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lovelykhaleesiii · 2 years ago

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hmmm... Whatabout modern!chubby!aegon learning that the reader has issues with eating? I feel like that could be an interesting little story. Like nothing all that serious, just that the reader often skips meals to get to work earlier, or they cook Aegon dinner but don't leave much for themselves, because they want to make sure our precious babyboi is well-fed but don't care too much about themselves.

Aegon would notice this after a while, and lemme tell you he is NOT having it. Aegon grew up very spoiled, he's never been pressed for time when it comes to eating, nor has he ever dealt with food insecurity in terms of wealth (i.e. he's always had enough money to have 3 meals a day).

So Aegon decides he's gonna learn how to cook, so that he can wake up earlier than you and make you breakfast n things like that :)) you notice, and 1. It's the sweetest goddamn thing ever and you just wanna squish his chubby cheeks and give him kisses for it (cuteness aggression is a real thing, people), and 2. Seeing him in the kitchen with his stupid little apron, puttering around like a housewife kind of drives you CRAZY.

Maybe the reader literally pins him onto the kitchen counter and takes him like that, apron and all, while he's covered with sugar IDK

Aegon also becomes a bit of a hobby-chef because of this, which I think suits him so well. Little babyboi making a bunch of different dishes, asking the reader to try them out with a worried look on his face (he really values your opinion! 🥺). You always tell him his food is amazing though. You might hate seafood beyond belief, but when this boy makes you salmon the reader will eat the whole damn thing and tell him its michelin-star quality.

I can imagine he also puts on a bit more weight because of this. He's always been fluffy, but he maybe starts becoming a little insecure of himself? Like he doesn't quite know if you mind him being a little chubbier. That worry doesn't last long, cuz within 5 seconds, you're back home and squishing his cheeks and belly and laying your head on his soft thighs, and he realizes he really doesn't have to worry about it (with maybe some sweet reassurance from the reader?? Idk I love that shit istg 👀👀)

sorry this was so long! I just love hobby-chef chubby!aegon so I figured I'd spread the idea like a virus lmao 💚

GRRRRR bestie this is everything, some fluff for our fluffy boy <3 the detail in this was everything, I hope I give you justice!!!!

Seconds, Please?

PAIRING: Modern!chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 3,357.

WARNINGS: mentions of eating disorder, mentions of self-inflicted fatphobia, swearing, dry humping, smut, size difference kink, hint of food play.

A/N - I need this domestic chubby man in my life so bad, please. apologies if I changed or added a few things, it all just came to me in the moment AHAHA <3

Domestic bliss was true, and much to your cause, you were reaping the perks that naturally came with it. Aegon was a loyal, committed partner, a considerate soul, that although many underestimated his capability in a relationship, had proven otherwise...

"Babe, you barely ate your dinner last night, and now you're off to work without having eaten a proper breakfast-" He'd worriedly confessed, remaining seated at the small, circular dining table, his mouth partially full of syrup soaked waffles, as he obediently devoured the last gulp of his breakfast.

"Aeg, baby, I only just managed to whip up something for you. Couldn't leave my big boy to starve now, could I?" You tease, as you hastily gather your belongings in your tote, cutting his soft "but" as you bid him farewell, planting a fast, hard peck on the top of his short, platinum hair.

Aegon, much to his guilt, had only just recently begun to notice how little you ate, in comparison to him. The more it played with his mind, the more sinister the thoughts would become.

Had you developed an eating disorder, that he was so blissfully ignorant to all the signs? Allowing for you to endure such a thing...

Or was it, that you had grown ashamed of his overgrown size, that you felt the need to starve yourself?

Mayhaps, the stress of work and having to care for Aegon on top, your appetite had grown weary and lesser? All because he was selfishly indulgent with the affection and attention you spoiled him with...

He stopped midway to lifting the fork into his mouth to devour the final piece, closely gazing at the slice of the delectable waffle on his fork, that you'd so thoughtfully cooked for him, before throwing it back down on the plate shamefully. The intense guilt he felt brewing in the pit of his stomach, made it feel sinful to finish it. How could he, whilst you went about your day hungry? Connecting the dots, like a pieces to a puzzle, he'd noticed how recently fatigued you were, always desperate for a nap or an early night, often having finished work late from the law firm. These past few weeks, you'd been worked to the bone. The more he dwelled on your frail appearance, he'd come to realise just how weary and thinner you'd grown [not losing an abundant amount, although enough to see how loose your clothes had grown], along with the difference in size between yourself and him, was quite noticeable.

What would others think? That he was the culprit for his girlfriend's malnourishment? Him a 'greedy hog', binging and consuming everything and anything edible on sight, of course, there'd be none left for you to eat. Many of your excuses ranged from not feeling hungry at all [your mind too preoccupied with endless amounts of deadlines], or that you were too tiresome. And in the moments that you'd spared to eat, your appetite was shortcoming, and often you'd plea for Aegon to finish off your leftovers. Now he felt even more woeful, unlike before, the guilt would devour him inside out.

In conclusion... You were too good for him, he did not deserve you. Something needed to change, he did.

"No more fucking around, Aegon, fuck-" He brutally thought to himself, as he arduously heaved himself up: belly sated and full, a pudgy, sticky hand instinctively patted over his belly, as the other grabbed the dishes, placing it in the sink. He was intent on changing his outdated habits.

He could not do much to change his appearance overnight let alone in a few hours, nor was he keen to, if he was being frank. He knew you were quite fond of his new-found softness, having not complained thus far, he was not overly big. Your affections towards him would prove just how desirous you felt, on your behalf: the way his plush body would smother and pin against you when either of you felt a little frisky. And during the cold, winter nights, the way his extra padding and natural body heat would radiate, acting like insulation, as he held you tightly in his thick arms. You felt so incredibly secure. It was a feeling unlike any other, and he refused to take that away from you.

It was time he took charge...

****

"Aeg, I'm home!" You tiresomely call out, breathless as you walk in with your brimful bag and more paper work clutched desperately in your hands, more than what you had initially left home with.

Yet, no response in return.

You slowly linger through the hallway, as you remove your heels, adjusting the papers in your hand, before walking down.

"Aegon-" You worringly repeat once more.

Aegon was often at home most days of the week, for his family owned a wealthy, accounting business. Growing up rich and dependent, it seemed that Aegon grew accustomed to this comfortable lifestyle, and you truly couldn't blame him, he had no part. Although, his parents financially supported him even till now, and provided maids to attend to his needs during his youth, his parents remained absent: often he'd express his discontent with them, and rightfully so. However, he'd just messed up a huge investment opportunity, and was temporarily suspended, thus, he was at home for most of the time. Sitting around, finding solace in snacking to get by the long, lonesome hours, as he eagerly awaited for your return from work. Nonetheless, you had a soft spot for him, and tried to go above and beyond for him, to prove he did not need them anymore...

"In the kitchen-" He loudly yelled, followed by thunderous clangs of metal pots/plates. Your nerves began to set in, was the meals you often prepared for lunch and left in the fridge, not enough? Perhaps, this time they were not tasteful enough for him?

"Hey, baby-" He warmly coos, as he walks over towards you, planting a soft kiss on your flustered cheek.

"Sorry, I've made a bit of a mess, not used to where everything is. I promise, I'll clean it up once I'm done-" He pleas, as he walks back towards the oven where, what appears to be a freshly made pizza is brewing.

In silence, you gradually examine the surrounding and Aegon, himself. Although the kitchen was a rightful mess, used plates, sauce, chopped vegetables, pepperoni slices, and shredded mozzarella strands spread all over the counter, like some deconstructed art piece. And Aegon, donned in a white apron that was now completely soiled, with a smidge of what seemed to be flour across his cheek, your heart was full. Placing your bag just before the entrance to the kitchen, and the papers on a clear, clean spot of the dining table, you walk towards Aegon slowly, still focused on the sight before you.

"Aeg, W-What's the meaning of all this? Did you get hungry again? Was the lunch I made not enough?"

"No, no, Y/N. You've done plenty... In fact, more than enough, it's just-" Having wiped his hands clean with a dishcloth, his hands had reached over securely gripping you by the sides. Guiding you over towards a seat by the dining table, you sit down, as he plops himself on the seat beside you, as he pulls your chair closer towards him with ease.

"Y/N, I've noticed how little you've been eating these past few days. And if I'm being honest, it's worrying me, my love-" His soft, fleshy hands reach over to grip yours, firmly holding your small hands in his, as his thumb strokes your skin.

"I-Is there something I should be concerned about, because you know you can tell me anything, right? I-I just want to help you." His low voice breaks, stuttering with concern, as his troubled eyes remain fixated on you.

You can't help although smile, as you now return the gesture, giving a reassuring squeeze of Aegon's soft hand.

"Aeg, please, I am fine, truly. You have nothing to stress about. It-It's just work, I feel like I have no time to waste doing anything really. And I guess, I've been more focused on making sure you've been fed and tended to, than myself before work takes a hold of me... I just didn't want you to think I'd neglected you. Forgive me."

"Fuck, Y/N, what are you to be sorry for? I should be the one apologising... I've been such a hog, so blind to everything you've done-"

"Aeg, please-"

"Seriously, baby... You are just-[sighs], you're just a little too good to me, but I'm willing to change. That's why I did this, trynna' learn to cook for us, princess, so I can be the one taking care of you for a change..."

Nonetheless, Aegon remained true to his word. The home-made pizza he'd so lovingly yet chaotically made that night was a complete success.You teased whether he'd cunningly ordered out and acted as though he'd actually made it.

"Aeg, this- this is seriously so good. It's fucking delicious-" You excitedly exclaim in between each mouthful, as he anxiously awaits for your response by your side. At first, he was in denial, exclaiming that it was just out of niceties, or his beginner's luck in the kitchen. Although, pleading your case, like the competent solicitor that you are, your compliments earn an immediate, genuine smile from Aegon. Beaming across his plump face, his cheeks blushing a subtle tinge of pink, as this was a first for him, and rightfully so, it was an ultimate success.

****

In the months coming, Aegon had grown a hearty passion for cooking, especially because it meant he could provide for you. In his spare time, he'd been searching for various popular recipes/dishes he'd heard of. Other times, he'd ask for your preferences, finding out your favourite childhood meals, eager to reminisce your youth over dinner.

Eventually, he grew more confident with his skills and even began taking risks. Daring to cook meals with ingredients, he knew you were not typically a fan favourite of, and would avoid at all costs. He often always joked about how your eating habits resembled to that of a toddler.

As he was grown spoilt and with a cultured taste, he was acquired to most things, having dined in various, fancy restaurants and fed a range of diverse cuisines. Whereas, yourself, you were not so indulgent with different delicacies and palates. He was eager to change your mind, for he was not a picky eater at all.

You'd awake to your alarm that you'd set for your daily morning walks, blaring at your ear-side from the wooden bedside table, only to stretch and be met with a cold, empty bedside and Aegon missing. Although, the faint ruckus that followed, opening the bedroom door, to a distant bright, yellow light beaming from down the hallway from the kitchen, you'd follow, only to find Aegon hard at work in the kitchen.

"Sorry, princess, did I wake you up? I just was about to cook you something for breakfast and lunch on the go. I was just thinking to make you some salmon tonight for dinner, baby. I know, I know! It's not your favourite but I found this recipe, I'm really eager to try, and I thought you'd might like to... You know, helped to expand your horizons a little."

Although it took you much convincing, Aegon noticed the disdain look on your face, unpleased by his plans, you still caved in. Those puppy eyes with those cheeks, were irresistible, you could never deny him. And yet, Aegon's cooking never ceased to disappoint you thus far, so why turn away now? As much as you had been dreading the dinner, feeling your appetite growing weaker throughout the gruelling day at work, Aegon's salmon dish was shockingly delectable. The richness and zest of the salmon infused with the spices, combined so tastefully and the texture was just right, you could've sworn you'd moan, a visceral reaction from how good it was.

"Aeg, baby, what sorcery is this? How am I enjoying this, you know how much I hate seafood...And yet, this could so be worthy of a Michelin Star!" The bewilderment set in stone in your voice, as you politely cover your mouth with your hand. Aegon always made a habit of waiting for you to eat first, before tucking in himself. He was always anxious for your approval, only to be met with countless compliments, you felt like a broken record.

"Really, baby? You mean that?" He persists, as he picks up his own cutlery, keen to unveil the taste.

"Trust me, Aeg... If I didn't like it, you'd know for sure!"

****

Eventually, Aegon took the reins of cooking, which much to your relief, meant one less thing to worry about, even if it took you a while to get accustomed to. Aegon insisted that you should continue to focus on work than having to feed him regularly.

"I'm not a little child anymore, Y/N, let me show you how well I can take care of the both of us now."

Although granted on your days off, after you'd have a decent, well-earned sleep in, you enjoyed helping him around the kitchen... It was a hard habit to break of Aegon's when it came to the cleaning aspect, he was a tad lazy and slow, so often, if given the chance, you'd help around washing, drying and packing away dishes and ingredients. Cleaning up his mess along the way, as you closely watched him from the sidelines, a true professional in their mastery.

It was only in these intimate moments, that you'd notice Aegon had grown a little rounder, more softer around his edges. The subtle double chin beneath his jaw was more prominent, and his jaw line now fading with mounted with flesh, his cheeks looked slightly more plump [the urge to kiss and nibble at them became exponential], and the apron he'd worn so often, how tightly snugged, barely able to tie from behind, as his stomach had protruded even more beneath. His figure could not be hidden, and yet, it made you fall for him even harder.

Aegon immediately noticed you openly eyeing him out, too deeply distracted by his figure, as your eyes fluttered over every inch of him.

"Y/N, what's wrong? What is it?"

Hastily snapping back out of your lustful thoughts, you felt flustered, being put on the spot like so. You hadn't even realised that Aegon had caught you, perhaps as you fell into silence, observing him strongly kneading the dough, preparing to trial out his attempt of focaccia.

"N-Nothing, Aeg, I-I just noticed, maybe you need a new apron... That one looks a little worn-out, and slightly uncomfortable."

Your meek attempt at subtleness was poor and Aegon knew exactly what you'd meant. He knew he had grown, putting on a few extra pounds since exercising his new found hobby, although he was foolish to think you would not notice. You should be disgusted by him, even in his efforts to tend to you, he was selfishly gorging himself. Had he no self-control?

"I get what you're saying, Y/N. I feel ashamed too, for the way I've become, I-I'll try to get out s'more and maybe I can go on those morning walks with you?" He bashfully looks back down at the dough he'd stopped kneading, trying to talk firmly with you.

"Aeg, please! That's not what I meant at all!" You urge, as you hastily leap off the chair, bounding towards Aegon as you instinctively wrap your arms around his thick waist, your small arms just barely interlinking.

"Don't you ever, ever think I could be ashamed of you, Aeg! Do you think that low of me? I love you, and if I'm being quite honest, I think I've actually fallen for you harder..."

You playfully look up at him, your head resting just below his broad shoulder, as you perk your eyebrows up and down teasingly, gesturing for something more.

"And what exactly, do you mean by that?" He questioned, as he finally covered the kneaded dough in bowel, waiting for it to rise, before turning to face you.

"Well, I mean your as soft as that dough, your cheeks, I could just squeeze, and those lips- Gods, your lips, Aeg-"

You tug him by the apron, gesturing him to lean down, as you plant a soft, long kiss, your tongues entwined as your share a passionate moment. Just as you'd expected, his lips felt so soft and moist, you had the sudden urge to gently bite down at his lower lip, and helplessly you did, tugging at it. Earning a cocky smile streaming across his face, you let go, aimlessly gazing up at one another with desire.

"Hmm, tell me more, princess."

"And this belly-" You grab a firm hold of his flesh, slightly jiggling against your rapid motions, as you eye his physique below and back up towards him, his attention following you.

"It's just calling for me to straddle you, I can't help but imagine how good it would feel to ride the fuck out of you, and these thighs- You've been so busy in the kitchen, stuffing your roasts and gorging yourself, you've forgotten about little, old me. You don't miss filling me up, big boy?"

Immediately, in such a swift motion, Aegon turns to steadily pin you against the counter instead. His full undivided attention, solely on you, licking his lips as though you were some type of dessert he'd just feasted his lilac eyes upon, as he presses his solid mass against you, feeling yourself helplessly squirm beneath his tender pressure. Adjusting himself in the right position, it didn't take a genius to realise, someone had grown a little excited by the realness of your words, and in sync, you felt a throbbing, familiar ache coursing from deep within your inner thighs.

"Look at what you're doing to me. Do you think that low of me, that I would forget my little princess, hmm? Your needs come first, always."

He plunges his soft face deep within the crook of your neck as he sucks on your floral fragranced skin, with each kiss he felt eager to devour you, you were certain by his harshness that he'd left a trail of fresh marks. His hands snaked down your waist, below to your ass, sensually massaging at your cheeks, as he pushed your body deeper into his, specifically your lower abdomen region, where you felt his bulge poking through his seems, desperate to be inside of you.

You felt your body slowly pacing up and down against Aegon's stocky frame, one of his thighs, found their way in between your legs, parting your entrance. You began to mimic the movements as you would if straddling him from atop, as he kept you supported, rocking yourself backwards and forwards against his clothed, chunky thigh. The friction beneath and Aegon's groans so close against your ear, was unnerving. You could sense the trickles of wetness beginning to ooze out of your eager cunt, soaking your sheer panties beneath.

"Aeg-Bedroom-" Moans in between your breathless words, you felt too feeble to form coherent words, as you felt his swollen gut, pressing deep against your breasts, flashing them upwards. One of your hands remained firmly tugging and pulling at his short, platinum locks, whilst the other dug nails deep into his meaty flesh, leaving a trail of marks behind.

"Bedroom-now."

Without hesitation or thought, Aegon picked you up with such ease, carrying you over his thick shoulder, you felt puny against his strength. Earning a small, light giggle from you, he felt invincible. Oblivious for what was to come, it seemed Aegon was keen to show you...

Just before he'd rush to make a beeline for the bedroom, he stopped by the fridge, opening the freezer door, and instantly grabbing the frozen tub of his favourite chocolate ice-cream.

"Better not waste this, we can definitely put it to some good use."

GENERAL TAGLIST - @evenstaris @chompchompluke

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fearthhereaper · 5 months ago

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i must say, apart from aemond deciding to randomly commit regicide/fratricide i did like the battle itself

a shame they decided against aemond and aegon working together but i didn't have high hopes for anything good coming my way anyway

i think they still could've had aemond burn/hurt aegon but maybe make it so aemond had no choice but sacrifice aegon's life to kill rhaenys, i think i would've liked that much more

other than that...sunfyre best babyboy i love you so much

#house of the dragon #hotd

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ladymorghul · 9 months ago

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aegon: omfggggggg i can't believe i was dragged to this shit show i don't wanna be king i'm not suited omfggg ejkjskkhf i'm walking down this stupid fucking isle could have been in yi ti chilling right now i hate my life this is the worst thing that could possibly happen to me

aemond and helaena going through the 5 stages of grief after their mom prepared the most specialest day for babyboy aegon: aegon shut the fuck up

#txt #this is so funny TO ME #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen

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daenystheedreamer · 1 year ago

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pls more abt viserys Omaegorverse I'm so fascinated it's insane and i honestly think grrm would b proud

im so happy u love it and this means so much but i do NOT think he would be proud 😭 he would read my posts (gun to his head ofc he wouldnt just. do that.) and sit in silence for a few minutes and then he would say. Maegor isnt gay what are you talking about. and i go well thats not really the point and anyway sexuality is kinda fluid and its more about opportunity and power than about sexual attraction although i will concede- and then he sends elio and linda with spears to hunt me down.

he's canonically a nothing character with personality of 'Beloved Of The Commons' n nothing else so i can kinda do whatever tf i want with him which is fun. he's also mostly there to be a sad wet cat that gets kicked by everyone and everyone he loves dies or is weird about him in some way. he's my special little sad uke twink i brutalise for my personal entertainment <3 im so maegorcoded so tyannacoded... anyway more about my babyboy viserys below<3 warning its SOOO long like fifteen fucking paragraphs Jesus christ

trigger warnings for like everything. incest death depression mental instability murder psychosis uhhh. torture and suicide. just all of it do NOT read unless youre like super certain you wanna read about my deviantart OCs because guys it is NOT worth it

childhood pre-Torture Labyrinth. he's born in 29 AC and was 8-ish when he was at the deathbed of Aegon1. aegon the uncrowned is three years older than him, and rhaena is six years older. jaehaerys is 5 years younger, alysanne is 7 years younger vaella who i kept alive is 10 years younger. just to give an idea of ages and general canon info :>

his only personality trait is Promising and Beloved of the commons. i think him and aegon were friends :) younger brother so he followed after him a lot. slightly scared of rhaena the big cool older sister who has a pet dragon. think his granddad is soooo cool doesnt really think about The Implications of conquest or anything. normal boy normal childhood (as normal as possible when ur siblings are married...) also he is gay because it adds to the horrors later on 🥰

something i think is Inchresting is the rhaena, aegon and viserys are named for rhaenys, aegon and visenya :3 i think viserys is like hercules right where he was named in an attempt to appease The Wife. aenys was like hiiiii auntie/stepmum visenya look i named a kid after you you dont wanna kill me right?right? and she looks at this kid who didnt claim a dragon isnt a girl isnt maegor and goes oh so youre insulting me huh.

i think rhaena aegon viserys had a slightly weird dynamic. rhaena the lesbian getting forcibly betrothed to her younger brother by her father is gonna make things weird, also aegon was 15 and rhaena 18 which adds just the best most awesome sauce to the mix. i think viserys had very complicated feelings on that especially if he is gay cos like... rhaena obviously does not love her brother romantically right. so u are a boy and ur sister is a lesbian but you dont have that word. and you are gay and your brother is cool and the crown prince and everyone is screwing their siblings and that makes your brain chemistry weird. and now your brother is marrying your gay sister. What about you. the dragon has three heads??? idk he's like 12 at this point he just goes back to playing hide and seek with jae+aly.

Uh oh daddy's dead. daddy's dead and uncle maegor is king now with his three wives. Uh oh. oh awesome he's kidnapped you and you're his squire now that's so cool. well its mostly a power play and hes not actually making u do anything as long as you stay locked in the red keep all day he leaves you alone. also maegor's insane girlfriend stares at you like you're a baby lamb that would make a delicious lamb tostada. but hey your big brother aegon has a dragon now and him and rhaena are gonna save you soon. Uh oh aegon's dead. aegon's dead and maegor is king for real for real.

everyone steers clear of you in the keep. you used to play with your siblings and the commoners and you used to play on dragonstone and kings landing and now no one wants to touch you. no one is calling you maegor's squire now, the pretence is gone. you are maegor's hostage. you fantasise about a different outcome, where maegor took you to the battle as his squire, and that you being there might have changed what happened. maybe you could have warned aegon. but you know nothing would have changed. youre not a dragonrider. you're worthless you're powerless. youre 14 years old :)

alys harroway is dead. maegor killed his wife. you knew alys, you saw her around the keep. she seemed very nice. she was very quiet and stayed in her rooms. she was always pregnant. you wonder why she married maegor, why she and tyanna are so strange with each other. you hear rumours. you wish you had talked to her. but she's dead now. maegor killed her. maegor tortured her. she's a whore now. you look out the window and see her rotting leg on a stake outside, her torso on another. you wish you had talked to her.

visenya targaryen the looming shadow over your life, the woman you're named after who looked at you with nothing but scorn, is dead. your mother is gone and she took jae and aly. what about you? what about you? is she not your mother too? are you not her little boy anymore? you are 15 years old. maegor killed alys' family when he was angry with her. is he going to kill you now?

ok second person pov over the gimmick is getting lame. anyway this is where the AU deviates: instead of viserys dying of torture, maegor is like hey maybe my nephew will be more fertile than my BITCH wives. and visenya the blood witch before her death compiled a bunch of old valyrian a/b/o fanfiction and said son if you ever find yourself with infertile wives. Consult These Texts. then tyanna and maegor made viserys mpreggable i dont care about how or like. what his body looks like. im not into the fetish of omegaverse LMAO i dont want to think about the fertilisation or birthing process or what organs he has thats unnecessary. only thing thats important is viserys can incubate babies and they are birthed via c-section :3

quick lore dump: vis is forced to maegor -> rhaena crashes the wedding but vis is so broken at this point he just doesnt want anyone else to die and has resigned himself to maegor so rhaena reluctantly surrenders -> alyssa jae and aly DO go to the red keep after they find out about the wedding and jae dies fighting maegor which makes viserys fully break -> alyssa now has husband dead 2 kids dead her son is queen and she also loses her fight :( lives on dragonstone with alive vaella -> alysanne is given to the faith -> rhaena agrees to a truce and she is hand of the king now and viserys' main protector -> vis gets pregnant and the kid is basically a reincarnation of jaehaerys -> tyanna loses her shit and tries to murder/sterilise/whatever viserys so maegor kills her cos he's finally got his babymaker -> vis has a daughter who's the reincarnation of tyanna -> faith uprising, shut down -> vis has his second daughter final child daenys who's birth is heralded by the martyrdom of poxy jeyne poor in the quashed faith uprising

vis is in the torture labyrinth for a couple decades. life sucks husband sucks everyone is weird about him. very death in venice people are weird about the boy type deal. has to wade through gender and sexuality politics of westeros which means several men going utterly insane about him including a couple kingsguard knights (celibate hypermasculine freaks bound to be insane sexually). one point early-ish on he DOES start believing this one kingsguard knight will save him from The Hells The Horrors but maegor finds out and kills that guy adn sexually humiliates viserys in front of the kingsguard and makes their son watch. So that fucks up vis' psyche for a while :3

rhaena and alysanne try to convince him to rebel and run away that they will use their dragons and fight. but maegor has made vis so paranoid and crazy he thinks maegor knows everything knows all his thoughts so he's terrified of plotting escape cos he thinks maegor will kill everyone. plus maegor made sure to force kids onto him early so that vis wouldnt be able to leave :3 world's most evil babytrap of all time.

vis doesnt interact with anyone except rhaena aly maegor his kids and the kingsguard so yeah its bad for him. ceryse hangs around for a while but shes like yeah i dont want any part of this shit dude being queen is NAWT worth it and she goes back to the hightower to plot marrying her niece off to maegor's son.

also there's a curse on the kingsguard all of them die really horribly and early. its a fun little thing for me personally because in f&b maegor's kinsguard is cartoonishly bad and jae's is cartoonishly perfect so i though Hey what if we did a little curse on the kingsguard ey. that would be fun. the only guy who stays long is a bracken because brackenfail cancels out knightfail. he's all godly and pissy about the gay marriage thing but he's also a monarchist so even though he think maegor is satan he's like well. he is my king i must serve him i obey my vows. he thinks viserys is a freak of nature but slowly grows to respect him and helps kill maegor + takes the fall for it. they have a weird father figure/white knight/weird tension thing that never gets consummated yay ^_^ the maegor torture labyrinth will have you 21 years old and best friends with a 50 year old celibate knight like dang where tf ser bracken at today 🥹

viserys snaps in 66AC with no like big catalyst or anything. he just has a good day where he's mostly lucid and he's angry and he's tired of everything and he's sick of maegor and he wants freedom he wants to be free. he wants to breath the air without panicking that maegor is going to hurt him. and maegor says some disgusting comment to him while theyre alone in the throne room and vis just snaps and start fighting him. daenys shows up cos she had her own Visions and Voices and they just start whaling on him. bracken knight helps too he takes most of maegor's counter attacks his organs are all over the floor but maegor dies impaled on the throne YAY

vis is like. A bit better for a while. his son is now king and vis is seeing that oh it doesnt get better does it people will still die. also his son jae has this weird oedipus complex about him thanks to maegor's insane parenting and viserys is fully aware of that so its not fun times for him. jae and daenys try to make him better try to invent therapy but its the middle ages they dont have that yet. they finally send him off to harrenhal (BAD IDEA) because they think viserra (the elder daughter btw, the tyanna one) might be able to cure him with her weird witchcraft. they think she's insane too but its the last option... viserra thinks vis is lame and weak but she does love him in ehr own way or maybe just pities him. anyway she does her best and it works for a while but viserys sorta gives up cos the depression is too much. and viserra believes in euthanasia as a mercy and thinks this is best for him this will let him be at peace. daenys has a premonition about it and tries to stop him. she has a big blowout fight with jae about it too and curses his bloodline and prophesises the long night. burned the red keep a little bit, you know how it is.

blah blah blah anyway daenys and vis end up dying in the gods eye together in a murder/suicide suicide/suicide murder/murder whatever. viserra has the lake dragged and they're found holding each other like a mother and her fetus :3

Fucks sake this post is long. holy shit holy fuck. my fucking bad guys my bad im so sorry. Holy shit. anyway thats my deviant art oc tee hee ^_^

#ive never read a little life but i suspect i have somewhat cribbed it. my bad guys brutalising a fictional gayboy is just so fun #au:omaegorverse #you guys have GOT to blacklist that tag if u dont wanna lose any respect you have for me. it is So embarrassing im sorry to be lke this 😭#ask #anonymous #oc:viserystargaryen

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factorydefaultlu · 2 years ago

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howdy :) i’ve got a random question for ya

how do you feel about the ship between aegon and rhaenyra?

It can be a very interesting ship with a lot of dynamics. Very good femdom/babyboy content, arranged marriage au

Aegon wishing he was a daughter/Rhaenyra wishing she was a son parallels

Lots of good stuff right there

#tin talks

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thesilverlady · 2 years ago

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Why do you find Aegon interesting in the book? *Didn't read them so i am curious*

fun fact: I'm Greek. Which means I'm inclined to like any angsty potentially tragic character or stories 😂 It's in my blood.

In all seriousness though, I see Aegon II as a tragic character and not in the "uwu he was a victim poor babyboy" way but in the "his family are dicks and maybe if he was raised differently he could have turned out slightly better"

We don't get a lot of info about the greens as individual characters and as much i love the story structure of f&b I can't deny that I would have loved to have POVs of some important characters.

Nevertheless, in f&b despite Aegon's flaws/crimes we see him that he's basically used as a tool to uplift the family status and give the Hightowers more power.

Which is why it's very entertaining when Aegon has had enough of Otto's bullshit and fire him only to have him replaced with a mere steward's son in the middle of a war.

the death of his son does effect him and he becomes more vengeful and blood thirsty, and when he finally wins the war despite all the loss, he's killed by his own men.

Don't get me wrong. I don't feel bad about the way he died and I'm 100% against the new fan theory that popped out about him actually planning to off himself.

but he remains a tragic figure in the sense that he's ultimately a tool. For the lords of the council, for his grandfather, even for his own mother who was using her children mostly for her one sided beef with Rhaenyra. And even if we toy around with AUs ideas like "what if he married Rhaneyra", "what if Viserys made him his heir" his position doesn't change. He'd still be used by people left and right.

of course that's hardly anything new for asoiaf. We've seen many times rulers or princes being stirred into the direction certain men want to lead them for their own means,but I still feel a stab of sympathy for the lack of freedom/control they have when it comes to that

#f&b meta #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the elder #anti hotd #<- using this tag because I'm NOT talking about show!Aegon #also something I forgot to add was I'm very invested in exploring the dynamic he had with his family #we only see a line here & there in f&b which leaves the desire for more #ask reply

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lemonhemlock · 2 years ago

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I guess Targ nation defend Aerys bc he is Dany's father and they love and defend everything related to her. I'm sure if Aegon II was Dany's ancestor they would defend him also, but he is not so he is not worth their attention (and he kills their fav girl ofc so he is the most evil man ever). Viserys is Dany's brother and they like Harry Lloyd so he gets a pass. Maegor gets a pass for being Visenya's babyboy maybe? It's crazy how the greens are considered the worst and get to be called literal h*tlers but the conquerors are not, they are just true Targs, fighting for a good cause. Maegor was cruel but at least he is not misogynist like these nasty greens, right, doesn't matter how he treated his wives. But then this fandom thinks Daemon is a malewife feminist who never did anything wrong, so I just gave up.

oh, i know about the unironical maegor stanning. viserys iii i also find a compelling character myself, but aerys ii would have made dany's life a living hell lol. also these are v flawed, villainous characters (viserys is actually tame & woke in comparison to the other two), so there's no way to explain them hating on aegon & aemond other than cognitive dissonance and them equating rhaenyra with dany in their minds

#ask #anon #anti team black

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gojuo · 2 years ago

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Rewatching hotd and seeing dried tears on aegon’s face when he’s walking up to his coronation,,,, just wanna put this sad little man in my pocket and carry him around

my babyboy knows it's not his coronation but his death sentence HE KNOWSSSSSSS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#I LURRVEEEE HIMMMMMMM #aegon ii #anonymous #answered

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vermithorn · 7 months ago

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DID YE SEE AEGON CRYING? I SAW AEGON CRYING. I WANT THIS LITTLE SLUT TO BE VERY MISERABLE ARI I'M TELLING YOU

BABYYYYYYYY HOLY SHITTTT ASYHGDFAJFKS YES AND RIDING BABYBOY SUNFYRE ARFTGJHKJKL

#MY BABY

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lovelykhaleesiii · 2 years ago

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chubby!aegon and his chubby!spouse having their first supper together, and spouse doesn't want to appear to have bad table manners or disgust him so she eats little but our chubby babyboy is like 'um...aren't you hungry??' and him being a total simp lol I'm getting tired of writing my own chubby!aegon stuff lmao

ughh yes!!!! 😫 I can so imagine him being so comfortable with how he is and his chubby spouse being a little insecure. He’d be so enamoured of your body though, like he can’t keep his hands off you, his fingers grazing the sides of your curves, him squeezing your ass cheeks or just spanking you regardless of others that might be present. His King, so he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s in charge and if anyone has anything to say, he’ll make sure they’re dealt with.

After you get comfortable with eating just in front of him, he still notices how uneasy you become again when there’s a public feast. The way you avoid the food, or just nitpick small stuff off the tables when no one is looking, mostly fruits here and there. He’ll either bring you a plate full of your favourite pastries himself (if he manages to get the chance) to feed you himself or he’ll organise the kitchen to bring a feast to your shared room after the festivities & just fuck and feed you there before giving you a pep talk.

“It’s okay to eat, Y/N, I don’t want you to starve yourself for the Kingdom.”

He never fully understood why you’d torment yourself like so, and even though you’d elaborate that there were other maidens much prettier, much more skinnier and slimmer than you, he reassures you that you, are the only apple of his eye. He loves you and absolutely everything about you, from head to toe.

“If anyone has a problem, they can answer to me, the King,” He commands.

Since he’d met you, the whores and the forcing himself onto others, had stopped. He never found himself so mesmerisers but anyone, until he laid his eyes on you.

Thank you for the idea, I’ll try to write something proper, just need some ideas to flow through & motivate me again x

#aegon ii targaryen #chubby!aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #aegon ii targaryen imagines #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic requests #aegon ii targaryen imagine requests #hotd #house of the dragon

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oddtinspeas · 12 days ago

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Well, Maggi, on your way to make it right, like the showrunners didn’t, and give our sad, dysfunctional Green family some justice. Although, I didn’t expect Blood and Cheese to happen in the second chapter, after the first chapter I wondered what you’re gonna do with it and now I know and I know that I didn't want to know. Blood and Cheese always makes me sick, how could it not? But now I finally saw Aemond saying I’m sorry, someone being there for Aegon and even Helaena and Aegon acknowledging each other, even trying to give each other some comfort? Jeez, Sarah, Ryan, have you seen that??? Impossible, right???

And this about Alicen: “She deserved a different husband, and children who she could recognize as her own.” I know that Alicent is usually happy with ser Crispin in your fics and in them I respect that, in my little world, I just want my pookie (show Alicent) to fight her religious guilt and internalised homophobia and be happy lesbian living on some beach drinking margarita with her cool, probably masc, girlfriend. Is this too much? Maybe, probably, but the sense is that this sentence broke my heart for her and her actual children, in this fic Red included, but it’s so on point.

On the subject of Aemond and Red I’m a bit disgusted but also rotting for them? I ship it, it’s interesting, steamy and fleshy, but also how Aemond talks about her is giving me the ick? And sometimes I like them being possessive in fiction, but babyboy she’s not your doll, a thing, made just to please you and for you to indulge in her.

As for the dragons and Red… Well, since I saw the title of the fic I have my theory that Cannibal is the one for her and that they will do really nasty things together, and as Cannibal is a cannibal, other dragons can feel their (Red x Cannibal) connection (apologies, I’m obsessed about dragon x dragon rider and dragons x dragons connections).

Cannibals [Chapter 2: Roses and Forget-Me-Nots]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence and murder, bodily injury, Aemond needs comfort, Helaena needs to make a choice, Aegon needs revenge, Red needs stitches.

Word count: 6.4k

❤️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

Too much to drink, blood on your teeth; you stumbled going up the Grand Staircase and bit your lip and now all you can taste is warm copper. It’s the past, but the recent past. Viserys isn’t dead yet, but not far from it either, an unquiet ghost who groans from rooms cloudy with incense. Criston oversees Aemond’s training and Grandsire sits the Iron Throne when petitioners come begging for relief from taxes or the requisitioning of their livestock. Helaena plays with her children in the garden. Larys Strong dwells in shadowy corners of rooms, lurking, listening. Mother lights candles for her husband in the sept, tries to forgive herself for being so repulsed by him she shivers when her skin brushes his and comes away damp from the weeping sores.

It’s Criston’s nameday, and the court is celebrating as if it is a prince’s. Mother has ordered the kitchen to prepare his favorite foods—lamb marinated with figs and blood oranges, a myriad of olives, spiced wine, roasted eggplant, dragon peppers stuffed with cheese and onions—and the musicians to play Dornish ballads. In the midst of the festivities in the Great Hall, Aemond has been pulled aside by Grandsire to discuss a pressing concern: an idea, proposed by Master of Ships Tyland Lannister, to split the royal treasury and hide it in several different locations should a war of succession break out after Viserys’ death. No one knows what will happen when Father dies. Everybody is moving invisible pieces on an imaginary board, trying to convince themselves they are prepared.

Now the hour is late and guests are vanishing, and everyone seems to be drunk, the world warm and spinning, and you are going to your chambers to wait for Aemond. What you have together is new and exhilarating, and your pulse is thudding in your ears as you stagger down the hallway. You are going to take off all your clothes and wait for him in bed beneath blankets Helaena has stitched with red bats. If Aemond asked you for everything tonight, you’d give it; but you’re beginning to like his idea to wait. You will never fly a dragon into battle like Aegon the Conqueror’s wives, but this is one war you and Aemond can fight together: thwarting all other matches, at last claiming a victory that the realm must witness. Aemond wants a Valyrian wedding ceremony. He has no fear of your blood.

You are passing Helaena’s chambers when you hear muffled voices inside, things you should not listen to but are too drunk to politely ignore. Helaena is whimpering quietly. Aegon says, sounding like he is close to tears: “I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done…”

You should leave, but you don’t. You are trapped there by the poison that slows your thoughts, by the horror that blooms in you like roses, thorny and maroon. You’ve never had to experience intimacy that feels like a violation. You never will. And you’re the only one of Alicent’s children that’s true for: Aemond’s first experiences were with a middle-aged prostitute on the Street of Silk, something Aegon mistook for a favor; Daeron will have to bed a Baratheon girl he barely knows.

After a few minutes the door opens, and there is Aegon swimming in a white nightshirt stained with red wine. He startles when he sees you, then averts his watery eyes. He is ashamed. He says weakly, his hair hanging in his face: “I try to make it good for her.”

“I know you do.”

“She loves the children,” Aegon explains, although you haven’t asked. “She wants more, and she understands how that happens. Now I only lie with her when she invites me. But that doesn’t mean she enjoys it. I just don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m…that I’m a monster.”

You shake your head, profoundly sad. “No, Aegon.”

“How do you not get…?” He rubs his own soft belly, then makes an arc through the air, miming a pregnancy. “We’re fertile stock. And I can’t imagine Mother allowing Orwyle to ply you with moon tea.”

You smile faintly. “We don’t do that, just everything else.”

A raised eyebrow; Aegon is intrigued. “Really? How adventurous. I’m surprised. About Aemond, not so much you.”

“We’re saving it until after our wedding. Something to look forward to.”

“Unless Grandsire and Mother eventually succeed in marrying you off to a painfully uninteresting, Andal-blooded lord with a formidable army or some nice ships or whatever.”

“And then Aemond will murder him.”

Aegon laughs, recedes again and becomes remote, goes out to sea like low tide. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? My marriage is built on obligation, and yours will be the opposite.”

You say like a confession, something you seek forgiveness for: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

“No, no, I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to…I mean…” He sighs, then looks at you, dazed drunk childlike honesty. “You and Aemond being miserable wouldn’t make my life better. I have no wish to disrupt your happiness.”

You don’t know how to respond. Aegon doesn’t expect you to. He gives you a drowsy little smirk, then meanders down the hallway. When he spots a maid, he snaps his fingers at her and orders: “Draw a bath for the queen.”

You retreat to your own chambers, where you walk right past your bed—you now feel no desire at all to creep naked into it—and kneel beside the roost by the open window. Most of the bats you call your babies are out flying, but Kingfisher clings to the dark blue velvet you keep draped over the large wooden box. He peers at you with clever black eyes, his ears perked straight up, and when you offer your palm Kingfisher scrambles into it. You pet him as your thoughts wander, slow, dizzy, morose.

Aemond breezes into the room, first swift and famished, then bewildered as he nears you. “Why are you sad?” And then, because he gets glimpses into your mind as well: “Something with Aegon.”

You shrug, not looking away from Kingfisher. You are trying not to cry. “I just wish the world was different.”

Aemond stares at you for a while. And you’re a little afraid, because if he grabs you and you tell him to stop, you don’t know if he’ll listen. But Aemond doesn’t grab you at all. Instead after a moment he says: “I’ll be right back,” and he leaves your bedchamber. He must go all the way to the kitchen across the courtyard of the Red Keep, because when he reappears he is carrying a small glass jar with a piece of honeycomb inside. He sits down beside you and opens the jar, wets his fingertips with honey, and holds them out to Kingfisher so he can lick them clean.

You smile at Aemond. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he motions for you to dip your fingers in the honey too, and together you feed Kingfisher and watch the others swoop and glide outside, snatching insects from the starlit air like stolen coins.

The only time Aemond touches you that night is to thread your long, silver braid through his hands; and why did you ever begin wearing your hair in a braid at all? Because you heard the reverence in his voice when he told you about Aegon the Conqueror’s wife Visenya.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now you are on the floor of your bedchamber crushing seashells, and the afternoon light cascades in hot and golden, a day that feels more like midsummer than autumn. With each whack of your tiny steel hammer—a gift from Criston on your nameday several years past—a shell breaks into irregular shards to be arranged on the board and then glued down; you have a jar filled with paste made from boiled animal bones and a paintbrush to apply it with. You collect and boil the bones yourself. Helaena and the children went with you to the beach to search for shells this morning, an arduous task as you were on the hunt for rare specimens: blue to mimic Tessarion’s scales. This mosaic is for Mother, a vision of Daeron to hang on her bedroom wall. He was sent away so he might turn out differently from the rest of you, but he will be home again soon. The Hightower army is marching across the Reach to King’s Landing, your youngest brother and his dragon safeguarding it from above.

You don’t have to be in the small council chamber to know that Grandsire rails against Aemond, that Criston struggles to defend him. Killing Luke was a disastrous mistake, no sane person could disagree. Now they debate how to proceed. Grandsire writes his letters: to the Lannisters, to the Baratheons, to the Triarchy. Aemond sees to the gathering of soldiers and supplies, moving tokens around the map laid open on a table in his bedchamber. Aegon wants to fly into battle. Criston tries to negotiate between them, and relays their feuds to Mother. Larys Strong shares the whispers he has heard of the Blacks’ machinations: Rhaenyra sick with grief and struggling to manage her forces from Dragonstone, Daemon abandoning her to take the haunted castle of Harrenhal in the Riverlands. Rhaenyra is a weak queen, and the Rogue Prince cannot stomach bowing to her.

You drop the steel hammer again—whack!—and as the cobalt-colored seashell shatters, Aemond steps into your bedchamber and closes the door behind him. He takes off his sword and his dagger, leaves them on the dresser, then drops to the floor and crawls on his hands and knees to you. He grabs your ankles and drags you under him; you giggle as your hammer tumbles out of your grasp and you wrap your legs around Aemond, pulling him in closer.

Aemond kisses you insatiably, his tongue parting your lips, his long silver hair spilling down to the floor. Then he says: “I have to go away.”

You know this has to happen. He has trained all his life for war, and now it is here. “For how long?”

“A week, maybe. Or a month, or a year. Nobody knows.”

“A year?” You’ve never been away from him for more than a few nights at a time. It is impossible to imagine.

Aemond takes off his eyepatch and flings it aside. His sapphire eye—cold, sharp, glittering fire—unnerves others, but to you it is a talisman of his faithfulness. In the boardgame you played as children, you were always the red bat and Aemond the blue wolf. It was a game of ambition, of cruelty, but sometimes mercy as well, and there were always exactly five players until Mother sent Daeron away to Oldtown. Blue is Aemond’s place in the family. He is cunning, he is arrogant, he is difficult at times…but he knows where he belongs. He would cease to exist without the rest of you. “Rhaenyra is bedbound on Dragonstone,” Aemond says, skating his thumb across your cheek. “Still recovering from childbirth and broken by Luke’s death. Daemon is far away in the Riverlands doing gods know what, there are rumors he’s taken up with some girl there. Now is the time to bring the Crownlands under Green control. House Thorne is already with us, next we will take Massey, Bar Emmon, Rosby, Stokeworth, Byrch, Harte, Hayford, Staunton, and Darklyn. They will bend the knee to Aegon, or they will burn. Rhaenyra will be encircled, and then we can do whatever we want with her.”

“What about the Celtigars of Claw Isle? They are Valyrians, they should honor tradition. The firstborn son always inherits. And Rhaenyra has defiled the bloodline with her Strong boys.”

“They must not see it that way. I’ve heard Bartimos Celtigar is her Master of Coin.”

“Traitors,” you hiss, and Aemond beams and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t worry, I have plans for them. Crabs are delicious when boiled alive.”

So Caraxes is at Harrenhal, Syrax is unable to be ridden and not inclined towards battle anyway, Vermax and Moondancer are both too small to be much of a threat to a dragon as ferocious as Sunfyre, let alone Vhagar… “Where is Meleys?”

Aemond chuckles. “Rhaenys won’t strike on her own. She doesn’t have the courage.”

“She might now that you’ve killed her grandson.” A pause. “Alleged grandson.”

“Luke wasn’t her blood, but Baela and Rhaena are. I’m sure she wants to live to see them grow up. I can’t imagine her flying to war for Rhaenyra and Daemon, the people who murdered Laenor so they could fuck on his grave.”

“He was buried at sea.”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“I wish I could help,” you tell Aemond, feeling small and fragile, feeling worthless. If you had a dragon, you could follow him into battle like Visenya.

“Not everyone is meant to have wings,” Aemond says gently, and you wonder—as you have countless times before—if part of him is glad that he’ll always know that you are exactly where he left you, that you’ll always be defenseless. Then he distracts you. “Do you remember how you chased Vermithor all over Dragonstone?”

Of course you do: a trip to the mist-swept volcanic rock arranged while Rhaenyra and Daemon were travelling elsewhere, Grandsire fervently hoping that one of the wild dragons would bond to you and add to the Greens’ arsenal. None of them did, not even the Bronze Fury, the beast you had dreamed of riding as a girl, whose stories gave you a sensation like flying, like falling. “I wanted him so badly.”

“And to show his appreciation, he almost incinerated you.”

You smile up at Aemond, touching the scar that cuts down the left half of his face. After his maiming on Driftmark, he developed a phobia of needles. If he saw Helaena embroidering, he would become nauseous and unsteady on his feet. So he had the maesters teach him how to stitch wounded flesh, and after months of bloody observation and practice he was cured. He is not a man who lets others break him. He makes himself whole again, one brick at a time. “You saved me.”

“I couldn’t have you reduced to charred bones. I like you warm…and wet…and willful.”

Aemond wrenches you over and onto your belly, presses his hips against yours, crushes you into the floor with his weight. His left hand covers yours, your fingers interweaving; his right hand slides under your waist and stops between your legs, stroking you through your scarlet gown. You move with him, laughing, moaning, feeling the chill of the stone floor bleed into your skin.

Aemond whispers: “I need to be inside you.”

It’s a statement that is actually a question; he’s asking for permission. No, he’s begging for it. But you want the same thing. He’ll be gone soon, for a week or a month or a year. “Then do it.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

He lets you up and as he takes off his tunic and trousers, you crawl into your bed, a crimson canopy, curtains that billow in the wind blowing off the ocean. Now Aemond is here too and he’s tearing off your gown so he can possess you: not the sort of coupling that could result in a child, the other way. It’s a sin, of course, but so is incest, and so is murder, and so are pride and envy and wrath, and so at this point what’s one more transgression tossed onto the heap? You aren’t sure if you believe in the Faith of the Seven anyway. Rhaenyra is one of the most immoral people you can think of, and yet she has been abundantly blessed until now: married to the man of her design, absolved of all wrongdoing by Viserys. Why would the Seven shower gifts upon Rhaenyra while your own mother is so cursed? If they exist, they must be brutal masters.

You are lying on your belly on the soft feather mattress, reaching back to touch Aemond’s face and his hair as his lips claim your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder. You lift your hips so he can reach under you more easily, where wetness is pooling for him. His right hand caresses you with rough, insistent motions, making you ravenous and breathless, making you need him. With his left hand, he slips two fingers effortlessly inside; and then, once they are slick and dripping, he pulls them out and travels farther back. There is pressure, resistance, and then: a glorious, forbidden fulness that draws a moan from deep in your throat. Your fingernails bite into your pillows, your body moves in time with Aemond as his fingers thrust into you, first slowly and cautiously and then faster as he feels your muscles relax around him.

“Now,” you plead helplessly.

“Not yet.”

“I’m ready, I promise.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he purrs, and when you turn your face to his, he kisses you in a way that is slovenly, bestial, natural like the dark moist earth or the sea. No one else would understand this. No one else will ever need to.

Aemond’s fingers work on you until there is hardly any tension, then he yanks open the drawer of your nightstand to get the jar of Dornish olive oil he keeps there for exactly this reason. He drenches himself with it—his hardness, his thickness, his length—and spills oil all over the sheets in the process. Then he settles behind you again. It was your idea to try this the first time, one humid sunlit morning when you were desperate for each other, when you had an emptiness inside you his fingers alone could not cure. You needed him closer, just like you do now. And your climax was so intense it felt like it would snap your bones and unspool your muscles like loose threads.

As Aemond’s right hand strokes you—coaxing you closer, flooding your bloodstream with sweltering riptide lust—he positions himself and pushes in slowly, so so slowly, and at first there is a burning like there always is, but the oil eases his entry and your muscles are swift to accommodate him, they are supple and trained, and as he fills you there is an indescribable intensity as his heat melds with yours, and when you are this close to him it’s like you can feel everything he’s feeling, hear every thought that flits through his mind, and he knows exactly when to pause to give you more time, when to begin again, until he is all the way inside and he moans and rests his head between your shoulder blades, drinking you in through his lungs and his pores, his long silver hair whispering over your ribs.

When Aemond is sure he can last, he moves in you carefully, divinely. The fingers of his right hand—still circling, still pressing against you with commanding force—have you panting and powerless. It’s overwhelming, the fullness, the closeness, the warm blossoming euphoria…and if you’re sore tomorrow, you won’t care. Aemond could be gone by then.

“Harder,” you plead.

“No, Red, no, I’ll hurt you.”

Your hips quicken the rhythm, jolting back against him, and as Aemond gasps—taken by surprise, trying not to finish yet—a torrent like a wave of scalding blood rolls through you, and instead of dissipating to a froth like seafoam it keeps going, unraveling you, ruining you, until you can’t stand it anymore, and your spine and ribcage ache, and there is pain where Aemond is thrusting into you as he shudders and cries out in a low rasping voice midway between ecstasy and agony, like someone has buried a blade in him, like maybe he’s dying.

“Enough,” you sigh, and Aemond knows what that means. He withdrawals from you, gingerly and very, very slowly. Then he rolls you onto your back as you gasp for air, staring up at the distorted afternoon shadows on the ceiling. He kisses the side of your face again and again, murmuring through your hair in High Valyrian. Has Aemond ever said that he loves you? Not that you can remember. He acts as if he does, but still…sometimes you wonder.

When your pulse is calm again and the sweat cooling on your belly and your chest, Aemond rises and shuffles to the door, still naked. He opens the door and looks out into the hallway until he spies a maid and beckons her over. You see her silhouette just beyond the threshold.

“Fresh linens for the bed,” he says. “And a bath.”

“Yes, my prince.” The maid peeks in to where you are naked on the oil-stained sheets, and you cannot find it in yourself to act shy or ashamed. You aren’t. You smile wickedly at her and she skitters away, blushing and wide-eyed.

You loll together in a hot bath—Aemond drifting off as he leans against the back of the tub, you dozing with your head on his chest as soap bubbles pop in your hair—then he just barely manages to throw on some nightclothes and stagger back into your bed, not wanting his own room but yours, and he is asleep in just minutes. Outside the sun is setting and the sky is turning from flames to indigo, and the bats are venturing out of their roost to feed. You spend a while with them and then, starving, leave Aemond to rest while you go down to the kitchen to scavenge a plate of dinner, something hearty and satiating: bread, butter, venison pie, an apple tart, a pint of ale. You eat alone in the garden as your bats circle overhead. The members of the small council—with the exception of Aemond, dead to the world—are dining together, and Mother is eating with Helaena. You are avoiding Mother for now; after you and Aemond have sinned, you always feel like she can smell it on you, or see it, or hear the echoes of your moans, and there is such pitiful disappointment on her face you cannot bear to meet her eyes. She deserved a different husband, and children who she could recognize as her own.

When you return to Maegor’s Holdfast, you pass Aegon as he is trotting down the Grand Staircase, a goblet of wine in his hand and escorted by Sir Willis Fell. Aegon grins at you and says: “Aemond is practically comatose. You’ve exhausted him.”

“Well, he does most of the work,” you reply mischievously. “Where are you going?”

“To get my armor fitted. Aemond will have to have his finished tomorrow, I suppose. If he’s recovered by then. Try to keep him off you for a few hours, I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“I’ll let him know about the armor. But I don’t think he’ll want to wear it in the saddle.”

“Try to convince him. It could shield him from dragonfire in combat.”

“Right,” you say, and all at once your mood plummets, because this is real: the war is descending like a storm and your brothers must fight in it, must leave you, must risk their lives. Aegon waves goodbye and strides off to the armory across the courtyard of the Red Keep, Sir Willis Fell in tow and looking disturbed but trying not to show it.

Upstairs, Helaena is in the hallway with her children, and you can tell she’s overwhelmed by them: Maelor is yowling in her arms, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera both shouting and tugging at the skirt of her lemon-colored gown. Helaena is looking around for someone, perhaps a maid; uncharacteristically, she is unable to find one.

“Well hello there!” you say, kneeling and opening your arms so the twins can barrel into you. “What are we playing, huh? Hide and seek? Chase? Tame the dragon?”

“We’re trying to find Aemond!” Jaehaerys answers exuberantly.

“Oh, is that right?” You glance at Helaena, and she smiles awkwardly and shrugs. She must know where he is and is attempting to distract them so he can sleep.

She says, a bit flustered: “Mother went to the small council chamber after dinner, and the maid…I don’t know where she’s disappeared to all the sudden…”

“It’s alright, I’ll help them find Aemond.”

“Really?!” Jaehaera says, overjoyed.

“Of course!” Then you wink at Helaena, and she is relieved. “Let’s go check his bedchamber.”

“But we’re not allowed in there,” Jaehaerys says uncertainly.

And no, they usually aren’t; Aemond has too many relics they might break or maps they could rip or stain or knock his tokens off of. “It’s okay if I go with you. I’ll make sure we don’t touch anything important.”

“Yay!” the twins yell together, and then Maelor joins them between chomps on his own fingers, even though the details of the expedition elude him.

You swish in your gown—a pale drained pink, your wet hair in a fresh braid—towards Aemond’s rooms. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera dash after you, and Helaena trails behind them carrying Maelor. You hold the door open so the children and Helaena can enter, then follow them into Aemond’s bedchamber. The hearth is lit and crackling; papers litter his desks and tables, the wooden shelves are heavy with books. Mosaics you’ve made since childhood freckle the stone walls like birthmarks. You pick up a candle, light it in the fireplace, and begin igniting wicks around the room so the children will have more light. Helaena sets Maelor down so he can wobble after his siblings.

“Aemond, where are you?” Jaehaerys calls with a beaming smile.

You say: “Let’s check in the closets, and under the bed, and behind the curtains—” Then you scream and drop the candle, because there is a man in this room, and he has lunged out from the shadows. He traps you against the wall with a blade at your throat. Another man—huge, broad, towering—has cornered Helaena and the children. He holds a butcher’s cleaver in one monstrous fist. Blood drips from it in dark, viscous threads down to the floor.

He nods to Helaena and tells you: “Scream again and I’ll put this through her windpipe, and we can watch her try to learn how to breathe blood.”

You shake your head franticly. “I won’t scream, I swear I won’t.” You are thinking: Criston and Grandsire and Mother are in the small council chamber, and Aegon is in the armory, and Aemond is sleeping so deeply he can’t be roused…so who is going to save us? Who the fuck is going to walk in and stop this?

“Quiet,” the large man growls at the children. “No noise or Mummy dies.”

“Jewels,” Helaena says, taking off her necklace and earrings. The children cling to her, trembling and sniffling, weeping but trying not to make a sound. “We can give you these.”

“We’re not here for jewels, you dumb bitch,” the smaller man sneers. “We’re here for a boy. A son for a son.”

“No,” you whisper, realizing what he means.

“Aemond killed Lucerys Velaryon,” the large man says. “We’re here to kill Aemond. But Aemond doesn’t seem to be around at the moment, is he? Fortunately, any son of the Greens will do.”

Helaena shoves the children behind her, shielding them with her willowy body. From the Dragonpit, you hear Dreamfyre’s shrill screeches. “You can have me instead.”

“You’re not a son.”

“So which one do you choose?” the small man asks Helaena, raking the point of his blade back and forth across the front of your throat, leaving shallow nicks that glow sharp and searing.

Helaena doesn’t answer—she can’t, of course she can’t—and so the large man reaches around her and drags out Jaehaerys and Maelor. He pushes them to the floor and they cower there, clasping each other and tears streaming down their cheeks. There’s a dead maid over by the bed, you notice, the same one who saw you naked in bed earlier; she must have had the misfortune of stumbling upon the intruders. There is a gaping black hole in the wall on the opposite end of the room, the entrance to a secret passageway to the beach, an escape hatch that almost nobody knows about. But Daemon would.

“Which one?!” the large man demands, glaring hatefully at Helaena. “Choose or we’ll kill them both. We’ll kill all three.”

Helaena covers her ears with her hands and shrinks into herself, trying to disappear. Jaehaera hides behind her mother; Jaehaerys is petrified; Maelor, mercifully, doesn’t fully understand. If he was struck on his tiny blonde head, he would be gone before he had time to comprehend that his short life was over.

The men are assailing Helaena: “Choose or we’ll kill them all, we’ll kill them in front of you, we’ll kill them slow.”

“Helaena, pick one,” you sob.

She shakes her head. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Aemond, can’t you feel how afraid I am? Aemond, you have to wake up.

“All three?!” The large man taunts. “Alright, that’s fine, we can do it that way!” He raises his cleaver above the boys’ heads, and Helaena attempts to stop him.

He’s going to murder her too, he’s going to sever her arm or cut her throat.

“Maelor!” you burst out. “Maelor, the little one, she chooses Maelor!”

“What?” Maelor says, gazing up at you with vast shimmering eyes. And instead, the large man seizes Jaehaerys by his hair and hacks his head off his shoulders.

Blood spurts like a fountain, blood flows over the floor, blood soaks Helaena’s gown when she bundles her dead son into her arms. Forgetting the knife at your throat, you try to get to her; the blade drops and slits your flesh from your collarbone down to the top of your left breast. A river of red flows in a sheet down the front of your gown. Everyone is screaming—you, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor—but it doesn’t matter now; the men throw Jaehaerys’ head into a burlap sack and vanish together into the blackness of the passageway.

“They can’t get away,” you say numbly, and then you bolt after them. You grab a flickering candle off Aemond’s writing desk and plunge into the tunnel. There are blooddrops on the dusty floor, a trail of gore. Jaehaerys’ head must have bled through the sack. You aren’t thinking, you don’t know what you’ll do if you catch up to them. But if there is a boat waiting to ferry the men and their grisly trophy to Dragonstone, somebody must prevent them from escaping.

Jaehaerys can’t be dead, he can’t be, be can’t be, he was just here and he was smiling—

Someone catches your wrist and you shriek, but it isn’t the strange men. It’s Aemond, still dressed in his nightclothes, his sapphire gleaming, blood all over him and clutching his dagger in his other hand.

He tells you, taking the candle: “Go back to my bedchamber.”

“Aemond, they…Jaehaerys…he…they…”

“I know,” he says hoarsely. “Go back to where it’s safe.”

Obediently, knowing that he needs you to, you flee; you are passed by several knights of the Kingsguard with torches, their swords drawn, in pursuit of the murderers. In Aemond’s bedchamber is a nightmare you can’t wake up from: Aegon is wailing and collapsed on the blood-soaked floor with the mutilated body of his son in his arms, Helaena is slumped and paralyzed against the wall, Mother is weeping as she embraces Jaehaera and Maelor and takes them out of the room, Criston has just appeared in the doorway and stands there horrorstruck. You go to Aegon and lay a palm on his shoulder, the words impossible. Without looking—he already knows it’s you—he reaches up to grip your hand, so forcefully it feels like he’ll crush your bones.

“What the hell is…?” Grandsire says when arrives. Then he sees the blood, the body, and he sways and his knees buckle. Maester Orwyle sweeps in behind him, carrying a small wooden trunk of remedies. He comes directly to where you are standing.

“Princess, your mother asked me to tend to you.”

“What?” you reply dully, and he gestures to the bone-deep gash on the left side of your chest. Abruptly, agony flares there. “Oh. Of course.”

Orwyle leads you patiently to the chair at Aemond’s writing desk, then begins to clean your wound. He pours a small amount of milk of the poppy into your mouth, and you accept it passively. You are barely aware of it as his needle pierces your flesh and begins to stitch it back together.

“Is this what your letters have bought us?!” Aegon is shouting at Grandsire, who doesn’t know what to say. “Not safety even here in our own castle, but killers who breach our walls and butcher my son?!”

There are echoing footsteps, and Aemond emerges from the darkness, crossing into the rage-colored firelight of his bedchamber. “We got one of them. The guards are still searching for the other. We’ll find him, I swear we will. There was a boat in the sand, but we’ve taken it.”

“It’s your fucking fault!” Aegon screams at him. “They were here, they were looking for you, you killed Luke so they killed my boy, he was only six years old, he…he…” Aegon breaks down in sobs, then he crawls across the room to Helaena and clings to her, his head in her lap. Despite her shock, Helaena’s hands come alive again and she holds him.

“Aegon, it’s my fault too,” you say.

“What are you talking about?! You didn’t kill Luke Strong, you didn’t start this war!”

“I’m sorry,” Aemond says, almost too quietly to hear. “Aegon, I’m sorry.”

“Enough letters,” Aegon seethes, hatred splitting out of him, bloodlust that can never be satisfied. “You’re done, Grandsire. I relieve you of the burden of being Hand of the King. It never sat right with you anyway, did it? Enacting the plans of a degenerate like me. Well, now you can just watch them happen. Criston, we will go to battle now, no more delays. You will lead the infantry and I’ll be in the sky, and when we drag Rhaenyra from her sickbed I’ll let Sunfyre eat her, one limb at a time.”

“Yes, my king,” Criston says, still stunned, gaping at Jaehaerys’ small, headless body.

“I’m going with you,” Aemond tells his brother.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes you do. And I would never let you fly into battle alone.”

Aegon sniffles and wipes the tears from his face with his bloodied palms, leaving stains of clotting crimson there. Then he stands, touches his forehead to Helaena’s as a goodbye, and stumbles towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Grandsire demands.

“To torture that man to death,” Aegon says, and is gone.

Aemond turns to where you are sitting at his writing desk, Orwyle just beginning your stitches. Your eyes—glazed and drugged, grief-stricken and horrified—meet his, and you know that he is thinking that had the blade hit just a few inches higher, you would have bled to death. Aemond approaches. “Move,” he commands Orwyle.

Maester Orwyle meekly retreats; but first, he hands over the needle. And Aemond finishes mending your flesh, one painstaking, practiced stitch at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond tells you goodbye on a bluff overlooking where Vhagar is waiting for him down on the beach. He keeps you a safe distance away; not only have you no dragon of your own, but the beasts also share an aversion to you, they snarl and slink away like they would in the presence of no other Targaryen. The wind is raging and the sun bright, the sky blue and full of slow-moving clouds. Helaena is curled up in the Dragonpit with Dreamfyre. Alicent is with the surviving children. Maelor shrieks and runs away when he glimpses you.

Under torture, the larger assassin revealed that he was indeed commissioned by a messenger sent by Daemon, and that all he knew of his companion was that he was a ratcatcher. Your brothers paraded every ratcatcher they could find in front of you, but none of them were the man with the knife. Aegon, believing their ranks had nonetheless been perilously infiltrated, ordered all the ratcatchers of King’s Landing to be executed. Now they hang from walls and bridges, attracting crows. Some people weep for the dead men, but many more weep for Queen Helaena, who is known to be gentle and kind. The details have reached every street of the city: beheaded in front of his mother, made to choose between her sons. Rhaenyra has given them yet another reason to hate her. Her mortal enemies grow more numerous by the hour.

“What if something happens here?” you ask Aemond, your hands in his, strands of silver hair raked from your braid by the wind. Under your gown, your bandages loop over your left shoulder and below your right arm; beneath them, your stitches throb and your heart aches. “What if we have to leave the city for some reason? What if when you return you don’t know where I’ve gone?”

“Then I will find you,” Aemond says, as if there is no other possibility. “You belong to me, you always have. That will never change. Here, in Dorne, at the Wall, in Essos or the Summer Isles, anywhere on earth, anywhere you go, you are still mine.”

You smile, and when Aemond kisses you, his long hair trashing in the wind, he is tender and harmless, and you are reminded that he can be this way sometimes. He isn’t always fierce. He isn’t always treacherous. “Take care of Aegon.”

“Of course I will.”

“Don’t come back without him.”

“I’ll carry him the whole way home if I have to,” Aemond says, and then he leaves you, stalking down the hill towards Vhagar.

That night, when you climb into your bed, you find a note there that Aemond has left for you. You unfold the parchment, wincing; each movement pains you, reminds you of the muscles that have been slit by the assassin’s blade. You will carry the scar forever. Aemond’s note reads:

Red,

When you are here…think of me.

Soon we’ll have everything.

In place of a signature, he has finished with a sketch of a forget-me-not in blue ink.

You close the note and hold it to your chest, the parchment scratching against your bandages.

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