* ‘ independent Rhaenyra, bled of ink by ( FERN ). #hotdrp, #mvrp, #gotrp. 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖.

&& freedom she shan’t ever taste, among chains unbroken. headcanon inspired helaena targaryen woven for the ‘house of the dragon’ verse. #hotdrp, #gotrp, #asoiafrp. more information below.

Green fabric kisses the cobble, sleeve of a nightdress tugged aside; scars map the loveliness of a bare shoulder. Tips of finger ghost against raised marks, the air crackling from the hearth’s beloved flames. ❝Do you wish to see me?❞ she coos to the reader.

She 𝓵𝓾𝓻𝓴𝓼 in the shadows, lips stained in 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯—waltzing to the beat of her own heart. 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 intentions sinks in her flesh, babe in arms wailing.

✵ 𝔒𝐓𝐓𝐎 ℌ𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫. HAND OF THE KING, * 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 ! 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸.

𓈓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃, /𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍 ! #hotdrp, #mvrp⠀╳ In the darkness thats around me, I've seen my own special hell. Comfort in my suffering, feeling warm inside this pain! Alternative verse & storyline driven. main thread below.

I am daenerys stormborn, of house targaryen, of the blood of old valyria – i am the dragon’s daughter. And i swear to you, that those who would harm you will perish screaming. 【 #gotrp, #asoiafrp, #mvrp. 】

♛ 𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑. ♛ 𓄂 𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 && 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑. Golden and bold, steel singing for war and honour. #mvrp, #gotrp / * fairytale ending writ below.

of house martell. an independent and story-line driven oberyn martell of the game of thrones series. headcanon, book and tv series inspired. #mvrp - #gotrp - #asoiafrp.

Woven disgrace of fabric—stained in deep crimson, she waltzes with shadows. The light cannot find her, to throttle her.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝑩𝑨𝑬𝑳𝑨 𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑨𝑹𝒀𝑬𝑵. a daughter, a sister, a beloved rider of moondancer. find grace in her wildfire; blazing without rhythm or reason. #gotrp / #hotdrp / #mvrp ⋆·˚ ༘ *

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒚 in how her sharp needle weaves with fabric; loose upon a lap. Red thread bleeds into white, a melody spewing from lips. She is cold despite the sticky heat, perspiration clinging to bones much like her twins—a daughter weeping at her feet.

Hers is a 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 that wrings a heart dry of rapture / something so sacred, all hidden between thighs, folds of a forsaken heart. The garden is her altar, maggots crawling beneath dirty nails—she digs for her own salvation. None, none at all to be found.

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒔𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓—belly fathomless && empty, death filling a mouth. It tastes like ash.

Dirt spreads from hands searching for life of the soil of the garden; it 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒔 beneath nails. Her porcelain face lifeless, she is a little doll without delight—red painted upon lips, red upon cheeks—blush of decay.

She does 𝒏͟𝒐͟𝒕͟ belong on a leash. Baela is hardly a creature to kneel, to sew her mouth shut to please a 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒏 of a king wearing disdain for the * ( 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑬 𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑹 ). She pities a green queen for knowing a womb full, to know bruised knees for a usurper.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑴𝑨𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵 𝑶𝑭 𝑹𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑵𝒀𝑹𝑨.ᐟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ #hotdrp ｡･:*˚:✧｡ #gotrp

The halls are 𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒍—wind curling its grief in its glacial kiss. Gooseflesh violates skin, greeting paleness with bumps, no matter her attempts to find summertime. The sun does not infect the belly of Dragonstone, it cannot dig into its innermost walls with its rapture (cont.)

Like any mortal child she 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒔 on her Queen’s recognition—divinity found in a violet gaze settling on mundane hands, mundane faces. There is ritual slaughter in love for a Targaryen; in wanted chains of duty. Where rightful draconic rage soars, is where her eyes follow.