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Aegon + Sunfyre inspired outfit ☀️

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JACEGAN WIP

Amnesiac Jace doesn't make it easy for Cregan Stark to raise a rebellion.

“Good morrow, Jacaerys.”

“It’s just Jace,” he says, like every other time someone has tried calling him something so over complicated. 

“How did you sleep?”

“Terribly.”

He hated when he was asked how he was doing or how his accommodations were suiting him. Like any of his real complaints were ever resolved.

“I could speak to our maester about perhaps a sleeping aid — ”

“Unless the maester can cure your deplorable lands of these ghastly snows, I don’t see what a tonic would do,” Jace grumbled from his spot by the room’s hearth they kept him locked in, pulling the blanket he wrapped himself in tighter around his shoulders.

“If you’re cold I can bring more furs — ”

“I don’t need furs, you fucking dolt! I want to go home!”

Cregan Stark sat across the room in the same chair he sat in everyday he came to visit. Seemingly unmoved, the alpha only waited until Jace was done shouting, like a patient father with their tantruming child.

“Where’s home, Jacaerys?” The other man asked, still never listening to a godsdamn thing he ever said.

Jace sneered, glaring like he always did when asked these same questions over and over again.

“Wendwater,” he said between grinding teeth, as he answered every time before. But Cregan Stark never listened and always asked again and again like he was waiting for Jace to finally say the one he wanted to hear.

Not that it ever really was a home, but it was better than Sharp Point or Stonedance where he’d been unable to find steady work and was eventually chased out like some dirty mongrel. Although, he probably had looked like one back then, but he’d been too lost and starved to keep himself clean with more than splashes from the river he eventually let himself drift down. 

He’d been unlucky in life, remembering nothing about himself and only even called himself Jace because of a barely intact letter found in his clothes from someone who didn’t sign their name. He didn’t know how he could read words but not remember who taught them to him, or where he even came from. He didn’t know if he had a mother or a father, brothers or sisters, just that he’d been found washed up on the banks of Sharp Point half dead with arrows in his back. The fishermen of Sharp Point guessed he was a sailor from the Battle of the Gullet since he wasn’t the only body to wash up on shore, but his clothes were too torn and bloodied to identify him any other way. The only possessions he was given after waking from his wounds had been the letter and a wooden toy horse.

Yet somehow, perhaps even a year after Jace's toy had been long stolen by another boy he once shared a room with in a village by the Wendwater, Corlys Velaryon had come looking for him with it in his hands and asked if it belonged to him. Initially afraid he’d be punished, Jace had been too afraid to answer, but he never expected Lord Velaryon to take one look and insist he was someone else — some Prince. Of course he thought it all absolutely ridiculous, but the Sea Snake could not be persuaded he was only another orphan boy from the stormlands.

When he refused to leave with anyone, more came for him, throwing a bag over his head and kept his hands tied like some prisoner when he tried to fight back, taking him from the village by the river that leaked out from the sea they pulled him from. Jace was transported the whole way north like smuggled goods they meant to keep secret and and has been pissed no one will believe there’s been some mistake. 

Strangers kept telling him to trust them, but Jace thought they could go fuck themselves when all they did was drag him off for “his own protection” and wouldn't let him go no matter how many times he told them he couldn't remember this person they thought he was. 

“And before Wendwater?”

“I already told you, Stonedance.”

“And before that.”

“Sharp Point.”

“Then where?”

Jace huffed, blowing a strand of hair that had grown much too long out of his face. Ever since he tried to steal the sword from a guard, Jace hasn't been given anything sharp enough to hack it all off in months. “You know I don’t know.”

“Try.”

“Fuck you.”

They've already tried. He's spent months being told he's supposed to know he's some fallen war hero – or a traitor – which was what Cregan would be named if word ever reached Aegon II he was keeping his bastard nephew hidden.  But that only mattered if what they told him was true. And it couldn't be. 

Everyone knew Targaryens were silver-haired and purple-eyed. Jace couldn't look anything more unalike with dark brown hair and eyes that matched. He laughed when Corlys had even suggested it. Now, the jest wasn't funny anymore.

“Sara says you haven’t been eating much lately.”

“I haven’t been hungry.”

In all honesty, everything they brought was mouthwatering. The first day they pulled him from the wheelhouse they kept him hidden in and smuggled him inside the castle, he’d been practically spitting with rage. The whole journey north he lived off little else but bread and dried, tasteless meats for months, so when they pushed plates of honeyed chicken and cod cakes, Jace couldn’t refrain from shoveling it all down despite his dismay and confusion. A beta woman who Cregan introduced as his sister usually came with the servants to bring him meals. She was kind and never gave him a reason not to like her, except that she denied his pleas to let him go. Though he especially didn't like that she treated him like she already knew him. Everyone did. Whatever they put before him now tasted dull and Jace had little appetite for anything these days.

The room they kept him in felt like a cage for anyone to walk in, regardless of his permission, to poke and prod and interrogate him. With only one window, the wooden shutters were always kept closed and his doors locked. There was nowhere to squeeze out from, nothing to curl up in or hide under. He was exposed and open to every scrutiny, and he hated every second of it.

“I could have venison pies brought. Or cranberry tarts,” Stark suggested, “Those were your favorites.”

Jace curled up tighter into himself and tried to stare anywhere else but at the man still watching him. It was uncomfortable when Lord Cregan spoke like he knew Jace most. 

His jaw muscles and his teeth ground together so hard he almost yelped. “I don’t like venison pies, or cranberry tarts,” he lied petulantly.

“You used to.” 

“I also used to enjoy seeing the sun, too.”

Daring to look up this time to glare across the room, Jace braced himself for anger or cruelty, perhaps frustration. Lord Stark’s mouth was an unmovable frown like always, though his usually creased brow seemed to soften towards him. 

“I'll open the window in a moment, but you have to try first.”

Jace's fists curled beneath the blanket. This had become their newest leverage against him. Only when Lord Stark visited were the wooden shutters over his window allowed to be opened. He relished feeling sunshine instead of only candlelight, but when Cregan started withholding unlocking it until he behaved, Jace told him to go fuck himself then, too. 

It took almost a week of cold shouldering for Jace to eventually relent when he couldn't bear another moment looking at anything else other than the same room and Cregan fucking Stark.

“What is your first memory of anything?”

“Pain,” he heaved wearily, “The Gullet, the smells of people…” Dying. Dead. Bloated milk-skinned corpses rotting on the sand. His first memory was turning his head to see a seagull picking at the eye of a dead man laying beside him.

“Go on.” 

“There's nothing else,” Jace insisted, “We've gone over this a hundred times.”

“They say Prince Jacaerys was struck with crossbow quarrels until he sank into the sea.”

“Lots of sailors were hit with arrows that day.”

“Then why do you call yourself Jace?”

“I – ” Jace didn't like to talk aloud about the letter he found. It was a romantic one. Whoever wrote it knew he smelled like the sea and smoke, knew what he tasted like. He had always just assumed the letter was for him because he could never imagine putting such words to paper – but then that alluded to more that Jace sometimes thought about when alone with only a tattered letter. 

Someone had desired him. They signed their name Aōhon Iksan, but Jace had never heard a name like that before and wondered if it must be from some other language. When he was lonely with nowhere to stay and no one wanted him, he kept the letter to remind himself someone once did.

“I don't know.”

Cregan hummed. “A lot of coincidences don’t you think?”

TBC.

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rhaena on the day she was to be wedded to maegor. in protest, she wears the coronation regalia made for her late husband aegon’s ascension to the iron throne.

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You can visit our AO3 collection for more information.

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You can visit our AO3 collection for more information.

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🍎⚔️

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You can visit our AO3 collection for more information.

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Jocelyn and Aemon, young and in love!

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/42858627/chapters/107899935

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Joffrey Velaryon, jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. Rhaenyras sweet boys

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aemond targaryen fan art

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Introducing Bottomond Week 2025!

This is a fandom event encouraging fanworks centered around bottom!Aemond Targaryen. Any ship is welcome as long as Aemond is the bottom.

This event will run from the 22nd until the 28th of September.

On social media use the hashtag #bottomondweek2025.

All forms of fanworks are welcome and encouraged: fics, threadfics, art, moodboards, etc. You will be able to post your fics to our AO3 collection, and other forms of fanworks can be posted on Tumblr, Twitter and Bluesky using our hashtag #bottomondweek2025.

A concept for each day

We have assigned a concept for each day of the event, which you can interpret however you like.

Monday — 22nd — Alternative canonverse / alternative dance

Tuesday — 23rd — Omegaverse

Wednesday — 24th — Light

Thursday — 25th — Faith

Friday — 26th — Dark

Saturday — 27th — Physique

Sunday — 28th — AU / Free day

We came up with a list of prompt suggestions for each day, but they are only that: suggestions. You are welcome to interpret the main concepts in any way you'd like to.

This is an 18+ event and both SFW & NSFW fanworks are allowed.

Importantly ALL versions of Aemond are welcome: fem!Aemond, omega!Aemond, cis!Aemond, trans!Aemond, or any other version you can think of, as well as ANY ship (including OCs).

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HOTD FICCOMMENTFIGHT

Well now, what is THIS?

Have you ever heard of a fandom "artfight"? It's like that, except for comments.

How do I participate?

You sign up in the form linked above. You will be assigned to one of four teams: Team Purple, Team Pink, Team Yellow, or Team Orange (more teams will be added as needed based on participation). For the next two months - through September 11, 2025, your goal is to bestow AS MANY COMMENTS AS POSSIBLE on HOTD fics so your team will WIN the ficcommentfight.

Is there any deadline to sign up?

Nope, anytime between now and the end!

What do I win?

Your team will get to decide the highly curated prompts for a HOTD fic prompt event (more details to come). Have the fic of your dreams picked up by a talented writer!

HOW do I win? As in, what's the points system?

Your comment must be at least 50 words. (Strings of emojis don't count, sorry!) But there will be tiers based on comment length, to inspire the drive to true excellence:

50-100 words - 100 points

100 - 250 words - 250 points

250 - 500 words - 500 points

500 - 1000 words - 1000 points

*(Yes, AO3 has a character count limit for comments that will mean any comment longer than approx. 500 words will have to be split into two. For scoring purposes, multiple comments by one person on the same fic submitted will be counted as one comment).

Oh, so any freeloader can sign up right at the end and enjoy the winnings without doing anything??

You must personally be responsible for 500 points to be able to pick a prompt for the event.

How will these points be gathered?

You will tweet or post about the fic publicly, tagging the author if you know their Twitter or Tumblr handle, with a link to your comment and some kind words. You will tag it with the hashtag #hotdcommentfight. We shall calculate the points in our beautiful spreadsheet.

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"A Hightower Hunter who's part Valyrian?"

HoTD x Kpop Demon Hunters

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Reblog if you’re grateful for your commenters <3

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Fanfiction is so silly. I am playing with my dolls and people are coming over to watch. Some of them even clap and give me compliments. And when I'm done playing, I can go and watch other people play with their dolls.

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"IT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT!!!" i scream, desperately clawing at the floor, as the fic drags me back into The Depths to continue writing against my will for the rest of eternity