"You don't own me, Aerion. You're too mad to even see straight." "I own every dragon I desire, bastard or not." ⋆༺𓆩𐂂𓆪༻⋆ Princess Aelynn Targaryen was born a Stormdragon bastard, but fate and her cunning uncle Lyonel, would see her legitimized as a true Targaryen princess. Raised in the shadow of kings and dragons away in Storms end, she is betrothed to a careless, drunken prince she barely knows... only to find her heart drawn to his dangerous, mad younger brother. In a court where love is a weapon and loyalty a gamble, Aelynn must navigate fire, fury, and forbidden desire. ⋆༺𓆩𐂂𓆪༻⋆ Aerion Targaryen x OC Slight Daeron Targaryon x OC

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 - 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜

Baelora Targaryen was the only female of the Targaryen siblings. Holding the known status of beauty and purity amongst her brothers who were either known as- reckless, careless, or just plain cruel. But purity was a fragile thing in a family built on tradition and reproduction. As the much younger sister of Prince Aerion- the Bright Flame- Baelora had grown up watching his cruel victories and mistakes, where whispers followed his name. Most of the time Baelora simple thought of him as her older brother- her guardian- her protector. Yet as the great tourney at Ashford Meadow draws near, she begins to see the truth behind the stories of him. And in a world where 'dragons' are the royalty, Baelora must learn that even the brightest flames can burn.

Memento mori-remember that you must die, and remember too how fiercely you might live when given the knowledge of impending loss. In which Delphine Fossoway, who loved without restraint and lost without mercy, is granted an impossible second chance to rewrite the last year of her life. Valarr Taragryen x Fem!OC cover by @runlikeh3ll

Prince Valarr Targaryen, son of Baelor Targaryen, was carefully sculpted to be the perfect prince. But the death of his beloved wife, Elayne Redwyne, left a hollow space in his chest that duty could not fill. In the cold wake of his loss, he found warmth in the one place he should have feared to look: the tempting arms of Lady Lysara Loraqen. Lysara is renowned for being clever, with a beauty that surpasses the muck of Westeros, and-most dangerously-the shackled wife of the volatile, Prince Aerion Targaryen. What began as a whispered confidence in a dark corridor has spiraled into a feverish obsession. For Valarr, Lysara is no longer just comfort; she is a necessity. But for Aerion, possession is the only law. Known for a temper that burns hotter than wildfire, Aerion views his wife as his absolute domain. The one thing no one can claim ownership over, but himself. In a court where every wall has ears, and every shadow has eyes, Valarr and Lysara play a lethal game of heated liaison. They dance recklessly on the edge of a blade, knowing that if Aerion were to suspect of their betrayal, the Dragonpit will run red with more than just old blood.

Deamyra was not raised to inherit power. She was raised to survive it. In a court where daughters are bargaining tools and affection is a liability, she understands one truth above all: safety is never given - it is secured. Valarr Targaryen is not the most charming of princes. He is not reckless. He is not easily swayed. But he is steady. In a world of unpredictable men and burning tempers, Valarr is restraint. Discipline. Protection forged in black steel. He does not promise romance - he promises order. And to Deamyra, order is worth more than poetry. She does not dream of fairy tales. She dreams of permanence. Of a place no one can remove her from. If becoming his wife means safety, she will become indispensable. If bearing his child means security, she will not hesitate. If loving him makes it easier to stay - she may allow herself that luxury. Because in the game of dragons, love is uncertain. But protection - protection can be chosen. And Deamyra has chosen.

Endless cycles always come to an end. Valarr Targaryen, son of Baelor Targaryen and Jena Dondarrion, had been missing for a month when he was found near the ruins of Harrenhal. He was wandering through the tall grass, barefoot, his gaze vacant, his skin was an alarming pallor, and his body bore signs of violence, scars crisscrossed his back and chest, some thin, others wider. X-rays revealed something even worse: his forearms and shins had been broken. Someone had intended to break them, then let them heal before doing it again, but hadn't had time. Valarr was rambling, his sentences made no sense. The investigators tried to make sense of it, and then someone asked the obvious question. "Where is Morgana Stark?" Valarr froze, very slowly, he tilted his head to the side at a strange angle and murmured. "I don't know where my girlfriend is." There was a silence, then he parted his lips once more. "I don't know where my girlfriend is." Again. "I don't know where my girlfriend is." And again. "I don't know where my girlfriend is." He finally paused to catch his breath. The investigators exchanged a heavy glance, because one thing was certain: no one knew where Morgana Stark was, no one... Except perhaps Valarr.

( Valarr Targaryen x OC) Their marriage was arranged, not born of love but of duty-fire bound to storm for the sake of the realm. Thrown into life at King's Landing, Valarr and Althea must learn each other in quiet moments between court politics, whispered judgments, and expectations neither asked for. As Valarr struggles to balance his temper, grief, and the weight of his name, Althea works tirelessly to represent her House Baratheon with dignity-learning what it means to be both a proper lady and a loyal wife in a city that never rests. Through long days of feasts, councils, and solitude, they slowly reach for something more than obligation, discovering that love is not always immediate, but can be built-carefully, painfully, and honestly-by two people choosing each other every day.

Daenys was born from obligation, not love, raised in the shadow of a father who never wanted her and a court that never quite accepted her. Sent away at fourteen to Summerhall without explanation, she learned quickly that survival did not belong to the loud it belonged to the observant. The girl who once slipped through corridors unnoticed did not disappear there. She hardened. She listened. She changed. When she returned to court, she was no longer the quiet, overlooked child. To the surprise of many and the irritation of more her grandfather, King Daeron, saw something in her that others had failed to notice. Strength. Calculation. A presence that did not beg to be seen but commanded it anyway. He declared his intention plainly: Daenys would be his future queen. There was only one problem. Daeron meant for Daenys to marry Valarr Targaryen -and Valarr was already betrothed. Worse still, he did not like the woman Daenys had become.

The tale of Visenya Velaryon and Cregan Stark. Visenya Velaryon, young Princess of Dragonstone, is determined to prove herself worthy of her blood and protect her kin as the realm teeters on the edge of chaos. Far in the North, the young Lord of Winterfell- solemn, steadfast, and born to lead- grows into his destiny. Their paths collide once more, and the embers of an old bond flare hot amid rising shadows. But the Greens have seized Rhaenyra's throne, and war sweeps towards them like a storm, sparing neither the brave nor the beloved. As the realm burns and loyalties are tested, Visenya must confront the question that haunts all who bear the name Targaryen: When the coin is cast, will she rise to greatness... or fall to madness?