#radio westeros

[brando-2187]

Thoughts I had while listening to Radio Westeros (CotF)

I had a bunch of thoughts while listening to episode 78 (The Children of the Forest) of the Radio Westeros podcast and I wanted to share them with anyone who cares to read. ☺️

-In the episode, Lady Gwyn and Yolkboy do a really good job of explaining the difference between wargs and skinchangers, how wargs can change into dogs/wolves and skinchangers cannot. They talked about how rare bonding with dogs, wolves and direwolves is among skinchangers and it got me to thinking: were the Starks made kings because they could skin change into direwolves? The direwolf would be the king above dogs and regular wolves, in fact we see this with Nymeria and Summer. Nymeria becomes the head of a great wolf pack and Bran, while inside of Summer, takes control of another wolf pack. 

-On the topic of the Children breaking the Arm of Dorne: I really get the feeling Valyria or whatever it was called before it became an empire actually did have a presence on Westeros much earlier than we’ve been told. If Valyria is supposed to be Rome, they have an earlier history than what we are being told, likely because the maesters a long time ago had something to hide. It seems likely to me that there was a republic version of the Valyrian Empire and the history we have been told is just the empire’s history, not whatever existed before. I also have a working theory that I will expand upon in its own post about the Proto-Valyrians (we’ll call them PVs) presence in Westeros before the breaking of the Arm. In a very brief summary, the idea is that the Amethyst Empress is a parallel to Cleopatra/Egypt and the Bloodstone Emperor is really just Rome, the Bloodstone Empire. I think the black stone that they worshipped is just the oily black stone that they built with. I believe the oily black stone is just basalt that has been infused with some sort of magic, likely bloodmagic, and they oily appearance is just its magical charge. We have evidence there was a culture in Westeros pre-breaking of the Arm that liked to build with sorcery and oily black stone present in some buildings. It seems likely to me that this was the work of the PVs and that they had to pull back to protect the heart of Valyria from the rising threat of the Dothraki from the East. If this is true, it is also possible that they CotF broke the Arm to keep either the Dothraki out (most likely) or even to keep the PVs armies from easily coming back into Westeros. I have essays worth of thoughts on this though so I will save that for another time. 

-The way the Northern Mountain Clans call Ned Stark “The Ned” makes me wonder, was Brandon a title that the Kings of Winter used to adopt when they became king? The Brandon becomes the Bran? Is it like the title of The Merlin where it passes on almost like it is the same person? Is that how Brandon the Builder supposedly did so much? (This one is just kind of a random thought but I figured why not include it.)

-We are told that Brandon the Builder came to the Stormlands to help Durran Godsgrief build Storm's End as a child but what if they actually meant he was a Child of the Forest? I think it’s likely Brandon the Builder was half CotF and this would help explain him possibly living a long time. His father is said to be Brandon of the Bloody Blade, a son of Garth Greenhand, and the moniker he’s given reminds me of how Barbrey Dustin talks about Ned’s older brother Brandon. 

“My father had great ambitions for House Ryswell. He would have served up my maidenhead to any Stark who happened by, but there was no need. Brandon was never shy about taking what he wanted. I am old now, a dried-up thing, too long a widow, but I still remeber the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain.” ADWD, The Turncloak

So is the Bloody Blade in the first Brandon’s name actually about him following in his father’s footsteps and spreading his seed throughout the lands of Westeros? If that is the case, I find it to be highly likely he came across a Child and had a baby with her, possibly Brandon the Builder. 

-The idea of the Dothraki fighting the Ifequevron is really interesting to me. Imagine a battle between the two: the Ifequevron could take over the Dothraki horses and wipe them out almost instantly. The Dothraki definitely would mess with an enemy with that sort of power over their strongest asset. No other real thoughts to add to this point, I just thought it was really interesting. 

-Is it possible the first Valyrian was a child of Garth? Are the ancestors to the Daynes also descendants of Garth? Garth was said to have walked Westeros before any other men; did he learn anything from the CotF? Did the PVs or first Valyrian learn bloodmagic from the CotF?

-The Green Men on the Isle of Faces remind me of the priestesses on the Isle of Avalon from The Mists of Avalon series with the Isle of Faces being Avalon. Could it actually be women on the Isle? Bran sees a priestess of the Old Gods in his vision so we know that there were women leading at least some of the religious ceremonies. The priestesses in both stories also have bronze weapons to use for their rituals, a knife like weapon for Mists and a sickle in ASoiaF. 

-Is Snowylocks a hint that the Valyrians might have had some CotF blood? We actually don’t really know what the CotF want or how Bloodraven came to be in the cave with them with a tree growing through his body. It makes me wonder if he’s maybe been lured there and trapped for some reason like Merlin was trapped. 

These were just my random thoughts that I wanted to share. ☺️

[humanpurposes]

De Facto

She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done- this fic now has a part two :)

Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest. 

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous. 

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image. 

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago. 

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself. 

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails. 

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?” 

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing? 

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much. 

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary. 

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure. 

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday. 

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough. 

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes. 

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding? 

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes. 

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason. 

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning. 

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace. 

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man. 

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it. 

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants. 

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about. 

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop. 

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need. 

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist. 

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy. 

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body. 

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips. 

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

[bucknastysbabe]

The Merger - C.Cole

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5k

Tags: 80’s corporate au, set in King’s Landing, Nyra’s daughter reader, pwp, enemies to lovers, subby Criston, service top Criston, misogyny, oral (f!receiving), pnv!sex, dom/sub dynamics, background rhaenicent, background alicole, desk boinking, man tears, Cristons Big Brown Eyes

A/N: This was an ask I accidentally posted too early so now repost! Thank you to the anon, loved this and hope you like. Inspired by RedRack’s work on Ao3. Idk anything about business

Taglist: @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @aemondfairy @elaratyrell @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @sammmy7499 @starogeorgina @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

You were Rhaenyra’s eldest child and only daughter, the ‘haughty’ one. You’d grown up lavishly, a byproduct of the rich and powerful where one could pay away most problems. Like your parentage. Like your homosexual father and biological dad who happened to be the bodyguard.

Except someone from the other side paid right back and your dad was ashes. Laenor left not too long afterward. You were your mother’s child anyway— as bitter as it felt.

There was a schism and merger at the same time, two huge media conglomerates coming as one now. Your family had long owned a paper before foraging into radio then television, the Legacy Media Agency. Jaehaerys Targaryen and Alysanne brought one of the first channels on television.

Through tragedy and piss-poor mistakes, your grandfather remarried to one Alicent Hightower. Now he was dead and the position of CEO was swiftly voted in for Rhaenyra. Alicent bristled, coming from a media conglomerate family of her own.

The Hightowers were in the movie and TV Industry, Green Flame Studios. They ran the golden age of film in Westeros, easily adapting and changing however into the current state. Television channels and multiple production companies. They’d even nabbed up a music label out of Lannisport.

Much money and meetings later, there was a heated merger due to a clause drafted up while your grandfather was on his deathbed. CEO and COO would be up for grabs again. Tension was filling the building in King’s Landing. Otto was back along with his sleek-looking son. Rhaenyra was growing stressed. Now Daemon was off securing funds and heads, the woman growing edgier by the day.

On a recent evening she sat down with you, the ever dutiful daughter. Jace was more of the smooth heir, able to gloss over and smile his way into the hearts of others. You took a step back, working on a law degree and willing to do a dirty deed if requested.

You and Mother sipped drinks in her office, gazing out over the sparkling city of King’s Landing. It was a shit hole brought up to some sort of glory in your opinion. Rhaenyra huffed, “The rest of her boys are coming. Aemond’s cutthroat but irrational, Aegon can be puppeted but has a raging coke and alcohol problem. Helaena is out of the picture. That leaves the little one, the freak, and the doggy.”

“So a little boy, Larys, and Criston I take it?”

You took off your blazer, rolling your eyes, “Dear uncles want to strangle us. Aegon and Aemond might tear each other to shreds before that could occur. Otto and Alicent, cracking as she may be, hold them together.”

Rhaenyra grimaced, “She ran the company while father was sick. It’s a good look. I was popping questionable children out, working, but not seen like her. She’s got that yuppie housewife bitch look about her, but she’s no Targaryen. Gods.”

You were pretty sure they fucked or something. Mother always went a little distant and quiet regarding Alicent, even if her words were vitriol.

Throwing expensive heels upon the fine desk of many CEO’s past you asked, “What have you need of me? Dirt, intel? I’m not coming near that whisperer, he’s too smart. Wasn’t Cole promoted to some busy work position? Probably Alicent’s fuck toy. I never liked him, he’s got issues.”

Your mother grinned, laughing, the most you’ve seen in a while. She leaned up to squeeze your ankle. Rhaenyra hummed, “You’re a fine woman. Fine, fine woman. Knows what it takes to win. Keep an eye on Cole. He likes the rich girls anyways, yet all of this has him so stressed he’ll be a bigger prick than usual.”

The blonde waved a hand.

“Do what you need, he’s weak at the end of the day. Probably keeps Ali’s underwear in his drawer. Brute. He was sweet once, I fear his issues and my selfish desires fucked that up worse than it needed to be. He’ll never have it, sad as it may be,” she lamented.

You felt pity for the Marcher. Handsome as could be, powerful energy, good with acquisitions of small companies. It stopped there— most considered him an idiot. You’d have to reluctantly get to know more, considering all of the vile history. But you’d do it for Mother.

Standing up in the dim office you nodded, “I’ll do what I can, we should take everyone out for the beach one day. Good publicity. It’s widely known we are more stable.”

She smiled. Your mother was so beautiful, you were glad to see her in better spirits before they were inevitably dashed.

Soon the Green’s employees began to show. Wylde, Lannister, Strong, Cole. Aemond and Aegon also appeared. The first meeting was miserable. You’d sat back and taken notes, sitting pretty next to Jace and Baela. You noted Alicent was the resident female leading the pack, the pack being dogs that would turn on her.

Aemond was the key one. Likely Aegon would get shoved forward if they kept him in line. Otto barked and waved his hands with Rhaenys, he liked the sidelines. Your eyes flickered to Cole— perfectly coiffed and manicured, his suits tailored sharp and tight to show off his body. He certainly looked like a fuck toy.

His dark eyes raised to meet yours, thick brows furrowing. You scoffed and turned your attention elsewhere, the egotistical fucker aggravated now. You could hear his ringed finger tapping against the wood. Prick.

By the end of the week, Rhaenyra held a tenuous hold on CEO, Alicent had taken COO, and Otto had weaseled in as CFO. This was shite. Mother was outnumbered. Tyland Lannister should have had it, he put aside loyalties for success, and he’d served two sides well.

Life in the offices post vote was interesting, to say the least. You’d often be around, observing and speaking with employees. Today you had worn a little black blouse with a bow and a fitted tweed skirt, tights emphasizing your long legs and patent heels. You had a plan. First you made sure your hair was still presentable and reapplied your lipstick. With a smirk, you sauntered over to his oversized cubicle.

Criston Cole. Up jumped prick. It was obvious he was some sort of release for Alicent, leaving her office adjusting his tie, smoothing back his hair, lips still wet. You had gathered he was wildly misunderstood— a whore and a sexist bully. Yet others spoke of him revering women and kind to most. Some said he was dumb as a box of rocks, others said he was quietly crafty in the right environment.

Confusing. But you could do with a whore.

You leaned against the wall, watching his shoulders and biceps bunch as he looked over the potential acquisitions, likely in tech. He had his walkmans on and fidgeted as he read. You eyed his cubicle, immaculately clean, two photos on the wall. One of him in the military shaking a commander’s hand. The other was of a man holding a young Criston, a beautiful Dornish looking woman laughing next to them.

Mommy issues? Maybe. Seems normal enough.

The maybe-bully turned around and pulled off his headphones, raising a brow as he chuffed. “What are you doing staring at the back of my head like that?” His lips turned into a scowl at the sight of your smirk.

“Merely getting to know my mother’s new workers. My coworkers, somewhat. I’m just here for help.”

He eyed your body, dark orbs traveling upwards. Criston watched you with a tight smile, spreading his muscled thighs as his chair rolled around. You remained stoic, waiting on the inevitable snark or nasty comment.

“So what is mommy’s little princess doing besides flouncing your bows and snooping around?”

Oh. You wanted to kill him. Smack that smarmy look off his face.

“What? That’s what you do. Skip around and flirt with that big chip on your shoulder. It’s almost cute, knowing what you are.”

You ignored him to continue, “I’m overseeing the new employees to our building. I’m in law school. Besides, I don’t need some fucktoy bully with muscles for a brain to snap at me. Watch your godsdamn mouth with me and how you speak on my family.”

You glared him down, watching Criston get flushed and submit easily. There it was, not a hard button to find. A little meanness, a little firm hand, and Criston Cole was putty. You grinned, patting his desk, “Good boy. Perhaps you should keep your mouth shut more, or go get it glued back to the green queen’s cunt.”

He inhaled sharply as you walked away victorious.

You dialed your mother up from the car phone, cackling about the experience. The pair of you schemed, you needed to get under Criston or over him. Whatever it took to figure out more…perhaps you had your own desires. He hadn’t been going to Alicent’s office as much since you slipped up. Albeit was quite known.

The further away from her he was, the better. That’s how you could snag the man. The upcoming gala would be time to strike.

You wore a strapped, glass-beaded black gown to the gala, some bullshit reason to meet around and prove that all was swell, give out idiotic awards and swaths of money. Your curls were piled into an updo, brows thick, and eyes shadowy. Your lips were blood red. Black gloves went to your elbows.

You knew you had to bang Cole tonight. He’d softened some around you since the moment in his cubicle but he was tighter than the damn Iron Bank when it came to anything of information you wanted. He looked handsome in his designer suit, pressed and prim. Hovering behind Alicent, looking like a puppy. You frowned between sips of your champagne. You needed him away from her!

“You’re hot you know,” came a slurred voice.

“Ah. Dearest uncle of mine. Coming to hit on his family. How many flutes I wonder?” You turned to face a grinning Aegon, purple eyes hazy, smelling like Joop! You rolled your eyes and let him jabber on, grinning at Aeg.

“You really must want a piece? You know fucking baseborn isn’t a good look, but your face is so cute,” you teased.

Aegon’s coked-up expression widened into a grin, his hands on your waist as you laughed it off. Jacaerys would pull him off, or Luke. Aegon’s lips grew closer to your neck before being yanked back roughly, one irritated Criston Cole glaring down at Aegon and sending him packing. You waved goodbye.

Criston’s big frame engulfed yours, his more masculine scent aided with some Calvin Klein tickling your nose. Damn this man for being so damnably handsome. He was looking down at you, jaw clenching. You hummed, “Thanks for the save, Cole. Didn’t know you had the knight in shining armor sensibilities.”

He gripped your arm, grunting, “I don’t.”

The taller man led you away, farther and farther towards the bathrooms. You laughed, Criston shooting a glare.

“Where are you taking me?”

He huffed, “Away from here. I have some questions for you.”

“This isn’t going to end up with you strangling me right?”

“Shut up, damn, you talk so godsdamned much!”

You rolled your eyes once again, trying to keep up with his long strides, the man unlocking a door and shoving you inside. You stumbled and cursed, Criston quick to pick you up. He led you over to the desk, picked you up, and put you atop the flat surface.

He stared, jaw clenched, eyes wide as they took you in— calloused hands ran up your pantyhose.

You cocked your head, humming, “I thought you were asking questions.”

Criston closed into space, hands gripping your thighs tighter as he snarled, “I don’t get you. You don’t work for the company, you’re a damn college brat with a chip on your shoulder.” His hands tightened again, fingertips digging into your skin.

“Anyways are we fucking or not?”

Criston looked at a loss for words, nostrils flaring in aggravation. You cooed, hand sliding across his broad shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. Gently playing and pulling at his curls, you leaned closer to his pretty mouth, noses touching.

The man exhaled sharply, voice less sharp as he murmured, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

How funny, you couldn’t either.

Your lips curled up in pleasure, eyes slipping shut as you kissed him softly, a mere press of the lips. Criston tried for more— only for you to pull back and chide, “Slow, we don’t have anywhere to be.” You could tell he was thinking, but Cole acquiesced and matched your pace.

As you lazily smacked lips with him, his hands eased up, rubbing up and down. You slid your tongue between his lips, moaning softly as he eagerly met you, hot and slick. He made a noise deep in his chest when you grabbed a handful of slicked-down dark hair. You pressed up against his firm chest, tongues and lips doing an age-old dance.

Criston sucked on your bottom lip, returning to sup at your mouth, hands roving up higher, your dress rising with the movement. You spread your thighs with a sigh, panting against his insistent mouth. You could feel the kiss grow messy, Criston pulled ever you closer. He flicked his tongue against yours, moaning in desperation.

You distantly wondered if Alicent let him kiss her much. If she let him do anything besides satiate a need. The way he was pressed tight to your frame and groaning like a man deprived from some kisses seemed to affirm that. He pulled back with a wild look, nuzzling and pressing his wet lips to your neck, dark stubble rubbing the thin skin.

You threw your head back for more access, panting and sighing. You pulled at his hair again and spread your legs wider. He gasped when you asked if he was going to eat you out like he did the COO. Criston grumbled, frowning, his hands pulling down your hose.

“Is that all you think I’m good for?”

You studied his downtrodden puppy dog face and felt bad, poor thing had a knack for attaching himself to unavailable women. Your mind railed distantly on what he said about your mother and your siblings.

“Maybe. Looks like you spend more time on your knees than in your cubicle from my time at the office, Criston.”

You pushed at his shoulder, Criston dropping down with a petulant look across his face. He continued to pull your pantyhose down, fingers hooking into your thin underwear along the way. He made a weak nose when you leaned back some, purring, “There we go, take it all off. Gods, you’re pretty down there.”

He moaned again, nosing at your knee, dark eyes peeling from your exposed skin to look up. Criston rasped desperately, “Please, I’m sorry.” Those dark eyes were growing wet. You ripped your gaze away from his face, trailing down his heaving chest to where his flushed cock pushed against his fly.

“Sorry for what?”

Criston whimpered, the sound escaping before he could swallow it down. You smirked, hands running through his dark hair as your legs began to spread. He was staring again, wordless pleading for a taste.

He croaked, “I- ah- apologize for my manner of speech and behavior toward you. I don’t want this to be merely a scheme.”

You murmured, softer than expected at his observation, “You’re a sap, aren’t you? Just want a pretty girl to be all yours hm? You can be mine, I think I’ll let you have me.” You twisted at his hair harder, eliciting another pathetic noise.

“Yeah, that seems nice, you’re going to be mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll let you stick around and hold me afterward Cole. What a waste if I didn’t.”

He choked out, “Please, yes, yes— I’ll be good I swear, I’ll be so good to you.”

You grinned, scooting toward the edge of the desk, soaked cunt right in front of Criston’s teary eyes. You cooed, “I’ll let you have it, Cris, just know who you’re serving now. Me. No one else. No more dallying around with Hightower, you’ll be visiting my office when I pass the bar. Doesn’t that sound sweet, tell me how good I’m letting you have it.”

He got another twist of his hair.

Criston desperately moaned, voice cracking as he gripped your thighs, lips hovering over your pussy. He croaked, “I’m yours, yours, no one but you. No Hightower, no Targaryen— Velaryon.” He sucked a wet breath in, need wracking the man as he began to beg.

“Please- please baby- let me treat you good?”

You nodded, pushing his face toward your cunt. Criston kissed up your thigh, coarse hands moving your legs over his shoulders. His lips were hot and wet, leaving a trail and shiver up your spine. You couldn’t help the throaty moan from your chest when the brunette inhaled with a curse— his molten touch and breath casting across your most sensitive flesh.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you breathed.

Criston wasted no time, delving into your slick folds, mouth immediately kissing and lapping at your soaked entrance. You cried out, thighs jumping and tightening. He groaned in delight, lurid sounds from his overeager eating— that gorgeous nose of his pressed tightly to your bundle of nerves.

“Ngh- Criston, fuck!” You inelegantly carried on, sounding like one of those sultry-eyed whores in the porn movies. The man between your thighs laughed, hands soothing up and down the outside of your propped legs.

There was reverence in Criston’s rumble, his dark eyes as he murmured between messy presses of his lips, “Taste s’fucking good baby.” You arched into his mouth, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to your aching clit.

“Smart boy,” came your hum of pleasure. One of your knees fell to the side, Criston checking again with expressive eyes as he slid the center two of his digits across your pussy. You nodded, throwing your head back in ecstasy as the man mouthed and tongued at your pearl in sloppy movements. He was utterly lost in it, groaning as he sucked and licked, dexterous fingers deep inside.

The quiet room was filled with the most erotic of noises— squelching, whines, shuddery breaths, and his deliciously messy eating. No wonder Alicent kept him around— you deliriously thought. On that note, you cried his name, laying back on the desk to roll into him easier, his pretty face and fingers dragging across your tender spots. The lovely sting of his stubble added a level.

Pleasure laced up and down your spine, building hot in your lower belly. He moved faster as you began to whimper, moans getting pitchy and needy. He held your hip down with his free hand, moaning. You babbled, “F-fuck, gods, gonna come, can’t stop dripping all over you. Such a good toy!”

He gasped, tonguing around where his fingers stretched your hole, lapping up every bit of your essence like a last meal. You began to writhe, breath choppy between moans. Criston fucked you faster with his fingers, you could feel his obsidian eyes watching with feverish heat.

Your belly tightened and spasmed, that wondrous feeling of intense pleasure blooming when the marcher sealed his perfect lips over your clit again to suck. He had to hold you down with one hand splayed across your lower belly, strength evident as you bucked and whined and keened his name.

You shivered, tears of overstimulation pricking as he lapped you clean, sucking his fingers with a slutty little moan. Criston mumbled, “Was that good, princess?” His calloused palm rubbed your trembling stomach, soothing and maddening as you came down from the orgasm.

Eventually gathering your wits, you held out a hand, the ‘businessman’ helping you sit upright. You felt a mess, running a hand over your errant curls, cunt on display, pantyhose ‘round your ankles. Criston looked at you like a goddess, his ever-helpful hands easing your pantyhose up before you stopped him.

His thick brows furrowed in confusion.

You laughed softly, “You’ve done a good job, I don’t see why you don’t get a reward.”

Criston’s hands reflexively tightened, his big chest swelling as he inhaled. You continued in your saccharine tone, “I mean you ate me out like a champ, I’m sure you’re tired of walking off with cum in your underwear or a hard-on from hell. Poor puppy, you look so swollen too.”

Criston outright whimpered, “Hurts.”

You cradled his face, cooing at the furrow in his brow, how those almond eyes were nearly full of tears. Gods, he was perfect, all man but willing to be jerked around by ‘the lesser sex’. So they say. Your eyes shifted to his cock once more, painfully pressing against his fly. Criston made another pitiful noise.

“You wanna come? I’ll let you bend me over this desk. You better fuck me hard, gods know you’re used to getting ridden. You’re just a sweet little fuck toy, hm?”

Criston gasped, eyes closing as a tear slipped. He was shaking with need, mouth hanging open as he babbled, “Yes- m’your fuck toy, but I’ll do it good for you, I’ll make you come, baby, I’ll hold it I swear!”

You smiled, turning to get on your belly, legs planted on the ground now. You could hear him shucking off his blazer, fervent fingers ripping at buttons. While he divested his clothing you teased mercilessly.

“So excited aren’t you? Big man gets to fuck now. You’re welcome. Tell me who you serve now. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you fill me up.”

He croaked, voice cracking, “I serve you now, yours, m’gonna make you feel so good, I won’t come, I’ll hold it.”

You turned to eye his heaving chest, the dark hair trailing down to his thick cock. A moan slipped from your lips at his beauty. His pretty prick was so flushed, you’d give him some slack if he did come. Poor thing was already worked and messy tears would be no good.

“C’mon then, I’m ready, take it easy stud,” you said, pulling him by the wrist. That hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in. He was panting while guiding the weepy tip of his cock into your sensitive cunt. The tip pressed up into your folds, stretching you out agonizingly slow.

Criston heaved, easing in further, little grunts and huffs from behind. He gritted out, “Pussy’s fucking perfect, gods.” You closed your eyes, savoring the stretch as Cole eased the tip in, pausing with a tremble. You let him acclimate, the marcher moaning throatily.

“Shh-shit, shit,” he said, both hands on your waist now.

You moaned softly as he went deeper, his prick molten hot and filling you up. It ground against your ridged walls, your cunt gripping the intrusion, more pleasure crawling up your spine. He was whining through his nose, muttering about how good you felt, how tight and wet it was.

You soothed, “I know, take it easy, you wanna fuck me good and hard, you need it, Cris.”

Criston groaned, “Oh- thank y-you, I needed this, s-so godsdamn hard for you baby.”

You gripped the edge of the desk as Criston was deep, his trim hips against your ass as he carried on. He leaned forward a bit, breathing through the intense stimulation. You didn’t mind, his bitten-off whimpers were cute. He was a sweetie under all his bluff.

You told him so, earning another agonized moan.

Soon Cris’ cock wasn’t throbbing and his breath had evened out. You turned to get a look, pulling him in for a quick kiss, his dark lips swollen. Criston murmured, “I think I’m ready. I can take you good and hard like you want princess, if you’ll let me, I’ll be good, s’good.”

You whispered against his lips, “Have at it stud. About time someone put that strength to good use. But you better have me soaking your cock before you think about busting.” He nodded, eyes adoring when you playfully nipped his lip, reaching back to smack a lean flank.

You couldn’t help the noise pushed out of you when he pulled out to the tip, adjusting your hips so he could slam back in at the right angle. The pair of you practically howled in unison, the primal affair on. Criston fucked like a man deprived, quick, and strong thrust.

You cried out as his hips cracked against your ass, his heavy sac hitting your clit. Criston groaned and cursed, pausing occasionally on a good deep thrust just to get ahold of himself once more. Your nails dug into the hard surface of the desk, mouth hanging wide open.

“Yeah- yeah, baby, good boy- ohgods!” You cried out when he pulled you upright against his body, fingers thumbing and pinching your nipples. He slurred nonsense, wet kisses as he lost himself, only focused on fucking you into oblivion.

Sweat began to bead across your body, turning to gooseflesh from the stimulation. His fingertips swirling and softly tugging at your nipples sent a bolt of white-hot arousal down to your clit. You knew you were getting wetter for him. Hells, you’d started crying out in ecstasy, bucking back into him like a wild animal.

Criston growled, “I’m yours, let me be yours, I’ll do this every night if you see fit.”

How he was suddenly composed pissed you off. But you were too out of sorts to do anything but moan and roll back onto his fat cock that was wrecking you. Giving a little whine of acquiescence, you nodded. He was yours now, he was going to be your big scary guard dog that adores his lady.

You heaved at the thought, belly tightening up, nipples budding so hard it hurt. Criston began to slowly push you back onto the desk, his heated body following, enveloping you in his warmth and scent. Criston grinned against your neck, pressing kisses as he slipped a hand down to form a vee with his fingers, rubbing at your flushed clit.

You wouldn’t admit this later but you squealed. You squealed and thrashed and came so hard your vision blacked out. Ecstasy consumed every part of your body. You gushed on Criston, pussy pulling and pulsing around him. When you could see again— he was the perfect wreck.

The brunette was waiting for permission. He was desperately begging, voice pitched enough to make it crack. You could hear the warble of a sob building up. Yet the man still sloppily rutted into your cunt, discordant and choppy. He cried softly, “Pleasepleaseplease let me come, please, oh it hurts, I did good yeah? Hurts- nghhh- mhh- gonna pop baby please.”

“Fill me up,” you slurred.

Criston came with a silent scream, shaking all over as he shoved deep and emptied— hot seed overflowing your cunt. He whined and whined as his swollen balls emptied, enough to make your spent body shiver.

The moment of bliss became subdued, his shaky hand reached for a tissue, pulling out, both of you hissing as he caught the excess, getting another few tissues to clean both of you up. Criston quietly pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, pulling your underwear and hose up.

You turned to help the debauched man get himself clothed and back together. He was quiet, lips quirked a little, smile not quite reaching his eyes. As you buttoned his shirt up and started in on his tie, you looked up.

“I do mean it, I don’t mind this, I think you’re not so bad under your yuppie dick persona you like to put on,” you teased gently, straightening the tie. Criston frowned a bit, exhaling, “I seem to get grief in return every time. But…but I like your sweetness that shines when you’re not preening for your mother.”

He gave a grin this time, a real one that made his eyes crinkle, a glimmer of warmth.

You kissed him again, humming, “Well- since you’re my sweet boy now, maybe Mother and Ali can finally hook up.”

That was the first real laugh you’d heard from the man. He pulled you in close, chuckling, “Perhaps we’re doing everyone a favor if so. We’ll figure out the hoops as they come. Probably will be upsetting our bosses.”

[backjustforberena]

headcannons on how Rhaenys would react to the events of s02 ep05-08 (esp. the dragonseed thing and mysaria x rhaenyra) from whatever afterlife westeros has?

By all means, if you want something a bit more serious and considered, do follow up on this answer - and thank you for sending this in. It's so fun. I've already spoken a bit about how Rhaenys would feel about the Dragonseed plot and the individuals involved and how she might have played a part or not, had she lived in an ask so go and check that out.

But I'm going to take this one with absolute levity and not be particularly serious because the idea of Rhaenys watching down from Targ!heaven is hilarious to me. I just picture her there, like she's in a really fancy chair with a goblet of wine, being omniscient and seeing everything and just not agreeing whatsoever with anyone's actions.

It reminds me not only of Rhaenys being just totally unimpressed by the tourney in Episode 01, but of Eve Best in the press junket, saying that she felt like she and Steve were the two old guys from The Muppets, looking down and heckling. And that makes me laugh. Rhaenys is looking down on it all and just yelling.

I'm pretty sure Rhaenys would be sort of tearing her hair out. I mean, she's dead for like, two seconds, and the team she's just died for is basically imploding.

She gets all the information about Daemon and watches that play out - that he's being terrorised by bad dreams and he's suggesting kids go out and smother their grandfathers, and that he's building an army for his sake and it's like all Rhaenys's fears are proven because he's just not being a team player and he needs someone to kick his arse into gear.

But no one in that situation is being a grown-up because Rhaenyra isn't willing to go and face the situation either, which is partly what leads her down the path that she does, with the Dragonseeds - she fears having lost Daemon when, actually, she has no proof either way: there's nothing to provoke that escalation other than Daemon's radio silence. Which, admittedly, is a big red flashing neon sign, but not conclusive, especially after having fought with his wife.

Like, guys, just SORT IT OUT. There are bigger things than your marriage potentially imploding - you didn't see Rhaenys fall apart when confronted with her husband's bastards, did you? No! You didn't see her command Corlys from her sight when he came to back her up! She kept him around - he's useful! You park the issue. The political comes before the personal. The most important thing isn't the marriage: it's whether you're getting an army.

Rhaenys'd approve of sending Broome. Make him feel useful and it is good to get word, but she'd hope Rhaenyra be a bit more aware of who she is sending and what she intends to get back. A vague message isn't going to cut it. To be honest, if it could have been spared, it might have been good to send Baela - not only is Baela fiercely loyal to Rhaenyra's cause, but she is measured enough to deal with Daemon, and a dragon is faster than ships and horses. But yeah, not bad, Rhaenys approves.

Mysaria, Mysaria, Mysaria. Damn, I wish that Rhaenys had been aware of your existence on-screen. That would have been interesting because they are polar opposites in terms of advising. First off, Rhaenys isn't going to go about snogging Rhaenyra (ew), but also Mysaria is feeding Rhaenyra everything she wants to hear. And it's coming from a good place, sure. But Rhaenys was forever guiding Rhaenyra in a way that keeps her in check - she doesn't see Rhaenyra as something perfect and blessed.

Rhaenyra needs someone who will tell her the truth as much as anything else and I think that, even though Mysaria believes what she is saying, she's not actually criticised Rhaenyra, I don't think. But as to her reaction to the snog? Throwing her hands up. Like come on??? Not the time! (Bravo on the smallfolk propaganda though. That's neat.)

Corlys... I love you but your wife is yelling at you from heaven. GET IT TOGETHER. I think she'd be heartbroken to see how heartbroken he is, I just know it. She's proud he becomes Hand, she's immensely proud of Baela (whilst also going: no, no, don't aim for death, that's not what I want - stop glorifying me, you're sixteen, stop thinking about dying).

And she's watching through her fingers every time Corlys interacts with his sons. Like, mate, make an effort. It's painful to watch but not for the reasons you'd assume. Just get on with it! Admit your mistakes, and apologise. Have the conversation! Talk to each other. Open yourself up to these family members, I know it's hard but Rhaenys wants to give you a smack upside your head and then a pep talk because you can do it! And, more importantly, you need to! I think she'd have many thoughts about Alyn's childhood.

I also think she'd be teary-eyed at him renaming the ship. I'm sorry, I know people will likely disagree but you can't tell me that Rhaenys wouldn't find the symbolism and the intent romantic as hell. "What I do now, I do for her." - Eve reacted to that line in such a Rhaenys way which was: "Aw, that's so sweet! You don't say that in my hearing, you bastard." AND YOU KNOW WHAT... FAIR! Absolutely fair reaction.

Gosh, what else? Dragonseeds. I mean, this gif is probably applicable:

Overall conclusion:

[princesssszzzz]

Team Black has interesting characters, but I need them to have more conflict with one another to see them truly shine.

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/s/nPLxtAKy0u

Thoughts on this post?

Hmmm I don’t fully agree. HOTD is a drama, but not a telemundo soap opera. They don’t need to argue with other characters in every scene to be interesting. They don’t need to create any problems, the problems are already there and just need to be fleshed out.

One of the issues with how people are reacting to these characters is trying to force their favorites to be villainous or nuanced like the Lannisters when no one in HOTD will ever come close to that. It’s forced “my fav is so bad and different”, especially when the characters have no agency and the few who do like Larys or Mysaria get ignored basically. My criticism for the show is not that I want all the characters to hate each other or it’s boring. I just want the characters to have natural reactions to what’s going on around them, and some of those reactions are negative. It doesn’t have to be plot altering or extreme. Like with Rhaena, I don’t expect her to HATE Daemon and start plotting his death. I just want them to talk about his behavior and have the show portray the effects it’s had on her. That’s actually very minor in the grand scheme of the story. People should also separate political vs personal happenings in the show because for some reason that keeps getting mixed. I like the realism of GOT, and it’s not realistic to have everyone on the same side in constant turmoil with each other. I genuinely get bored with main characters, so that’s just me. I get burnt out seeing the same character promoted over and over again. It’s like when they keep playing the same song on the radio it’s just annoying.

So I’m personally bored with most of the characters like Alicent, Rhaenyra, and majority of the them I won’t ever be interested in them and that’s how I was with GOT also. I don’t support either team, and people on both sides will claim the show is giving favoritism when really it’s…….both?? but only certain characters are being white washed so idk why people pick and choose when to have an issue with that. Rhaenyra has clearly been white washed but that’s not the only character. Like Aemond is a total horrible person in the book and now is allowed the grace to be the victim of teasing by Jace as a child that’s still brought up when he’s basically an adult now. He’s not controlling Vhagar, so not killing his nephew on purpose and people even vilify Baela and Rhaena claiming they started the war over wanting to claim Vhagar. Like if he’s a villain than he can’t be the victim at the same time. Characters like Rhaena are not given grace for their young age or how things in Westeros could be out of their control, so again people like to pick and choose and I don’t think the writers giving people conflict will stop a fandom from behaving like that.

Daemon is one of the morally worst characters right now (even if people ignore that) and will be that way when the show ends, and he’s actually portrayed as crazy. He himself I don’t think was white washed or portrayed as a good person, I just want the other characters to react to what he’s doing instead of just moving on to the next plot point. With Jace I’m interested in his character regardless if he’s portrayed as good or bad, but I just want him to have reactions to what’s going on in addition to his normal Dance plot if that’s makes sense. How he’s coping with being a bastard.

I kinda just gave up on Rhaenys and Corlys because I know they are just keeping Rhaenys around until she dies early in the war and Corlys will not always support team black. Season 1 Corlys is ridiculous and I think he’s been shown as ridiculous especially with trying to marry off Laena and they did have a scene with Rhaenys blatantly saying those aren’t their grandkids. But more is going to happen as the seasons go on. This is why I’m always comparing some of the the HOTD characters to their actual GOT counterparts and parallels. Rhaena and Baela especially they are surviving the war but they won’t have 8 seasons to flesh them out and then bring them back together so they can’t really have huge beef with people established to begin with bc it won’t be settled on screen. And people are not allowing time for the characters to actually be developed before trying to create some finalized view of them. They weren’t even in a full season. Idk why characters 16 and younger are adultified by the fandom when the grown ups are being treated like children. That’s so bizarre. Also for some reason a large section of the fandom only views the show and characters through a shipping lense and refuse to perceive the characters outside of that.

The characters I’m most interested in seeing interact is some what somewhat Daemon, Baela, Rhaena, and Jace & Aegon, Criston, and Otto and most of these characters will not have conflict. Criston and Aegon are about to be on the same page basically for the rest of the show. I don’t think Daemon and Baela will ever have serious beef on screen. And that goes way beyond the Dance because like I said in a post last year there’s more going on with them being girls in a patriarchal universe than people just yelling at the screen for them to do their own thing. We already know Jace doesn’t really like Daemon like that and the Daemon/Rhaena thing I’ve explained a couple times. Jace/ Baela interactions, it depends on how they portray Jace…….

[daenystheedreamer]

i should try radio westeros again.. i think i listened to one or two episodes and got bored cos they were talking about the unkiss and sansan but i should give it another shot

[marthawrites]

9 people I'd like to get to know better

Thank you for the tags @huramuna @sirenofavalon and @lady-phasma :')))))

The last song I listened to: Not My Fault by Renee Rapp and Megan Thee Stallion. I'm not usually a radio girlie, but every now and then I like to tune in to my local top 40 station to see what the hits are. This is a fun song!

Favourite color: Purple aka the BEST color

Currently watching: Doing a very casual Game of Thrones rewatch. Currently on season 4! I forgot how young Pedro is as Oberyn (the first prince of westeros I fell in love with ♥) in this compared to Joel in The Last of Us haha!

Spicy, savory, or sweet: Savory! With sweet as a close second. I only like vvvery mildly spicy stuff - I'm a wimp!

Relationship status: Married!

Current obsession: THE BEST game aka Stardew Valley!!!

Last Thing I Googled: Cocomelon characters for my child. WHY CAN I NEVER REMEMBER ALL THEIR NAMES!?!

(no pressure) Tagging: @fan-goddess @bottlesandbarricades @lexwolfhale @aemondsbabygirl @darqchilddaydreamz and anyone else who wants to do it!

[seventh7crow]

crazy rant about something that's been rotting my brain, but if D&D really wanted to cut the show short, why didn't they let the Night King win?

i am definitely not one for nihilistic, sad and everything bad endings, but letting the Night King win would have been a much more majestic way to end up the show, or to at least cut it short until someone else wanted to take over. i'll explain, because probably nobody is agreeing with me, but that's what Tumblr is for.

first of all, i have to say that i fucking pray all the time for George R. R. Martin not to choose something like this as an ending for the books, because i do not think it truly goes with the full message of the story, but let's get going.

as far as i know, the whole deal with the show's ending it's that the writers wanted to do other stuff, and therefore stopped caring, doing stupid choices and blaming it on “subverting expectations”. however, if they truly wanted that… why didn't they let the evil win?

of course, it would have been the most unexpected choice, but also much easier for their lazy asses: most of the plots could have been let unfinished (because, well, you don't have much time to complete your character arc when there's a fucking ice zombie apocalypse) and the writers would only have to make sure that certain things remained making sense until the end. and by those things i mean people not respawning suddenly (ehem, the dothrakis) or teleporting from place to place.

only a bit more of information about the Night King would have been needed: put revenge as the motion of all of it, or better, make it seem like it is at first and show us the truth behind it. show how the Night King once was a victim of that famous “wheel” Daenerys once talked about: the children of the forest and the first men fought, and so they condemned the Night King forever, so now he wants to destroy the wheel. imagine he thinks of himself as a savior too: peace beyond the grave, every single soul united in one big will without no other intention to interfere.

imagine we learn how his plan has evolved: at first, he only wanted everyone to suffer the same cruel fate he once experimented. but then we discover how he came to learn to see a future after death. one that it's better, one that it is more fair. one without wars, or hunger, or pain, or even seasons to interfere: nothing more than a peaceful, long night.

we learn this through Bran, and we resonate with his motives thanks to Jon, through whom we discover that there's nothing after life if it's not for the Night King's plan.

some of our heroes' faith wavers, and maybe we even see some men and women willingly switch their sides, ergo, kill themselves. fighting to death for the aftermath to be totally empty? why not choose a peaceful, everlasting afterlife?

however, we see the strong will of most of the characters to remain alive: the freedom of one's soul and all the things that it brings us, such as love itself. they realize all the many reasons there are to, well, decide not to “live” as a meaningless zombie forever.

but at the end, no matter how much they fight, the white walkers take over the whole place, killing everyone and growing in number. some lose their will and let themselves die, some fight to the end, but the Long Night comes and nothing but snow is left behind.

in my version of these events, only the dragons survive (maybe someone might think about some characters making it out, and it could be cool, but in my version all of them die). with ice symbolizing death and fire life, they are the only remaining beings full of it to escape the doom. Rhaegal, Viserion and Drogon arrive Essos, where people are confused about the radio silence from Westeros. after many years, some of Essos' most curious minds decide to explore what happened, possibly even sending grayscale infected as test drives, confused about why the dragons do not want to travel back to Westeros.

like that, the Song of Ice and Fire is told to the following generations: a story about a war between life and death where unfortunately the latter stressed on its inevitability. “Valar Morghulis” or “all men must die” it's repeated more than ever, gaining a new meaning when people popularize newer doctrines where it is key to accept death as part of live. at the end of the day, if they remain uncertain of the consequences of not embracing it, they can always visit the ruins of the forgotten continent of Westeros to see the undeath roaming the land.

well this was just a silly little idea, to be honest, so don't mind me too much. however, even this stupidity would have made more sense that the actual Game of Thrones ending. i feel it would have been cool to see sacrifices such as people deciding to “stay behind” to burn the bodies and ensure their loved ones didn't turn into white walkers, risking themselves to become “others” as well. it would have also been great to see the last images of Westeros be the Essosi people arriving to a frozen landscape. maybe the only survivors could have been some remaining children of the forest.

at the end, it all would have been more cathartic. no less controversial than the actual ending, but i feel like it would have made more sense? i don't know, i just hope you all like the idea, or at least that you find it interesting!

[unohanabbygirl]

Your newest story!! Omg!!

Aegon I looking down from Targ heaven with Luke like…ye let’s wrap this up…our involvement in the long night is cancelled.

Rhaenyra and Helaena ending the same way on the spikes. Oh I know Alicent went from visiting her in her chambers every night (unwanted) to sleeping in Rhaenyras chambers long after she was gone.

I understand he needed to get rid of threats but now he won’t have an heir at all. I can’t imagine him taking well to anyone implying Luke can’t give him his heir however. So people are just waiting for him to die. Like the realm will tear itself apart to try rule after him. He really is mad.

Is Anne’s mam really still seeing Alicent as this paragon of the Seven and blaming Luke on aemonds shit?? The call is coming from inside the house sis. Alicent directly fanned the flames of this obsession. Luke was a corpse at the tourney right? Or is that pre-stormsend?

Do you see Lucemond as canon in this fic or is this delulumond in full force?

Thanks so much for sharing with us!!

Aegon I is so fed up after seeing each one of his descendants wiped out while the last man standing has lost his mind to such an extreme degree that he’s violating his other descendants corpse. Visenya is pissed off that Aemond’s gross hands are touching all over her sword and Rhaena is just like “damn, maybe we shouldn’t have come to Westeros.” Meanwhile Luke is sitting in the corner trying to figure out how all this happened? Rhaenyra keeps trying to console him but he’s too busy attempting to string together the events that led to his uncle becoming this damn crazy.

Babes, if Alicent was going to do anything she was going to seek Rhaenyra out nightly. Even though there came a point where Nyra stopped screaming and crying and just went radio silent until hearing the news about her last two babies deaths and deciding there was nothing left to live for. Alicent is so in love and exceptionally delulu just like her son that in her mind, Rhaenyra only jumped out of that window because she knew it would hurt her. Most insane mother-son duo in history me thinks.

The chances of Aemond having an heir are zero at this point. There’s not even a chance that Dany will be born to bring back the dragons because that dude isn’t laying down with anyone but Luke, you hear me? And its not even just because his shattered mind somehow thinks he can simply have a baby with Luke/refuses to cheat on his queen, but that no woman would ever sleep with him knowing what they do. They’d likely off themselves before they could even make it to the sept (very understandable)

Though this won’t stop his council from trying to work out something behind Aemond’s back. It comes to the point where one of his men is like “what if we drug him with an aphrodisiac and try to find a noble lady who’s willing to…you know? Then kill him after the child is born in secret? Twins are common for them so we might have an heir and a spare or a future king and queen.” But the idea is so outrageous with so many plot-holes and chances to go wrong that everyone just slowly begins to accept the war that’ll break out over the crown once Aemond croaks. Only thing they can do is hope they’re long dead once that time comes because the thought of another civil war is so draining.

In a last ditch effort his hand goes digging around with hopes that at least one of the deceased Targ men have a living bastard that they could legitimize but comes up empty handed. All Aegons died tragically, Jace was obviously too busy in Cregan’s company to go out and sire a child, Daemon only had Nettles who they can’t even confirm was his daughter + she’s been missing since the war, Daeron was a nerd who would rather pray at the sept, and Viserys could barely wipe his own ass in his last days let alone find the energy to cheat.

It’s heartbreaking when you think about because literally everyone, including Alicent is just waiting for Aemond to go to sleep and never wake up.

Lol, Anne’s mom is my favorite because she’s somehow more obsessed with Alicent than Alicent was with Rhaenyra which is such a hard thing to accomplish that she kinda deserves a medal?? Her character is simply an embodiment of parasocial relationships and viewing the monarchy as these figures who are above everyone else. Appointed by the gods and all that nonsense. And yes, the tourney was pre Storms end!

Hmmm, personally I see it as a mix of the two. Lucemond had feelings for each other (Aemond more than Luke) but never actually acted on them let alone reached the extent of what rumors suggest. Though certain points like them meeting up before the dinner failure to talk things out did happen but without the ‘making love’ part. However those are just my own thoughts because I intentionally left those details up to the reader.

Thanks babes, I always love hearing from you 🩷

[thequeenofwands777]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 | 𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍 𝐱 𝐎𝐅𝐂 | 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

BLOG MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Pairing(s) — Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Fandom — A Song of Ice and Fire - All Media Types

Status — in progress.

Current word count — 3.3k

Warning(s) — Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Canon Typical Violence, Swearing, Angst, Manipulation, Survivor’s Guilt, Loss, Betrayal, Explicit Sexual Content, War, Bastardphobia

Tag(s) — Enemies to lovers, Double agents, Star-Crossed Lovers, Solace, Rapunzel Elements, Seduction, Melancholy, Denial of feelings, Women In Power, BAMF Women, Women’s Rights, The Author regrets nothing, The Author regrets everything, Other Additional Tags To Be Applied

Synopsis — The impending war of Fire and Blood had long since arrived. A dangerous dance of dragons drags on as the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros suffer the consequences—peace a distant memory. The once-bright flames of the Blacks threaten to dim as the tides of war turn in the Greens’ favor.

"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆?"

Confined to the dreary, barren halls of Dragonstone with no option but to sit back and watch as her family is torn apart, Vaella Velaryon sets out on a fool’s errand of a mission. A desperate effort to finally put an end to the deadly civil war threatening to destroy her house and send the realm into chaos.

“𝑰 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕.”

Vaella would end this war. No matter the cost. And by any means necessary.

...

Based on the radio broadcast episode of a 1944 podcast sponsored by Vicks, Dangerously Yours, titled ‘Masquerade’.

1. Chapter One: Prologue

2. Chapter Two: The Inn

Author’s Note — Disclaimer: I do not own any of A Song of Ice and Fire's plotlines or any of their characters. I do, however, take credit for Vaella’s character and the plot surrounding her, so please do not share to any other sites and/or claim the story as your own.

[musing-and-music]

Masterpost - My 2022 in fics

So, last year I've written a good number of fics, in two main fandoms and various ratings, so this post will be divided in three parts: my Fullmetal Alchemist fics, my A Song of Ice and Fire and Game of Thrones fics, and the fics in both fandoms that are rated M or E (when they're not part of series I'll promote as well)

As you'll see, it has been a year of gifts, collabs, and exchanges, and I'm pretty satisfied with everything I've written!

Fullmetal Alchemist

Amestrian chronicles: Ratings G & T A series begun in 2021 with all the non-Royai one-shots I write during the "Nuits du FoF" (a monthly writing event on ffnet with other French writers) on the themes I'm given then. I write about lots of different characters, so you might find something that pleases you!

Regency AU series: Ratings G to E | Royai & Havolina I wrote the parts 3 to 7 in 2022!

The Amestrian hour (fma_60min): Ratings G to E | Mainly Royai, but other characters have their own part. The series written with the themes given on Twitter! Parts 7 to 16 were written in 2022

Amestris News Network Presents: The Mustang + Hawkeye Wedding Special: Rating T | Royai | Podfic In tonight's episode of A.N.N., radio show host and hopeless romantic Cecilia Marron takes her listeners on a beautiful journey of love. An amazing project I've been part of this past year!!! It was just awesome to work with my friends who are talented writers and podficcers!

A day away, where we both yearned to be: Rating T | Royai | One-Shot. Riza had plans for her day off, but that was before Roy barged in her home with his own plans Plans that are definitely better anyway Written for @kangdae95draws about the theme of anniversary

Royai Week 2022: Ratings G, T, E | Royai Many flavors of Royai in 7 one-shots!

Growing words: Rating T | Royai & Havolina This is a small collection of the fics written thanks to the prompts my friends sent me over tumblr, for Royai and Havolina

Is it the place or the people? (that warms my cold bones): Rating T | Royai & Havolina & Team Mustang After a time outside in the cold, Jean comes back to the teachers' room to find the people who take important parts of his life. A team of people, warm, welcoming, and caring Written for the FMA Secret Santa!

A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones

Dawn: Rating T | Post S8Ep03 | Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth | One-shot The battle against the White Walkers is over, and there's work to do. But Jaime and Brienne take the time to speak. The first fic I've ever written on GoT, just after the third episode came out in 2019! Why is it in my 2022 masterpost, you will ask? Well, because this OS has been written in French first, and translated almost 3 years later into English

A few nights in Westeros: Rating T | Jaime/Brienne Compilation of JB one-shots, in various situations and universes, written about various themes The themes are the ones from the "Nuits du FoF"

She's not a diamond: Rating T | Jaime/Brienne | Regency AU Brienne knew how she looked like. However, she'd never thought she could attract the interest of the queen's brother, Jaime Lannister, during her presentation Each chapter is written after a theme given during the "Nuits du FoF"

You dropped your bear: Rating T | Jaime/Brienne | OS, Canon-divergence When she comes back from one moon turn in the wilderness, a bear on her shoulders, Brienne doesn't expect to bump into Kingsguard Jaime Lannister Quite literally I've been inspired by Izumi and Sig Curtis' first meeting for this one-shot!

I'm grateful (that you are alive): Rating T | Jaime/Brienne, Podrick Payne POV | Post ADWD After the encounter between Jaime Lannister and Lady Stoneheart, Podrick sees the way the knight behaves with his Ser-lady, and wonders about their relationship. He makes unexpected allies on the way to bring them together. Written for my first exchange about JB! My first fic gift in the fandom, and I loved writing it 🥰

We're a long term project: Rating T | Jaime/Brienne | Modern AU Brienne is working in Catelyn Stark's team on a new plane engine. But the need for a more experienced engineer is rising, and Stark Engines hire Jaime Lannister, veteran from Baratheon Brothers and heir to LannisCorp. But his past and sharp behavior don't make him the best coworker… especially since he's put in Blondie's-"My name is Brienne!"- office, to her utter frustration But with time and understanding, can they come to work more peacefully together? become friends? or more? Another exchange fic! This time for the A Little Island of Light exchange, with the book characterization of Jaime and Brienne

NSFW fics

et moi je rêve de gestes défendus: Rating E | Royai | 1/2 chapters. Roy has finished grading his students' papers and can finally rest But an accidental phone call from Riza keeps him very awake. Now he can't rest before he's dealt with the problem hearing his girlfriend moaning his name has aroused

Ugly Love: Rating E | Royai | Modern AU They refused to love. Passion will break their rules. The translation of one of my friends' fics!

Let the sun rise over a new life: Rating E | Jaime/Brienne | Post Long Night After the Long Night, Brienne finds herself wanting. Wanting something that her husband will be happy to gift her - once she realizes what it is My second exchange for JB this past year, and my first smut with them!

[bucknastysbabe]

Since this season of HOTD ended your blogs been single handed it keeping my need for ✨Cole✨ content satisfied. But I always need more😂…humbly suggesting a very nasty fic with the premise of Rhaenyra sending her daughter (who looks exceptionally similar to her mother) to Kings landing with news/requests for peace, but also heavily suggested that there might be a knight there who could use some manipulation from his favorite Guilty pleasure, a targ women. Dom/serve me/oh you want to cum too?

Yesss this my shit we want to make him bitch boy WOOOOOOOOOFFFFF WOOOF. Since I just did a fic w a similar premise, I wanted to switch it up and make it 80’s yuppie corporate AU! I hope you like the little twist hehehehe, inspired by RedRack’s corporate idiot bully Criston on Ao3. SORRY FOR DELAY SHE IS HERE!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: 80’s corporate au, Nyra’s daughter reader, set in King’s Landing, merger problems, we plotting, blackmail, background rhaenicent, Criston is a service slut who acts like a misogynistic bully to cover the fact he likes powerful women using him whoops, Tyland for CFO damn, sexual tension, corporate bullshit I get from TV shows and stories, switch reader, slutty deprived Criston, oral (f receiving), pnv sex, man tears, kinda enemies to lovers, office sex.

Taglist: @aemondfairy @aemonds-holy-milk @arcielee @elaratyrell @fairysluna @jamespotterismydaddy @lovelykhaleesiii @peachysunrize @starogeorgina @sammmy7499 @towriteloveontheirarms @zaldritzosrose

The Merger - C.Cole

You were Rhaenyra’s eldest child and only daughter, the ‘haughty’ one. You’d grown up lavishly, a byproduct of the rich and powerful where one could pay away most problems. Like your parentage. Like your homosexual father and biological dad who happened to be the bodyguard.

Except someone from the other side paid right back and your dad was long gone ashes. Laenor left not too long afterward. You were your mother’s child anyway— as bitter as it felt.

There was a schism and merger at the same time, two huge media conglomerates coming as one now. Your family had long owned a paper before foraging into radio then television, the Legacy Media Agency. Jaehaerys Targaryen and Alysanne brought one of the first channels on television.

Through tragedy and piss-poor mistakes, your grandfather remarried to one Alicent Hightower. Now he was dead and the position of CEO was swiftly voted in for Rhaenyra. Alicent bristled, coming from a media conglomerate family of her own.

The Hightowers were in the movie and TV Industry, Green Flame Studios. They ran the golden age of film in Westeros, easily adapting and changing however into the current state. Television channels and multiple production companies. They’d even nabbed up a music label out of Lannisport.

Much money and meetings later, there was a heated merger due to a clause drafted up while your grandfather was on his deathbed. CEO and COO would be up for grabs again. Tension was filling the building in King’s Landing. Otto was back along with his sleek-looking son. Rhaenyra was growing stressed. Now Daemon was off securing funds and heads, the woman growing edgier by the day.

On a recent evening she sat down with you, the ever dutiful daughter. Jace was more of the smooth heir, able to gloss over and smile his way into the hearts of others. You took a step back, working on a law degree and willing to do a dirty deed if requested.

You and Mother sipped drinks in her office, eyes gazing out over the sparkling city of King’s Landing. It was a shit hole brought up to some sort of glory in your opinion. Rhaenyra huffed, “The rest of her boys are coming. Aemond’s cutthroat but irrational, Aegon can be puppeted but has a raging coke and alcohol problem. Helaena is out of the picture. That leaves the little one, the freak, and the doggy.”

“So a little boy, Larys, and Criston I take it?”

You took off your blazer, rolling your eyes, “Dear uncles want to strangle us. Aegon and Aemond might tear each other to shreds before that could occur. Otto and Alicent, cracking as she may be, hold them together.”

Rhaenyra grimaced, “She ran the company while father was sick. It’s a good look. I was popping questionable children out, working, but not seen like her. She’s got that yuppie housewife bitch look about her, but she’s no Targaryen. Gods.”

You were pretty sure they fucked or had something sapphic going on. Mother always went a little distant and quiet regarding Alicent, even if her words were vitriol.

Throwing expensive heels upon the fine desk of many CEO’s past you asked, “What have you need of me? Dirt, intel? I’m not coming near that whisperer, he’s too smart. Wasn’t Cole promoted to some busy work position? Probably Alicent’s fuck toy. I never liked him, he’s got issues.”

Your mother grinned, laughing, the most you’ve seen in a while. She leaned up to squeeze your ankle. Rhaenyra hummed, “You’re a fine woman. Fine, fine woman. Knows what it takes to win. Keep an eye on Cole. He likes the rich girls anyways, yet all of this has him so stressed he’ll be a bigger prick than usual.”

The blonde waved a hand.

“Do what you need, he’s weak at the end of the day. Probably keeps Ali’s underwear in his drawer. Brute. He was sweet once, I fear his issues and my selfish desires fucked that up worse than it needed to be. He’ll never have it, sad as it may be,” she lamented.

You felt pity for the Marcher. Handsome as could be, powerful energy, good with acquisitions of small companies. It stopped there— most considered him an idiot. You’d have to reluctantly get to know more, considering all of the vile history. But you’d do it for Mother.

Standing up in the dim office you nodded, “I’ll do what I can, we should take everyone out for the beach one day. Good publicity. It’s widely known we are more stable.”

She smiled. Your mother was so beautiful, you were glad to see her in better spirits before they were inevitably dashed.

Soon the Green’s employees began to show. Wylde, Lannister, Strong, Cole. Aemond and Aegon also appeared. The first meeting was miserable. You’d sat back and taken notes, sitting pretty next to Jace and Baela. You noted Alicent was the resident female leading the pack, the pack being dogs that would turn on her.

Aemond was the key one. Likely Aegon would get shoved forward if they kept him in line. Otto barked and waved his hands with Rhaenys, he liked the sidelines. Your eyes flickered to Cole— perfectly coiffed and manicured, his suits tailored sharp and tight to show off his body. He certainly looked like a fuck toy.

His dark eyes raised to meet yours, thick brows furrowing. You scoffed and turned your attention elsewhere, the egotistical fucker aggravated now. You could hear his ringed finger tapping against the wood. Prick.

By the end of the week, Rhaenyra held a tenuous hold on CEO, Alicent had taken COO, and Otto had weaseled in as CFO. This was shite. Mother was outnumbered. Tyland Lannister should have had it, he put aside loyalties for success, and he’d served two sides well.

Life in the offices post-vote was interesting, to say the least. You’d often be around, observing and speaking with employees. Today you had worn a little black blouse with a bow and a fitted tweed skirt, tights emphasizing your long legs and patent heels. You had a plan. First you made sure your hair was still presentable and reapplied your lipstick. With a smirk, you sauntered over to his oversized cubicle.

Criston Cole. Up jumped prick. It was obvious he was some sort of release for Alicent, leaving her office adjusting his tie, smoothing back his hair, lips still wet. You had gathered he was wildly misunderstood— a whore and a sexist bully. Yet others spoke of him revering women and kind to most. Some said he was dumb as a box of rocks, others said he was quietly crafty in the right environment.

Confusing. But you could do with a whore.

You leaned against the wall, watching his shoulders and biceps bunch as he looked over the potential acquisitions, likely in tech. He had his walkmans on and fidgeted as he read. You eyed his cubicle, immaculately clean, two photos on the wall. One of him in the military shaking a commander’s hand. The other was of a man holding a young Criston, a beautiful Dornish looking woman laughing next to them.

Mommy issues? Maybe. Seems normal enough.

The maybe-bully turned around and pulled off his headphones, raising a brow as he chuffed. “What are you doing staring at the back of my head like that?” His lips turned into a scowl at the sight of your smirk.

“Merely getting to know my mother’s new workers. My coworkers, somewhat. I’m just here for help.”

He eyed your body, dark orbs traveling upwards. Criston watched you with a tight smile, spreading his muscled thighs as his chair rolled around. You remained stoic, waiting on the inevitable snark or nasty comment.

“So what is mommy’s little princess doing besides flouncing your bows and snooping around?”

Oh. You wanted to kill him. Smack that smarmy look off his face.

“What? That’s what you do. Skip around and flirt with that big chip on your shoulder. It’s almost cute, knowing what you are.”

You ignored him to continue, “I’m overseeing the new members to our building. I’m in law school. Besides, I don’t need some fucktoy bully with muscles for a brain to snap at me. Watch your godsdamn mouth with me and how you speak on my family.”

You glared him down, watching Criston get flushed and submit easily. There it was, not a hard button to find. A little meanness, a little firm hand, and Criston Cole was putty. You grinned, patting his desk, “Good boy. Perhaps you should keep your mouth shut more, or go get it glued back to the green queen’s cunt.”

He inhaled sharply as you walked away victorious.

You dialed your mother up from the car phone, cackling about the experience. The pair of you schemed, you needed to get under Criston or over him. Whatever it took to figure out more…perhaps you had your own desires. He hadn’t been going to Alicent’s office as much since you slipped up. Albeit was quite known.

The further away from her he was, the better. That’s how you could snag the man. The upcoming gala would be time to strike.

You wore a strapped, glass-beaded black gown to the gala, some bullshit reason to meet around and prove that all was swell, give out idiotic awards and swaths of money. Your curls were piled into an updo, brows thick, and eyes shadowy. Your lips were blood red. Black gloves went to your elbows.

You knew you had to bang Cole tonight. He’d softened some around you since the moment in his cubicle but he was tighter than the damn Iron Bank when it came to anything of information you wanted. Trying to get him to talk about his home life was like pulling teeth. He looked handsome in his designer suit, pressed and prim. Of course Criston was hovering behind Alicent, looking like a puppy. You frowned between sips of your champagne. You needed him away from her!

“You’re hot you know,” came a slurred voice.

“Ah. Dearest uncle of mine. Coming to hit on his family. How many flutes I wonder?” You turned to face a grinning Aegon, purple eyes hazy, smelling like Joop! You rolled your eyes and let him jabber on, grinning at Aeg.

“You really must want a piece? You know fucking baseborn isn’t a good look, but your face is so cute,” you teased.

Aegon’s coked-up expression widened into a grin, his hands on your waist as you laughed it off. Jacaerys would pull him off, or Luke. Aegon’s lips grew closer to your neck before being yanked back roughly, one irritated Criston Cole glaring down at Aegon and sending him packing. You waved goodbye.

Criston’s big frame engulfed yours, his more masculine scent aided with some Calvin Klein tickling your nose. Damn this man for being so damnably handsome. He was looking down at you, jaw clenching. You hummed, “Thanks for the save, Cole. Didn’t know you had the knight in shining armor sensibilities.”

He gripped your arm, grunting, “I don’t.”

The taller man led you away, farther and farther towards the bathrooms. You laughed, Criston shooting a glare.

“Where are you taking me?”

He huffed, “Away from here. I have some questions for you.”

“This isn’t going to end up with you strangling me right?”

“Shut up, damn, you talk so godsdamned much!”

You rolled your eyes once again, trying to keep up with his long strides, the man unlocking a door and shoving you inside. You stumbled and cursed, Criston quick to pick you up. He led you over to the desk, picked you up, and put you atop the flat surface.

He stared, jaw clenched, eyes wide as they took you in— calloused hands ran up your pantyhose.

You cocked your head, humming, “I thought you were asking questions.”

Criston closed into space, hands gripping your thighs tighter as he snarled, “I don’t get you. You don’t work for the company, you’re a damn college brat with a chip on your shoulder.” His hands tightened again, fingertips digging into your skin.

“Anyways are we fucking or not?”

Criston looked at a loss for words, nostrils flaring in aggravation. You cooed, hand sliding across his broad shoulders and up to the nape of his neck. Gently playing and pulling at his curls, you leaned closer to his pretty mouth, noses touching.

The man exhaled sharply, voice less sharp as he murmured, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

How funny, you couldn’t either.

Your lips curled up in pleasure, eyes slipping shut as you kissed him soft, a mere press of the lips. Criston tried for more— only for you to pull back and chide, “Slow, we don’t have anywhere to be.” You could tell he was thinking, but Cole acquiesced and matched your pace.

As you lazily smacked lips with him, his hands eased up, rubbing up and down. You slid your tongue between his lips, moaning softly as he eagerly met you, hot and slick. He made a noise deep in his chest when you grabbed a handful of slicked-down dark hair. You pressed up against his firm chest, tongues and lips doing an age-old dance.

Criston sucked on your bottom lip, returning to sup at your mouth, hands roving up higher, your dress rising with the movement. You spread your thighs with a sigh, panting against his insistent mouth. You could feel the kiss grow messy, Criston pulled ever you closer. He flicked his tongue against yours, moaning in desperation.

You distantly wondered if Alicent let him kiss her much. If she let him do anything besides satiate a need. The way he was pressed tight to your frame and groaning like a man deprived from some kisses seemed to affirm that. He pulled back with a wild look, nuzzling and pressing his wet lips to your neck, dark stubble rubbing the thin skin.

You threw your head back for more access, panting and sighing. You pulled at his hair again and spread your legs wider. He gasped when you asked if he was going to eat you out like he did the COO. Criston grumbled, frowning, his hands pulling down your hose.

“Is that all you think I’m good for?”

You studied his downtrodden puppy dog face and felt bad, poor thing had a knack for attaching himself to unavailable women. Your mind railed distantly on what he said about your mother and your siblings.

“Maybe. Looks like you spend more time on your knees than in your cubicle from my time at the office, Criston.”

You pushed at his shoulder, Criston dropping down with a petulant look across his face. He continued to pull your pantyhose down, fingers hooking into your thin underwear along the way. He made a weak nose when you leaned back some, purring, “There we go, take it all off. Gods, you’re pretty down there.”

He moaned again, nosing at your knee, dark eyes peeling from your exposed skin to look up. Criston rasped desperately, “Please, I’m sorry.” Those dark eyes were growing wet. You ripped your gaze away from his face, trailing down his heaving chest to where his flushed cock pushed against his fly.

“Sorry for what?”

Criston whimpered, the sound escaping before he could swallow it down. You smirked, hands running through his dark hair as your legs began to spread. He was staring again, wordless pleading for a taste.

He croaked, “I- ah- apologize for my manner of speech and behavior toward you. I don’t want this to be merely a scheme.”

You murmured, softer than expected at his observation, “You’re a sap, aren’t you? Just want a pretty girl to be all yours hm? You can be mine, I think I’ll let you have me.” You twisted at his hair harder, eliciting another pathetic noise.

“Yeah, that seems nice, you’re going to be mine now. Don’t worry, I’ll let you stick around and hold me afterward Cole. What a waste if I didn’t.”

He choked out, “Please, yes, yes— I’ll be good I swear, I’ll be so good to you.”

You grinned, scooting toward the edge of the desk, soaked cunt right in front of Criston’s teary eyes. You cooed, “I’ll let you have it, Cris, just know who you’re serving now. Me. No one else. No more dallying around with Hightower, you’ll be visiting my office when I pass the bar. Doesn’t that sound sweet, tell me how good I’m letting you have it.”

He got another twist of his hair.

Criston desperately moaned, voice cracking as he gripped your thighs, lips hovering over your pussy. He croaked, “I’m yours, yours, no one but you. No Hightower, no Targaryen— Velaryon.” He sucked a wet breath in, need wracking the man as he began to beg.

“Please- please baby- let me treat you good?”

You nodded, pushing his face toward your cunt. Criston kissed up your thigh, coarse hands moving your legs over his shoulders. His lips were hot and wet, leaving a trail and shiver up your spine. You couldn’t help the throaty moan from your chest when the brunette inhaled with a curse— his molten touch and breath casting across your most sensitive flesh.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you breathed.

Criston wasted no time, delving into your slick folds, mouth immediately kissing and lapping at your soaked entrance. You cried out, thighs jumping and tightening. He groaned in delight, lurid sounds from his overeager eating— that gorgeous nose of his pressed tightly to your bundle of nerves.

“Ngh- Criston, fuck!” You inelegantly carried on, sounding like one of those sultry-eyed whores in the porn movies. The man between your thighs laughed, hands soothing up and down the outside of your propped legs.

There was reverence in Criston’s rumble, his dark eyes as he murmured between messy presses of his lips, “Taste s’fucking good baby.” You arched into his mouth, hand tangled in his hair, pulling him closer to your aching clit.

“Smart boy,” came your hum of pleasure. One of your knees fell to the side, Criston checking again with expressive eyes as he slid the center two of his digits across your pussy. You nodded, throwing your head back in ecstasy as the man mouthed and tongued at your pearl in sloppy movements. He was utterly lost in it, groaning as he sucked and licked, dexterous fingers deep inside.

The quiet room was filled with the most erotic of noises— squelching, whines, shuddery breaths, and his deliciously messy eating. No wonder Alicent kept him around you deliriously thought. On that note, you cried his name, laying back on the desk to roll into him easier, his pretty face and fingers dragging across your tender spots. The lovely sting of his stubble added a level.

Pleasure laced up and down your spine, building hot in your lower belly. He moved faster as you began to whimper, moans getting pitchy and needy. He held your hip down with his free hand, moaning. You babbled, “F-fuck, gods, gonna come, can’t stop dripping all over you. Such a good toy!”

He gasped, tonguing around where his fingers stretched your hole, lapping up every bit of your essence like a last meal. You began to writhe, breath choppy between moans. Criston fucked you faster with his fingers, you could feel his obsidian eyes watching with feverish heat.

Your belly tightened and spasmed, that wondrous feeling of intense pleasure blooming when the marcher sealed his perfect lips over your clit again to suck. He had to hold you down with one hand splayed across your lower belly, strength evident as you bucked and whined and keened his name.

You shivered, tears of overstimulation pricking as he lapped you clean, sucking his fingers with a slutty little moan. Criston mumbled, “Was that good, princess?” His calloused palm rubbed your trembling stomach, soothing and maddening as you came down from the orgasm.

Eventually gathering your wits, you held out a hand, the ‘businessman’ helping you sit upright. You felt a mess, running a hand over your errant curls, cunt on display, pantyhose ‘round your ankles. Criston looked at you like a goddess, his ever-helpful hands easing your pantyhose up before you stopped him.

His thick brows furrowed in confusion.

You laughed softly, “You’ve done a good job, I don’t see why you don’t get a reward.”

Criston’s hands reflexively tightened, his big chest swelling as he inhaled. You continued in your saccharine tone, “I mean you ate me out like a champ, I’m sure you’re tired of walking off with cum in your underwear or a hard-on from hell. Poor puppy, you look so swollen too.”

Criston outright whimpered, “Hurts.”

You cradled his face, cooing at the furrow in his brow, how those almond eyes were nearly full of tears. Gods, he was perfect, all man but willing to be jerked around by ‘the lesser sex’. So they say. Your eyes shifted to his cock once more, painfully pressing against his fly. Criston made another pitiful noise.

“You wanna come? I’ll let you bend me over this desk. You better fuck me hard, gods know you’re used to getting ridden. You’re just a sweet little fuck toy, hm?”

Criston gasped, eyes closing as a tear slipped. He was shaking with need, mouth hanging open as he babbled, “Yes- your fuck toy, but I’ll do it good for you, I’ll make you come, baby, I’ll hold it I swear!”

You smiled, turning to get on your belly, legs planted on the ground now. You could hear him shucking off his blazer, fervent fingers ripping at buttons. While he divested his clothing you teased mercilessly.

“So excited aren’t you? Big man gets to fuck now. You’re welcome. Tell me who you serve now. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you fill me up.”

He croaked, voice cracking, “I serve you now, yours, m’gonna make you feel so good, I won’t come, I’ll hold it.”

You turned to eye his heaving chest, the dark hair trailing down to his thick cock. A moan slipped from your lips at his beauty. His pretty prick was so flushed, you’d give him some slack if he did come. Poor thing was already worked and messy tears would be no good.

“C’mon then, I’m ready, take it easy stud,” you said, pulling him by the wrist. That hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in. He was panting while guiding the weepy tip of his cock into your sensitive cunt. The tip pressed up into your folds, stretching you out agonizingly slow.

Criston heaved, easing in further, little grunts and huffs from behind. He gritted out, “Pussy’s fucking perfect, gods.” You closed your eyes, savoring the stretch as Cole eased the tip in, pausing with a tremble. You let him acclimate, the marcher moaning throatily.

“Shh-shit, shit,” he said, both hands on your waist now.

You moaned softly as he went deeper, his prick molten hot and filling you up. It ground against your ridged walls, your cunt gripping the intrusion, more pleasure crawling up your spine. He was whining through his nose, muttering about how good you felt, how tight and wet it was.

You soothed, “I know, take it easy, you wanna fuck me good and hard, you need it, Cris.”

Criston groaned, “Oh- thank y-you, I needed this, s-so godsdamn hard for you baby.”

You gripped the edge of the desk as Criston was deep, his trim hips against your ass as he carried on. He leaned forward a bit, breathing through the intense stimulation. You didn’t mind, his bitten-off whimpers were cute. He was a sweetie under all his bluff.

You told him so, earning another agonized moan.

Soon Cris’ cock wasn’t throbbing and his breath had evened out. You turned to get a look, pulling him in for a quick kiss, his dark lips swollen. Criston murmured, “I think I’m ready. I can take you good and hard like you want princess, if you’ll let me, I’ll be good, s’good.”

You whispered against his lips, “Have at it stud. About time someone put that strength to good use. But you better have me soaking your cock before you think about busting.” He nodded, eyes adoring when you playfully nipped his lip, reaching back to smack a lean flank.

You couldn’t help the noise pushed out of you when he pulled out to the tip, adjusting your hips so he could slam back in at the right angle. The pair of you practically howled in unison, the primal affair on. Criston fucked like a man deprived, quick, and strong thrust.

You cried out as his hips cracked against your ass, his heavy sac hitting your clit. Criston groaned and cursed, pausing occasionally on a good deep thrust just to get ahold of himself once more. Your nails dug into the hard surface of the desk, mouth hanging wide open.

“Yeah- yeah, baby, good boy- ohgods!” You cried out when he pulled you upright against his body, fingers thumbing and pinching your nipples. He slurred nonsense, wet kisses as he lost himself, only focused on fucking you into oblivion.

Sweat began to bead across your body, turning to gooseflesh from the stimulation. His fingertips swirling and softly tugging at your nipples sent a bolt of white-hot arousal down to your clit. You knew you were getting wetter for him. Hells, you’d started crying out in ecstasy, bucking back into him like a wild animal.

Criston growled, “I’m yours, let me be yours, I’ll do this every night if you see fit.”

How he was suddenly composed pissed you off. But you were too out of sorts to do anything but moan and roll back onto his fat cock that was wrecking you. Giving a little whine of acquiescence, you nodded. He was yours now, he was going to be your big scary guard dog that adores his lady.

You heaved at the thought, belly tightening up, nipples budding so hard it hurt. Criston began to slowly push you back onto the desk, his heated body following, enveloping you in his warmth and scent. Criston grinned against your neck, pressing kisses as he slipped a hand down to form a vee with his fingers, rubbing at your flushed clit.

You wouldn’t admit this later but you squealed. You squealed and thrashed and came so hard your vision blacked out. Ecstasy consumed every part of your body. You gushed on Criston, pussy pulling and pulsing around him. When you could see again— he was the perfect wreck.

The brunette was waiting for permission. He was desperately begging, voice pitched enough to make it crack. You could hear the warble of a sob building up. Yet the man still sloppily rutted into your cunt, discordant and choppy. He cried softly, “Pleasepleaseplease let me come, please, oh it hurts, I did good yeah? Hurts- nghhh- mhh- gonna pop baby please.”

“Fill me up,” you slurred.

Criston came with a silent scream, shaking all over as he shoved deep and emptied— hot seed overflowing your cunt. He whined and whined as his swollen balls emptied, enough to make your spent body shiver.

The moment of bliss became subdued, his shaky hand reached for a tissue, pulling out, both of you hissing as he caught the excess, getting another few tissues to clean both of you up. Criston quietly pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck, pulling your underwear and hose up.

You turned to help the debauched man get himself clothed and back together. He was quiet, lips quirked a little, smile not quite reaching his eyes. As you buttoned his shirt up and started in on his tie, you looked up.

“I do mean it, I don’t mind this, I think you’re not so bad under your yuppie dick persona you like to put on,” you teased gently, straightening the tie. Criston frowned a bit, exhaling, “I seem to get grief in return every time. But…but I like your sweetness that shines when you’re not preening for your mother.”

He gave a grin this time, a real one that made his eyes crinkle, a glimmer of warmth.

You kissed him again, humming, “Well- since you’re my sweet boy now, maybe Mother and Ali can finally hook up.”

That was the first real laugh you’d heard from the man. He pulled you in close, chuckling, “Perhaps we’re doing everyone a favor if so. We’ll figure out the hoops as they come. Probably will be upsetting our bosses.”

[sdwolfpup]

Endless Works in Progress meme

I was tagged by @pearly--rose!

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

"All the files in my WIPs folder" is a long list, so I'm not gonna tag that many people. 😂 But here's the list (JB only; I've also got some for a couple other fandoms which I'm not including here):

BeautifulSouls

BeReal

Breaking up for Christmas

Christmas in Pennytree

Christmas meal

Cupid Brienne

Dog show

Drive to Survive-Westeros

Ever After AU

ExecBrienne-extras

FightingForTarth

FlyingFriendlySkies

Forestson-riverdaughter

ham radio au

hfog-extras

Hylehandfic

Love is Blind AU

Modern Arranged Marriage AU

Music and Lyrics AU

PianistAU

SevenHells

Sexworker-zoo

Smutswap-lonely airport

Smutswap-violinist

solarpunk au

takemehomexmas

TakeOnMe

TheNightWeMet

Unicorn-sequel

wiggles au

Wontstandinline

YawningGrave

I almost never use titles as file names unless the inspiration was from something specific like a song (or in the very very rare case I know what I want it to be right away). Of these titles, I will definitely finish...five. Maybe six if I can figure out the ending. The rest I'll keep endlessly poking at until they eventually get moved to the Archive folder, never to be seen again. 😂 Honestly looking at this I see three right off the bat I should move there right now.

Consider yourself tagged by me if you want to do this one!! I have enough spaces lol.

[girddlepatchilles]

skipping out

This is just a fic in a modern Westeros au I wanted to play around with and may turn into a little series. Kind of Fall of the House of Usher-y.

Rhaenys hummed along to the radio as she continued to pack for the weekend getaway her boyfriend had planned. The annual Tyrell Garden Party was to occur at the family’s estate Highgarden, and it was to be the first event where Willas and Rhaenys were officially a couple. They’d been together for four years at this point, but they’d never really made it official in the eyes of the public. Both Rhaenys and Willas were quite private people and there were… outside forces who would not have approved of their dating. The Tyrell parents (and grandparent) still held a grudge over Willas’ injury during a friendly polo match and Rhaenys’ father was still trying to match her with every eligible (non-related) Valyrian man he could think of. The fact that Willas held no ill will toward Oberyn Martell for the accident meant nothing, nor did the fact that Rhaenys very publicly called out her family’s Valyrian supremacist tendencies. Rhaenys had met the Tyrells about six months ago and had won over the formidable Olenna Tyrell soon after meeting. 

Renly was still sour that the old woman liked Rhaenys almost instantly, although privately she suspected she’d won over Olenna by not even really trying. In truth she’d been more worried about winning over Mace and Alerie. Still… it would be nice to be able to attend more charity events on Willas’ arm, instead of “bumping into” each other. Her own family (or, rather her Mother’s family) adored Willas and had already insisted he attend the annual Martell New Years Extravaganza. The Targaryens? Well… she’d know after this weekend, wouldn’t she?

Her phone kept pinging as she packed, some notifications barely showing up before being replaced. Rhaenys knew he decision to skip the family gathering would not go over well, but she hadn’t expected to be inundated with messages. Most begged her to reconsider, others cajoled and bribed, while several just outright berated her. Cousin Maegor’s distinct all caps tirades had been deleted without reading. As were Daemon’s and Armond’s. Grand-Uncle Jaehaerys’ long winded “disappointed” text was deleted after she read the first paragraph. Rhaenyra had just outright told Rhaenys not to bother coming to any other event. The cousins she was closest to all sent messages of support and promises to catch up next weekend for a debrief. 

Everyone knew why the Conquerors wanted to gather the family. 

Everyone knew what Great Grandfather Aegon wanted to say. 

Everyone knew that this was where lines were about to be drawn. 

Rhaenys had already made her choice, and the person who needed to know the most already knew. She was considering just turning off her phone when Egg’s ringtone began to play. She grabbed her phone before Belarion could begin batting at it and answered it.

“Please tell me you’re not going to the family thing this weekend?” Egg didn’t even bother with a greeting. Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, reaching out to scratch Balerion behind his ears. Her wizened old cat was definitely hanging on more out of spite than anything these days, but he always wanted affection from his human. 

“Of course not. I’m going to Highgarden with Willas. Renly will probably be there too,” she replied. Not that anyone in the family really cared about their Baratheon cousins.

“Well… Dad just told Great Grandfather you were coming, and that you’d have good news,” Egg said. They both only called Rhaegar Targaryen “dad” because he hated it and used “baba” for their step-father Myles. Rhaenys scowled, her hand stilling in Balerion’s fur.

“What news?” she demanded. She heard Egg sigh on the other end of the line and heard Shireen murmur something she couldn’t quite make out.

“The news you’re getting engaged to Monterys Velaryon…” her brother sounded nervous, although at this point Rhaenys couldn’t even be mad. Her father’s insistence that she marry a man of “good Valyrian stock” was little more than a joke at this point. The first time he’d tried to set her up on a date with his appropriate Valyrian boy of the week, she’d been utterly furious. Now she just ignored her father and politely told whatever hapless man she was being set up with she wasn’t interested. Honestly, she’d go full non-contact with her father if he wasn’t the one paying her university fees.

“I mean… there will be news to tell after the weekend, but not that…” she conceded. Egg gasped loudly.

“You mean… is Willas proposing? Are you proposing?!” Egg must have gone out of his room and into one of the main areas of the share house he lived in, because suddenly Rhaenys could hear an episode of The Matchmaker: North blaring in the background. She grinned, blushing despite the fact her brother could not see her.

“Kind of? We kind of both proposed during our anniversary trip. He’s officially doing it during the party. Maximum media attention. A massive fuck you to Grandfather, the Old Man and Great Grandfather,” Rhaenys explained.

“Mama and Baba already gave their blessing.” Willas had insisted he ask both her mother and step-father for their blessing, especially since she considered Myles Manwoody her father more than Rhaegar. Egg chuckled and their conversation naturally fell to how the preparations were going for his trip to Essos, how Shireen was, even sharing gossip about their Martell cousins. By the time she hung up, she noticed Willas had left a text message to let her know he’d picked up the ring and was looking forward to seeing her tonight. Rhaenys smiled before sending three red hearts in reply. 

She’d met Willas during her first week of undergrad at university. He’d been finishing his final year of a Bachelors in Economics, while she was staring a Bachelors in Linguistics. She’d got lost on her way to her first lecture and he’d helped her find the right building. They’d properly been introduced a month later when her uncle, Oberyn Martell, had invited Rhaenys to one of his famous dinner parties. They’d hit it off almost instantly and only really started dating after a year of friendship. Now Rhaenys was completing her Masters in Linguistics, while saving funds to pay her own way to complete her PhD. Willas had graduated and was helping to run the Tyrell Education Fund, a charity designed to improve schools in low income areas. They’d recently decided to start looking for a house together, preferably one with enough room for Rhaenys’ two cats and one dog as well as Willas’ own hound. Rhaenys still remembered when she and Willas had shown up to her uncle’s dinner party the first time as a couple and he’d simply rolled his eyes.

“Why did I not see this coming?” he’d said. Rhaenys later heard that her sort-of-but-not-really aunt Ellaria had placed a wager with Oberyn about whether or not they would start dating. Ellaria had won. Willas had joined Rhaenys to celebrate the new year in Dorne and Uncle Doran had commented that he was a “fine young man”. 

As far as many of her Martell relatives were concerned, their wedding was only inevitable.

Only a handful of her Targaryen relatives knew about Willas, with a smaller number knowing how serious they were. Baelor Breakspear, Luke Velaryon, Baela and Rhaena Velaryon-Targaryen, all the younger black sheep of their family. Renly technically counted in this group, but the Baratheon cousins had been long exiled from family gatherings. They were all part of a group chat where they complained about the family and shared news about their lives that their relatives would not approve of. Like Baelor coming out as non-binary, or Luke deciding he wanted to live with his biological father and neither of his parents. Outside of Renly, none of her cousins had met Willas, but many of them quite approved of him. He was a kind man and unlike many of the men Rhaegar (and their relatives) wanted Rhaenys to date, he cared about the lives of the average person.  

Rhaenys finished packing her clothes, including a new dress in green and orange that was a nod to her Martell heritage and the fact she was due to join the Tyrells, when her phone rang again. She didn’t even have to check the screen to know it was her father. Rhaegar would undoubtedly want to try and talk her into coming along, to ensure his children could be pulled back into the family fold. Rhaenys ignored the call and busied herself with picking out jewellery to take on the trip. Moments later the phone rang again, this time with Lyanna’s ringtone. Despite everything, Rhaenys did somewhat get along with her step-mother and was pleased Lyanna was finally divorcing her father. She had yet to move out of Rhaegar’s gaudy townhouse in central King’s Landing, so Rhaenys let the call ring out just in case. She and Lyanna had set up a system when she was a teenager to ensure Rhae would know when it was actually her step-mother and not her father trying to trick her. The tone indicating that she’d got a new voicemail proved her suspicions correct. She stepped back to her bed and deleted the message without listening. 

Something something, family reputation, something something, I want what’s best for you…

She had just finished closing the final zipper on her case when one final call came through: Jon. Technically yet another Aegon to add to the list, he’d always been Jon amongst the family and most tended to forget what his birth certificate said. Rhaenys answered, peering out the window to see if Renly was waiting outside. With Willas already in Highgarden she was being driven up in a van Renly was hiring for the weekend. Apart from Rhaenys, he was also picking up Margaery and her new girlfriend from the university. 

“Hi Jon. Did Dad put you up to this?” she asked, stepping back from the window. Vhagar, a rather pampered hound, nudged his head under Rhaenys’ hand. She gave him a quick pat before sitting on the floor to allow him to drape over her lap.

“Actually, no. Although Mum is now yelling at him for taking her phone again,” Jon replied with an awkward chuckle.

“I was actually wondering… are you going to the thing this weekend?” Jon had never really felt welcome among the Targaryens, and Rhaenys knew he preferred to hang around her, Egg or Dany rather than try to mix with the rest of their relatives.

“I’m not, sorry. But Egg will be there. So will Dany, I think. She said something about wanting to introduce everyone to a new member of the family,” she replied, continuing to pat Vhagar. 

“Oh, right. Well… have fun at whatever you’re going to!” his tone sounded a little forced.

“Um, Rhae? I think I know why the event is happening… I… I’m not really close to Aunt Saera…” Rhaenys didn’t bother trying to hide her smile. She was entirely certain this was due to the Stark influence in his life.

“I haven’t checked lately to see if there are any changes, but I think everyone was wearing something purple? I’ll add you to the group chat,” Rhaenys explained. There weren’t many of them; just those few family members who weren’t so in awe of Grand-Uncle Jaehaerys that they failed to see the giant red flags. Even though she wasn’t going to be present, Rhaenys had packed a purple scarf she was going to wear during the garden party itself where all the photographers from all the various papers could see her. On the other end of the phone, Jon huffed a sound of relief.

“Thanks… as soon as Mum explained what the court case was about, I just knew…” he began.

“I know. I think she really appreciates knowing that even a handful of us support her,” Rhaenys said. She was about to ask how he was handling the divorce when she heard a beep from on the street. 

That would be Renly.

“Sorry, have to go. I’ll text you later,” she said. After saying her goodbyes, Rhaenys hung up and convinced Vhagar to get off. She gave all her animals one last pet, grabbed her case and handbag before shouting a general goodbye to her cousin Sarella and left the house. Renly stood by the back of the van, ready to help her stow her case. He was tall and broad shouldered like his older brother, Robert, but lacked the bulk the eldest Baratheon was known for. Like Rhaenys, he was darker skinned than most of their relatives although he lacked the purple eyes that marked a Targaryen. Renly had dressed with a road trip in mind; track-suit pants, faded university tee and flip flops. His locs were piled on top of his head in a haphazard bun. Renly grinned when he saw her, giving her a tight hug before opening the boot and hauling her case inside. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. Rhaenys nodded, helping him close the boot.

“Did you get the threatening messages from Maegor, Daemon and Aemond?” she asked. Renly rolled his eyes, leaning against the van.

“You mean the Brothers Edge? Yeah. Just deleted the messages. Not like we’re super close to the rest of the family, are we? Like… Great Grandfather Orys doesn’t even talk to his siblings,” he replied. Most people tended to forget that the Conquerors had a half-brother called Orys. He’d been by their side while Great Grandfather Aegon was first running for public office, right up until he’d retired and created the sole airline in Westeros. Orys remained for a while before selling his shares in the company and started his own business. These days Orys Baratheon lived in his wife’s family estate and stayed out of the limelight. Rhaenys privately respected the old man for staying away from his siblings’ bullshit.

With a bow Renly opened the door to the back for Rhaenys and she climbed in with a bow and a grin.

“Hey Rhae! Have you met Sansa? I’ve finally convinced her to come around to meet the rest of the family,” Margaery said, offering a wave in greeting. She had occupied the first row of seats in the back of the van along with a red-haired girl maybe a year or two younger than her. She recognised her from a few of Jon’s pictures on Ravenscroll. She must have been one of his Stark cousins. Rhaenys smiled, offering a wave.

“I haven’t. Hi Sansa. I’m Rhaenys Martell-Targaryen,” she said. Sansa smiled shyly, returning the wave.

“Hi Rhaenys… Jon’s told me all about you,” Sansa said. Rhaenys grinned, claiming the second row for herself. She waved to Loras in the passenger seat, who returned her wave with a grin. Rhaenys pulled out her phone and snapped a quick selfie before sending it to Willas with the message: on my way!!! 

As Renly pulled out of the driveway, Willas sent his own selfie from the garden with his hound Florys. Underneath he had written: Can’t wait to see you… Rhaenys grinned happily, warmth rising in her chest. The drive out of King’s Landing was surprisingly quick, largely due to the fact they’d left before peak hour and had missed the majority of traffic. Once they were on the Kingsroad, it would be a straightforward trip up to Highgarden. Rhaenys settled back in her seat, allowing the chatter of the radio and the other conversations to wash over her. She was close to dozing off when she felt someone shake her shoulder to rouse her. Rhaenys blinked, holding back a yawn. Sansa made an apologetic face.

“Sorry. There’s something on the news about your family? Renly said you’d want to hear it…” she said. Rhaenys nodded, stretching her arms above her head. 

“...and in breaking news, Saera Targaryen, the daughter of respected politician Jaehaerys Targaryen, is bringing a civil case against her father and mother for claims of abuse…” the newsreader announced. Rhaenys looked down at her phone, noticing a new message in the group chat for Saera’s supporters from Uncle Vaegon.

Ooops… I might have told a reporter….

A few moments later, there was a new message from Saera.

Well… Grandma can’t deny it now.

[racefortheironthrone]

Any plans to appear on an episode of Radio Westeros in the future?

Well, I would have to be invited, but I've enjoyed the episodes I've done with them in the past. They take a bit more prep than your average podcast, but I think the results speak for themselves.

[daenystheedreamer]

wait i love being a #hater and listening to other people's #hater thoughts. your opinion on sandor x sansa as a romantic pairing?????? i really DON'T understand this at alllllll. also least favourite characters?

KISSES TO A FELLOW HATER♡

so sansa x sandor is a pretty established ship in the fandom both in the show and books. in the books there's textual basis, namely the UnKiss plus some bear and the maiden fair parallels i think? i remember trying to listen to radio westeros and quitting because the first episode was just sansan and i was like alright this isnt for me. i can understand it like objectively its not too surprising. it boils down to innocent naive nice girl and dark bad boy which is like 90% of straight ships plus the actors are attractive to people (NOT TO ME im devoted to ellie kendrick♡). as a romantic pairing im mostly meh-to-eugh on it. the canon is interesting textually but its not a good relationship. she's 11, she's a lesbian, it's gross, i think the unkiss is a traumatised little girl trying to make sense of terrifying situations, etcetc.

least favourite characters oh boy.

FUCK jorah fuck your unwashed asshole fuck you creep hateloathescorn STAY AWAY FROM HER!!

TARGARYEN LIGHTNING ROUND: jaehaerys i hate SO much he's a gross eugenicist and i hate how he's supposed to be narratively king arthur or some shit. aegon the conquerer is a imperialist colonial bitch AND hes boring. daemon is gross too and i know people like him un-romanticised as a character no apologia but he's just not my cup of tea. oh also fuck jaehaerys ii and shaera you guys just couldnt help letting the wheel grind everyone to mincemeat for another hundred years god forbid you dont fuck your sibling huh.

kevan lannister youre boring and a creep.

littlefinger youre an incel stay away from her!!!

arys oakheart exists entirely to describe arianne's areolas.