Mar 10
ASOIAF OCS WIKI
Done! I've made the templates for those who want to use them for your OCs
template 1:
template 2:
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ASOIAF OCS WIKI
Done! I've made the templates for those who want to use them for your OCs
template 1:
template 2:
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Maekar and Dyanna being cuties + them with the Maekarlings
A COURT OF DRAGONS AND DESIRES
AERION TARGARYEN | JACAERYS VELARYON
summary: in which aelara targaryen, twin to aerion targaryen and sister to jacaerys velaryon, becomes the one flame both princes cannot help but burn for
parings: aerion targaryen x targaryen!reader x jacaerys velaryon
warnings: targcest | smut
a/n: just to clarify— this is only an au
— In the year 116 AC, on a night when the moon hung blood-red over Dragonstone and the sea churned black beneath storm-laden skies, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen brought forth twins into a world already drowning in fire and ambition. The boy came first—Aerion, screaming his fury at the indignity of birth, his violet eyes blazing even as the midwives cleaned the blood from his pale skin. The girl followed mere moments later, silent and watchful, her gaze already too knowing for an infant newly torn from the womb.
They said afterward that the dragons sang that night. That Caraxes and Syrax both loosed flames into the darkness, painting the castle walls in shades of crimson and gold. That the very stones of Dragonstone trembled with something that was not quite celebration, not quite warning but prophecy, perhaps, of what these children would become.
The girl was named Aelara Targaryen.
And from the moment she drew her first breath, she understood what it meant to be born of fire and blood.
—
A couple years have passed since that storm wracked night, and the realm has learned what the dragons knew from the beginning: that Princess Aelara Targaryen is perhaps one the most dangerous creatures.
She is beautiful, of course— all Targaryens are beautiful, with their silver gold hair and eyes the color of amethyst, their features carved with the otherworldly perfection of Old Valyria. But Aelara's beauty is not the soft, delicate kind that inspires songs and sighs. It is the beauty of a blade freshly forged, of wildfire contained in crystal, of a dragon coiled and waiting. Men look at her and feel their breath catch not with desire alone, but with the primal recognition that they are in the presence of something that could destroy them without effort, without mercy, without a second thought.
She moves through the halls of Dragonstone like a queen already crowned, though no crown yet graces her. There is a particular grace to her bearing, a calculated precision in every gesture, every glance, every word that falls from her lips like honey laced with poison. She has inherited her father's cunning and her mother's iron will, but she has refined these traits into something uniquely her own a kind of brilliant, terrible clarity that allows her to see through people as though they were made of glass.
Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince himself, looks at his daughter and sees a mirror of his own ambition, his own ruthlessness. But even he does not fully comprehend the depths of what burns within her. Even he does not realize that she has already surpassed him in the art of manipulation, in the subtle dance of power that requires not just strength but perfect understanding of human weakness.
Rhaenyra sees more. A mother always does. She watches Aelara with a mixture of pride and something that might be fear the recognition that she has brought into the world a creature who will reshape it according to her own design, who will let nothing and no one stand between her and what she desires. And what Aelara desires, she takes.
But it is not crowns or thrones that occupy the princess's thoughts, though she would wear both with devastating grace. It is not even the great game of power that consumes so many of her house, though she plays it better than most lords three times her age.
No, what consumes Aelara Targaryen— what drives her, shapes her, defines the very core of her being is something far more dangerous, far more destructive than mere political ambition.
It is the love of her brothers. And her love for them in return.
—
Jacaerys Velaryon is the eldest, born two years before the twins. He is everything a crown prince should be: brave, principled, fiercely loyal to his mother and her cause. He has spent his life proving himself worthy of the name he bears, of the throne he will one day inherit, of the dragon he rides with such natural grace that even his detractors must acknowledge his skill.
He is also desperately, irrevocably in love with his sister.
It is a love that has grown from childhood affection into something far more complex, far more consuming. He knows her in ways that no one else can. The silent language of shared glances, the instinctive understanding that comes from years of standing side by side against the world's judgment. He sees past the masks she wears for others, past the calculated charm and the dangerous beauty, to the brilliant, ambitious, achingly human woman beneath.
She is his mirror, his match, his equal in every way that matters. When they are together, there is a rightness to it that defies explanation, defies the laws of gods and men. They move in perfect synchronization, their thoughts aligned, their purposes unified. He makes her laugh— truly laugh, not the practiced sound she offers to courtiers and suitors and she makes him feel seen in a way that no one else ever has.
But Jacaerys is not alone in his devotion.
Aerion Targaryen, Aelara's twin, her other half, the boy who entered the world mere moments before her, loves her with an intensity that borders on madness. Where Jacaerys's love is tender and protective, Aerion's is possessive and all-consuming. He believes —no, he knows— that she belongs to him in a way that transcends ordinary bonds of family or affection.
They shared a womb. They drew their first breaths within moments of each other. They are two halves of the same whole, fire and fire, dragon and dragon, bound together by something deeper than blood, more primal than choice.
Aerion is everything that Jacaerys is not: arrogant where his older brother is humble, cruel where Jacaerys is kind, reckless where Jacaerys is measured. His temper is legendary, his vanity absolute, his capacity for violence both casual and terrifying. He is beautiful in the way that wildfire is beautiful mesmerizing and deadly, impossible to control, destined to consume everything in its path.
And he wants his sister with a hunger that nothing else can satisfy.
Their relationship is a secret kept in shadows and stolen moments, built on shared fire and a history that binds them more tightly than any marriage vow. When they are together, the world falls away, and there is only the two of them. Twin flames burning in the darkness, understanding each other in ways that words cannot capture. He knows the taste of her lips, the sound of her breath, the way her body fits against his as though they were designed to be together.
She is his, and he is hers, and nothing, not duty, not honor, not even the love of their brother will change that fundamental truth. Or so he believes
—
But Aelara Targaryen is not a prize to be won, not a possession to be claimed. She is a dragon in her own right, and dragons bow to no one.
She loves both her brothers, though in different ways, with different intensities. With Aerion, there is the primal recognition of shared essence, the dangerous thrill of matching fire with fire. With Jacaerys, there is something deeper, something that feels like coming home after a long journey through hostile lands.
She is brilliant enough to see the destruction that this triangle of desire will inevitably cause. Cunning enough to manipulate the situation to her advantage, to play one brother against the other when it serves her purposes. Principled enough to be bound by her own code of honor, even as she breaks every other rule that society has imposed upon her.
And narcissistic enough, though she would never name it as such, to believe that she can control this fire, that she can have both brothers' devotion without watching everything burn.
She is wrong, of course.
Because the hatred between Jacaerys and Aerion grows with each passing day, fed by jealousy and resentment and the unbearable knowledge that the woman they both love shares herself between them. Jacaerys envies the twin bond, the fact that Aerion and Aelara entered the world together, that they share something he can never have. Aerion burns with rage over the history between Aelara and Jacaerys, the easy intimacy, the way she softens for their older brother in ways she never does for anyone else.
And always, always, there is the whispered word that Aerion wields like a blade: bastard. The reminder that Jacaerys's claim to legitimacy is built on a lie that everyone knows but no one dares speak aloud. The suggestion that perhaps the true Targaryen prince— the one with undisputed blood— should be the one to stand at Aelara's side.
What makes this rivalry unbearable is not distance or abstraction. It is proximity. It is blood. These are not distant suitors or political opponents who can be dismissed or destroyed. These are brothers, bound by the same mother, the same legacy, the same dragon blood that runs hot and demanding through their veins.
Each believes that Aelara is meant to stand at his side. Each sees the other not just as a rival, but as a traitor. Someone who should support his claim, not contest it. And as they compete for her devotion, for her body, for her heart, the fragile balance of their family threatens to shatter into pieces that can never be made whole again.
—
This is the story of Aelara Targaryen, the dragon's daughter, the princess who holds the hearts of two princes in her hands and knows that she cannot keep both without destroying everything she loves.
The story of three siblings bound by blood and desire, by loyalty and betrayal, by love that is both salvation and damnation. Of how fire consumes even those who believe themselves immune to burning. Because in the house of the dragon, love can be just as destructive as war. And when dragons dance, the whole world burns.
The only question is: who will be left standing when the flames finally die?
* author note: i’ll also be publishing this on wattpad, so if you’re interested, you can check it out there @clairlunairexo
prince rhaelor was the youngest son of the late king viserys and his young hightower wife, alicent. some mockingly called him an afterthought of a prince, a spare of the spare of the spare, but ladies of the court loved him the most. rhaelor was a giddy manchild, tall, artistic, courteous and stupid. as much as he adored gossip and wine, nothing could tower the devotion he felt towards his somber mother and his one eyed brother. (hotd oc)
prints + merch + c0mmission info pinned to my blog :)
ormundmancer done . her name is mina meadows
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What a marriage
English is not my first language, please be kind
Masterlist
Taglist
Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3 -> Part 4 -> Part 5
•Warnings: manipulation, violence, kissing, fingering.•
Modern!Husband!Aemond x Wife!Reader
She stumbled back as Aemond took a step towards her.
“What th-” She stuttered, confused. “Why are you here?” She hissed.
“You love to forget that you’re my wife, uh?” Aemond asked, taking another step forward, grabbing two glasses of wine from the table, giving her one. “Let’s toast to our sweet reunion.” Aemond said, his voice sounded teasing but his expression was cold. “And to my dear friend James, who made it happen.”
Princess Daenys Targaryen (oc) Lady of Raventree Hall.
She thought of a giant baby, but they were actually twins.
There, in King's Landing, or in Winterfell
Cregan is married to Rhaenyras's full sister. After her father dies, she sides with Rhaenyra and stays safe up north. But when Jaehaerys Targaryen is killed, the Greens decide they wouldn't let this stop there and go after her and Cregan's son.
Epilogue/Part 2
Does features kidnapping but I promise everything ends okay and the baby is not hurt! Sorry if the timeline is all wrong but I tried my best. Rickon is about 6 or 7 months old for extra context. Crossed posted to AO3.