@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested; “Targaryen!reader x Brandon Stark where she convinces the Mad King to marry them so ‘they can’t revolt when their lady is a princess’?”
Warnings; very shallow/superficial thoughts, manipulative behavior, light sexual undertones, sort of OOC Brandon?
He was quite stoic, the eldest Stark. He carried the weight and posturing of a King without a crown, carrying a scowl very similar to your father’s- before the madness took hold. His stoicism had initially repelled you- finding him dull, compared to the Dornishmen and Knights from warmer and more appealing backgrounds, but something always seemed to draw you back.
It might’ve been his looks, he was very tempting with his strong stature and appealing physique. It might’ve been his voice, the deep lowness of his words sending a subtle shiver down your spine and seeding indecent thoughts within you. It might’ve even been his swordsmanship, watching the way he so confidently wielded his blade, watching the tautness of his muscles flex and stretch as he rounded the training yard, imagining what sort of things he could do if only you asked-
It was safe to say you’d been admiring Brandon Stark for some time. So, it came as no great relief when the news reached the capital that the Starks were considering rebellion, or at least, secession. Plagued by thoughts of never seeing your imagined lover again, you quickly found your way to your father’s study, knowing he’d likely be up to little at such a late hour.
@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested: “how about one where Jon Snow has a twin that he leaves behind when he goes to the wall?”
Warnings: incestuous behavior, some cursing
Old wives’ tales stated that twins were two halves of one soul, split forever between the two bodies, never allowing one to be complete without the other.
This was certainly true in regards to you and Jon.
You trusted him completely, consulting him on everything from the colored ribbons in your hair to your indifference towards the King.
Anonymous requested: “Could you do a Jojen Reed x Reader please?”
WARNINGS: a bit of OOC Jojen? It’s au, so it sort of comes with the territory.
{This is a bit of an au, so here’s some background. The Starks are the Kings of the North, and Jojen is a court-seer treated as a prophet by some. Y/N is servant within the castle, and well, you.}
You’d only seen the seer a few times.He’d enter, speak softly to the King, and leave just as quickly as he’d come. He never went to the feasts that you tended to, and was often absent from tourneys. He was something of an enigma within a court, an extraordinary individual from an ordinary beginning who seemed to fully capture the King’s attention whenever he sought it. That was enviable enough, forgetting his boyish good-looks, and his apparent charm.
Anonymous requested; “The Reader is the trueborn daughter of Robert and Cersei. She is betrothed to Robb at a young age and is sent to Winterfell soon after. She grows up beside her future husband and both are utterly in love. They get… physical a few years before they are supposed to marry and the reader falls pregnant. How do the families react?”
Warnings: pregnancy, mentions of pre-marital sex,
You’d loved Robb since you were a child. You’d loved him since the day he confronted you in the courtyard of Winterfell, thrusted three winter-roses into your hands and pressing an painfully awkward kiss to your cheek before scurrying back to Theon- red in the face.
The thorns had been digging into your palms, but all you could do was stare after him, floored.
It was a few months before you had garnered the courage to return the sentiment. A girl of three and ten, you weren’t yet inventive, but you’d caught him staring enough times to know that his feelings had not yet faded.
@legendsaresooftenwarnings requested “Or a Targaryen!reader x Dany Targaryen reader after khal drogo dies and they comfort each other?”
Incest warning!
{Sorry this is a bit short! It’s been sitting in my drafts for a few months, and I tried to make it longer, but found I couldn’t do much without losing the heart of the story. Hope you enjoy! <3}
She caressed her sister’s cheek fondly, tracing the prominence of her cheekbone with her slender thumb. “Are you ready?”
Daenerys thought for a minute, before nodding softly.
“You’re so strong.” It was a phrase she often repeated, spoken with revere and affection she still did not understand. Y/N had known for years that when Danaerys began to bleed, Viserys would find her a suitor. But the dust had barely settled over his grave when another loss struck them, the loss of Daenerys’ husband: Khal Drogo. Though Y/N had never much cared for the savage horse-lord, she cared for her sister and supported her while she grieved.
Warnings: threats, mentions of future sexual violence!
Since arriving in the capital all those months ago, mornings had been the worst time. Being pulled from your dreams and plunged into the biting cold of your reality. You weren’t in Winterfell, you weren’t with Ned, you were here, in King’s Landing, a caged bird. The rest of the day was spent longing to return to those dreams, the only place where reality lapsed.
Mornings grew no easier upon your return to Rhaegar’s cage.
You awoke, cold and filthy, half-draped beneath a set of red-silk sheets. Further examination revealed the dried blood matted to your thighs and clothes, and memories seemed to return with a chill. The baby. You shot bolt upright in bed, moving to scramble out as your eyes scanned the room.
Empty. Dark, save for a few stationary wall sconces. And most troubling- locked.
Your fist pounded twice against the door, and a voice, your voice, emerged hoarsely. “Please, someone let me out, I need to find my daughter-”
The door swung outward on your third knock. A set of violet eyes stared back at you, glimmering darkly. He carried no child, nor any weapon. But the madness you’d begun to see in him before fleeing had returned with full-force. His eyes flicked to your left, the bed, before entering the room and letting the door close behind him. “Comfortable?” He asked, his tone oddly contained. “I know it’s not quite what you’re used to, but, given the circumstances-” he trailed off with a half-smile.
Your gaze flicked towards the door, noting how the locking mechanism remained in place. He hadn’t locked it behind him. Your brow furrowed, eyes snapping back to him as he spoke.
“You can run if you want. I don’t suspect you’ll get very far.” His voice was surprisingly airy and light for the subject matter. Upon your silence, he continued. “You’ve made quite a mess for me, you know?” He pulled his knees to his chest, transfixed on you. “Your brother will rebel, and the others will rally around him. The difference is,” his voice lowered slightly, as though revealing a secret. “I have you, and our daughter.”
The terror in your expression spoke volumes, and you kept your distance carefully, treating Rhaegar as one would treat a wild animal. Had his mind left him so quickly? Leaving him just as mad as his father had once been? Was he so far gone as to harm a child?
Continuing, he got back to his feet, rounding the corner of the bed and nearing you. “I have no intention of harming you.” He clarified, keeping a reasonable arm’s distance. “But, an alliance must be made for the wars to come.” He drew his conclusion as a mathematician would, with a flourish in his words. “I will return to the traditions of the Targaryens before me, and take a second wife to serve beside you. Perhaps she will suit me better than you have.”
Your heart stuttered for a second, and your confusion must’ve shown, because his next words only served to frighten you further. Your back touched the wall, and you squeaked as he advanced, moving to duck beneath his arm.
He caught you easily and pulled you flush against his body. He crooned in your ear. “No harm will come to you.” He reassured, holding tighter when you struggled. “Or the child. You haven’t met her yet, have you? Our darling Rhaella.”
You felt a lump rise in your throat, and your struggling increased tenfold. You threw back an elbow, catching him in the ribs. That moment of stunned weakness was all you needed to break free of his hold. You clambered over the bed and stood on the other side of the room, staring back at him. “She will never carry that name.” Venom swelled in your mouth, and you grew more furious the longer you looked at him. “She is not one of your kind! She is pure, and untainted by your madness! And I won’t let you infect her with the curse your names carry!”
His expression darkened formidably. He grew eerily calm, clasping his hands in front of him, and advancing slowly around the bed. “Be wary, Stark, though you may not think it, I’ve shown you a great kindness today. I will allow you to care for the child until it is grown. I will allow you to teach her the same hatred you conceal, but when the child is grown, I will push you from this tower and allow the Gods to have their say in your treachery.”
It was dizzying, jut how quickly his mood changed. Drunk on a mixture of terror and anger, you didn’t allow him to get the better of you. “I want to see her.” You stated firmly. “And I will give her a name befitting of a Stark.”
He was calm, if only for a moment. “Very well.” He approached the door, calling through the slats in the bars. “Have the wet-nurse bring the child!”
You could hear the rattling of armor as men fled to obey his command.
Within a few minutes, you heard the Kingsguard return, and the soft cries of a child, disparate and longing. The door swung open, and beside the bedraggled looking wet-nurse, Jamie Lannister stood, gaze raking over you in silent concern. Though the Starks had no standing alliance with the Lannisters, you were a kind girl, and deserved none of what had befallen you. Jamie bore this in mind as the King pushed past him and exited the chamber. He watched the wet-nurse place the child into your arms, and watched as the infant’s cries quieted when you cooed to her. It was a tender scene.
You spared the Lannister no second glance, only focused on the blanket-clad bundle in your arms. The wet-nurse was quick to leave, knowing when her presence was unwanted.
Jamie approached your dresser, pulling open the top drawer and examining the garments inside.
This was when you finally granted him you attention. “Get out of there, you p-”
“The King means you no ill will.” Jamie interrupted, sifting through the piles of slips and socks. “He cares for you a great deal.” He reached for the small blade strapped to his hip, unsheathing it silently. “I have no doubts that he will attempt to reconcile with you tonight.” His tone was low and casual, and seemed almost innocent to any eavesdroppers. Setting the gold-adorned blade among the garments, he covered it messily. “You’ll let him do what he wants, alright? It’ll be less trouble for you that way, I won’t have to see your head on a pike.” He closed the drawer, turning to face you, his eyes searching for understanding. “If you have need of me, I’ll be posted outside your door through the night. Good evening, my lady.”
Your eyes followed him until he left, you heart pounding against your ribcage. His meaning was clear. You had friends within the palace, just as Rhaegar had enemies. Jamie meant to make you a Kingslayer. And as you glanced down at the child in your arms, your will was steel.
You’d strangle him with the shackles he’d molded for you.
FIN
{Sorry for all the angst this story has brought, I have a hard time believing that a healthy relationship would grow in a political marriage like this, and I wanted to explore the extremes of just how mad Rhaegar could become. I guess that coin toss wasn’t in his favor. (Get it? Get it?)}
Warnings! Tobacco use, and some sexual content, harsh language!
After
Your mouth set in a hard line. “Drogo…” You warned, realization slowly dawning as his words sunk in. “Don’t open this door.”
He showed no recognition of your words, his eyes drifting towards the wall formerly adorned with photos of the two of you. “They’re not gone, you know.” He stated flatly, devil-may-care glowing in his eyes. “None of it is.”
She could feel Viserys fuming beside her. She didn’t risk glancing to confirm her suspicions. His grip on her wrist had grown rigid, painful even, as he pulled her behind him.
He threw open the first set of doors they came to, ignoring the pleas of Danaerys behind them. Shoving his bride into the room, he turned back to his younger sister. “I hope it was worth it, you wretch!”
She caught one last glimpse of her sister’s face- shining with tears- before Viserys slammed the door shut, sealing the two in the small bedroom. For a moment, it seemed as though he intended to punish her with silence. Y/N watched firmly, fear beginning to coil within her. She had never seen him quite this angry. Reflexively, she spoke. “I’m sorry.”
andtheytoldustotellyouhello 