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superprincesspea · 2 days

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Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 15 - Forfeit

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

When your mother and sisters break away to join the queen in the wheelhouse, you’re taken to the stable where the horse waiting for you is a chestnut mare with a little white patch between her eyes.

“Flare,” the groom calls her, and she does not look pleased to see you.

In fact, she snorts when you offer her your hand, her foot stamping on the hay, and you think the only thing worse than a long ride to the Kingswood, was to do it on a horse that already hated you.

Still, it wasn’t really the riding you minded so much as the company, Aemond’s company to be precise, though you had not yet seen him.

“Your saddle, my lady,” the groom says, interrupting your thoughts before presenting you with a fine brown side-saddle, its leather work embossed with dragons and ivy.

“I shall be riding astride this morning,” you tell him, deciding there was no way you would ride an untested horse without the complete control of both your legs.

“But this saddle is a gift from the Queen!” The groom retorts, looking completely aghast at your suggestion, his brow knitted and his words curt despite your rank.

A gift? Surely not.

Yet , the brass work is all shiny and new, the leather without cracks or marks to sully the pattern. But the most startling detail, which you’re not quite sure how you’d missed before, is the pommel, where the first letter of your name entwines with a dragon.

For a gift, it’s certainly an extravagant one and hardly fitting for the third daughter of Borros Baratheon.

You’ve never even had your own saddle before and refusal feels so awfully rude you hardly dare to say it, yet, if Alicent wanted you to travel to the Kingswood with the men, then you should be free to ride like one too.

“That may be so,” you say, chin up, defiant , “but I shall be riding astride or not at all.”

And to be perfectly honest, you didn’t want to be riding around on a lavish gift detailed for a Targaryen either.

What would people think?

What was Alicent thinking?

“You heard the Lady,” Aemond’s voice causes you to start as he appears by your side, his presence enough to force the groom to submit to your wishes without another word.

But you don’t thank him, you’re too busy trying not to think about how he’d asked you to marry him the last time you’d spoke. Yet you can think of little else.

“This is the horse they have given you?” he says, his foot easing onto the bottom rung of the fence, his tone enough to confirm your fears.

“Is there something wrong with her?” you ask, a sinking feeling pulling at your stomach.

“Not if you enjoy unruly beasts.”

You meet his eye, and a smile twitches at his lips before he glances over your shoulder.

“Boy ,” he calls to the stable hand hovering in the background, “is there no other horse to saddle for the lady?”

The boy shrugs, his attention darting around nervously before finally admitting, “the queen requested Flare personally , my prince.”

“Hmm ,” Aemond’s jaw tightens, his finger drumming on the fence as the groom returns with a new saddle. This one black with yet more dragons.

“Have my lady saddled on Ōños and I shall ride Flare,” Aemond tells him.

“But -” the groom half protests, neither wanting to disobey his queen or his prince.

“You'd rather my lady was thrown from the horse?” Aemond says, and it's not a question, his tone is sharp, commanding.

Aemond gets what Aemond wants.

“You need not switch horses with me,” you tell him, when the groom scurries away again, thinking you do not wish to have a prince of the realm thrown from a horse on your account.

But he shrugs, unconcerned, “I am the superior rider, so it only makes sense for you to have the easier horse.”

You can’t help but laugh, amused by the utter certainty of the words coming from his mouth and, even if you were quite sure they were true, it was such an arrogant thing to say that you felt compelled to refute it.

“Tell me,” you say, eyes wide, “is there a reason his grace already considers himself superior when he has never even seen me ride?”

“You have seen my dragon, yes ?”

“Briefly , but this is not a dragon, it's a horse.”

His eye slides to Flare then back to you, “I trained on horseback every day of my childhood before acquiring Vhagar then three times a week after that. How often do you ride, my Lady?”

"Six times a week, when I am home,” you answer, with so much confidence you almost believe it. But you would not be bested yet again, and you were certainly no novice since your father, who’d always longed for sons, had insisted on frequent practice.

A fresh smile quivers at Aemond's lips, his brow raised, "is that so? Then perhaps my lady will need to come to my aid when I am struggling to keep up with her?”

You picture Aemond on a wild bucking horse and can’t help but laugh, “I must say, it shall be difficult to aid his grace if I am too busy making fun of him.”

“Oh, I have no doubt in that regard, Lady Baratheon,” he says, seeming to almost enjoy the prospect, before the groom returns with the new horse, all saddled and ready, and certainly not what you expected.

The horse Aemond had ridden at the tourney was a destrier, strong, fierce and entirely black. But this one is smaller, a palfrey perhaps, with a pure white coat and mane, so bright and unblemished, he almost looks as though he cannot be real.

“What did you say his name was?” you ask, words formed with a gasp.

“Ōños.”

“Is that Valyrian?”

“It means ‘Light’,” he answers, his hand pressing to your lower back, guiding you closer, “he was a name day present from my Grandsire when I was a boy.”

“Hello Ōños,” you whisper, stretching your arm to offer him the scent of your hand and he nuzzles into you, allowing you to stroke the spot right between his big dark eyes.

“You’re so beautiful,” you tell him, moving to pet his neck and run your fingers through the wiry bristles of his glossy mane. “And such a good boy...” you add, admiring him more with each pet, “so gentle... so calm...”

“You offer more praise to this horse than you have ever given your prince,” Aemond says and you’re not sure if he’s scolding you or teasing you, as he moves to ensure your saddle is tight around Ōños waist.

“Are there not ladies enough at court who praise his grace?”

“None that matter .”

“Very well ,” you say, clearing your throat as though your heart isn’t fluttering, “I believe my prince has the most wonderful horse.” Then you laugh, petting Ōños again, “or is that just further praise for you, sweet boy?”

Aemond snorts and you look back at him with yet more laughter.

“If my lady offers crumbs, I shall eat them heartily,” he says, extending his hand to help you mount.

“I have no need for assistance,” you decide, thinking you were finding his company unbearable enough without the touch of his hand, as you take the reins and secure your foot in the stirrup.

But Aemond grasps your waist to help you anyway. Easing you up and over, the skirt of your gown rising to the very top of your thigh with the motion, so you feel the coolness of the air as it hits the bare skin above your stocking.

Gods .

You look down, just in time with Aemond, who reaches eagerly for your hem, as though he is a gentleman.

Yet , as he pulls the skirt back down the length of your leg, his progress is marked with the delicate touch of his fingers in a way that cannot possibly be accidental.

Gods. Gods. Gods.

He meets your frozen stare, his eye dark, and you should say something.

Anything !

But your breath is trapped in your chest, and you can only give thought to the almost unbearable rush of tingles which have hurried excitedly to some deep, unreachable place in your core.

Then he smiles, and it's not a wicked smile, its content , satisfied , and you hate it, almost as much as you hate the way he takes hold of Ōños’ bridle, leading you out into the yard as though nothing is amiss.

Yet, what was the alternative? For him to gloat? Or worse, for him to say one of the thoughts which seemed to race behind the look in his eye?

You didn’t want that . What you wanted, was for you to say something. To react. To scold him. To remind him you were a Lady of house Baratheon and not to be treated as such.

With all of this in mind, and the tingles subsided enough for you to breathe, you shift forward in the saddle, so your words can reach him despite your hushed tone.

“Do not imagine you can take such liberties with me again,” you say, and Aemond stops before he turns to look at you, his smile more wicked than you have ever seen it.

“You give me little credit, Lady Baratheon, my imagination is far more creative than that.”

You frown, not quite understanding his meaning, then understanding it all at once and your gasp is quickly followed by a glare.

“If I told my father what you just did, he would have your hand!”

“If you told your father,” he begins, the wicked look on his face turning decidedly smug, “he would give me your hand, and I’m quite willing to test the theory if you are, my lady?”

He's right, of course , and that only adds more fuel to your temper, though in a yard brimming with people, you can only seethe in silence. Looking at anything but the prince as the morning sun beams down so pleasantly you could scream.

Seven Hells!

You’re beyond grateful when the groom arrives with Flare, providing you momentary relief from Aemond’s unwavering attention, as he moves to inspect his own saddle, before mounting her in one smooth motion which she does not take kindly to.

She stomps in protest, and Aemond pulls at her reins, his hand on her neck, his words low and inaudible in the busy yard, as he gets her under control.

“We should leave before everyone else,” he says when she has calmed, reaching for Ōños’ bridle again and pulling him in time with Flare.

“We should wait,” you insist, glancing to where Ser Maurin is talking with some of the other men, none of them yet mounted on horseback.

"And get stuck trudging through the droppings of a dozen horses all morning?”

Your nose crinkles at the idea and, when Aemond smiles, you imagine he’s thinking something along the lines of, ‘that’s what I thought’ , as he continues to lead you towards the open gates.

When you make it as far as the wheelhouse, you peek in through the slatted windows, catching just a glimpse of your sisters talking excitedly with the queen before Aemond releases your bridle and kicks his horse into a trot.

But you don’t follow, you pull on the reins, stopping Ōños since you’re in little doubt that following Aemond will be a mistake.

Yet, you can’t deny the part of you that wants to do it anyway. Because despite what you like to think about yourself, or honour and decorum, there’s a thrill to Aemond’s company that you find irritatingly compelling.

Why was that? You wonder, thinking how safe and easy a ride would be with Tyland Lannister by your side. But he isn’t even invited, you realise now. It’s only your family, Aemond’s family and the guards.

Drawing your hand across the reins, you half-heartedly tell yourself to turn back towards Ser Maurin, where you will be safe from any further improprieties or proposals of marriage, but that’s not what you do.

Perhaps you can blame Ōños, who reacts quickly to even the slightest hint of pressure from your feet. But that would be a lie.

It's your decision to chase Aemond, and Ōños is only too happy to gallop through the yard, as you were sure he’d done countless times before. And it's reckless to ride like this, with so many people in your path, but you seem to have left all common sense in the stable, so why stop now?

You jump a cart filled with apples, overtaking Aemond’s lead, and he was right . You didn’t want to spend the morning trudging behind the wheelhouse. You wanted to fly, and the Kings Road stretches ahead with barely an obstacle in your path.

Ōños, seeming to sense your excitement, picks up speed with little encouragement, dashing through the gates, his hooves pounding the earth so hard you can feel your hair slipping from its pins.

Your horse at Storms End could never run like this , he’s far too old and far too lazy. But Ōños is so powerful he feels unstoppable, yet you must stop, knowing you will quickly leave the procession behind entirely if you keep going.

You tighten your legs, pulling at his reins and he comes to a halt quickly, obediently, turning when you pull the rein again, so you can look back, and see that Aemond’s horse has barely run half the length of yours.

Instead, she’s picking at the brambled hedges which flank part of the path and Aemond is trying desperately to coax her back into his command.

You stifle your laughter, trotting closer.

“Does his grace require my aid so soon?” you tease, more than a little pleased by the look of frustration on his face.

Aemond bites back a grimace, his words laced with exasperation and spoken in High Valyrian as he pulls tightly on the reins. But Flare gives into his insistence at her own pace, taking one last bite of the sun ripened fruits before moving on.

“Perhaps you should ride at the back of the procession after all?” you tease again, noticing the wheelhouse is now ambling its path through the gate.

“Or perhaps I should abandon Flare with a squire, and we can ride pillion as I’m sure my mother intended?”

“Ha ,” you scoff, your eyes narrowing with a dare which should not be coming from your lips, yet you’re feeling so pleased with the situation that it sneaks out anyway, “you’ll have to catch us first.”

Aemond’s eye darkens, his hand snatching to grab your wrist before missing entirely, “is that a promise?”

You don’t answer but you enjoy the adrenaline which pumps in your veins. Yet, why not enjoy it? For once, you’re the one with the upper hand and it feels good, you want to toy with him like he always toys with everyone else.

Unable to contain your smile, you lead Ōños in a circle around Flare, careful to keep just out of reach before you kick him into another gallop which Aemond tries, but fails, to keep up with.

Yet, as always, Aemond is not interested in losing. So, instead of chasing you for miles of road, he turns, heading back to the gold cloaks who are leading the procession before dismounting to switch horses with what looks like Ser Willis.

His new horse is a deep hazelnut brown and much more obedient than Flare, so now the chase is really on, as he seems to fly towards you without any hesitation on the horse's part.

“Come on,” you say excitedly to Ōños, adrenaline still beating in your veins as you kick him into action, charging down the road and leaving Aemond to race through clouds of dust instead of the ones you’re sure he’s more accustomed to.

You keep your lead, all the way to where the road splits into a fork, and you’re forced to slow into a trot, unsure of which route to take.

“Caught you,” Aemond says, grabbing Ōños’ bridle so he can pull you both towards him and you roll your eyes.

“You didn’t catch us,” you tell him, allowing yourself to feel as smug as Aemond usually is, “I stopped.”

“A promise is a promise, Lady Baratheon,” he tries to remind you, your horses turning in a tight circle to keep you together.

“I don’t recall promising you anything .”

His jaw tightens, frustrated, but his eye smiles, “you’ll deny your prince his reward?”

“I’ll deny a cheater ,” you retort, nodding to the horse between his legs, “you were supposed to be riding Flare.”

He releases Ōños’ bridle, a long breath blowing through his nose, “I did not wish to lose.”

“Nor have you won.”

He laughs, his gaze scraping across your lips, “how about a race then? First to the camp shall choose a forfeit for the loser.”

You scoff, feeling a little uneasy at the prospect.

You were already too far ahead of the wheelhouse and feeling quietly certain that there would have been some raised brows at the way you and Aemond had raced ahead of the procession.

Yet, that’s not what you say, or what’s really holding you back, “I do not know the route.”

“It’s only one road from here to camp and Ōños has done it a hundred times.”

You give him a pointed look, “as have you .”

Aemond bites back whatever expression wants to grace his face, “you’re afraid I’ll win? You have the better horse.”

If you refuse him, it would be as good as admitting you thought he was the superior rider after all, and you were not about to do that . “I’m not afraid.”

“Then prove it.”

“Well...” your heart pounds, “what exactly is the forfeit?”

His smile fills his cheeks, his eye looking as blue as the sky behind him.

“When you win, you can tell me,” he says, and you pretend you’re only half considering the bet as you line Ōños up, so it will be a straight shot when you kick him into action.

“See you there! ” you call over your shoulder, racing ahead and unable to contain the burst of laughter which cackles mischievously from your chest.

Now was your chance to best him once and for all and you were not going to squander it, except , Aemond doesn’t follow behind. He jumps the farmers fence, racing his horse through the field and you really should have known better.

In Cyvasse he was always ten steps ahead, so why should this be any different?

Yet, instead of giving up, you only push harder, pressing Ōños to go faster, leaning into every turn as tightly as possible and trying to keep your eyes ahead instead of searching for a dragon. Perhaps that's what he wanted, for you to lose focus, for you to assume his victory. But he wasn’t the only one who enjoyed winning.

You can see the clearing in the distance, see white tents and staff already milling around to ensure everything is prepared for the queen’s arrival. But you can’t see Aemond and that makes you nervous.

You shift your weight forward, almost crouching to gain momentum, just as Aemond’s horse jumps through the trees, landing mere paces ahead of you on the road.

But, while his horse must slow to right itself after such a jump, you and Ōños are only moving faster.

You speed ahead and you can feel him tight on your heels as you make it right into the centre of camp.

“Woah,” you tell Ōños, who seems intent on charging straight through the clearing and beyond, and you're grinning from ear to ear when you circle back to meet the miserable expression on Aemond’s face.

Victory had never felt sweeter, and you intended to gloat.

“You look quite unhappy, your grace,” you say, panting as you try to catch your breath.

Aemond doesn’t reply, and you suspect he is a sore loser of the worst variety, as he kicks his leg over the horse with a frown, before handing the reins to a groom whose probably been standing around since dawn.

“I only wish everyone was here to see how I beat you,” you add, determined to salt the wound but Aemond’s frown is soon smoothed into a reluctant smile.

"Congratulations,” he says, taking your waist and pulling you from the horse so you’re securely in his embrace.

“Though I must admit,” he whispers, still holding you tightly, “I would much prefer my lady to be the one doing the forfeiting.”

You’d forgotten about that part, winning had been pleasure enough alone but a fresh smile brightens your face before you push his arms away.

“Hmm ,” you say teasingly, strolling through the small stretch of camp with Aemond as your shadow, “what's a good forfeit for the most repugnant man in the world?”

He coughs out a laugh, and you already know precisely what his forfeit needs to be, if you are to make it through this picnic with any sense of decorum, but you don’t say it, not yet .

You keep walking, and quickly make your way past the clearing, to where the forest grows beautifully lush and dense, and if you were to choose a picnic spot, it would be this . Not the cover of a tent with servants to bend to your every whim, but here, where the trees tangle with the undergrowth and the only thing you can hear is the unmistakable chorus of the woodland.

“Are you going to tell me or not?” he says, and his impatience makes you want to hold your tongue for as long as possible, but you take small comfort in knowing you’re just about to annoy him.

“Your forfeit,” you say, turning to look at him, “shall be to stay at least 20 paces away from me for the duration of the picnic.”

It might not be very exciting, but it was the only forfeit which made any sense if you didn’t want to spend the entire day wrapped up in his company.

His eye narrows, his head tilting, “and if I don’t?”

You laugh, half amused, half annoyed, "then you shall be obliged to complete an even more humiliating feat!”

Aemond’s jaw ticks, “such as?”

You glance to where the river rolls lazily in the distance and think of all the times he’s mocked you for that day on the beach, “how about a dip in the water, since you like suggesting it so much?”

Aemond snorts, moving closer, “my lady only wishes to punish me when I think she would have found her forfeit very enjoyable indeed.”

Now it's your turn to snort, “if my forfeit was to marry you, then you are mistaken.”

He grins, his eye meeting yours, “I cannot marry you in the Kingswood, but I do find it interesting that you would conjure the idea so readily.”

“I -” you start, your cheeks reddening but he was right. He hadn't said anything about marriage, that was all you .

Seeming to eat up yet another portion of your embarrassment, he unclasps his cloak, letting it fall to a pile on the forest floor.

“What are you doing?” you say, confused , though your gaze holds a keen interest in the way his long fingers begin loosening the buttons on his doublet.

“You said so yourself, if I cannot stay away from you, then I must take a dip in the river.”

The blood drains from your face, your heart stopping just as you meet the determined look in his eye.

“Because I didn’t think you would do it!” you gasp, and the smile that fills his face is made up entirely of mischief.

“Do you not take your bets seriously, Lady Baratheon?”

“Apparently not as seriously as his grace!” you exclaim, reaching to swat his hands away from his chest and dissuade any further progress along the buttons.

But Aemond is resolute and, as each button comes loose, he steps closer, forcing you to back away.

“My lady must believe I would have ensured she took her forfeit very seriously indeed,” he says, his doublet falling open to reveal the stark white linen of his tunic, the strings bound tightly at his neck.

You take another step away from him, your back colliding with the rough bark of a large tree.

“Do you want to know what it was? Your forfeit?” he asks, slowly loosening the long strings with a single pull.

“No.”

A smile quivers at the edges of his lips, and he inches right into your personal space, while the tree holds you still. And you can’t move, only watch, as his tunic unravels enough for you to see there are no bandages across his chest, only the bruise. Faded to a bloom of green instead of purple and so striking against his alabaster skin that you inhale a sharp breath.

Yet, you’re not looking at that . At least not for too long. You're staring at his hands, as they sink downwards to slide the end of his belt through its loops, each click of his buckle making your heart jump.

“This is absurd,” you whisper, your body tensing.

"Really ?” Aemond’s voice is low, seductive . “When I watched you undress, I found it quite mesmerizing.”

Your eyes flick to meet his and he must see the puzzled look on your face.

He had found you in the water, had he not?

“I was on the clifftop, resting Vhagar,” he says, answering the question which had not yet left your lips, “and just before I turned to leave, there you were. Wearing the black and yellow of house Baratheon.”

He pauses, letting the information sink into your bones, and you can hear the tightness in his breath before he laughs softly and continues, “I already thought it unusual for a high-born lady to be alone, so imagine my surprise when you began to take off all your clothes.”

He watched you. From the very first moment. He watched you.

You remember the way your chemise had billowed from your hands, forcing you to chase it down the beach. On the cliffs, he had certainly not been close enough to see every detail, but he had seen you. Your freedom, a moment that had felt so pure, so private .

Your temper burns and you push him with all your might, the action not surmounting to much considering the man you’re trying to repel, and his strength only serves to frustrate you further.

“You really are the worst man that ever lived!” You say and you mean it, but Aemond only smiles, enjoying the suggestion and possessing not an ounce of shame in his actions, past or present.

“I'd say there’s hardly a man alive who could have resisted watching you.”

Perhaps he was right. But he was the man who had been there that day and, though he could have left without saying a single word, he chose to fly closer, to stand where you could see him. To humiliate you.

Still, that is the least of your concerns as his belt comes free and his hand moves to rest beside your head on the tree, the hairs on the back of your neck pricking to attention.

“You’re out of your mind!” you tell him, thinking there was no way you were going to stand around while he took off all his clothes, and when you push him again, he doesn’t budge. He inches closer, his other hand tangling in your hair.

“From the moment I saw you on that beach, yes, ” he concedes, a spark of warmth flickering across your chest, but you ignore it.

“I hope you jump in the river, and it carries you out to sea!”

Aemond bites back his laughter yet he’s so close you can feel the echo of it rippling across his chest, and smell that all too familiar scent of his skin.

“It would be most unfortunate if I were to die without first kissing my lady, do you not agree?”

“I am not your lady.”

“But you have no objection to the kiss?” he shifts slightly, his nose brushing with yours.

“Yes ,” you’re barely breathing, “I have an objection. I- ”

But Aemond doesn’t want to hear what you’re about to say, he wants to kiss you, and you anticipate the touch of his lips with more desperation than you thought yourself capable of.

Yet , as his head tilts, and you feel the heat of his lips searching for yours, you come to your senses and turn away, his kiss landing on your cheek with a low groan.

Still, it is a kiss, Aemond’s kiss, and even if it hadn’t intended to land as such, it was still warm and delicate on your skin, and you couldn’t ignore the way your body reacted. Wanting more, wanting so much more that you were afraid of your own desires.

“I think his grace is forgetting himself,” you scold, your words no louder than the flutter of a butterfly wing, but really, it is you who is forgetting yourself .

“If I am forgetting anything,” he argues, his breath hot on your cheek, “it is why I did not kiss you sooner.”

“I'd say it’s because I do not want you!”

“Need I remind my lady that she has the most terrible face for deception?” His voice is strained, a single finger pushing along your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Need I remind his grace that I still find him the most repugnant man in the entire world?”

Or was that just another lie to crumble under his scrutiny? Surely not. No, you find his behaviour mostly smug and sometimes downright appalling. Yet that didn’t stop the way your skin ached for his touch; it didn't stop it for a heartbeat.

“You can remind me every day when we are married,” he promises with a slow, easy smile and, just as you think he might try to kiss you again, you hear a noise. Both of your heads flicking towards the sound.

It’s the wheelhouse, you realise, innocently ambling its way towards the clearing, while you’re standing hot and breathless, pushed up against a tree with Aemond’s clothes half undone and decorum fully discarded.

This was madness! Complete and utter madness! And you only had yourself to blame.

“I’m never marrying you!” you say, resolute , before his gaze returns to yours and he stares at you for a long moment.

“Then my lady must allow me the honour of proving her wrong,” he vows, stepping back so he has room to refasten the strings on his tunic.

You scoff, trying not to look at anything but his face, “I have quite made up my mind on the matter.”

“As have I.”

“This is not a game Aemond, you will not win.”

He pauses, surprised, delighted , “ what did you say?”

His name, you realise. You said his name. Not his grace or my prince or even Prince Aemond, just Aemond.

Your fingers press across your traitorous lips but it's too late to take it back now. So you don’t try. You don’t even dare to say another word.

You’re free to move and you do so assuredly, hurrying back towards camp with your hands brushing through your hair to hide any evidence from your little misadventure in the woods.

Seven Hells!

If Alicent had contrived to force you into Aemond’s company, then she had succeeded entirely.

You’d made one bad decision after another from the moment you’d laid eyes on him in the stable, and if you were being completely honest, you didn't trust yourself not to make another one.

No, what you needed to do was find Cassandra and stick to her ladylike manners for the rest of the day. Perhaps she would even switch places with you in the wheelhouse? Yet, as you think this, you remember how you’d insisted on riding without a side-saddle. Of course you had, because you were just as Septa Orella had always told you. A defiant, ill-tempered girl.

~~~

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#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell #romance #female reader #enemies to lovers #aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #slow burn

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fernlessbastard · 2 days

Note

Opinions on transfem/Trans woman c!Wilbur? If you havent already, since its a slightly popular Hc w c!W

honestly I'm mostly indifferent ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

it's not for me, but like I've got no particularly strong feelings either way. I can absolutely see a lot of reasons for that reading - it all does fit, so it's not a matter of there being no justification, but more so just personally I just don't hold that headcanon

the thing with either of them being trans is that like, I am for some reason oddly attached to Quackity being specifically and strictly a man who's into men, or at the very least masc individuals - maybe it's cause I just started off with that "hc" (I mean it is kinda pretty heavily canon - I don't recall him ever flirting with a woman). Wil being mtf would obviously make all of that very complicated - each time I start to think about it I can't help but think if 1. is there any way for Q to still be into Wil without that invalidating Wil's gender identity 2. is there any way for Q - a gay man - to have feelings for a woman that doesn't invalidate his sexual identity Like, exceptions happen, but mm idk It's obvioulsy completely different if you hc Q as pan/bi/homoflexible/whatever else, but yeah personally I'm just really attached to the idea of Q being strictly homosexual

When it comes to the nonbinary umbrella it's kinda similar (with both being amab) - with Wil it works i'd say, there isn't as much of a conflict with Quackity's sexuality, but again, I'm mostly indifferent and you do you; with Q it just kinda doesn't quite fit for me - idk he just has relatively binary man vibes imo

in regards to other combinations of one/both of them being trans: > Wil's ftm - yeah sure I'm down with that, good for him, I don't actively hc that but like yeah no conflict there, plus I guess it'd explain how he had Fundy - though fantasy mpreg makes it so much funnier > Q's mtf - idk i just don't feel it in the slightest. He doesn't really give me any of those vibes. Especially considering things like the fact that he's short, has longer hair, is/used to be a sex worker (with presumably male clients), is heavily (and at the very least primarily, if not exclusively) into men, canonically has a big ass, etc, so it just really doesn't sit right with me to then have him be mtf - I just want some more representation of those characteristics in men, y'know? > Q's ftm - ok so, it fits. And I really really hate that it fits. It would make so much sense but holy fuck guys I cannot handle that ok - I'm ftm, and if he's cis then I can like at least partially remove myself from all of that... but if he's ftm then holy fucking shit everything just hits so much harder like guys I'm not strong enough to handle the pain of seeing this much of myself in him ok I will simply collapse, like him being seen as an object and sexualised and put down and belittled and pressured to be all submissive and shit just hits so completely different if you see it through the lenses of him being ftm and let me fucking tell you I am NOT ready for the breakdown thinking about it and how similar and in some cases identical to my own experiences it all is would cause m > ANYWAY with them both being trans it's just a combination of my previous thoughts ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

hope that answers your question UwU anyway ha ha bye--/lh

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chevelleneech · 2 days

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Both Buck/Tommy and Buddie shippers are being so dramatic about everything.

On one hand, you have people acting like Buck and Tommy is written in the stars and anyone who dislikes them are being unjust and hateful. On the other, you have people acting as if Buck can’t possibly be in a relationship with a man who isn’t Eddie, and claiming he can is somehow based in racism and hatred of Eddie.

Neither is true! The problem is that prior to 7x04, Evan Buckley was not a canon queer character. He was viewed that way by fans and Oliver Stark was all for it, but that does not change the actual canon history of the character. Therefore, the writers can only fix what they feel fits the current story. They can retcon a few things and so on, but both sides are acting like they’re right, and it makes no sense.

Yes, Buddie shippers have Oliver and Ryan on their side for the most part. Yes, Oliver believes Buck has been queer all along and he thinks a lot of the headcanons about his character’s reaction to things make sense, but he is NOT saying it’s all true. He agrees Buck was likely experiencing some jealousy when Eddie first showed up, but that does not mean Tim Minear is going to make that theory canon. It’s fans and Oliver who think it, but that does not equal canon.

As well, with things being slightly retconned or adjusted to fit the story… Tommy is obviously no longer an asshole by proximity. He was rude to Hen and Chim, but we’ve seen he him interact with the two of them since in civil ways. We know Chim thinks he’s cool. Continuing to demand he apologize on screen is a waste of time. It was five seasons ago, and the story had to change to fit Tim bringing his character back. It happens.

As for Buck/Tommy shippers, y’all have got to get off the high horse of Possibility. At the moment, there are so many ways their relationship can go, and the only reason you all are so high and mighty about it, is because you’re technically never going to be wrong until you’re wrong. Which is annoying.

Yes, Tim could choose to have Tommy stick around for another season. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could be endgame. Yeah, Buck and Tommy could… any and everything is possible, but acting as if Tommy is the love of Buck’s life and deserves fan devotion is crazy. Don’t get me wrong, I like the character. He seems nice if a little cocky, but I like that. I like that he’s written as a grown man who, even though he’s changed, still has a little bit of asshole in him.

Because yes, what he did to Buck on their first date was rude. He didn’t explain anything and left him standing outside the restaurant as if he hadn’t just told him he’s never dated a man before, and as if they hadn’t just run into his best friend. It was a dick move. However, it’s also kinda realistic. So I dug it, but that’s also all we really know about him.

Tommy is an army vet, flies helicopters, was a firefighter, and is gay. Which he struggled to come to terms with, and can be a dick. The way y’all treating him like a savior is insane. Y’all are trying to rub it in people’s face that his relationship with Buck is canon while Buddie isn’t, and I don’t understand that. Buck wasn’t even bisexual three episodes ago, so where is this higher than thou attitude even coming from?

The only thing people should be focused on is the fact that Buck is now canonically bisexual. Tim liked the idea and Oliver loved it, so they finally made it happen. Now, his story has even more potential. I’d even go so far as to say season 7 is going to be a cleaning and re-establishing of all the characters, because so many of them feel a little different.

We’ve got bi!Buck, meaning we’ll get to see him in one or more relationships that he isn’t used to being in. We’ve got a new actor playing Harry, and he’s older, meaning they’re going to have to write to his strengths and build a storyline there that is more mature. Bobby and Athena almost died together for real for real, thus hopefully we’ll get to see their relationship evolve and what if it changes them in any way. Chim and Maddie are finally getting married, so we get to see them kickstart a new chapter together. Hen and Karen have a new child, which will hopefully bring them more storylines and hijinks as a family. And Eddie is dealing with forcing himself to accept a relationship he may not even want to be in. And he’s aware this time, which could result in him ignoring his fears or bowing out, then having to face what bowing out means.

Point is, there is no reason for all this drama.

Buddie is not guaranteed just because it is a popular want for fans, and an accepted theory by the actors and showrunner. They’ve all said it has to fit the overall story without forcibly gearing the writing in that direction. Which means it could happen two episodes from now or two seasons from now. We just have to wait and see.

At the same time, Buck and Tommy are not an established couple yet. They’re going on their second date, and it’s been said Tommy isn’t in the last few episodes of the season. So it’s possible he and Buck are still together, but Lou isn’t a series regular nor regular recurring, so he’s just not contracted to be on set. Which is fine, but acting like a quick breakup is also bad storytelling is ridiculous.

Fans have hated Buck’s relationships with women from the jump, and him breaking up fast isn’t exactly new. So if it happens with the first man he dates… okay. Tommy can become more than a stepping stone, but the writers aren’t obligated to make his first experience with a man something deep and profound. It can be fun and eye-opening and still have mattered, even if it ends fast.

Y’all have got to let the stories play out, and not scream bloody murder if your headcanon doesn’t become canon. Because truth be told, Buck being canon bi is the biggest flex of fan service I’ve ever seen, even if I think it adds to the depth of him. So I can’t imagine how difficult it is to be sure not to continue giving that same group of fans everything they want outright, when there’s so much more story to unfold.

Which means they can’t just make Tommy the love of Buck’s life because Buck/Tommy fans have ditched Buddie or were never Buddie shippers, and want to be right. But they also can’t have Eddie come out and he and Buck start dating, because Buddie shippers have waited five seasons. Just wait to see what happens, and in the meantime, enjoy watching Buck discover more of himself. With Tommy as his current love interest, and Eddie as his best friend.

#911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #buddie #bucktommy

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saintsenara · 2 days

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okay, I'm super curious about your thoughts on when and how snape becomes a potions master. some people say he was still working on his mastery when he became a professor but i like to think he got it in early 1980 and he apprenticed with a potions master he was recommended to through his ~connections~ (cough malfoy cough).

although the idea of him teaching and grieving and also attempting to not fail at the one thing he knows he's good at does have its own angsty appeal

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

although i regret to say that i'm going to start the answer to it by being very pedantic...

the idea that masteries are something which exist in the wizarding world is complete fanon.

they have emerged as a trope due to a reading of the phrase "potions master" which does make perfect sense outside of the cultural context in which the books were written - by which i mean that it makes readers unfamiliar with the culturally-specific meaning of this bit of language think of masters degrees or other high-level qualifications - but which is nonetheless incorrect within context.

"master" [and the feminine equivalent, "mistress"] is just an alternative term in british english for "teacher". it doesn't imply anything about a level of qualification. "potions master" and "potions teacher" are synonyms.

the term is archaic - british people nowadays would exclusively say "teacher" - and it's very class-specific, in that it would have particularly been used to describe teachers in elite schools, whether fee-paying private schools or grammar schools [state schools which are academically selective].

as a result, it turns up in lots of the children's literature written before c.1980 - especially in boarding-school stories like malory towers and the worst witch which are explicit influences on the harry potter series. it's used in the text - especially in the earlier books - as part of worldbuilding which generally seeks to make the wizarding world feel whimsical by virtue of being very old-fashioned, which things like the fact that the most advanced technology wizards use is the radio and the steam train also hammer home.

that snape is the only teacher referred to as a master is connected to these genre conventions. because snape is so important to the full arc of the story, he's the teacher we spend the most time in the classroom with throughout the six books in which harry's at school. and he's therefore the teacher who - in the first few books - best fits a children's literature archetype which we would expect to find in any twentieth-century school story [with a magical setting or not] - the hated schoolmaster who is horrible to the child-protagonist and who every child reading can't wait to see get their comeuppance.

so snape is a potions master because he teaches potions. nothing more than that.

but that doesn't mean that it's not worth thinking about his training...

clearly, higher education of the type most of us are familiar with doesn't exist in wizarding britain - nor, i suspect, in wizarding europe more broadly.

and this makes perfect sense - not only because the magical population is so small but because the divergence of the magical and muggle worlds in 1689 takes place well before universities and university-level education look like anything a modern student might recognise. a seventeenth-century university education was still broadly generalist and aimed at trainee clergy, and careers which we would nowadays expect to require a degree - such as law, finance, medicine, science, and engineering - were generally taught by apprenticeship.

this is clearly how things continue to function in the wizarding world of the 1990s, since we know from order of the phoenix that healers are taught by apprenticeship [and, indeed, that hogwarts graduates all go straight into the workforce after they leave school].

potions - since it's analogous to chemistry - is nonetheless understood in-world as an academic discipline. but this doesn't mean - within the post-school educational structures we can suppose the wizarding world has - that it's a discipline in which one needs specific formal training in order to acquire a right to teach or publish about it.

the seventeenth century was a period - especially in britain - marked by a great expansion of scientific enquiry. this was - by our contemporary understanding of academic science - amateur. scientists wouldn't have been expected to have doctorates, to work at universities, or even to have attended them, and their experiments were often self-funded by personal wealth or dependent on a patron. the circles [often international] in which they debated, demonstrated, and reviewed theories and inventions were social ones - the gatekeeping line was class [with the level of education - and, primarily, of literacy - that this implied], rather than level of education itself.

these social circles often had a certain level of official standing - by which i mean they became, during the period, the learned societies, the most famous of which is probably the royal society. membership [or fellowship] of the learned societies requires a demonstration of some sort of contribution to the discipline they relate to - which means that the vast majority of contemporary fellows of such societies are university-based academics. but this wouldn't have been the case in 1689.

and we know that the wizarding world has its own equivalent of learned societies, because slughorn mentions one in half-blood prince - the most extraordinary society of potioneers.

which is to say, snape is probably a member of this society. he may very well publish papers in academic journals connected to the subject [as dumbledore does in transfiguration today], and he undoubtedly has a reputation among the wizarding world's men- and women-of-letters. but he doesn't need to have any formal post-hogwarts qualification in order for him to have acquired this reputation.

so what do i think he's doing between 1978 and 1981?

well... he's a death eater.

my theory has always been that snape comes to voldemort's attention - via lucius malfoy - because of his potions skills. the dark lord's operation would have needed potions - poisons to bump off enemies, healing potions because wanted criminals can't just turn up at st mungo's, potions to trade on the black market [as aberforth dumbledore tells us the death eaters do during deathly hallows], and so on - and voldemort would want to keep the production of these potions in-house, rather than risk hiring a private brewer [even a shady one] who might change their mind and go to the aurors.

[this is also presumably what voldemort - undoubtedly at snape's request - tries to recruit lily to do.]

i have never believed that snape was taken on as a death eater in the expectation that he'd perform a combat role - there is a clear implication throughout the series that the only person he ever directly kills is dumbledore, and that he gets along badly with death eaters [such as bellatrix] who did take more violent roles in voldemort's terrorism.

so i presume that, when he leaves school, he ends up working as a personal brewer for voldemort - on a stipend presumably paid, at the dark lord's request, by either lucius or abraxas malfoy. i also presume that, outside of work voldemort specifically requests, he's given free reign to brew for other clients, study, experiment, and publish as he wishes.

and i further presume that if he trains with anyone, then that person is voldemort himself.

voldemort claims, in goblet of fire, to be interested in experimenting with potions. he appears to invent the potion made from nagini's venom which sustains his half-body prior to his resurrection - and i think the implication of the text is that he also invents the potion guarding the locket-horcrux. voldemort also evidently encourages snape's interest in the dark arts, and he also appears to have some influence over snape's comportment - the teen snape we see in order of the phoenix is extremely rough around the edges, in a way the adult snape, who both speaks and moves in canon very similarly to the adult voldemort, isn't.

voldemort taking such an interest in snape would - obviously - largely be a grooming tactic. snape clearly becomes a death eater because the organisation offers him a chance to belong and succeed which his class-background would ordinarily make impossible for him within wizarding society, and voldemort must therefore massively indulge his belief that he's never given the respect he deserves for his intellect. voldemort's obvious contempt for slughorn - who matters so little to him that he doesn't even bother to kill him - would, i imagine, also win snape round.

and by training snape in an academic rather than a combat sense, voldemort gains a valuable tool - someone he can place at hogwarts as a teacher to spy on dumbledore.

we can assume that voldemort was having dumbledore tailed throughout the first war - and, indeed, that this is what snape is doing when he overhears the prophecy - but that he couldn't watch him at all times because he didn't have a spy among the hogwarts faculty.

it is clearly voldemort who tells snape to apply for a teaching job in early 1980. he must also tell him to apply for the defence against the dark arts post [which we know snape canonically applied for first] - which means he must expect to be imminently victorious in the first war, since snape would only be able to stay in the position for a year...

the prophecy, which snape hears c. january 1980, obviously derails this belief slightly... and snape famously does not get the defence against the dark arts job for the 1980-1981 academic year.

how do we know this? because he tells us in order of the phoenix that he's been teaching at hogwarts for fourteen years. he says this right at the beginning of the autumn term in 1995 - so he clearly means that he's been teaching for fourteen previous academic years and the 1995-1996 year is his fifteenth. so... he started teaching at hogwarts in the 1981-1982 academic year.

voldemort settles on harry as the child the prophecy refers to after harry is born [so, after 31st july 1980]. we don't know how quickly he does this and we don't know exactly when snape defects to the order.

but, clearly, at some point during the 1980-1981 academic year, dumbledore hires snape to begin teaching from september 1981 onwards. he presumably tells snape to tell voldemort that his change of heart was because he didn't think snape was qualified to teach defence against the dark arts but that he does think he's qualified to teach potions [pointing, perhaps, to publications snape got out under voldemort's tutelage], and that slughorn's announcement that he intends to retire means that there's a position available. he then undoubtedly also tells snape to convince voldemort of the same pretence they'll use throughout the second war - that he's a loyal death eater passing information on dumbledore's movements to his master.

which is to say... when lily dies, snape has been in his job for at most nine weeks.

just imagine how miserable that must have been!

#asks answered #asenora meta #severus snape

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