#Floris Books

[winningthesweepstakes]

This Is My Treehouse by Guillaume Gueraud and Alfred

This Is My Treehouse by Guillaume Gueraud, illustrated by Alfred. Floris Books, c2022, 2023, 2024.  9781782508557 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) (published 9/2024) 4 Format: Hardcover picture book What did you like about the book?  A treehouse is built in the branches of a tall tree, “in the forest behind my grandparents’ garden.”  It is a very tall tree.  Sometimes it is a…

[stephaniejoanneus]

Finding the Way to Faraway Valley by Cecilia Heikkilä

Finding the Way to Faraway Valley by Cecilia Heikkilä. Floris Books, 2024, c2023. 9781782508540 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 5 Format: Hardcover picture book What did you like about the book? Little bear asks Grandpa to tell him about the Faraway Valley, a beautiful far away place on a postcard. After studying up on camping and reading maps, and learning about animals,…

[floripire]

"i need someone to take one for the team and be honest with me: do i or do i not buy coral island? i mean, i do own a steam deck, but also, i really want new audio books too..."

[godzilla-reads]

🪻A Field Guide to Draco Floris Dragons by Annie Stegg Gerard

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5

A comprehensive guide to the elusive and electrifying world of Draco Floris, or, Flower Dragons. In this book you will be introduced to many dragon types, stories, and facts, including all twelve birthday flower dragons.

Just to gloat real quick, but my birth flower dragon is the wonderful Sweet Pea Dragon of April. This colorful dragon is quite popular and bright.

Anyway, I LOVED this book and I’m so happy it was recommended to me on Etsy because the author fills it with such amazing illustrations, love, care, and devotion to a beautiful world I wish was prominently ours. Who knows, though? Maybe you’ll look outside and catch the sight of a magnificent marigold dragon.

[ironmansbay]

Just remembered that Larys gets engaged to a teenaged girl from a major house for treaty reasons and that that girl was originally supposed to marry a prince who was around her age and now she’s marrying someone who’s much older and has been assigned “Undesirable” status because he’s disabled and F&B doesn’t say anything else about it because the wedding never happens but there’s no WAY she was happy and there’s no WAY he didn’t know that and this MIGHT’VE contributed to his decision making at the end of his arc and

anyway hey does anyone remember Tyrion’s wedding to Sansa in ASOS i just remembered that for no reason haha

[horizon-verizon]

Part Two of Undeniable Truths recorded about the Dance of the Dragons

PARTS  ONE and TWO

..........................................................................

some of these things don’t really matter for "major" themes (like hair color), but I’m listing them all the same for a better picture

in Fire and Blood Rhaenyra is not just a cupbearer to Viserys’ and his entire council. She’s only the cupbearer to him.

also, Viserys was never physically too far from her during parties and tourneys

he made Rhaenyra sit in council meetings from the age of 8 or 9, a little after naming her heir. Everyone saw Viserys try to prepare her for her ascension. In the show, we’re left with the impression she started being more involved later in her teens and that she was treated as a servant to the council members just because she was a girl and was there (which honestly made no sense because of her status as a princess even without being the heir)

it was both Alicent and Otto who were vocal against Rhaenyra as heir after she gave birth to Aegon (II)

Otto was dismissed because he kept pressing for Aegon to be named heir and Viserys got very angry, going as far as saying Otto was “hectoring” him

Daemon spent a lot more one-on-one time with Rhaenyra after he comes back a second time than we’re led to think, doing several different things like reading poetry with her, gave her more gifts, etc. (:[ ?)

Rhaenys had black hair (from her Baratheon mother), and the older she got, the more white strips there were

Laena never gets to Vhagar before she dies. She tries and Daemon carries her back to bed. She dies later, after some time.

Daemon killed Laena’s first betrothed (not married), a son of the Braavosi Sealord, before marrying her. There was speculation that Corlys disliked the kid and wanted him gone for being useless and overstaying his freeloading welcome

Laena and Rhaenyra are told to have grown very, very close. Who knows? They could have been close genuinely on their own with no ulterior or other motives incolved. Or Rhaneyra could have genuinely liked and be close to Laena while also could have also taken the opportunities to visit Laena to also be close to Daemon, this making those visits even more happy. We could have seen Laena be on love with Rhaenyra, with the two options of it being reciprocated or not. There could have been a temp menage a trois going on, or something. Or something like the ethically nonmonogamous V sort of relationship where Rhaenyra has two lovers on Laena and Daemon, but the latter care for each other more than romantically love each other. Or this could have been shown to be Rhaenyra only using Laena, or Laena being in love with Rhaneyra. We’ll never see any of these different options in the show though....Does this count as "benevolent" homophobia?

It was actually at Laenor’s funeral, not Laena, where Aemond claimed Vhagar. 

Baela and Rhaena were never there to confront Aemond after he gets Vhagar.

It was Grand Maester Orwyle, not Otto, who brought the terms to Rhaenyra after Aegon’s coronation.

Rhaenyra grew much thiccer by age 20 after her sons’ births and never lost that weight. In the books one of the sources says that Rhaenyra may have felt more dislike towards Alicent for staying slim even after 4 kids. It's sexist to even mention this as if this matters (a side eye at the maester and Septon Eustace who thought this mattered) but it does reveal that Rhaenyra faces classic misogyny herself in a clear, unambiguous way.

when Aemond is told to pick one of Borros’ daughters in their negotiations and Aemond passes over Maris, the least physically attractive of her sisters, she mocked Aemond for not fighting Lucerys for the eye after Luke appears, which adds the layer of challenged masculinity and shows his need to prove himself worthy

[Clarification] Criston beat Harwin not like he beat Joffrey to death in HotD. He “beat” him as he was competing against him and his rage basically propelled him into breaking Harwin’s collarbone and his elbow. Pretty sure Criston would have killed Harwin if he could.

[Clarification] Criston killed Joffrey Monmouth with his morningstar weapon in a “rain” (many times, succession) of blows, breaking his helmet and presumably his skull too.

After Rhaenyra has Vaemond killed by Daemon, Vaemond’s relatives, wife, and children flee to King’s Landing so the male relatives can protest her actions to Viserys. After hearing them out, he immediately ordered for their tongues to be cut out. Why? He announced that he already ruled as such after Aemond’s eye was taken and Rhaenyra was questioned then. This is also when he got the only recorded cut from the throne.

Image Credit: doug wheatley from Fire and Blood

[vvomitoliterario]

EL OLVIDO NO LLEGA

A veces te extraño, sin poder recordar bien qué extraño. Casi no te recuerdo si no fuera por tus fotos, que son mi tesoro más preciado y las que trato de no mirar demasiado para no recordarte tanto.

No recuerdo tu perfume, no recuerdo tu voz, no recuerdo el color de tus ojos cuando les da el sol, no sé bien qué extraño, pero posiblemente no sea a vos. Solo me queda tu ausencia, a la que me aferro para no dejarte ir.

Quise tapar mis espacios con otra persona, pero fue avasallante y no funcionó.

Un día como hoy seguro lloraba por tenerte a mi lado y estar sin vos, un día como hoy era tu ausencia la que me lastimaba y al igual que ahora es inmenso el lugar que ocupa tu recuerdo, ese que solo existe cuando no estas.

Amo tu sonrisa, pero ya casi no lo recuerdo. Solo me queda la falta que me haces como en aquel entonces y tiempo más atrás que ese.

Amo tus besos, pero ya no los recuerdo, no recuerdo tu sabor y la sensación de tu piel cerca de la mía. Te estoy olvidando y no quiero hacerlo.

Tengo el espacio que deje para vos, porque parece que aun te estoy esperando, pero no quiero hacerlo.

Tengo que soltar la falta que me haces.

[you-have-been-frizzled]

Can someone tell me what color Gizelle’s hair is

because i remember her description originally saying her hair was blonde

but after the art came out with her hair being black i’m not sure

[bookfloris]

Az utolsó FLORIS Angliában Christopher Floris

Az utolsó FLORIS Angliában - The last FLORIS in England. - Christopher Floris

Vélhetően 1963 karácsonyán készült fénykép talán a Liberális Párt egy választási gyűlésén ahol a következő évi parlamenti választásokra készülő Floris Christopher és családja is jelen volt. Christopher Floris középen édesanyjával, Korondi Máriával. A kép szélén a spanyol származású sógornője.  Mögötte pedig, félig takarásban György bátyja, angol néven Goerge A. Floris. Édesanyja láthatóan a…

[haszongabor]

Az utolsó FLORIS Angliában Christopher Floris

Az utolsó FLORIS Angliában - The last FLORIS in England. - Christopher Floris

Vélhetően 1963 karácsonyán készült fénykép talán a Liberális Párt egy választási gyűlésén ahol a következő évi parlamenti választásokra készülő Floris Christopher és családja is jelen volt. Christopher Floris középen édesanyjával, Korondi Máriával. A kép szélén a spanyol származású sógornője.  Mögötte pedig, félig takarásban György bátyja, angol néven Goerge A. Floris. Édesanyja láthatóan a…

[winningthesweepstakes]

The Christmas Snow Globe by Sibylle Delacroix

The Christmas Snow Globe by Sibylle Delacroix. Floris Books, c2021, 2024. 9781782509097 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) (published 9/2024) 4 Format: Hardcover picture book Genre: Holiday: Christmas What did you like about the book? Two young children are hoping for snow on Christmas Eve.  Papa allows them to open one present on this day before Christmas; it’s a snow globe! …

[stephaniejoanneus]

I Will Swim Next Time by Emily Joof, illustrated by Matilda Ruta

I Will Swim Next Time by Emily Joof, illustrated by Matilda Ruta. Floris Books, 2023. 9781782508298 Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 4 Format: Hardcover picture book What did you like about the book? A young Black child explains how water came to be her “special place to be” after conquering her fears. I love how she identifies her feelings about water – how the expanse of…

[floripire]

 🙌!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Floribeth has always said that her parents' love story is one for the ages. She's also said multiple times that she knows it by heart. This isn't entirely true, however, as she only knows the child friendly bits and pieces that her parents told her while she was growing up.

You see, the whole story is a bit more complicated and tangled up like a Gordian knot.

After Selena Harman (Jennifer Morrison) loses her two younger sisters - fraternal twins Sophia (Blake Lively) and Nissa (Cariba Heine) - after they give birth to their own daughters, she is desperate to put as much distance between herself and the world she comes from. Desperate to distance herself from the haunting knowledge that she's still a witch and, perhaps, could have done something - anything - to save her sisters and their kids.

What Selena didn't know then is that Thea and Blaise - the daughters of Sophia and Nissa - survived, making her their maternal aunt. Had she known, perhaps she would've stayed right where she was, taking them in and loving them as her own.

But once Selena's mind is made up, it remains that way, and she cuts all ties. She drinks from the Cup of Lethe, which causes her to forget everything and everyone related to the Night World, choosing instead to live out the rest of her days as a human for all intent and purposes.

Afterwards, she briefly returns to her hometown of Chance Harbor, Washington to get her stuff. Once she's got what she needs, she flees to the Philippines and doesn't look back, but she can't outrun her grief forever. No matter how hard she tries.

Raul Dalisay (Piolo Pascual) makes it better, though. He's given her a soft place to land. A moment to breathe, and be, and work through her grief at her own pace. Just by virtue of being himself. Just by virtue of seeing her for her. An avid lover of food and good conversations, he's a whiz in the kitchen and the one to introduce Selena to Filipino cuisine. Raul believes that food brings people together and that offering food to people is an act of love in and of itself.

They become friends and then they become lovers and Raul gently insists that there is something magical about Selena, which she laughs off while she blushes up a storm every time. Eventually, they get married and move to Maple Hollows, South Carolina, where Floribeth was born and raised.

Raul and Selena always talked about going back to the Philippines one day as a family of three, not knowing that they'd die at the hands of Triad Industries and Veronica Greasley before they could make that dream a reality.

npc time // @unbearablyindifferent

[enlilwind]

Apă proaspătă pentru flori de Valerie Perrin este un roman plin de duioșie, tristețe, hazard, sentimente ascunse, dar și speranță și voința de a trăi. Viața lui Violette nu este deloc simplă, iar tăcerile ei ascund mai multe lucruri, pe care cititorul le descoperă pe parcurs.

[aemondtargaryenonlyfans]

THE CURSE OF CURIOSITY.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader

"While your brother searches the library of the Dragonkeeper Elder for something new to read, you come in contact with some unlabeled fluid. You both learn that it's something meant to aid in the breeding of dragons, however, it also has a unique effect on humans. But lucky for you, your twin is there to help you through the ordeal."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, dub con, sex pollen (rather fluid lol), p in v, breeding kink

WORDS: 4 K

NOTES: Hope you enjoy me having literally zero grasp on English. 🤭

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

“It’s far too late for us to be here,” you huff, almost annoyed, as you watch Aemond graze his fingers along the spines of the several books kept in the currently deserted chambers of the Dragonkeeper Elder. “What are we looking for here anyways?”

The room is barely lit by anything else than just a handful of candles. Your twin holds a lantern of some sort in one hand, using it to make out the writings that are carved on the books backs. 

When there doesn’t immediately come an answer from him, you start to slowly walk around the room, inspecting its decor. “I have exhausted the castle’s libraries, and hope to take something of their collection for my own,” he murmurs, carefully selecting two books. 

You stop in your tracks and turn to look at him. Although you’re just a few moments younger than him, sharing the same attributes with your long, silver hair and lilac eyes, you have a much gentler nature than he does, one that doesn’t lend itself to the same mischief you had pursued together as children anymore. 

“And you couldn’t have just taken Floris with you? You ought to wed, and doing something together would do no harm to your future union. One sparsely sees you two around court,” you note, slightly annoyed your brother chose to wake you instead of his betrothed. 

Knowing all too well that just the mention of the betrothal is going to set him off, you choose to play with fire. If your brother wants your company, he’ll have to put up with your teasing. And just like expected, the notion of being forced into a marriage he doesn’t want to be in irritates him, audible in the sigh he releases. His resentment of the situation has become worse over time as he feels more and more suffocated by the ordeal.

“The girl is as dull as stones. Besides,” he replies with a shrug, “she knows nothing about our family’s history, much less about dragons.” The topic of dragons is something your twin is very passionate about, and you know that the fact that his wife-to-be cares so little about his passion infuriates him. It might be one of the main reasons for his dislike of her. “I have no desire to have Floris at my side any more than she does me.”

His annoyance is palpable, but you don’t feel bad about making it worse. For all the hours he has spent teasing, taunting and annoying you while you grew up together, he gets it back twice and three times over. And although he hasn’t spoken it out loud, you know you’re one of the few people he trusts blindly to be himself around. 

“That aside, it would be foolish to read with Floris,” he continues, your silence coaxing him to speak more, “as all she does is gossip with her friends and prattle on about pointless nonsense. You of all people know best how I feel about this match.”

“Floris isn’t so bad, you know,” you defend with a low voice. “And you’ve barely tried to get to know her. Surely you can find at least one thing to like about her. If you did, you might just see she’s not as terrible as you’ve decided.” If you both have to spend your days withering away in marriages sealed by your father and mother, you at least could find a little solace knowing your twin wasn’t as miserable in his. 

Aemond sighs in frustration. “You sound just like mother,” he comments dryly, finally moving to look at you from over his shoulder. “Can you really say that you like her? She is dull and naive. I am certain I couldn’t find anything to like about her even if I had all night. There is nothing for me to like about her. Nothing at all.”

Finding yourself at somewhat of a loss of words at this, you open and close your mouth without any words leaving it. Part of you wants to disagree with your twin, as Floris hasn’t been entirely unpleasant to spend time with at court, which makes Aemond’s dislike for her appear entirely without reason to you. On the other hand, you’ve known your brother long and well enough to know when he is resolute about something. 

“Just promise me that you won’t be a terrible husband to her. Even if you don’t like her, don’t make your lifes awful,” you finally blurt out. 

As you allow your gaze to trail through the chambers once more, you spot some small vessels standing lined up on the desk in the far corner with books and scrolls littered around them. You don’t wait for Aemond to reply as you make your way over, determined to inspect the small containers. The liquid inside of them resembles milk of the poppy, although it’s slightly more permeable to light when you hold it to one of the candles. 

You hardly think about the dangers coming with it when you open the lid to inhale a whiff of the fluid. Not smelling entirely unpleasant, it still has you scrunching your nose as a slight burning grows prominent in your nose and throat. 

Placing the vessel back down rather quickly, it stands too close to the edge of the desk. You’re not quick enough as it falls to the ground with a clatter, the vessel shattering into pieces and the pale liquid spreading across the floor. 

“By the Seven,” you mumble, sinking to the ground to collect some of the larger shards. 

The sound of breaking glass and your sighing is enough to catch your brother's attention again. Where he has read the spines of the books before, he makes his way over to the source of the commodation now. “You shouldn’t have dropped that,” he comments dryly, which prompts you to shoot him a heated glare. “Oh, you don’t say, mh?” you reply, your voice laced with sarcasm. 

Reaching for another shard, you pull your hand back with a hiss when it cuts your finger. “Ouch!” you exclaim and rise to your feet, soon enough spotting the crimson oozing out of the cut. 

Despite his annoyance at your clumsiness, Aemond’s good eye is drawn to the cut you have given yourself. It’s no deep wound, but even the hint of your blood makes something akin to guilt bubble in his stomach. “What were you doing with that?” he inquires, as he takes your hand to inspect your finger, nodding towards the vessels still standing on the desk. 

You watch him twist and turn your hand to have the perfect look of the wound, the stinging pain suddenly not too bad with his warm skin on yours. “I… I just wanted to see what they keep here. It is unusual for anyone other than the maesters to store unmarked liquids,” you reply, hissing as Aemond pinches the cut finger a tad too tightly. “I shall see Maester Mellos. Mayhaps this needs stitching.”

“That’s an excellent idea.”

Aemond fetches the books he has chosen from the collection, holding them under his arm as he brings the other to you to place a hand to the small of your back, guiding you out of the Dragonpit. 

On your request, the cut on your finger is stitched by Maester Mellos, although he has voiced that it wasn’t quite necessary. But something tells you the opposite, especially when you catch him staring at your face and checking your temperature more than once. “Is everything alright, maester?” you ask him with a soft voice, a yawn following. 

Aemond towers over the both of you, carefully watching each move of the needle in the elder’s hands, just waiting for him to make a wrong move that’s meant to hurt you – he’s familiar with being stitched up after all. 

The maester seems to be out of his mind, and only reacts as he hears you say his name. “Maester Mellos?” 

His eyes are wide, but he nods quickly. “Yes… yes, princess. The wound should be able to heal calmly now.” 

He is quick to pack his utensils up again, and even faster to leave your chambers at once. And while Aemond hurries after the old man, trying to catch up on him outside of your chambers, you don’t wait for any of them to return again with sleep coming over you.

The crackling of the fireplace is the only thing audible when you stir awake, a sheen of sweat covering your skin, making your nightgown cling to it uncomfortably. Your body feels as though it’s on fire when you squirm from one side to the other, not finding back to sleep. A tingling spreads in your loins, and each time your thighs squeeze together, it surges up your spine. 

“Gods be good,” you whine, utterly bewildered with the feeling of liquid fire coursing through your veins. 

Aemond not so silently rises from one of the chairs close to the fireplace, and comes closer to the bed, though, careful not to startle or frighten you as you regain your bearings. He has hoped you’d sleep through the entire ordeal and wake up as if nothing has happened, but that hope slowly dissipates with each passing moment. 

“How are you feeling?” your twin asks, concern in his voice. Suddenly, hearing his voice allures you, and doesn’t diminish the burning at the apex of your legs. 

As you clench your thighs together again, it releases some of the tension your body holds, and makes you whine in despair. “Aemond…” you pant, your chest rising and falling with your heavy breaths. “What are you doing here?”

The thin sheets covering your body do little to conceal what is happening beneath, and your brother just assumes it’s your way of trying to suppress your bodily urges ignited by the pale liquid you came in contact with before. 

“I…” his usual confidence and boldness completely deserts him at the state you’re in, and he can barely find the words to tell you what he’s been told by Maester Mellos. 

As he watches you writhe and writhe about on the bed, he’s unsure of how much longer he can just stand there and do nothing. But his concern and love for you cause him to make the decision to act, approaching you and reaching out to grasp your hands. 

At the contact, the feeling of his warm hands fully engulfing yours, it’s like something overcomes your mind and body, luring you in to move, staring up at him with wide eyes as you sit on your haunches. “Dohaeragon nyke… kostilus,” you whimper, strands of your silver hair clinging to the damp sides of your face. “Ziry ōdrikagon.. sīr bāne. Nyke sepār – dohaeragon nyke, lēkia.” Yet you don’t quite know what exactly you’re begging for. Help me… please. It hurts… so hot. I just – help me, brother. 

In the dim light of the candles, you spot his eye widening as you shift and squirm, looking up at him in such a vulnerable state with your innocent eyes, pleading for him to help you through your ordeal although you have no idea of what’s wrong with you right now. He can’t help but notice how your hair clings to your skin, seeming as if you’ve just bathed, and that your movements seem to contribute to its dampness. 

“Mellos has told me what the fluid is that the Elder keeps in his chambers,” he states, trying to stay calm and not let your state affect him too much. 

But with his proximity, all effort of you to process what he’s saying is fruitless. You pull on his hands, as if you want to encourage him to join you in bed, and when he doesn’t budge, you rise on your knees, and start to fidget with the buttons of his coat – solely driven by your urges. “And that is?” you mumble, not really listening.  

His cheeks run hot when you start to undo the buttons, and his hands capture yours once again to put a stop to it, making you pout. With furrowed brows, his grip finally has you looking up at him. “It’s something used to aid in breeding the dragons,” Aemond states. “He told me it’s also used to increase their stamina and to make them more…” he trails off, his body slowly growing tense as the implication of what he’s going to say settles into his mind. “... receptive to breeding.”

“Mh–Mh,” you hum almost nonchalantly, and watch completely mesmerized as your fingers graze along his, the warmth and softness of his skin only intensifying the tingling in your loins. Aemond is hesitant, unsure whether or not what you’re doing is entirely due to the potion’s effect, or if there is genuinely some desire for him on your part. 

You lick your lips and free your hands from Aemond’s to shrug the opened coat off his shoulders. The fabric of his tunic is pinched between your fingers as you tug on it once again to beg for him to join you. With him taking his sweet time, you find yourself clenching your thighs every now and then to soothe the aching burning at the apex of them.

“He also informed me that ‘tis necessary for someone to… help you through it,” he murmurs quietly, his voice almost sounding shaky as he speaks, “... for it will burn you from the inside out if not.”

Even though you’re fully acting on your body's desires, you do notice the way his widened eye trails down to your thighs, lingering there for a moment before it returns to yours. 

You don’t give a verbal response to his words, and instead, your only reactions are subtle ones. Nodding your head slowly, as if you’ve understood what he is implying, your hands squeeze his tunic further into his chest. He can practically see your body tensing with each movement of your fingers, almost as if you’re trying to hold back. 

With your eyes firmly locked with his now, you slowly trail your hands beneath his tunic, pushing it up to remove that as well from his body to get further access to him – if it wasn’t for him not raising his arms. 

Exhaling a deep breath, you sit back on your haunches. His reluctance does little to quell the fire raging within you, no, it only fuels to make you even more desperate. The lacey hem of your nightgown rides up your thighs as you spread them, and fully exposes your undergarments the moment you bring your hand between your legs. A breathy whimper falls past your lips as your fingers finally make contact with your clothed cunt, and then something akin to mischief flickers in your lilac eyes. 

“And… will you help me, brother? Or shall I ask Jacaerys for help instead? We ought to wed in a moon's turn after all,” your voice is honeyed as you speak, dripping with feigned innocence. “But you don’t want that, do you? That’s why you’ve stayed.”

You spot the exact moment his breath hitches in his throat. He suddenly feels a wave of heat overcoming him, your words triggering something in him that is more than just the usual desire to protect his younger sister, something primal. You sound and look so vulnerable asking for his help, secretly begging for him and him only. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, the intensity of your grip increasing as your senses become more heightened, your twin finally moves as you pull him onto the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as you watch him come closer, and when he is close enough, you reach and pull him down onto you in a quick motion. You don’t waste a second more and lock your lips with his, your hand slowly traveling down his back. But before you can grab his tunic and pull it over his head, Aemond pushes you back to lie flatly on the bed, pinning your wrists above your head. His eye burns with hunger as he gazes down at you, visible even in the dim light, and it makes you yearn for more. 

“Well, if I chose to leave you here to your own devices, would you crawl to your betrothed for help? I do not think so,” he says, his voice taking over a mocking tone. “No, in fact, I’m certain you would come to my chambers instead.”

When he doesn’t touch you, you try to wrap your legs around his body to grind yourself against him, but Aemond is quick to catch your hip with one hand, keeping your body still as it's pinned to the mattress.

“Sir, dohaeragon nyke,” you beg, voice shaky enough it comes close to a whimper. But when you notice that speaking in the tongue of your ancestors is not having any effect on him at all, you choose to coax him to tend to you in the Common Tongue. “Touch me, Aemond. Help me… please.” Now, help me.

Aemond is silent for a moment, visibly dragging his eye over your squirming frame. One hand still holds your wrists above your head, while the other slowly but surely releases your hip. “I shall take care of you,” he reassures you. “But you will have to let me, do you understand?”

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and slowly nod your head, only for you to pounce on him the moment your wrists are released. The tunic is gone as soon as your body collides with his, causing a strained gasp to leave your twin’s lips. While just the thoughts of his warm skin on yours have incite your mind already, seeing his bare chest sets your body alight. 

His demeanor changes in the blink of an eye, and he has never treated you as roughly as he does when he pushes you off of him. It leaves you dumbfounded for a moment, more so when he moves between your parted legs, towering over you. 

“Look how dull this fluid has made you,” he mocks, the condescending tone of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. Aemond notices that you’re not shying away from him, no, you keen at that. “Just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“If I help you,” he warns, “no one else, let alone that bastard of a nephew, is ever allowed to touch you again, do you understand?”

It might be the liquid-induced state, or the despair to have him do anything to you already, but you’re far too eager to nod at his words. 

Aemond’s hand wanders below the hem of your nightgown to heartily fist your undergarments and peel them off of you. He can already feel that the linen is soaked with your arousal, but still can’t stop himself from licking his lips as he sees your now exposed cunt glistening in the light of the candles. 

“Now, we do not want you to suffer any longer, hm?” he asks. 

And you nod once again. “Gods, yes, please. I need you, Aemond.”

You don’t have to beg him any longer. He undoes the laces in the front of his breeches and pulls out his throbbing cock, painfully hard and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s slightly curved and thick, and if you have to guess, you’d say that you need both hands to pleasure him, and even then there’d still be a bit of him that would be left abandoned. 

Aemond wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance, pushing into you as you both moan in unison. You don’t expect him to set up a merciless pace almost immediately upon fully bottoming out, but you’re not disappointed either. 

While you’ve been able to talk before, he’s quickly reduced you to a whimpering and whining mess, relishing in the delicious burning of accommodating his sheer size. 

“Does it help?” your twin asks through gritted teeth, desperately trying to keep his sounds of pleasure at bay. But you’ve been fucked into a stupor by him already, not even able to keep your eyes open. “Mh-mh,” you hum. 

Putting some of his weight onto you, Aemond’s hand finds your throat like the most treasured necklace you only take off to sleep, taking up the entirety of your neck and leaving no room for you to shift even the slightest. 

It was subtle at first, but the merciless pace slowly changes into something more determined, his hips rolling with each thrust as if he wants to make sure the tip of his cock really brushes your sweet spot every time. He’s seemingly spurred on by the way you’ve lost all inhibitions, not that the fluid allowed you to have any in the first place, and the wanton moans that spill past your lips. 

One of your hands grabs his wrist, keeping his hand around your throat, while the other finds solace on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your nails dig into his alabaster skin, and you’re sure that crescent shaped marks will bloom there not long after, staking your claim on him. 

“But you need more,” Aemond grunts, and you can’t do more than whimper a pathetic string of yesses. “The only thing that will truly help you is for me to fill you up with my seed, to breed you.”

Your head tips back in plain bliss, and you’re not sparing one thought to the possible repercussions of him putting a child in you. If anything, there is something buried deeply inside of you that has waited for this moment. You have waited for this moment. You grew up thinking you’d marry your twin one day, only for the rising tensions inside of the family to force you to marry your nephew instead as the final straw to mend the chasm. 

Aemond’s stamina doesn’t seem to be able to handle the way your body reacts to him and his words – not when a renewed wave of your arousal drips from your cunt at the mere thought of you carrying his child. It’s running thin, ready to burst at any given moment, hence he brings a deft finger to your pearl, rubbing it with frantic movements that should bring you to peak just in time with him. 

The pressure brought to your pearl has your body squirming, not anticipating it and the shiver of pleasure that comes with it. You arch your back and moan, yet a tight squeeze of your throat is enough to bring your attention back to him.

“Do you want that?” he pants, dark blown eyes fixed with yours. “Want me to put a babe in you?” It might be his way to ask for your reassurance, and while your body’s reaction should be enough with your walls clenching around him so tightly, he stills wants to hear your voice. 

Your cheeks grow hot as his words finally seem to settle in your hazed mind, a whiny ‘yes’ slipping past your lips. “Fill me up, Aemond… please. I want it,” you all but beg, your voice croaked with him squeezing your throat. 

The confession flips a switch inside of you that allows you to let go, your body shattering beneath Aemond with a pathetic whine. He relishes in the way your walls flutter and spasm all over him, utterly mesmerized as relief etches itself into your features. 

With a groan, the first wanton sound of pleasure you’ve heard of him, Aemond spends himself inside of you. He connects your lips in a heated kiss that has you swallowing down each grunt and groan he unleashes. Working you both through the blissful highs, his hips only stop once he’s sure he’s fucked his seed as deep as possible, determined to put a child in you. 

Aemond topples over into the vacant space next to you, his breeches soaked with your arousal and his chest heaving with his breaths. 

The sudden loss of friction makes you whine at first, but is quickly overshadowed by the feeling of relief. “Thank you,” you whisper through heavy breaths, turning your head to look at him. 

“I won’t leave now,” he says softly, although there is a linger of mischief in his voice. “I would be remiss not to aid my sister in her hour of utmost desperation… so, I shall stay the night just to make sure you really get through it.”

Aemond Taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu @legitalicat

[almondmilktargaryen]

Duty & Sacrifice (Part One)

Summary: Aemond is married with two kids to Floris Baratheon, as it was his duty. But it's when he ventures into Flea Bottom in the night that he faces his sacrifices.

Couple: Aemond Targaryen/Fem!Reader

Category: Flangst

Content warnings: Cheating, mention of dead children

Word count: 2k

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three ✍️ | Part four ✍️

The memory of Aemond’s mother holding a blade inches from Rhaenyra’s eye pops into his head whenever he plans to head into the city.  His mother’s thirst for justice and balance, for the sake of him, is an image he has never shaken.

“Where is duty!” He remembers.  “Where is sacrifice!”

And years later, with the Greens victorious and the Blacks slaughtered, sacrifice reveals its head here.  As Aegon takes rule on the Iron Throne as the one true king (according to future history books, not the people), and Helaena’s ashes rest in the sept with Jaehaerys, Aemond takes on his own sacrifice.

Well aware of his brother’s ineptitude (and reliance on the milk of the poppy), their grandsire assigns Aemond responsibility for helping train the Royal Army with Ser Criston,  as well as command the City Watch.  As much as Otto claims not to care for it, Aemond and Daemon were shockingly similar.  So there was no better person.  Aemond agrees with his grandsire but knows he only won the dragonback fight against his uncle because he was more disciplined.  He flew away on Vhagar unscathed in comparison because of his discipline.

Because Aemond understands duty and sacrifice.

And like his mother, he understands his role in the family and takes it seriously.

He wears his typical black leather attire whilst eyeing the hood in his wardrobe.  He’s even just about to grab it before his chamber doors groan loudly, the force of his two boys clamoring through to see him.  Baelon attacks his legs while little Daeron stumbles behind, forcing Aemond to submit and fall to his bed.  Aemond’s laughter mixed with the squeals of joy.  Before Baelon can sit on his chest again, he quickly sits up.  “Is it almost that time?” He asks them.

“Yes,” Baelon says. Aemond rises further and the boy rests against his father’s arm.  Aemond is sure that if he blinks, he’ll find his oldest suddenly tall enough to rest his head on his shoulder.  “Mother says I still have to go to bed when Daeron does.”

Aemond shrugs with an amused sigh.  He had learned through his oldest how much time children have to argue and dwell on their smallest of issues.  “Your mother’s rules are your mother’s rules.” He simply says.

“But I’m much older than Daeron.” He has used this argument multiple times on his father, yet Aemond remained delighted as his lips curled.  Aemond places a hand on his boy’s head and brushes over his matching Targaryen locks.  He’s letting them grow past his ears now.  Aemond has also learned his eight-year-old bends his will effortlessly, something powerful men with the most fearsome reputations and twice as many battle scars could not even dream of.  Meanwhile, his son achieves it with his mother’s eyes and little effort.

“I will speak to your mother about it tomorrow.” He grabs Baelon by the waist and lifts him to let his feet land on the stony floor.  “But for tonight, you must return to your chambers at the same time as your brother.”

“But Papa,” he drags out the last syllable.

“I will not hear it. Your mother--”

The doors echo again, and Princess Floris Baratheon steps in like she was summoned.  Her belly has already started swelling with their third child.  Despite what handmaidens and wet nurses have prepared her for, Floris has yet to discover any dreadfulness during her pregnancies.  Bards have written songs about her and each birth so far, claiming the Baratheon strength eases the process,  and the camaraderie between her and her sisters ensures strong sibling bonds for House Targaryen.  Aemond cannot disagree with the first, holding her hand throughout each labor.  Baelon took seven hours, and Daeron took four.  Not a scream, but Aemond was sure he’d witness her clenched teeth reduce to dust before the babies took their first breaths.  He brushed the hairs sticking to her brow and kissed her head and cheeks when she could finally sleep.  She deserved those songs, every lyric.

He has reason to doubt potential bonds, though, considering his relationship with Aegon.  His hope remains strong for his girls.

“Say goodnight to Papa, boys,” Floris says.

“But Papa thinks I should stay up late--”

“I said nothing of the sort.” He responds matter-of-factly.  “Listen to your mother or lose your negotiation opportunities.”

Baelon groans while Daeron giggles, following him out into the hall.

“Stay with Ser Criston, boys,” Floris tells them.  Her hands rest naturally on the bump as if her wrists missed it.  “I will be out in a second.”

When they disappear, Aemond keeps his expression light.  She still beams, and it helps.  “Best to head to them before the handmaidens snatch them up.”

“Yes.” She replies. “Though I’ve told them time and again to leave bedtime for me.”

Aemond puts a hand on her forearm and the other on her belly.  “You go on. I have a meeting concerning the City Watch.  I won’t be back until later.”

Floris maintains a radiant expression while nodding, despite the noticeable swallow in her throat.  When the door closes and he hears scampering pairs of feet grow farther in distance, he briefly questions going out, aware of his wife’s subtle yet looming suspicions.  But by the time he finally reaches out for his hood, he has already pushed the thought back.

Aemond follows the hills and dips of the cobblestone roads whilst keeping his head down and royal roots securely hidden.  He turns some corners sharply and holds his breath before advancing toward others.  He knows his path through Flea Bottom well, but the odors of sweat, rotting meat, as well as discarded piss and shit (in buckets and sometimes small piles) are all elements he has yet to get used to.  It would be a more straightforward path if he took the Street of Silk, but they both agreed they would never return there again if they had the choice.

The roads were dimly lit, and though dangerous men lurk more prominently at this late hour,  one stare down from Aemond and a good view of his eyepatch gets the message across that he is not one to be trifled with.  Not to mention his skills with a sword.  He claims not to care for his appearance, but hot-tempered or drunk men hesitate to come close when they see him.  It saves him time.

Aemond looks around for lingering faces in nearby windows before repeating the special rap at the door: three times, then two, then one.  He opens it, unlocked to his dismay, but his arrival was expected.  He enters anyway and moves the heavy metal bolt to secure it after an audible shut.

The small home is dimly lit, with barely room for a stewpot, let alone one bassinet.  Aemond can see a single flame burn near the bedside.  He follows it with the sound of his own name, as it’s spoken so sweetly from around the corner.

Radiance fills Aemond's sight: a mess of copper curls and a nightgown, and two swaddled babes in her arms.  An exhale leaves his lungs and nose as he comprehends the familiar sight.  “Welcome back.” She says softly, not to disturb the girls, or likely from her own lack of sleep.

“You know I hate it when you leave the door unlocked,” Aemond tells her.

“It’s too early in the night to worry about that.  They are all at the taverns and whorehouses.”

One of the girls starts fussing.

“You cannot be too naïve. If I’m not here to protect you like what happened at--”

“Oh, hush and get over here. Hold your children.” She tries to sit up properly.

Aemond presses his lips together and takes a seat on the small cot, bumpy and unpleasant, nothing he’s been unfamiliar with in the past eighteen months.  The comfort settles in him like a kindling fire when he gets to gaze upon his two girls.  United since birth, it is hard for their mother to nestle one while Aemond cradles the other.  But with every visit, they learn and adapt.  Now is no different, as Aemond reaches for the one closest to him: Alisha.  He’s studied the difference between them, staring at them still in the hours of the night, observing from the floor while their mother rested.  Small strands of white peek through the auburn, already beginning to curl.  Alyssa's hair is a blazing hue of ginger.

Aemond gives Alisha time to adjust in his arms.  She fusses but eventually settles.  Her eyes open gently, a dull brown.  Nothing special. Nothing Targaryen.  Alyssa is safe too. And her mother keeps her close with two arms now rather than one.  “Are you staying the night?” She asks Aemond.

“I certainly can.” He scoots closer, meeting her hip.  He brushes some strands behind her ear before cupping her face, bringing her in for a kiss.  It was gentle, and the longing was the same as their first night together where nothing more happened other than this; sitting and kissing.  They did not feel the need for anything else right away, understanding what the other had been through amidst long talks in the dead of night.  When things escalated, she showed him patience and love, despite his fears and questions.

Now he’s more confident with movements, as his hand traveled to the back of her neck to keep her close.  The brown eyes she blessed their daughters with stared back at him.  Her breath smelled like bowls of brown, and he did not mind.  “You know what I think you deserve?”

“Hmm.” She looks up toward the ceiling as she ponders.  Brown seeps from the corners, and Aemond has hesitated to ask.  She puts a hand to his face, just below the scar.  “I’m sure you’re eager to show me.”

“A house.”

“Oh.” She pulls back as her brows quirk.  “But I have a house, Aemond.”

“Not one you deserve, though.  This was just temporary, to get you off the Street of Silk.  You deserve comfort. A home where the girls can run around outside and fall asleep at night in proper beds.  Where danger doesn’t loom just outside that door.  No one would ever hurt them.” He kisses her again, and he feels her hesitate.

“How do you know no one will hurt them?  Will you be there?”

“Not all the time. But more than I would be now.  That I can promise.”

“Aemond--”

“I can assign guards to protect you when I’m not there.  Servants that understand discretion.  The girls will be happy and safe, well-provided for.” Prisoners in the black cells live more comfortably than she does,  with space to move and leftovers from royal dinners served to them (that was Helaena’s biggest request as queen, and Aemond pushed it on Aegon as an attempt to honor his late wife).  When he visits, Aemond sees how little she moves.  She hurts from sharing such a horrible cot with twin babes, and Aemond cannot do anything about it here.  “Please, my love. You’ve done so much for me.  Taught me so much. Let me do this for you.”

“You know what will happen if they find out.”

“Nothing will happen.”

“The last war was about bastards taking the throne.  People have been finding your brother’s bastards on the street.  They butcher any boy or girl with silver hair like livestock, left to rot in dark corners alone.  I know you’ve seen them.”

“And I would do everything in my power to make sure no one touches you.  I have a lot of power. And will.  I’ve protected you from horrid men before.  You cannot doubt I won’t do it again.”

Water lines her eyes. It glistens painfully in the candlelight as her palm falls from his face, his shoulder, and then his chest.  She keeps her voice steady. “You can’t have lost one eye, be so intelligent yet so blind,” she says.  “People see. People talk. Even in the fields where nothing happens.  It only gives them an excuse to be more vigilant.  To see a whore just show up from the capital with guards, servants, and two girls.  One with some silver in her hair and another with a purple eye.  What else would they think?”

Aemond pulls back. “Purple?”

She gives Alyssa her full attention once more, coaxing her to open her eyes.

“No, last time I was here, they were both brown.  Like Alisha’s. Yours.”

“This happens with babies sometimes, Aemond.  This is only month three.” She tries to keep herself together.  “The gods are in their right to punish us.  For what we’ve done here. In here.”

“No,” he simply says. “The gods have tested me before we met.  I’m used to their tests. And I’m used to prevailing, eventually.  I will do it again.”

“You can’t--”

“I will.” A surge runs through him, nothing dissimilar to when he went to war.  The simplistic instinct that comes with the will to survive.  When he was at war, there was one he relied upon from beginning to end, and even years before that.  Aemond is gentle as the surge flows through his veins.  “I can’t stay tonight.” He tells her.

“Where are you going?” She doesn’t try to hide the stress.

He gives her time to take Alisha back.  Alisha protests, but only momentarily.  With a flat palm on each, he brushes over the heads of the twins.  His gaze meets hers and he notices tears streaming halfway down her face.  He brushes them away, planting a kiss on her lips again, holding her by the neck once more.  He doesn’t speak a word until she looks him in the eye.  “I love you.” He’d say it with more of a tender demeanor if time was not of the essence now.  “With all my heart, I love you.  You made the grave mistake of letting a royal war hero fall in love with you, my dear.  The determination to keep you safe comes with that territory.”

Her head drops as tears finally do the same, dripping off the edge of her chin.  Aemond kisses her nose.

“I want to make you a home and keep you safe.  That’s not possible here. But it is possible.  For you. For them. It is possible.  I just need you to trust me.”

“I’m scared.” The whisper shakes from her, like dead leaves against the winter wind.  “Don’t leave me yet.” She holds the babies.  She can’t reach out to touch him, yet her arms try.

“I’m not leaving.” He kisses her lips again as if each one was a grant of safety from the gods.  He gave each one to her willingly, frivolously, like he was a god himself who had the power to control such things.  Because he did. He was a Targaryen.  It was close enough. “I will be back, I promise you.”

She still cries as he stands.  The babies too. And he cannot show how it breaks his heart, not now.  If he gives in and does what he truly wants, it will only be a problem when he wakes up here the next morning.  His eye stung with its own unshed tears, but he turned away regardless.  He took a long, steadying breath before heading toward the exit.  With a grip on the bolt, he commanded, “Lock this door.” He tried keeping his voice firm.  “And do not open it unless you know it’s me or a man named Ser Criston Cole, you hear me?”

She nods, and he can feel a tear slide down his cheek, mirroring her own.  He took in the image of the three before slipping out.  The door closed and hearing the heavy bolt provided some relief.

Then he stood there, longer than what was safe, yes.  The cold of Flea Bottom wrapped around him almost instantly, a biting chill of the desolate streets while the soft glow of candlelight shut out from him on the other side,  as it was not his to bask in for too long.

But even in the nearly black darkness of the narrow streets, he could spot one of them; a tiny figure huddled in the corner of a nearby alley, a broken skull with hair shorter than Baelon’s.  Royal blood left to soak into the cobblestone under his feet.  Bones exposed and rotted in the dark, forever cold, soon forgotten.

Aemond made haste to vanish into the shroud of night, swallowed by the fog.  Criston would be in his quarters at this hour, surely.  It was a straightforward path back if he took the Street of Silk.  And he didn’t have a choice.