#like if i want to read aemond fics or other characters he plays i go to that tag instead

[annatartastic]

Seriously people learn to post your fics under a read more or something. When I go to Ewan’s tag I want to see posts about him and not scroll past billion of fics that aren’t under a read more. Also people thirsting on him from his disturbing movie where he plays a literal r*pist by posting gifs of his scenes DONT DO IT???

[aemondsbabe]

Come What May

summary: aemond gets his first true taste of battle, you comfort him in the aftermath.

pairing: aemond targaryen x baratheon!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, reader is described as having long black hair to suit baratheon standards but no other physical descriptors are used, spoilers, mentions of canon character injury but no gore, angst, breast/nipple play, fingering, oral (f receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, slight possessive aemond, soft aemond, vulnerable aemond, we love men who cry

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i've had this idea in my head for the longest time and i think it turned out much more delicious than i was expecting! hope you all enjoy!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

divider creds to @targaryen-dynasty

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“My love, surely Ser Criston can hold his own,” you plead, wringing your hands nervously as your husband reads from the small scroll that was delivered to your chambers only moments ago, “It’s already been days, surely if they were going to retaliate, they would’ve done so by now.”

“We made the mistake of underestimating my sweet sister and her traitorous lot once before,” Aemond sighs, lilac eye scanning over the rolled parchment once more before before holding a corner of it to one of the many dripping wax candles housed on the small desk in your rooms, “It’s an error we can never afford to make again, not after what happened to little –” The muscles in his jaw clench as he cuts himself off with another harsh sigh, tossing the burning paper into a small metal bowl before turning to you. 

“It’s an official summons,” he continues, voice softer now as he swiftly crosses the room until he stands before you. “I can’t simply ignore the Hand, nor my brother,” he murmurs, pulling a sigh from your lips as his hands wrap around your waist. You let your eyes slip closed for a moment when he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to the top of your head before resting his forehead against yours, your own hands gripping tightly to the front of his black tunic. 

“I understand,” you say softly, swallowing thickly as you try to ignore the tightness at the back of your throat, a million unsettling what if’s playing in your mind's eye, “I just want you to come b-back to me.” 

Upon hearing the break in your voice, Aemond pulls away with a tight smile. “Shh, little wife,” he whispers, gently wiping at the corner of your eyes as tears begin to gather, “I will return to you, I swear it.”

A slight flush covers the apples of your cheeks as you peer up at him, still so cautious of being weepy and emotional so soon into your marriage despite the prince’s many assurances that he was more than happy to have you exactly how you are. After a moment, you manage to blink the tears from your eyes and steady your breath, giving your husband a reassuring nod just as the doors open and a flood of servants and squires rush in to assist Aemond with his armor. 

Leaving them be, you step out onto the balcony of your chambers, grateful for the cooling breeze rolling in from Blackwater Bay. Resting your hands atop the rough stone wall, you gaze out over the calm waters, watching as the sun rises and paints them in shades of orange and pink. Each time you spot a stray seagull, your heart clenches tightly in your chest – worried for a moment that it’s Meleys and her rider, come to finish what they started at Aegon’s coronation. 

You startle as rough hands wrap around your middle from behind, a small gasp leaving you as your eyes pop open, seeing the sun a bit higher in the sky now before you look over your shoulder. 

“Dare I ask where your pretty head was?”

“Praying,” you answer your husband with a smile, turning in his grasp, “Asking the Seven to protect you, to bring you back to me in one piece.” 

Chuckling, Aemond tenderly cups your jaw with one hand, the smooth leather of his glove soft against your skin. “I assure you they will,” he says, dipping his head and kissing you with a small sigh, the metal plate armor on his torso cool against your skin, even through the fabric of your nightgown. “I do not fear this battle, sweetling, not with Vhagar at my side – she has more years of experience fighting in wars than either of us could dare imagine, many more than that old cunt or her beast. I trust her to know what’s right.”

Nodding, you follow him inside, a small smile on your lips while you listen to him talk about his dragon, finding endless amusement in the way he always speaks of her with such reverence. The two of you stand together in the low, flickering light of the many candles in your chambers, the early morning light from the drawn curtains casts faint shadows across the room as you look over your husband, unused to seeing him in true armor. 

“I suppose you’re ready, then?” You ask, glancing over the fine black plates, each custom made to hug his lithe form perfectly. 

“Almost,” he says, the corners of his lips quirk into a small smile in the same instance that familiar, mirthful glimmer takes residence in his eye. 

“Oh?” You question, already familiar with where this is going; the smile on your lips only grows as he takes your hand and leads you over to your vanity table by the wardrobes. 

“Braid my hair,” he says, always one to keep his requests of you simple, “As you do before I go riding… please.”

It’s the small please that always gets you, a courtesy Aemond so rarely bestows upon others. With a small nod, you watch as he sits on the small silk-covered chair, his lilac eye watching you from the mirror as you lean forward to grab the ornate metal hairbrush Alicent had gifted you after your wedding to her son. 

Meeting his eye in the mirror once more, you give him a small smile before focusing on his hair. You run the brush through the pale, silky strands with a practiced ease; before you, the prince hadn’t dared to let anyone do his hair, and was quick to snap at any of the servants if they tried. But with you, he was quite different – much more vulnerable behind closed doors than many would expect. 

Glancing up in the mirror as you brush through his long hair, the smile returns to your lips when you see his eye closed, a small sigh leaving his lips as he allows himself to relax for a moment more. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm in the quiet of the early morning, your hands steady as you run the fine brush through section after section of hair, humming a song to yourself as you go. 

Finally, you set the brush back down and carefully section off a lock of hair at one of his temples, already knowing how he usually preferred it be styled. Just as you have it separated into three sections, however, one of his hands closes around yours and you lift your eyes up to his in the mirror.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no,” he replies softly, his one eye glancing away from you, almost nervously, “I simply have a favor to ask of you, my lady. Something I’ve been unable to get off my mind, not since the threat of war became real.”

“Ask it, then.”

With a small sigh, Aemond turns in the chair, moving to face you as he takes your hands once more, calloused thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of them. “I know it is a strange request but… I would like a lock of your hair, sweet one, to braid into my own.”

Your brows knit together at his words, having not expected a request such as that, and your head tilts to the side questioningly, “I see no problem with doing it, but may I ask why?”

“I am not a superstitious man, as you well know,” he starts, smiling when you nod along with his words, “However, I have come to think of you as a good luck charm, of sorts.”

“A good luck charm?” You echo, a little blush coloring your cheeks as a shy smile tugs at your lips, your heart racing at the thought of being something so precious.

Aemond squeezes your hands and nods, “These past few moons have been difficult, between my brother adjusting to the crown and everyone else shuffling about, and the horrors that my sweet sister endures, little Jaehaerys, the numerous threats from Dragonstone, everything, I…” He pauses, brows furrowing as he stares at the stone floor, jaw clenched. 

Your heart clenches in your chest as you raise a hand to his cheek, thumb stroking over the scarred skin just below his sapphire eye, the sight of it mystical to you even after so many months spent with him. Studying his face, you can’t help but notice the darkness under his eyes, a product of the many restless nights he’s faced, though a small sad smile claws at your lips as he leans into your touch – eye closing briefly as he savors it, practically purring like a housecat. 

“Your presence has been the only thing that brings me comfort,” he murmurs finally, lilac eye peering up at you as he makes no move to lean away from your touch, “I find my spirits lift when I’m around you – your touch, your sweet scent, they… they calm my mind, steady my heart.”

“Oh, Aemond,” you breathe, heart racing in your chest at his words. 

“I would like a piece of you with me always,” he continues, lilac eye brimming with sincerity, “To calm me when you’re away.”

You’re nodding before he can even finish his sentence, “Of course, my love, of course we can do that.” You sniffle, trying your hardest to keep your emotions at bay as the backs of your eyes sting with love-filled tears. 

Again, Aemond watches as you quickly walk over to the small side table where you keep your needlework supplies. Shuffling through the small woven basket they’re stored in, you locate the small scissors used to cut thread and make your way back over to the vanity. 

Bending at the waist a little, you look into the mirror, briefly meeting your husband’s eye again as you select a small lock of hair toward the back of your head, one that will be easily hidden among the rest as it grows back. With practiced motions, you quickly knot the fine strand into a thin braid before getting the scissors as close to your scalp as you dare. You carefully cut away at it until it comes away, the bundle of strands clutched tightly between two of your fingers. 

Returning the scissors to the basket, you grab a small bundle of thread, close to the same dark color of your hair, and return to the prince, quickly tying off both ends of the braid before holding it up with a small smile. 

“Good?”

“Good.”

Quickly taking your place by Aemond, you once again separate a lock of his hair into thirds, adding your own strand to the mix before easily winding them together in a long, silvery braid, the black of your own hair standing out strikingly against your husband’s. Finally, you gather the rest of his hair into its usual half up and half down style, thick braid skirting down one side of his head before joining the rest as you secure it with a thin leather cord. 

“There,” you breathe, stepping back just enough for Aemond to stand, “All done.” 

“Perfect as usual, sweetling,” the prince smiles, tight lipped, “Thank you.” He murmurs, again, a courtesy reserved for you.

“Of course,” you all but whisper, both you and Aemond pausing as you stare at one another, neither of you wanting to say goodbye first. 

You nearly jump out of your skin as a knock interrupts the moment, both of your heads swiveling to the doors of your chambers as they creak open. 

Ser Willis Fell, a member of Aegon’s Kingsguard steps into the room, bowing politely as he addresses you both. “Prince, Princess,” he says curtly, one hand balanced on the pommel of the sword that hangs from his waist, “I apologize for the intrusion, I’ve been instructed to inform the prince that he is to depart for Rook’s Rest immediately – King Aegon is already waiting at the Dragonpit.”

Aemond nods with a heavy sigh, turning back to you. Before he can get a word in, you practically throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as the doors click closed once more. “Please come back to me,” you breathe against the crook of his neck, tightness once again taking residence at the back of your throat as his arms wind around you, one hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back. 

“I will, my sweet girl, I swear it,” he promises lowly, long arms squeezing him to you as tight as he dares, not wanting to bruise your skin against his armor, “I swear upon the Seven I’ll come back, I will not leave you, I refuse.” 

Nodding, your breath catches in your throat as you slip away from him, just enough to angle your face up to his. His eye glances over your face quickly before he presses his lips against yours, both of you desperate to pour as much emotion into the kiss as you can as your lips move together for a moment. 

Finally, he pulls away with a pained sigh, holding your face in his hands. “Avy jorrāelan,” he whispers, the very first Valyrian phrase he taught you. (I love you.)

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha valzȳrys,” you reply, the practiced phrase coming easily to you after all these months. (I love you too, my husband.)

With one final kiss, Aemond departs, the walk toward your chamber doors seeming like the longest of his life. 

The rest of the day passes by painfully slowly, though you do all you can to entertain yourself. Everything from taking a much longer time than usual to eat meals, forcing yourself to stomach what little you can with your belly in nervous knots, to spending hours walking through the Red Keep’s gardens. 

Which is how you find yourself now, in front of the fire in one of the many ornate sitting rooms, wiling away the time by half-heartedly working on a needlepoint. Alicent sits next to you on the small sofa, restlessly reading over a small stack of letters as Helaena paces, wringing her hands and mumbling to herself under her breath, a common sight following the death of her son. 

With a tired sigh, you put down your embroidery hoop, fingers too sore and overworked to continue. “I just want him to come back,” you mutter, staring vacantly into the fire, “Or to get some word, some update. Just to know.”

“He’ll come back, sweetling,” Alicent murmurs softly, setting the letters aside as she places a comforting hand on your knee, “They both will.” She finishes, glancing over at her daughter with a longing stare, wishing there was anything she could do to ease her pain. 

The both of you sit for a while longer, the navy sky outside growing steadily darker, before Alicent sighs and looks at you with a sad half-smile. “You may as well go to bed, dear,” she says softly, “Staying up worrying won’t do any good.”

Knowing she’s right, you quickly bid her goodnight before taking your leave.

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for a long while, thoughts filled with nothing but your husband, before sleep finally takes you. Even then, it’s not restful, dreams filled with visions of blood and fire, of the sounds of screaming and swords clanging together. 

It isn’t until the wee hours of the night, almost sunrise, that a sound wakes you – clanging again, only soft this time, like metal on stone. 

You blink your eyes open, a little groan leaving your lips as you rub at them with your fists before –

“Aemond!” You breathe, scrambling under the blankets to get to him, nearly toppling off the bed in your haste. 

He makes a small “oof” noise as you throw yourself against his chest, catching you in his arms and holding you tightly. “Careful, love,” he laughs softly, letting his eye slip closed as he kisses the top of your head, breathing in the familiar lavender scent of your hair. 

“You came back,” you breathe, winding your arms around his waist as you kneel at the edge of the bed, knees digging into the plush mattress. Upon hugging the prince, you come to realize that the small clanging noise that woke you had to have been him quickly untying his plate armor and stripping off his chainmail, leaving him in a soft tunic and pants – the aforementioned garments lying haphazardly on the floor, their sheen reflected somewhat in the dim glow of the fire. 

“Of course I did,” he murmurs, stroking a hand over your back, “I swore I would, didn’t I?”

The two of you fall easily into a comfortable silence, arms wrapped securely around one another as the only noise in the room is the sound of soft breathing and the crackling from the hearth. You can’t help but notice that Aemond smells smokey, much like he does after riding on Vhagar but stronger now, no doubt having been around dragon fire for hours. 

After a moment, you peer up at him, eyes finally adjusted to the low light. When you do, you can’t help the small, pitying little gasp that leaves your lips and one hand rises to gently cup his cheek. You’re no stranger to seeing him after a long day training in the yard with Ser Criston, but this is wholly different. 

In the pale light, you could make out small dark splotches on his face and neck and upon skirting your thumb over one on his cheek, you come to realize it’s remnants of ash, staining not only his skin but the bits and pieces of his tunic and pants that weren’t covered by armor as well. His hair was still fixed how you’d left it, though messier now – windswept and slightly dusty as well, many of the white strands stained a faint grey, the flash of black from your own braid still cutting through the paleness of his like a knife. 

But what really stopped you was his eye, his lilac one; you frown when you notice the uneasy look in it, full of a bitter sadness. “My sweet husband,” you say softly, brows furrowing when you notice a few scant tear stains on his cheek, their paths carved through the spots of ash, “What happened? What did they do to you?” You question, heart racing at the thought of the horrors he must’ve seen – his first real taste of battle.

The prince gazes at you for a long second, his lips parting as one of his hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair. All at once though, the sadness in his eye changes to a familiar fire, one that makes your heart race for an altogether different reason and desire curls in your belly, coming to rest like a cat in a sunbeam. 

“Aemond?” You question, blinking up at him. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, hot and insistent and you’re all too eager to comply, easily melting against him. A whimper leaves your lips, instantly swallowed by his mouth as it moves against yours. 

The kiss is more teeth and tongues than anything else, your husband’s slipping against yours with a practiced ease. His hand threads more harshly through your hair, making you moan against his lips as your hands cling tightly to the dark fabric of his tunic, a growl reverberating under them as it emanates from his chest. 

“Need you,” he breathes raggedly as his lips part from yours, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your jaw and to your neck. You shudder against him as his teeth nip gently at your skin before his lips suckle at it gently, painting bruises on your throat that match the many he surely has. 

“But –” you start, a myriad of questions swirling in your mind despite the pleasure threatening to blot them out. 

You’re stopped mid sentence as Aemond suddenly cups one of your breasts, palming eagerly at the tender flesh in a way he knows makes your head spin and don’t miss the ghost of a victorious smirk on his lips at the way you cut yourself off with a small, shuddered moan, squirming in his hold as his thumb skirts over your nipple through the thin fabric of your nightgown. 

“Please, sweet one, I need this,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your neck. His hand at the nape of your neck slips down to wrap around the small of your back, arching you against him, “I need you, I need to feel… t-to feel something good again.”

Once more, you’re nodding before he can even finish his request, chest heaving as you fight to keep your eyes open, wanting to keep him in your sights as if he may disappear again if you don’t. “Then take me,” you sigh, a broken moan leaving your lips as he kisses down your neck and across your chest. The hair at the back of your neck raises on end as he mouths over the fat of your breast, dampening the front of your nightgown.

Both of your hands claw desperately at the back of his head, tangling into his long hair messily just as his lips close around your nipple. “Gods!” You cry as he suckles at it needily, still pawing at the other one, savoring the feel of it in his hand. 

Just as your thighs begin squeezing together, your center aching, Aemond pulls away, smirking when you whine. Impatient as ever, he quickly pulls at your nightgown, tugging it up and over your head, and tosses it onto the floor with his armor – delicate silk pooling over hard metal – before quickly undoing his tunic, eye glimmering proudly at how you always stare at him with such reverence. 

“Fuck,” he growls, hands descending passionately against you once more, one again kneading at your breast as the other slides against your hip, long fingers digging into the fat of your ass, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.” He whispers against your lips, strands of silver hair falling loose from his braid and fanning around his face. 

His lips press against yours once more, teeth teasingly nipping at your lower lip as your nails dig into his shoulders and chest, anxious for more even as you blush at his words. Always one to please, the prince wastes no time in trailing kisses back over your neck, pausing to nip and suck once again at his marks from earlier, needing to see remnants of himself on your delicate skin.

Again, he traces a bath down across your chest before licking over your nipple, needing to give attention to the breast he’d missed earlier. His tongue laves over it greedily and you moan at the feel of his length, hard and hot against your lower belly even through the cotton of his trousers. 

Just as his teeth nip softly at your taut bud, the hand on your hip shifts toward your center, making your breath catch in your throat. Suckling at your nipple once more, Aemond gently runs his fingers through your already dripping folds, pulling a loud, whiny whimper from you as his lips curl into a smirk, a pleased hum radiating against your breast. 

“Husband, please,” you whine, finding your voice once more as he rests his forehead against yours, chuckling at your cries. 

“Seems I’m not the only one that needs this, hm?” He teases, eye glancing over your face as his fingers lightly rub against your aching bud, your breaths mingling together. 

“A-Always need you,” you say breathily, your hips moving of their own accord as he plays with you, your own hands clutching at him like an anchor, “I’ll always, fuck! I’ll always need you, Aemond.” 

He feels his heart skip in his chest at that and once again grows restless, the need to have you, to feel nothing but you burns through him like fire. Distantly, in the back of his mind, he thinks how the sincerity in your tone reminds him of your wedding vows, whispered to him in the Sept as if the two of you were the only people in the universe – how he wishes that were true. 

With a grunt, he presses his lips harshly against yours once more before leaning forward, pressing himself over you until you have no choice but to buckle and fall to your back against the bed. Unable to think of anything else, he wastes no time in kneeling at the side of the bed, knees against one of the many fur rugs dotted over the floors of your chamber. 

A squeal leaves your lips as the prince clutches at your ankles and pulls you toward him, until your ass is nearly hanging off the edge of the bed. A breathy whimper leaves you as you peer down at him, resting back on your elbows as your teeth bite into your lower lip. 

Your hips buck as Aemond kisses up your thighs, long hair tickling your soft skin, and you whine as he licks at the curve where your thigh and center meet. A breath leaves him as he uses his thumbs to part your folds, licking his lips at how your arousal already coats them, wetness catching in the dim light of the fire. 

“The Stranger himself wouldn’t be able to tear me from this,” your husband murmurs lowly, nearly growling as he glances between your face and your dripping heat like a starving man looking over a feast. 

With a groan, he finally dives in, moaning nearly as loud as you do as he greedily mouths at your cunt, tongue licking harshly over you from bottom to top. Every muscle in your body seems to seize as lightning bolts of pleasure crackle up and down your spine. 

Your head flops back against the bed as Aemond licks and suckles at your folds, burying his face against your center as he licks into you, nose pressed tightly against your pearl. Your fingers tangle into his hair once more, back arching as he groans into your heat, all but fucking you on his tongue as obscene wet sounds echo about the room. 

“Oh Gods, f-fuck,” you whine, hips rutting against his face as the heat in your belly threatens to boil over already. Your eyes roll back as he chuckles against you and licks up to your bud, suckling at it eagerly, making you clench around nothing.

“Gods, you taste good, so sweet,” the prince mumbles against you, lapping at your pearl as he runs two thick fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. “I would kill Death himself for this, my love,” he rasps, leaning up to watch the expressions on your face as he presses his fingers into you, impatiently crooking them up in just the way you like, fucking and rubbing them against the sensitive spot within you with practicied ferocity. 

“Please, please, please,” you pant, belly knotting tighter and tighter at his words, the gruffness of his voice, head so clouded you aren’t even entirely sure what you’re begging for. 

Aemond smirks and licks and sucks at your bud for a moment more, savoring every whine and whimper he pulls from you. “Let go, my love,” he murmurs, grinning at the way your heat clenches tightly around his fingers, “Peak, let me feel it.”

You wail as the cord within you breaks, shuddering and babbling the prince’s name again and again as pleasure washes over you, your muscles tensing and relaxing in a dizzying rhythm as he works you through it. You nearly peak again as he groans against you, lips wrapped around your pearl as he suckles, gradually slowing his fingers within you.

Finally, you come down, though the fire within you still burns brightly, still aches for him. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he rises from the floor, lilac eye looking over your disheveled form proudly as white strands of hair cling to his face, still sticky with your arousal. 

His chest heaves as he quickly undoes the ties of his trousers and tugs them off his long, lean legs. He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand as he leans back over you and you whine when you feel the heat of his length pressing against you, trapped between your two bodies, the tip already red and leaking against your belly. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs softly, leaning forward to kiss you as he savors the little gasp that leaves your lips as he reaches down with one hand, positioning his cock at your sensitive entrance, “My perfect, sweet girl.” 

You nod your head, hands cupping his face as he pushes into you. Your mouth falls open in a loud gasp and you tremble in his hold as he presses forward, sheathing himself inside of you completely with a pleased groan. 

“Oh, my love,” you finally pant, savoring the way his length feels within you, pressing against every part of you as he fills you completely, “You feel so good, husband, always so good.” 

He growls at that, the breathiness of your tone making his eye flutter shut as he begins rutting against you, grinding his hips against your own. “You were made for me,” he muses, groaning when you begin kissing over the pale column of his throat, “Made to be mine.”

“For you,” you agree between kisses and licks, heart fluttering at the way his thrusts stutter each time your teeth graze over his skin, “Only for you, my sweet prince.”

Aemond groans above you and settles into a practiced rhythm, thick cock spearing into you again and again as your legs wrap around his hips, holding you to him as if he would ever dream of pulling away. One of his hands rests at the nape of your neck again, holding you against his throat as the other grabs at your waist, marveling at the way your breasts move against his chest, bouncing lightly with each thrust. 

The thought of them full of milk, your belly swollen with his seed, flashes across his mind and he growls low in his chest, cock twitching within you. 

As you squirm beneath him, your husband can tell you’re close, as if the steady pulse of your core around his length wasn’t warning enough. “I would go to war for this cunt,” he groans, locking eyes with you as your foreheads press together once more, “I would burn whole villages to the ground just to have you like this, sweetling.” 

His words cascade over you like lava, making your brows furrow together as you gaze up at him, mouth agape. You all but forget to breathe for a moment before a loud, whining moan tears itself from your lips, chest heaving as you fight for air. 

“A-Aemond, Aemond, Gods,” you babble, legs tightening around his waist as your nails scratch down his back, making him grunt above you. After only a few more thrusts, you break once more, writhing beneath him. 

Distantly, you hear the prince groan and grunt above you as your cunt squeezes around him, determined to hold off his own pleasure long enough to watch you peak once more. 

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Aemond surrenders to the fire within him and moans, voice breaking, as he lets it consume him. Your eyes flutter open as you feel his cock kick inside you and you watch him, mesmerized, as warmth fills you, his seed adding to the sticky mess between your thighs. 

He collapses against you, hips still rutting against your own in broken, twitching movements as his own high fades. The two of you lay like that for a moment, panting as you catch your breath, until you realize your husband’s shoulders are shaking beneath your hold, his breath coming in unsteady bursts against your neck from where his head rests against your shoulder. 

“My love?” You question, cupping his cheek and bringing his face up just enough to see him. Your heart nearly breaks at the sight of tears pooled in his eye, a few already running down his cheek, “What is it? What’s wrong?” You question, quickly glancing over him, searching for some injury, some source of pain. 

Aemond merely shakes his head and sniffles, blinking to dispel his tears as his cheeks flush – he hates the thought of you seeing him so weak. “I’m… I-I’m sorry,” he chokes out finally, holding you against his body tightly despite his embarrassment. 

Immediately, you shake your head, pressing a hand against his shoulder until he rolls over, pulling you with him. A soft gasp leaves your lips at the feel of his softening length slipping from your drenched folds as he comes to rest on his back, you at his side, one hand across his chest.

“Shhh, husband,” you murmur, cupping his cheek once more as you lean up on an elbow, “You needn’t apologize to me.” He nods, somewhat half-heartedly, at your words and sighs deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows thickly, trying to chase away the tightness at the back of his throat. 

You stay silent for a moment, giving him time to calm down, and let your eyes sweep over his form. Aside from the blotches of ash on his pale skin, and some bruises here and there, he looks nearly untouched. A small smile tugs at your lips despite the situation when you see your lock of hair still wound into his, pale braid practically falling apart by now, most of it pulled free of the leather tie holding it together. 

“What’s happened?” You finally ask once his breathing evens out some, your thumb rubbing soothingly over his cheekbone. 

“Aegon,” he chokes out, jaw clenching once more as tears run down his cheek yet again. 

Your heart clenches as a shot of adrenaline all but knocks the wind from your lungs, “He’s not… h-he didn’t –” You start to question, stopping yourself once Aemond shakes his head.

“No, no,” he confirms, voice ragged and soft as his chest heaves with a sniffle, “Almost, but no.”

“Almost?”

“He… He’s hurt,” Aemond starts, barely a whisper as his eye finally meets yours, “Badly. I don’t… I don’t know what comes next, o-or what to do, what’ll be expected of me, of you –” He mutters, breath picking up as panic rises within him, regretting each time he’d looked at his brother with envy – saw the black crown atop his head, glimmering with red rubies, and thought bitterly that it would suit him better. 

“Shhh,” you breathe once more, draping yourself over him like a blanket and pulling a tired sigh from his lips as your touch immediately slows his racing heart. You run your fingers through his hair, black intertwined with white, and press a soothing kiss to his cheek, “I don’t care what comes next, my love.” 

Your soft words draw his attention and he looks at you, brows furrowed in surprise, “You don’t?”

“Not at all,” you murmur, steeling yourself to be strong for him regardless of the future, “Whatever happens, I shall face it with you. That’s enough for me.”

gen tags: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @wickedfrsgrl @echos-muses @imawhorecrux @avidreader73 @marvelescape @rae-11 @ms-morningstarr @chaotic-fangirl-blog @grsveeth0m @twglitching @hb8301 @delulumhaggy @burntliquorlips @fan-goddess @cl-0-vr @kittendoll05 @beautbuck @eponaartemisa @trshngyn @brettlovessuckingcocks @alerisc @moonriseoverkyoto @wolfdressedinlace @do-double-g @kennafild @cruelworldlana @mheraxes @eternallyvenus @chaotic-fangirl-blog @simp-hub-bro @badxbabyyy @venchi-cremino

aemond tags: @demirunner @iloveslasher @neithriddle @moneypriestess @anak1nsx @angelinap09

hotd tags: @cuddlejeongin

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[flowerandblood]

The Prince and The Fox

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: sexual abuse, violence, trauma, panic attack ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist. Song used in this chapter: Feuer Frei! (Rammstein)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

She wasn't sure how they became friends. Before she met him she played often with Helaena, they lived in the neighbourhood, and there wasn't much of an age difference between them. They often visited each other to play with their dolls, while her brothers existed for her somewhere in the back, busy with their serious, boyish affairs unavailable to girls.

One day when their mother called Helaena home she was sitting on a blanket on the grass in their garden, pretending that her teddy rabbit had just been drinking tea from her pink plastic cup, when their whole elaborately choreographed scene was destroyed by a dog bumping into her and licking her.

"Vhagar! No! Bad dog!" She heard the growl of a young boy, running up to them and grabbing his happy, shiny labrador with big eyes, who just licked her face, panting loudly, pulling her by the collar, trying to drag her away.

She giggled, wiping her face, and it was only when she looked at him that she noticed a large white bandage on the left side of his face, covering his entire eye and part of his cheek, taped up with plasters. She blinked, curious, and cocked her head.

"What happened to you?" She asked lightly, and he threw her an angry, murderous look, tightening his lips and furrowing his brow.

"Fuck off." He hissed, and she turned all red, close to tears, devastated that he had used such ugly, vulgar words towards her that her parents had forbidden her to use, shouting at him that he wasn't allowed to talk like that, that she didn't like him and for him to go away.

This is exactly what he did, dragging his dog behind him with difficulty, and she took her rabbit and ran to her house across the street, no longer waiting for Helaena to return, distraught.

Her father tried hard to get anything out of her, but he understood little of her loud sobbing and babbling, she could see nothing through her tears, she stood and stammered out mere fragments of sentences from which her parent had by some miracle put together a whole. Her father sighed heavily, running his hand over his face.

"Listen. Helaena's brother, I think his name is Aemond, had a very serious accident. I was told about it by his mother when I met her in the supermarket recently, the whole family is going through a lot. He will have to wear an artificial eye and will be left with a big scar. He feels very bad about it and that is why he is behaving like this. Your question was very tactless." He said finally.

She felt a squeeze in her heart and burst out sobbing even louder, this time because she had offended him, that surely this boy now hated her when she wanted everyone to like her.

"− I didn't − after all − uh − I didn't mean to − I just −" She mumbled in despair, not knowing herself what she wanted to say, breathing hard, almost choking from her sobs, her face all red, she was hot with emotion.

"Come here." Her father said to her, so she walked towards him. He embraced her and stroked her head, saying that she should ask her mother to help her bake cakes for him and bring them to him, wishing him a speedy recovery and apologising so they would both feel better.

She decided that this was indeed a good idea and did exactly that.

The next day she knocked on their front door standing with a box of cakes and was opened by their mother, a beautiful, long-haired woman with a warm smile, she was wearing a thick green jumper.

"Good morning, dear, Helaena is just in ballet class." She said to her in a soft, calm voice, and she shook her head.

"No, ma'am, I've come to see Aemond, I've baked cakes for him and I want to wish him quick recovery." She recited with difficulty what her mother had told her to say, hoping she hadn't forgotten anything, waiting with a pounding heart for a response.

The woman smiled broadly with some kind of gratitude and called out loudly to her son asking him to come downstairs, saying he had a visitor.

Her son came down reluctantly, furrowing his brow, having no idea who might want to see him and when he spotted her he immediately pressed his lips together, furious.

He approached his mother, looking at her distrustfully, and she swallowed loudly feeling a tightening in her throat and tears of shame gathering in her eyes again.

"I'm so sorry for asking you about it at the time, in the sense of what happened to you and that I upset you and that you were sad and that I yelled at you afterwards because I was sad too and − and −" She mused, forgetting for a moment what she was getting at in that sentence, swallowing her saliva loudly and suddenly remembering. "− and − and I brought you cakes that I baked with the help of my mother to wish you a speedy recovery."

She said quickly and held out a cardboard box tied with a ribbon in front of her. Aemond looked uncertainly at his mother, who nodded at him to accept the gift. He did not look at her as he reached out for the package and murmured under his breath, nodding. His mother sighed quietly.

"What should you say now?" She asked him expectantly, and he pressed his lower lip together, looking somewhere sideways, discouraged.

"Thank you." He muttered, turned and headed up the stairs.

"Goodbye." She said quickly, turning and running towards her house, feeling relieved that now she had put things right and now he would surely like her a lot.

She was wrong.

When she came to their house to see Helaena, he immediately locked himself in his room. When they passed each other at primary school he did not respond to her greeting by pretending not to see her even though they were neighbours.

When their parents met each other in the supermarket and started talking to each other, he would approach the shelves and pretend to look at some products, doing everything he could not to talk to her.

He never spoke to her in a bad way again, never shouted at her again, but simply pretended that she didn't exist.

Everything changed when they went to high school and it turned out they would be in the same class. They would then get on and off at the same bus stop, but instead of talking to her he preferred to put his earphones in his ears and browse through the apps on his phone, pretending not to see her.

She tried to talk to him, but he shunned her, treating her like air. She had the painful feeling that from that moment, from the day she asked him the wrong question, she was already crossed out as a person in his eyes.

And then their literary history teacher gave them a homework exercise to do in pairs. Assigning a person to each, when he looked at her he waved his hand as if realising something.

"Ah, Evans, you and Targaryen live nearby, it will be easier for you to work. Next couple −" He said, and she froze, looking at him over her shoulder, his eye wide open, pointed in her direction, he was playing with his pen between his fingers, his lips clenched into a thin line.

He was furious.

She swallowed loudly feeling a tightness in her throat and turned back towards the board, feeling only the loud pounding of her heart.

She ran after him off the bus, seeing him walking towards his house with his backpack thrown over one shoulder, the hood of his dark sweatshirt pulled over his head, earphones in his ears. She grabbed his sleeve to make him stop, and he flinched and looked back, surprised.

"Wait, can we talk?" She asked, breathing fast, and he furrowed his brow, taking the earpiece out of his ear, she could hear some loud heavy metal music coming from it and recognized the song Feuer Frei! by Rammstein.

"What?"

She blinked, understanding that he hadn't heard completely what she'd said. She grunted quietly, letting him go, looking at him expectantly.

"I asked if we could talk."

He looked ahead, letting the air out loudly through his nose with impatience, pulling the other earpiece from his ear, looking everywhere but at her. She guessed he wouldn't say anything, so she started quickly, not wanting to irritate him unnecessarily.

"I know you don't like me and I promise not to annoy you with anything. Let's just go to your place or mine, do this homework and get it over with. Okay?" She asked in a trembling voice and he licked his lips, indecision and frustration in his eyes, something was going on in his mind that she didn't understand completely.

He snorted, shrugging his shoulders and nodded at her.

"Come."

They entered his house greeted by the smell of dinner just being cooked. Their mother welcomed her presence in the company of her son with joy and surprise.

"Will you eat something? The meatballs in sauce are warm and ready." She said warmly, hoping they would stay down, guessing that they were both hungry after many hours of lessons.

She wished he would agree, feeling a burbling in her stomach.

"No. We're going to go do our homework." He said in a low, slightly hoarse voice. He pulled off his shoes, slipped the hood off his head and walked up the stairs without looking at her.

He walked into his room, throwing the clothes and books lying on the floor into the wardrobe, clearly wanting to do a quick tidy up, his whole walls covered with posters of various bands, Rammstein, Electric Light Orchestra, Deep Purple, Guns N' Roses, Led Zeppelin, his bookshelves heaving with books.

"Sit." He said lowly, pointing to the chair he'd set up by his desk, himself sitting down in a comfortable high-backed leather player's chair, spreading out on it comfortably.

She walked over to him, pulling her pastel soft backpack off her back, pulling out her notebook and the book they had just reviewed.

The Little Prince.

She felt that he was looking at her expectantly, so she opened her notebook in which she had written down the exact assignment the teacher had given them. She decided to read it aloud so they could reflect on it together.

"The Little Prince is a metaphorical story. Talk together about a few scenes from the book that moved you most and compare your thoughts, writing down similarities and differences. Analyse at least two scenes in this way."

She glanced at him, tightening her lips, feeling her heart pounding hard. For some reason she was terrified, he was sitting next to her, resting his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, seeming even bigger and taller to her than usual.

She felt strange thinking that he smelled nice, that he used some ordinary, cheap men's perfume.

He sniffed with his nose, not even looking at her, taking a pen in his hand.

"Have you read this book?" She asked, wanting to make sure he knew what they were going to talk about. He threw her a look like he thought she was an idiot.

"Do you have any more stupid questions, or can we get started?" He asked lowly, and she pressed her lips together, humiliated, feeling for some reason that she wanted to cry.

She felt like asking why he couldn't forgive her at last, but decided it was pointless, that he obviously didn't like her because he had such a whim.

She shook her head and he hummed, taking her copy of The Little Prince in his hand and began looking through it.

"Which scene do you want to talk about?" He asked coldly, dispassionately, and she swallowed loudly.

"About the Little Prince and the Fox." She said quietly, feeling him give her a brief glance.

He grunted under his breath, apparently agreeing with her choice, waiting for her elaboration on the matter. She swallowed with difficulty, licking her lips.

"What moved me most was how true this scene is. That the greatest enemy of friendship, or any close relationship, is haste. That only by respecting someone's barriers, only by approaching someone slowly and with understanding, can you really look at them from a distance.

By taming someone, by making that person grow attached to you, you take partial responsibility for that person's feelings, for making them trust you enough to believe that you won't intentionally hurt them with your behaviour. Until we really get to know someone we are just a crowd of people passing each other on the street."

She said in a trembling voice, feeling for some reason tears under her eyelids and a tightness in her throat, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip began to tremble, she played with the material of her white daisy dress in a nervous gesture.

She felt him watching her, an awkward silence fell between them.

She couldn't look at him.

She thought he was going to say something cruel, that he was going to tell her to stop wailing, but he said nothing. After a while he spoke up.

"I see this scene differently. They're both moving towards each other because they're determined to do so. They are both going their separate ways. There is a balance. The Little Prince doesn't force the Fox to approach him, just as the Fox doesn't force the Little Prince to approach him. They do it of their own free will. They tame themselves because that's the decision they made. You can't tame someone who doesn't want it." He said lowly, and she looked up at him feeling tears begin to run down her face.

Was he talking about himself?

Was she the Fox who wanted to tame him even though he didn't want it?

"I'm sorry." It burst out of her chest before she had time to think about what she was doing.

He pressed his lips together and swallowed loudly, clenching his hands lying on the desk into fists, his nostrils moving restlessly in accelerated breathing.

She covered her face with her hand, embarrassed that she just couldn't stop crying, feeling pain in her heart and feeling sorry for herself that she just wasn't able to give him a break, that she kept seeking his attention and interest when he just clearly wanted her to leave him alone.

She couldn't bear the thought that she wasn't liked by every man she knew.

She felt ashamed at the thought that she had been so selfish.

"I can't stand that you don't want to talk to me. That you don't like me, that you pretend not to see me. I think it's driving me crazy and you're right to think that I'm an attention-seeking girl. I'm ashamed and I apologise to you for that because it's not your problem. I promise I'll stop." She said between laboured breaths, shrugging her shoulders, lowering her gaze.

He just looked at her.

"You exaggerate everything too much. You care too much." He said finally, his voice calmer as was his gaze.

She saw him fidgeting involuntarily with his fingers in a nervous gesture, the cuticles around his fingernails peeled and red, they must have caused him pain, but he plucked them nonetheless.

"Stop." She whispered and placed her hand over his, his fingers froze in mid-motion. She heard him swallow loudly, completely taken aback, his healthy eye open wide, his whole body concentrated. She stroked his palms with her thumb, and he didn't push her away.

"I'll leave you alone." She said softly and took her hand away, not believing she had dared to do so, and he just nodded and grunted, looking in her book for the quote he wanted to talk about.

They wrote down silently next to each other what they had talked about, and when they had finished she took her books, packed up and left without saying goodbye to him.

She no longer sought his gaze when he stood next to her at the bus stop, when he sat behind her in class, when she passed him in the school corridor. She realised that she had been conceited and vain in thinking that she would make him like her. She thought there was nothing wrong with someone not fancying her, not wanting to talk to her.

She had to get over it.

She attended extra volleyball classes, loved this sport and had good results at inter-school competitions. The captain of the men's team was Cregan Stark, a tall, well-built, funny black-haired boy who caught her eye from the start.

He would occasionally wink at her from afar seeing her gaze, and she would blush, lowering her eyes.

They were good mates, chatting sometimes during breaks and laughing. Cregan often approached her between classes, throwing in any topic, sometimes accompanied by his colleagues who were also fond of her. She felt butterflies in her stomach when he invited her to a house party that Aegon was organising.

She knew that Aemond would certainly be home at that time, but she figured that he would lock himself in his room and not go downstairs to them anyway, so she readily agreed, glad to see Helaena there as well.

She dressed in her favourite suede black dress reaching mid-thigh with a boat neckline, not revealing her breasts but showing her shoulders, and she wore her favourite shiny black boots. She let her hair down, deciding that she looked the prettiest this way, and literally ran out of the house when she heard a knock on the door.

She and Cregan hugged each other as if they were friends and moved arm-in-arm across the street hearing the loud music in the distance. When they entered she saw a crowd of people, most were her friends from the estate, so she greeted everyone around her, one of the guests handed her a cup with probably the cheapest wine possible.

She took a sip, glancing at Cregan and he winked at her as he always did, this time embracing her, pulling her close.

She felt the heat in her lower abdomen and the flush in her cheeks.

For most of the time they sat together on the couch, talking about everything and nothing, she saw no one around him but him, looking into his big dark eyes as if enchanted. She swallowed loudly when she felt his hand on her thigh, trailing up and down, and pressed her lips together, unsure if she liked it or not.

However, she didn't reject his hand, not wanting to offend him, some part of her happy that he reciprocated her interest, that he liked her too, that he found her attractive too.

"Shall we go to the garden?" He asked loud enough for her to hear him, and she nodded with a smile, feeling her own heart beating fast, happy that he wanted to be alone with her.

They walked out into the garden through the kitchen, through a back entrance she knew very well, on the way she felt him grasp her hand in his, she had a feeling her heart would leap out of her chest. They sat down on the terrace bench, he embraced her and hugged her close, and she snuggled into his chest.

She wondered with a blush on her cheeks if he would want to kiss her.

She swallowed loudly and a shudder went through her as, from her shoulder, his hand slowly began to move up to her neck, slipped under the material of her dress and touched her bare breast. She squeezed his wrist, terrified.

"N-no." She mumbled, but instead of stopping, he tightened his fingers on her flesh.

"No, stop." She said terrified, aggressively pulling at his hand, feeling tears in her eyes, cold sweat on the back of her neck, her whole body screaming for him to let her go, wanting to run away, but he wouldn't release her.

"Didn't you hear?" She heard a firm, low voice beside her, and Cregan jumped away from her suddenly, rising from the bench.

Aemond stared at him with his lips tightened, an expression of disgust on his face, his healthy eye wide open, his hands clenched into fists.

"Don't you fucking understand what 'no' means?" He asked him again, louder this time, furious.

She was just sitting and shaking, breathing hard, looking down at her shoes, tear after tear running down her cheeks, she was unable to move or get anything out.

Cregan grunted back.

"Fuck off." He growled, wanting to get past him, but Aemond grabbed him by his shirt and pressed him against the door frame with all his strength.

She stood up quickly, terrified, and covered her mouth when Cregan hit him on the forehead with his head and he took a few steps backwards, Aemond's fist hit his face in return, Cregan half-curled and coughed. They moved away from each other, panting heavily.

"Fucking bastard." He hissed, holding his red cheek with his hand and walked back out into his house, loud music, screams, laughter and conversations of people inside around them.

She sat down on the ground, feeling her whole body shaking, clenching her eyes shut, a strange, high-pitched sound and a sob came from her throat as it finally dawned on her mind what had actually happened.

That he touched her in a way that made her uncomfortable and made her unable to breathe, that she had asked him to stop and he hadn't, how bad it made her feel, how frightening and humiliating it was.

She felt so dirty.

She wasn't sure if what came out of her mouth could be called crying, she felt like she was whimpering and howling, holding her hand to her mouth as if trying to shield herself from what was happening, to no avail.

She heard the rustling of the grass beneath his feet, she felt the gentle touch of his large, warm hand on her back, casual, tender, friendly, comforting.

She snuggled into his black sweatshirt and cried out loud, disappointed, distraught and devastated that she had trusted him, that she had believed him and he did something like this to her.

Why?

Was it because she didn't push him away when he touched her thigh, that she went out with him alone?

Did he think that was what she wanted?

"Shall I go and find Helaena?" He asked in a trembling voice clearly not knowing what to do, how to help her, horrified by what he had seen and her condition. She shook her head quickly, feeling ashamed, she didn't want anyone to know.

She heard him swallow loudly.

"If you want I'll go with you to his parents tomorrow. I'll tell them what I saw. He's been groping you all evening." He said low with some kind of tension, and she froze, drawing in the air loudly at the thought that he must have come downstairs, that he must have seen them as they sat on the sofa, watched them.

Follow them out.

She wondered if he had done it to make sure he wouldn't do anything to her against her will.

It was her fault.

She did not push him away when he touched her thigh.

She went off with him herself.

"No. They won't believe me. He'll say I wanted it myself." She mumbled in a trembling, weak voice between one shattered breath and another.

She could feel his heart pounding hard, that he was nervous too, that he didn't know what he should do. He put his arm around her in a friendly manner, feeling subconsciously that she needed it, that she was terrified.

They both stood up quickly when they heard some girls come out for a cigarette. They raised their eyebrows, looking at them with amusement, one of them waved at them.

"Hey, Cyclops, do you have a girlfriend now?" She asked, the second girl laughed out loud, the third looked at the others disapprovingly, lowering her gaze, pretending she hadn't heard this.

"Fuck off, you stupid bitch!" She growled at her so loudly and with such fury that the girl froze, it seemed to her that she had never called anyone that out loud before in her life.

In a frenzy of desperation, anger and humiliation, she pulled her boots off her feet and, one by one, started throwing them at them until all three of them fled inside the house screaming that she was insane.

"Fuck, calm down! Jesus." He called out to her in shock, grabbing her by her arm. She raised her eyes at him, breathing loudly, his gaze softening a bit.

"Do you want to go home?" He asked lowly, almost indifferently, and she nodded, feeling that she wanted to cry again at the thought of Cregan's touch on her chest.

His hand tightened on her bare breast, refusing to let her go.

An unpleasant shiver ran through her, she felt like she was going to vomit.

First, though, she had to find her shoes, one of which had ended up in the bushes, the other behind their barbecue, all dirty from the coals. She put them on anyway, she was already indifferent to everything.

He didn't even ask if she wanted him to walk her away.

He just followed her.

On the way out they came across Cregan and his mates smoking a cigarette on the road, some of his friends whistling at them, laughing out loud.

"Are you guys going to fuck?" He called from a distance in amusement, she felt that her whole body was shaking, that she was afraid of them and she thanked God that he had gone with her, that he had not left her alone.

She wondered if this was what he experienced all the time at school.

Humiliation.

He stood with her in front of her door with his hands tucked into his black trousers, his face turned in profile.

She knew she shouldn't do this, but she needed it.

She walked up to him and hugged her face to his sweatshirt, standing in front of him like that. She could feel his warm breath on the top of her head, she knew he was looking at her.

She swallowed loudly as she felt his forehead pressed against her hair, he let out a loud breath, something in his voice that she could call sympathy.

"Try not to think about it. If you change your mind and want to go to his parents, I'll go with you. Hm?" He asked lowly, and she nodded.

"Are you going to keep seeing him?" He asked coolly after a moment, and she shook her head, feeling that it made her sick at the thought.

"Good." He muttered, raising his head. She pulled away from him and looked at him, swallowing loudly.

"Gonna give you my phone number. In case you decide to do it." He added quickly, wanting to make sure she didn't understand his proposal ambiguously. She nodded her head.

He dictated a string of numbers to her, which she typed into her phone and added him to her contacts under the name 'Prince'. He saw this and lifted his gaze to her, but made no comment.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"I'm sorry." He said finally. She nodded her head in understanding.

"Thank you for everything. That you… you know. Have a good night." She said softly, without looking at him anymore, and disappeared behind the front door of her house.

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen

AO3 Link

Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!

Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You

Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.

Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. “A-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-”

“Hi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,” Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.

Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.

On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaena’s, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaena’s embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abby’s other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.

“I’m sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, he’ll retrieve the stag antlers for you,” Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. “He’ll love the opportunity to prove himself.” Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.

“Nay, Your Grace,” she said primly. “I would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.” Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmara’s own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,” she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. “But we’ll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. That’s how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.”

“That’s true,” Abby chimed in. “And you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? I’m sure falconry is in your blood.” Floris’ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.

Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. “This is true. I suppose I should practice.”

“Practice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,” Helaena continued. “My elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.”

Floris preened, leaning into Helaena’s side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abby’s heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaena’s ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaena’s care and attention. It did not go past Abby’s notice of Cassandra’s harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sister’s lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.

She’d be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.

As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. “With all that noise, they’re sure to scare away all their quarry,” Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.

The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on Kostōba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hull’s silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegon’s retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.

Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that he’d agreed to the offer, brushing off his mother’s gape mouthed indignation about it. “He’s the reason I still live, Mother,” Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightower’s anger that morning as they broke their fast. He’d brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.

Seeing Aegon’s confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.

“Good tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!” came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. “Good tidings to him on his nameday!”

“Good tidings!” came the call of the gathered crowd. “Prince Aegon!”

As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaena’s gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegon’s nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didn’t blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.

The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeron’s smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. “Allow me, my sister, ladies.”

As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brother’s hand tighten slightly around the girl’s fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.

The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Grover’s health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queen’s hands.

Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.

“Baela’s a Targaryen too,” Helaena muttered. “Why can’t they flock to her?”

The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.

“Because they’re afraid she’ll be a bad influence, I’m sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?” Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abby’s decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.

“Hasn’t Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?” Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaena’s, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.

“We’re doing the receiving line,” Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. “Aegon’s receiving his gifts and then we’ll have congratulations on the betrothal.” She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.

It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.

Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.

It was the King’s chair, but the king was not here.

“Are we to accompany you while you receive them?” Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.

“You look nice,” Abby told her with a small smile. “Not quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,” she teased and Wylla snorted.

“It’s a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. We’ll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things into…” She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. “Men waving around their big pointy things.”

“In a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,” Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. “And yes, I think you should. We’re receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.”

“And then we’ll go hawking,” Wylla said with a nod.

“I have to stay here,” Abby corrected with a shake of her head. “It is my duty to entertain with her Grace.”

The northerner’s brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friend’s skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “As I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully there’ll be time for me to go exploring later.” Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and she’d been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.

No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.

Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.

“Abrogail.”

Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.

The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl she’d been who he’d look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.

He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abby’s stomach rumbled with hunger. They’d only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.

“You’ve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,” Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. “Even with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.”

“Antics?” she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics they’d gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.

Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. “The other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.” He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. “And everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queen…” he trailed off with a sigh, “has not quite been pleased but…”

Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brother’s attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. “Her Grace has been very indulgent,” she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.

“We both understand how passionate the queen’s frustrations can run, little sister,” he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. “You will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. “She was quite concerned about… the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.” Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day she’d been accused when coupled with Ser Edmund’s harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. “Apparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.” She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. “I have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.” Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.

“It will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,” Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake he’d plucked for himself. “What matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-”

“I may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know there’s only so much influence they have,” Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. “It will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?”

“Prince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,” he reminded her after swallowing. “I don’t recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.”

“Jeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,” she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemma’s siblings and half-siblings. She’d even traced her own tree: Harwin’s mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmo’s sister. Larys and Corynna’s mother had been a Frey. Abby’s mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. “And if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.”

She’d heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wife’s death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.

Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baela’s silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.

Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. “Ah, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?”

Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyra’s nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine she’d named Caelus was a little wonder. He’d been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but there’d always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.

“He did, and I know we brought him. The queen…” Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. “She said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That it’s my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.”

“Oh, did she?” Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. “Yes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.”

Rhaenyra should be here. She was the King’s eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abby’s spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?

Alone now, save for Larys.

‘Not alone anymore’, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.

This marriage, Alicent’s desire for control, Lord Otto’s keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegon’s pain was because of Rhaenyra.

Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.

“I am here when others are not,” she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piper’s wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abby’s gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.

Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.

“If the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.”

Abby was not queen. She wasn’t certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didn’t matter, they would see what they wished.

“Lady Sarra,” Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicent’s eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. “I did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?”

Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.

“I don’t have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,” she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.

“That is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.” Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. “My legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?”

Even Baela’s mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princess’ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.

“Are we not taking a carriage?” Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.

“It is not a far walk,” Abby assured her. “And it’s nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.” She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.

“You all left so quickly!” she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandra’s dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?

This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.

“Of course, Lady Cassandra,” she said. “We would be happy to have you.” Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandra’s shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her family’s strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinor’s responding smile was kinder.

“Congratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,” Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandra’s eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.

“Yes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,” she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. “How comforting it must be to wed one’s childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.”

The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.

“Not to mention wedding a childhood playmate means there’s no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,” she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. “Now let’s fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.”

Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.

She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the ‘odd workings of an overactive imagination.’ That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.

‘He’ll have to lose an eye’.

“Would you care for some company?” came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?

“You’re not gallivanting with the boys?” Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jace’s gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only ‘boys’ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.

Or if he were lonely.

“I didn’t want to…” Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didn’t know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her mother’s frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemond’s nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegon’s day because of everything that happened.

The dead look in Mother’s eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.

All of them pinned to boards in the king’s Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.

The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that she’d been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.

Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.

Half fire.

Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.

Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.

Half fire.

‘But I am full flame,’’ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragon’s power. ‘Would this be what her nieces and nephews be?’ Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.

She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. “Thank you,” she said softly and Jace smiled at her. “Pity it’s not another marchpane tentacle.” He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.

“It was nice to dance with you at the feast,” he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where he’d wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.

“You're a good dancer. I should know, I’m a good dancer myself.” She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didn’t. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didn’t look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.

Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didn’t know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.

His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply… different.

“The mint winds and chokes like ivy,” she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. “The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.” She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. “I-.”

He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. “Helaena, are you-”

A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jace’s hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. “I’m taking you back to your tent, Helaena,” he said firmly. “We don’t know what’s- Ow!”

She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so he’d let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that he’d be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jace’s cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogail’s tent that was the source of the screaming.

Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyre’s scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.

On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.

“He-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-”

“I don’t know where he came from!” Abby’s trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. “I don’t…” She gulped. “I don’t think he meant Wylla to b-be there.” Her free hand was gripping the back of Wylla’s dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abby’s shoulder.

“Give me the poker, Lady Abrogail,” he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. “There’s a girl.”

Harrion Karstark was shouting his sister’s name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.

Then, Aegon’s shout of, “Abby!” came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brother’s frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. “What happened?”

The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.

“This man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,” Ser Erryk said. “Lady Wylla got him good.” His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.

“Did you throw it?” he asked. “Or did you pounce on him?”

Wylla blinked, her brother’s broad hands holding her shoulders. “I stabbed him.” Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. “He… I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion… I thought…” Wylla’s brow furrowed, shaking her head. “He came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I just…”

Harrion’s hands tightened on his sister’s shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemond’s mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.

It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. “Well he’s dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.” He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. “Keep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.”

Wylla’s brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.

“I was half asleep,” Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. “At first I th-thought it was Wylla…” Helaena watched Abby’s hand clutch Aegon’s arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.

“How the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my lady’s tent?” Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayne’s had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. “Where were the patrols, Ser Criston?”

Their mother’s protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. “The patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.”

Aegon’s jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemond’s tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.

“Lady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,” Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. “And we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.” She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. “This is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,” she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. “These ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.” The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.

And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abby’s hand to pull her toward her tent.

Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them. Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.

Next Chapter

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you @st-eve-barnes for going over your Saltburn series with me! Just a reminder, you can view volume 1 & 2 of my ongoing series Interview With a Writer, where these talented individuals allow me to pick their brains over the brilliance behind their writing!

Name: st-eve-barnes

Story: Leverage

Paring: Michael Gavey x Female!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ for explicit content and language. Kissing, oral sex (male receiving), dry humping, hand job, fingering, p in v sex. First kiss and loss of virginity. Experienced reader. Enemies to lovers vibes.

So, when did you start writing?

I guess I have to say as a teenager, though I never shared anything I wrote back then. I still have the notebooks I used to drabble in (in Dutch), it wasn’t very good at all but I guess even back then I had that need to be creative and make my own stories.

I officially started writing fanfic in 2013. I watched Thor the Dark World, fell in love with Loki, made a Tumblr and a whole new world opened. After a few months of reading fanfic, I started writing my own. Again, it wasn’t very good at all but even my bad stories slowly started to find an audience on here, so I stuck with it.

Loki is amazing, just Aemond energy in a different font.

He truly is! I've written different characters since, but the moment I saw Aemond on screen I was transported back to the first time I saw Loki. His intensity, that quiet threat like you don't know what he's going to do next, combined with this, "I was made to be king but my stupid brother is the chosen one."

And a certain sadness, of course. We know they're the villains, but we understand them in a way and can feel their pain. And they are sexy as hell of course ;)

Where did the plot for Leverage come from?

Okay, so first of all, I am someone who never plans an entire plot when I start a fic. I am very much a "make it up as I go along" writer. I start with an idea and a dynamic I want to write between two characters and then I build from there.

For this one I wanted Reader and Michael to have a common goal and a common enemy, something that would push these two different characters to want to work together. I wanted the enemies to lovers vibe but soft. Like, you can tell very early on in the fic that they have empathy for each other. When Reader is crying, Michael softens up easily, and when she sees Michael being vulnerable about not being able to get girls, she feels for him as well.

Their personalities will still clash even after that, but you can (hopefully) feel the connection between them as well. I wanted Ben's threat to loom over them for the entire fic but also never make it the main plot point in every chapter. The main plot for me here was how Michael and Reader could help each other change and grow, and then either accept that change or turn away from it.

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

No, not really, I think. I wanted to make her independent and confident, but also a little bit lonely, all traits you can also find in Michael. And anything else, as usual, I make up as I go along. I get to know the characters as I write them and often I'm surprised where they take me. In this fic I think it was Michael who surprised me the most though, he really turned out different than I initially had planned.

Explain your interpretation of Michael. What drives him? How did he differ from what you originally had in mind?

Salburn didn't give us much to work with, and I actually love that because it gives us so much freedom to play with the character.

I went with what the movie did give us: Michael's obvious hatred for the popular privileged kids. It's the reason he initially hates Reader, but warms up to her when he learns that she is actually working for her place at Oxford and she is not a real part of Ben's group. I think he is driven to help her purely because of that common enemy in the beginning.

Then he gets to know her a little and the promise of sex comes into play, which he definitely doesn't say no to. What surprised me in writing him is that I initially planned on writing him as a sub throughout the entire fic, but then half way in the tables started turning and he started taking over control a bit (of the Reader and me as well apparently!). And then suddenly it made complete sense to write him that way, because he would be that overeager student who wants to do well and who does the homework to get it exactly right, it doesn't matter whether it's math or sex, he wants to show how good and smart he is.

Him just accepting his feelings for her so calmly was also something I didn't plan, but just sort of happened as I was writing.

My initial plans there was going to be a big fight between her and Michael right before they would call things off. He would force her to admit her feelings and the sex would turn quite rough; Michael just being Michael and saying a lot of wrong things to her that would eventually shut her down completely. But I never wrote that scene and by the time I got there in the story it didn't seem to fit their characters anymore and it also seemed too heavy for this fic so I let go of that idea.

Do you feel your Reader and Michael complement one another?

I definitely think they complement each other, but I also think they are quite alike in many ways. As I said before, they are both quite confident in different ways and insecure in others.

I do think they complement each other perfectly with Michael being more book smart and focused, while Reader is (a lot) better with people and social skills. I think them being together changes them both for the better cause they can learn from each other's personalities and bring out the best out in each other (but also the worst, of course).

Let's say that in their future they definitely learn to focus on bringing out the best and not the worst in each other ;)

Do you think you'll ever continue their story?

Never say never, but there's no plans to write more for them for now. I don't think I've written many sequels over the years, but I love writing different ideas and dynamics between two characters and once they are together, it's like "my work here is done."

Do you have a personal favorite story (on ao3 or Tumblr) you'd like to share?

My absolute favorite story is from a previous fandom that I'm not in anymore, but I have to share that one as it is the single most beautiful thing I've ever read. It was the fic that pulled me into the fandom. It's a Stucky story and it's called Not Easily Conquered, known as NEC in the fandom.

It will crush your soul and heal you and I will give anyone the same advice I got before I read it for the first time: be prepared because this one will hurt. I cried for like a week after I read it and I don't cry easily so this one should come with a warning. But it is absolutely worth it!

Do you have another story in the works?

The only thing I'm working on right now is a Felix Catton x Reader story called Pretty Little Liars. Two chapters have been posted and I'm working on the next ones, but it may be a while as life has been a bit full on here lately.

Would you like to share a snippet of what's to come?

“I think he has a little crush on you,” you stated while Felix opened the door to his room and let you step inside first. Felix shook his head but the little blush on his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you. “It’s not like that,” he denied, “He’s just…a bit lost and I’m trying to be his friend.” “You sure that’s all he wants?” “Yeah,” he laughed, “Ollie doesn’t want me, he just wants to be like me.” “If you say so,” you sighed, not convinced. Felix grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you down to sit on the side of his bed, leaning forward to look into your eyes, “Hey, come on, don’t ruin this by becoming jealous.” “I’m not jealous, I’m…concerned.” That wasn’t a lie. Jealousy was never a factor, you knew right from the start that Felix would never truly be yours, you would always have to share him with the rest of the world. And you always accepted that. But the idea of sharing him with Oliver somehow made your blood boil. Felix kneeled down in front of you, eyes locking with yours as his gaze darkened and he smiled that irresistible smile of his. “Now, did you come up here to chat about Ollie, or to get your pussy eaten, hmm? Cause I can’t do both at the same time.” His lips connected with your knee, kissing your skin softly and you bit your lip and sighed deeply, “Fine, I’ll shut up.”

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Temptation

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader

Summary : Thranduil, ever the stoic ellon, finds himself tempted by his baser urges when he catches the way you eat flavoured shaved ice. 

Themes : Slow burn | Smut

Warnings : Kissing | Food play | Penetrative sex | Dirty talk / Degradation | Love bites | Rough sex | Hand pinning 

Word count : 2.3 k words

Minors DNI | 18+

This is the second part of three seperate fics, each with a different theme and a different character. The third, featuring Aemond, and titled Adoration, will be up tomorrow, same time.

Want to be tagged? Want to know the reader request rules? Read all here

Thranduil watched you.

He should have been focusing on his book instead, but he felt impelled to watch you.

You, on the other hand, were perched next to him on the sofa, enjoying a goblet of shaved ice. It was cold to the touch, its contents smothered in spiced plum syrup. It was a treat you allowed yourself even on cold nights, and it was a little ritual for the two of you. Thranduil would read, and you, you would indulge yourself in sweet decadence.

So content were you with eating that you failed to notice what the ellon next to you was doing. While you ate, Thranduil would leaf through his book, visions of licking the syrup from your skin haunting his every thought. He shook his head, determined to control himself. Such passions were the province of the young, and he, a much older elf, was determined to have better control of his baser urges. And he thought he did, until he caught you licking sticky red syrup off the pads of your fingers.

Oh, how he longed to lick those fingers, to run his tongue over your skin. Thranduil swallowed, forced his attention back to his book. He leafed through another page, his skin flushing when he heard you go, “Mmm, so good.”

He groaned softly while he watched you pour more syrup into the goblet, while you licked up syrup stuck to your fingers. His control slowly crumbled to dust as he felt blood rush to his loins. Thranduil forced himself to read his book once more, all while his need to sate the lust coursed through him like red hot fire.

It was absolute bliss you thought, as you savoured another morsel. When you savoured another mouthful, you heard a soft whimper. You turned to Thranduil and studied him. Why did he look flushed, his eyes so heavy and dark? “Meleth?”

Thranduil coughed and turned another page, making a great show of him reading. He tried hard not to look, to not make it so obvious he wanted you. He took a deep breath and muttered an oath when the scent of syrup tortured him, urging him to do indulge in a decadence of his own. And since he didn’t answer, you leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Meleth? Is everything alright?”

Thranduil swallowed and made himself look at you, saying. “I--.” His gaze automatically drifted your hands, disappointment washing over him as they were clean and no longer had syrup all over them. “I’m fine, petal. Truly.”

“Are you sure?” you hummed when his eyes flicked to yours. There was something strong there, something dark and hungry and needy. And why did he look at your hands like that, like he wanted to eat them up? It thrilled you still, to see wanton need flash in his eyes.

Thranduil coughed again, determined to win against the vicious sexual tug pulling at him. “Yes, petal.” He leafed through another page, all too aware of your gaze on him. “I’m sure.”

You studied him, sure there was more than just reading on his mind. “Alright.”

Thranduil’s eyes may have been on his book, but his ears were tuned into the sounds coming from you and around you. He heard a stopper being pulled, syrup being poured, ice crunching between your teeth.

More shaved ice washed down your throat, the syrup sweet as it lingered on your tongue. Thranduil swallowed as he watched you again, his primal need slowly starting to win out against all else. When he caught you licking your thumb Thranduil finally yielded, his need to have you under him with his tongue running all over your skin proving too much for him in the end. He muttered “fuck it,” under his breath, snapped his book shut and tossed it onto the table.

The loud thud made you look up. “Meleth?”

Thranduil scooted over, took the goblet out of your hands. “Do you,” greedy eyes drifted to your fingers, stained again with plum syrup. “Do you need help with cleaning that?”

“What?” You look at your fingers, at his darkened eyes. Your throat went dry when Thranduil ran his tongue over his lips. Heat spread in your core. “Yes,” your hands trembled as the warmth in his pressed against yours. “Yes, please.”

When he dipped his head, tenderly pressed his lips against your index finger, you take in a sharp breath. A gasp rose from the back of your throat when his lips slid lower, past the first digit, pulling back with a soft pop before moving onto another. Your breath grew choppy when he moved from one finger to another, first with his lips, then with his tongue, dragging out sharp gasps when his ran his tongue over your palm. “Th-thranduil,” you panted, your pussy growing slick with each passing second. “Wh-what are you doing?”

Thranduil growled, pushed you onto your back. “I – I was hoping-” he mumbled, one hand picking up the bottle of syrup, the other hooking into your collar. “-I was hoping you’d let me indulge in a prurient fantasy of mine.”

Your eyes darted to the bottle, to him. A knowing smile spread across your lips, bringing about a near similar one across his. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

There was a sharp rip, of your dress being torn down the center. A large hand gliding over your torso jolted you, as did the cool syrup that was poured over your skin. Thranduil dipped his head, his mouth so hot against your cool skin. The air around you seemed to still as he licked and tugged and sucked his way over your flesh, first your navel, then your ribcage, then the soft swell of your breasts. He lingered here, tasting you like you were a delicious morsel, his lips tugging on your rigid buds, his teeth grazing, fingers skillfully tweaking, ripping his name from your lips.

His name. Oh how Thranduil loved it, hearing his name roll of your lips. He’d back away, sprinkle more syrup over your skin, dipping his head, his eyes occasionally snapping up to yours. When his tongue flicked over a nipple, you moan, “I love what you’re doing with your tongue, meleth.”

Thranduil groaned against your skin, need gathering in his belly when you slid your legs and rested them against his thighs. “It is a start petal,” he breathed as he moved up, capturing your lips with his. “But there will be more.”

You tasted him, the syrup, the spices, and the warm, sinful taste that was him, purring as his teeth nipped your bottom lip. “Your body feels hot and sticky already,” Thranduil crooned as he ground his hips against the insides of yours thighs. As one hand cradled your neck, keeping you steady, the other snaked over your waist, tracing its way over your legs before sneaking under your skirts. A smooth palm gliding over the insides of your thigh made you tremble, fingers pressing against cotton made you gasp. “Wet for me already?” Thranduil tsked as he continued to stroke your pussy. “My my, petal, you’re so weak.”

“Y-yes,” your back kept arching every time he pressed his fingers over your entrance, his thumb rubbing against your already throbbing clit. “S-so w-weak.”

“Pathetic, petal,” Having you neatly under his thumb now in every sense of the word, Thranduil smirked as he continued to watch you squirm beneath him. “I wonder how long it would take before I have you moaning my name again.”

It didn’t take long before his name rolled over your lips in a half-whisper, half-moan. When he pushed your panties to a side and ran a finger over exposed flesh, he chuckled as you whimpered. “Not long, I see. But keep mewling for me, petal,” His voice was barely over a whisper. “It’s like music to my ears.”

You couldn’t think, barely even speak. All you could do was feel. Your breath grew labored, your mind fuzzing up with each shudder that shot up your back. You felt a finger slide into your slick heat, making you arch into him every time it hit that sweet spot, making you see stars and moan even more.

Seeing your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth parted in half-moans made him want darker, more sinful things.  “Touch yourself, petal,” He rasped as you continued to writhe beneath him. “Go on. Play with yourself while I watch.”

He bit his lip and groaned when you caressed your breasts, first one, then the other. It was pure instinct driving you to play with yourself, softly, gently, cupping your breasts, playing with your nipples. A large hand rested over yours and squeezed, made you whine. “Th-thranduil,” you whimpered when fingers stretched your walls, when a large hand put more pressure over your own, sending tiny jolts of pain along with waves of pleasure all over you. “T-too m-much. P-please…”

“Too much?” Thranduil chuckled and squeezed again, making you bow your back and buck into his hand. “Petal, I’ve just gotten started.”

The next time your body trembled, your walls clenched around his curled fingers, made him moan in sync with you. Thranduil pulled back his fingers and pushed in again, fucking you slowly, taking you to the brink with each thrust. Despite his skills, you were left unsatisfied with his fingers. “It’s n-not enough,” you plead.

He let go of your hand, propped himself up and dipped his head a little lower, his ash-blonde hair rubbing against your cheeks. “What’s not enough?”

“Your f-fingers,” your back arched as your pussy clenched around his fingers again. “N-not enough.”

“Pitiful, my petal,” he crooned. “I was hoping you’d hold out a little longer.”

You purred shamelessly. “I- I can’t.”

Thranduil groaned in ecstasy. He had been dreaming of his cock plunging into your cunt for quite some time now. “Well, in that case, petal,” he knelt up and pulled out of you, making you whimper from the loss of contact. You forced your eyes to open, find him undoing the clasp of his belt. “Hips,” he rasped, as he tossed the belt to the table. “Lift them.”

Your underwear was pulled over your thighs, your legs, achingly slow, before being tossed to the ground. Thranduil dipped his head, latching onto the hollow of your throat. It felt intoxicating, feeling his teeth graze over exposed flesh, leaving patches of purple and red to bloom in their wake. “M-more,” you plead.

A breathy chuckle was all you heard when that dark and sinful mouth marked its way down the cleft between your breasts before turning its attention to a nipple. More jolts of pleasure washed over you, made you tremble beneath him as his mouth plundered its way all over your body, gliding over your ribcage, your belly, before skimming its way back up again, colliding with your lips with a deep and hungry kiss.

You couldn’t wait. Not anymore. When his tongue licked past your lips you snuck your hands to his breeches, pulling it down past his hips, freeing his cock. “No, petal.” Thranduil grabbed onto your hands, pinned them down over your head. “Not yet.”

You whine, “please.”

In the mood to tease, Thranduil rubbed the tip of his cock against your sopping wet clit. “Not yet, petal,” he moaned.

It felt like you were being taken to the brink again. Your body trembled and trembled every time his cock rubbed against your pussy. “P-please,” you beg, and more desperately this time. “Pl-please th-Thranduil.”

Thranduil moaned long and deep when your legs hooked around his waist. “Please,” you almost sobbed.

Feeling your slick heat finally undid him. Overcome by the savage need to take, Thranduil sunk his cock into your aching cunt, his own body trembling in relief as your walls clenched around him. He kept your wrists pinned down with one hand while the other snaked its way over your quivering muscles before resting against your hip, lifting it, letting him plunge as deep as he could with each thrust.

“Is that what you wanted, petal, hmm?” Thranduil hissed as shallow thrusts grew deep and rough. “My cock inside your cunt?”

“Y-yes,” With your wrists were pinned against the cushion you felt caged in, unable to move, but all you could was arch your back every time his hips pushed in and slammed against you. “Th-this is ex-actly what I wanted.”

“Good, petal,” he half-crooned, half-moaned, as his body settled into a rhythm that drew the most lewd noises out of you. Feeling his hips grind against the insides of your thighs, seeing you bucking beneath him, your lips parted, your eyes squeezed shut, intoxicated him. He railed you, holding you steady at the hip, never ceasing, not even when he felt your cunt clench around his cock. “Cum for me,” Thranduil muttered as muscles in his own belly started to coil. “Cum for you king.”

The sofa kept creaking as he rocked back and forth, plunging his cock as deep as he could before pulling out again, leaving you empty and aching to be filled. Your heels scrabbled for purchase against his back and your own arched again, his name rolling over your lips again and again. You felt lightheaded, your body drawing taut like a bow-string. Thranduil plundered your lips with his, drowning out your moans, whimpering when your heels dug into his back, pushing him even deeper. It felt like a spring that had been released and waves ripped through you, making you forget everything, save for the man heaving over you, taking you to the edge of the cliff and over it. You could feel it, your walls tightening around his cock, your mouth parting in one final cry as your body shook violently. Thranduil didn’t last even a bare second, his own orgasm washing over him, deep grunts peppering the air as he came inside you, his cock spilling every drop of his seed until he was utterly spent.

After savouring his sated bliss for a moment, Thranduil dipped his head again, this time licking up tiny beads of sweat that had formed along your body. “Delicious,” he panted feverishly. He brought his body to rest of atop yours, his hands brushing back your hair, his lips brushing over your brow as you trembled beneath him. When you finally managed to open your eyes, a lazy smile tugging at your lips, you look around and mumble: “We made a bit of a mess, didn’t we?”

He chuckled in agreement, shifting his weight and you until he had you on top of him. “Yes, we did, petal. And I wouldn’t mind making more of a mess again.”

[bumblesimagines]

Hi! I just wanted to expressed my love for the “Curiousities” fics! I might get it slightly wrong here, but I believe Aegon isn’t inherently a bad person, he seems to me as a rather broken character, I mean we saw it just before (Y/n) and Aegon had sex, where (Y/n) showed him some genuine care and love. I think Aegon feels devoid of any actual purpose, he is a young king limited by the council, and on top of all of that, his brothers hate him, his mother doesn’t really know how to approach him (maybe because of the consequences of being a child-bride, she didn’t develop the emotional capability to be an actual mother), also, the only person he loved, his son, died.

I think the way Aegon clings to (Y/n) is positively enticing, for god sake Aegon actually said “Please” (fucking Aegon, he doesn’t ask for anything, EVER). The way he is *slightly* obsessed with (Y/n) is so fucking delicious to read! He craves that sort of intimacy, where, he doesn’t feel judged and (Y/n) listens to him, not because he is the King, but because he actually cares about Aegon. I mean, to cause such an impact on someone, that they actually chase you, like they need you more then air itself is so SO wonderful to read about (I think we saw that, when Aegon wanted (Y/n) to move to the Red Keep, to me that said, “I need you so much you have to be with me at all times).

A little part of me, perhaps a little more perverted, believes that (Y/n), if he was a little mean spirited, could get ANYTHING, he wants from Aegon (Aegon said it himself, when he referenced the riches and all of that, even the maids tending to (Y/n) pointed it out). I have a feeling Aegon will literally kiss the ground (Y/n) walks on…

Finally, I would like to mention the meeting between Alicent and (Y/n), it seemed to me that they understood each others on a deeper level, I can’t wait to read more about their relationship, they seem like they would make really good friends (also that would be a really badass duo). Perhaps (Y/n) could help her mend the relationship with Aegon and, perhaps this is wishful thinking, I kinda want Aegon to become a better king, because of the love he has for (Y/n).

I am so sorry that this is so long, but I just wanted to let you know that I enjoy these fics so much! I CANT WAIT for the next “Curiousities” fics!

Thank you so much for your time!

Me rn:

There's nothing I LOVE more than reading others opinions or how they interpret my fics! Feel free to send in as many long comments or asks as you wish on any of my works it'll always have me kicking my feet.

On the topic of Aegon, he is definitely a very complex multilayered character and Tom plays him and understands him very well. Aegon isn't a good person but he's not a complete full villain with no good traits and I think die hard Team Black fans tend to ignore what led him to become who he is in favor of bashing the character simply for being the rival of their favs.

He's definitely broken and I think if Alicent had given him more genuine love during his childhood he would've been better. I will never blame Alicent for not being able to properly bond with her children fully when she was not only a child-bride but a victim of SA. She has shown that she does love Aegon but I think their relationship is so complicated because he truly was the first thing that permanently tied her to Viserys. Aegon is very much a product of his environment and the product of not having a support system.

I tried to do his character justice from everything I've seen in the show (and sorta in the book). We know Aegon is sensitive, he drinks and often makes a mess of things, he has an extremely complicated relationship with his mother and a nonexistent one with his father, he's capable of being kind (to the smallfolk and his kids), and even though he might antagonize them or not try to full understand them he also cares for his kids.

Plus!! He didn't want to be king!! He tried to run and begged Aemond to let him go! And now that he's king the very people who forced the crown on his head don't bother trying anymore and dismiss him. Aegon is quite literally all alone. Rhaenyra does have her troubles with her council but her family largely backs her up, Aegon's family primarily roll their eyes or do their own thing.

(Y/N) is literally the only person he can rely on for an emotional connection and for the gentle physical touch he's been craving from everyone around him.

I want to study this man and his amazing sad puppy eyes 😭

[humanpurposes]

i often think of how different your writing style is to your fellow writers, and I wonder if you are very picky about what you consume/read because of it.

Do you often venture outside of your own writing style to read fics that are different and yet, good? If yes, would you recommend them?

It's interesting thinking about style because it is obviously subjective and very personal to each writer. I like to think I have quite a distinct voice as a writer and fanfiction has really helped me settle into that after not writing anything for a long time.

I think you learn a lot from the stories around you, if it's fics, books, movies, plays, history, music, whatever, especially when you branch out of your own style or comfort zone. I love exploring other people's writing and comparing it to my own, seeing what details they focus on, how they describe people and settings. I think essentially, the most important thing for me as a reader/consumer of media is that the story and the characters are interesting. As long as you've got a good story (and smut and yearning and pining), I'm happy.

I've specifically thought this about Sam (@randomdragonfires) and Justine's (@theoneeyedprince) writing, that they're very different to mine but that's why I love reading their fics. They both have a really classic, poetic feel to their writing, and internal, if that makes sense? I personally struggle with internal monologue because that's just not how my brain works, I think I focus a lot more on actions and dialogue. But that all really lends itself to the stories they tell, love you guys 🥺❤️

Also Ange @ewanmitchellcrumbs is one of my favs on here because the level of detail and the subtleties that go into her fics make for such immersive stories. Her writing feels very grounded and real and I really admire that about her. And her dedication to character is something I really appreciate 🥰

I have some more specific recs just because I wanted to ramble about some fics I like. Also because it's me, these are all a bit DD;DNE

I could see your shadow in the water (beneath the castle where you broke my heart) by Rueluxxx This is a fem!Lucerys fic told from the pov of Aemond and Lucerys' son. It's not a love story at all, it's very traumatic. But THE REASON WHY I am obsessed with this fic is the tragedy of loving someone and never being able to make amends. Aemond reaches a point where he realises how much he's made his wife suffer and starts living in this delusion where he tries to win her back but it will never be enough. They loved each other as children, they work well together as rulers, they have their own children now, and she will always do her duty as his wife, but no matter how hard Aemond tries, Lucerys will never want him. Chapter 6 in particular broke my heart, some of the best dialogue I've read.

Moon Song by @randomdragonfires We're following a pattern here of Aemond's doomed marriages but this was made specifically for me!! This focuses on Aemond's guilt after he murders Luke at Storm's End, only to come back home to his wife, Luke's twin sister. I love how this fic creates the juxtaposition of Aemond's suffering and guilt, how he still longs for a relationship with his wife and is haunted by the image of her twin brother. And it's told from his pov so you're left wondering about his wife's lingering longing and hatred, if she wants to salvage their marriage, if she fears him and just wants to appease him? Anyway, Aemond feels like he's losing her to the brother he murdered, and no spoilers but the ending is WOW.

Rumours by @adragonprinceswhore Oh boy, another failed marriage. Fun fact about Inka, she actually owns my soul. I'm so emo for Fleetwood Mac and this fic combines my two favourite things to ever exist. Despite definitely being in the wrong here, Aemond is my favourite character in this, his struggle to express his own feelings and the love he had/still has for his ex-wife. He feels betrayed because she left him, guilty because he hurt her, and the way the music is woven into this just adds a whole other level of emotion. AND HE WAS THE ONE TO WRITE STORMS??? I can't deal. "I'm your family now, Aemond." Liar. Will never not get me.

Ok that's all I have for you, ta ra x

[presidenthades]

i just binged the whole house full of daughters series and it has legit been so amazing to read, it’s made me laugh and cry like no other fic has and it just feels so real i can picture all the moments in my mind so clearly. i usually am a lurker when it comes to being online but i just really wanted to say that the arc with lucera and her being overly sexualised when she was too young hits so close to home bc it happened to me for the exact same reason and it just made me a lil weepy and so seen. The fact that all the family around her are so quick to protect her and seek vengeance on her behalf felt really cathartic to read, especially the scenes where daemon realises what she’s been going through is more than just what he’d previously noticed, so thank you for writing it 🥺

Thank you for sending this!! Hearing that my writing has resonated so much with a reader is pretty much the best thing I can ask for as a writer. ❤️

When I write, I really enjoy exploring character development and family relationships. Daemon is still an imperfect father by the end of the Handbook, but he’s learned and grown from his mistakes. I’m still figuring out the Lucera/Aemond fic, but her experience with being overly sexualized will play a part in her journey (but it doesn’t define her entirely, of course! There’s a lot more to her than that).

Thank you for reading and taking the time to write to me. 🥰

[fanficapologist]

Oof, here we go!! Maera went there!! I couldn’t believe what I just read. I thought I was hallucinating the words.

Oooh the nerve of Aemond, I mean if I were Maera I’d ignore him too. He doesn’t get any sympathy from me. In this universe, even if he’d lain with Alys as a means to an end, and not because he felt something for her, well, we can’t deny the proof of it now can we.

I was also seething at how the people around her - Alicent and even her father fully expect her to turn a blind eye to Aemond’s indiscretion all while she is held up to an impossibly high standard of always doing her best and just accepting it, as if she should be grateful Aemond still returns to her. I know we’re supposed to be judging them based on the standards of that time but it just reminded me that even now, little has changed. Just this afternoon my parents asked when I planned on getting married as I am nearly thirty. And the worst part is how marriage is seen as the solution to everything - because as they put it, what else was I going to do with my life if I didn’t get married? It just drives me mad because it implies that all my accomplishments amount to nothing until I secure a husband, not even that, as if my entire being is worthless until I got married.

Anyway, back to the story, we finally have the confrontation scene!! I had to process my feelings on this because my knee jerk reaction is to feel insulted, how dare Alys act like that as if she was the wife? But then, when I calmed down, I realized, it could also be a projection of my possessiveness to Aemond and to an extent Ewan Mitchell. Fanfiction makes me lose myself in the character so it’s easy to feel as if I’ve been slighted, yes, I’m feeling quite meta today. But in reality, or in canon, Alys isn’t really portrayed heavily enough for us to really get a glimpse of what she was like so it’s easy to paint her as the villain, the seductress who tempted Aemond but let’s not forget- Aemond also chose to lie with Alys. I want to be better and not just lay down the blame on the other woman. For all we know, Alys is amused because she’s past all that and finds the entire thing silly because she doesn’t want to steal Aemond. She already knows his heart belongs to Maera. I feel like she’s like this -taunting because Maera is wary of her. I mean I do want to give her the benefit of the doubt. But I suppose the only way I’ll find out is if I read the next chapter.

When you said drama I didn’t expect it on a Monday hahahahaha but this powered me through the day so thank you so much!! Hope you’re doing well!

I always live for your analysis of the chapters each time I upload 🖤

Aemond is so god damn stupid but think we’ve all gotta remember this boy is about 18/19 in this fic. That is so young! And what man doesn’t make dumb decisions at that age? (I like to think most of the wars in the medieval times are due to young men spitting their dummies out and acting on impulse, only to regret it later)

With Alys, you’re right. In the canon we don’t know an awful lot about her. I’m hoping to give her a bit more depth as a character with more interactions between her and Maera. I’m not sure how some of the audience will react to that. We’re all Aemond girlies and I’m sure there will be plenty of comments like “why doesn’t Maera just stab her ffs.” (Tbf id react the same 🤣) but we can’t just go round stabbing people, can we?

Maera’s got to play the game, and what a long game it will be. She’s going to have to be sneaky, clever and downright badass if she wants to succeed in this world, especially with a war going on.

I have the bulk of the next chapter, just down to editing now. (Spoiler: there will be smut 👀)

[bbygirl-aemond]

bbygirl-aemond, I have thoughts, I will reread chapter 32, but I do have thoughts if you dont mind me asking them. I think initially, my question is, how do you balance the role of Valyria historically with the nature of their colonialism? Only because it seems like the picture presented is that ultimately Valyrianness is a good thing? It seemed like despite the Firstmen not wanting Valyrian conquerors who desecrated their land with fire, Harrenhal did? And that seems off to me? I mean if your pro-valyrian then totally disregard this but I had got the impression that you were rather critical of them but maybe I was conflating your critique of Viserys with your critique of Valyria and the Valyrian Freehold? Also, side note I very much enjoyed the complex relationship everyone had with Viserys and how it wasn't reconciled and that Helaena stood her ground. Your interpretation of her is my absolute favourite because she is a fully fleshed woman with her own motivations, and her distance from Rhaenyra is that wonderful icing on the cake. Coming from someone who doesn't like my own half-sister, it's very understandable Helaenas weariness but also her stubbornness not to forget what Rhaenyra put her and her brothers through. It's just chefs' kiss.

No that's a fair question! Ultimately, I think my answer is that my opinion on morality of canon is separate from what I choose to play around with for fun. For example, I don't think we're meant to read ASoIaF and come away like "yes monarchy is good actually." I'm very anti-monarchist in my everyday life, but it's tons of fun to lean into the grand imagery related to monarchy and divine right in a fantasy world. This applies to the themes of colonialism and feudalism as well.

Stormbreak is, fundamentally, a Targaryen Restoration fic, so it's not going to be doing any heavy lifting related to concepts of monarchy, feudalism, and colonialism. I do address parts of these themes, but not in full, and it shouldn't be taken as a perfect mirror of my own views outside of the Stormbreak sandbox.

As for Harrenhal--I think there isn't necessarily a moral endorsement of the Valyrian magic there. Just because something exists doesn't mean that it's good that it exists, but it is a reality. Jace's Valyrian-ness is useful in its ability to protect the members of House Strong from a curse that would otherwise kill them off. Jace's arc here also isn't finished, and we haven't seen the final form of the agreement(s) he'll have with the land he rules. This is because the First Men are, you guessed it, also originally colonizers! They invaded Westeros, slaughtered the children of the forest in spades, and destroyed their sacred spaces. They were eventually forced to stop and coexist, but only after a massive display of force (the children of the forest literally broke Westeros and Essos into two separate continents), so it wasn't out of realization that their colonizing was wrong, and they still successfully stole most of Westeros from the children of the forest, relegating them to small patches of land here and there where Weirwood trees grew. I can't spoil too much here, but let's just say the Valyrians weren't the first ones to think of imbuing the land with spells to drive out the First Men… and that Stormbreak will ultimately treat the children of the forest as the only true natives of Westeros.

I'm glad that Helaena's characterization has resonated with you! She's been so fun to write. In general, I've had so much fun with the female characters in this fic, particularly ones like Helaena, Baela, and Alys whose personalities were kind of neglected in the book and/or the show. I also have this pet peeve around the idea that women inherently always have to like each other because of girlboss solidarity, so I deliberately called attention to Rhaenyra's mistake in thinking that Helaena would side with her because they were both women. Helaena isn't necessarily always going to agree with Rhaenyra on things, which is understandable. They had vastly different upbringings, and Helaena's experience with dreaming gives her an entirely unique perspective. In this chapter, Helaena doesn't try to stop Aemond and Aegon, because she agrees with them! Regardless of how much fear she personally felt (since I think her dreams provide a lot of reassurance to her that others aren't able to access), she still spent her entire life surrounded by her family, who were very much impacted by that fear.

[babyblue711]

Hi Blue! Can I just say I loved reading your fics?

Devotion - Have yet to read this! In my reading list hehe

Redemption - I liked the idea of Will eventually growing up and reconnecting with OC who is now surer of herself, when before she was under Leah’s shadow. The slightly slow burn and reconnecting as if no time had passed.

Temptation - The biggest red flag out of all Ewanverse characters. BUT his story is also sort of lonely/tragic because canonically it was said he grew up on the ship and didn’t have much experience with physical affection/touch. I’m always a sucker for redemption (pun intended) stories and Temptation is what I had imagined would happen if Ettore had someone he could connect with. That way, he’d know what it’s like when he doesn’t have to force himself just to feel something. In my head, I interpreted it as Ettore trying to become a better man because he feels something for OC. It’s not yet love but it is something that could potentially develop into one.

Surrender - Oh to be fucked by both Targaryen brothers. Each chapter was more delicious than the last. Though I did wonder whether OC ended up with Aemond. From the last chapter, Aegon left with a parting kiss on her forehead while Aemond stayed. Now, I’m not sure whether Aemond was just being a gentleman but I sensed more here. Ohhh this made me slightly antsy because I wanted to know whether they continued seeing each other seriously or his ‘call you later’ is just to fuck later.

Loyalty - Not really a fan of Alys Rivers. Hear me out!!! Because Ewan’s portrayal kind of cemented him as Aemond and I can’t seem to unsee it. Fine, this is also me being jealous, not of Alys Rivers per se but the idea of a woman snagging his attentions. I mean if Alys was named with differently, I’d still be jealous. This one character just so happened to be namd Alys.

And unlike Aegon, Aemond is so stiff and proper, so dutiful that it is such a mystery to me - what did Aemond see in her?

But anyway, your story humanized her for me. Not as an ambitious woman with malicious intentions but a woman with no other choice but to live on the razor’s edge to survive.

Little Dragonseed - Now this intrigued me the most!! I feel like the Targaryen blood just calls to one another in a way other people can’t. I can’t wait to read more of this!

Hello lovely!

First, thank you so much! My heart is so overwhelmed by happiness reading your ask! Thank you for all the insightful details and I am so honored you have enjoyed my stories 💙

Devotion is actually my personal favorite but I would only read it when you are in the mood for a good slowburn! 💙

And I love what you said about Loyalty, especially this part: Not as an ambitious woman with malicious intentions but a woman with no other choice but to live on the razor’s edge to survive. THIS! I completely agree, but I think it could go either way honestly and I'm eager to see what the show does to her character. To your point, Aemond is so straight-laced how on earth does he end up with Alys of all people?! Is it true love? The way he speaks about her seems so "My Alys". Or is he tricked, hoodwinked as a power play for her to gain an advantage? Good ole' GRRM surely left it up to our imagination!

And I ADORED this about Little Dragonseed: I feel like the Targaryen blood just calls to one another in a way other people can’t. YES a million times!! So well said! I still like to think there is something mystical about the Targaryens and the dragons and that's how they all stay intertwined. Part 3 has now been posted if you haven't yet seen!

Thank you again, darling - reading this truly made my day! 💙💙😘😘

[justasussybitch]

I can kind of see Luke taking his “power” as far as he can. Like getting to the point where he’s asking Aemond to bottom for him. Whether Aemond would ever get to that place remains to be seen (you’ve said one of the things primary to this Aemond is we can’t get into his mind). I picture Luke probably coming as soon as in that position due to his “he’s nothing without me” line of thought we have seen this chapter (I’ve summarised that terribly you wrote it way more compelling but I can’t fit Luke’s state of mind into a 4 word sentence I’ll leave that to the professionals (you!)).

If he got to the point where he’s got Aemond to the point in his fake love routine to open up his “cunt” willingly, it would probably be his greatest achievement in his now fucked up mind lol.

Knowing how Jealous Aemond was of Sel I can see him thinking well Luke doesn’t need pussy he’s got mine. Because again, he’s delusional !

Unfortunately luke coming from the power trip would probably convince Aemond he has crazy throw back power and rules Luke with his ass and dick and I don’t want that for him haha. Picturing Luke’s reaction to Aemond thinking HES the one being manipulated with sex is hilarious though 😂😂.

This is probably so duh but I think Luke has really been conditioned to see sex=power which is obviously a symptom of his abuse. How he’d go about having healthy sexual relationships in the future (even with women!) puzzles me. I don’t know if you read the fic nobody, nothing, nowhere by hypothesistest but it also plays the abuse quite straight too and focuses on the impact it has on Luke and is one of my favourite fics on the subject matter with how it explores how the abuse affected Luke long after it was over and in what ways his abuse reared it’s head (which I can see in your excerpt you posted today!) during his everyday life and his attempts at intimacy. I’m really looking forward to the sequel for this reason and it will NOT be a skip for me! I love your Luke for who is not his bussy!!

If Luke did ever make it back to his family how do you think he would go back to being Rhaena’s bethrothed or Rhaenyra’s “good boy”. Especially if Jacegan is canon in your views. One brother experiencing the joys of bottoming with the man he swore a blood oath to up north after building a relationship through hunting and drinking and friendship versus the other experiencing it as this shameful reaction from his body that makes him unworthy and had brought so much pain on a physical and psychological level!

The irony of Jace going to a secluded castle during war time and being the one with the healthy sexual experience versus Luke going from an argument with his uncle

Just Luke whump all around!

I haven’t read this fic since December?? I think but you being back has got me on theories galore! Please let me know if you don’t like this kind of in depth q&a’s for your fics and I’ll stop no harm done! I’m just usually question question question about character dynamics!

Thank you very much for listening to my delusions I just like your work a lot haha

some more, slightly more spoiler-y stuff

"he’s nothing without me" summarises it pretty well. Aemond tried to make himself the centre of Luke's life & in the process made Luke the centre of his, oops. Luke didn't ask to be part of this dynamic, but if they're going to be stuck in each other's gravity he's certainly going to use it to whatever advantage he can. which definitely means making power plays via fucking (as you point out, this whole thing has taught him power=sex, which already is an idea pretty present in Westeros). i may have to break out the switch! tags for Hand for Hand.

('may'. i already have a pretty strong (ha) idea for how bottom!Aemond is going to make it's appearance in the plot)

i hadn't read the fic nobody, nothing, nowhere by hypothesistest, but thank you for the rec because i went & devoured it today. really great psychological stuff. based on it, i don't think you'll be disappointed by what i have planned for Tooth for Tooth. strangely, the lucemond dynamics in nobody, nothing, nowehere -- the only one able to understand what the other has been through -- feels like the cousin to the darker, more fucked up lucemond dynamics i have planned for hand for hand. nobody, nothing, nowhere did actually manage to make me regret for a second not writing a more wholesomely co-dependent lucemond. for a very loose definition of wholesome. because them getting to heal together was an amazing ending to read. unfortunately, the Aemond in lflfefe isn't a fellow victim but the abuser (Aegon, meanwhile, has two for two going on the rapist front). i do plan for Rhaena to have a small part in Tooth for Tooth, and a larger part in Hand for Hand. i won't say more, except to thank you for the reminder that fleshing out some non-Luke relationships might be worthwhile. i mean, personally, i think Luke should be the centre of all relationships -- romantic, platonic, familial -- but apparently having everything be in relation to just one character can make it hard to 'flesh out themes' or 'build the narrative' smh. (side tangent, but i read the Locked Tomb series this year & that had fucking amazing side character/relationship work, so definitely something i want to practice!) you make a good point that jacegan could have some very juicy parallels. thank you for the ask(s)! it's amazing having someone care this much about the character dynamics in something i wrote. fanfic as a medium has very different rules & conventions to, say, novel as a medium, but for me, even as i'm being self-indulgent, LFLEFE (& Deuteronomy 19-21) is a place where i'm cutting my teeth in regards to character work, relationship dynamics, plotting, etc. and also just finishing a piece of writing (even if it takes years). so it's very validating to have someone analyse & theorise like this! based on the ask(s) i think there's quite a few things you'll enjoy if i stick to my current outline ;)

[arcielee]

Interview With a Writer

Thank you @humanpurposes for your time to answer my questions about your amazing story 💜 This is just a continuation of my Interview With a Writer series. You can go to masterlist and read the other amazing, talented, wonderful authors that I have spoken with, getting a BTS of their brilliant minds and their stories on Tumblr and ao3.

Dividers by @saradika 💜

Name: humanpurposes

Story: My Heart Belongs to Daddy

Paring: modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, angst, smut, daddy kink, spanking, degradation, questionable relationship dynamics, infidelity, mentions of grief/loss, no underage elements.

So, when did you start writing?

I've always had an interest in stories, whatever form they take, books, films, plays, ideas in my head. Since I was a kid I've loved exploring different creative outlets, writing being one of them.

I think I first really started to realise I was decent at it when I did creative writing at school, it was the one subject I just 'got'. As a teenager I tried writing fanfiction and originals (which were all terrible and never saw the light of day), and to be honest, my interest in writing dwindled while I was doing A Levels and uni.

Then last year, out of nowhere, I managed to finish a one-shot for The Sandman (which I never posted and lost rip). Then House of the Dragon happened, Aemond Targaryen appeared on my screen and the rest is history! So really it's only in the last year I've considered myself 'a writer'.

Where did the plot for My Heart Belongs to Daddy come from?

One thing about me is that I'm highly susceptible to peer pressure, so when people were asking for a part 2, I was like "of course!" ...cut to me sitting in front of my laptop for hours trying to conjure up a plot.

I knew I wanted it to be quite an emotional series, because while hooking up with your mum's boyfriend is a fun gimmick for a one-shot, I really wanted to get deeper into all the dynamics and relationships at play. I knew I wanted Alys to have her moment, I was really adamant that she wasn't going to be a villain, and I had the scene outside the club on New Years Eve in my head. From there, I kinda came up with Aemond's backstory, him having a crush on her when they were younger and harbouring those feelings. It all just kinda fell into place from there.

I have to say as well, it was kind of inspired by Normal People; just two people struggling to navigate their feelings. And I love it because it sounds like such a simple premise, but there are so many complexities to it.

Expand on your interpretation of Aemond. What drives him? Why is he the way he is in MHBTD?

MHBTD Aemond is very much intended to mirror the Aemond we see in the show, minus the dragon and the war crimes.

He's studious, a perfectionist, a very imposing but understated presence. The relationship with his family is very much the same too. He sees himself as more capable than his siblings, is overlooked by his father and overshadowed by Rhaenyra and the Strong boys, so he is very much driven by a want to prove himself and live up to the legacy of his family.

He also takes on the burden of being Alicent's golden child, which he kinda botches when he messes up a contract with Storm's End, and ends up feeling more alienated by the only person who really values him. That's where Alys comes in and gives him a way to escape all of that.

So I really tried to translate his character into a modern setting in a way that would be believable, but I didn't want to lose what makes Aemond Targaryen, "Aemond Targaryen."

Was there anything in specific that inspired your Reader portrayal?

Well, this was actually the first reader/nameless character fic I've written. Generally I tend to write original characters for a series. I mean real talk though, a lot of her character is inspired by me, like her interest in history and the love for Lana Del Rey and Mazzy Star, but if you can't self indulge when writing a fanfiction, when can you?

But it was interesting for me trying to write her as someone who is easy to project onto, but also, I hope, has a lot of depth. She has a lot of conflicts going on in her head, her dependence on Aemond and her guilt she feels lying to Alys, knowing pursuing a relationship is wrong, trying to break away, only to be pulled back in... so the more I wrote, the more she became her own person.

What is your take on her relationship with Aemond? Do you feel she complements Aemond?

I think they compliment each other quite well, but there are a lot of things at play here.

So on a basic level, they have similar personalities, not particularly outgoing but not exactly shy either, they both have a quiet confidence. They have similar interests, did similar subjects at uni, that kind of thing.

But I think their differences go together well too. Aemond is ambitious and eager to prove himself, whereas she can be a bit more grounded. There's also an element of codependency to their relationship. True to canon, Aemond likes to be in control and she compliments that well (better than Alys does), and they both have moments where they struggle with loneliness and latch onto each other as a result.

There are a lot of external factors that make the whole situation very very complicated. They suck at communication and obviously, he dated her mother.

But ultimately, they both want each other enough to keep going back. I think it's like that age of question of 'is love enough?'

What was your outline process for this? Did you always know how this story was going to end?

I always write with an end point in mind. For me anyway, I need to know what I'm working towards. In my head it was always going to end with her knowing that while being with Aemond probably isn't the right choice, she does it anyway because she can't say no to him.

And again talking about realism, I really didn't see it having a fairytale ending, because even though they'll be in Oldtown together, they won't be able to hide their relationship from their families forever.

Do you think there will be a sequel? Or something else you are working on next?

As much as I've loved working on this series, I am ready to work on some other stuff.

I have two series which I'm currently updating, a canon era Aemond fic called Karma is a God, and a Tom Bennett mini series called Just for a Moment.

I also have some one-shots in the works and I'm looking to get back to updating an Osferth fic which I started in May and haven't updated since!

That being said... I did have an idea for an epilogue which I'm kinda obsessed with. But we'll see how long it takes me to get round to it 🤭

Last question! Do you have any fanfic recommendations?

That's so hard to just pic one!

I have to shout out my girl Sam @randomdragonfires and her story Invisible String. I love the dynamic she created between Aemond and the reader, only to leave me utterly devastated with the ending! Sam is so talented I love her writing style and the voices she gives the characters, everything she writes is gold.

Also, I feel like I'll never shut up about it but Now I'm Covered In You by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew was just incredible. I cannot tell you how much of a chokehold that fic had on me. The tension, the politics, the drama, the yearning between Aemond and Ivy! I was on the edge of my seat for all 10 Chapters.

I'm obsessed with medieval history, it is literally my perfect fic.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

So you said when you first saw a glimpse of Michael on that leak that it would be hard for you to be attracted to him (if it wasn’t Ewan)— after seeing the movie, where do you stand now? Did he make a better/worse impression? Do you think this character might be harder to write for than other Ewan roles?

Speaking of which, have you ranked your Ewan roles least to most fav yet? If you haven’t, may I please hear them, Ange? 🥰

I feel like I haven’t stopped by and checked in a while. How have you been? I hope things have been well and life has been treating you kindly! I’ve loved hearing your thoughts about the movie, and excited to read your take on the upcoming Michael fics. Hope you’re staying safe and healthy, my friend! 🩶🩶

-Hannah Montana anon

If Ewan wasn't the actor playing him, I would have zero physical attraction to Michael. His personality is fascinating, but more so in a "I would like to hook you up to an MRI scan and see what stimulates your brain" than a "I want to tear all of your clothes off" way.

He's different to what I was anticipating, and I think I will find him more of a challenge to write for than other Ewan characters whose screentime has also been brief. I've written fics for extremely minor characters like Genyen, Abraham and Ettore, but those characters all have a pivotal, defining moment - Genyen robs someone and runs away before getting caught, Abraham murders someone with a fireplace poker and gets caught, Ettore tries to rape someone. Michael doesn't have that moment of "oomph", he has four scenes where he behaves like an asshole (although in one you end up feeling quite sorry for him) and then he disappears. I feel like I am very much still getting to know him.

In terms of my favourites in order: Osferth, Tom, Aemond, Billy Washington, Abraham, Billy Taylor, Genyen, Ettore, Michael.

I am okay! Drowning in work at the moment, and not finding as much time (or motivation) to write as I'd like. However, I am almost done with the final chapter of Rev. 22:20 and hoping to have it posted tonight. I'm also off of work from Friday and don't go back until the 20th, so lots of time to write when I'm not walking the dog or doing life admin!

I have a list of Michael Gavey fics I want to read, once I've finished part one of mine, by @flowerandblood @valeskafics and @helaelaemond - I should reblog them to somewhere, but it's more fun to recite them to myself in my head, like Arya does with her kill list, each day so I don't forget them!

Hope life is treating you kindly and you are finding time to do things that make you happy! Lots of love to you xoxo

[erajoie07]

“I'm not going to leave just yet, Aegon. I'll stay next to you.” : Aegon Targaryen x OC Fanfiction (Angst)

Word count: 1.6 k

Purple text: in flashback

Summary: A travel in the lives of Aegon and Ellis. Ellis, the more she stays beside Aegon, the more she feels she is more than just a friend.

Warnings: Neglect, potential unwritten abusive past of OC, hurt

Writer's note: Hello! It's me! I hope you like read about Aegon. I really brought his character from the show into my writing. I didn't mean to post this, thinking no one might read it but I gave it a try today. The first draft consisted of Ellis being a maid, but I changed my mind earlier, that I made her a daughter of a noble whose reputation is outrageous (that's my first thought of him). By the way, 2nd semester started a week ago, that's why I wasn't posting. Don't worry, there is another unedited child fic of Aemond, and an unwritten Aemond x OC prompt. Thank you!!!

Aemond could not stand his brother. Margueritte reasonably hates Aegon. The Red Keep's servants are terribly scared and annoyed of him for his careless actions that contrast his station. Everyone thinks Aegon should stay hidden but he is the future king and he needs them more than he thinks he does.

Ellis is the daughter of a nobleman of House Ansel who strongly supports Aegon's claim to the throne, who then became a member of the small council for his influence, if not for the strong persuasion of Aemond for him to side with them. Ellis has heard countless rumors and stories of Aegon. Even she avoids his presence because of the unnamed possibilities. However, a part of her wants to justify his actions and blame his parents, King Viserys and Queen Alicent, particularly Viserys for his lack of effort to bring all his children together to oversee for he is not only the king, but also a father. Ellis gaslights herself that it's Aegon that marks himself to what he is now and it's a twisted personality. Personalities are not meant to hurt, right? Or choke, force, slam?

During the first few weeks of her stay in The Red Keep, she finds herself within the company of Helaena Targaryen as permitted. She plays with Helaena's children through a game of chase and building towers of books left by Aemond in the common room. Sometimes, Aemond would give her his eye when she stacks the books like that. She would also make fun of the children's hair by tying it to tall knots that makee them look like dolls with missing hairs caused by constant pulling. Helaena would throw a fit of laughter at them and the children would circle around them. 

Ellis is young and so her actions are what fits her age. Often she is scolded by her father because he sometimes hears complaints about her ��playful action” that irritates. She would reason but her father would snap and question her talking back at him which she finds confusing because he asked and he would respond that way. 

Sometimes, Ellis is at Godswood, laying near the large foot trunks of the tree with a pillow underneath her head as she lays looking beyond. Peaceful and sober and without a care. 

It was a particular day, Ellis was at Godswood, daydreaming about characters atop each other as they bounce on cocks to chase pleasure. It was then when she heard a clanging sound behind her. She got up to check, slowly and carefully, sneaking behind the large trunk, only peeking her head. And lo and behold, the future king Aegon Targaryen, drunken from his wine and passed out from. Her eyes widen and she brings her palm to her mouth. 

“So it is true,” she whispered to herself.

Aegon stirred in his state and she hid herself for a while. When she checked on him again, he sat on the grass while he chugged another bottle of wine. That was when he saw her and the two locked gazes. One curious and one curiously angry, so she hid once more. Aegon stood on his feet, he wanted to know who she was. Ellis noticed that he was walking around, so she walked to the side to avoid him. Aegon followed her, while Ellis avoided him. Then his arm met the round of her waist, caught her by a startle.

“Prince Aegon,” 

Aegon's red-rimmed eyes that contradicted his furrowed eyebrows. Then they found themselves suddenly falling back to the earth, literally as they locked gazes once more.

Ellis can't help but wonder how that particular day led to this, to have the future king atop her lap as she caresses the libertine hair of his that strongly contrasts the Targaryen hair. There are days and nights that Aegon will take her for granted and use her for his needs—ordering her around and dismissing her concerns sometimes. Occasionally, he would tell her of things that he learned over the years to not disclose to others, one that includes how his father never loved them, instead focusing only on Rhaenyra. 

“Can you get my wine?”

Ellis sighs but obeys him because he is the king after all. She carefully lifts his head from her lap, slowly setting it down before she walks to the table to grab the wine goblet and fill it with wine. Aegon sits on the mattress and takes the goblet from her hands, returning it to her immediately. He drank it like water when he was parched from dehydration. Clearly, water does not seem to constitute his diet anymore. He returns to his original position and his eyes are positioned over her as he beckons her to come back to his bed. Ellis hesitates because they are under the cover of darkness and someone might spy on them both.

“Aegon, I have to go now. I will come back again tomorrow because I don't want to take any chances of being caught.”

Aegon does not reply then his eyes begin to swell with tears. He sits up once more.

“So soon, we have only just begun. I don't want you to go yet, I-I am your future king, I demand you to stay.”

“I will answer when my king will ask, but tonight as every night, I will again politely excuse myself  from your chambers and see you again on the morrow and the cover of darkness.”

Aegon grabs the bed sheet and simply wraps it around his waist as he gets off the bed.

“I ask you to stay, so you will answer by sleeping with me.”

Ellis' eyes widen and her mouth agapes. Aegon said the wrong words. Now  Ellis thinks he wants to bed her.

“No, I didn't mean that way, lie with me, not fuck you, me. Just stay in my chambers until dawn.” Aegon stumbles in his words and he crashes to the floor, crouching in frustration as he grabs fists of his hair in anger. Ellis stands there not knowing what to do— console or just let him be for a while. Aegon begins to rock himself back and forth. Afterwards, she hears sniffles coming out of him. Console. Ellis kneels to his level and wraps her arms around his body. She rubs his back, patting it after. His movement causes her to follow as well. She starts to hum a song of a woman who does not want the riches and wealth if she cannot have her lover by her side. Contradicting but it is the only song she can think of at that very moment. Slowly, Aegon stops rocking and gradually wraps his arms around her waist. That's when Ellis sits on her legs. Aegon lies on her lap.

“Do you want to lie on your bed now?” She asks him like a mother. He looks up at her with those eyes filled with pain and misery.

“Only if you stay for a little longer, I'll let you go soon, but please stay a little. You bring me comfort more than anyone else can.”

Ellis becomes pitiful of him, so she nods in return. 

Aegon climbs on the bed first, then Ellis who willfully takes his request to lie beside him when he pat the open side of the bed, scooting a little further to give her more space. Ellis gives a little space between them but Aegon is not having it so he skillfully pushes her close to his chest.

Ellis is not sure what stage they are both in. They are friends she thought, someone to talk to when Aegon is hurting inside, but why does his actions constitute something else between the common ground. Could it be that he thinks more of her or he just wants to tell her everything he wants to see without regarding feelings?

“Have I told you about my father carelessly acting towards me?”

No. And yes, Ellis is just some therapist.

“No, Aegon.”

“My father had a long time to name me his heir but he didn't. Instead, he named that bitch Rhaenyra as his.” he tucks a strand behind her ear.

“I could never live up to their expectations. Sometimes I feel like I am getting past my weight. I am no longer handsome, healthy, and I indulge in so much wine, I even forget about my children.”

Ellis checks on him. This is a different type of conversation they have together. It feels so solemn as if he is trying to redeem.

“I don't want someone to build me up just to be brought down.” He stops and he turns away from her. “You can leave now.” He adds with that monotonous tone. 

“I'm not going to leave just yet, Aegon. I'll stay next to you.”

Her father will be angry if he finds out. The lord of House Ansel is not keen on knowing the reason or even peacemaking. Truthfully, that man has a reputation that Aemond considered when he asked for his alliance. That is another day to tell, however.

“I care about you and spent a lot of time with you, just leave you like this.”

Aegon silently cries at her words, refusing to turn to her. He feels her hand on his shoulder.

For the duration of the night, they lay in bed with Aegon's arm on her waist, close to her breasts, while Ellis warmly grips his body with her arms. 

The next morning, Aegon wakes up alone in his bed, he feels hurt again and angry now. He notices something in the fist of his hand, a scrunched paper.

“If you wake up later, don't be angry because my father will kill me if he finds out, but know I will be at Godswood.”