#minor daemon

[daeminia]

turning my trolls into monsters? haha noo why would i do that 🙄

anyway, Omnius is a Minor Daemon Volans :)

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

[kjwaikiki]

Joffron ahead, au idea where Joffrey and Daeron grow up together:

He hadn’t been paying attention.

Joffrey thinks that he can be forgiven for forgetting where he was and trusting in his family’s ability to overlook him when he actually needed them to. His family often forgot about him when he wasn’t in their direct line of sight.

He isn’t bitter about that fact, has had 18 years to come to terms with the fact that while his family loves him they usually have something else taking up their time. Luke’s relationship drama, Jace’s latest achievement, Baela’s latest stunt, Rhaena’s infrequent updates from the Vale, or even just the latest childhood milestone with Aegon and Viserys.

Joffrey loves his mom, his siblings, and his stepfather but being the middle child with an age gap between each set of children means that Joffrey often was left in a weird space where he was either too old or too young to participate in what his siblings were doing. It often left him with a lot of free time and little supervision and with the constant drama his family’s life has been since he was a toddler his parents are too busy putting out fires to ask why he was out so late or why he was wearing a high necked blouse in June.

Which is why he is so disgruntled that his parents freaked out over what he deemed to be none of their business. Joffrey has been ….. involved with Daeron since he was 14 and while nothing happened until he was 17 that was more Daeron’s decision than his. Joffrey has always had to coax and nudge Daeron into doing anything beyond cuddling and a few chaste kisses which might be why they are in this mess in the first place.

Joffrey hadn’t stopped to think about where they were or who was watching when he tugged Daeron into a spare room in the Red Keep after a disastrous family dinner. All Joffrey could think about was how the light from the candles and torches bounced off of Daeron’s wavy hair or how his eyes softened whenever he caught Joffrey staring at him. The need to kiss the man he loved was like a physical ache under his skin so he hadn’t stopped to scan the room to see who was looking before he pulled Daeron away.

This was a mistake as both his parents, his older siblings, uncles, and Lady Alicent all barged in on them as Daeron was working the ties to his shirt open. Joffrey had long done away with Daeron’s shirt by tearing it down the middle and casting the sides away and was kissing his lover’s neck when they were rudely interrupted.

Joffrey didn’t quite realize just how poorly his parents would take the whole event due to the aforementioned lack of supervision. He figured Daemon would rant about him being with a Hightower and mother would make threatening eyes at Daeron as she used her son’s relationship to have another fight with Lady Alicent. Instead Joffrey was greeted to stony silence and his stepfather tugging him up off of Daeron rather harshly.

He was rushed out of the room, out of the Red Keep quickly after that, barely able to get a single glance back at Daeron sitting on the ground surrounded by the Greens before Daemon and mother hustled him through the hallways and to the dragon pit. It wasn’t until they arrived back at Dragonstone that Joffrey got the first inkling that he was not going to be able to maneuver his way out of this situation.

Joffrey had always figured that when his parents did find out it would be in the midsts of a crisis that eclipsed any misgivings about his relationship with Daeron. He figured he would have to avoid and subvert the conversation for a week or two before the next family drama inevitably pulled their focus away.

This was not the case now. The family dinner had not gone well but there had been no real crisis to demand his parents attention. Standing in front of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen now with his older siblings lining the walls like pale spectators at a tourney Joffrey felt the need to reevaluate how he was going to tackle this problem.

Of course Daemon didn’t give him the chance.

“How long has this been going on?”

As soon as the word were out of his stepfather’s mouth Rhaenyra whipped her head to stare at Daemon in mute shock.

“Surely this has not been going on long.”

It was not a question so much as a desperate grasp for confirmation and even as his mother stared at her husband Joffrey knew it was addressed to him.

In this instance Joffrey decided discretion was the better part of valor.

“We have been intimate with each other since I turned 17.”

Something flickered behind Daemon’s eyes as he stared at him. Joffrey fought the urge to fidget.

Surprisingly the next person to speak wasn’t either one of his parents but Jace.

“Aegon told me that you are Daeron used to disappear together, as far back as when you were 13.”

Joffrey stared at his brother, the firm set of his jaw and scanned the rest of his siblings. They had all lined themselves behind Jace as if they were soldiers heading to battle with Baela and Rhaena on either side of Jace and Luke slightly behind his older brother’s left shoulder.

There would be no getting out of this now/

“We’ve been …. involved since I was 14 but nothing ….. drastic until I was 17.”

Everyone turned their eyes to him at that and Joffrey struggled to keep his eyes fixed on the way his mother’s braid trailed over her right shoulder the ends almost touching the red embroidered dragon by her waist.

“You’re too young.” His mother’s feeble voice caused him to glance at her eyes. The worry and even slight regret inflamed Joffrey��s temper that had slowly built on the the journey back to Dragonstone into a roaring fire.

“I am a man grown,” he grit out, and before he could stop himself spat “it is far to late to start meddling in my affairs now mother. Maybe 5 years ago you would have been successful but not now.”

His mother stared at him with a deep hurt swimming in her violet eyes, but before she could utter a word Daemon voice chilled the room:

“You would pick that Hightower runt over your family.”

His next words came out closer to a dragon’s roar than anything human.

“HE IS MY FAMiLY! When the squires would wait after training to ambush me Daeron was the one who saw to my bruises and showed me how to fight back against multiple opponents so they would never get the better of me again! When that Pentoshi merchant made remarks about how I’d make a fine bride and tried to force some foul ale down my throat Daeron was the one to threaten to geld him should he ever so much as look at me!”

With each sentence his parents and siblings seemed to shrink and press away from him to the outskirts of the room, but that only added fuel to the fire as more words burst forth.

“He was the one who came up with me on my first flight with Tyraxes. Daeron was the one to sneak me sweets and insist I take the maester’s concoctions when I was sick three winter’s ago. Daeron was the one to”

“ENOUGH!” His mother’s voice pierced through his tirade:

“Enough Joffrey.” Her voice was worn like a pierce of cloth made translucent after too many washes. She was crying, and suddenly Joffrey realized he was crying too:

As his mother approached him with hands outstretched towards his wet cheeks it all became too much. Joffrey felt outnumbered and overwhelmed like he had stood too close to the Sept’s bells as they rung and now his whole world was vibrating.

Before his mother could touch him he turned and fled through the hallways and back to his typical quarters in Dragonstone. He barred the door and pressed his shaking hands to his face and he sun down to the ground.

Joffrey stayed there on the ground as his family came and banged on his door. He heard his mother shouting for the guards before Daemon convinced her to let him be. Eventually his family petered off after there was no response from Joffrey for hours.

Eventually a single bright line came in the guise of a letter slipped under his door before the hour of the wolf. He broke the blue wax seal embossed with two twirling dragons. He scanned the letter quickly before standing up and casting it into the fire. As the parchment was consumed by flames Joffrey wondered if mother and Kepa’s Valyria wedding robes were still in the trunk in his mother’s solar.

[visenyaism]

nettles mention!! what do you think of the theory that she’s not a dragonseed and the real reason Rhaenyra tries to have her killed is tht post-dragonpit it would be disastrous if it got out that any plucky schmuck with enough meat can tame a dragon? the idea is that its weird to have Nettles killed for sleeping with Daemon when she’s fine working with Mysaria so there might be another reason

I like the theory that she’s not a dragonseed and just tamed sheepstealer through kindness and love (and sheep meat). but i don’t think the second half of that is true- Rhaenyra could have easily just used her power as monarch to create a different public narrative about nettles’ heritage to legitimate her being a dragon rider if she felt like she needed to. She knows how to do that. But she definitely wanted Nettles dead for being linked to Daemon. 

I think the reason she was fine working with Mysaria is because Rhaenyra is entrenched enough in the feudal syste to not see Mysaria as a threat because she’s of drastically lower status. Mysaria was lowborn, formerly enslaved, with a history of sex work and being a spymaster in the least savory part of the capital- all things that women get dehumanized for in the society that Rhaenyra was raised in. Mysaria isn’t like Rhaenyra- Rhaenyra is special, she’s valyrian, she’s the heir to the throne, and she’s a dragonrider. None of the things that ever happened to Mysaria because of Daemon would ever happen to her. She’s different, he would never abandon her to get put on a boat somewhere while he flies off to another person because power is pointing in a different direction.

But he did do that, and that’s where Nettles comes in. Daemon groomed Rhaenyra (and arguably also Laena Velaryon) as a teenager. Not arguing about that one, it’s pretty textual, go bark up a different tree. Daemon is into very questionably young dragonriders because he’s real into Valyria. Nettles is the last one in that pattern, and Daemon running off with this girl who ISNT valyrian and IS lowborn had to have been more of a betrayal for Rhaenyra psychologically.

Rhaenyra committed to a life with Daemon, he said he was going to fight for her, and it turned into a war that killed all but one of her children (all six of whom she had before she was 30) and a rapidly decaying claim on the power she sacrificed so much for. And when bearing this inhuman tidal wave of grief got to be a little too hard for her husband to deal with, he ran off on a probable suicide mission with a plucky and naive 16 year old dragonrider and left her and their son out to dry. This is a world-destroying betrayal and revelation to deal with for her, and she cannot deal with it, so she just decides to blame Nettles and try to get her killed. She literally cannot believe that her husband would do this to her, it has to be 16 year-old Nettles’ fault.

It’s a real gut-punch of a tragedy for both Rhaenyra AND Nettles that i think has more to do with power differentials and grooming and gender politics than it does our modern conception of romantic infidelity. It did not read as a valyrian dragonriders only political calculus psyop move to me but that IS just me

[the-heartlines]

| envious and eruptive | rhaegon | [m. 1K] |

"aegon was too cocksure, too confident to properly learn how to fight with his Valyrian blade. too impatient to teach, too bored to listen to anyone, especially his uncle. aegon was for himself and only himself; what his flesh hungered for. wine, whores, and wrath at the slightest inconvenience to him…until.

until she came into the world—peaceful and pale, with deep lilac eyes blinking and twinkling up at him, like stars stuck in a vast and endless night. "

[ride-thedragon]

What's going on with the Nettles' hate?

What's the issue ?

[daemon-in-my-head]

I wanted to post the full thing here, but after spending way too much time on editing tumblr decided to be a bitch about it and said 'oopsie smth went wrong-' (oopsie my ass).

Either way, I have finished. Orins character study and the perspective of a delusional yet loveable madwoman. Since tumblr decided to not work, a snippet here and the whole thing is up on ao3. The story is in english btw, just making sure we're all on the same page. I just adore the word I used as a title.

Menschenfalle

She knew him, she told herself as the shaking grew worse. She knew of his adoration for her. And yet, despite the fondness she knew he must've held, despite her hopes, her fruitless dreams of kindship, at this very moment, she could almost taste the bloodlust lingering in the air. Alongside the painful sting as he twisted her knife arm behind her back or the pressure of his free hand clasping around her throat, pinning her to the nearest wall and cutting off her every option to escape his grasp. She knew he'd been an extraordinary spawn. She had admired him, after all, idolized him even. Worshipped him as her undeniable leader. But now, the way he treated her, he didn't seem like the brother she knew. If anything, he truly appeared like Bhaals Slayer now. "Cease your foolishness at once, Orin. Or must I remind you of the place where you belong?" He hissed at her, his fingers digging ever deeper into her throat, "and if I meant it, if I meant whatever heretic thoughts you believe you've discovered, what of it? What will you do, hm?" Malice filled his every word.

She had made a mistake. She should've never checked. Curiosity might've killed the cat, but now it seems to be also taking out the changeling.

[ladyluscinia]

Stepping away from the main trio real quick just to jot down my first impressions for some of the crew. I think I'll split them into major and minor side characters.

Ok, so... broad spectrum: sailors tend to have bird daemons, daemons small enough to carry, and/or semi-aquatic daemons. Obviously not set in stone, but if your daemon settled into a deer or something you probably don't have much desire for a seafaring life, and accommodating your daemon might be more trouble than it was worth for a ship captain to hire you.

Major Side Characters:

Lucius - I think I'm going to start at otters? Intelligent, to the point that they are known for playing because they have so much free time. Also capable of a cruel streak (which could be a pro or con depending on if you think Lucius's soul is more predator or prey). I suppose he would also be a good candidate for a fancy bird, but Lucius might not quite fit in with a flying daemon?

Jim - I wanted to say no cats on account of poor Frenchie but Jim might be a cat... which would be pretty funny if the fake beard reveal turned into "you ARE a witch!!!" Some kind of particularly deadly ambush predator (like maybe the MOST deadly - a black-footed cat 🥺) at least, and probably not anything marine because they aren't a pirate, even if they are adapting well.

Oluwande - No frontrunners here, yet. He's loyal as fuck and very happy to get swept up in Jim's whirlwind, so actually he might be better matched to a bird than he seems at first. Definitely something stable. Strong, but not ostentatious.

Frenchie - Honestly I think funniest universe is if he has a fox or something that acts super like a cat but not quite. Definitely something duplicitous but in a... friendlier (?) way than I'm going with Edward? Not really attached to any ideas yet.

Fang - @rattus-villosissimus made the delightfully fucked up suggestion that Fang's daemon could have settled into the dog Edward made him kill, but unfortunately I think that would have ended with Edward kicking him off the ship so we'll set that aside and be nicer. Gonna say no dogs though. He needs something happy and absolutely capable of violence, so if Lucius doesn't get an otter maybe he does. Or maybe two kinds of otters to highlight differences? Depends on otter research. I also think maybe a kind of monkey could work?

[navree]

Not sure if this has been asked, but if so then you're free to ignore this message. I was wondering if you could articulate why you like Aemond Targaryen as opposed to Daemon Targaryen. The latter seems to have more prominence in the story than the other.

I'm gonna go off the show, since that's what I'm currently more invested in when it comes to Dance stuff (I read all of F&B but the parts I reread the most are always about the Conquerors, as I love them).

So, part of it is that, quite simply, Daemon's a misogynistic ass and Aemond, as far as has been portrayed, isn't. I don't care for Daemon trying to groom his fourteen year old niece, I don't care for Daemon calling his wife misogynistic slurs when she didn't do anything except be married to him, I certainly don't care for him bashing her head in with a rock and getting away with it, I don't care for him trying to ruin Rhaenyra's reputation, I don't care for him then literally leaving her half naked in a brothel in a city notorious for being dangerous (she could have been raped, she could have been killed, the fact that she got back to the Red Keep without a scratch is a miracle), I don't care for him calling Alicent a whore because his half-rotting brother finally croaked, I don't care for his neglect of his children by Laena and even Laena herself (and I don't care for it in metaverse either, I really liked Daemon and Laena's book relationship and I hate how they screwed that AND how it's yet another example of how poorly the Velaryons, the only prominent characters of color, are being handled by the writers), and I definitely won't care for when he orchestrates Blood and Cheese to go after women who had fuck all to do with what happened to Lucerys's boring ass. He's a dick, which already isn't gonna endear me to him, and he's a sexist dick at that, and I don't like it.

Getting a bit deeper into it, my dislike of Daemon also comes from the fact that there's just nothing there. I've complained about this before, but everything that's actually interesting about Daemon seems to come primarily from stuff admitted about him after the fact or from Matt Smith's own acting choices beyond the script. In the actual writing of his character, he's an asshole and he wants to be king and he has a sexual obsession with his niece who he's known since she was a baby; that's it. It's left to the audience to then lean into Matt Smith's choices for the character, extrapolate what we can from creator interviews and some pretty heavy subtext, and then try to craft something ourselves. And even canon events about Daemon that I could get invested in, like his relationship with Nettles (problematic? yes, but it still tickles my fancy because there's a Lot there), just hasn't happened yet and isn't enough to get me pre-invested.

That's not the case with Aemond. The stuff about Aemond I enjoy and that endear me to him as a character, like his struggles with bullying, his bond with Vhagar, his contentious but ultimately loyal relationship with Aegon, his love for his mother, his internal issues surrounding justice denied and the need for retribution, even just his basic characterization in the four episodes we've seen him in, those are in the script. Those are integral parts of his character, that are present and visible and impactful to other characters and the story at large in the broader narrative. There is actual substance to Aemond as a character in a way there just isn't as Daemon. And even Daemon is going to be more "prominent" due to his connection to Rhaenyra, the storyline at the ready for Aemond is FAR more interesting than Daemon's. Daemon in season two is going to orchestrate the worst thing that happens in the Dance and then bounce around Westeros doing God knows what, the only thing I'm looking forward to from him are any interactions with Alys Rivers, but because I'm excited for her, not him. Aemond, on the other hand, has a lot of good set up. Because of his actions, he created an accident that he tried to avoid that has had profound repercussions on his family, and is tied to a horrible act that is going to affect the people closest to him. How is he going to deal with his emotions regarding his own culpability? How much hate and blame is he going to place on Daemon? On Rhaenyra? How will this impact his relationships with the people affected, his mother and his sister and his brother? How is this going to duel with his feelings of superiority, especially once he becomes Aegon's regent? What's gonna motivate him to take the regency but also never allow himself to be called king and remain steadfast for his brother? Is he going to enjoy it or not? We seem to be getting more stuff with him and Criston, how's that gonna be affected by Blood and Cheese and their subsequent military campaign together?

Like, see? There's so much more richness available for Aemond's character, because there's so much more to Aemond's character than Daemon's. Daemon may be more prominent, yes, but he's incredibly shallow on a writing level, and combined with the fact that he's mostly a shitty person, he becomes something I dislike (and I love characters who are shitty people, my favorite character in The Magnus Archives is Peter Lukas and I constantly blab about how I want his cruel sadism to be given more attention by the fandom). So prominence doesn't really factor into it for me, because there's just too much working against Daemon beyond that, and conversely, too much in Aemond's favor.

[daeminia]

concept design for a new character

Estella, a blind Muruch/Volans Sith who uses her magic in the form of echolocation to see. She’s bold, sassy, and knows her worth and will call you out as she sees fit. Sometimes her family will take her with them to haul in some fish for the family business, using her as a sonar of sorts. She doesn’t like it in the Winter Court, but believes there’s little opportunity for her elsewhere.

[fourgods-nobrakes]

I built and primed the Masque of Slaanesh this weekend and then while thinking about how to paint her (she's had two models with somewhat different color schemes) I got my hands on THE GATHERING STORM: FRACTURE OF BIEL-TAN, since it contained some material on what is, afaict, her major plot appearance in 40k. Said volume contained a lot of cool stuff about Yvraine (way cooler than the memes about her fucking Roboute, no shade on him but death magic is rad), and also: the Masque is adorable and clever and I love her? The wikis all make it sound like she tagged along with Skarbrand assaulting Biel-Tan, when in fact it was her idea and she came up with a plan to convince him to help her because she needed a bruiser strong enough to break the Obsidian Gate on Ursulia. Also she told him about her own exile to get him to listen to her .////. (Also there's a photo with their models in the same shot and she comes up to about mid-thigh on him .///////////.) Later she does an action-movie hero thing and infiltrates the craftworld itself by clinging to the undercarriage of a scout ship. The eldar banish her eventually, but not until after she's turned an assortment of them into her daemonette handmaidens and infected the craftworld infinity circuit with chaos. In short: what a cutie.

I think I'm going to go with a kind of tyrian/gold color scheme.

[visenyaism]

Omg can you pls explain the communist aegon meme

so in the books aemond one eye is a weird little freak real war criminal with absolutely no redeeming qualities as a character other than like. slay factor which is why i love him. in the face of all of the dumb discourse about how rhaenyra or alicent is a better progressive feminist the funniest possible rebuttal is to say it’s aemond, the greatest marxist westeros has ever seen first of his name who fought for feminism with his bare hands, environmentalist activist, lover of milfs, and understander of dialectical materialism

[classycorekid]

blehh🩷

recently got a haircut. it’s botched. my winter plans are in the trash..

[wrishwrosh]

do ppl still read/write daemon aus. asking for a friend

[mysticalprincesskitten]

House of the Dragon OC X Daemon Targaryen, OC X Aegon Targaryen, minor Lucerys Velaryon/Aemond Targaryen

(Older!TimotheeChalamet!Lucerys)

The misty isle of Dragonstone stretched beneath her. Princess Daenerys Targaryen, second-born daughter of King Viserys and the late Queen Aemma, clung to the pale-grey scales of her dragon, as Grey Ghost dipped and soared over Blackwater Bay. His heat was a comfort from the chill and biting wind that whipped her hair, tugging silver-gold strands from the tightly wound coil of braids.

The princess reveled in the comforts of Dragonstone. Today, she would be returning to King's Landing, to the Red Keep, for the first time in over five years. To her father, the king of Westeros. Her beloved half-sister Helaena, and Aemond, her stormy, sullen half-brother. And Aegon -- her other half-brother, and former betrothed.

A high-pitched roar pierced the air. Daenerys turned to see a serpent-like dragon with crimson scales hot on her tail.

Her uncle would be attending her daily tour on dragonback again, it seemed.

Daemon had been ... different lately.

The future king consort had taken to accompanying Daenerys on her frequent flights around Dragonstone more and more lately, forgoing his pregnant wife, the future Queen Rhaenyra. Daenerys wasn't sure what to think about that. Perhaps he prefers the sky to the land and sea, as I do.

Caraxes -- twice as large as Grey Ghost, with his elongated neck and sleek, winged tail -- leveled alongside her dragon. The princess caught Daemon's eye and he smirked, lifting his hands from the saddle to open his arms to the sky. Daenerys smirked back. Two can play that game, uncle. She hugged Grey Ghost tighter with her thighs, tilting in the lightweight saddle the wild dragon preferred, urging him to dip from the clouds in one fell swoop. The sea rose up to greet them. Her hair flew behind her, a white-gold banner, wind a solid force at her face; falling, falling, falling...

Grey Ghost spread his wings and coasted on the wind. They glided over the sea, the wild dragon's talons scraping the water's surface.

Caraxes screeched again. Daenerys looked over her shoulder, breathless and blissful, and met her uncle's gaze once more. He was laughing, head tipped back, silver hair wild in the wind.

"Your sister would be displeased to see you risk your life so casually," Daemon greeted her as they descended their dragons on the vast cliffs of Dragonstone.

"My sister is not queen yet," grinned Daenerys. "I am not privy to her commands. Besides, I was perfectly safe. Grey Ghost would never let me fall."

"Hubris."

"Ha! Faith in my dragon is not hubris."

"We'll see." Daemon looked at her fondly. "A raven arrived from the Capitol earlier. We leave for King's Landing in the morn."

The smile slid from her face. "So soon..."

"Are you nervous?"

"To see our king?" Never. She missed her father fiercely. The king had allowed Rhaenyra to take Daenerys with her to Dragonstone all those years ago at Driftmark, after Queen Alicent had demanded Aegon's betrothal to Daenerys be broken following Aemond's maiming. It was the only thing the princess and the queen had agreed upon in years. Likely, it was the only reason King Viserys had acquiesced.

"My brother undoubtedly awaits his precious daughters with welcome arms," said Daemon. "The rest of his court will not share his enthusiasm."

She tensed. "We are invited at the king's behest."

"Aye. The king's behest; not the queen's."

The rogue prince marched back into the castle -- but not before shooting another strange look at her, one that had goosepimples prickling her skin and heat rising to her cheeks.

*

The flight to Dragonstone was brief and uneventful.

Rhaenyra accompanied them on dragonback for the journey, despite her pregnancy. Her sister's presence was soothing; ever since Daenerys was a little girl, from the day she'd bonded with the wild dragon Grey Ghost, Rhaenyra and Syrax had been her faithful flight companions, filling Daenerys and her fledgling dragon with pride and confidence as they learned to fly together like true Targaryens. Her brave, beautiful sister Rhaenyra, the future queen of Westeros. Her mother, for all intents and purposes -- Daenerys had been but a child of two years when their mother, Queen Aemma, had met her end in the childbed. She remembered little of her, sadly, aside from a few murky memories of silver hair and a sweet, musky scent.

Rhaenyra flew ahead on Syrax with Daemon and Caraxes, the gold dragon and the red dragon streaks of fire across the sky. Daenerys and Grey Ghost followed closely, beside Jacaerys and Vermax, as well as Lucerys and Arrax. Moondancer, Tyraxes and Stormcloud were still too small to bear their riders' weight for long distances, so Baela, Joffrey and Aegon sailed beneath them with Rhaena and Viserys, across Blackwater Bay on a splendid galley fit for royalty. The presence of so many dragons agitated Grey Ghost. For years, the wild dragon had lived in solitude on Dragonstone, away from his wild kin and the royal dragons in the Dragonmont. The grey dragon's aversive instinct was still prevalent. Daenerys soothed him, running a hand along his scaled neck, murmuring to him in High Valyrian.

She would not force Grey Ghost to tolerate the Dragonpit. The wild dragon was not built for cages, however ornate. Daenerys dismounted in the Pit alongside her family, but allowed her dragon to take flight again before one of the dragontamers could attempt to lead him to the subterranean caves.

The journey from the Dragonpit to the Red Keep was more arduous than any flight on dragonback.

As the castle loomed ahead, Daenerys felt her already rapid breathing quicken. Aegon. She was going to see Aegon.

"You look how I feel," Lucerys muttered to her as they dismounted their carriage outside Maegor's Holdfast.

"Such flattery. You should save some for your betrothed."

Lucerys laughed. She recognized the fear in his eyes, however. She wasn't the only one apprehensive of a reunion with a Targaryen prince.

Jacaerys stormed past them with a huff. Daenerys sighed at her nephew's retreating back, wishing, not for the first time, to feel some flicker of passion for her husband-to-be. But Jacaerys was not Aegon. Or Daemon. Even Lucerys would have been preferable; he was her truest friend and closing confidant. Alas, the heir to Driftmark was already promised to Lady Rhaena.

"Presenting to the court her royal highness, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and her family: Prince Daemon Targaryen, her husband and future king-consort; Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the future Prince of Dragonstone; Prince Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark; Prince Joffrey Velaryon; Prince Aegon and Prince Viserys Targaryen; Princess Daenerys of House Targaryen, and Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena of House Targaryen."

Horns sounded as the pompous herald declared their arrival. Daenerys straightened her back, drew her chin up, smoothed the skirts of her red and black riding coat. The hall of the Red Keep stretched before them. Packed with inhabitants, the court buzzed like a hive. She looked ahead.

There, on the Iron Throne with the crown on his withered head, was Father. Her heart leapt, then sank. He looked... He looked like a corpse. What have they done to him? she wondered. At his side stood Queen Alicent, resplendent and pious in a chaste gown of emerald green, a seven-pointed star pinned to her chest. Her father, the Hand of the King, stood to the king's right. Pinned between vipers.

At the base of the Iron Throne was her siblings.

Aemond's piercing gaze appraised Rhaenyra and her brood, arresting despite the black patch that covered his missing eye. His lip curled at the sight of Lucerys, a look of hunger crossing his face. Aemond's armored torso shielded Helaena, who looked as though she might burst into tears any moment.

And with them stood a handsome, silver-haired prince dressed in green. Shadows underscored his violet eyes. Unlike Aemond, the prince wore his hair short, chopped at the shoulders. His eyes met hers. Aegon. Time has been kind to you. Daenerys remembered Aegon as a boy, fumbling and drunk. Judging by his demeanor, nothing in that regard had changed at least -- she knew that wine-drunk expression. My poor prince. What poison have they filled your head with?

Aegon's eyes bored into Daenerys' with an intensity that frightened and excited her. She found herself moving towards him, until Daemon's hand on her shoulder held her still.

Daenerys glanced between them: Her uncle, the rogue prince and husband to her older sister Rhaenyra, and her former betrothed, half-brother and husband to her younger sister Helaena.

Trouble lay ahead for all of them. Not even a dragon could not escape it.