#alice in their mind palace

[evergreenlover]

mmmmm sirius black and remus lupin fucking you. mmmmmmmm.

[featherstcnes]

since her youth, rhaenyra had not known what peace was. and now, watching her father start to fall to his illness, she knew that nothing had changed. she could feel the tension in the air, the distrust and conflict between her and alicent's children. in a different time, rhaenyra had imagined what her life could have been if her father's supporters had fully pledged themselves to her. if she, from the beginning, had been who her father had shown to the world as his pride and joy instead of continually wishing for a son he would never have. she would still have her throne -- she just knew it would not be as simple as she once wished.

and now, after trying to salvage an already tense visit, alicent's son was missing an eye, and she had managed to save her own. as she stood near a window, overlooking king's landing, she turned at the sound of her old friend's voice.

@bloodymyhands asked: "what is wrong with you?"

rhaenyra's free hand was holding onto her arm that had a bandage on it from alicent's blade, her brows furrowing at the words. " what is wrong with me? " rhaenyra's question was quiet at first, the night around them coating the room with an uncomfortable silence. all that illuminated the room were a few candles that rhaenyra had lit what felt like hours ago, wax slowly dripping down the sides. " you cannot be serious. " dropping her arm, the blood stained bandage slowly becoming covered by her sleeve as she did so, she began to speak again. " threatening my children, my family, because of something your ... unruly children did. i do not see how there is fault with me. " she did not address her friend with a title -- at this point, the anger rising in her system prevented her from that.

" i have nothing else to say to you that i have not already spoken earlier in the day. " the image of alicent's hand wrapped around a blade, her eyes intense as they stayed locked in an embrace. words of venom, of truth, that had left rhaenyra's lips. " perhaps you would do both of us well to keep some distance. "

[turtle-sister-april]

Curiouser and curiouser!

Makes sense @yuichiiusagii would be the white rabbit. Oh, but since he and @neonleonsmessymindpalace are dating then in this it would mean the mad hatter and the white rabbit are dating.

Maybe that’s what the white rabbit is so late for, a date with his boyfriend.

But wait, where are my glasses?

APRIL IN WONDERLAND

I finally have some designs!

You already know April's design, to make it I was guided a lot by the clothes of the time, and it has some details like the black and white pattern and Alice's necklace from American Mcgee games

April meets the Queen of Hearts, I wanted to do the same as in Tim Burton's Live Action movie, this is the dress that April has when she meets the Queen of Hearts, I also guided myself a little with the dress that Alice had when she met to the queen in that same movie

April meets the White Queen. Same as above, the dress she wears when she meets the White Queen, I wanted to do it with a musical theme, since I felt it would be boring just white.

Chesire Cat Donnie. I was guided a lot by Kitty Cheshire from Ever After High and the smiling cat from Twisted Wonderland. For example, the rings in his ears with arrows and "Up" and "Down" as well as the tail with the clock

So, I had a stroke while making Leo. I took the mad hatter from the Tim Burton movie as a reference. In his sleeve he has a small sewing kit since, since he is a hatter, he has to be prepared, right? And I found it interesting that the ribbon on Leo's mask comes from the hat instead of his head. He also has 11/6 in his hat but in poker cards. I also felt that, being a mad hatter, not even the tie would have to make any sense.

The white rabbit definitely had to be Usagi. I found it funny that he had the old man's glasses that the white rabbit in the Disney animated movie had. At the same time, the small umbrella pin he has refers to the umbrella that the white rabbit carried in the movie

The White Queen. At first I thought it could be Sunita, but miraculously I had the idea that it was Karai, anyway, I put all my effort into the dress

Queen of hearts. In the same case, at first I thought it could be Cassandra, but I clearly ended up with the great Big Mama

I'm still missing Mikey as the March Hare and Raph as a card from the Queen of Hearts. But that will go in a next post, thanks for waiting!

[jacesvelaryons]

The Reluctant Empress (Jacaerys Velaryon x Female!Reader)

Act II. Burgeoning

(19th Century Imperial Austria AU)

summary: crown prince jacaerys gets to know his prospect betrothed and future bride whom he has been arranged with to marry, your sister helaena targaryen, but true to your wild spirit, you cannot help but wonder what awaits in the world behind gilded castles and royal splendour.

word count: 2.4k words

a/n: i'm so sorry this took an entire year before an update but it is finally here! i apologize as I had some health things to settle, and with brain fog and got more distracted by other fandoms but here we go! once again, please comment and share what you liked, what you'd want more for me and request and let me know as my inbox is always open <3 let me know if you want to be on the taglist or not getting tags!

series masterlist

previously: prologue | act i

masterlist

requests OPEN

“Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” ― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Seated between her mother and sister, Y/N eyes roamed around the dining hall in the palace that hosted the royal family and her covey. Changed into an emerald green gown, wearing the necklace and earrings her father gave her on the last name day before his passing, she paid no mind to the significance of the occasion and was just glad to be there, surrounded in the splendor of the castle walls.

She knew that it was Helaena’s time to shine, and she would not want to rob her of her light, of the opportunity that would change their fortunes and not have Alicent scrabbling and worrying over the last penny of their expenses.

Twirling her fork on the pesto noodles in front of her, Y/N remained silent and just patiently listened to all the conversation around her, between her mother and her childhood friend the Queen, who inquired about Helaena’s well being, her lifestyle and assessing on how she would adjust becoming the next consort upon wedding Jacaerys.

Dazed out in a world of her own, Y/N did not hear Jacaerys reverting his attention to her aptly, until her sister nudged her ankle with her shoe, repeating her name on his tongue like it was the sweetest honey, curiosity and amusement on his features.

“Lady Y/N, what do you do in your free time, my lady?”

Stammering like a cat bit her tongue, she cleared her throat as she gathered herself and make her look and sound presentable.

“I ride horses, my prince. I hunt and I have picked up the sword a few times.” Lady Y/N bluntly replied, already feeling the burning glare of your embarrassed mother. Queen Rhaenyra only watches in amusement, how her confidante could have a daughter who was nothing like her mother.

Jacaerys was intrigued, leaning forward to hear Y/N better and scooch closer over to Her. A curious smile on his handsome, chiseled face, his curly brown hair starting to grow out and neatly groomed behind his ears.

Plates and utensils remained untouched as Y/N and Jacaerys were engrossed in an engaging, animated conversation, passionate replies to uncontrollable laughter.

The older women present at the table watched with trepidation, Lady Alicent’s habits of digging into her fingernails returned while the silver-haired queen’s expression turned unreadable.

Helaena swallowed her wounded pride of being ignored and not found as an interesting companion, playing with her knife and fork, digging at the roast beef the same way her young daughter would.

As the servants gather the finished main course meals and replace them with fresh fruit and lemon cakes for dessert, Rhaenyra swiftly suggests for the elder Targaryen sister to read out some of the poetry her mother praised earlier.

“You must share with us your talent in verse and poetry, Lady Helaena.”

Relieved, the indigo hued girl stood up at the end of the table, grabbing her little booklet hidden in the pockets of her skirt. Flipping through its parchment pages, she settles to a recent entry close to the end of the worn out leather bound book, covered with an embroidered beetle.

To want is the most natural thing Inherent in the blood through our veins The very primal urge of our being Yet we will always want, and want With no end like a black hole What better to want what is not ours? To covet what the other possesses To take away what is given as easily as it was owned?

Her raspy voice echoed through the halls mellifluously in perfectly rehearsed High Valyrian. Yet you could not help a guilty perception weighing on you, blossoming at the pit of your stomach and you could not shake it off. You were doing nothing wrong, you told yourself, wanting to believe in it but it felt wrong.

Y/N’s fears arose to the surface when she could feel a burning stare on her face intensely, as if memorizing her very form and that she would disappear into nothing anytime. You were listening as intently as you could, yet when you turned, Jacaerys did not pay mind to a single word Helaena said as his focus was fixated on you.

No, no, no. Nothing was going as planned. Everything was going wrong. She praises whatever gods intervened when the heir’s brother Prince Lucerys gracefully diverted the topic into the new cuisines created by the cooks of the Keep with the freshest catches of seafood from Driftmark.

…

“Y/N, what do you think you were doing out there?! Do you think I do not notice your need to always be the centre of attention?” The shrill shrieking of her mother’s voice pierced through her ear drums, yet Y/N was unsurprised and used to such altercations with her mother.

Following the uneasy supper, the three ladies from Dalston Keep returned to their chambers to change midday in preparation for the tour around the gardens with the queen and her heir again after a few hours of respite.

Silently humiliated as they reconvened in private, the illusion of propriety that Lady Alicent carried in front of the queen and prince ripped away, unleashing a ferocity unrestrained like never before.

“I did nothing, mother. I was polite and engaged in a conversation when I was spoken to.”

“You did more than that, you foolish girl! It was about your sister. All of this was about her, not you! Is it so difficult for you to tone down your tendencies for once so we can go according to the arrangement? You put our fortunes up to be desolated. You are as careless as your father!” The sting of her final words hung in the air, salt over the open wound for such a loss. Y/N knew her mother did not love her father, who was older than her own father, and only did her duty to her ailing, troubled, aging husband.

“Mother, that is enough! Do not bring father into this.” Helaena countered exasperatedly, holding onto her sister by her shoulders in defense. “Y/N did nothing wrong. It was..it was me. I should have engaged with the prince more. She did me a favour.”

Y/N gasps in disbelief, astonished her beloved sister would keep taking her side when it was clear she was the wounded party.

“Do not worry about it, mother. I promise I will remain silent from now on. I want this to be Helaena’s night.” Y/N swears sincerely, wanting to defend Helaena and stay away from any trouble from now on.

Alicent does not fully believe her youngest, but nods solemnly as she seeks to move this behind them, returning to her dignified, contemplating gaze with her perfect posture and arms clasped at her waist.

Subsequently, a drove of maids and seamstresses poured in, as Alicent went to her solitary room while the sisters shared a larger room. Each stepped on the raised wooden platform. Taking lush gowns from the closet, they plucked out a rich emerald green gown with fitted sleeves for Helaena.

Meanwhile, a muted seafoam gown was placed on Y/N, as maids scuttered behind her to tighten the corset and laces. Y/N whimpered quietly in discomfort, never finding any gratification in restrictive court dress upheld by centuries of protocol and conduct. It barred her sense of freedom, clipped off her wings from flight and reminded her of a bird in a cage.

Heirloom pieces of emerald silver lined jewelry were given to Helaena, designed to accentuate her beauty and prepare her for her upcoming role and ascent into her duty. As the daylight trickled in through the lace curtains and open windows, she looked like a future queen. A role she was raised to be. Otherworldly and ethereal, while Y/N was grounded to the earth, locks like flames and soil.

Y/N beamed in delight for her older sister, squeezing her hands in reassurance. Helaena reciprocated not as enthusiastically, the nerves still getting to her as her palms were sweating and shaking.

“You have nothing to worry about, Hel. We would not get this far if he did not consider you his bride already.”

“Truly, do you really think so?”

“I do. Without a doubt. You already look the part. It is only the formality left we are waiting for at the ball.”

The elder genuinely chuckled this time in relief, her joy finally meeting her eyes from the comfort and encouragement of her sister.

“Now, all that is left is for you to step into your destiny.”

…

Manicured gardens flourished in the peak of spring, cicadas chirping from the branches of oak trees. Lilies and carnations in hues of apricot and blush, while the outlying paths were paved in blue hydrangeas and violet peonies.

Queen Rhaenyra adorned a lapis lazuli blue gown adorned in gold trimmings and sapphires sewn onto her bodice, matching the stone necklace of the color on her neck and matched her tiara, a reminder of her late mother and former queen.

She pleasantly strolled with a natural confidence, carrying herself with an ease afforded by one who has known privilege and power all her life. Guiding a tour around the Red Keep at the height of its social season, Rhaenyra proudly showed off her domains, and subtly if so, the lands that Helaena would take care of as its hostess after she marries Jacaerys and becomes his queen when the time comes.

Behind her was her eldest Crown Prince Jacaerys, always without a hair or trivet out of place, the picture of perfection that she had groomed since his birth. Dressed more casually in teal with the seahorse emblem on his chest, he honoured his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon, further dispelling any rumours or uncertainty around his paternity.

Although he did not directly resemble his father, he has begun to share features with his paternal grandmother Princess Rhaenys with her Baratheon colouring, and the shape of his nose and chin mirrored her father, who was another Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Aemon the Pale Prince. As rider of Vermax, it was undeniable he was the prince long awaited by the realm, whom millions of hopes and dreams were instilled in.

Standing beside him was Lady Helaena Targaryen, his expected betrothed in everything but formality. Raised with the intention of becoming a princess consort, she was demure, shy, obedient and trusting, exactly what the people of Westeros wanted of their model future queen. Proven in her success of childbearing, onlookers examined her critically on baited breath as they wanted to know who will bear the next generation of Targaryen rulers on the Iron Throne.

Their chaperons trailed behind them, Lady Alicent arm in arm with Lady Y/N, in the same shade of muted green, but her mother had visible symbols of the Faith of the Seven from her necklace, her dark headdress and veil, and on the cuffs on her wrist and belt. Y/N distractedly took in her sights, studying every nook and cranny of the storied palace with eagerness and pursuit.

“This garden still follows the design plan created by Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror herself, yet it was only finished years after her passing in Dorne.”

The queen continued the tour of the keep, while she discreetly eavesdropped on the conversation between her heir and his expected betrothed. The two were engaging pleasantly yet amiably on the surface level, their dialogue not reaching too far. Unaware of a figure parting at the fork and heading another direction.

…

When she is assured she’s clear and no one can find her, Y/N Targaryen smirks victoriously as she heads straight and turns left towards the barn, near the dragonpit, where the horses and grazing animals were located.

On nimble footsteps, through the mud and manure, she makes a run for it as two stableboys turn the corner and miss her, as they forgot to close the stables and she sneaks in.

As the afternoon light trickles in, Y/N looks around curiously, before her attention is caught by this white mare, with its freshly brushed mane and shining horsehair, an anomaly among ebony and hickory. Not wanting to startle the majestic creature, she prances until she’s in front of the horse, hushing and cooing at them as she latches onto the reins.

She holds the mane by her reins, tugging gently as she walks through the barn and the empty backwaters of the ancient castle. It is quiet, with most servants resting for their annual nap and their morning duties finished, so Y/N is able to ride the stallion undiscovered.

The lingering scent of the manure and greenery turns into salty waters of aegean and spruce and the earthy, musty petrichor from the rain on the fir and cedar trees earlier in the morning.

A hint of the cool breeze tingles through her skin, a dress and not proper riding gear in its leathers and furs, but she brushes it off, as King’s Landing in the spring at this time of the year has turned warm and the rain from earlier is long gone.

She rides as far as her companion will allow, until the peripheral view of the Red Keep grows distant from over her shoulder. Y/N stops at the fork of the road before it joins the greater Kingsroad, diverting by the forest with towering trees and fallen logs. Sitting by the foot of a trunk, Y/N pauses for some stillness, her back pressing against the hard trunk as she closes her eyes, before grabbing an apple and vial of water to share with her stallion.

As she and the mare finish the fruit, she stands up to brush off any leaf and dirt on the back of her skirt, about to mount once again before she hears echoes of confrontation growing closer. Y/N has barely begun to leave the forest and return to the artery before she is surrounded by hooded, disheveled men with smug expressions.

Unable to avoid contact, she politely acknowledges them and pulls her cape over her flaming locks before she is stopped from moving in either direction. “Good morrow, sirs.”

She yelps as she’s grabbed by her wrists by the men, struggling to stay on her saddle as the mare turns skittish. “Not so fast, my lady. We need something from ya, and you gotta pay up for our silence. Comes with a price.” The men smirk, distant galloping approaching them.

Y/N yelps as she is knocked off her horse, hitting her head against the rock and all turns into darkness around her. She hears a distant echo of another mount heading her way, furious yelling and clattering swords. Her head throbs, feeling the blood dripping down her nape, as her eyes flutter closed.

[resetoaster]

I have recently gotten back into podcasts an extreme amount, so now I am looking for podcast recommendations!

Podcasts that I have listened to are:

-the magnus archives

-malevolent

-red valley

-time:bombs

-middle:below

-Startripper!!!

-midnight burger

-wolf 359

-station 151

-archive 81

-I am in eskew

-deviser

- stellar firma

-out of place

-the mistholme museum of mystery morbidity and mortality

-video Palace

-mnemosyne

-Desert skies

-Woe.begone

-The Amelia Project

-Sherlock and Co

-Jackie the ripper

-Mayfair Watches Society

For anyone interested in the podcast recommendations, here's a list of them (please let me know if i have missed any!):

101.7 OUROBOROS

Alba Salix + The End of Time and Other Bothers

Alice isn’t dead

Arden

 arsParadoxica

Brimstone Valley Mall

Camp here and there

 Caravan

Dark Ages

 Death by Dying

Desperado

Don’t Mind Cruxmont

Dos after you

Down

Either

 EOS 10

Find us alive

Ghost Wax

Girl in Space

Hello from the hallowoods

Inn between

 Janus Descending

Jar of rebuke

Kakos Industries

Leaving corvat

Life with althaar

Love and Luck

Mabel

Marscorp

Midst

Mirrors

Modes of thought in Anterran literature

Monstrous agonies

Moonbase Theta, Out

Not quite dead

Old Gods of Appalachia

Our Fair City

QWERPLINE

redwood bureau

SAYER

SCP: Find Us Alive

Second Star to the Left

Spines

Spiritbox radio

Syntax podcast

TANIS

Tell No Tales

the antiquarium of sinister happenings

The antique shop

The Big Loop

The bunker

The dead letter office of somewhere, ohio

The deca tapes

 The Deep Vault

The department of variance of somewhere ohio

The far meridian

The Green Horizon

The Hotel

The hyacinth disaster

The pasithea powder

The penumbra

The Sheridan tapes

the slit verses

The strange case of starship iris

The Vesta Clinic

The white vault

The wrong station

Tides - Victoricity

Uncanny

Unwell, a midwestern gothic mystery

Valence

We are not meant to know

We Fix Space Junk

Welcome to nightvale

Where the stars fell

Witherburn After School News

Within the Wires

Wooden Overcoats

[simpingland]

Combing her hair // Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: reader is too concentrated in the idea of being favored by Rhaenyra to notice that the Princess is actually, way too fond of her.

Dragonstone had been a stifling place for you from the first day. Full of damp, dank, stony mountains, the presence of dragons had replaced the roses that grew in Highgarden. Since you had been sent as Princess Rhaenyra's ward, your duty had been reduced to helping Lucerys with his duties and putting up with Jacaerys's chatter. Your so-called mentor seemed unwilling to heed you, pacing the castle listening to the Maester's whispered words, spending entire evenings in the room with the stone table talking to her husband Daemon, and when she retired to her chambers, only her sons and Rhaena were allowed to enter.

Occasionally you would feel her leaning against the doorway of the room where you and Rhaena were studying with the septa, though you never thought of her watching you when her niece was in front of you; when she spoke with you she was gentle, but your need to impress her seemed to motivate her to underestimate you. Sometimes you would find her watching you from afar, as if trying to discover some hidden secret or intention in you, but you would only get nervous and offer her a smile, wanting to be invited to participate. She always averted her eyes quickly, and you had to get on with your day.

Ever since you were a child you had dreamed of the brave and powerful woman that Rhaenyra was said to be, and when you met her you knew it was absolutely true. And so it hurt you all the more that the person you most wanted to impress paid you so little mind.The disinterest of the noble boys of the palace in you hurt far less than the disinterest of the princess.Rhaena laughed at your cringe, saying you were in love with the princess, and you shoved her away, not understanding that she was absolutely right. No one informed you of anything, despite having a mind as sharp as your hearing. You understood the princess's disinterest in a ward when the Hightowers were indirectly on the throne. But still, it broke your heart to eat alone in your room and to be glared at by the children when you were in a mood. Daemon was the one you feared most in the castle. He wouldn't even speak to you, he said, because your father was nothing more than an airhead who offended him years ago.

Sitting at one of the windows, your reading was interrupted by voices shouting at each other, a more heated argument than they used to have. You only understood the word "Alicent" and the word "in love". What followed was a slamming of the door. You walked, curiosity getting the better of you, and though Daemon was already far away, when the door opened again, Rhaenyra found you. She seemed more transfixed than you, her eyes watering and her lower lip trembling, not expecting to see that expression of grief on your face.

"Your Majesty…" you said in a whisper.

"What are you doing here?" She moved her eyes up and down, watching you as she tried to compose herself. She didn't give you a chance to answer her. "Go away."

"I just wanted to…"

"Leave! I command you!"

And you turned away, not knowing who you hated more, the princess or yourself for being such a coward. The day passed slowly with the young princes trying not to mention Daemon, trying to ignore Syrax's stiff pangs of grief at the absence of Caraxes, or the absence of the Princess in the hall at dinner time with her children, the time when she never failed. You put little Joffrey to bed, the only Targaryen who seemed to respect you and asked the favour of giving his mother a small paper ship he had made himself that afternoon. You had intended to give it to one of his ladies-in-waiting or servant, but when you found them all gathered in the hallway and facing the door, you forgot that option.

"She won't let us in," one informed you.

"Someone should see if she's all right." The suggestion made her smile wryly.

"She's the Princess, we shouldn't bother her."

"But she's also to be looked after…it's your duty, in fact."

"Well, let's see if you dare to go in."

In another circumstance you would have joined that princess-fearing group, but you were too moved by the idea of being the princess and no one treating you like the sad woman she was at the time. The Targaryens may have been more than human, but they had a part of it that still entitled them to affection. You picked up your dress to climb the step leading to Rhaenyra's door. You gave the guard an unfriendly look as he approached to lead you away, but stepped inside and carefully walked slowly, hoping that Rhaenyra would have the sound of your heels as a warning.

It seemed all the tears had long since been shed, but her face was no less stern at the sight of you. She rose from the spot on the bed where she sat and stood dignified.

"I have told the ladies not to disturb me." She sounded angry, and it sat badly with you.

"I'm no lady's companion." You struggled to get them out, but your voice did not tremble.

"Nothing that happens in this room is of your concern," she said flatly. You were about to walk away, but there was something about her tousled hair that made you feel sorry for her.

"It does concern me, Princess…" she was confused by your serious tone. "I am your ward…"

"Indeed, and I ask you to leave."

"And what else?" You cut her off. Your hands hid Joffrey's little ship. "What else do you ask of me? Is the thought of helping you such a horrible thing for His Majesty?"

"What? Are you rebuking me?" She took a step towards you, never having paid you so much attention before.

"…" now your fear was returning, but you would not be frightened. "I am here to learn, because I am a good pupil and I thought, as my father thought, that I might be of some use here, but I don't fit into a single room in this castle, Princess. And if you do not want me, why do you not allow me to return to my home?"

"Because you are of much use here."

"Is that so? I don't feel that way… you won't let me help you."

"I won't let you help me because you won't know how. I have maesters who know far more than you, guards stronger than you. You're just a girl, and your duty is to learn. What can you do to help me?"

"Well, I'd start by telling you that Joffrey and Luke and Jace have served you wine at the table waiting for you to come down to be with them… and I'd help you redo that braid that's come undone to get you back to the hall. And I would tell you how sorry I am for your discomfort…"

She seemed embarrassed by your words, as if some of them had enlightened her in her ignorance, and she turned her eyes away from you to return to her surroundings. She nodded in acceptance of that rebuke, and then looked down at your hands. You opened them, revealing at last the gift of her son. You held it out to her and saw her smile a little, a crooked smile, so characteristic of her. Her hand caressed yours as she picked it up, and you watched her as she looked at it. The candles darkened her hair, but it was still magnificent, and her walk was so graceful that one knew who entered by the rhythm of her steps. She sat down in a chair and turned her back to you.

"Comb my hair… I feel like a ride." She pointed to a brush and you were a little offended by the order, that wasn't your duty, but that's something.

You did as she asked, gently, although that was not your forte, you enjoyed the softness of her hair, and from the mirror opposite you could see her, with a tear falling. It was an impulse, but you did not regret it when you wiped her cheek with a finger, gently but quickly, and she looked into your eyes.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty…" she must have seen you blush, but she smiled and took your hand before you pulled it away from her face again. They were strong hands, hands that had led a dragon.

She seemed to want to tell you something, but she instead ran her finger across your palm as she watched you closely. The same impulse you had to wipe away her tear, she had to kiss the back of your hand. Only she didn't apologise, she just released it gently.

When you plaited her hair into a simple braid, she smiled at you and walked away, leaving you alone in the room, unaware that something was stirring inside you. The last thing you heard that night was Syrax's flight back and forth, sleeping very little, still feeling the princess's kiss on your hand.

In the days that followed, Rhaenyra's eyes followed you more than before, and her mood seemed to change. She seemed to care little for her husband's absence, and spent long periods of time in the room where you were. She went so far as to ask you to stay during a meeting with her aunt Rhaenys. You got to share walks with her on the beach, where she would tell you about the things she had seen during her tour in search of a husband, and she would encourage you to tell her about your childhood in Highgarden. She used to push your hair away from your face when the wind was harsh and dodge your gaze much less. There even came a day when she encouraged you to pet Syrax. It became a habit for you to brush her hair, while she gave you little books she knew you would appreciate. She would confess her worries to you, confirming that, indeed, it was not only the crown that concerned her. Motherhood had dulled her self-esteem and Daemon made her feel somewhat aged and ugly.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Princess," you told her honestly. You had undone her braid and she turned to look at you. You felt a rush of warmth throughout your body as she gently cupped your cheek.

"You should go and rest," she replied, much sweeter than she used to be in her day.

You nodded and found it as hard to pull away as she found it hard to let go of your chin.

"You have beautiful handwriting…" she told you the day she found you alone, by your trusty window. One of your many notes had been picked up by her. "It's as distinctive as you are, sweet flower."

She beamed, as you blushed at the compliment and nickname. You tried to reposition yourself immediately, to pay her your respect, but she kept her smile and moved closer to you, resting her hand on your leg to keep you from sitting up.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I didn't realise I had lost it…" you picked up the leaf to keep it with the others.

"I don't think I have thanked you for being the most efficient and attentive person in the castle," she said calmly.

"I don't think that…"

"I do…and I also think I owe you an apology. I led you to believe that I didn't care about you in the slightest. And it's quite the opposite. I had a duty to mentor you, and I only avoided you."

"No need, Your Majesty--"

"Yes, my dear," she cut you off, your eyes trying to avoid her, but her face was unavoidable. "When I was even younger than you, my heart was very evenly divided…. I loved Daemon. And I loved… women." Her hand parted from your leg, leaving you a special space for you to hate her. And yet, she remained dignified in her confession. "I've always… I've always paid attention to you. And precisely because I liked watching you too much, I have consciously avoided you."

Before you could respond, before you could even assimilate her words, she disappeared. And he had already gone back into his rooms when you understood everything. And if you didn't go in that time it was because it took you a sleepless night to work up the courage to tell her what you thought.

She was meditating again in the room with the stone table, watching the fire crackling, the whole castle asleep, and she heard your footsteps but did not turn around.

"It is most unfair…" she turned her head just a little towards you, "to hear your words and leave me alone at once. What do you expect me to do with them?"

"I thought they would be words of relief."

"Well, they would be for your relief and not mine, Your Majesty." At the tremble in your voice, Rhaenyra turned in alarm. "You wish me to leave?"

She approached you quickly, unsure of what to do when she had you close to her. She looked you up and down, and pondered what to say only to shake her head.

"No, I don't want you to leave…"

Her hands held out in front of you, holding each other to restrain herself from touching you, but her rings glistened and you longed fervently to caress them. You took them both, and she let herself, and the space was limited, with her sweet breath close to your lips. You lifted one of her hands, and upon her palm you groped a soft kiss. And with a gentle push of Rhaenyra's hand, she moved your face to her lips and you occupied them. Both her hands now in your hair and yours on her cheek.

Such soft lips, fuller kisses than the ones she received from Daemon, Rhaenyra felt unable to tear herself away from you.

"You have been occupying my dreams for hundreds of nights…" she confessed.

"And you occupy all my thoughts in the day, my queen…"

That made her smile. The room of the stone table would henceforth witness the thousands of hidden glances that carried with them nocturnal kisses.

[103rafes]

TAPE 006 ᯓ★

"I've never had a guy take me out before."

in which citygirl!pogue!reader is a bit stunned when her boyfriend takes her out to a high end for their first date night as a couple.

-

BF!Rafe and CITYGIRL!KOOK!reader

Lights of the city blur into one down the bustling road in Charlotte, North Carolina. You're sat in the front passenger seat of your new boyfriend's F150, watching everything fly past you out the window. You dressed as nice as you could for the occasion when Rafe had first texted you about, pretty with an Alice mini dress, sparkling in a captivating silver, fit around your curves. It was a foreign feeling, being taken out on a date.

You've never had the luxury of the experience, you were used to having the bad end of the stick, taking people out and then having them ditch you months later, it was a pattern you'd grown annoyed of and it had given you reason to doubt any advances that'd come your way.

Not with Rafe Cameron though.

For some reason, Rafe Cameron had made it through to you and actually seemed to be treating you right.

You were quiet, white French tips gently tapping along the edge of the window, gazing outside. After a bit, you heard a voice.

"You've been awfully quiet since we got in here, princess," Rafe's almost slurry sounding voice settled into your ears, and you turned around, your free hand mindlessly caressing the perfect ends of your straightened hair, "Oh, I was just..admiring the view outside," You answered, calm. Rafe looked handsome, all fancy with a navy blue blazer, open to a slightly unbuttoned white silk dress shirt beneath, and those nice designer dress pants you'd chose with him when you went shopping last week.

He looked good and put together. Unlike your past situationships.

Rafe gave a low hum to your answer, processing it, "S'a uh..high end, 'know you're probably used to all that, but-" before he could continue, you interrupted. "No, it's fine Rafe, really..I'm," you paused, hesitating on whether or not to really voice out your honest opinion, but if you were going to date Rafe, then you might aswell start getting comfortable with speaking on your thoughts, "I'm actually not used to this, you know? All the guys I've tried dating, they've never really taken me out, this is a first." You shrugged, hands crossed with the metal chain of your mini silver purse between your body and bicep.

Rafe's eyes squinted at that, a bit stunned as he glanced at you through the corner of his eye, "Seriously?" He sounded like he was offended with the notion. You nodded, and Rafe scoffed, "Guess it's reasonable t'not date if y'got guys like that tryna make ya there's."

You watched as Rafe's hand smoothly turned the wheel of the truck, and pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. You couldn't help but marvel in your mind; it looked, lavish. Rafe found a spot, though there wasn't many full ones, parking expertly before pulling the gearshift into park and killing the engine. He got out of the car, moving to your side and opening the door for you.

Really, it did confuse you greatly and it showed on the dumbfounded expression on your face. Rafe stared right back at you and after an uncomfortably long time, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"You okay, or-"

"What?" You interrupted, and blinked, long, mascara coated lashes fluttering before you realized, "Oh! Sorry, I.." You laughed anxiously, before you got out of the car, the ends of your black stilettos hitting pavement, "Thank you."

Rafe nodded while he closed the door, a hand slipping to intertwine his fingers with yours. It was a quiet walk to the front of the restaurant, and once you stepped through - you couldn't help but let your eyes widen. The place was gorgeous, it really reminded you of the Palace of Versailles, just in a black to white scaled modern thematic.

Your ears didn't catch on Rafe's conversation with a waitress who'd come to assist you to for you reservation, simply looking around like you'd just seen the world for the first time ever. Your feet were moving, presumably Rafe guiding you to your guys' table, but it wasn't clicking.

This place was ethereal and fancy, even beyond your standards. Eventually, you snapped out of your trance after hearing the subtle scratch of the chair against the almost glassy floor. "Have a seat, princess." Rafe murmured low into your ear, which settled comfortably into your chest.

You listened with no further word, adjusting your hair to lay behind you as you took in the place one more, before your eyes met Rafe, puzzled, "Rafe, this place looks..expensive." You spoke, and a husky laugh let the man, "S'that right? Thought expensive was your whole thing." He said light heartedly, pouring glasses of water for the two of you. Silence was all that came from you, seeming to register the sentence.

"Well, yeah but I mean this looks like something Marie Antoinette would own for an exquisite ball dance, not a date night," You laughed quietly, and a soft breath let you, almost of disbelief, "it's..it's beautiful."

That half smirk of Rafe's fell onto his lips, and he nodded, almost proud of himself for pulling such words out of you as the edge of the crystal glass hit his lips, water slowly going through the seams of the pink, "Wow, 'should be pattin' my back then." He joked, and you couldn't help but smile, a soft giggle leaving you. Giggles, that never came from you.

Least not from a guy's words.

You tilted your head, brows furrowing while your eyes narrowed softly, examining Rafe, "You're funny, Mr. Cameron," you murmured, a low tease in your tone that Rafe picked up on and he hummed, setting the glass down on the silk white of the table cloth.

"Anythin' t'see that pretty smile a'yours, princess." He smoothly replied, and you felt a foreign feeling. It was this tingling sensation, but not only that - there was warmth in your heart.

You couldn't help the grin that came onto your face. Princess, and those words.

Being called princess was best when it was coming out Rafe Cameron's mouth.

Maybe being taken out wasn't so bad after all; you could get used to this.

- note; hey LMFAOO. This is my first time writing these like..fics on tumblr of all places, 'n so I seriously, don't know how this shit works; a good friend of mine really guided me into it, and I decided it would be so embarrassing of me to start writing fics in the name of fan service and lack of anything better to do with my life so uh..here I am. Hope you guys enjoyed this, 'n if you didn't uh- lucky me. Could use advice, so slide it if ya can. Thank ya kindly!

also..I didn't proofread. I will later tho.. maybe might add some other stuff too..

[gulnarsultan]

Hello! I’m the person that asked for the yandere Hightowers sorry for the confusion!! If this helps child!reader is Alicents daughter, Ottos granddaughter and Aegon, Helaena and Aemonds sister and dive child!reader is the youngest how would Yandere Hightowers try to keep her sheltered/innocent

Do not worry. Now I understand your question. Thanks for the announcement. These two questions were almost the same. That's why I decided to merge.

The green team is doing everything to preserve the innocence and purity of the Princess. No one can curse in front of the princess. The princess is not allowed to drink wine.

Princess is the last child and second daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. (Reader replaces Daeron/if you don't want this tour, I can add Daeron to the yandere team.) Alicent loved her children. The world seems to stand still when Alicent takes reader in her arms for the first time after the birth is over. Alicent's feelings and thoughts are captured by the yandere mother mode. Alicent looks after reader herself. She doesn't trust nannies or maids to care for the princess. She is the only one who breastfeeds the princess herself. Princess shares a room with her mother until she is almost seven or nine years old. Princess's separate room will be next to the Queen's room. Washing princess, combing and styling her hair, dressing her clothes is entirely Alicent's responsibility. Otto takes on the role of father and grandfather for his youngest grandson. Moreover, these roles are adding to their tendency to yandere. Otto is very involved in the upbringing of princess. Aegon almost adores his younger sister. Aegon loves the love and attention he receives from his younger sister. He is protective and possessive towards his sister. Helaena is possessive towards her sister. One of the few people who does not see her as strange and spends time willingly is her sister. Helaena spends a lot of time with her sister. Aemond is dependent on his sister. He guards and defends his sister Amond, in the absence of his dragon. When Aemond loses his sight, his sister demands justice. This scene will never leave Aemond's mind. Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond depend on their sister for love, attention, security, and support. They don't want to share their sisters with anyone. They are protective of their sisters. Their sister is the only person who gives them everything they are missing in their life. And that means a lot to all three Targaryens. They are ready to do anything for their sisters to be happy and safe. Princess is never allowed to leave the Palace. All marriage proposals for princess are rejected. Maybe Viserys, Rhaneyra (and her children), Daemon, Velaorions will develop yandere tendencies for Princess. The war is for Princess, not the throne.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon Masterlist

Lady Arianwyn Targaryen of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge. But even a child born of such darkness can find her way to the light. With her mother dead, and father flown across the Narrow Sea with a new wife, the girl is taken in by her Aunt, the Queen Alicent Hightower, to be raised among the little family she has left. There, she finds her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. The two spend long nights in the palace library together, studying the histories of both Old Valyria and the First Men, seeking to understand who they are and where they fit in the world. But finding that place proves more difficult than in the fairy tales they read. The seeds of disaster were laid long before they were born, and as tensions in the family rise, it seems as though their places may begin to diverge. Will they let themselves be pulled apart as the dragons dance? 

Chapter 1: The Bronze Bitch's Daughter

Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes.

Archived Version

Chapter 2: Youth

Arianwyn and Aemond grow side-by-side.

Chapter 3: The Bench

On Arianwyn’s tenth nameday, a grand reception is held in her honor. Though most guests are not in attendance for the Lady of Runestone, but rather the Princess Rhaenyra, who is mere weeks away from giving birth. But Arianwyn does not care, for Aemond is there. And he has a present for her.

Archived Version

Chapter 4: The Book

Though Arianwyn wants nothing more than to devour the book Aemond gifted her, she finds herself tear her mind from Aegon’s taunting words. But as she recalls a difficult conversation with her cousin and lady’s maid from the night before, she decides that perhaps she does not want to be married – ever.

Archived Version

Chapter 5: Rune of Endurance

Over the next few months, the young scholars begin to make their own translations of the Runes of the First Men. However, the lives of a Prince and a Lady are not all leisure. After a harrowing encounter in the Dragonpit, Aemond needs Arianwyn to comfort him.

Archived Version

Chapter 6: The Funeral

As the Targaryen and Velaryon households gather on Driftmark to mourn the late Lady Laena, Arianwyn is anxious about meeting not only her half-sisters, but her father for the very first time.

Archived Version

Chapter 7: Cold Fire

Having been worse than ignored by Daemon at the funeral, Arianwyn finally comes face to face with her father.

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Chapter 8: The Beach

After overhearing a conversation between Prince Daemon and Corlys Velaryon at dinner, Aemond recruits Arianwyn to help him achieve a lifelong dream.

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Chapter 9: The Tunnel

On their way back from the beach, Aemond and Arianwyn are confronted by their four furious cousins.

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Chapter 10: The Decisions of Fathers

Aemond is permanently maimed, Arianwyn wounded. As their family quarrels over how to deal with the aftermath of the fight, all they can do is cling to each other.

Archived Version

Chapter 11: Prayer

Faced with the possibility of their separation, Aemond joins Arianwyn in prayer.

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Chapter 12: Dearest Friend

As Arianwyn adapts to her new surroundings, and Aemond heals from his wound, the pair take comfort in the letters they exchange.

Archived Version

Chapter 13: The Girl in the Tower

With the knowledge that she will not soon be released from her father’s control, Arianwyn finds what comforts she can on Dragonstone, and receives a gift from Aemond.

Archived Version

Chapter 14: The Sapphire

Aemond struggles to adjust to Arianwyn’s absence. But on his fifteenth nameday, Ser Gerold Royce arrives with a bronze-wrapped present.

Archived Version

Chapter 15: The Garden

For the first time in the long years she’s been on Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra asks for Arianwyn to join her for a walk in the gardens.

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Chapter 16: A Holy Sight

At long last, Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing.

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Chapter 17: The Legend of Gahaelon and Aeremys

After being reunited after so long, Aemond has one request of Arianwyn: to read him a story.

Archived Version

Chapter 18: Families

Arianwyn is joyfully greeted by Queen Alicent, Princess Helaena, and her young children. But the happy reunion is soon ended as she is called to attend dinner with her Daemon, Rhaenyra, and their children.

Archived Version

Chapter 19: The Petition

When Vaemond Velaryon petitions the Crown to grant him succession of Driftmark, Arianwyn is faced with her worst fears.

Archived Version

Chapter 20: Final Tribute

Arianwyn delays her escape to attend the King’s family dinner to say goodbye to Aemond. But emotions run high, and a final toast may jeopardize her plans.

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Chapter 21: The Library

Daemon confronts his daughter.

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Chapter 22: Beneath the Weirwood Tree

Arianwyn meets Aemond in the Godswood.

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Chapter 23: The Bedding

To prevent Daemon from contesting their marriage, Aemond and Arianwyn proceed with the Bedding Ceremony.

Archived Version

Chapter 24: The Shears

The following morning, Aemond and Arianwyn tell the Queen of what happened. But they soon realize an important figure is missing.

Archived Version

Chapter 25: The Trial of Brynna Taler

Aemond, Arianwyn, and Queen Alicent race to find Brynna. Larys Strong informs them that she has been taken to the Throne Room by none other than Daemon, who claims that it was Brynna herself that attacked him the night before. Not only that, but he also accuses Aemond of forcing Arianwyn to marry him, and of raping her so that the marriage could not be dissolved.

Archived Version

Chapter 26: The Breakfast

With Brynna safe and Daemon on his way back to Dragonstone with the rest of the Blacks, Aemond and Arianwyn enjoy some time alone. However, they are quickly interrupted by the Queen, her children, and her grandchildren joining them for a family breakfast.

Archived Version

Chapter 27: The Women

Arianwyn, Helaena, Alicent, and Brynna sip tea (and wine) and enjoy a moment of relaxation as the dressmakers and craftspeople of King’s Landing present them with their wares.

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Chapter 28: Pillow Talk

Together in bed, Aemond & Aria exchange new vows and old secrets.

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Chapter 29: Vhagar & Emrys

Six years after the beach on Driftmark, the Queen of All Dragons and Emrys, the young black dragon called Balerion, Second of His Name, by the smallfolk of King’s Landing, finally meet.

Archived Version

Chapter 30: The Bath

Aemond and Arianwyn relax with a shared bath after their dragonflight.

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Chapter 31: Storytime

Arianwyn is summoned to the Queen's chambers to fulfill a promise she made to Prince Jaehaerys.

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Chapter 32: The King

Arianwyn asks for an audience with her uncle Viserys. He has not woken since the family dinner two nights before, and she is not sure that he will even hear what she says. She is not even sure what she wants to say. Still, she needs to say it.

Archived Version

Chapter 33: The Sound of His Voice

After her visit with the King, Arianwyn returns to her husband.

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Chapter 34: The First Death

Aemond and Arianwyn awake with grand plans of spending another day together. But they are met with the news that the King has died in the night, leaving not only their plans unsure, but the fate of the realm.

Archived Version

Chapter 35: The Search

The King is dead. Aegon, his heir is missing. While Aemond ventures into the heart of Flea Bottom to find him, Arianwyn is left in the castle with the Queen as she realizes her fairy tale has likely come to an end.

Archived Version

Chapter 36: The Hearth

Aegon has been found, and will be crowned in the morning. But Aemond’s mind races. As he descends deeper and deeper into the darkest recesses of his mind, there is only one person that can pull him back from the brink of despair.

Archived Version

Chapter 37: The Coronation

Aemond wakes from a vivid dream. The family gathers at the Dragonpit to crown Aegon.

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Chapter 38: The Beast Beneath the Boards

Chaos erupts at the coronation and Princess Rhaenys, mounted on her dragon, Meleys, bursts from beneath the floor of the Dragonpit.

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Chapter 39: The Feast

Though the events of the coronation cast a dark cloud, a feast is held at the Red Keep in celebration. Aemond makes a decision, and Arianwyn dances with the new King.

Archived Version

Chapter 40: The Small Council

A plan is made to secure the support of the kingdoms. Unfortunately for Aemond, that plan involves sending Arianwyn on a diplomatic mission. Alone.

Archived Version

Chapter 41: The Long Goodbye

Aemond and Arianwyn mount their dragons to fly in separate directions. But not before saying goodbye.

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Chapter 42: Three Days, Part I

On the first day they have spent apart since they were wed, Aemond and Arianwyn fly far away from each other on missions for the new King.

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Chapter 43: Three Days, Part II

In the Vale, Arianwyn receives a wedding present from Ser Gerold and has a candid discussion with her Godsmother. At Storm's End, Aemond goes on a tumultuous hunt with Borros Baratheon. Both are met with unpleasant interruptions to their missions.

Archived Version

Chapter 44: Three Days, Part III

Aemond returns to King's Landing. Arianwyn tells the Vale the truth.

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Chapter 45: The Curse of the Kinslayer

Arianwyn returns to King’s Landing triumphant, having not only won the support of the Vale, but by striking a great political blow to Daemon. But her feeling of triumph is quickly shattered when she learns that Aemond has already returned – with blood on his hands.

Archived Version

Chapter 46: The Silence

Arianwyn wakes in Aemond's arms and faces the fact that her world has changed irrevocably.

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Chapter 47: The Truth

Now that Aemond has broken his silence, what truths will he reveal?

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Chapter 48: The Brothers' Lament

Arianwyn hides something from her husband and ends up encountering his brother, King Aegon. Aemond wakes alone.

Archived Version

Companion Stories

Daemon POV

Lord Flea Bottom's Heir

Daemon had expected to be welcomed with the news of his wife's demise when he returned to King's Landing. Instead, he is greeted with the decidedly unwelcome news that the Bitch was to give him an heir. His plans to finally take Rhaenyra to wife thoroughly dashed, he leaves the Red Keep behind to wallow in his own domain: Flea Bottom.

[evergreenlover]

The reason I chose Alice as my name is not bc it's less masculine than my dead name, but because I have a lot of dandruff and love Allison from The Breakfast Club.

[flower-cage]

The Wolf And The Dragon | Chapter Seven

by @flower-cage

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.

Ao3 | Main Masterlist | TWATD Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | NEW Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 coming soon

Chapter Seven: The Wolf and The Dragon II

Chapter summary: The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the looming promise of battle.

Words: 6,192.

Warnings: 18+ only; explicit sexual content, mentions of blood.

A/N: This is such a filler chapter - all fluff and longing and smut, barely any plot. Smut has entered the chat. Minors, do not interact.

Tall, warped, and grey is the world that enshrouds you. It flashes past your eyes as you pierce through it unwaveringly. Towards where your legs take you, you are unsure, for an innate calling takes the lead and you trust it fully, you trust it blindly. Thick and hot as it drips down your flushed flesh, flying off and fouling the air with the taste of iron is… your blood? Pain is there too within your bones and desperate agony thrums and stings in your gut.

When it all stops, you know not where you stand, only that it grants you relief so great you surrender yourself to your exhaustion. The world that was once frantic turns void and silent.

When you wake up next, it is to the warmth of the sun licking against your cheek. It melts away your heavy drowsiness slowly and, gently, you stir your limbs to wakefulness, relishing in the silken linens and in the satiation of a full night of rest.

The low murmur of the comings and goings of the palace and the city below have long become a constant comfort, and this room, whose purpose you initially suspected was that of a glorified cage, has become a home in this land of treacherous politics.

Even if your wishes were to rise and soak in such sunlight, however, or watch the capital buzz or the sea lap its shores from your lavish balcony, a twinge in your chest reminds you there is little movement you can undertake without splitting it anew. The sting of it steals your breath so immediately, it awakens you to the ache that also persists head to toe. Alas, solemnly you lie still and impatient despite the medicine-induced lethargy that slows you, tolerating the dull throb until a maid finally disturbs your empty contemplations.

“Oh!” she gasps in delight. “Good morning, my Lady!” 

She is quick to open your curtains further and bring forth a dress and jewels, now accustomed to the commanding presence of your wolf, and prance about rummaging through the many items Queen Alicent has donned you. You take the scene quietly, yet reluctant to join in the busyness of the royal palace.

“Now then,” she claps her hands together once, eyes running across your chamber disorderly, likely cataloguing her duties of the day, “I’ll request your breakfast and summon Prince Aemond,” she announces as she curtsies and turns to exit, not quite meeting your eyes as she dashes through her own actions, her disposition much too chirpy for your still dazed mind.

“The Prince?” you break your silence, finally, when her words settle in. “What for?”

“He demanded to be informed when you rose, my Lady,” she smiles like she knows more than she should.

Heat rises to your cheeks, then, and your heart skips a beat only to kick off at full force when you are flooded with the memory of the night previous, of your unpremeditated, timid admissions.

“Wait!” you yelp as she turns to speed off once again. “Assist me in looking presentable, then.”

Your hairdo and the discrete jewelry the lively maid prepares in no time, but it is a true effort to help you into a tight bodice and a hefty, courtly gown in your state of fragility. Thus, when Aemond strides into your chambers, you are still gasping for air and in pain, sitting on the chaise in your modest living room.

“Rough start?” he quirks an eyebrow as he approaches.

There is a beat to his step and a levity to his brow you don’t think you have previously witnessed. It is but a faint trace of joy and tranquility on his typically stern countenance, one a stranger would take it for granted. You are far from strangers, however, and you cannot resist when your own expression softens at his easy disposition.

“My body is still awfully weak,” you grimace, a palm pressing below your bust, grounding you in your laborious breaths.

“It needs time to recover, is all,” he murmurs when he reaches you, towering over you.

Your heart gets caught in your throat when he bends to your height, holding your gaze, terrified to think he will claim your lips in front of the servants who set the table. In a startling motion, however, he takes your waist in his strong hands and brings you to your feet. Hardly a gesture proper between an unwed pair, his touch elicits shame to burn your face and desire to tickle where his fingers had gripped.

He allows you a moment to recover from the abrupt movement, hands steady at your quivering waist and oblivious that you take it to recover from the effect he has on you instead. His dark velvet vest glares back as you regain your grip on reason, keeping at bay the impulse to simply take him.

You have accepted your undeniable, burning passions, had a glimpse of his carnal pleasures, and admitted he has unequivocally conquered your regard. Whatever lies beyond is muzzled, indiscernible, and scares and excites you in the same breath.

His firm grip on your elbow pulls you toward breakfast as much as it pulls you from your uncomfortable wonderings.

It is another difficult, glacially slow feat to eat on your own, but you insist your body needs the practice and Aemond sits with you patiently, briefing you on the latest developments of the council and picking on your fruit. You note, without deliberation, his taste for the sour: green apples, green grapes, the slices of lemon on the lemon cakes. 

It is immensely strange to have him there in your chambers, simply keeping you company, under no pretense of duty whatsoever and of his own volition. It is immensely contrasting to the image of the Dragon Prince you know he works so hard to sustain, and it invades your chest with a tickling warmth you never knew could be attributed to him.

“Any news of my father?” you ask him when his short reports lull to a halt. He hums through a pout, a quick frown, peeling an apple. His long fingers, roughened by the sword, cut the fruit gracefully and meticulously - delicate yet sinister.

“The last we heard of the Northern army was several days ago when they were set to cross The Trident,” he tells you, unaware his every movement grasps your full attention. “The last raven has gone unanswered.”

The Trident - in between The Eyrie and Riverrun, one a sworn enemy, the other an inconstant party.

“A messenger was sent to find what has happened-”

The clattering of your silverware against fine porcelain interrupts his foreboding tellings. A shuddering breath escapes you and you stare at the delicate tabletop in search of reassurances for which you are scared to ask aloud.

Punching through your gut, stealing your composure, your icy fear flies through your veins, freezing your blood and hopes alike.

“I promise you,” he states firmly, promptly, taking your hand in unexpected sympathy and recapturing your attention. He is so warm the cold never truly reaches your fingertips. “If something has indeed passed, I will fly to them on Vhagar at a moment’s notice”

His eye is gentle yet fierce, tempting you with trust and affection.

“A letter arrived from my lord uncle in Old Town just two nights ago,” he tells you, clearing his throat and sitting back, releasing your hand and taking with him all warmth. “Though his fleet will join us, and some of his men, he is to ride to Highgarden.”

“Highgarden?” you repeat, the strategist in you instantly, thoroughly engaged. “But the way from Old Town is far too treacherous for an army,” you argue, “they could easily be stranded-”

“Not for a dragon,” he cuts you short, smirking like he had wanted for this reaction. For a moment you think he intends to forsake your plans and fly to the Reach on his own. Affronted, feeling strangely betrayed, you ready yourself to passionately oppose him. 

Then it dawns on you-

“The Blue Queen,” you conclude in awed breath.

“My brother Daeron will keep the Tyrell and their bannermen from advancing on King's Landing,” he explains, taking his cup between his smirking lips, holding your gaze and most unquestionably taking pleasure in your befuddlement.

“Do not tease me…” you mutter under your breath, huffing as you recollect yourself. “Seems most unlike this court to commit to such clever schemes,” you stir the honeyed wine in your hand, avoiding his mocking gaze, “rather than to plunge into battle.”

He hums in return and you hear, too, the smile that paints his amusement.

“We have recently learned a thing or two,” he tells you.

“Is that so?” you raise your eyebrows, meeting his eye and hiding yourself behind your own chalice.

A sweet sparkle ignites in his eye, likely meeting its twin in yours, but he is quick to turn his face and bite into his cheeks not to unveil it entirely. And you… you try not to get lost in the sharpening of his most beautiful features, in the tantalizing column of his neck that he exposes to you or the masculine lines that make his profile.

Easily you fall back into comfortable silence, picking on the remnants of your meal and enjoying each other’s, for once, easy presence. He goes to excuse himself for a council meeting from which you had been excused when your cups are nearly empty, but you insist on accompanying him.

It is a laborious task to help you to the council chamber. Your body can scarcely hold itself upward, your chest can barely bear the movement of your breaths, with each movement threatening to bleed it anew. Even so, Aemond takes up the task with patience, stopping every few steps to guide you to steady your breaths before you can even wince in warning. With an arm curled around your back and a firm grasp on your elbow, he becomes your steadfast support.

The gown that grazes the tiles and catches the sunlight does not cover your collarbones, so that your still-healing gash, too sore to cover in close-fitting dresses, is on full display. It catches the eyes of the nobility on your way through the Keep, but, perhaps for the first time, you do not feel cruelly scrutinized. 

The indistinguishable chatter that bubbles from the council can be heard many feet away, though its door remains dutifully shut. When it is pushed open for your entrance, the room becomes silent for no more than a heartbeat before it erupts again in renewed, vigorous cheers. It startles you - the claps, the hails, the cries of your name.

You look at Aemond in search of answers, finding nothing but admiration in the gleam of his eye, in the smile on his lips. The effect is so alluring, dizzying, that you force yourself to turn quickly back to the members of the council, before the craving for his full attention - his touch, his lips - traps you in immodesty.

“Hail Captain Stark!”

“Great to see you standing, Captain!”

Polite nods and smiles are all you manage in your startled state. Soon, the uproar dwindles with a stern word from the Hand of the King, allowing for the session to take place as usual. Only this time your word is not once taken for granted and Aemond does not join his mother’s side.

He comes to you often, now. Every time the thought of him is accompanied with longing, he shows up at your door, at the library, at the gardens, wherever it is you are.

Every day he comes to you, sometimes in the morrow, sometimes at tea, each time a different excuse on his lips, a different activity on his mind. It is not difficult to see right through them, but you don’t dare teasing him so he is not discouraged from pursuing you, for you crave his company just as eagerly.

“Allow me to accompany you to the shores of the river,” was his first cover, “the maester says fresh air and light walking will help you regain your strength.”

You hummed in delight, gladly abandoning the embroidery you had taken up at the encouragement of Queen Helaena to take instead his arm.

Every night you sit in a small clearing you have claimed in the woods just outside the city walls, watching and instructing him as his fists fly, his eye veiled, against a bag of dirt that swings from a tall tree. You chuckle every time it hits him powerfully in the back of the head because he allows you the trust to do so.

The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the impending promise of battle. He is silent and intense and rigid as has likely always been his nature, but he no longer assaults and insults you.

In these days of your recovery, he is generous with his amiability and his tenderness which were once rare and quickly followed by hatred. And for the most part, you enjoy the comforting quietness you have found in one another, not knowing how long this deception of peace will last.

Before you know it, his friendship becomes a grounding force in this land you still don’t belong in, in the face of duties still greater than what you were ever meant to shoulder. It brings you relief and room to breathe, but it also dulls the ardent fire that would once burst into impassioned moments of affection or aggression. Now he grants you himself so freely, all your urges turn into potent longing, ever-pounding in your ribcage and stretching on and on as it is scantily fed by lingering touches, soft smiles, gentle gestures. 

The longer you spend in his presence, the more you truly see him - the mere man he lets slip from the cracks in the shell they call Prince Aemond One-Eye, the Kinslayer - and you yearn for him ever just as ardently. Yet the lack of angry, adrenaline-filled rushes turns rational the mind that granted you the courage to deliver yourself so effortlessly to your base desires. The same effect has overtaken him, you imagine, for he, too, has not taken that dangerous leap again.

He takes you flying when your wound is but a long line of red, taut skin stretching from shoulder to shoulder.

“Vhagar needs the exercise,” he explains as he pulls on his leather riding gloves, “and you need the sunlight.”

You get sunlight from your balcony. 

Even so, you join him, and he takes you to an island perhaps an hour from King’s Landing, forgotten in the Blackwater Bay. It is but a couple of grassy hills and dried acacias, deserted of wildlife but abundant in sunlight and cool, salted winds.

Just before you land, he veers Vhagar so that her wings graze the ocean, spraying you with saltwater, and freely relishes in your surprised yelps. It is in a dream-like, high-spirited state that you dismount his dragon to stand on a hilltop and enjoy the whimsical beauty that stretches on before you.

Across the vast expanse of deep blue, you see the Crownlands for the first time in a long while like the history books and fantasy stories always described it - sun-soaked and plentiful. You close your eyes and pretend you are a simple lady who enjoys the luxuries of the capital and the attention of a Prince who courts you. You enjoy the tall grass as it grazes your ankles and the breeze that flutters your silken skirts.

What if your interests had been simpler from the start? Would you have been content with a caring husband and a simple life like your sisters? Would the duty of motherhood suffice your ambitions?

Dull, your mind corrects you immediately. It is not your nature and has never been, but you delight in the glimpses of a different life you get in these escapades you enjoy at his side.

But they don’t last long, not at the brink of war.

Though council meetings are shorter and scarcer as the weeks pass, though your days are mostly filled with quiet joy, letters from all across the Kingdoms become more frequent. Though they mostly bring good news, they also make each day heavier and darker, luring war to break out.

Our fleet has joined the Hightower’s at the Arbor, whose succor we have finally secured. We shall sail with care and wait for Prince Aemond east of the Sea of Dorne, though I fear only a fool could hope for secrecy now, writes Jason Lannister.

We have made a small siege around Highgarden, but the Blue Queen suffices in terrifying the Roses back into their walls, writes Gwayne Hightower.

Corlys Velaryon’s fleet has now fully impeded trade into the Crownlands, confirms Borros Baratheon.

Some of the men from the Stormlands have made their way into the city four nights past, the men from Harrenhal six, and Lord Borros awaits with his fleet at the ready to join the advance coming from the west, awaiting you.

And yet no word from the Northern Army.

“There is no cause for alarm, yet,” Aemond often reassures you, “this wait is not unprecedented.”

But there is much uncertainty. This quietness before the storm does not sit well with you. No dragon has been sighted flying off Dragonstone, but you cannot help but wonder if this is all part of a ruse. After all, you had been spotted that night on Dragonstone and, for every bit of undisciplined, Daemon Targaryen is also known to be exceedingly sharp and tenacious. What if he had preemptively relocated the beasts?

These doubts and more haunt your dreams the closer you are to setting off for battle and, on the eve of the first strike, they grow so great they threaten to rip you apart at the seams.

You sit with them and allow them to consume you, under the eyes of the Weirwood Tree of the Red Keep, under the light of the new moon. For long you had engaged in silent devotion, searching for peace, protection, counsel, but it does little to soothe your disquieted mind.

No word from the enemy, no word from your father, and no word from the Riverlands. Their silence deafens you.

Resting upon a log, face to face with the image of the Old Gods, you close your eyes and revel in the warm breeze you seldom get in the North. It ruffles fallen leaves and twigs, seeps through the light fabric of your nightdress, and promises an unattainable liberty. In another shot at distraction, you listen closely to its path - northward - but the sound of crunching leaves a few steps behind you promptly awakens a feeling of foreboding.

Your hand tightens around the dagger on your waist. Something creaks a step closer. Without preamble, you jump and twist, your blade finding perfect lodging against his jawline, not for the first time.

He smirks, head tilted backward, hands in the air.

“I’m beginning to believe you take joy from having me under your blade.”

“Damn you, Aemond,” you hiss, stowing away your knife and releasing a shuddering breath that, predictably, does nothing to relieve you of your torments.

His very sight aggravates your affliction, when you take note of his rare dishevelling. Similar to you, only a cloak hides the cotton chemise he should be wearing exclusively in the privacy of his apartments, and his loose hair parts in the middle to frame his amused countenance. Both reflect the brilliance of the moon to don him an ethereal glow, and his casualty tempts you to believe he has invited you into his intimacy. 

“How predictable is the troubled wolf who trails the woods in the shadows,” he mocks.

You award him a hard gaze, not partaking in his light jesting when your shoulders clench in distress.

“How despicable is the dragon who slithers in silence after her,” you bite, regretting it immediately when his smile drops and his eye softens.

He has learned your moods and attitudes as much as you have his.

“What is it that ails you?” he asks so softly you wonder when his instinct has become to extend his care in place of retaliation.

And his softness, akin to how his mother had once received you, waters your eyes in a heartbeat. You bite your cheeks, looking away so that your tears are not encouraged to fall.

“This tranquility does not sit well with me,” you whisper.

“You question yourself,” he concludes with a tone of realization, watching your lips tremble, your hands clenching closed.

“Something is amiss,” you beg, predicting his denial. Indeed, he shakes his head and takes a harsh breath as if preparing to fight you tooth and nail. “But it is, Aemond!” you insist before he gets his chance, recapturing his attention and astounding yourself with how swiftly you lose composure.

“This silence is most unnatural,” you tell him gravely. “We have had an army on the move for months, Highgarden is under siege, Daemon saw us!”

He stares at you, jaw tight, gaze hard, and unmoving.

“And they are- what?” you lick your lips, staring back with equal vehemence, but if he is shaken by your reasoning, he does not convey it. “Sitting and waiting?”

You had not known how terribly these thoughts had rotten within you, garnering a great fear furtively until this single stab allowed it to burst and eat away at you.

“We knew from the beginning they would be ready to meet us in battle,” he counters with a placidity you would never have expected just two moons ago. “We have prepared for it accordingly.”

“There has been no word from my father, Aemond,” your voice breaks, your eyes truly tearing despite your efforts, lips trembling with the toil of keeping composure. “Chances are at least one dragon has survived-”

“No,” he takes you by the elbows as you hiccup through tears, through dismay. “We would have seen-”

“And they will descend upon you and Vhagar first,” you lament, wet, glimmery eyes meeting his worried look, “and it will be my fault,” you finish in a whisper.

Your desolation takes effect on him finally, and he takes your damp face in his hands to force your attention, to force you to trust him. He brings you so close, so quickly, your hands land on his chest for balance. His fine chemise is so delicate you feel every hard line of muscle underneath and his warmth seeps in slowly through your fingertips, flaring your feelings yet further.

“That will not happen,” he emphasizes, enunciating each word carefully and surely, so that they may weigh and impress on you. His hands brush your hair from your wet cheeks, his calloused fingers wipe your tears, then descend to your chin, tilting it so that he may secure your attention.

It takes your breath away, that passionate spark of his. His diligent care - perhaps his passion - alights a warmth that fills your chest to the brim and you feel seen, wanted, cherished. And you want more of it, you want all of it.

“You will not lose me,” he whispers, almost an afterthought that betrayed him when he allowed himself the gentleness. “I will not lose you.”

Your lips part in surprise. You did not expect him to interpret your words in this way, but the tightening in your chest only confirms his bold suppositions.

“How can you be so sure?” you whisper back, afraid of breaking the delicate exchange. “How can you trust that when so much is uncertain?”

He hums, smirk pulling on his lips and trapping you deeper in your desires.

“You are certain. Nothing else needs to be.”

Driven wild by his affectionate words, your heart beats harshly in your chest, ailing your breaths and ringing in your ears. Your fingers tingle against his solid chest where they rest and refrain from bringing him closer. His gaze is firm and allows no challenge as you look at him in amazement.

“You think chance alone brought you to King’s Landing at the exact moment we needed you?” he asks though he evidently wishes for no answer.

“My father-”

“What sense does it make for the Gods to place us in each other’s path-,” your knees buckle when he grazes the lowest dip on your bottom lip, “- and achieve what we have so far, against all odds, only to fail at the very end?”

At a loss for words, you revisit the chain of truly unlikely events that have led you to this very moment. It is not that you accept his reasoning, but rather that you are overtaken by a desperate desire to acquiesce to him, to be in harmony with him now that he so eagerly seems to seek that himself.

“The Gods play cruel games, too,” you try meekly, but in the back of your mind you hear his mother's words:

The Gods have only destined us to achieve that which we are capable of achieving, and that is an encouraging thought.

Just as they did then, they compel you to give in and simply… believe.

“The stubborn Stark and her almighty direwolf,” he starts, smirking when he senses your resignation, fingers gliding softly against the side of your face, gaze admiring the skin they trail, “and the bad-tempered, one-eyed Prince, rider of the largest dragon in the world…” 

One of his hands leaves your face as the other cups the side of your neck, eliciting sparkling goosebumps to travel down your spine.

“Heirs to little more than what they have made of themselves,” his fingers travel down your arm to wrap around yours, “they seldom seem the types to end consigned to oblivion.”

You soften despite yourself, huffing good-naturedly. 

“You read too much,” you whisper.

He places your knuckles on his smiling lips, stealing your breath entirely.

“Trust your capabilities,” he insists against your skin, prompting a sob you didn’t know you still held, “as I trust your role in the great scheme of history will be equally as grand as you.”

“Aemond,” you choke around his name. 

It has become easy to regard him and see past his dragon features, past his titles, his prowess and his sins, to see a mere man. It makes you adore and yearn for all of him, in all his ordinary manners and his human insecurities and all the facets he hides from everyone else’s eyes.

“Often I have read about the heirs of the dragon,” you start, swallowing the heaviness that fights to leave you, turning your hand to hold his face in your palm, “of their bloodlust, their beasts… their pride.”

Your fingers trail up the scar that splits his brow, ever so lightly delineating its cut.

“Little did I know they could be so kind,” his one eye hardens when the tip of your thumb hooks underneath his eyepatch.

His instinct is to flinch, but you give him your best reassuring, pleading look, and when his eye softens again you know he, too, wants to give himself to you entirely, undividedly. 

“And so warm,” you take off the binding leather, “so beautiful,” you gasp.

A hand curls on your hair, fingers weaving through your loose strands to hold the back of your head.

“There is nothing cold about the daughter of the great, white North either.”

He pulls you in gently, but you reach for him all the same, and this time you meet his kiss with the same eagerness.

When your tongues embrace, his heat melts you to the core. He is not forceful, but his hunger is evident, for he kisses and takes you as though his sole purpose is to drive you delirious with pleasure. He is urgent as if he has long thirsted to have you on his tongue again, yet slow and deliberate so that he may truly savor you. It is sensual in its pace, passionate in its depth, and makes you crave for more until your head spins with your sensations.

You pull on his silver strands in response to his squeeze on your waist, and you break apart in a gasp which alleviates your haziness enough for a single trickle of rationality to defy your actions.

“We shouldn’t-”

“Then why does it feel so good?” he grunts and licks into your mouth too quickly. “Why does it feel like the best thing I’ll ever do?”

He sucks your bottom lip gently and you shudder at the sparks of pleasure that descend through you.

“Tell me you don’t want this, then,” he murmurs against your slickened lips, eye glued to them like he wishes for nothing but to devour them. 

“Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” his nose brushes against yours teasingly and your mouth waters. “Tell me-” his thumb leaves a trail of goosebumps as it caresses the hollow of your throat, “-it doesn’t feel as though every path you’ve ever taken has led you here to me.”

He rests his parted lips so lightly against your own, you are nearly convinced you have conjured the feeling yourself in your crazed yearning.

“Go on and tell me you don’t want me.”

They say that none can tell lies before the Weirwood trees of the Old Gods. And you find that you really, truly, cannot.

“I-I do,” you breathe. “Aemond, I want you.”

His every move is calculated, as though he has thought this through meticulously, has always known how he would like to touch and pleasure you. He leaves you dizzy when his mouth leaves yours at last, your lips hanging open in search of his tongue again, but through them escapes a gasp when his hot lips suck on your neck instead.

Gently he pulls on the hair at the base of your neck, exposing more skin to his wandering tongue. His kisses clouded your mind, warmed your body, drove you to hunger… But this positively electrifies your skin, pulling pleasure from every inch of your body, from your fingers to your toes, from your chest to your tingling spine.

You feel his hunger on his tongue as it tastes you persistently. His utter devotion you feel on the fingertips he presses against your waist and his desperation you hear on the breaths he takes against your skin.

Just as sure and seamless as his every touch, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly and bending his knees to lift and deposit you on the cold grass beneath him. He recaptures your lips when he settles between your legs, but when he grinds his hard member against your core, you part in a broken moan.

It is most unnatural, you think, how your body reacts promptly and desperately to his every stimulus. It doesn’t make sense, you think, that you find yourself so soon at the very end of your wits.

Your hands paw at his soft shirt in renewed desperation, finding his hot flesh beneath it. His own hands deftly work to lift your skirts and venerate your bare thighs. And then the world slows down to a halt, if only because you need it to finally, truly feel him.

You close your eyes at the feel of his warm, naked back, your very soul re-energizing at the bare touch. A large hand travels to your shoulder blades, underneath your gown, sparking goosebumps in their path along your spine as your flesh desperately tries to cling onto its heat. His own skin does the same as your lips stroke reverently against his collarbones, up his neck. You take in his lovely scent and he takes your lips again, kissing you at the pace that the Earth spins, grounding you in the present, in his heartbeats, in his caresses, in his warmth.

Your wandering fingers cannot help but stroke though his lush strands, nor can they stop searching for the taut softness of his back as it ripples beneath them. You tease yourself by gliding your thighs along his own and settle around his waist, getting both lost and trapped in the tantalizing caresses and the promising heat of your close embrace. 

It is with a gasp that the spell of leisurely touches shatters, when he lowers his hips and presses his hardness against your exposed sex. It all too suddenly makes room for an intensity and a want that had laid dormant in your gut.

His hands journey further south and you moan into him when he squeezes and pulls on the back of your thighs, parting the lips that progressively slicken between your legs. It makes you ache for him, makes you moan and grip his hair a bit harder.

“Aemond,” you whine against his ruddy lips, when he moves you against him, building a pulsing pleasure deep within your cunt that strikingly resembles a desperate calling.

“I have wanted you,” he murmurs into you, blue eye made dark with lust, “direly,” he rolls his hips again, “fiercely.”

“Then have me,” you whisper, begging him as you shiver in desire. 

He holds your gaze with unwavering determination while you feel him reach between you. It is as if he yearns to watch every muscle on your face twitch and slacken in pleasure under his lustful ministrations. He gets his wishes when he lodges his leaking tip between your slick lips with a hiss, and you gasp when his thumb presses against the pearl of pleasure between your thighs. He gives you no time to decipher what he will do next, stroking you in earnest and grunting as your cunt flutters and squeezes around his most sensitive tip.

The pleasure builds far too quickly - you have craved him for far too long. You feel the heat and elation travel through your flesh in all directions before you truly peak. When you do feel it, it is immediately insufficient to satiate you, and your cunt contracts hungrily against his tip, begging for more while you deliver yourself to pleasure with deep gasps.

He answers your sinful cravings before you have to utter it, before you even stop quivering around nothing, sliding in easily, deeply, stuffing you to the brim. 

You yelp around a gasp when he does so, immediately delirious in your arousal, immediately and incredibly close to another peak. You never stood a chance - he has impregnated your senses with himself, driving you to s concupiscent frenzy; his masculine scent of sandalwood is intoxicating now it is spiced with the sinful scent of your sex, his warm, soft lips lick and suck until your thoughts dissolve to smoke, his thunderous grunts shudder you to your core when he sheathes himself inside you.

His gaze has never been more penetrating, regardless of how passionate it had always been. With his sparkling sapphire eye, lips red and abused by your urgent tongue, and fine silver hair clinging to his glistened skin, he finally conquers the parts of you that had thus far remained untouched by his alluring spell.

“Aemond,” you whimper, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, breathtaking desire and realization battling inside you.

When he finally moves, he does it studiously, coercing you to feel his every inch. There is so much of him, he drags and teases all the spots that make your knees part further for him. When he pushes back in, your eyes roll back and a moan breaks apart the sloppy snare of your tongues. 

“Nothing will take you from me,” he admits in a rough whisper, amidst a hiss and a gasp. “Not a thing will part us.”

His weight grounds you to him, protects you from all that isn’t bound to the space between your heated flesh. His freed hair shades you from the exposing light of the moon. He takes your hands from their eager exploration of his back to lace your fingers in his, restraining them against the ground.

He entertains these luscious, languid movements for the short time it takes for your slick to soak his cock, until your knees come up to wrap high and wanton around his torso. Then, with a grunt, he awards you with thrusts so powerful they punch your breaths out of your lungs, so precise they wet your eyes anew with tears of pleasure.

“Aemond,” is the only thing you can say.

“There?” he asks softly, nearly patronizingly, and redoubles his efforts.

You burn from the inside, from the mouth-watering sensations he evokes unforgivingly in your deepest, most pleasurable spot. You sweat through your clothes and your hair clings to your sticky skin. When one of his hands uncurls from your hold and gently wipes your weak tears, takes your jaw, and pulls you into a searing kiss, you think you might burst aflame, but you welcome it like you have been waiting for him to thaw you your entire life.

“I won’t be going anywhere,” he whispers against your mouth, incredibly gentle despite the rough thrusts that still deliver you closer and closer to insanity, “not without you.”

And then all your pleasure snaps like this: with your eyes locked to his, with your lips grazing his, and his words weighing heavily on your chest.

Taglist: @ficsrecsforhrnybitches @missusnora @let-love-bleeds-red @dark-night-sky-99 @arcielee @merakies @aemondsbabygirl @herfantasyworldd

[fatherforgivethem]

The Crown: The Targaryen Family

Queen Mother Alicent: Alicent, mother of four, served her country strongly for years leading up to her late husbands death. When her childhood friend, Queen Rhaenyra, took hold of the crown, Alicent was finally able to live a life of freedom. With Daeron, her youngest, away at school and only visiting on the weekends, her house was rather empty.

Several years had passed before she met Captain Criston Cole. They met at a small dinner hosted by their close friends. The two began to meet every time that Criston was in London, and before long, they found themselves falling for the other. While Alicent had been nervous to introduce her children to Criston, they seemed to like the man. After years of being together privately, Criston proposed, and the two married at Westminster Abbey surrounded by the Royal Family, the prime minister and other members of the British government, and many other notable friends of the family. Alicent likes to spend her days riding her horses in the country side with her grandson Jace, tending to the gardens with Helaena, and creating as many dinners as possible for her family to attend.

Queen Rhaenyra: While still young, to the throne and in years, the mother of one tends to be kept busy with her duties as Queen of England. She can be found attending galas, international charity tours, and private meetings with the Prime Minister, as well as walking the halls of Buckingham Palace with her half-brother, Aegon, right beside her.

She married young when she was still just a princess and gave birth to her son, Jace. Her son was only two when her husband was tragically killed in a car accident and she vowed to never marry again. Instead, she put her focus into her duties as the heir to her fathers throne, and when her father passed away, she was crowed Queen. While she had intended for her own son to be her heir, Jace abdicated when he was only 15, and so, with the council of others, named Aegon her heir.

She likes to spend her free time with her beloved son Jace, as well as her close friend, Alicent. The two can usually be found at tea at Buckingham Palace with newspapers in their laps. She also makes sure to spend her time with her siblings and enjoys when her little niece and nephew run through the halls of the palace.

Criston Cole: Captain Cole of the Royal Navy had never imagined a life where he was married to the former Queen Consort, now Queen Mother of England. He had never given much thought to the Royal Family, and with the ever going war, it was the last thing on his mind. However, on a rare trip back home, he met the love of his life, Alicent. His life shifted from there, and as time went on, and the war was over, he finally allowed himself to be with her the way she deserved.

It was hard to win the favor of her children, now his. While Daeron and Helaena had decided that they liked Cole quite early on, Aemond and Aegon gave him a rather hard time, out of worry for their mother. All without Alicent's knowing of course. Aemond had refused to shake his hand and Aegon was set on giving him a stare whenever they saw each other. Though, as time went on, the more they got to know each other, and the closer they became. By the time Alicent and Criston were getting married, Criston couldn't see them as anything other than his sons.

Prince Aegon: The young heir splits his time between the workings of the crown and his family. Though, those two things tend to bleed into the other at times. He's happily married to Helaena and they share their beautiful twins, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. At only three years old, they keep Aegon and Helaena busy.

He hadn't expected to become heir, but when Jace abdicated, a sixteen year old Aegon more than rose to the challenge as the new heir to the crown. From the time he was young, Aegon took his position very seriously and he has become passionate about his role. With his younger brother being an infamous playboy, someone had to keep the family name from tarnish. He can often be found walking just behind Queen Rhaenyra, offering his council and advice while he learns the ways of the monarchy from his older sister.

He likes to spend his time with his family when he's not busy working. He and Helaena like to take the twins to Balmoral, the Royal Family's home in Scotland when they can. And when Aemond is back, the two can usually be found on a hunt of some kind. Family is the most important thing to Aegon, and it just so happens that his family is also his job. He enjoys playing polo with his club when he's able to get away. While he prefers polo, his wife does jumping, and their home has a large farm full of beautiful horses.

Prince Jace: The young prince is furthering his education at Oxford university for his masters degree. He went there with Aegon when they were both younger and he couldn't help but fall in love with the school and his studies. Despite the gossip that went around, Jace had found a good group of people he could call friends. In the beginning, it was normal for him to hear the whispers of others behind his back about the inter workings of his family and making assumptions about his abdication. However, he learned to ignore these people and the rumors eventually died down.

The truth of it all was that Jace didn't want to be king. He loved his family more than anything, and aspired to serve them as a prince and valuable member of the royal family, but he had no wish to rule. And so, the smartest decision he ever made was giving it to Aegon. Jace had always looked up to Aegon, and so it only seemed right. The man was like an older brother to Jace, still was.

Jace, when he's not at school or a public family function, can be seen with his (technically) grandmother, Alicent. The two like to go on horseback rides together, and when they get lucky enough, Rhaenyra will join them. He spends time with Helaena and they usually watch the twins roll around in the garden. And when Daeron is back from school, the two like to spend their days playing tennis. Jace's favorite place in the world is Balmoral Castle, the family's summer home in Scotland, where they spend every Christmas and summer holiday together.

Princess Helaena: The young princess and mother of two likes to stay away from the politics of the family crown as much as she can, though she's known to attend many of the charity events hosted and attended by the family. Her wedding to Aegon was one that the public would never forget. The young princess is a favorite by many and their wedding at Westminster Abbey was said to be quite magical.

She loves to spend her time training her horses for her horse jumping career. Aegon had the farm built and decorated just for her. With her favorite colors painted all over the barn, and beautiful trees planted everywhere to make it seem like she was in a different world. Aegon is known to spoil her, but she's also known to never tell him off for it.

While balancing her time as a mother and wife to the heir of the crown, she does love to attend the ballet, and the twins enjoy it as well. She also enjoys spending time with other members of the family, including Aemond, Jace, and her mother Alicent. While she's a private person, she's prepared to become Queen Consort alongside Aegon when the the time comes.

Prince Aemond: With being in the Royal Navy, he tries his best to see his family as much as he can. Though he still finds himself at home very little. However, when he is home, his time is full of family dinners, public events, and private family matters. At the moment, he's been trying to defuse an argument between Helaena and Jace because the two disagreed about something in a book.

Public events are full of photographers trying there best to get photos of him talking to the young ladies in attendance. He's been given the title of Royal Playboy and while that might be true, he knows that his mother doesn't appreciate the title too much. Aemond, when not with his family, can usually be found at a club, where the girls are nice to look at and the alcohol is top shelf.

While his elder brother doesn't always like his partying tendencies, Aemond is more concerned with making sure Aegon doesn't sleep at his desk to care all that much. Aemond likes to spoil the twins as much as he can, and on special occasions he's known to spoil Daeron and Jace. Aemond also enjoys getting to hunt with his brothers and Jace while on holiday at Balmoral.

Prince Daeron: Prince Daeron is young and trying his best to take on the world one exam at a time. Being away for school makes him both excited to have freedom and has him missing his family. While he was always told to never use his title to get what he wants, using the prince card to visit home on the weekends is the only exception.

At school he's been lucky enough to make the tennis team along with a few boys he calls his friends. Tennis is something he's passionate about.. that and sneaking out of his dorm at night.

When he's home he can usually be spotted following his mother around, playing tennis with Jace, and hanging out with his siblings. He's not sure what he wants to do yet, but he's got some time before he finishes school and is expected to serve in the Royal Navy. For now, he's fine with playing tennis and spending time with friends and family.

Moodboards and editing done by @sidraofthewildflowers 💓💓💓💓

(This was a really fun collaboration!!)

** Repost because I missed some tags in the original 🫣🫣

[rotdistressxox]

devours my ask that you answered very loudly

M SO HAPPEY !! I LOVE KENGAN !! i might seem a bit silly sending in an ask so soon one after another but I'm absolutely inlove with ur writing and it's so scrumdiddlyumptios..

can i ask for a somewhat continuation of the last ask but..said S/O reveals that they fight to music they play in their head..it's up to you the genre to music but as for the characters..i gotta get my cakemaster9000 agito..

I will be appearing like that one embarassing memory every now and then so..can i be 🪡 anon?

HAAAIII HELLLOOO OMFGGG!! You're so nice I'm gonna cryyy. Yes you can be my little 🪡 anon ♡

Don't mind me while I look through my Playlists teeheee

Continuation: Kengan Men with an 'Experienced' Fighter S/O

First part here

Cakemaster 9000 / Kanoh Agito

• "Hey Kanoh, I need to tell you something..." You tug him by the cuff of his black suit.

• He gives you his attention, and all you can do is hope that he understands.

• You tell him that the secret to your fighting skills, is fighting to the rythym of songs.

• Surprisingly, he's not surprised. He's been watching you a while and noticed the pace of your every movement was like a time signature.

• Is well versed in music and happens to like classic rock and older metal.

• You knew this though. The songs you fight to are more on the heavier side of metal. Not too distant when it comes to genres. You show him the songs and he quite enjoys them.

Ohma Tokita

• Now that the secret was out, you let him watch you train to music. You have to let him dj tho, even if he doesn't know how to use music streaming apps yet :,)

• Once you told him, his mind instantly blanks. What does music sound like again? Has no idea how complex and Layered music and its genres are because he's never ever been a music person.

• "Huh"

• Zero thoughts, no thoughts at all in his head right now.

• You roll your eyes and pull out your phone to show him a few songs. Mostly alternative music. You have to explain rhythm and beats to him.

• He pretends like he understands, but he really doesn't.

• You give him an example by shadow boxing to the beat of a song. He kind of gets it now.

• "You get it now?" "I guess. It seems kinda dumb"

• Fine. Turning on a metronome, you started counting at 6 beats per second. "One two three four five six" you cross punched and jabbed while counting out loud.

Raian Kure

• Once he heard the counts, he was sort of impressed. He'll have to use it sometime (insert fight with Inaba Ryo)

• "You fucking WHAT-"

• He shakes you by the shoulders as he deafens you with his yells of disbelief.

• All this time he thought this was just stupid, stupid, luck that you had on your side. He was about to burst a blood vessel.

• You smack him upside of the head otherwise he would hurt himself with his rage.

• He's mad at you for a few days, won't let you touch him or anything. Was he really that wound up about fighting to music?

• Not really. You confront him about his unreasonable behavior and for the first time in forever, he's up front about his inner feelings.

• "I'm kinda pissed that you didn't tell me about it sooner" he crosses his arms averts his eyes.

Gaolang Wongsawat

• "I didn't know what your reaction would be-" "Shut the fuck up and kiss me with those lips of yours"

• Blinks. Blinks again. Blinks a third time. Is he hearing this right?

• Chuckles before his facial expression turns into horror. How could he be this stupid? Or was it you that was stupid? He honestly didn't known

• "Gao? You okay?" He stands up and drags you to the palace training grounds.

• "Spar with me while you sing" he unbuttons his shirt a little and gets into an orthodox boxing stance. "Okay?"

• (Insert Dam that River by Alice in Chains)

• You two come out of sparring sweating. You were pretty sure another button popped off of his shirt but you weren't complaining.

• "I see it now" he wipes the sweat from his forehead. "How did you come up with such a method?" He panted.

• "I think I started dancing too hard to music and punched a hole in the wall"

• He actually l laughed this time, catching you off guard. "How idiotic" "Hey!" You punch his shoulder and he grabs your hand.

• He actually likes to hear you sing now. It opens him up to a new world besides the National Anthem for Thailand and traditional songs.

[crimxonwrites]

Blood-painted kisses | Aemond Targaryen x female!OC | Chapter 6 ❝A small victory❞

☽➛ Summary: Nothing satietes Maehrys Velaryon's hunger as well as revenge. Growing up at the Red Keep as the bastard of Rhaenyra Targaryen did not come trouble-free. Her childhood consisted of bitter words and repulsive looks from nearly everybody in the castle. As she grew older, Maehrys grew meaner. Once the Velaryons return to King's Landing to defend Luke's claim as Lord of Driftmark, Maehrys decides that it is time for the people who hurt her in the past to pay.

☽➛ Warnings: swearing, bullying, mentions of blood, overall 18+!!!!

☽➛ Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x female!OC ( enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers again?? romance is a subplot)

Masterlist

Chapter 7

The fire's cracking echoes in my head as I watch my mother break down. I have seen my mother cry before; she has suffered enough heartache. But this time is different. This time, I feel she shares my anger. My heart races, and tears start falling down my hot cheeks. Luke is dead. My innocent, dearest little brother is dead at the hands of my one-eyed uncle. I was a fool to think he would ever change, even now, after he has... reduced his cruelties toward me.

A crushing weight settles on my chest, squeezing the breath out of me. The pain is unbearable, a deep, gnawing ache that refuses to relent. Luke, my sweet Luke, with his bright eyes and infectious laughter, is gone. The memories flood my mind: his mischievous grin when he played pranks, the way he would cling to me when he was scared, his boundless energy and curiosity. How can the world continue to turn without him in it?

My uncle's face flashes in my mind, his single eye cold and unfeeling. The rage burns through my grief, a scorching fire that threatens to consume me. He took Luke from me, from us, and for that, I will never forgive him. But even my fury cannot mask the overwhelming sense of loss. Luke's absence is a gaping void, an abyss that swallows everything in its path.

I start running towards my chambers, my feet moving without thought. I must do something; I am tired of sitting and watching the Hightowers and my silver-haired uncles plot to destroy us. I cannot allow myself to grief.

"Princess, is everything—"

"Luke is dead, Alisha." I bend my knees in front of the scorching hot chest that holds my three dragon eggs. Thunder roars outside the palace’s windows, and I know a storm is coming. Suddenly, I am struck by panic. Arms shaking, I lift the chest and place the cloak over my head.

"Whatever do you think you are doing?" Alisha's voice rises, and I jump. I turn around, hands burning.

"I cannot bear to be purposeless to my mother..." I choke on my own tears. "To my family anymore." Suddenly, everything goes quiet, and a ringing sound makes my ears ache.

Before Alisha can speak again, I take the chest and sprint through the door. I dodge the knights and household folk with ease, as they are also distracted by my sweet brother’s death. The palace of Dragonstone is buzzing with panic, sorrow, and derangement, making it trouble-free for me to leave. I hear dragons' cries and roars coming from the dragon pit, and my body acts on its own. I grip the chest tighter.

My grandsire passed just a few days after we returned to Dragonstone, and Alicent has already planned to usurp my mother by putting Aegon on the throne. My drunk, good-for-nothing, and irresponsible uncle. My heartbeat quickens when I think about Aemond. Before we left King’s Landing, we shared a kiss. I have tried not to think about it, about how my stomach turns, and my heart skips a beat when it comes to Aemond. I was a fool.

He murdered my baby brother.

The cold air sends a chill down my spine, and I am reminded of the weight of the chest I am holding. My arms start burning. Even if my dragons hatched, they would be useless to me. There is no guarantee they will accept me, and they will be too small to fly if it comes to war. When it comes to war. I do not have the luxury of waiting; time is not on my side. I start climbing a hill, my body throbbing with pain. I do not know where I am going, and I do not know if I am returning alive. When I arrive at the top of the hill, my palms are burning. I feel the first drops of rain on my hot cheeks as I look up at the jet-black sky. The winds are strong, and the moon peeks from behind a cloud.

“Ouch.” I drop the chest on the wet grass as steam starts rising out of it, and my heart drops. Could it be? My dragon eggs are hatching.

I open the chest, my hands trembling, and I see the first crack on the middle egg. The shell splits further, revealing a small, horned hatchling. Its scales are the colour of deep, rich mud, glistening with a sheen of newborn moisture. Its eyes, a striking shade of honey, peer up at me with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. It lets out a high-pitched screech, its tiny wings unfurling slightly as it takes in its surroundings.

Shortly after, the second egg begins to fracture. The pieces fall away, revealing a hatchling that is the spitting image of Syrax, with gleaming, pale gold scales that shimmer in the dim light. This dragon’s eyes are a fierce, bright yellow, filled with an innate sense of pride and defiance. It growls, a surprisingly deep sound for such a small creature, and stretches its delicate wings, testing their strength.

Before I can fully process the first two, the final egg starts to crack open. A long-necked hatchling emerges, its scales a soft, buttery yellow. Its wings are larger in proportion to its body, giving it an almost ethereal appearance. This one is quieter, its cries softer, more like chirps. It lifts its tiny wings, attempting to fly, but only managing to flutter slightly before settling down.

The three of them are no bigger than small dogs, yet their presence is monumental. They wobble towards me on unsteady legs, their honey-coloured eyes filled with a babe-like curiosity and a glimmer of recognition. I wonder if they hatched because they felt the sorrow in my heart, the burning need for purpose and revenge.

This is all I have ever wanted.

I am overwhelmed with a rush of emotions, watching the three warm-coloured hatchlings. They are beautiful, each unique, each a miracle. The muddy-scaled hatchling with its piercing honey eyes, the golden Syrax lookalike with its proud yellow gaze, and the delicate yellow dragon with its ethereal wings. Their cries fill the air, hot steam rising from their tiny bodies as they nuzzle against me.

They have all chosen me, I think, and I hope that I am right. I smile, feeling a strange mixture of maternal pride and fierce determination. I may not have a war dragon, but I have dragon blood, and they know it. The hatchlings' shrieks become more alarmed and nervous as the moonlight is stolen by a black shadow, and all three of them jump into my arms. Holding the hatchlings, I swiftly turn around, and my eyes are met with a pair of gigantic, emerald-coloured dragon eyes staring at me from above.

At first, I mistakenly thought that the huge dragon before me was Vermithor, who had decided to take a stroll into the night, but I soon realize that this dragon has black scales and is much bigger than Vermithor. I squint my eyes, attempting to figure out who this dragon is, but before I come to any conclusion, a low grumble shakes the ground beneath me. My hatchlings grow restless, and suddenly, I am hit with a realization. I let the hatchlings go, putting them back on the ground, and they wail, frightened. The coal-black dragon lowers its head and squints its eyes at my hatchlings. With a sharp snarl, the dragon swallows my three hatchlings, the earth shaking under its weight.

“Sȳrje.” Very well. I speak, and in a second, my hatchlings are gone, but I do not feel sad. The dragon keeps his emerald gaze on me, and I study him further, noticing the two massive horns sticking out of his forehead like obsidian towers.

This must be Cannibal, the largest and oldest of the three wild dragons roaming Dragonstone. He has never had a rider and is often depicted as a wild, violent beast. I feel the ground shake once again as the gigantic dragon lowers its wing before me. I lift my arm up, reaching for its head. His growls become louder, and I watch his two long horns reach for me as his neck stretches out. His abyssal black scales absorb all the moonlight, giving him a shadowy presence.

“Dohaeres, Cannibal.” Serve, Cannibal. I waste no time and take my first step forward towards his shoulder. The dragon growls, but I do not feel menace in its voice. “Dohaeres.” Serve. I take another step towards him and look up. His body is immense, and with no dragon saddle, the chances of me mounting him and not perishing are low, but not non-existent. Cannibal lowers his body even more, puffing hot steam out of his nostrils. I make contact, touching the side of his shoulder, and I tremble when I touch his freezing scales. He shifts again, and I take a step back, almost falling to the ground.

“Lykiri.” Calm down. I say in a comforting voice. With haste, I use the side of his wing, his tilted horn, and his scales to climb on his back. Before I can process that I am on dragon back, Cannibal suddenly gets up, startling me. I grab onto him and pray to the gods that I will not fall. His scales are rough under my body, my thighs already aching, but I brace and tighten my grip.

The dragon takes off with a growl, and I lower myself, hugging his back tightly. He was starving. He was starving, and he claimed me. My heart beats faster and faster, and I feel the dragon’s blood run through my veins. I am reminded of my grandsire’s words: The idea that we control dragons is an illusion. I was completely helpless before him, and he made his decision. I am not in control.

His long wings cut through the thick clouds as we make our way above them. Cannibal rumbles, sending vibrations through my whole body. The air cuts my skin, and he picks up the pace, flying above the clouds. I straighten my back, looking around, trying to decipher where we are headed. My cloak flies off, followed by the bow that was holding my long hair together.

I cannot help but hold tight and admire this majestic dragon. His huge, black scales shine in the faint moonlight, each one like a perfect shield. His wings, vast and powerful, cut through the night air gracefully, despite his massive size. The beat of those wings sends vibrations through my entire body, a reminder of the incredible power beneath me. My heart is full of sorrow and pride, each emotion battling within me. The sorrow for Luke, my beloved brother taken too soon, feels overwhelming. Yet, pride swells within me, for in this moment, I am connected to a creature of legend, a dragon few have seen, and none have tamed. I wonder if Luke sent Cannibal to me from beyond the grave. The thought is both comforting and haunting. Could Luke, with his gentle soul, have reached out from the afterlife to guide this magnificent beast to me? I imagine his face, his innocent eyes filled with curiosity, now watching over me with a wisdom beyond his years. Perhaps it is his spirit that stirs within Cannibal, a final act of brotherly love to protect me in my darkest hour. As we continue to soar through the night, the stars above us and the world far below, I allow myself to believe that Luke’s spirit is guiding me. His presence feels real, and I whisper a silent promise to him. I will be strong. I will carry on. And I will make sure that his death is not in vain. With Cannibal beneath me and Luke’s spirit within me, I am no longer just a grieving sister. I am a rider of the largest dragon that has ever lived, a symbol of hope and defiance against Aemond and the others who seek to destroy my family.

I must have lost track of time, and we must have been flying for a while because I look at the horizon and notice the first sun rays peeking above the sea. All around me, we are surrounded by sea and salt.

"Where are we going, boy?" I whisper, and my body starts to shiver. Without my cloak, I am left with my evening dress, not suited for flying and absolutely not suited for dragon back. I tighten my grip and dare to look past his head. My eyes widen as I realize where we are. King’s Landing. He has flown me to King’s Landing. Panic rushes through my whole body, and my stomach rumbles. Does he know I am angry at my uncle? Does he feel my anger and my hunger for revenge? Will he burn down the palace?

" Daor, Cannibal." No, Cannibal. I say, lowering myself again, attempting to be as close to him as possible. I cannot show the greens that I have claimed a dragon, not yet.

Cannibal lowers himself, and I almost slip and fall. He begins his descent upon King’s Landing. I start climbing his back, grabbing onto every scale I can get my hands on, and slowly making my way up to his head. I thank the gods he does not have a long neck like Caraxes, and I continue my climb. I am close to his head when I hear the first scream and look down. A sailor on King’s Landing beach has spotted us. Soon, more folk start screaming as Cannibal reduces altitude.

"Lykiri." Calm down. I say, grabbing his horns. Cannibal growls again, and soon enough, he makes his way to the Red Keep, the castle’s towers shining dimly in the morning sun. I drown in panic. I do not know what to do.

"Dragon!" I hear the guards shout.

The dragon screeches, a deep and frightening growl, and I feel we are hit by arrows. None of them pierce him, though. Cannibal does not stop, and he circles around one of the castle’s towers, ignoring the White Cloak’s countless arrows that are being thrown in his direction. I recognize the tower we are circling because I’ve been inside the chambers not long ago. Aemond’s chambers. I lower myself and pray that nobody sees that Cannibal has a rider.

“Daor!” No! Feeling powerless, I yell. “Dohaeres.” Serve.

-

Before I can process what happened, Cannibal takes off and I am left on Aemond’s balcony. Cannibal has taken off as swiftly as he landed, disappearing above the clouds. I am unsure if I was spotted, or if the guards saw that Cannibal has a rider. One thing I know for sure is that Aemond has not noticed my arrival.

Thankfully, I do not leave anywhere without a dagger. I take it out of my grater and make my way to the door. The sun has not yet risen, and it is difficult for me to see through the window. But I can hear.

“Maehrys, Maehrys, Maehrys.” Aemond’s voice is trembling, filled with something that makes my heartbeat quicken. Does he know I am here? 

I look back, hoping to see Cannibal in my proximity, but it is hopeless. There is no going back. I hold my breath and open the balcony door as quietly as I can. I thank the Gods that Aemond has his back turned on me and is sitting in front of the fireplace on a chair. The first thing I notice is his eyepatch, slanted on the small table beside him. The second thing I noticed is an empty flask of wine next to the eyepatch. He mutters under his breath, words I cannot understand, and puts his head in his hands. I slowly and swiftly make my way to him, holding my breath and hoping he does not hear my heartbeat.

Suddenly, I cannot hear again. Suddenly, my heart tells me to pierce my dagger through the back of his skull. Suddenly, I am two and ten again, relentlessly harassed by my uncle.

I grab the chair he is sitting on and turn it around, my muscles aching and my heart pounding. With a swift kick, Aemond falls on his back, startled. Before he has time to react, I put all my body weight onto his, placing his left wrist under my right knee. I grab his right hand with my free hand and place my dagger underneath his chin.

“Maehrys?” He asks. Aemond’s cheeks are flushed and wet, his good eye is wide open, and his sapphire eye is reflecting the fireplace’s fire. I waste no time and apply pressure onto his throat with my dagger.

“Why?” I ask, swallowing hard. For the first time in my life, I do not act out on my anger, and decide that before I kill my uncle, I want to get as much information about the greens as I can.

“I did not mean to kill him!” he exclaims. The desperation in his voice gives me a rush and I loosen the pressure on my dagger. “I just-“ he chokes. “I just wanted to scare him, get revenge because he took my eye.” I apply pressure again. He does not react. “I lost control of Vhagar.” I can smell the alcohol in his breath and the regret in his voice.

“He was but a child.” Once again, I feel tears run down my cheeks.

“I was a child too.” He speaks. “When he took my eye, when Jace and Aegon laughed at me because I did not have a dragon.”

“And now you do.” I cut a bit deeper, a small river of blood ran down his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and my tears fall onto his face. “I’m sorry, Maehrys.” I feel his long leg kick my back and I wince in pain, loosening the grip on my dagger. In a heartbeat, he knocks it out of my hand and throws me on the floor, his body now on mine, holding me with great strength. My heart beats faster than before and I squirm, hopelessly trying to get him off of me. My mind is foggy, and I lose control of my body, kicking the floor, attempting to grab anything in my proximity, but all my efforts are for nothing.

Aemond’s grip tightens, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. “Please, Maehrys,” he whispers, his voice a mix of desperation and regret. “I never wanted any of this.”

But his words do little to soothe the storm inside me. My heart is a cauldron of rage and grief, each beat echoing the loss of my brother, the betrayal, and the pain. I look into Aemond’s eyes, searching for any sign of the boy I once knew, the uncle who could have been different. But all I see is the man who took Luke from me, and I cannot forgive that.

With a final, desperate surge of strength, I try to push him off, my nails digging into his arms, but he is too strong. My movements grow weaker, and I feel the fight leaving my body. Tears of frustration and sorrow stream down my face as I lay there, pinned and powerless, the dagger just out of reach. The weight of my helplessness crushes me as Aemond’s face hovers inches from mine, his eyes filled with a torment that mirrors my own.

“Why?” I ask again, choking on my tears, my voice breaking under the weight of my sorrow and rage.

“I told you, I lost control of Vhagar,” he answers quickly, his voice tinged with desperation, but it isn't enough for me.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Why were you saying my name before I attacked you?” I try to stall, needing to understand, needing something more from him.

His one good eye, filled with a mixture of pain and something I can’t quite place, locks onto mine. “Maehrys,” he begins, his voice trembling. “I was calling for you because… because I needed you. I needed to tell you how sorry I am, how much I regret everything.”

“Regret?” I spit out the word, feeling the hot sting of betrayal and grief. “You think regret will bring Luke back?”

“No,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Nothing can bring him back. But I needed you to know that I am not the monster you think I am. I needed you to hear it from me, to see that I am suffering too.” His words hang in the air, a desperate plea for absolution that I am not sure I can give.

Then, without warning, he crashes his lips onto mine. It is not a kiss of love, but of desperation, anger, and regret. His lips are forceful, almost punishing, as if trying to convey all the emotions he cannot put into words. I try to resist, but the intensity of the kiss overwhelms me, drawing me into the storm of his feelings. Our tears mingle, the salt stinging the rawness of the kiss. His hands grip my arms tightly, almost painfully, as if afraid I will disappear if he lets go. The kiss deepens, a fierce battle of wills, a collision of our broken hearts. I taste the wine on his tongue. My own anger and sorrow surge to the surface, and I kiss him back with equal fervour, letting all my emotions pour into that single, heart-wrenching moment.

Our kiss is broken by Cannibal’s screeches, and I seize the moment. While Aemond is distracted, I push him off me and make a run for the balcony doors. I open both of them and sigh in relief when I see my dragon, the powerful wind wiping away my tears. I wait a few seconds before turning back to Aemond.

"Have you ever wondered how I managed to get up here?" I ask Aemond, a sadistic smile forming on my face.

"You—" he starts, but I do not let him finish. He has said and done enough for one night.

"I am no longer dragonless," I tell him, basking in the horrified expression that crosses his face.

Cannibal puffs hot air out of his nostrils, a sign he wants me to climb him. The sound of his wings flapping stops, and I hear one of the outer walls of the Red Keep almost giving way under his weight. The dragon lowers his wing, and I successfully climb it.

As I settle onto Cannibal's back, I take one last look at Aemond. His face is a mix of shock and fear, emotions I never thought I’d see in him. The satisfaction of seeing him so vulnerable fills me with a sense of triumph. But there is no time to dwell on it.

Cannibal takes off, and the rush of wind engulfs me, scattering my thoughts. The kiss, the fight, the fleeting moment of connection—they are all left behind in the chaos. My focus sharpens as the Red Keep becomes smaller beneath us.

In the sky, I find a small victory. I have my dragon, my escape, and for now, that is enough. The pain and confusion of tonight will have to wait. There is no time to process what just happened, no room for lingering on the emotions that battle within me. All that matters is the freedom of the open sky and the powerful beast beneath me, carrying me far away from the nightmares of the past.

With a final screech, we are vertical again, his wings fluttering with violence and speed, and I am almost thrown off him. My whole body jerks violently as the dragon ascends, and I lose my grip momentarily, my fingers slipping from the rough scales. The world tilts and spins, and I see the ground far below, a blur of grey stone and green foliage. My heart leaps into my throat, and a scream escapes my lips as I feel myself sliding, the wind tearing at my clothes and hair.

I claw desperately at Cannibal's scales, my nails scraping against the hard surface. My legs dangle precariously, and my body is aching as we gain altitude. The dragon's immense wings beat powerfully, each stroke sending a rush of air that threatens to dislodge me completely. I manage to catch hold of a small ridge on Cannibal's back, my fingers digging in with all my strength. My arms burn with the effort, muscles straining as I fight to pull myself back up.

"Cannibal, please!" I cry out, my voice barely audible over the roar of the wind and the dragon's growls. He seems oblivious to my struggle, focused entirely on his flight. The cold air bites at my skin, and I feel a sharp pain in my palms as they begin to bleed, the rough scales cutting into them.

I cannot die. Not now, when I am no longer dragon less. Not now, when I have a fair shot of defeating Aemond. Not now, when I finally do not feel powerless anymore.

I cannot die.

Also read on: AO3

Taglist: @watermel0nsugarhigh @ondereleutheromania@literishdegree99

[jacesvelaryons]

ch 1: idyllic

the reluctant empress

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

previous: prologue

next: updates every friday

summary: Crown Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is set to meet his intended future bride, yet the first meeting does not go as planned.

rated: pg13 (will go rated R/18+ in later chapters)

word count: 2.3k words

masterlist

“How strange, she thought, to be a part of what would surely become history, and yet still worry that she might trip on her heavy skirt.” ― Allison Pataki, The Accidental Empress

Growing up in the placid, tranquil countryside in the crown lands away from the hustle and bustle of King’s Landing, Y/N had learned to appreciate the simpler things in life. While her mother and sister always wished for finer silks and rarer jewelers, she had her sights on something else.

Despite the blood of Old Valyria running in her veins, she was forbidden from claiming a dragon, and there were no unclaimed dragons that were not guarded voraciously by the dragon keepers in the capital, as Queen Rhaenyra fiercely knew to keep dragons only within her immediate family. Only the main line of Targaryens had right to even claim one.

For now, her beloved stallion will do. There is nothing Y/N loves more than roaming around the streets of her childhood castle, of the quiet yet satisfied populace, a close knit community that did not have much communication beyond trade routes.

Her cream hued dress seemed almost mahogany colored after having been submerged in the dirt and waste, almost unwashed as a pig sty like the servants would lament, but she did not care.

Lying on the grass and feeling the sun kiss her skin as she dazes and enjoys the fine spring weather, her peace and serenity is interrupted when she hears the galloping hooves of a horse she knows is not hers.

“Princess! Your mother, Lady Alicent, commands you to return to the palace at once.” The loyal master of arms of your late father informs you and you groan as you stand up, smoothing the leaves and soot that stick to your hair and clothes.

“Alright Ser Arryk, I shall return immediately.” She climbs on her beloved stallion Majesty, as the knight escorts her back home. As you approach the gates of the brick castle, you see your mother and sister Helaena waiting for her by the cobbled steps.

Her identical auburn hair is in a tight knot on the crown of her head, in contrast to your loose, unruly curls down your back, and you sometimes think you are looking at a mirror of yourself seeing your mother, a preview of how she would appear when she aged. The same auburn hair, yet contrasting spirit.

“Where have you been, Y/N? You should have been studying with your septa.” Alicent coldly inquires, disappointed yet not surprised at her wild youngest.

Looking down apologetically, the young princess gulps as she approaches closer with a palm on the leather reins.

“I- I was studying my High Valyrian and etiquette with Septa Dyanna, and when I was doing well, she let me have a break and I got carried away. I explored the streets of our city, and…I’m sorry mother.”

“This will not be happening again. Get washed up for a bath, your things are packed and we make our way to the capital immediately.”

…

The Prince of Dragonstone wiped his brow as he attended his umpteenth council meeting for the day, having lost track of what needed to be taken care of, whether it was the safety stops in Dragonstone, rising crime in Flea Bottom or trade disputes between merchants in King’s Landing.

As he reviewed the notes he made alongside the commentary of his mother, he sighed as his eyes grew blurry in a daze of exhaustion, head rolling back as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, hoping to feel some bout of wakefulness.

Ever since he was nothing but a babe, Queen Rhaenyra had a great future planned for her eldest the moment he was born, even when she was just Crown Princess herself under her doting, yet absent minded father.

“You will be nothing like your grandsire. I will make sure of it” She whispered to him as she looked down at his sleeping form, wrapped in the finest red and gold cloth.

As he hears the surreptitious footsteps of his stepfather’s boots, Jacaerys stands up straight, arms pinned to his side as Prince Daemon, Prince Consort to the Queen arrives to meet him with an indistinguishable expression.

“Lad, we have delayed and put up with your mother long enough. You can no longer delay your quest of finding a bride, Jacaerys. I have not forgotten the slight you have made in rejecting any issue of marriage and robbing your sister Baela of her birth right to be Queen.” The silver-haired warrior warns his son tiredly, brow creased and the wrinkles on his forehead growing.

Jace viewing his step-sister and aunt only platonically was not helped by how Rhaenyra was indifferent to marrying him back into the Velaryon line, where his younger brother, the future Lord of the Tides Lucerys, was already well married to her sister Lady Rhaena Targaryen for over a year.

“Daemon.” The younger exasperates. “I know you have not forgiven me for my avoidance of the altar, but you must understand my reasons-”

“You risk putting all the work us Targaryens and Velaryons have put to work with your delay! With you, the family line could end and our house will have no future. Reasons? What reasons? Pathetic.”

Where the avoidance of romantic feelings had been an issue of contention to his parents, Baela remained among his greatest confidants, a dear friend who advised him and objectively was a source of feedback when the matters of the state overwhelmed or confused him.

“I will eventually marry! I never said that I would remain unwed, and seriously accept whatever bride mother dangles in my face!” Jace slams the table in frustration, knuckles turning white as his fist curled tighter.

Daemon’s explosion of anger turns contained, restrained in a cold, expressionless gaze, unyielding and on the precipice of surrender.

“I have given up in the hopes of making Baela queen, but you will marry by the end of the year, by hook or crook, Jacaerys. You are as stubborn as your mother!”

…

“Your Grace.” Jacaerys bows as he enters the throne room, still bothered from his confrontation from his step-uncle.

Rhaenyra smiled at the sight of her eldest making his way as she sat on the Iron Throne, her ruby and amethyst crown glimmering from the sunlight trickling in from the stained window. Dressed in ermine and silks, she was dressed according to her rank, her voluptuous form after several childbirths adorned only in lavish fabrics, alongside the rings, bracelets and necklaces around her.

“Jacaerys, I assume you had spoken to your father.” She raises an eyebrow in slight amusement, knowing the reason of his arrival. The issue of paternity has always been a rocky one for him, with rumours of his bastardry because he did not resemble his late father Lord Laenor Velaryon. Prince Daemon Targaryen, his mother’s true love after both were widowed and her uncle, of course, was the only father figure he truly knew for most of his life.

“Yes, my queen. I have come to announce my intent to marry. I am aware you keep a long tally of eligible Valyrian maidens for me to marry to strengthen the purity of our blood and house.”

The Queen beckons him to come closer, as her trusted handmaiden Lady Elinda Massey unleashes a gold binded book in obsidian velvet titled ‘The Most Illustrious Valyrian Families’, compiled by the loyal Maester Gerardys.

“Our first choice for your bride was the Lady Baela Targaryen, your sister and Daemon’s eldest, but I think I have a better match for you. Do you remember Lord Maekar Targaryen and his wife Lady Alicent Hightower?”

“Yes. Lady Hightower was your childhood companion and he sired two daughters with the lady. Princess Helaena who was widowed by a Lord Celtigar, and her youngest daughter Princess Y/N.”

“I seek to finally connect all House Targaryen back to the main line to prevent any Valyrian blood to enter other houses. You should marry the Princess Helaena, widowed with a child, yes, but she is still young and has proven fertility, something we urgently need.”

Jacaerys was taken by surprise, his usually controlled expression unable to be reined back in but he gulped and nodded in acceptance.

“Of course, my queen. I have heard of correspondence that the widowed Lady Hightower and both her daughters are to arrive in the Red Keep. When is their expected arrival?”

“In a fortnight, the Lady Hightower and both Princesses of Dalston Keep shall arrive. The only thing we need left to seal the match and bring assurance and stability for the realm’s future is you formally ask for her hand at the Grand Ball three nights after. You reassure the kingdom that House Targaryen will continue and an heir will come.”

…

Cramped up in a worn down carriage that had been given to her father many decades ago, Y/N did not find it comfortable cramped up in her frilly, bulky black mourning gown.

Still mourning the loss of her mother’s uncle, Lord Hightower and the Voice of Oldtown, Lady Alicent and her daughters remained draped in ebony, black veils and ribbons everywhere. Packed in another carriage following their change of clothes, they would change to less muted colours once they were closer to the capital.

Yet the rocky path and turbulent weather said otherwise, as they could not change in time and had to reroute to make in time to the capital without upsetting the Queen and the royal family.

“Y/N, if you were not so careless and got lost in the wilderness, we could have already been there and spared the poor weather we have here!” Alicent scolded her youngest, sleep deprived with shadows under her large, brown eyes. Her black bereavement gown still had undertones of verdigris green, with subtle jacquard patterns of the tower of Oldtown with its green flame seen only in some lights.

Y/N awkwardly avoided meeting her mother in the eye while Helaena held onto her hand for sympathy and comfort, as the latter shook in agitation at the presentation that would change her fate.

Little Jaehaera was left in the care of septas, considering the distance was not too great from the castle and Alicent assumed she and Y/N would return briefly after Helaena would formally become betrothed to the Prince of Dragonstone.

Caught up on a slight slumber before their arrival at their destination, Y/N slowly opens her eyes as she sees the sunlight between the curtains percolate, as a gloved hand moves it aside, while her mother and sister are already wide awake, freshening themselves up knowing how close they are to making a match that would improve their stations greatly.

The musty aroma and ghastly sights of the streets of King’s Landing coming into view, the pungent waste from Flea Bottom wafting, and the curious, desperate pleas of starving children and peasants begging to their windows of their carriage left a burning mark on Y/N’s impression of the great, big city.

As they make it to the behemoth of architecture that is the Red Keep, the carriage makes a halt as it stops by the pavement, the crier announcing the arrival of Lady Hightower and her two daughters the Lady Targaryens.

Y/N reaches the handle to open the door but the doormen swings open the door before she even touches it, nearly tripping on her feet on the way down but she salvages it awkwardly.

Smoothening the wrinkles and stray taffeta on her gown, she gets off the carriage first, as the younger sister and the one who will not be queen, they save the best for last. Her mother follows gracefully before Lady Helaena arrives, her pale features adorned in her silver-blonde hair braided up the crown of her head and the veil making her appear as pale as a ghost.

Yet where Helaena is washed out and her features are diluted and contrast in mourning clothes, it only brings out the best of Y/N's burgeoning beauty. And the prince does not fail to take notice.

Crown Prince Jacaerys, The Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne awaits gallantly, dressed in his full regalia donned in the most formal of ceremonies of the throne. The abdicated King Viserys is too weak and frail, yet mustered the strength to leave his chambers, guided on a makeshift seat with wooden wheels assisted by a handful of servants to see his beloved grandson’s future bride.

Queen Rhaenyra smiles affectionately as she sees her companion in her youth, embracing Alicent after the latter curtseyed at her. Rubbing her shoulder in condolences for their loss, Lady Alicent gathers a smile that does not meet her eyes.

Dazed and distracted by the wonders of the exterior of the castle, a gentle tap against her ankle reminds Y/N to curtsey before the royal family, not wanting her blunder of etiquette to rob them of Helaena’s match that could change their fortunes overnight.

As Jace moves down the escalade to greet the ladies, he stands in front of Y/N, takes her hand and brushes his lips against her knuckles for a peck. “Lady Helaena-”Murmured whispers and panicked eyes abound the court present at the scenario, where Prince Daemon impatiently corrects his stepson, murmurs under his breath.

“That is Lady Y/N, the younger sister, my prince.”

Without missing a beat, Jacaerys nods with an apologetic grin, flashing his charm to make people forget his blunder, before he greets her mother and then his intended betrothed. Like clockwork, he whips out a compliment that all were so beautiful and the Lady Alicent was still so youthful you would think they were all sisters.

Helaena, already skittish and shaken by social events, greets the prince in a rehearsed speel and bow, nails digging into the beds of her calluses until they turned bloody. She, who painstakingly attended each lesson expected for a future queen, in the eyes of the court.

Although expected to marry Helaena, Prince Jacaerys held his breath upon his first impression of Lady Y/N instead. Taken by her wild, independent streak and glaring beauty that was highlighted in their obsidian gowns, he knew he would choose his own destiny.

…

I hope you guys liked it! The story has finally started and drama is just about to start <3 Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. Updates will be every Friday night PST time.

[liesmyth]

PLEASE write the lesbian footballer/wag rhaenicent… going lowkey feral over the photos. expanding my mind palace. baby footballer rhaenyra with the ponytail braid + prewrap to sexy undercut… alicent vs early 2000s footballers wag culture… making out over the barriers after the gwg!!

I'M THINKING ABOUT IT..... I cannot stop thinking about it... I think they really should have massive WoSo drama where you can track who's dated who across the entire team because half of them are lesbians. I'm trying to decide what Alicent's vibe should be. But EYE am THINKING