i love fanfiction because unlike original work the plot and characters are all plotted and characterised for you to use so its a really good solution for those “i want to write but i dont know what to write” moods it lets you focus soley on the craft and its wonderful
Sometimes we just want to explore the character, or even the world, in certain settings, plots or dynamics which are not shown in cannon. Sometimes we love the work so much that we just want to explore it; sure, perhaps "fix" or add something that would feels like an awesome idea.
Or even, explore an original plot idea that feels too daunting to start from scratch, so you want to "test the waters" before fully commit to it. In any case, I truly believe writing fanfiction is a wonderful way to practice and build a writing habit, and I actively encourage people to partake in it!
“Since then, she has been the beacon I follow.” He lowered the sword, for no truer words had ever been spoken, and the irony of their predicament nearly turned Gwayne into an hypocrite.
summary: Ser Gwayne finally had enough of the dishonorable endearment of the Hand towards his sister, the Queen Dowager, and decides to confront the Kingsguard. He did not expect to find such strong devotion beneath Ser Criston's behavior, nor did he ever thought the oddness that seemed to surround the man could become so twisted.
word count: 2k
genre/warnings (in this post): yearning, angst, mentions of war and trauma, political drama, existential dread, nihilism, ser criston being emo, gwayne being done with his bs, gwayne is married to my oc who is daughter of daemon and rhea royce (her name is alyssa, but I think I don't mention that in this particular scene), daeron is gwayne's eldest son, gwayne wields the ancestral sword of house royce, unrequited lore dump perhaps? also, this scene is a first draft so it'll probably have some changes once i publish the fic in the "right" order, that being said this is unedited and not proofread, i just wanted to get it out there to feel better, lmao. let me know if i should add something else here... oh, and english is not my first language ;)
spoilers! takes place in season 2 of house of the dragon, but also contains mentions to events that take place in season 1
notes: this is part of a series I'm writing, and on my (current) outline it takes place on chapter 11, but I wrote this out first since the inspiration for it came as I was rewatching season 2; the overall scene and dialogue is taken directly from episode 8, I only added narration and my fic plot to it - so it's more of a reframing of the scene from Gwayne's pov. as i said in the warnings, this is part of a gwayne x oc fic i'm currently writing, but this specific scene can be read as gwayne x wife!reader (since i mention him having a wife)
credits: divider by @strangergraphics, the pics are from the show (my own screenshots, feel free to use them, no credit needed)
130 AC - Somewhere in the Crownlands
He absentmindedly polished his sword, pouring his devotion in the steel because he could not pour it in its rightful place. Once again he inspected the runic inscriptions carved into the cursed metal, once again he wondered what they meant. Surely his wife would have told him the meaning if she knew, the thought came as it always did when he sat down to work the blade.
Gwayne sighed, throwing the rag on the table beside him, he’d only wear it thin if he kept at it for any longer. She surely knew… not only the meaning of the runes, but that he was out here looking for her. Before his thoughts could dwell any deeper in the memory of his beloved, a curious sight caught him by surprise — not further from where he was seated, he saw Ser Criston holding a rag.
Now, there was nothing wrong with that. If the dornishman weren’t holding the rag rather tenderly, and if Gwayne didn’t recognize the rag as the one his sister gave to the man on their first departure. Not only that, but it wasn’t the first time he caught the man doing so. Gwayne got up abruptly, unable to reign in his displeasure when facing the truth that reared its ugly head towards him once more.
He approached the man from behind, slowly and carefully to not startle him — although Cole seemed too lost in thought, or perhaps memory, to notice the threat.
“Do you think nothing of your oath…” he raised Lamentation to the dornishman’s neck. “Lord Commander?”
The man lowered the battered handkerchief. “I think of nothing else, my lord.”
He moved forward, walking over the felled tree to face the dishonorable knight. “Steward’s son from Dorne,” he said before he could think better, “fucking the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”
Ser Criston nodded, commenting in passing, “Former queen. She has broken no oath, for all I may have done.”
“I could send you to the Wall.” And, if the Gods were to favor his merciful heart, be done with all this madness.
“You could.” Cole said in that manner of his, “Stain the Hightower name for a generation… King’s mother and his Hand.”
“She is my sister,” he pressed the blade, feeling his hand tremble from the barely suppressed rage. How dared he speak of his sister like that, without shame or restraint.
Cole gasped, “She saved my life,” he said as a matter of fact, “Twice. Once from the headsman’s axe and once from myself.”
He couldn’t tell what Cole was getting to, the man irked him since he first saw him. Something about him just felt wrong, but Gwayne wasn’t sure exactly what; he had meant to let go of the prejudice, but then he noticed the shared glances between the man and his sister. His sweet, innocent sister, who had been used as a pawn her whole life by their devious father.
Gwayne thought now his duty to protect her from falling prey to other devious men. Not only for her own safety, but for the safety of the realm, for the safety of her children… seven hells, for the safety of his own family, if he was truly honest about it. He was a selfish man, and all his worries lied in whether his wife and sons would survive this madness, or be dragged into it and perish.
“Since then, she has been the beacon I follow.” Ser Criston said, the truth spilling out of his chest as if Gwayne had carved it out with the Valyrian blade in his hand. He lowered the sword, for no truer words had ever been spoken, and the irony of their predicament nearly turned Gwayne into an hypocrite.
He turned away then, unable to face the knight’s confession without spilling out his own. What would he do with Gwayne, he wondered, if he knew the truth of his presence there? Would he have sympathy for him? Would he aid him in his quest to find his dear wife? Aid them in rescuing their children from the hands of his degenerate cousin? Would he betray his cause for love if it came to that?
“Do not think I have no shame in me, ser,” the white knight said, “Desire for women has brought me grief after grief.”
“Then resist it,” he said, unsure if to himself or to the man behind him.
Ser Criston chuckled softly, and paused for a moment, before replying, “Oh, would that it were so simple.”
Damn it, damn him! “Your brothers in the Kingsguard find a way.” He berated, his tone biting.
“Do they?”
Gwayne looked at the man, incredulous of the claim.
Cole hummed, “Perhaps they do,” he pondered, clearly thinking of his next words, “Or perhaps all men are corrupt…”
Gwayne felt naked, stripped to his very bones. Criston Cole looked at him, and saw him, as the mortal man he was, not as the brother of a queen, not as the husband of a princess, not as the son of the man that once held the same position he had now. He found himself nearly in agreement with his sister’s lover.
“And true honor is a mist,” he continued, “that melts in the morning.”
“That is a bleak philosophy.” Gwayne said without hesitation; he would not allow this lowborn man to dictate his view on life.
“I have no philosophy,” Ser Criston replied. Then looked at his sword and grabbed it. “Or rather my philosophy was this.” He said, pointing it towards Gwayne, who instinctively braced himself. The grip on his wife’s sword tightened.
“To protect the righteous.” He fiddled with the sword. “And dispense justice on the rest. But now…” He carved the sword on the soft ground of the forest. “You saw what I saw…”
Gwayne recalled the first time he saw a dragon, the huge beast was beautiful in a terrifying way, but its true terror would only make itself known to him years later. Even then, afterwards, what terrified him wasn’t the possibility of him being on the receiving end of the flames, it was the beast going mad and taking his wife away from him — flying away to the ruins of Old Valyria never to be seen again.
And, as if the Gods didn’t have enough tormenting him, they gave his son a beast of his own… the egg hatched on the cradle, beside his little redhaired boy. His own wife couldn’t believe it, herself seemed to have more of her mother in her than of her father. Yet, both her and Daeron had fire and blood in them, underneath their disguise.
Gwayne had felt brave at the time, the dragon as small as a housecat, unable to breathe fire, unable to fly for more than a few feet. He played with the miniature blue beast then, if only to hear the glad sounds his little boy made and behold the sun in the semblance of his lady wife.
He had yet to see the destruction such a little thing could do once it had grown large enough. But he saw it in time, The Vale had a wild dragon of its own; Sheepstealer, they had named it. Gwayne was glad sheep was its preferred food source. The possibility had come to him then, but his wife had a dragon of her own to protect their peace of mind, and the wild beast never wandered too close to their lands anyway.
So, once again, the inevitable was delayed. He hoped it had been delayed forever, though. The screams came back to him first — screams from what now feels to be another life, screams with foreign accents and carrying the strong taste of sea salt.
“The dragons dance, and men are like dust under their feet.” Cole’s voice narrated his memories.
He thought he had seen hell when he first saw his wife’s dragon burn men alive in the Stepstones. He thought there couldn’t be anything worse than that. How mistaken he had been, how naive… his father had been right all along. Rook’s Rest had been a different kind of hell.
His gut twisted at the thought of it, and he gave thanks to the Old Gods and the New that his wife could be found somewhere in those same lands, on horseback, safer without her dragon. And a shameless part of him prayed the beast was chained deep within the Dragonpit, miles away from her.
“And all our fine thoughts, all our… endeavors are as nothing.” Cole concluded.
Gwayne had had enough of the dornishman, like his own sister, apparently the man didn’t know when to stop talking.
“We march now toward our annihilation…”
Silence reigned, finally. Well, as silent as it could get amidst a warcamp in the middle of a forest.
“To die will be a kind of relief,” The Hand of the King added, out of nowhere, and looked up at Gwayne.
He couldn’t be serious. Surely he had misheard the man.
He knew Ser Criston had seen battle before they set out to wage their King’s war, he had seen death and decay before. Surely…
“Don’t you think?”
The man lost his mind, it was the conclusion Gwayne arrived at, as to not lose his own. Ser Criston Cole, Commander of the Kingsguard, Hand of the King… had gone mad.
And it was this madman who was leading the charge against the Blacks… It was this man who had Gwayne’s life hanging on his treacherous hands. Cole, the madman, standing between Gwayne and his wife.
They looked at each other, but now Ser Criston no longer saw an equal, Gwayne realized, he saw a dead man walking; and Gwayne himself saw not a fellow knight, but the maker of their demise… a mortal man raised to the place that rightfully should only belong to the Gods.
Cole went back to cleaning his sword. And Gwayne found that his thoughts got lost somewhere between his mind and his mouth.
His heart felt heavier than he had ever felt, a new kind of terror, more insidious, but no less real. He closed his mouth, chewing on his bottom lip — a nervous habit since he was a kid — and looked around the camp.
He no longer saw brothers-in-arms, his subordinates, or men at the service of the Crown; he saw dead men.
Dead men, all of them. Dead men awaiting for the order to march to the place of their final rest.
He sat beside the mad knight, still holding Lamentation in his right hand. He had never understood the sword’s name; for an ancestral sword he thought the name was grim and poorly translated the values of House Royce, values he came to know intimately after living in Runestone with his lady wife for a few years.
Sure, those felled by the sword would lament their demise, and their families would lament their loss. But the name never felt quite right, because it didn’t fit the view Gwayne had of knighthood, of battle, or even of death. Like the ancestral sword of his own house, Vigilance, which now was wielded by his twat of a cousin. Or Blackfyre, the sword that now belonged to his nephew, King Aegon II.
He took in the forest around him, the sounds of life that mimicked its rhythm. Ephemeral, they were. Short, no matter how loud; or subtle, or piercing, or gentle, or threatening. They were all quick to come alive, and quicker to find their end. He might understand the name of the sword he carried now, after Ser Criston’s less than savory speech.
Lamentation… What a meaningful name to give a sword, indeed.
Death, Gwayne thought to himself; to lament means to carry death around in the shape of grief or sorrow. He held the sword with both hands, taking a good look at the strange veins in the metal, and the stranger inscriptions from a tongue that were once common, but now few and fewer spoke.
To wield a sword is to lament for the failed deeds of life. It had nothing to do with the notions of knighthood he had learned as a squire. Perhaps he too was as naive as his sister, and clung to the easier truth because certainly the harder would destroy him as easily as dragonfire.
Closing note: again this was purely indulgent, and more an exercise in writing than anything. I wrote this while actively watching the scene, which I also had to replay several times to get all the dialogue and details right; which in turn had me noticing the amazing acting and the scene landed even more poignantly than in the first time I watched it. I had the idea for this fic because of Gwayne's micro facial expressions, and overall vibe, it immediately gave me the idea that he had an ulterior motive for having joined Ser Criston and then the plot came naturally after that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this. And I most definitively will continue to write it, since this wip is once again my current hyperfixation. If you feel inclined, let me know your thoughts on the original scene, and how this reframe changed your perspective on it!
Please, do not feed my work into any AI, nor repost here or into any other platform, I do not consent to that! You can reblog and like if you want to express how much you enjoyed it, the interaction is appreciated.
I just had the most random dream (insomanic delirium) ever, where I was the creator of a show that was a parody of House of the Dragon, but all the "Targaryen family" were black people and they lived in a mansion with some huge gardens, and the actual Targaryen characters (with valyrian features) were their servants and like the caretakers of the mansion - which was probably the palace of Versailles now that I think about it, but like in modern times.
I think the plot was that the French Revolution never happened, or happened but the royal family remained like the British one. And the show was like some 90s sitcom vibes mixed with Bridgerton vibes? No idea tbh.
At some point the dream became the actual show, like instead of a show it was reality, and I was Helaena, who was a maid for one of the princesses or for the queen, so I got to dress better. And Aemond was a gardener in the palace, and also my brother, but he fancied me and forced himself on me but like with a corruption kink lmao. At this point my sleep deprived mind was like, I want ginger boy (aka Gwayne) why are you (Aemond) here?
I guess I've been trying to find a good fic, and inadvertently reading too many darkfics about Aerion and some other random shit, because my lazy ass keeps scrolling the "for you" tab instead of actually searching the tag... Or writing my 10035 wips. *sighs*
ps: tagging the mentioned characters because this might give a fic idea to some, so we can have some variety around these parts.
Edit (07/26/2026): I actually feel like writing this - Gods help me - but I have soooo many wips already. If you have any head-cannons for this story feel free to send me in an ask! I'll write my own down and once I have enough substance I'll start molding it into something, lol.
Mike Winchell: You ever feel cursed, Coach? Like, no matter what, inside your heart you feel that you're gonna lose. Like something's hanging over you, following you like a witch or a demon that just... I feel like that all the time. Even when things are going good. When we're winnin', it's there. And when we're losin', it's there.
Coach Gary Gaines: It took me a long time to realize that, uh, there ain't much difference between winnin' and losin', except for how the outside world treats you. But inside you, it's about all the same. It really is. Fact of the matter is, I believe that, uh, our only curses are the ones that are self-imposed. You know what I'm sayin'? We, all of us, dig our own holes.
anon in my inbox said fanfic writers who wrote about dark and taboo topics were not “real writers” because of what they wrote about.
reblog if you believe anon is wrong and writers are writers, no matter what they write about. no matter how they portray these taboo topics.
reblog if you believe art can be about topics that are controversial, taboo or outright disturbing, and artists who create controversial, taboo or outright disturbing art are as valid as artists who create art of conservative values.
So i have a rough idea for a akotsk fic that I've been toying with for a while now, but unfortunately while trying to straighten it out, more ideas sprouted - so now it's an even bigger mess.
My initial idea was an Aerion x Daenora (his cannon wife) fic, but with a different timeline, and she would be not only Baelor's daughter but also the first grandchild of Daeron II. So she would be expected to marry her brother Valarr, but she was a restless wild little thing - i think we can say similar to Arya Stark in GOT but add the dragon dreams. So due to her mother's frail health after the birth of Matarys, she is sent away to Blackhaven to accompany them - she was around twelve at this time. And they only come back to the capital for Valarr's coming of age birthday, which she knows is when the king will want to announce their betrothal. She refuses to be a pawn and starts planning a way out of it.
Now here's the thing, she is as deranged and mad as Aerion, but unlike him she uses a mask and the whole realm think she is the perfect princess, her father's daughter really, they call her Daenora The Fair - basically Margery Tyrell coded, but with the darkest twist. Anyway, she tries to seduce Daeron to marry her but he rejects her saying she's better off marrying Valarr. So she turns to Aerion, who was already obsessed with her since childhood, and she convinces him to run away to dragonstone and marry there "in secret". I'm also sucker for reincarnation AUs so this was a nod to Rhaenyra x Daemon and the whole "then take me to dragonstone and make me your wife" discussion they have during her wedding to forgot his name velaryon. But she would be daemon and aerion would be rhaenyra - i also "headcanon" that aerion's whole "i am a dragon" is like him dreaming of SPOILERS! rhaenyra's end. Ifykyk. And he was terrified of dragons as a kid but maekar told him he was the dragon in the dream, like trying to soothe him, and aerion took that and ran with it lmao. Poor kid.
BUT that be too easy wouldn't? And after the tournament it kind of feels pointless because there is no plot that screams at me "i will haunt you until you die" or a similar existential threat. I thought of merging timelines, like making she travel to lys with aerion and somehow the two maniacs managed to bring back dragons and plan to build the new valyrian empire lmao. But that feels like a too great of an endeavor and i don't have time nor patience for it.
So with my wit and cunning I thought, hey, why don't i make this even more twisted and deranged? So now my idea is to have daenora literally lose her mind for a second after her father's death, and because she is a dragon dreamer she had seen her father die years prior, and before the tourney she saw aerion die, and after years of being gaslighted by her entire family - except daeron - her dream came true and her father was dead now. So she kind of disassociates to both cope with her worst nightmare coming true and also the doomed reality that there's nothing she can do to prevent aerion's death or to save him, so she just shuts down and basically acts like he has already died.
But here's where the twist comes in, she is caught between reality and dream and she no longer knows which is which, so the day before they leave Ashford, Maekar approaches her to idk apologize for killing her father and for failing at rising aerion to be a decent human? But she only replies with nonsense while staring at the flames in the fireplace, but then maekar makes the mortal mistake of touching her to call her attention or smth and when she looks at him she sees aerion. Like she sees maekar but she thinks it's "aerion returned from the dead" and that maybe he never died, maybe it was all in her head. So she breaks down and huggs him while saying my love or something and maekar is frozen in shock. And there is something in her and in that moment that makes him remember his wife, and it breaks something in him too, so he hugs her back softly. But then she kisses him. But no spoilers because i want to write this after all.
So the new idea is that after this weird experience maekar is like - i have failed too much and i don't want to fail anymore. So he decides that aerion is responsible for the mental state his wife is in, so he sends him to lys to protect her from him - because remember, they all think she is a sweet little thing, so innocent and pure, and that aerion was the one who basically kidnapped her and forced her to marry him. When in truth it was her plan all along, so it's basically she is the brains and aerion is the muscle and they're equally insane.
And the idea is for her to like corrupt maekar basically, so they end up having an affair; she feels drawn to him because he is the lifeline of a life that deep down she knows she'll never get to live with aerion. And he feels drawn to her because she reminds him of his late wife, and he misses her so much he starts to tell himself that maybe her ghost possessed daenora's body or something lmao. So they're both using each other. Angst, just angst. And smut of course.
But to make it even more angsty, i thought, hey why we don't throw our sadboy king in the mix? But just having her seduce daeron and them use each other as a safe haven from the dragon dreams isn't enough. So i thought, maybe they should be married instead. And she kind of cheated on him with aerion all along, because they are insane for each other and deep down everyone knew about it but no one said anything because, well idk why no one said anything, but everyone pretended that it wasn't happening. Daeron also didn't gave a shit, maybe he was even glad she had aerion despite how twisted he knew his brother could be. However when Baelor dies and she unhinges in real time in front of him - and the whole of Ashford as well - he gets incredibly protective over her. I don't think possessive but he just wants to take her away from all of that and live somewhere in peace. Ngl lowkey imagined them having a "picnic" under a tree on a meadow and it was so sweet but so sad. Also, Daeron and Daenora - hello? They were made for each other, their names literally say so.
But yeah she woud still have an affair with maekar, and aerion is still a menace just waiting to return from lys. Not sure how long the fic would be though. Gods why can't i just write a one-shot, why do i have to turn everything into the count of monte cristo.
Another idea, which doesn't exactly substitutes the mentioned previously, is a "the dragons survived" au and reader is the oldest child of the king and also a dragonrider, but to prevent another dance the king marries her off to the north - so she is lady stark, and this would also change the cannon events of the north during this period. She also fought in the first blackfyre rebellion and she's like badass like rhaenys - rip you'll always be the queen in/of my heart. She goes to Ashford in her dragon after many years of not seeing her family, and she and maekar are still down bad for each other. But now he or both are widowers - wiggle eyebrows. This would probably be a one shot with an alternative timeline - no one fucking dies okay - because I'm not sure where to got from here? Like the idead i have would take too long to write and way too much brainpower which i unfortunately do not have to spare atm. To write longer I'd rather her not be a widower, but then the fic wouldn't be only a maekar x reader anymore, and I'd have to find a lord stark to fawn over. I could insert benjen stark here, there's so fee fics of him and i do have a few ideas for fics with him, so i guess i could tie the ideas together and make it work.
So i ask you, dear reader:
which idea would you like to read the most?
og aerion x daenora (rebuilding valyria)
aerion x daenora x maekar (twisted affairs)
daeron x daenora x aerion (dreams of ash)
dragonrider!lady stark x maekar (still you)
benjen stark x lady stark x maekar (a (worthy) mess)
Voting ended onJun 28
Even if you don't want to read it, please vote for the option that seem more interesting to you. I just need help narrowing down the ideas. Also, feel free to share your thoughts about the plot(s) if you see a way out of this huge mess i made. Thank you.
I can finally go to sleep now. Maybe I'll start writing about my wips instead of actually writing my wips.
Me waiting three days for the poll results, holding myself back from voting to know what the results will look like:
FINALLY, the Poll result:
Oh you guys are nasty, lmao.
So, my subjects - which are actually who rule the empire - passed the sentence and I'm here to act on it.
Therefore, first I'll work on "Still You", that's the working title btw, a one shot dragonrider!lady stark x maekar. And I can proudly share that I have already started it - yesterday when I should be sleeping. Maybe I'll let you peak once I transcribe it from my phone notes to my ASOIAF fics doc. (yes, I have a sole doc dedicated to fics for this fandom, shoot me).
Since I'm still not sure where to take the plot, it'll be a one shot for now... maaybe I can turn it into a series, but it really depends on whether I have enough brainpower to come up with an extended plotline.
Once that fic is published, I'll turn my gaze to Valyria and lay plans for our great conquest! Or rather, our great diy rebuilding summer project.
"Also," she leans in, narrowing her eyes. "Do you guys do not love Benjen Stark?"
I understand he has 0.3 seconds of screen-time, but what's wrong with you I expected a better reaction.
Thank you to the 15 blessed souls who took precious time of their life to read my ungodly long post and still chose to vote; thank you, I love you and will try to finish and post the one shot within this year.
So i have a rough idea for a akotsk fic that I've been toying with for a while now, but unfortunately while trying to straighten it out, more ideas sprouted - so now it's an even bigger mess.
My initial idea was an Aerion x Daenora (his cannon wife) fic, but with a different timeline, and she would be not only Baelor's daughter but also the first grandchild of Daeron II. So she would be expected to marry her brother Valarr, but she was a restless wild little thing - i think we can say similar to Arya Stark in GOT but add the dragon dreams. So due to her mother's frail health after the birth of Matarys, she is sent away to Blackhaven to accompany them - she was around twelve at this time. And they only come back to the capital for Valarr's coming of age birthday, which she knows is when the king will want to announce their betrothal. She refuses to be a pawn and starts planning a way out of it.
Now here's the thing, she is as deranged and mad as Aerion, but unlike him she uses a mask and the whole realm think she is the perfect princess, her father's daughter really, they call her Daenora The Fair - basically Margery Tyrell coded, but with the darkest twist. Anyway, she tries to seduce Daeron to marry her but he rejects her saying she's better off marrying Valarr. So she turns to Aerion, who was already obsessed with her since childhood, and she convinces him to run away to dragonstone and marry there "in secret". I'm also sucker for reincarnation AUs so this was a nod to Rhaenyra x Daemon and the whole "then take me to dragonstone and make me your wife" discussion they have during her wedding to forgot his name velaryon. But she would be daemon and aerion would be rhaenyra - i also "headcanon" that aerion's whole "i am a dragon" is like him dreaming of SPOILERS! rhaenyra's end. Ifykyk. And he was terrified of dragons as a kid but maekar told him he was the dragon in the dream, like trying to soothe him, and aerion took that and ran with it lmao. Poor kid.
BUT that be too easy wouldn't? And after the tournament it kind of feels pointless because there is no plot that screams at me "i will haunt you until you die" or a similar existential threat. I thought of merging timelines, like making she travel to lys with aerion and somehow the two maniacs managed to bring back dragons and plan to build the new valyrian empire lmao. But that feels like a too great of an endeavor and i don't have time nor patience for it.
So with my wit and cunning I thought, hey, why don't i make this even more twisted and deranged? So now my idea is to have daenora literally lose her mind for a second after her father's death, and because she is a dragon dreamer she had seen her father die years prior, and before the tourney she saw aerion die, and after years of being gaslighted by her entire family - except daeron - her dream came true and her father was dead now. So she kind of disassociates to both cope with her worst nightmare coming true and also the doomed reality that there's nothing she can do to prevent aerion's death or to save him, so she just shuts down and basically acts like he has already died.
But here's where the twist comes in, she is caught between reality and dream and she no longer knows which is which, so the day before they leave Ashford, Maekar approaches her to idk apologize for killing her father and for failing at rising aerion to be a decent human? But she only replies with nonsense while staring at the flames in the fireplace, but then maekar makes the mortal mistake of touching her to call her attention or smth and when she looks at him she sees aerion. Like she sees maekar but she thinks it's "aerion returned from the dead" and that maybe he never died, maybe it was all in her head. So she breaks down and huggs him while saying my love or something and maekar is frozen in shock. And there is something in her and in that moment that makes him remember his wife, and it breaks something in him too, so he hugs her back softly. But then she kisses him. But no spoilers because i want to write this after all.
So the new idea is that after this weird experience maekar is like - i have failed too much and i don't want to fail anymore. So he decides that aerion is responsible for the mental state his wife is in, so he sends him to lys to protect her from him - because remember, they all think she is a sweet little thing, so innocent and pure, and that aerion was the one who basically kidnapped her and forced her to marry him. When in truth it was her plan all along, so it's basically she is the brains and aerion is the muscle and they're equally insane.
And the idea is for her to like corrupt maekar basically, so they end up having an affair; she feels drawn to him because he is the lifeline of a life that deep down she knows she'll never get to live with aerion. And he feels drawn to her because she reminds him of his late wife, and he misses her so much he starts to tell himself that maybe her ghost possessed daenora's body or something lmao. So they're both using each other. Angst, just angst. And smut of course.
But to make it even more angsty, i thought, hey why we don't throw our sadboy king in the mix? But just having her seduce daeron and them use each other as a safe haven from the dragon dreams isn't enough. So i thought, maybe they should be married instead. And she kind of cheated on him with aerion all along, because they are insane for each other and deep down everyone knew about it but no one said anything because, well idk why no one said anything, but everyone pretended that it wasn't happening. Daeron also didn't gave a shit, maybe he was even glad she had aerion despite how twisted he knew his brother could be. However when Baelor dies and she unhinges in real time in front of him - and the whole of Ashford as well - he gets incredibly protective over her. I don't think possessive but he just wants to take her away from all of that and live somewhere in peace. Ngl lowkey imagined them having a "picnic" under a tree on a meadow and it was so sweet but so sad. Also, Daeron and Daenora - hello? They were made for each other, their names literally say so.
But yeah she woud still have an affair with maekar, and aerion is still a menace just waiting to return from lys. Not sure how long the fic would be though. Gods why can't i just write a one-shot, why do i have to turn everything into the count of monte cristo.
Another idea, which doesn't exactly substitutes the mentioned previously, is a "the dragons survived" au and reader is the oldest child of the king and also a dragonrider, but to prevent another dance the king marries her off to the north - so she is lady stark, and this would also change the cannon events of the north during this period. She also fought in the first blackfyre rebellion and she's like badass like rhaenys - rip you'll always be the queen in/of my heart. She goes to Ashford in her dragon after many years of not seeing her family, and she and maekar are still down bad for each other. But now he or both are widowers - wiggle eyebrows. This would probably be a one shot with an alternative timeline - no one fucking dies okay - because I'm not sure where to got from here? Like the idead i have would take too long to write and way too much brainpower which i unfortunately do not have to spare atm. To write longer I'd rather her not be a widower, but then the fic wouldn't be only a maekar x reader anymore, and I'd have to find a lord stark to fawn over. I could insert benjen stark here, there's so fee fics of him and i do have a few ideas for fics with him, so i guess i could tie the ideas together and make it work.
So i ask you, dear reader:
which idea would you like to read the most?
og aerion x daenora (rebuilding valyria)
aerion x daenora x maekar (twisted affairs)
daeron x daenora x aerion (dreams of ash)
dragonrider!lady stark x maekar (still you)
benjen stark x lady stark x maekar (a (worthy) mess)
Voting ended onJun 28
Even if you don't want to read it, please vote for the option that seem more interesting to you. I just need help narrowing down the ideas. Also, feel free to share your thoughts about the plot(s) if you see a way out of this huge mess i made. Thank you.
I can finally go to sleep now. Maybe I'll start writing about my wips instead of actually writing my wips.
(this came out of a conversation in the comments on a previous post about an author threatening to stop updating a fic because of lack of engagement)
So there’s this idea that fic writers should write for themselves and not care too much about stats or engagement,
and i totally get the sentiment behind that. if writing becomes entirely about stats and external validation, something important does get lost - creative freedom and joy, conviction in your own writing
but i also think:
“i write for myself, but i post for others.”
because posting fic is not only self-expression. it’s social. ao3 is called an archive, but emotionally it often functions as a community space.
people post for connection, for participation, for others to bear witness to their pain and trauma and grief,
and i don’t think most people are asking to be admired so much as acknowledged. there’s something deeply human about wanting another person to encounter something that mattered to you and go:
“ok, yeah, I see what you were trying to say. I see you.”
especially because fanfic is often people processing very real feelings through fictional characters at a safe distance, one step removed,
and then uploading that deeply personal thing into a shared archive and hoping somebody else might connect with it.
And i think that’s why it hurts so much when you summon up the courage and post a fic into the void and you get nothing back,
This is also true for original work - in all mediums tbh.
Authors want to get published for connection, they want to share their inner world and have complete strangers not only fall in love with it, but be like "I can see myself in this story, this matters to me as well."
Writing it's hard work, writing an orginal piece with the goal of getting it published it's even harder. And it's costly - financially, mentally, emotionally.
We write because it's bigger than us, we share because we hope others will recognize that it's bigger than us, and see themselves in it, because they're also part of the story.
I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture.
All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line?
The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy?
Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess.
I want the fat left it.
I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence.
Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."
