died and less and less like the shapeshifting King that tore apart his enemies in the battlefield sung amongst smallfolk across Westeros.

“Your grace, do you want us to commandeer that ship in order to search for the fugitive? It isn’t too late; we can still hope to catch up to it if we use a galley with our strongest men.” Smalljon Umber tried listing off other ways to get to the ship, and was more than ready to do it himself. But Robb knew that doing so would be of no help to him. He knew what game his lady was playing, and he will let her think she had the upper hand for now.

“No.” Robb steeled himself into his full height and once more became the Young Wolf feared in the South. His eyes no longer full of sorrow as they just moments before, now they were filled with ice and a cold fire that looked it would burn you as horribly as it would freeze you in an instant should you be so unfortunate as to touch it. “Now we continue with our goal, marching to King’s Landing and littering the South with Lannister dead until they acknowledge the North’s independence and free my sister Sansa.” Gone was the naïve lovestruck boy, and in his place had risen a hardened leader that had a blade hungry for blood and screams. “But first we gather up the Frey’s and Bolton’s and call for their execution immediately. When Walder Frey’s and Roose Bolton’s heads are separated from their necks, I intend to make them gifts to Tywin Lannister.”

“Fly, fly, fly little dragon,” Robb’s mind hiding the dark whispers swirling in his head. “Fly as far as you can, but know that you will never escape the wolf you cheated.” Anger and fury had further cemented in his bones with each step he took to his steed. He realized long ago his feeling for his cruel lady love. He was enchanted by Talisa’s warmth and kindness, believing that she could be enough to thaw away your bitter chill. But it was all for naught, for nothing could replace you. He should have known this the moment he set his eyes on you when his father first brought you to Winterfell all sullen and feral but strong and determined. When bitterness and jealousy filled him as he heard you laughing at Theon’s stories and saw you two sitting together at dinner. When he caught you gazing at your black rock that you protected so fiercely and he longed to have you feel that way towards him.

“Ah yes, her precious stone,” Robb almost smiled as he remembered one of his most treasured memories, as it was the first time you truly smiled and it was the day you decided your name, “how could possibly forget that day?”

~Flashback to 7 years ago~

“My grandmother gave it to me,” your accent still a little thick when talking in Common Tongue, but you were making extremely good progress according to Maester Luwin, “she said that I would need it one day in order to protect me.”

“Why? Father won’t let anything happen to you while in Winterfell.” Robb thought this obvious, for his father was the strongest and most powerful man in all of the North, and it filled him immense pride and joy in being his son. His father was good and honorable man, one who always kept his promises to each and every one of his people as the Lord of Winterfell. “He promised you when you got here that no one would ever harm you so long you lived under the protection of the Starks.”

“I know all that,” you stated as you rolled your eyes. Of course, you knew that Lord Stark would keep his promise in keeping you safe, as Ned Stark was likely the best man in the world. “But I think it’s for something different, something bigger.”

“What do you mean by ‘bigger’?”

“I am not sure, but all I know is that my grandmother said that this stone would protect me when I would need it most. She said that this particular form of jade was only precious for those who needed it for its magic.”

“Magic?” Robb now rolled his eyes; you were trying to trick him. “That’s what old people tell kids in order for them to behave and not run in passageways and not track mud into the keep.”

“She said that it would lead me to my fate, to a place full of snow and ice and water with little green in the North.” Your eyes had a far-off look; your eyes only looked like that when you were remembering something. Robb hoped it was something good. “She told me that there was a role I had to play in this place, and that the jade would lead me to it.”

“But how will it protect you?” Robb was quickly growing irate. How could a measly stone protect you better than his father, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North? A role that he will take over as his heir, making you also under his protection.

“She said that jade protects your spirit and mind from harmful forces, but I must carry it with me and never forget it. Otherwise, it will lose its power.”

“But why does it need to be black? Can’t it do its job if it were white or grey?”

You shook your head. “She told me that it had to be black. In Yi Ti, black is the color of the North, and the North’s element is water, so that means black is the color for water in the North. I think…I’m not sure what she meant, 妈妈爸爸说她喜欢...” you paused as you realized you were speaking in your native tongue; your cheeks grew flushed in embarrassment. Robb pretended that the rosy hue didn’t look the least bit adorable, “I mean, my mama and papa said she liked to…babble I think you call it? But what I do know that it is too important and I need to carry it with me.” Your voice quieted down as faint footsteps crunch the snow behind you only to find Maester Luwin. Deciding that you were done speaking, you stood up and ran to him to see if he could spend some extra time with you how to read and write out Common Tongue.

In that moment, Robb had the most brilliant idea in the world. Truth be told, the preparations alone were remarkably tedious and was probably more trouble than it was worth for a girl Robb had known for a fairly short period of time. It took weeks of searching the castle town to see if any of the jewelers had even heard of “black jade,” let alone worked with it. It was by some miracle only performed by the gods that he half stumbled upon an elderly near blind carver that once apprenticed under a master jeweler who dedicated his life in studying the different practices across the world in the slums. However, Robb was not so young and green to life to expect such luck to spring in his path without something else in demand. But the old man simply asked the chance to meet the wearer of the finished product so that he may see the face of the person who captured the young heir’s heart.

“Though my eyes have almost lost their sight, make no mistake that this old man had lived long enough to know that those in your position would not go so far for someone that did not mean a great deal to you.” He spoke so softly as if witnessing a memory unraveling before him. “And if I had the fortune of my sight, I am sure that your eyes would betray what you deny.”

It took great efforts separating the stone from you, and Robb truly feared for his life if you found out it was him that took it before the product was completed. Thankfully, the old man was a master craftsman, with tools made of bone and fingers so nimble and quick you would never think the man blind at all. When Robb had presented the dragon pendent to you, you first lashed at him something fierce, but in seeing the work had your words failed you. When your eyes lit up and you hugged him so tightly that he thought all the wind had left him, Robb found himself unable to speak. When you had been pushed so that he could breathe, but kissed his cheeks with tears in your eyes, did Robb hear his heart beat at an ungodly pace. Finally, when you had gifted him your name with happiness in your voice, when you chose him to be the first to know your name, did Robb realize that from that day forward, he loved you. He knew you to be the keeper of his heart and soul since he was a lad to when he would become a man.

~End of Flashback~

When he had first awoken from his injuries, barely able to breathe, and you were sitting next to him. Your eyes were filled with glee as you reached for his waterskin and tipped it so gently and carefully to not spill on his wounds. As laid on his cot, cursing himself for falling for such a trap and endangering his men and causing the death of his wife and unborn child. You said no words, only when you so lovingly placed your arms around his neck, allowing his head to rest on your shoulder, did he fall silent. He sat up and held you against him with both arms as you laid tender kisses in his hair. When he looked into your eyes, and begged you to kiss him as he wanted you to for as so long, and though your eyes were uncertain you laid him down on his back, and placed your lips upon his. In that moment Robb’s world felt so whole and happiness had filled so completely that tears escaped and a sob of pure joy was choked out. He knew that he was yours, he always had been, but finally you were his. How happy he was when you pulled away and smiled down at him so sweetly, and you told him to rest so that he can gain strength to fight for his kingdom, his people, his family. How deliriously in love was he in doing exactly as you asked.

And imagine the confusion he felt when he had awoken expecting you by side, only to be met with his lost little sister Arya and his mother. Imagine the fear in hearing how you had left the camp as part of a deal to save him and his men. Imagine the betrayal coursing through him learning that you drugged the water you placed on his lips with a powerful drug that would put him in a heavy sleep that was meant to last a week rather than only 3 days. Imagine the unadulterated fury filling his body as he quickly dressed and called for his steed and Grey Wind to track your scent. And imagine how his heart broke watching the ship being released from its dock, and in a final act of desperation to see your face, he called out your name as Grey Wind let out an ear-shattering howl. Imagine the joy he felt seeing your body turn and your eyes gazed into one another, knowing you hadn’t expected to find you so quickly.

“You will run, you will hide, you can do whatever it takes to be away from me. It will not matter, for in the end I will find you.” Robb’s vow was further his cemented as he rode closer to his camp, ready were the words to carry out the traitors’ executions. “You thought you could escape your wolf, when really all you did was prolong your inevitable fate as his future queen.” Robb’s teeth clenched as he thought this, how stupid you were indeed. To think he would ever let you go now that he tasted your lips, felt your body pressed against his chest, saw your sweet smile as you laid him down to rest. Oh, what he planned to do to you the moment you were in his arms, his cock grew strained and he could feel it leaking at just the thought of him claiming you. He relished at the thought of gazing upon your naked body, laying kisses and bites upon your collarbone and neck for the world to see. He was desperate to suck and nip your breasts as he plays with your soaked cunt with his thick fingers. He could see it so perfectly, you begging for him to mate with you like the bitch in heat you are, begging for his thick cock to ruin you for anyone who even thinks to look at you. How you mewl so obscenely as he slowly slides his throbbing member into your tight heat. Once he is fully sheathed into your wet cunt, and his tip kisses the entrance of your womb, as he intends to go at an ungodly pace with you at his mercy begging to be filled by his pups. How happy you are when he releases load into your womb and praying to the gods old and new that you can be blessed with a child immediately. And how he intends to do so over and over and over until his name is the only thing you can remember.

Translations:

黛玉 (Dài yù): Black Jade

龙力 (Lóng lì): Dragon Force

王 (Wáng): king, but in this context of the story, it just serves as a very common surname

小玉 (Xiǎoyù): Little Jade

妈妈爸爸说她喜欢... (Māmā bàba shuō tā xǐhuān...): Mom and Dad say she likes to...

Please be kind as this is the first fanfic and smut I have even written, but still please like, comment, and reblog!!!

Hope you all have a wonderful day!

[howyouloveyourdragon]

ao3 fic rec -

i have just finished reading the current chapters of An epitome of grace by @beaconofthehightower and i am SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

pronouns: she/her pairing: aemond targaryen x snow oc warnings: 'bastard', smut, pregnancy, (mild) violence

YOU DO NOT WANT TO MISS OUT ON THIS SERIES IM TELLING YOU

IM NOT EVEN AN AEMOND GIRLIE AND I AM CLINGING FROM A LEDGE TO HEAR THE NEXT PART

YA'LL DON'T UNDERSTAND

I AM NOT OKAY

I AM NOT OKAY

MISS MA'AM YOU WILL BE HEARING FROM MY LAWYERS FOR EMOTIONAL DISTRESS

OBVIOUSLY MY POST CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!! SO SPOILER WARNING BRR BRR

Chapter One:

Growing up as a bastard daughter of House Stark in the north was not easy. Something Ylva had learned very quickly as a child, her Snow name a stain on the honor of Rickon Stark. 

i genuinely love that miranda has gone through the effort to establish bastard/trueborn dynamics, expectations and consequences

Cregan was the same, doing whatever he could to make her laugh or smile after one of the maids or servants said something cruel or one of her cousins taunted her for being weak and a girl, to boot.

pls he's so ahsjsjsk

"One of the kitchen maids called me a bastard. She said that you and my mother-" he patted his leg, a silent command for her to come closer. "I admit I may not have loved your mother, aye." He said after she had settled. "But I will not say I did not care for her in some way." He said, his hand warm against her head. "You are my daughter. My blood. Your name does not matter here." For all his failings, Rickon Stark had still been her father. She had been cast adrift when he died, grief turning her world bleak, having been closer to him than her siblings were, her sadness buoyed somewhat by the efforts Sara and Cregan made. 

YOU JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME THAT HER AND CREGAN'S RELATIONSHIP IS THE BEST THING EVER OKAY?

The ache of his death had faded slightly as the years flew by, and life went on as if he'd never been there at all.

establish the beginnings of grief >>>>>

"No!" Sara Snow's high voice chirped, followed by another giggle.

i love love love that sara is still in the story like a lot of fics use reader as a replacement for her which i understand but ugh i love siblings dynamics in fic

Aemond Targaryen had to be the loveliest thing she had ever laid eyes on. 

A quicksilver flash of midnight dark hair behind Lord Stark caught his attention, his hushed words trailing off. 

skskskksks pls

"My sister." Before he could reply further, the steward of Winterfell leaned closer to speak lowly in his ear, causing his brow to furrow and a frown to appear on his mouth. "Forgive me, Prince Aemond. It seems there is a matter I must attend to." 

PLS HE'S SO DONE LMAO

"Lord Stark named me Ylva."

again with bastard dynamics ahsjsj the fact that she would call him 'lord stark'

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen." Aemond admitted unashamedly one time when she had, his eye on her face. Fighting against the blush that threatened to cover her cheeks in bright tones of red, Ylva placed the tome down and stepped toe to toe with him yet again. "Careful, silver Prince-" she said, eyes gleaming silver as she pressed against his front.

PLS

THEY GIVE ME FEELS ALREADY

Father would've scolded her if he'd been here, if he could've seen her now, lusting after a prince. 

oOp-

 "I want to kiss you." he said again.

THE AUDACITY OF A PRINCE I SWEAR

"You're a prince. The brother of the King. You can have anything you want. Anyone you want." his eye went half-lidded as he looked down at her. "And If I want you?"

screaming crying throwing up

it gives me the fuzzies

"Will you give yourself to me?" Ylva bit back a cry when his mouth fell to her neck. "It's rather too late for that-" another gasp came tumbling out of her throat, this one higher pitched than the last. She shuddered when goosebumps erupted on her skin as his hands pushed her skirts up. "Aemond-" She held him against her tighter, gasping. "Say it again-" 

ASHSJSJSJS

"You will not leave me like this." 

👀

his fingers combing through her dark hair. 

i love this both in fic and irl fr fr fr

"Will you teach me High Valyrian?" Ylva asked, 

AJSSJSK

Wounds littered their bodies in the form of bloody bitemarks, scratches and a cacophony of bruises that painted their pale skin in violent tones of black and blue.

👀

Prince Daeron

PLS I AM SUCH A DAERON DEFENDER

"When was the last time you bled, Ylva?" One of the sweeter maids had asked her, after Aemond had been gone for a month

NAHHH MIRANDA? MISS MA'AM???

Chapter Two:

her fingers twisting a ring that Aegon had given her in her hands

THE DETAIL >>>>>>>>>>>

“A dragon's egg nestles in the snow…" 

babe really out here with the best tea you know that if i was in westeros that i would be demanding daily tea sessions

“The princes Aemond and Daeron and the dragons Vhagar and Tessarion have been sighted just outside the city, Your Grace.” 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (my underappreciated king)

He did not mention dare Ylva to his mother, knowing she would not react well to it. That she would see nothing past the taint of Ylva's bastardry and her Snow name.

yet you've been gone for half the year."

Feeling vindictive,

ugh i love when he serves cunt

"I'll summon you again, Erea. Tell the White Worm you are mine and mine alone, pretty thing." Aegon set a heavy pouch of coins in her hand,

suddenly im changing the first 2 letters of my name (okay but fr my girl helaena doesn't deserve that)

"Brother!" Aegon's purple eyes were dark as glared at Aemond, silver brows lowered angrily. "Erea! Don't listen to him!" Aegon shouted at her back, sinking his teeth into his brother's hand when it shot out and covered his mouth.

I LET OUT A LOUD ASS CACKLE I SWEAR

"She’s a freak.

Thoughts of Ylva a chain around his ankles

ooOOoo i love that

Aegon leaned his elbows on the table, attention focused on Aemond now. “It is when it’s all mother and grandfather speak of.” he said casually, as if he was merely speaking of some trivial insignificant thing. “Shall I order you to tell me? As your king?”

this bitch-

Aegon snorted. "He’s not a dog to be kept on a leash, grandfather. He’d bite and snap at us all to bits if he were.” Alicent sighed deeply, knowing her eldest son was right.

PLS--

Alicent blinked against the tears stinging her eyes. “He’s my son. Of course I have.”

my wife <3

Before Criston Cole put the conqueror’s crown on his head.

👀

"Do not ever-" Aemond seethed, stepping closer again. "Call Ylva that. She is worth a thousand of the whores you prefer disgracing our sister so much." Aegon merely let a slight grin lift his mouth.

ASJSKSKSK

 "I find I do not give a shit what our grandsire thinks. Not in this at least."

THAT'S RIGHT BITCH

"I see her in my head. I see she thinks of you as often as you do of her." 

exposed fr

Didn’t do justice to her at all. 

The blood drained from his face, leaving him paler than soured milk. The letter said nothing about the child she carried inside her.

OH?

"If you truly loved her, you'd let her go. Forget about her. My sister is not a caged bird made to sing for others." Cregan said, refusing to bow. "The blood of the First Men runs through her veins."

IS ANYBODY GONNA ASK WHAT MY BBG THINKS? HM? HM??

my lady Snow

the fact that he still calls her 'my lady'

"As if I could ever forget your face. Seared into my bones as it is."

I AM NOT OKAY

MIRANDA

MISS MA'AM

MOMMY-IN-LAW

PLEASE

WATCH ME INJECT THIS INTO MY VEINS

"No." Aemond said hoarsely against her mouth. He pulled back, flushed and wild eyed. It only made him all the more prettier, his silver hair bright in the dimming daylight. "You're mine. This is mine."

Cregan seemed to be unable to look elsewhere, his brow furrowed as he glared at Aemond with dark eyes.

"You were smoke and shadow in my head. No matter what I did... what I thought..." His breath hitched as her hands edged it down his arms, flats of her hands exploratory almost as she reacquainted herself with every inch of him. "The mere thought of you lurking in the recesses, the deepest parts of my mind with your face, your touch..."

MIRANDA THIS IS MEAN NOW I'M OBSESSED WITH THEM

One heart. Two minds. One soul; cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.

this is so poetic 😭

"You are my heart. My husband." To his nose and his closed eye. "Beating a song in my bones and in my blood..." 

PLS

“And I did. You'll have all the books you’ll ever want. Books and tomes and maps...” He punctuated each word with a kiss. "Don't forget the horses, Aemond." 

PLEASE THIS BITCH IS ME I CAN'T

“Not mistress, mother. Wife.” he bit his lip. “What did you say?” Alicent said, startled into silence. “Wife.” he repeated slowly. “I married her in the godswood of Winterfell.” Alicent paled and shook her head. “What? Gods be good, Aemond, tis not funny-“

to the barren waste of the North?

SIR??????

Aemond spoke over her. "Come here, wife." 

okay but the fact that she is given a title by him probably means so much to her, i can't imagine the amount of trauma being called a 'bastard' all her life would do to her sense of self

It galled Alicent Hightower to admit Ylva Snow was a lovely thing, watching the girl bend and kiss Aemond on the cheek.

THAT'S RIGHT WIFEY

"Rhaenyra!" he shouted, voice echoing in the ancient halls of the ancestral Targaryen stronghold. "You won't believe what the little half Hightower mutt has done!"

oOp-

Chapter Three:

An unfriendly place full of the ghosts of those long dead that lingered like wraiths amidst the ears that listened behind every wall and the eyes that watched behind every door. 

 spilling his seed again and again and again.

was when she would slip from the keep and into the spot where the white as bone weirwood was, kneeling before it with her hands clasped together under the red as blood leaves.

poor angel she probably misses home so much

The sting is only lessened a fraction by the kindness of his sister Helaena

HELAENA MY LOVE

what goes on in his pretty head

as she pressed a kiss to the left side of his brother's face.

okay but that's their thing i love it

"To Storm's End," Otto echoed, repeating the words tempestuously, as if he was not speaking to his king, but to an unruly child. "We need allies and Lord Baratheon-" Aegon thumped his fist down, scowling.

OH WOW OH NO HERE WE GO BESTIES BUCKLE UP

Helaena savored the pain of the rough stone and hard glass digging into her back, feeling him against her thigh, already hard as he mouthed at the expanse of pale skin of her throat, his fingers fumbling behind her back as he undid the laces of her stays.

oh my sweet girl

In Naerys Targaryen's case, it falls on a balance that teeters dangerously between the two. 

👀

Remnants lingered in the way she still smelled fire and smoke and blood, still heard dragons bellowing, the clash and ringing of steel. 

my sweet girl i just want to give her a hug

"How dare you," she spit at him,

YOU TELL HIM BABE

"Do it again," he demanded, 

It was a hazy thing, an epitome full of light and grace

"How is it to ride a dragon, goodsister?"

this bitch--

“Go back to Winterfell, girl.” was all he said as he turned around and left her and Alicent in silence.

"Did you touch yourself when I was gone?"

"Who are you to dare to touch a prince?" 

OH SHE'S DONE MORE THAN TOUCHED HIM LADDY, WHERE DO YOU THINK THE BABY CAME FROM? A STORK?

The egg that nestled in Naerys's cradle began to crack, tiny claws of black pushing from the pieces,

YES YES YES

Chapter Four:

miranda told me in advance that i should be scared of this...

A raven flew lower and lower as it circled over the ancient hold of Dragonstone, 

OH WE'RE GOING FROM HERE? SLAY

MY HUSBAND AWAITS

"A triviality?" Rhaenyra repeated, eyes narrowing. "My inheritance, my throne is not a mere triviality. He is a fool and a craven and a traitor-" her mouth flattened into a thin, firm line as she spoke. 

:( we didn't see my husband but it's okay i'll just manifest him

"That I fear I will wake from this and be back in Winterfell with Cregan and Sara and Rickon. Before you were mine."

don't give otto ideas, he'll pretend you went delulu

No matter if loving a dragon left her nothing more than a burned husk. A shell of who she'd been and everything she held dear. 

THIS LINEEEEEE

"Seven hells-" he cursed, mouth twisting as his fingers yanked forcefully at the laces of her dress, grumbling when they wouldn't give. "How do you do this every day?" he growled, letting out a satisfied grunt when at last they loosened. 

PLS-

"My silver prince-"

your honour i love them

"Goodsister!" Aegon's voice was

hide

before Alicent twitched her hand in his direction.

IS WIFEY ABOUT TO COME THROUGH??

not like Rhaenyra who hides her Strong bastards

nvm

 "You'll dance, won't you, Your Grace?" 

please i love her so much she's so funny sometimes

(but this bitch like me fr this is the type of shit i pull)

"I think you have had too much wine, dear wife." He said instead.

i will cut you

 "Anger makes you beautiful,"

THEY'RE SO FUCKING CHAOTIC AND UNHINGED AJSJSKDK

emotional rollercoaster every chapter i swear

miranda you will be hearing from my lawyers

"Ylva... your chamber... there was-" 

WHAT???? ARE THEY- WAIT WHAT???

The world slowed, the feeling of the walls all but closing in on him as the night echoed with the enraged bellows of a dragon and her rider.

MIRANDA

MISS MA'AM

THAT WAS INCREDIBLE

IM STILL COMPREHENDING THIS

[theimaginatrix27]

Oops, I did it again

Sooo the reason I was looking up DS9 characters on the Star Trek wiki is that. I may have. Created another Six/Wild Swans AU.

For reference, since I'm tagging the relevant fandom and I've not mentioned some of these on here, I have currently got the following AUs of this fairy-tale/set of tales:

The Twelve Crowns Quartet (original setting, books 2-4 of currently planned series)

Wild Swans of Domino (Yu-Gi-Oh-based retelling, not linking because early chapters are under renovation)

Silence (original short story, set in modern era, a thing in my files that I'm tinkering with off and on)

The Spinner's Tale (tumblr-based retelling, as-yet unwritten)

Swans of Winterfell/Swans and Lions (ASOIAF retelling, currently on the backburner until I can think of a solid plot for it again that I'm confident enough to work on. Last one had many holes poked in it by well-meaning long-time fan).

Super Secret project for friend.

And now, one for the cast of Star Trek: Deep Space 9, with Garashir as the central ship because oh my stars these two are fucking made for each other, help, AO3 fic writers have me swooning over them and I want them to be happy damn it they needs fluffy happiness after everything!

I was reading DS9 fics over the weekend for reasons, and came across a lovely little fairy-tale-flavoured Garashir fic called Innate Conditions, which I loved on sight.

And I'd already been having thinky thoughts about fantasy/fairy-tale AU with the above favourite fairy tale as the framework, and so now I'm writing it, and I'm 2700 or so words into it, and I don't know when I'll deem it ready for posting but I do want to try and make this one short. Please Prophets help me make it short, it doesn't need to be more than 15-20k, don't let it get out-of-hand, don't give me too many worldbuilding details please...

No spoilers for the ending (which I do know obvs), but how I'm making it work is Julian's parents do a dirty deal to entrap Julian after he's run off to be an adventurer for years and his party has become like a family to him, and curse all Julian's companions into birds (several different types, there are only two swans and they're the only married couple). Parents claim the only way Julian can free his friends/found family is to submit to their wishes. Julian then receives a dream visitation informing him there is, in fact, another way. But it involves nettle shirts and silence.

I can be timey-wimey in a fantasy AU, so Garak doesn't show up until Julian needs somewhere to hide out under a false name stay while completing his task, and the tailor in this random town I haven't named just happens to live in convenient proximity to the ultra-painful nettle variant he needs.

Again, no spoilers for ending.

Still not quite sure the bird selections I've made for certain cast members are the ones I'm gonna stick with but I googled the national bird of Ireland and it's too small for my needs/wants. Don't wanna think too hard about changes though, because that way lies stalling and I don't want a story this short to stall.