Hi! This is so I don't lose track of my fics so far. I thank you all for your kind reviews and reblogs, they make my day. Main is blueredwrites. Feel free to drop your thoughts be it in the form of asks, replies or reblogs. 😉
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✨️ Indicates smut.
🪆 Indicates possibly triggering.
🍂 Indicates angst.
🧸 Fluff.
House of the Dragon
Alicent Hightower
Oneshots
Crime and Punishment ✨️🪆
The Queen and you get along wonderfully. After all, the strongest friendships are based on shared interests.
Speak now
Alicent is not too sure of how she feels about you. Or about the fact you just proposed to run away. But she is sure about how she feels about the wedding.
Cregan Stark
Mini series
Seasons of my love
As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?
Oneshots
Cregan's Alphabet ✨️
A nsfw alphabet for Cregan. That's it.
One thousand ships
Epithets have a funny way of growing out of control. Thankfully, your husband has a way of seeing you for what you are, and not the myth attached to your name. Or, the nightmare of being coveted by a Targaryen Prince skips a generation or two, but you are never safe from it. Thank the Gods Cregan is more sensible.
Disagree(able) ✨️
You attempt to kill Cregan. It doesn’t quite go according to plan.
Harwin Strong
Thou shalt not covet ✨️
Prince Jacaerys comes north. His eyes linger a bit too long on Cregan’s woman, but since it is a mess of his own making, Cregan handles the consequences.
Oneshots
Win some, lose some✨️
Harwin and his wife have a disagreement over communication skills. The end result is exactly as the title says.
Lemon cake ✨️
Harwin’s wife is a tough crowd.
Aegon Targaryen
Oneshots
Daedalus
On the eve of Aegon’s coronation, both of you disappear. Your mother imagines a thousand scenarios. But were you really abducted by him or is it a simple coincidence?
Aemond Targaryen
Mini series
Death in four moves 🪆
Aemond and his new partner explore trusting again after SA.
Death in four moves 🧸
Whatever souls are made of 🍂🧸
MAD
Caught in the crossfire of your familiy's ploys, you never expected to catch the eye of the enemy.
Threads of fate
Muña✨️
In which you find yourself caught in a deadly game of tug of war between two dragons. Daemon, your husband, and Aemond, the man who promises to make you a widow.
Oneshots
Last man on earth ✨️
No one told King Aemond about the Song of Ice and Fire. As the daughter of Rhaenyra, you have one last mission left.
Categorical✨️
Aemond needs to blow off some steam, so you offer to verbally spar with him.
Last word ✨️
Aemond instructs you on the importance of protecting your virtue.
Push and pull ✨️
You just love riling him up. Especially on his name day.
Bouquet of Violets 🧸🍂
You are happy in your marriage, even if your husband can be quite hellish. It all starts to go wrong when a secret admirer shows up.
The Seamstress ✨️
Prince Aemond is your favorite client.
We light the way
House Hightower does not have dragons, but they have a magic of their own.
No masters or kings🪆
Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.
Unforgivable
Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.
Young Gods 🪆
History has a way of repeating itself. Ft. Hades! Aemond.
A Challenge
In which you are in a search for identity, and Aemond is in search for a way to prove his superiority to your father. Somehow, both of you find each other.
Daemon Targaryen
Oneshots
Honesty✨️
Daemon seduces his unwilling Lady Wife.
Mirror
Courting. Daemon's version.
Staring back at you✨️
Companion piece to Mirror. You have married Daemon. Now, it is actually time to bed him. You find out you have a few more things in common with your uncle than you thought.
Capital
You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.
A Thousand Words ✨️
You want to marry him. He wants to fuck you. The two things are not as incompatible as they sound.
Violent delights 🪆
As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.
Lookalike
Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...
Bestiary ✨️
Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.
Vūjigon ✨️
Companion piece to Bestiary. Daemon has been having sex without love his whole life. It's easy. Marriage should be more of the same, right?
The dragon has three heads ✨️
It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.
You wouldn't believe the things I have done for her ✨️
Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.
Gold rush ✨️
Your whole life you have been Daemon’s voice of reason. Tonight, you choose to be the impulsive one.
To conquer
Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.
The girl with the pearl necklace ✨️
You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.
Two ships
Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.
Clad in sea
It is not Harrenhal, what drives Daemon to the Gods Eye. It’s the memories of you and your daughter.
The Brave
A collection of first times with Daemon
Calvary
In which, after the battle of the God’s Eye, Daemon’s body IS found. Unfortunately, he is very much alive and your problem now.
Miniseries
Little lamb✨️
After the death of Viserys Targaryen, CEO of Targaryen industries, his heirs get into a legal battle over the validity of the will. It's a terrible time to start fucking your sister's brother in law. So of course, you do just that.
Divine intuition ✨️🪆
My take on modern reader meets Daemon
Threads of Fate
Pyrite✨️
A nefarious plot to place Princess Rhaenys on the Iron Throne leaves you, a handmaid, as the sole witnesses. Deciding to save an innocent life, you find yourself an unlikely protector. But Prince Daemon does not make favors lightly.
The night is dark and full of terrors
Daemon cannot understand Viserys. Trusting Otto Hightower was one thing, but a Red Priestess? His brother must be out of his mind. But if he is, why does Daemon want you so much?
Helaena Targaryen
Golden Chains✨️
Helaena isn't yours, but you are always hers
Rhaenyra Targaryen
Oneshots
Baby teeth
Cousins. You love them or you hate them. And Rhaenyra knows exactly how she feels about you.
Three-headed dragon ✨️
Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.
Doom of Ghis✨️
You decide to trick a Queen. It doesn't go quite according to plan.
Threads of Fate
Viserys Targaryen (Yuck)
The dragon has three heads ✨️
It's Viserys first day as a King. You and your twin see him off.
Summary: Prince Jacaerys comes north. His eyes linger a bit too long on Cregan’s woman, but since it is a mess of his own making, Cregan handles the consequences.
Warnings: Smut. Mature language. Jealousy. Cregan being dumb. Slight Jace x Reader, slight Cregan x Jace (if you squint)
A/N: Merry Christmas, everyone!
THERE IS SOMETHING delicious about your bare skin against Cregan’s. You are lying on your side, head resting on Cregan’s chest. He is tracing a pattern up and down your bag idly. His eyes are closed. For a moment, you think him asleep. You are near it, too, soothed by his warmth and gentle touch.
“Prince Jacaerys rides north.” He says, hands still rubbing your back. “Or so my men say. A dragonrider has been spotted near White Harbor.”
“And you think this rider is the eldest prince?” You open your eyes, only to arch an eyebrow at him. “Presumptuous. Why would we, humble servants of the crown, deserve such honor?” Your tone is full of wry irony.
“The description fits his dragon.” Cregan hums. His voice is low, husky with sleep.
“If the Queen is sending her sons, she must truly be desperate.” You roll onto your stomach, propping your elbows on him so you can look him in the face. Your shifting makes him open his eyes, amusement clear in his expression.
“I ask that during his visit, you keep to yourself your complaints about the monarchy.” You have always been critical of the Iron Throne. As a northern woman, born and raised, you have your fair share of animosity towards southrons and towards the Targaryens. You find yourself frowning. You have never been dumb enough to actually voice those things where anyone but Cregan could hear. The assumption you will do such in front of the prince is insulting.
“I am not a simpleton, Cregan.” You complain, your good mood all but gone by now. Had he initiated sex between the two of you this evening to soften you towards his instructions? “I can stay my tongue.”
“Don’t be like that, wife.” He tugs you a bit, pulling you over him and rocking you a bit before setting you back down. It makes you smile against your will. “I am attempting to ask a favor of you.”
“Beyond not calling for northern independence while the prince is in our castle?”
“Beyond that.” Cregan rolls his eyes at you. You smack him in the arm. It only makes him laugh, which prompts you to smack him more. It dissolves into play fighting, which is something you never got to do as a child because it used to drive your lady mother up the walls. You have two fatal flaws: you love to win, and you hate to feel like you did not earn your victory. It makes for a terrible combination considering your husband is a giant.
Only when you are pinned down under Cregan, pouting at him, and even more sweaty than from your earlier activities, he mentions it again.
“Do you remember when we met?” He asks you as he presses a reverent kiss to your shoulder. It would be more impactful if he did not have your wrists pinned down with one hand.
“Of course I do. As if I could ever forget.” This time, it is you who rolls her eyes. “You were hopeless. Had I not approached you, you would have wed whoever your uncle chose for you.”
“I would.” Cregan agrees, not a lick of shame in sight. “I did not really see the point in fighting him. Arra was nice, and before you, I did not think there was anything else to marriage more than that.”
“Huh.” You say, trying not to let it show how much you hate Arra Norrey. At the end of the day, you are a petty person at heart. “Aye, I suppose she is a nice woman.”
“Aye.” Cregan agrees. You scowl even more. He chucks your chin genially. “She is a nice woman. But you are my woman.”
It makes you smile against your will.
“Flatterer.” You kiss his arm, the only part of him you can reach pinned down, before biting down, a tad meanly. You find that at those words, you are ready for a repeat performance by Cregan. To show him your willingness, you wrap your legs around his waist. By the feel of it, Cregan is ready for it too.
“‘Tis only the truth.” Cregan smirks. “Now, before we get distracted. The favor?”
“Do ask.” You busy yourself by sucking a bruise on his inner arm.
“Try to use some of your charm on him, please. “ You look at Cregan, puzzled. “The prince, I mean. Do your seduction thing.” He explains, hastily.
“What, you want me to cuckold you?” At first, the words come out in pure disbelief. But soon, you begin to feel angry once more. Has he gone mad? He had just called you his woman. A few seconds ago, in fact. “You will find, I am not some… Some whore who will perform in command. You ask me to sully myself, to sully our marriage..!” Your tone rises. Cregan’s eyes dart nervously between you and the door. The servants certainly will have quite a lot to gossip about tomorrow.
“I am not…!” Cregan starts, tone equally sharp, before noticing the murderous look on your face. He quickly backtracks, letting go of your wrists. “I would never ask that of you. I apologize if I cast aspersions on your honor, even if unwillingly. Forgive me. If you allow me to explain myself…”
“I sure hope you do. And I hope it is a great explanation.” You say, impatiently. You sit up, beginning to gather your clothes. It is rare that you sleep in your own rooms and do not share your husband’s bed, especially if you have had intercourse. But it is never too late to start a new tradition.
“Just wait!” He cries out. “Please.”
You stop your attempts to get back into your nightclothes, hopping on a single slipper to avoid the cold floors of Winterfell, and stare at Cregan. Coldly. You can tell he is beginning to break.
“I do not wish you to touch him. Or kiss him. Only… Only that you charm him, so he does not ask much of us for his mother’s war. I have an oath to keep, yes, but we have an oath to the North as well.”
“Winter is coming.” You agree, slowly. You are still distrustful, though, and whatever expression you are making, it must be scary, because Cregan hurries to speak again.
“I would rather not send down too many men. Or coin. Those are men we can use to protect our kingdom, coin that could be used to secure our provisions for the months to come.”
“And you want me to what, fuck him instead?” It sounds too much like being a whore to you. Only, instead of performing for money, you will have to pay your husband’s debt with it. Which is the same, if you think of it.
And that is not even getting to the fact that you doubt you can lie with any other man who is not Cregan.
“I want you to convince him he is getting more than he is.” He gestures, vaguely. “Not kiss him, or take him to bed, only do your thing. You know, the one you do that wraps men around your little finger, willing to do anything you say.” Then, softer. “What you did to me.”
“I did not do such a thing!” You protest, offended by the mere thought.
“Yes, you did.” Cregan places a heavy hand on your shoulder. “You know, I spent years under my uncle’s yoke, thinking it was the natural thing to do. Of course he had to rule Winterfell. He was my eldest. Of course he should pick my bride; he was my next of kin. It was only when you came to Winterfell, and you said I had to take back what was mine, that I did. Somehow, hearing it from your lips made it seem like the most natural thing in the world. When you said we would marry after I regained my seat, I obeyed. Because by then, I adored you already. I would have done anything to please you. I still do.”
You do not say anything, but you soften the displeased curve of your mouth.
“It was not on purpose. I only wanted what was best for you. For us. Your uncle would have never allowed it.”
“Perhaps not.” Cregan steps closer, gathering you in his arms. “But I am just a man, and I only know that everything that comes out of your mouth sounds like the best idea I ever had. And…” He gives you a knowing smile. “I have seen you do it to my lords, too. Don’t think I did not see how eager Lord Bolton was to part with some men for the Watch after you suggested it, when I had heard nothing but denials.”
You scoff,
“He is an old man. I only invited him for tea in my solar and listened to his troubles. Hardly a seduction.”
“You have a rare gift, wife.” Cregan insists, sounding properly admiring. You suppose you could be persuaded to help; you begrudgingly admit to yourself, “I only ask that you use it to aid our house. I would be most grateful.”
“Grateful enough to fund my Weirdwood renewal project?” You give him a mischievous look.
“More than so.” Cregan laughs. And hence, you agree to attempt the seduction of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.
IT IS QUITE perplexing, Cregan muses, to watch his wife charm another man. The two of you had discussed the exact words you would use when addressing the Prince, and yet, somehow, hearing them is something wholly different.
Cregan knows the power of a clever opening phrase. He still remembers the day he had met you, after all.
You had been leaning against one of the walls of the courtyard, watching the men train with a bored expression on your face. Back then, Cregan had not yet mastered Ice, his uncle suspicious of him carrying the symbol of the might of House Stark. He had only been allowed to train with longswords. Yet, when his turn came, your eyes lingered on him with an expression of such curiosity it had made him feel like the most important man in the North.
And then, you had called out, your voice sweet as the taste of warm ale on a harsh winter day.
“Lord Stark, finally!” You had sprung up from your place in the wall, advancing towards him, uncaring of the men training. “I have been waiting for you.”
“You have?” Cregan asked, dumbly, because he had no idea who you were or why you said such.
And then, your laughter, musical and feminine.
“My entire life.” Turning on your heel, you had left him standing in the middle of the courtyard with a struck expression on his face.
The rest was history. Cregan had chased you, you had led him on a merry hunt before getting caught, and you were now the lady of Winterfell. But now, watching you deftly handle Prince Jacaerys, he was starting to wonder if he had really been doing the chasing.
“Lady Stark,” the prince bowed slightly, kissing one of your gloved hands. His eyes lingered on you, and how could they not? You were a vision of loveliness. Today, you had chosen a deep purple cloak that complimented your coloring, alongside a lighter dress underneath. The color choice was intentional, you had explained to Cregan. Not only was purple a color associated with nobility, but you were also the only spot of color in the white winterscape of Winterfell. Cregan himself was wearing his house colors, and all the servants were bundled up in dark, heavy cloaks to protect themselves from the snow.
You took off your hood with an embarrassed laugh, tossing your beautiful hair for good measure. A few snowflakes lingered atop your head. As if it were completely accidental, you apologized.
“Oh, forgive my manners. It is so cold in the North, my prince.” You beam at him. “It is great to see you at last. I thought you might be delayed. I am relieved to see it was not the case.”
“By the snowstorm?” The prince asks, and Cregan is hoping he didn’t look half as stupid under your full attention. Who is he fooling? He probably still does. There is a reason his men call him cuntstruck, after all. He prefers the term whipped. It is a bit more polite and accurate, considering the fact you had not bedded him until after you were wed, and Cregan was head over heels for you far earlier than that.
“By duty. It has a way of holding us back, doesn’t it?” You give him one of your smiles, those that make men feel like you are sharing your secrets with them. Then, in a move so bold and yet so quick that Cregan is left wondering how you did it, you brush a soft hand down the prince's shoulders. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Now, come in. We have prepared a meal in your honor.”
And you stride inside, leaving the two of them standing there. The prince clears his throat, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Um… Your wife. She is quite the woman.” He compliments awkwardly, and Cregan fights the urge to laugh. The prince is probably unsure of how to compliment a married woman without causing offense to the husband. Besides, he seems to be still impaired by the effects of your attention.
Cregan pats him on the back, all friendly. “That she is. Come, Prince Jacaerys.” He gives him a warning look. “She is not the kind of woman who you leave waiting.”
“I… I can see that.” He mumbles. This time, Cregan does laugh. This might end up being easier than he had thought.
The days pass in a similar fashion after that. The three of you partake in different activities, and Cregan is careful to give you room to shine. You compete fearlessly with Jacaerys during the hunt, and you wipe the floor with them both while playing cards. At first, Jacaerys’ eyes on you make Cregan feel full of a strange pride. He knows you are a very desirable woman, and it makes him feel good that a prince is infatuated with you, yet you come back to Cregan every night.
Yet, when Jacaerys begins to return your affections and dares to touch you, Cregan realizes this was not such a good plan after all. His jealousy flares up, ugly and desperate. Still, he can’t say anything to you. He knows it is not your fault. You are only doing as he asked. The thing that infuriates him the most, though? His plan works.
The Prince agrees to leave with only a few Greybeards and the promise of more if the war takes a turn for the worse. For now, you are safe. You have enough men to man up the Wall if needed, enough men to protect the keeps in the North, and you have not parted with any gold at all. Winter will come, yes. But the two of you will be prepared.
The triumph feels hollow. Cregan cannot get rid of the bitter taste of jealousy. Jacaerys’ eyes still linger, his hands still grasp at his woman. It is why, on his last night here, Cregan asks him to share a nightcap with him.
JACE HAS NEVER been a heavy drinker. Growing up with Aegon’s example had made him wary of indulging too much or being on his cups at all. Yet, he has grown close with Lord Stark, and the bonds and obligations of friendship compel him to accept the offer of a nightcap in the man’s chambers.
That, and the strange guilt he feels every time his eyes meet yours. Jacaerys knows he is not supposed to covet another man’s wife, much less when he is nearly married himself, with how long he has been promised to Baela.
Yet, it is one thing to know such and another to avoid feeling what he feels. Perhaps he is too similar to his mother in that regard, always falling for those he shouldn’t. He just can’t help it.
He can’t help but look at you, laughing as you spur your horse in the Godswood, set on catching your prey before Cregan or he can even reach it. He can’t help but search for you in Winterfell, craving your company in the same way Cregan does. He can’t even help that his stupid hands linger on you when he aids you down a flight of stairs.
You are a beautiful woman, graceful and fierce in a manner that reminds him of Baela, yet as charming and witty as her mother, Lady Laena, was said to have been. Deeply educated and a great conversationalist, with a taste for boldness, you made the perfect companion for Cregan. Not only that, but your hospitality was unparalleled. In other words, you were the perfect Lady of Winterfell. Had he not known yours had been a love match, he would have thought you were born for the role.
You would have made a great queen. The thought springs up in a forbidden corner of his mind, reminding him once again that despite all the rumors, Jace was a Targaryen like any other.
Attempting to banish such thoughts, Jacaerys pushes the door to Cregan’s rooms open. There are no guards stationed at the doors of personal quarters in Winterfell, a change he finds refreshing when compared with how oppressive Dragonstone turned after his mother became the queen. The door is ajar, and it opens with the softest pressure, quietly.
The room was dimmer than he expected. There were fewer candles alight than Jace would have expected for a nightcap, but the fire glows bright and merry. At first, he doesn’t notice the two figures tangled near the bed that dominates the room. He takes a step forward, and then, he sees you.
Your hands are braced against one of the bedposts, dress hiked up around your hips. Your bosom threatens to spill from your gown, the neckline tugged much lower than where you usually wear it. It exposes the tantalizing curve of your breasts. Cregan has clearly forgotten his promise of a nightcap, preoccupied with something far more pleasant.
From his position at the door, Jace can only see your profile, bathed in candlelight. He remains frozen, rooted to the spot by the sight of such beauty. Your mouth is open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed as if experiencing a delicious agony. You get jostled forward with each enthusiastic thrust of Cregan’s hips and brace yourself in such a manner that your back is arched. Cregan’s hands, big, manly, are wrapped around your waist, making you look awfully small.
“Good?” Cregan asks, and it feels as if he is talking directly to him. He takes a step back, horrified at having been caught. But then, you answer, and he realizes Cregan was never addressing him at all.
“Hmm…” You manage to say, in a voice that is not even a bit breathy. One side of him marvels at your self-control. He had seen evidence of your enjoyment, yet you speak as if you were having tea and biscuits and not getting absolutely railed. The other one wants him to avert his eyes. “You could do better. Deeper.” Your laughter melts into a startled moan when Cregan places an arm around your chest and pulls you towards him, making you stand up.
The two of you make a striking couple. You are smaller than Cregan, but you are as fierce in the bedroom as you are outside of it, and Cregan is awfully tender with you. A gentle giant. Beyond the size difference, there is something aesthetically pleasing that he cannot quite name, something that makes you fit as a couple in a way Jace has never seen before. Whatever it is, it is the most arousing thing he has seen during his whole life.
Your whole face scrunches up, and he can swear he can see a bead of sweat gathering at your temples. Your glorious hair is tucked behind your ears, and Cregan tenderly pulls it a bit in reprimand.
“Brat,” his voice is pure fondness. “Be nice to your husband.”
Jace knows he should go away. He shouldn’t be staring at you, at the way your breasts bounce with each powerful snap of Cregan’s hips, at the way your hand curves around his arse as if you want him even deeper. Loud, slapping noises fill the chamber, where skin meets skin. Still, unlike Cregan, you do not make a sound.
“You should be nice to your lady wife,” you tell him, shifting to give him an imperious look over your shoulder. “Aww, falling apart already? Very touching.”
Cregan grunts, clearly lost in his own pleasure. He lets go of your waist, only to tug his shirt over his head. His chest glows with sweat, and he pulls you even closer.
“Don’t be mean,” he pleads with you. Your face softens.
“Never.” You press a clumsy kiss to his jaw, barely able to twist enough to reach it. Were it not for Cregan’s support, you would tumble straight into the ground. One of his hands cups your breasts, and Jace’s cock throbs in sympathy.
He should leave. He should truly leave. A prince is not supposed to peep in the private moments his host shares with his wife, much less get so aroused by it. It is not honorable or proper, and he knows that if he gets caught, the scandal alone would be enough to place him out of the line of succession. Bastard that he is, Jace cannot afford any more mistakes. He has to be perfect if he ever wishes to sit on the Iron Throne. His birth already is against him.
Jacaerys is also not a masochist. He shouldn’t be looking at the woman he covets enjoying her marriage; it is a recipe for heartbreak. His mind should reject what his eyes are offering. Yet, curiously enough, the sight of a woman he admires being pleasured by another man doesn’t incense him as it should. Instead, he feels a strange appreciation. It prompts him to stay. He has always been too curious for his own good.
Cregan grunts, dragging his attention to him instead. He finds himself imagining what those hands would feel like on his skin, how it would feel to have that body hugging him from behind as he hugs you.
“Tell me you are mine,” Cregan says to you, and looks directly at the door. Directly at Jace. His cheeks grow red, heating up from the shame of being caught in the act.
“I am yours,” you say, still too focused on your pleasure to notice the staring contest between your husband and him. “Say it back.” You demand.
Cregan lets out a pleased hum. His hand drops between your legs. Jace imagines he must be rubbing his calloused thumb against your clit.
“I am yours.” He obliges. He still keeps up the challenging eye contact with Jace. And Jace, he is not man enough to break it off. He remains frozen, watching as Cregan works to bring you to your peak. “I am hers and she is mine, until the end of my days.” And the vow sounds strange, considering the two of you are northern and probably were wed under a weirwood tree.
“I am his and he is mine, until the end of my days.” You huff, amused, and Jace knows it has all been on purpose. Cregan is sending a message to him. “What, want me to say I take you as my..?”
Cregan nips at your nape, and you let out a girlish shriek, the first sound he has ever heard you make. You fall apart beautifully, finally overcome by your pleasure, smugness wiped clean from your face.
“Cregan!” You complain, panting, even as your thighs continue to tremble. Cregan has not stopped moving, and it seems like he doesn’t intend to. This time, Jace’s heart does shatter a little.
“Who do you belong to?” He asks you, tenderly hiding his face on your neck. His eyes, though, remain fixed on Jace’s, glinting like those of a wolf who is toying with its prey.
“You, Cregan.” And your voice is full of love, and your face of admiration. It is clear you love your husband. Cregan snarls, and nips at your neck once more, clearly reaching his peak. As he tenderly pulls out of you, gathering you in his arms, Jace takes his chance and walks away, unnoticed.
Doodles of the lesser known Targaryen princesses (and one queen!) 🩷
—- I drew this as a warmup a few weeks ago whilst waiting for my first phase of Western Blot (PRIMARY ANTIBODY I HATE YOU !!) and wanted to not post it but here you go because until I am done with this protein expression torture I do not have a lot of chances to draw 😢
Random thoughts about ASOIAF that I'm obsessed with at the moment (1/4):
An interesting thing about Fire & Blood (so Book! Canon, NOT HotD!Canon) is that Jace, Luke, and Joffrey are described as "ordinary," but NO ONE ever says that they actually resemble Harwin Strong or the Strongs in general, other than being strapping, physically healthy boys. No mention of specific similarities. The only Strong whose hair color is described is Lucamore Strong, who is blond, and we know that the Houses of Westeros tend to maintain stable physical characteristics such as eye and hair color. So I wonder if Harwin Strong was more of a scapegoat: maybe he wasn't the father, but as Rhaenyra's security guard he was an easy and credible candidate to point the finger at.
Another interesting thing is the parallel + inversion with Cersei: Ned, based on the children's appearance, accuses Jaime because as his brother, even before being a kingsguard, he can only stay with her for long periods. On the contrary, since Rhaenyra's last name is "Targaryen", to accuse her of adultery based on the children's appearance you have to find someone who can spend time with her even if they are NOT a close relative. I wonder: if they had been blond with purple eyes, would they have accused her of adultery with Daemon? Or maybe with Corlys?
I think it's interesting we see this exchange from Alicent and Rhaenyra:
ALICENT: You're worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.
RHAENYRA: I only worry for my mother. I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it's all he's wanted.
And then in the next scene we hear from Aemma:
AEMMA: Rhaenyra has already declared that she is to have a sister. VISERYS: Really?
AEMMA: She even named her.
VISERYS: Dare I ask?
AEMMA: Visenya. She chose a dragon's egg for the cradle that she said reminded her of Vhagar.
At first I thought that Rhaenyra was hiding her true desire from Alicent for us to hear the truth from her mother. And if it were just that- no shade AT ALL. I mean, why not have ambition? Why not want to be heir? Why not want to rule?
But I do think that Rhaenyra's emotions about being heir are more related to being loved and being valued by her parents. Her entire life she has not been enough- she has seen her mother go through all of these tragic stillbirths as a child and of course she would come to the conclusion that her mother's pain and her father's insistence on a son means that she is not enough. So there is already some resentment about the idea of a brother. But I don't think it's so much that, as Alicent says, she is frightened of the son overshadowing her. It is more that she is hurt that the pursuit of a male heir has been overshadowing her for her entire life.
I do believe her when she said that she hopes her father gets a son though- even though it hurts her, she would be happy for him I think. And it would be a relief that this painful pursuit of a male heir would be over for her mother. But then why does she declare that she is to have a sister?
I think that maybe it is to make Aemma feel less stressed honestly. We see how upset Aemma is when she talks to Viserys about the pressure she is under to produce a male heir:
AEMMA: The tourney to celebrate the firstborn son that we presently do not have. You do understand nothing will cause the babe to grow a cock if it does not already possess one?
And then after he tells her his dream again:
AEMMA: Born wearing a crown? Gods spare me, birth is unpleasant enough as it is. This is the last time, Viserys. I've lost one babe in the cradle, had two stillbirths, and two pregnancies ended well before their term. That's five in twice as many years. I know it is my duty to provide you an heir, and I'm sorry if I have failed you in that. I am. But I've mourned all the dead children I can.
This is so heartbreaking. Aemma is under so much pressure and has dealt with so much grief- and feels as though she failed Viserys and the realm. And so I think that Rhaenyra is trying to boost her mother's spirits and telling her that it will be wonderful if the baby turns out to be a girl. It goes deeper, I think, than Rhaenyra not wanting a boy to overshadow her. As I mentioned before, the quest for a boy has already overshadowed he and it is not as though she will be heir (or so she believes) even if the baby is a girl. Daemon is currently heir and I am sure Rhaenyra doesn't think that will change. I think she is telling her mom she is hoping for a girl so that her mother does not feel like she failed if the baby is a girl. I think she is acting out excitement and anticipation for a girl because she feels like she didn't have that for her own birth. She probably thinks that her birth was a disappointment for her father and her mother. Should the baby happen to be a sister this time, she doesn't want the her to come into the world as a disappointment like she did. She wants her sister to come into the world wanted and valued.
I think it makes sense that Rhaenyra would do this because we can see Rhaenyra's concern for her mother in their first (and last!) exchange:
RHAENYRA: Did you sleep?
AEMMA: I slept.
RHAENYRA: How long?
AEMMA: I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra.
RHAENYRA: Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.
AEMMA: You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.
It's interesting that Aemma says "I don't need mothering," because her own mother, Daella Targaryen, died in childbirth (they don’t mention it in the show but it is in Fire and Blood.) So she would have grown up without mothering. It also struck me that while Aemma tries to mother Rhaenyra by giving her practical advice about “the order of things” for a woman in their world, Rhaenyra’s style of “mothering” Aemma is to point out how important she is and to ensure that she is being taken care of- and prioritizing her above the baby. It’s sad because Rhaenyra is essentially mothering her own mother in the way she wishes she was mothered. Rhaenyra wants to live in a world where, as Arya Stark said, “The woman is important too!” And it’s a glimpse of how she would have mothered her own stillborn daughter, Princess Visenya, or supported a sister if one had been born to her parents.
If Westeros had a picture book to teach preschoolers the house sigils and words, Eric Carle would write and illustrate it. Inspired by Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?
You know I think a chronic problem with male ASOIAF fans is that a lot of them have never talked to their mom or grandma or any sex worker so they don't seem to realize that abuse and exploitation exist regardless of legality or societal values. "It's legal for Robert to rape Cersei so why does she consider it rape why does she feel exploited if it's normal and accepted" well you see rape exists whether it's legal or not, it didn't become traumatizing by virtue of being made illegal. "Why is Sansa so horrified at the prospect of Tyrion sleeping with her" well Chett it's because pedophilia is traumatizing in and of itself not because people suddenly decided it was harmful for shits and giggles. I'm sure you would know if you asked meemaw how she felt about grandpa beating her or her being married at 14 when it was still technically acceptable to do so.
"Omg I can't believe this cunt whore Shae wanted to be paid for her services and used Tyrion to be a gold digger" Well Brad Shae is a disenfranchised woman in a world where she can't exactly go back to college or do doordash, and Tyrion is certainly not going to marry her she kinda needs her own money. Him not paying her is kinda fucking her over massively so yeah she needs to keep the dresses and the jewelry to be able to do a quick getaway in case things turn to shit. I know Tyrion is your Bro but he is not in fact entitled to free sexual labour because he's ugly and sad. Maybe talk to grandmama about what she did before women were allowed their own bank accounts idk.
Like I feel a lot of women who read these books immediately pick up on things cishet dudes just Don't. Most these guys don't process that Tyrion first got Shae at swordpoint. They don't process that he did effectively skip out on payment and she had 0 guarantee he would or *could* follow up on his promise to get her a house or whatever. If it comes down to the fucking Queen telling her to testify vs him, who's clearly going to be sentenced to death whatever happens, why should she save herself. People roast Sansa for her fairy tale-o-vision a lot when Tyrion is a million times worse while being twice her age
