#rip in pieces otto )

[korkiekenobiconfirmed]

troy's line to luciana about how nick "left her for the ranch" is made 100x funnier when you realize that in-universe it's been about a decade since s3. this man brought up TEN YEAR OLD relationship beef for... the drama??

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

august

a summer in dunbrook, part three

a/n: and to close it all off, let them have a horny camping trip. it's what they deserve.

summary: once you’d reached your spot, set up the tent and the stars were all twinkling in the sky, you and Frank savoured the mild summer evening sitting by the campfire where your fluffy ball of fur had also found a comfortable corner. 

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, sequel to lilac, smut, lumberjack AU, camping, roasting marshmallows, kissing, size kink, dirty talk, oral, manhandling, hair pulling, impact play, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (because this is just porn. no one is getting pregnant, I’m just craving the intimacy. let them be hoes and live out the fantasy)

word count: 3121

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“All I’m saying is that maybe we wait just one more day before we go home,” Frank said as he slammed the car door shut behind him. 

Readjusting your grip on Enzo’s leash, you blinked up at Frank as he tugged on the big backpack stuffed with supplies. 

“One more day?” you cocked a brow, “you just feel like camping one day more than we planned? Making the trip just that little bit longer so that you–, oh yeah, so that you miss the summer barbeque that you’ve been acting like a toddler about.” 

“I haven’t been–,” he scoffed, though swiftly dropped it with a heavy huff, “look, is it really that bad that I’d rather spend my time with you and Enzo than sit through hours of small talk?” he pleaded as you began to tread away from the parked vehicle, through the wilderness you’d arrived at. 

“No, but I don’t wanna miss it,” you said. Letting out a sigh, you took a step closer to him and caught his wide palm, “look, you don’t have to come along if it’s really that terrible,” your fingers offered his a squeeze to underline your statement, “I love you, I’m not gonna force you.”

Glancing over at you, he caught your eye and offered you the faintest of smiles, “thank you.”

“But,” you stretched out the vowel as if you were blowing a piece of bubble gum, “I’m just saying that you might regret it, you might miss some really fun shenanigans.” 

“Yeah,” he huffed in response, “I bet.”

“Hey, I know he didn’t last year, but I’m crossing my fingers that this year, Otto gets super drunk on Donna’s punch again and starts thinking he’s a drag queen. I know he’s the sheriff, but he can really get put on a good show when the mood strikes and he thinks he’s twenty again.” 

Once you’d reached your spot, set up the tent and the stars were all twinkling in the sky, you and Frank savoured the mild summer evening sitting by the campfire where your fluffy ball of fur had also found a comfortable corner. 

“Oh,” you then suddenly stirred from your trance-like state, ripping your stare away from the flames, “I almost forgot!”

Scrambling off the stout log you’d used to sit on, you ripped open the flap of the tent directly behind you and crawled inside. 

Glancing over his shoulder, half with an amused grin and half checking out your ass, Frank watched as you tore open the backpack and fished out an item. 

Hiding it behind your spine, you didn’t reveal it before you’d returned to your seat. 

“Tada!” you presented your contribution to the camping trip. 

“Marshmallows,” Frank couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. 

“You have to! You simply have to,” you declared as you ripped the plastic open. 

As you let yourself munch on one straight out of the bag, you watched as Frank picked up a few suitable twigs from the forest floor below, fished a swiss army knife out of his pocket and prepped them into the perfect utensils for the job.

The art of roasting marshmallows was something you’d perfected as a child. Getting them just right so that their outer shell got completely caramelised and golden brown, while the entire innards were rendered a sweet gooey mess. 

That fine skill was sadly not something Frank possessed, or perhaps cared about as deeply as you did. It nearly shocked you to horrors to watch him burn the little candy till it looked like a lump of coal, only to eat it without a care in the world as if it hadn’t been utterly ruined. 

So in order to prove to him just how wrong he was in his indifference, just how good they could be when done just right, you roasted him one to the utmost perfection.

“Alright,” you uttered when you retracted the stick from the flames. Carefully pulling it off the widdled twig, you held it out for him, though noted just before he enclosed his mouth around it, “careful, it’s hot.” 

As you studied his expression for traces of your victory, you popped your sticky fingers in your mouth, licking them clean one by one. 

Frank however also seemed to gaze back at you, though the heated stare that traced your innocent digits flew completely over your head as that wasn’t what you so intently were searching for. 

“So?” you impatiently poked in between cleaning the sugar off of your skin, “how is it?”

Swallowing the treat, he then hummed, “yeah, it’s good,” his eyes still glued to you. 

“Just good?” you cocked your head, “not amazing, incredible, your life will never be the same?” you listed off and then finally noticed just how intense his stare was, “what?” your voice seemed to shrink as you dropped the jest, “do I have some on my face?”

“No…” he shook his head lightly as one of your palms shot up to wipe the corner of your mouth. 

“Then what is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I just love you, is all,” he breathed, “you’re very cute,” his soft smirk grew wider as he then added, “especially when you don’t realise the dirty things you do.”

A giggle then erupted from your lungs, “what did I do?” and continued to bubble out of you even as he began to lean in, “what?” 

But instead of filling you in, he simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was soft at first, peppering you with pecks as your laughter slowly faded away. But then when your chuckling had come to a close and no longer vibrated against his lips, he let go of his gentleness and gave in to the desire that was about to burst. 

Slipping his tongue past your lips, a low groan flowed from him and melted against yours as they danced against one another. His broad palm only stayed on your cheek a moment longer before it soared down your frame, his other hand too joining in the exploration of your curves. 

You nearly couldn’t keep track of his touch as it wandered wildly, grabbing at every place that made you all tingly inside. Though, at one point when you thought you might fall off your makeshift seat, you actually did, or rather, Frank’s grasp slid down to your bottom and scooped you closer, so close in fact that you now found yourself half kneeling on the forest floor, between his thick thighs where he remained seated, and arching up to keep your lips still attached.

As one of his hands reconnected with your heated cheek, he withdrew ever so slightly as a groan left his throat, “god, I wanna fuck you…”

The gravel in his tone shot straight down between your legs and made you whimper, “please.”

After he seized your lips once more, the hand on the side of your face slid further up and disappeared into your hair. When his fist soon enclosed around the roots of your locks at the nape of your neck, a purr poured out of you, one he briefly paused the kiss to relish hearing. 

His other palm still grazed over your clothing, petting you so passionately that you expected on bated breath for him to rip your attire off. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, right when he pinched your nipple through your shirt, his fingers didn’t move to pop open the row of buttons. 

Pulling back from the heated kiss, he maintained your face so close to his that his prominent nose pressed against your cheek. 

“Take this off,” he commanded in a gravelly tone, faintly gesturing to your shirt before his hand floated up to join his other if your hair. 

As you scrambled to do so, hazy with lust, you tried to tilt your chin to capture his lips, but the grip he had on you caused each of your attempts to fail as he denied you another taste. 

Once your button-up tumbled to the ground, he rose to his feet, lifting you with him, before one of his hands briefly let go to gesture to the shorts that hung from your hips, “these as well.”  

It wasn’t till they too fell to the dirt that Frank finally kissed you again, or to be more accurate, nearly devoured you. 

Your fingers tangled in his flannel for purchase as he scooped your body even closer to his. When you felt the palpable tent in his pants press up against your stomach, your right hand had a mind of its own and slid down to graze and teasingly rub him through his clothing. 

“Fuck…” he grunted, swiftly leaning into your touch. 

When his feet began to move, yours blindly began to shuffle as well. Each time you encountered even a tiny twig or something to make you slightly lose your balance, your grip tightened in his shirt and his hold on you swiftly shifted and clutched your waist, just so that in case you actually did stumble, he would be ready to sweep you off your feet. 

The flap to the tent was already open from when you grabbed the marshmallows, so nothing was there to hinder you when Frank pushed you inside. 

As both of you sank down to your knees on the sprawled-out sleeping bags, you began to tear at his clothes, an action that he didn’t protest in the slightest, only brought a hand back up to tangle itself in your locks. With the tent still open to the great outdoors, the crackling light from the campfire streamed in and illuminated both your forms. The warm glow licked across Frank’s skin as you revealed more and more of it. 

When you began to tuck at the last remaining item covering him up, you barely managed to hook a finger in his boxers before Frank’s body moved, laying down and bringing you with him. Chest pressed down against his, he manoeuvred your legs to be at either side of his hips. 

Capturing his lips in a kiss, you both sucked in a slow breath through your noses. As his palms slid up from the curve of your ass and over your waist, the pent-up tempo that had formed outside seemed to relax, your sloppy makeout morphing into soft and yearning pecks. 

His scruff tickled your palms as you clutched his jaw and withdrew just enough for you to catch your breath. Your nose nuzzled gently against his as you then begged in a foggy whisper, “can I please suck your cock?” 

Huffing out a smile, he found your eyes, “you wanna suck my cock?”

“Please.”

“Oh yeah? Well then go right ahead since you want it so badly.”

Mirroring his grin, you leaned in to press your lips to his one last time, “thank you,” before you slowly began to crawl further down. 

Holding his gaze as he propped himself up onto his elbows, you dipped down to plant a few kisses across his stomach before your nose nuzzled against the waistband of his underwear. When you were slotted between his parted legs, resting on your belly with your feet kicked up, his thumbs dipped into his boxers and pulled them off before you had the chance. 

His length sprung free of its binds, throbbing under your gaze and glistening with precum. Your eyes flickered up to meet his as you wrapped your fingers around his girth and a sharp intake of air filled Frank’s lungs. 

You only really had to tilt your head and stick out your tongue in order for it to glide across the bulbous head, as you already were at eye level. Glancing up to catch his gaze, you teasingly tapped the tip of him against your tongue, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards at his reaction. Dipping your head, you planted sloppy pecks down the side of him and when you came back up, you let your saliva dribble down his hardness, your fist swiftly swooping up to lavish its strokes.

When your lips finally enclosed around his girth, a deep rumble vibrated in his burly chest as he watched your slow movements intently, “fuck, I love you…” and his hand came down to stroke the side of your features as you silkily began to bob, “just like that, baby, yes,” drool gradually began to drip down as your lips stretched around his fat girth. When you then momentarily came up for air, Frank tilted his chin and said, “don’t forget the nuts, sweetheart,” and you swiftly bowed down to sloppily make out with his heavy sack, “give them some love as well.”

Then, just as you were about to return your attention to his painfully hard length, he manoeuvred your head for you and only relished in a few seconds of your butterfly-like pace before his hips twisted beneath you and bucked up into your efforts, fucking your little mouth till his cock plunged all the way down your throat. Spit bubbled up at the corners of your lips as his fingers curled around to hold your head in place just a moment longer, letting him fuck your throat till tears began to spew forth. You knew by the sensation that if you’d been lying on your back, the imprint of his cock would have been clear as day in the column of your throat, a familiar bulge that Frank would often let his fingers trace if he caught sight of it. 

Strings of slobber spiderwebbed from your swollen and gasping lips as he finally plucked you off of him. Sitting up more, he brought his face further down and pressed his mouth to yours, smothering the smile that appeared on your features as soon as you got up for air. 

As he impatiently ripped your bra off and you reached down to pull off your panties, they clung to your weepy cunt. Not being able to resist, yourself, you reached down and swept your fingers through your folds, your eyebrows crinkling up at the discovery of just how wet you’d gotten. 

Picking you up, Frank placed you back in his lap before his kisses faded and he layed back down. Raising yourself further up on your knees to hover above him, he grabbed a hold of the base of himself and briefly dragged the tip of him through your petals, flicking your clit before he brought a broad palm to your hip and helped you sink down. 

“Fucking hell…” you flutteringly cursed as you braced a hand on his chest, “oh, F-Frank…”

Your thighs trembled slightly on either side of him as you slowly eased your way down, the stretch of his fat cock proving just staggering as ever. 

As you gently began to roll your hips and find a calm pace that let you feel each and every single detail of him, your eyes fluttered shut as he stretched you out. Repeatedly raising your hips up till just the essence of him remained, you’d then sink back down, each time your slow pace nearly caused your pussy to clench and shrink back entirely so that it felt as if he’d have to split you open all over again. 

But just as you began to lose yourself to the heavenly sensation and let yourself slam back down with more ferocity, Frank’s cock slipped out of your creamy cunt completely. 

A whimper swiftly escaped you as your eyes blinked back open, but the man below you didn’t seem to move a muscle as he just uttered, “put it back in, baby,” which you swiftly reached down to do, moaning loudly as he slipped back into your warmth. His strong fingers dented the curve of your ass as you fulfilled his command, “there you go, good girl,” then swatted his wide palm against your backside to kickstart you back into action. 

Panting as you bounced like a little bunny, your hands crept up to squeeze your tits, pinching the nipples harshly as the melody of your efforts filled the tent. 

“That’s it, ride it,” he growled, offering your ass a few more slaps, “ride that fucking dick.”

Both of his hands then grabbed a hold of your bottom and surely bruised it as he aided your movements, though it didn’t take very long at all for him to take over completely and move your body atop of him, leaving you to just relax into his hold and sink deeper into the breathtaking sensation.

As he bounced you on his cock, he managed to nestle you down even further and grind his dick impossibly deep within you. 

Your head lulled back a bit as he rocked your form. Then, as you felt goosebumps tingle across your flesh and the intoxicating end near, you stopped fighting the urge and let your upper body crumble down against his. 

Fingers curling uselessly against his skin, you almost attempted to bury your face in his chest, right below his right shoulder. 

“Fucking hell,” your eyes rolled as you began to drool on his pec. 

Rolling his hips beneath you, he started to buck up into your weepy cunt before his palm landed a few tingling blows across your bottom. 

When your pussy finally clambered down around him, you nearly bit him as your features tensed up in a silent scream. His own demise soon arrived as well, especially as you throbbed and squeezed down around him so tightly that he nearly couldn’t move at all, just throw in the towel and let your cunt milk him dry. 

You almost fell asleep, laying there on his chest as it slowly rose and fell like a calm tide, Frank even assumed that you had until the moment that you murmured, “I’m so happy that you didn’t just keep driving…” 

“Uh…” his warm fingers drew slow patterns along your spine as he attempted to catch up, “when are you talking about?”

Faintly, you heard the tent rustle as Enzo sleepily stepped inside and plopped himself down on your tangled feet. 

“That you stopped back then on that day when my car broke down,” you uttered as your emotions began to fog up your voice, “thank you for stopping. If not, then we probably wouldn’t have ever met… god… I love you so much. I don’t even know how to–…” a heavy sigh flowed from you before you tilted your head and blinked up into his coffee eyes, tears glinting in your own, “I love you.”

With a molasses-like expression softening up his features, his fingers then tugged a strand of your hair out of your forehead before he replied, “I love you too, Y/n.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 12: And I'm Just The Boy Who's Had Too Many Chances]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), snack time for Sunfyre, dream sequences, murder, sad sad children, the return of an old friend, a road trip (boat trip??)! 🥰

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More Touch Me” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 1 chapter left! 🥰💜

She is the third prisoner you have visited in the dwindling hours of their life, as if you are a dark omen, a giver of last rites, the Stranger. Otto was resigned. Baela was overconfident, unsuspecting. But the woman behind the iron bars now—the one the people of Westeros are calling the half-year queen—is restless and pacing like a trapped animal. Her gown is black velvet with gore-scarlet accents. Her long silver hair hangs tangled and limp. You reach into her cell to place two items on the stone floor: a piece of bread, a cup of tea.

“Poison?” Rhaenyra says, sharp, derisive.

“No,” you answer truthfully.

“Why not?”

“Because that would be painless. And I want you to suffer.”

“What happened to you?” she whispers, stunned.

I lived, I died, I was resurrected. “I’m a different person now. We all are.”

“You have aligned yourself with the Usurper. You must have, you would not be permitted to visit me alone otherwise. You have betrayed me. You have betrayed House Celtigar. How could you? I remember how gentle you once were, how kind. I remember your father telling me how you begged him to let you serve in the war as a healer. You just wanted to stop people’s agony. You would tend to men of any allegiance. You were harmless. You were a saint, an angel.”

“The world clipped my wings, it seems.”

“Where is my son?” Rhaenyra demands.

“Wherever the king wishes for him to be.”

It leaps into Rhaenyra’s face: terror, helplessness, desperation. She rushes towards you and grabs for your hands, her arms jutting through the spaces between the iron bars until the metal digs into her shoulders, until the rust leaves stains on her gown. You rip away from her, feeling no mercy at all. “Please,” Rhaenyra whimpers. “Please. Don’t harm my son.”

“It is not my decision to make.”

“He’s all I have left.” She is weeping; she is lurking in the doorway between reason and insanity. “The people turned against me. They killed Syrax, they killed Joffrey. The Dragonpit is gone. My family is gone. Daemon is gone. The prince is all I have left now. Please, please…”

“You could have stopped this,” you say, cold like a blade. “When your father died, you refused to yield the throne. When you captured King’s Landing, you refused Alicent’s proposal to split the realm between you and Aegon. And even now—hated by the smallfolk, staring death in the face—you refuse to surrender. You refuse to kneel to Aegon and send the Stark men back to the North and end the slaughter. Every drop of blood spilled in this war is on your hands. You are filthy with it, you are nothing but red. You took them all from us. Jaehaerys, Maelor, Otto, Helaena, Autumn’s baby, Everett, Criston, Daeron, Aemond. I charge you with their deaths. Your life is the only possible repayment for the debt.”

“Help me and I will give you anything you want,” Rhaenyra pleads. “Free me. Assist me and my son in escaping Dragonstone. I will go to Cregan Stark, he will shelter me, and when he has won the war for us I will lay the world at your feet. I will give House Celtigar dominion over all the Crownlands, you will be second only to the Targaryens in regard. I will appoint Clement to my Queensguard and name you the head of your house. You can spend your wealth as you see fit. You can marry anyone, or no one, or marry a man and push him from a cliff and then marry again. None of it matters to me. Help me now, and I will make you free forever.”

“I won’t help you murder Aegon.”

“He’s dead either way. Only Aemond and Vhagar could stop the Northmen, and they’re gone.”

That’s not true. That can’t be true. “Enjoy your last meal, dragon queen,” you tell Rhaenyra as you turn away. “The king has a fitting end planned for you.”

When you cross through the dungeons into the main castle—your gown fluttering around your ankles, vivid red velvet like fire, like blood—Lord Larys Strong is waiting. He trots after you as quickly as he can, his cane striking loudly against the stone floor. “Your Grace, I must implore you to beseech the king to spare the boy’s life.”

“It’s for Aegon to decide what to do with him.” Presently, Rhaenyra’s last remaining child is locked up in the bedchamber once claimed by Prince Aemond. He is young, afraid, watchful, old far beyond his years…but he is unharmed. Two servants and two guards have been assigned to the boy to ensure his needs are attended to and that he cannot escape. The small entourage that Rhaenyra landed on Dragonstone with—expecting to be greeted by Baela and Moondancer, and swiftly disappointed—was executed immediately.

“He is an invaluable asset to our cause,” Larys insists. “The king needs an heir. Jaehaera, as a girl, cannot inherit. But if she was married to Aegon the Younger, they could unite the warring factions and end any enduring ill-will. Their union could pave the way for peace that will last generations.”

“And that’s what we fought for, so little girls could go on being traded like horses and shoved into whichever marriage bed promises the rest of us the greatest advantage.”

Larys is hurt; you have chastised him for something he has no control over. “That is the way of the world, Your Grace. Marriages are arranged. Women are bartered with. The poor die for the rich and cripples are overlooked entirely. There is no changing any of this, it is madness to try.”

“Oh, are any of us not mad yet?” you quip back, sweeping into Aegon’s bedchamber. Larys breaks away, leaving you and the king alone.

Aegon is standing in front of his mirror. He wears all black, his sword and dagger at his belt, his scars on his face, the Conqueror’s crown glinting with rubies. He rubs at his lower back and winces without realizing he’s doing it. His kidneys, you think with dismay. Aegon says as he stares at his reflection, only half-joking: “Who is that?”

You go to him, lay two fingers on the line of his jaw and turn his face to yours, kiss the rough red scar tissue of his right cheek and then his lips, wet with wine. “I think you should spare the boy.”

“So he can marry Jaehaera someday?” Aegon replies cynically.

“No.” You touch your forehead to his and close your eyes. “Because mercy is increasingly rare, and once the last of it is gone what made us ourselves will be too. He’s just a child.”

“So were Jaehaerys and Maelor. So was Autumn’s son. The Blacks murder children.”

“Yes. But you don’t have to.”

Now Aegon is quiet, gentle. “Show me your hand.”

You give it to him, hastily scrubbed and bandaged the night before. He unwraps the linen and examines your palm, split down the center with a shallow gash surrounded by rusty smudges of dried blood. Aegon presses your hand to his face and inhales deeply, then cleans the maroon stains from your skin with his tongue. He grins, dazed with wine and milk of the poppy. “I can’t waste a drop of you.” And when he kisses your lips he tastes like copper and dreams and the ancient salt of the ocean that breaks against the rocks outside.

Aegon staggers around his room collecting items you once used to save his life: linen, vinegar, rose oil. He wants to take care of you this time, he wants to mend the flesh that once patched his back together. He remembers the steps, you observe; he reenacts them with reverent care.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away last night,” Aegon says as he tends to your hand. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry.”

“You were in shock. You were grieving.”

“What did the witch tell you? You said that’s why you harmed yourself.”

Horrible things. Unbelievable things. “She swore she didn’t know what would happen to Aemond. And that their son will become a knight of House Whent.”

“House Whent? I must have slept through that lesson.”

“For once, your educational apathy is not at fault. It doesn’t exist. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’ll scorch the rubble of Harrenhal,” he says, dark and low. “I’ll have her tortured to death. She took Aemond from us.”

You reply softly: “Killing Alys won’t bring him back.” And if her son is real, he is the only piece of Aemond we have left.

Now there are tears in Aegon’s eyes; he blinks them away so he can see well enough to finish bandaging your hand. “He was there when I was burned. He was there when I broke my legs. He was there for me when I had nothing to give him in return. He shouldered the burdens of ruling without ever trying to take the throne.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I never told him what he meant to me.”

“But he still knew.”

Your hand is your own again. You braid a lock of Aegon’s short silver hair, remembering the first time you ever did: he was a dying adversary, you were a Black loyalist destined to marry Cregan Stark. “The boy can live,” Aegon decides. “But he must learn the price of treason.”

Down on the beach, the guards have driven a stake deep into the sand. The midday sky is thick and tumultuous with dark clouds; the waves of the Narrow Sea thrash and roil, lethal undercurrents, surging riptides. Aegon insists on descending the craggy stone staircase himself, not like an invalid but like a king. He moves haltingly, clutching at the wall for support. By the time he reaches the shore, Aegon’s legs are trembling wildly and his face is flushed, agonized, drenched with sweat despite the metallic chill of winter in the air. One of the maesters fetches Aegon a cup of milk of the poppy and he gulps it down so urgently that opalescent beads of liquid escape to roll down his chin. Lord Larys appears to stand beside him, both hands laced over the handle of his cane.

Now the guards are roping Rhaenyra to the stake. She wears the same gown she arrived in: filthy, ripped, ruined from travelling. She does not fight them; she only asks: “Where is my son? Where is the prince?”

And then she spots him. His tiny hands are clasped by guards. The wind rakes at his silver hair. He is confused, frightened, peering around with huge glistening eyes that are a murky blue like the king’s. He must be about five years old now. He has been led to the beach to watch his mother die. You glance uneasily at Aegon. He does not notice; he attention is fixed on Rhaenyra.

“How did it feel, sister?” Aegon calls out to her. Something glows fierce and mindless behind his eyes, something devours ravenously like fire.

Rhaenyra watches him warily, not understanding. At the edge of the beach, curled in on himself and breathing in slow rattling heaves, Sunfyre glares at the half-year queen.

“My father’s love. I never knew it.” Aegon lurches closer, grinning without any humor, baring his teeth like an animal. “I knew other things, sure. I knew his indifference. I knew his fury. I knew his boots and his contempt. But I never knew his love. Neither did Aemond, though he worked for it, worked himself bloody. Neither did Helaena or Daeron or my mother. Did it keep you warm, Rhaenyra? Did you spend your childhood so instinctively aware that there were always hands waiting to catch you?”

“I had my trials too, brother,” Rhaenyra says, her head held high and defiant. “I lost people. I was compelled marry against my wishes.”

“And you found solace in the arms of others, the same as I did!” Aegon roars. “And Father defended you! He saw proof of your failings—obvious, indelible proof—and he didn’t just forgive it, he erased it, he made it a crime to mention it, your sons cut out Aemond’s eye and still all Father could bring himself to care about was your honor, your wellbeing! Well, he’s gone now, Rhaenyra. Your protector is ashes but I’m still here. The throne is mine. The retribution is mine. And your life is mine too.”

“You will not live a month after me!” she hisses into bitingly cold wind. “The wolves are closing in. Winter is coming. Cregan Stark is the Kingmaker now, it is a title he wears with great pride. He will not pardon your treason. He will have the Boltons flay you alive.”

Aegon cackles; he is toying with her. “Why would the wolves want my skin? It is not so handsome now. Shall I tell you what it was like when Meleys burned me at Rook’s Rest? It was the worst pain imaginable. I begged to die. But I didn’t. An angel brought me back from the dead. And now it’s your turn to burn.” Aegon shouts something to Sunfyre in High Valyrian. Sluggishly, the dragon uncoils himself and ventures towards Rhaenyra, sniffling, salivating. His claws sink into the wet sand; his belly drags on the ground. His golden eyes glint with wounded reptilian wrath.

“Mama!” her son wails, struggling against his captors.

“No, no, don’t cry,” she soothes. She is beginning to sob. “Don’t look, baby. Close your eyes. Don’t cry. Mama isn’t scared. Mama loves you. Now close your eyes and don’t open them no matter what you hear—”

“It’s such a shame that our uncle Daemon is at the bottom of the Gods Eye,” Aegon taunts Rhaenyra. “You two were made for each other. Treacherous, grasping, scheming, beloved by Father in measure that far exceeds your worthiness. What a fated romance. You built such an infamous legacy together. You should have been set ablaze together.”

“Mama!” the little boy screams.

“Dracarys,” Aegon commands Sunfyre. The beast growls at Rhaenyra but does no more than that. He is weak, he is dying. Aegon tries again, almost manic with pain: “Dracarys!”

You lay your bandaged palm on Aegon’s forearm to calm him. “Let Sunfyre smell her blood,” you murmur, and with trembling hands he gives you the dagger that he uses to cut his hair, that you opened your flesh with to summon Alys Rivers and her terrible prophesies. You cross the sand to meet the Black Queen.

“Don’t hurt her!” Rhaenyra’s son shrieks. “Mama! Mama!”

Rhaenyra is bound around her legs, waist, and shoulders; her lower arms hang free and useless. You take her left hand, turn it over, and press the point of the dagger to her wrist. You have done this once before, when you tested Baela for a pulse; now it comes just as easily. As you glide the blade down Rhaenyra’s wrist and open her veins, Rhaenyra says, hushed and venomous: “You have sold your soul, Lady Celtigar. And in the service of a dead man. I hope it was worth it.”

Still gripping the dripping dagger, you leave her and go to her son. Behind you, you can hear Sunfyre snarling and Rhaenyra moaning in dread. As the boy bawls, you wave the guards away and pull him to you, embracing him, shielding him. “Don’t look,” you whisper; and he clutches you like you once held onto Aemond on this beach after Aegon’s legs were shattered, not because he wants to but because you are here, and because you understand the weight of horror like this, the poison that replicates in the marrow of your bones, the debt that can never be paid.

There is heat, a blistering inferno, and a scream that Rhaenyra cannot bite back. You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe in the sickeningly sweet miasma of seared human flesh, and suddenly you are back at Rook’s Rest as Aemond dragged you through the burning woods where embers fell like snow, into the tent of green canvas, to the table where Aegon writhed and suffered and pleaded for death. There are sounds of tearing and crushing. There are dry snaps that can only be Rhaenyra’s charred bones splitting between Sunfyre’s jaws. The dead woman’s son clings to you, and you look across the beach at Aegon. He gazes back, and something flits across his eyes, glassy with pain and exhaustion and wine and milk of the poppy, and he knows he’s done wrong. There is shame. There is an apology, not to the boy but to you. To all the bright, benevolent mercy that his war has carved out of you. Then the king collapses, drained and unconscious on the cold sand.

Aegon is carried to his rooms. The child—in shock, in hysterics—is dosed with a few drops of essence of nightshade by the maesters and put to bed. You go to the castle library and pour over books searching for how to cure ailments of the kidneys, for any scrap of wisdom you might have missed before. You read until you fall asleep with your cheek resting against pages chronicling the signs of doom: paleness, weakness, no appetite, swelling in the hands and feet, pain in the lower back, blood in the urine. Night descends like a wave that pulls you under. Candles flicker on the table. Lord Larys leaves you bread and wine and a bowl of crab soup in case you wake hungry before dawn.

You don’t know that by the time you rise in the morning, the Master of Whisperers will have received word that Borros Baratheon’s army seized the capital for Aegon and sent out calls for the king in hiding to return to the city. It’s time to sail across Blackwater Bay to King’s Landing. It’s time for Aegon to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~

On your last night in the gloomy, beast-haunted walls of Dragonstone, you dream of Alicent’s youngest child Daeron. You are walking on the beach outside, and you know this isn’t real because the sand is warm and golden, and the sky is a cloudless blue, and winter is nowhere to be found, it is summer now and it will be tomorrow and it will be forever after that as well. Daeron soars down to where the serene crystalline waves meet the shore on Tessarion, and the swanlike Blue Queen waits patiently in the frothing surf as her rider strides over to meet you. He stands tall and proud; his long white-blond hair whips in the sunlit wind; he is beaming. His cape billows out behind him like the sails of a ship. He is clothed in bright cheerful seafoam green, just like he was on the day he died.

“I’m so sorry, Daeron,” you say as the sunshine beats down like heavy rain. “You were too young. You deserved more time.”

But Daeron just grins, crooked and cocky. “Do not mourn for me, sister. I was blessed with a hero’s death. There is no better way to leave this earth than in battle. And I roasted as many of those bastards as I could before the end.”

“Why have you come back?”

“I have a favor to ask,” he says; and only now do his large blue eyes go soft and misty. “When you return my cape to Mother, ask her to burn it. She will want to bury it in accordance with the funeral customs of the Faith of the Seven, but I want to be laid to rest as a true Targaryen. There’s no chance for my body. Your wolf threw me into a mass grave.”

“I don’t belong to Cregan Stark.”

“Someone should tell him that.” Daeron sighs. “I miss Aegon. We all do. Things are clearer where I am now. Things like disappointment and bitterness are just words; we’ve forgotten how to feel them. But we do know absence. And we see how he suffers.”

“What can I do to heal him?” you ask, you plead. “I’ll do anything. What can I do?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Daeron says. Then he treks back to Tessarion and they vanish together into a clear summer sky, a fleeting glimmer of ethereal blue like a comet.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon is kneeling by Sunfyre, his hand on the dragon’s clever, angular face. The beast is dead. He ceased his labored, clattering breathing in the night and was gone long before the king struggled out of his nest of blankets; Aegon is always cold now. Sunfyre is at peace, he is reunited with the fallen creatures of his kind, Tessarion and Vhagar and Dreamfyre…but the world has so much less magic in it than it did before.

“Your Grace, we must leave now,” Larys nudges, sympathetic yet insistent. At the end of the pier, a small ship bobs in rough slate-grey waves. Everyone else is already aboard, the servants, the guards, the maesters, the captive child. You touch Aegon’s shoulder, knowing what he is thinking: Everything I own, everything I’m given…it is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people.

“He can’t be gone,” Aegon says numbly. “I don’t know how to live without him. I can’t remember a time before he was mine.”

“He held on as long as he could for you,” you tell Aegon. “He saved your life more than once. He lived and died in your service.”

“I want monuments built for him,” Aegon says, sniffling and swiping away tears. His ring—gold wings, jade eyes—flashes under scant beams of muted sunlight. “And for my brothers, and for Helaena, and for Criston and Otto and the children. Daeron’s statues should be laughing, and Aemond’s should be fierce, and…and…”

“Anything you want, Your Grace,” Larys agrees. “But first we must go home.”

There are jubilant crowds waiting to welcome Aegon into King’s Landing, and not just Baratheon soldiers whose fortunes are staked upon his victory but bakers, butchers, blacksmiths, tailors, potters, drunks, orphans, widows, actors and madams and whores. They do not flinch away when they see his dragonfire scars or his slow, painful gait. They only cheer more deafeningly. They see in him what they all have known: the feeling of being broken, the hope of being resurrected as something greater. They believe he can win the war for them. They believe he can keep the wolves at bay. Meanwhile, Larys smuggles Rhaenyra’s child into the city in an enclosed carriage; he does not want the masses to rip the Blacks’ heir apart piece by piece.

In the Red Keep, Alicent flies through the corridors to rush into the unsteady arms of her last living child, her only son. She is skin and bones, an auburn-haired ghost with translucent skin and fingers knobby with arthritis. She kisses his face and weeps and spills out a litany of mourning for Helaena, Daeron, Aemond, Criston. Aegon tries to soothe her, but he doesn’t know what to say. There are no clocks to turn back or nightmares to startle awake from. This is the world now, there is no escaping it, what is lost will forever remain ashes or earth or bones at the bottom of the Gods Eye.

Along with Alicent emerges Jaehaera, much the same as you remember her, a bit taller, grave for someone so young, but still with Aegon’s oceanic eyes and high cheekbones and the gentleness that he used to have so much more of. The girl does not seem to have much interest in her father—if she recognizes him at all—but smiles and waves timidly at you from behind the skirts of her protector. And this is a face you remember too: a wry smirk, hazel eyes, skin milky and freckled, framed by long coppery ringlets.

“I’m glad you’re still alive, my lady,” Autumn says. “Have you bought me a castle yet?”

~~~~~~~~~~

When you dream of Helaena, she is sitting on the rim of a fountain in the gardens of the Red Keep. Her gown is a soft butter yellow and her hands are crawling with butterflies. They perch on her fingers like rings: ruby, sapphire, amethyst, moonstone, emerald, gold. It is warm, it is summer. It is always summer in the land of ghosts. You join Helaena, and butterflies form a kaleidoscopic blizzard in the air. The water spouting from the fountain trickles cool and clear.

“I didn’t know you were going to jump,” you tell her. “I would have stopped you. I’m sorry I was too late. I’m sorry I looked away.”

“Things are better where I am now,” Helaena says. “It’s miles and miles of gardens. Jaehaerys and Maelor are there. Daeron and Aemond are there. Grandsire is there too, and we all eat supper together each night, and no one ever argues. Everett is there with Autumn’s baby. He is a joyful little thing, he sleeps and smiles and never cries. Everett carries the baby as he walks through the gardens. At night, Everett reads to us. He loves to read. He and Aemond have struck up quite the rapport. And there is no killing. Everyone is already dead.”

You watch her, a tenderhearted sunlit spirit. “What do you need from me, Helaena? Why have you come back?”

“I was not able to be a good mother in life. But now I see my children as they truly are.” She gazes at you with urgency in her eyes like rainwater, orchids, aquamarines. “Jaehaera is so young, so vulnerable. To be a woman at the mercy of men is a terrible thing. She will require a champion in high places.”

And you picture her: the little girl who looks so much like Aegon, the child who is sweet and compliant and forever trying so hard to be brave. “I’ll always do what I can to protect her.”

“You must whisper into the right ears. You are believed to be merciful; you must be seen to act out of mercy, not for love of who her father was.”

Who her father was, not is. Was. “Helaena—”

“If she is seen as a rival, she will be put to death. Please don’t let them kill her. Please let one of my babies grow up.”

“I promise I’ll help Jaehaera, but Helaena—”

She leans in and grabs your face with her right hand, butterflies still gleaming on her fingers like jewels. “It’s time to wake up now.”

And you fall backwards into the fountain that turns from water to air to the feather mattress of Aegon’s bedchamber.

~~~~~~~~~~

“After Rhaenyra killed my boy, I knew where I had to go.”

When the Baratheons took the city and freed Alicent, she arranged for Helaena’s old rooms to be given to Autumn. You sit by the crackling fire with her as Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger play with wooden blocks across the bedchamber, speaking to each other in tentative, bashful murmurs. They do not comprehend that their families slaughtered each other. They are two lonely, profoundly wounded children, building kinship out of loss and ignorance. Rhaenyra’s son has swiftly become attached to Autumn; he trails after her everywhere, clutches at her skirts, reaches up to ask her to hold him. She has lost one silver-haired child, yes, brutally, horribly; but she has gained two.

“Everett helped arrange for me to escape to Storm’s End,” Autumn continues, sipping hot apple cider to warm her as winter bears down upon the Crownlands. You have a cup too; steam curls up from the amber brew like smoke from a dragon’s jaws. What dragon? you think. They’re nearly all dead now. Autumn looks at you with sad, shining eyes. “You have to believe me when I say that I never loved the king. But I grew to love the baby we made together. And when he was taken from me…when he was dragged out of my arms, still wet with blood from the womb, I…I…” She shakes her head, swallows down the longing that will never quite leave her. “I felt that if I could not be with my own child, at least I could be with his sister, a girl who was so alone in the world.” Now Autumn smiles. “I know I called her an inbred little freak before. That was cruel of me. She isn’t so bad. I love her to death, actually. I would break bones for that kid. She never complains. She tries her best at everything. It’s not her fault she’s inbred.”

“Borros Baratheon let you stay in Storm’s End?” you ask; he is not known to be a generous or trusting man.

Autumn shrugs. “Jaehaera recognized me. She was able to confirm that I had been a handmaiden to the Greens. Lord Borros took some convincing, but…no harm was done. We came to an agreement.”

“I’m so sorry, Autumn,” you say solemnly. “I wish I could have done more for you. But things are different now. You’ll never have to sell your body again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The wolves will be knocking on our doors within the week. Whichever way it goes, I intend to survive. I always have, I always will. Whatever it takes.” She peers through the window at dim grey skies, at bare tree limbs. “You heard about what happened to Everett?”

Alys’ vision flares in your skull like lightning, like dragonfire. “Yes.”

“I can’t even blame the people,” Autumn says. “They hated Rhaenyra, and rightly. They hated her for Helaena, for Jaehaerys and Maelor, for my son. They didn’t know the difference. They thought one Celtigar man was just as guilty as the next. Now Everett is dead, his body parts squirreled away in a hundred different households as souvenirs, and from what I understand when Rhaenyra was driven from the city Clement rode north to join Cregan Stark.”

“Of course he did,” you mutter bleakly.

“Angel, the king…he’s…he’s not well, is he? He doesn’t look well. He looks like a dead man. He’s so pale, so slow when he walks, and his eyes are sunken way down in their sockets—”

“He’s healing,” you say, and Autumn just stares at you. “He’s been through suffering, terrible suffering, but when the war is over he’ll finally be able to rest. He’ll get better. He has to get better.”

“Of course,” Autumn agrees; but she bites her lip and takes your hand and holds it so tightly it hurts.

That night as Aegon crawls into bed—the same bed that was his when you were first brought to King’s Landing, the bed where you healed his burns and massaged rose oil into his scar tissue and ensured that the milk of the poppy he received was enough to kill his pain but not his body, the same bed where you fell in love with him—he gathers you into his arms and draws you closer, closer, your head against his scarred chest, his heartbeat slow and drumming beneath your fingerprints.

Aegon says: “Someone finally remembered that Corlys Velaryon was locked up down in the dungeons and set him loose. He has joined my cause in exchange for our assurance that Rhaena will never be mistreated. I’ve told Corlys that Daeron killed Baela and Moondancer. He has accepted this as one of the many tragedies of the war, and he harbors no resentment towards you. And don’t think that I’ve slandered Daeron. He would gladly take the credit if he was here.”

“I’ve done so many unforgiveable things,” you marvel.

“Yes, for me. Only for me. I bear the weight of those sins, not you. Now let me distract you from them.”

But he can’t do it, not any of it; he’s too weak, he’s bloodless, he’s empty. He’s panting out apologies and calling himself useless. You’re trying to console him. You kiss his face, his throat, his chest, all the ruined pieces of him. You tell him you’re not disappointed, that you can try again later.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, Aegon.”

“It’s not,” he moans, eyes closed, already plummeting into unconsciousness. “But I don’t have a choice.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond is in the rookery of the Red Keep, scrawling letters at the writing desk. Ravens squawk and paw at the bars of their cages. He wears a deep ancient green that makes you think of pine trees, swamps, snakes, lizard-lions. His silver hair is tied back in a single thick braid, as if he might be hurrying off to ride Vhagar into battle soon, as if he might roast the Northmen in their armor. But of course, Aemond can do no such thing. Not anymore.

“It’s cold at the bottom of the Gods Eye,” he says without looking at you.

“You’re still there?”

“I’m everywhere and I’m nowhere. It’s strange. Sometimes I’m in the water. Sometimes I’m in the gardens. Sometimes I’m watching Alys. Sometimes I’m watching you.” He turns around, and you see that he is grinning. His eyepatch is gone and his sapphire glittering, just like it was that night on Dragonstone. “But perhaps that is not so welcome a thought.”

“I wish you would have listened to us,” you say, not with anger but with deep, desperate sorrow. “I wish you could have understood the worth you had and stopped chasing phantoms.”

“I believed that by redeeming myself, I could save my family. You think if you take enough lives Aegon will get to keep his. We’ve all made mistakes. But now the debts have been called in. And there’s nowhere for us to go but down.”

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to imagine it. “What do you need from me, Aemond? You need something. Everyone does.”

“Please do not harm Alys,” Aemond says, calm, courteous. “She was good to me. She loved me, and I loved her, even if that love was woven of dark, destructive threads. And my son…” Aemond smiles, proud and wistful. “He will have a part to play in what comes next.”

“I miss you,” you say, almost like an apology. “More than I thought I would.”

“I did not always treat you fairly. I did not always conduct myself in the most honorable manner. It is a regret of mine.”

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

“I know,” he says with his sly, taunting smirk. Then he stands and crosses the rookery, and just as he strikes out to catch your forearm you startle awake in a cold, dark room. You roll over, move closer to Aegon, watch his chest so you can tell if he’s still breathing.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Aegon wakes up alone. This is not unusual; he sleeps at least twelve hours a day now, and when you rise you go about your tasks until he catches up with you. He fumbles for the cup of milk of the poppy that you left for him on the bedside table and takes a swig. It’s enough to bring the pain in his legs and his back and his soul down to an ache, but he is never rid of it. He wonders, as he twirls the drained cup between his fingers, just how much it would take to kill someone. He wonders how much you gave to Baela in the dungeons of Dragonstone.

Aegon tries to climb out of bed but ends up stumbling to the floor instead. He tries to stand and can’t manage it. Groaning, hating himself, he scrabbles around under the bed for the porcelain chamber pot. He grabs it just as the situation is about to get even more mortifying, kneels on the floor, and relieves himself, sighing deeply. He yanks back up his cotton sleeping trousers and ties them snugly around his ever-shrinking waist. Then he looks down.

“Oh fuck,” he exhales in a whisper, hidden like a crime. The chamber pot is full of blood.

I have to throw it somewhere. I can’t let her see it. He peers around frantically. Out the window?? Into a potted plant??

He doesn’t want the servants to deal with it; they might gossip, she might hear them. Aegon is still thinking—no simple undertaking through the haze of milk of the poppy—when he hears footsteps in the doorway.

“Seven hells,” Autumn gasps. Her horrified gaze darts from the bloody chamber pot to the king and back to the porcelain bowl of blood, a bright and unmistakable and murderous red. “I’m sorry, Your Grace…I was looking for extra blankets…the children have never known a winter before and they are cold, and I…” Her eyes snag on the blood again like a fish on a hook. “Oh. Oh gods.”

“Don’t tell her,” Aegon pleads. “She can’t cope with it. She doesn’t want to believe it. I haven’t figured out how to tell her yet. Please don’t say anything.”

“Of course I won’t,” Autumn replies, tenderly now, tears brimming in her small hazel eyes. She knows exactly what it feels like to lose the man you love. “Here,” she says, pointing to the chamber pot. “Let me help you get rid of that.”

[baelarys]

we get what we deserve?

Aegon Targaryen x lector Darklyn/Targaryen

recuento de palabras:2540

Advertencia:Angust, murder, bad words

The burning in the palm of your hand intensified each time your nails dug into the soft flesh, a desperate attempt to maintain control. The pressure in your throat was constant, a knot you couldn't untie as you fought to suppress the sob that threatened to escape. The tears continued to slide down your cheeks, betraying the calm you were trying to maintain. Your eyes, red from crying, reflected the internal storm consuming you, a tide of emotions you could not bear.

It had all happened in an instant, a blink of an eye that left a trail of emptiness in your being. The small body you had held with such care was ripped from your arms with a brutality that left you breathless. Before you could comprehend what was happening, it was already in the hands of a stranger. A shiver ran down your spine as you relived that fateful moment, every detail burned into your memory with a clarity that tormented you. The helplessness enveloped you like a suffocating cloak, and the question beat in your mind like an unrelenting drum: How was it possible that you couldn't protect what mattered most to you?

The abrupt sound of glass shattering into a thousand pieces tore you from your thoughts. Aegon crossed the room with furious steps, his presence filled with a rage that electrified the air. The shards of glass sparkled on the floor, echoes of his anger, as he moved back and forth, unable to contain the torrent of emotions consuming him.

"My son is my legacy!" he roared, his voice laden with discontent and impotence, resonating with an intensity that echoed off the walls. "My son was the heir to the Iron Throne!"

His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, and the tension in his features was evident, every line of his face marked by the desperation of a loss he could not accept.

"And where were you?" Aegon demanded, his voice sharp and cold as his eyes fixed on Ser Criston Cole. "The Lord Commander of my Kingsguard!"

fucking the queen, you bit your tongue hard to keep from voicing such a rash accusation, though the anger burned inside you.

"I was in bed, Your Majesty," Ser Criston responded, his voice so controlled it almost sounded detached. "I requested to stand guard tonight."

"In bed?!" Aegon repeated, as if the knight's words carried no weight. "Instead of safeguarding the sanctity of my family?"

"This is not the time for baseless accusations, Your Majesty," Otto said. "Soon, we will know who did it."

"Who did it?" Aegon repeated, releasing a bitter laugh as he approached the table.

The silence that followed was heavy, until, for the first time, your voice rose in the room, cutting through the air like a sharp knife.

"It was her," you said, all eyes turning towards you. "Who else would do it if not that bastard bitch?"

The words escaped your mouth, burning your throat as you uttered them, each one loaded with a visceral hatred.

"That smug whore is on her damn island, laughing at me," you spat, the fury flowing from every word, your eyes ablaze with a mix of rage and pain.

The anger consuming you was almost tangible, like a fire fed by every thought. The image of that woman, the arrogance on her face as she reveled in your suffering, caused a nausea you could not suppress. Everything you had tried to contain finally erupted inside you.

"She thinks she's untouchable, hiding behind her walls while she mocks our misfortune!" you continued, your voice growing in volume, trembling with the intensity of your pain. "And now my son is dead, while her bastards run free, enjoying the protection that was denied to mine!"

Desperation and rage intertwined in your words, tearing you apart from within. With a trembling sigh, you sank back into the chair, struggling to contain the sea of tears that still threatened to overflow.

"You wished for her life to be spared," Aegon accused, directing his anger at Alicent, his voice heavy with reproach.

The queen lowered her gaze, unable to withstand the fury in her son's eyes. But before she could respond, the door to the room was flung open, and the hunched figure of Larys Strong appeared, interrupting the tense silence.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty... my lords," Larys said, his voice soft but piercing. "The guard has apprehended someone."

The news made everyone straighten up, expectant.

"The man we captured is known," continued the Clubfoot, carefully measuring his words. "He's a Gold Cloak. We found him fleeing through the Gate of the Gods... with the child's head in a sack."

The impact of his words fell on you like an anvil, and the world crumbled around you. You felt your heart plummet into a bottomless abyss, shattered by the cruelty of the revelation.

"I'll kill him myself," Aegon growled, the fury in his voice now fiercer than ever. Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode quickly towards the door, closely followed by his guards.

"It would be better to extract any information from that scoundrel," Otto intervened, his tone cold and calculating, halting Aegon's steps. "I trust in the mastery of your craft, Lord Larys."

Aegon stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tense as he processed his grandfather's words. Otto's proposal was logical, meticulous as always. But at this moment, logic was the last thing Aegon wanted to hear.

Tired of all the useless talk, you stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as you did, the sound tearing through the heavy silence that filled the room. The tension in the air was almost suffocating, every word exchanged between them seemed to add more weight to the burden you were already carrying.

Your gaze swept across the room, stopping on Otto, then Larys, before finally resting on Aegon. When his eyes met yours, his gaze, hardened by fury and pain, seemed to soften, as if in that brief moment, he found an anchor amidst the storm that was consuming him.

"I want his head," you declared, your voice firm and icy, leaving no room for doubt.

"Perhaps we should consider this more carefully," Otto began to say, his tone cautious, as if trying to bring a semblance of reason to the conversation.

"I said I want his head!" you interrupted, not giving him the chance to finish. Your voice resonated with such force that it was clear you would accept no objections.

You didn't want to talk, you didn't want to think. Every word directed at you felt like a blow to your already shattered nerves. All you wanted at that moment was justice, raw and visceral, for the innocent life that had been torn from your arms.

Your hands trembled, not from fear, but from the intensity of the fury boiling within you, from the overwhelming need to make the one who committed such an atrocity pay. You didn't care about the political implications, the consequences, or any strategy Otto might consider prudent. Logic and patience had been swept away by the tide of pain that was flooding you.

The room was plunged into tense silence, as if everyone present was holding their breath. No one dared to look directly at you, their eyes averted, fixed on anything but you. They knew that opposing you at this moment would be futile, perhaps even dangerous.

Your gaze settled on Larys Strong, who, with the same calculated calm as always, offered you a slight nod, a silent signal for you to follow.

The cold air seeped through your nightclothes, chilling your skin, but you didn't care. You didn't even bother to change or cover yourself before leaving.

The sound of the wind mingled with the clanking of heavy chains that echoed against the ground, accompanying each step of the corpulent man who was being brought before you. His eyes avoided yours, his posture hunched, defeated, as the guards shoved him forward with a contemptuous force, pushing him towards his fate.

Valyria landed a few meters away from you with a thud that resonated through the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. The dragon let out a deep, furious growl, as if she could sense the emotional storm raging inside you.

You stood firm, your gaze fixed on the prisoner, as you felt the heat of Valyria's breath at your back. The dragon, imposing and majestic, approached with measured steps, her piercing yellow eyes first locking onto you, searching your face for a sign, an order. Then, her slitted pupils shifted to the man who lay trembling on his knees before her imposing presence.

The prisoner, barely able to stand, raised his gaze only to meet the abyss that was Valyria. His body trembled, not just from the cold of the night, but from the terror that the proximity of the beast instilled in him. He knew he was facing his judge.

You took one more step closer, your figure wrapped in the icy night breeze, but the cold didn't affect you. Not when the anger and pain burned so intensely in your chest, fueled by the bottomless abyss left by the loss of your child. Each step you took towards the man kneeling before you seemed to vibrate with the pent-up fury, with the longing for justice that was driving you forward.

You stopped right in front of him, so close that you could see the cold sweat on his forehead, the unshed tears in his terrified eyes. Despite his trembling and veiled pleas, there wasn’t a trace of mercy in your gaze.

"My son is dead by your hand," you spoke each word with deliberate coldness, allowing them to pierce his conscience like thorns. "I held him in my arms, and in an instant, you took him from me. Because of your cowardice, your greed, an innocent life was sacrificed."

"He was just a child," you continued, stepping even closer, your shadow falling over him like a dark shroud. "My son. My flesh and blood. An innocent, who had nothing to do with your grudges, with your petty ambitions. And you took him from me. You destroyed him without a shred of remorse."

The man tried to stammer a response, to justify his act, but your gaze silenced him, condemned him before he could find the words.

"How many coins was his life worth?" you spat, disdain dripping from every syllable. "How much were you paid for his head? What was the price of my pain? Because that's all you are, a traitor willing to sell his soul to the highest bidder, no matter the cost to others."

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try. And you weren’t going to beg for a response that, deep down, wouldn’t change anything. The truth had already been exposed, raw and painful, and there was no place for more words in this trial.

You moved closer, leaned down, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Aegon raised his head, his eyes red and filled with tears, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and pain. He said nothing, but the desperation in his gaze was evident.

You knelt before him, and without a word, you wrapped him in your arms, pulling him close. Aegon clung to you as if you were his only anchor in a sea of suffering. The sobs he had tried to contain broke free completely, and the king's cries mingled with yours in a shared lament for the loss of a beloved child.

[kckt88]

The Beginning

Summary:

Every Dynasty must start somewhere.

Warning(s): Talk of Violence/Blood, Eye Injury, Betrothals.

Word Count: 1923

A.N - Credit to Aemond Targaryen Team (@aemond_team) • Instagram photos and videos for the picture of Aemond & Dany.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“This interminable in fighting must cease” shouted Viserys banging his wooden cane on the floor.

“F-Father” muttered Rhaenyra.

“Your father. Your grandsire. Your King demands it” screamed Viserys.

“Your Grace if-“

“-I will see things at an end” snapped Viserys as he turned towards Otto who bowed his head in faux submission.

“Husband” muttered Alicent sadly.

“When Princess Vaera turns five and ten, she is to come to Kings Landing where she will be wed to my son Prince Aemond” declared Viserys.

After momentary beat of silence, the room erupted into chaos.

“I will not have my son married to that girl”.

“He attacked Baela”.

“They attacked me”.

“He stole Vhagar”.

“Mother don’t let her be married to him”.

“She’s my daughter I should get a say who she marries”.

“SILENCE!” bellowed Viserys.

“You will do as your King commands, the two of them will enter into a period of courtship and then they will be wed. I would see our family united, and I swear there will be consequences if anyone dares to disobey me” ordered Viserys.

“Yes, Your Grace” muttered Rhaenyra.

Vaera looked down at her hands that were still stained with Aemond’s blood, her cotton night dress in tatters after she had ripped away a piece of the fabric to press against his face to try and stop the bleeding.

“He didn’t steal Vhagar” mumbled Vaera.

“What did you say?” asked Rhaenyra her eyes wide with surprise.

“Aemond. He didn’t steal Vhagar”.

“Yes, he did, Vhagar belonged to Rhaena she was our mother’s dragon” snapped Baela.

“Nobody owns the dragons; they are creatures of their own free will, they are not posessions to be passed down, she allowed Aemond to claim her. Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor” replied Vaera. (A dragon is not a slave).

Rhaenyra smiled slightly as she tucked a stray silver curl of hair behind her daughter’s ear.

Alicent stunned to silence turned to face Viserys who smiled.

“It seems as though my granddaughter is the only one blessed with any kind of sense. This matter is finished” ordered Viserys.

Vaera noticed Aemond peering at her from across the room and she gave him a small smile before she turned away.

- Five Years Later -

Everything had changed since that night on Driftmark. Vaera had lost her father Laenor and gained another in her great uncle Daemon, who also turned out to be her biological father.

Not that Vaera wanted to know the details, but her mother had spent her wedding night to Laenor with Daemon. A death had occurred at the feast and Laenor had descended deep into his cups to block his pain over the loss of his beloved Joffrey and Daemon had snuck into her mother’s chambers, did what they wanted or needed to do and nine moons later she had been born. Of course, by this time Daemon had already absconded across the narrow sea and married Laena Velaryon.

Growing up had been a little tough for Vaera, as her mother had been deeply in love with Daemon and his abandonment of her had broken her heart. Every time her mother looked at her, she could see it in her eyes. Rhaenyra tried to be a good mother to her and sometimes she was indeed soft and warm, but other times she was vacant and unfeeling.

So, Vaera spent most of her time with Laenor, even more so after he mother gave birth to Jacaerys and Lucerys, both babes blessed with brown hair and bearing an entirely coincidental resemblance to the commander of the city watch Ser Harwin Strong.

Whispers of bastard followed both of her younger brothers and it eventually caused a rift between them. Sure, she had also been subjected to the reservations of the court, but due to her flowing silver hair and amethyst eyes suspicions of her true parentage eventually fell by the wayside.

Maybe it should have been better when her mother had married Daemon, but it wasn’t. Things remained the same. Vaera always got the sense that her father was disappointed in her, he seemed to be dismissive of her and never cared to spend time with her like he did her sister Baela. Her other sister Rhaena had told her that she had felt the same way and it was most likely down to their lack of a dragon.

It wasn’t her fault that her cradle egg never hatched. Mayhaps that dragon wasn’t truly meant for her.

A theory that turned out to be true, when Vaera had managed to claim the most ferocious dragon alive the Cannibal.

All those who had tried to claim him before had perished, his nest was littered with the bones of all those who had tried and failed. Yet he’d accepted her. She was his first ever rider.

Perhaps he senses her loneliness and the need for a friend as he had felt the same way. But something definitely called to her with her Cannibal and their bond was like no other. They spent every moment they could together, either in the air flying amongst the clouds or on the ground where Cannibal would curl around her as she read countless books to him.

Messages of congratulations arrived from Kings Landing, although some were laced with uncertainty with regards to her claiming of the ferocious Cannibal. Sure, he had a reputation but as long as his hunger was satisfied then he had no desire for the flesh of his own kind.

The years on Dragonstone spent bonding with Cannibal were the best, of course the deteriorating relationship with her parents and siblings wasn’t a great aspect. But Vaera firmly decided that she didn’t care as long as she had her dragon.

Her mother was too preoccupied with the babe she’d recently given birth too. A boy named Aegon, which was ridiculous considering there was already an Aegon. But now her father had his son and that’s all he cared about.

The time was now upon her to travel to Kings Landing so she could begin her courtship with Aemond. She wondered what he’d be like now. They’d not seen each other since the night he’d lost his eye on Driftmark, but they had been friends before that. Vaera was not simple minded she knew what was expected of her with regards to marriage, but she hoped Aemond would be amenable to rebuilding some form of their friendship.

Due to recently giving birth, her mother could not escort her to Kings Landing and her father wasn’t keen either something about ‘Hightower cunts’ and neither Jace nor Luke volunteered which in Luke’s case was probably a good thing. So, after making sure she had everything packed and bidding farewell to everyone, Vaera climbed on the back of her Cannibal and took to the skies, heading away from Dragonstone towards Kings Landing.

Once Vaera arrived in Kings Landing, she had Cannibal circle the Red Keep a couple of times before he landed with a colossal thud on the stone walls that surrounded the castle. Announcing his arrival with a thunderous roar, Cannibal manoeuvred himself off the wall and lowered himself to the ground. After taking a moment to gather her bags that were attached to Cannibal, Vaera elegantly moved off Cannibals back and descended down the wing that he’d pressed against the ground.

Cannibal lingered by her side for a moment, observing the two guards that had appeared at the entrance to the castle. His low rumbling growls echoing around the courtyard.

“It’s ok my sweet” urged Vaera as she ran her hand along Cannibals scaly neck.

Cannibal who was still hesitant to leave her side, bared his teeth as the guards moved closer.

“I’m fine, they are merely escorts. Go hunt and find a place to rest. I will see you soon” said Vaera as she pressed a quick kiss to Cannibal’s snout.

Cannibal trilled as he nudged her gently, lingering at her side for a few moments longer before he opened his large wings and took off from the ground with a huge gust of wind.

Vaera held her bags close as the guards slowly approached her.

“Princess Vaera. Welcome to Kings Landing. Allow us to escort you to the Queen”.

“Thank you” replied Vaera.

Vaera silently followed the guards as they walked through the Red Keep. Ignoring the curious looks of the maids and servants as she went passed.

Eventually the guards came to a stop in front of a large ornate wooden door.

Knock, knock.

“Enter”.

“Princess Vaera. Your Grace” said one of the guards as he stood aside and allowed Vaera to enter the room.

“Ahh Princess, forgive me. We were not made aware that you would be arriving today”.

“Apologise your grace. My mother must have forgotten to send the raven” replied Vaera.

“It appears so Princess. But never mind you’re here now. Let us discuss your courtship and upcoming marriage to my son” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace” said Vaera bowing her head respectfully.

“Talia, would you take the Princesses bags to her assigned chambers” ordered Alicent.

“Your Grace” replied Talia as she wordlessly took Vaera’s bags and left the room.

“Please take a seat” offered Alicent, gesturing to the empty space next to her.

Vaera slowly sat beside the Queen and took a deep breath, she had not seen Alicent since Driftmark and in truth she was a little nervous.

 “Your courtship period with Aemond will last approximately three moons, after that the two of you will marry in the sept under the faith of the seven” said Alicent sternly.

“Of course, Your Grace” whispered Vaera, fidgeting with her riding leathers.

“You will be expected to do your duty as a wife and only bear my son’s children”.

Vaera of course picked up on Alicent’s thinly veiled dig at her mother, and obviously the Queen was waiting for her response as she stared her pointedly.

“I’m well aware of my duty Your Grace. Despite what you may think. I am not my mother. I fully understand the value of my virtue and I swear that no man has touched me, and no man will ever touch me besides my husband” replied Vaera truthfully.

“Pretty words Princess. Surely you can understand my reluctance to believe such things”.

“Yes, Your Grace I do understand. But as I said I am not my mother, and I can assure you I have no such desire to sully myself or my husband by birthing bastards” said Vaera sharply.

Alicent stared at her for a moment before smiling and nodding her head.

“You will of course be assigned a guard who will accompany you and ensure your safety and wellbeing” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace” whispered Vaera.

“I must also inform you that I expect your to behave whilst you are here and act in a manner befitting a Princess of the realm” retorted Alicent.

“Of course, Your Grace. I will endeavour to act accordingly” said Vaera.

“This is your home now; you may go where you wish” replied Alicent.

Vaera nodded wordlessly.

“Ser Arryk will be your guard, mayhaps you would like to be escorted to your chambers so that you may bathe” said Alicent.

“Yes, Your Grace, I understand the smell of dragon isn’t particularly pleasant” replied Vaera.

“I expect your presence at dinner later today, a formal introduction between you and Aemond will be made. I will send a maid to inform you of the time. Ser Arryk will you escort the Princess to her chambers”.

Ser Arryk lumbered forward and Vaera bowed respectfully to the Queen before following the knight.

As she walked back to her assigned chambers, Vaera couldn't help but wonder what her marriage to Aemond would be like.

Would he love her? or would she be nothing more than his duty?

Only time would tell.

[finchmarie]

spectre recquisitions 2024

This was my first year participating in @spectre-requisitions-exchange and I hope I get to do so again next year, everyone has been incredibly kind and also everyone is so super talented!!

A huge huge thank you to my gifter who wrote me some fantastically delicous old man smut!!

Take Me Down by MyGorramShip (LoneSurvivor) for FinchMarie (Explicit)

My piece was for @dandenbo and I got the opportunity to draw their NB Shep Otto, and it filled my little queer heart with joy.

Also I'm very proud of how it turned out! It's my most explicit art to date and I'm excited to have ripped off the band aid on that so my art can get shamelessly more filthy in the future. Sorry in advance buds gotta be logged into AO3 to see the full thing!

Be Gentle by FinchMarie for DanDenbo (Explicit)

[darilarostarg]

HOTD Predictions for Season 3  

I honestly cannot tell with all the changes they have made so far where the fuck they are going with this, and I have no idea how they are going to fit this entire story into four seasons, 16 episodes, but here are of my some thoughts/ideas, feel free to leave yours below (please be careful of future plot spoilers below);

I can see season opening one of two ways. I don't think we have time for a ease in episode, given the news of four seasons, so it may be either of the following;

The Gullet

To me this makes the most sense as it happens first in the book. All the Dragonriders that partake are currently on Dragonstone. I also think it would be great tension and drama, that when Rhaenyra does take Kings Landing, she has now lost two sons, a complete an utter betrayal (on purpose or not) when she arrives to see Alicents son, who's head she was promised, is in fact missing.

I also think Baela may partake in the Gullet, replacing Nettles.

2. Fall of Kings Landing

Just as it was set up at the end of S2. I can see the gullet happening while Rhaenyra and Daemon are taking/have already taken Kings Landing (that is why they are not there etc.), but I cannot at this point see Rhaenyra leaving all her dragon riders on Dragonstone if the gullet had not happened yet but CGI budget tells me it will just be Rhaenyra and Daemon lol.

Again the climax of the Fall will be the fact Aegon is not in the capital and Alicent will not know where he is. Alicent and Haelena will finally be taken captive at this point. I also think this needs to happen a little later in the show, as at a minimum we need Otto to return to be executed.

Other plot points throughout season three;

Rhaena claiming Sheepstealer - more a fact than prediction? However completely unsure where it leads to, if i'm being honest. No something I have really seen the vision on yet, as I do not believe Daemon will go to Maidenpool anymore etc. and have that whole part of the nettles arc. Also the blacks will still have a large ridable dragon at the end of the dance which is a little messy for the plot? I maybe Daemon does send her way? Or she leaves herself (the abandoned becomes the abandoner?)

I can see them combining elements of Honeywine/Red Fork/Lakeshore and possibly Butcher's Ball into one single battle. Deaths of Jason Lannister, and Cole (maybe Gwyane if they do not find a way to get him back to the capital before the fall).

Alys fucking with Aemond (maybe visions, I don't think we have the time though?) cause she misses her bestie girl Daemon

Haelena's death :(

Fall of Dragonstone - death of Moondancer :(

Season three ends with Tumbleton - Hugh and Ulf betray the blacks

I also think it is entirely possible they combine elements of Honeywine, Red Fork, Lakeshore, Butcher's Ball and Tumbleton all in one!

Season four possibilities

Gods Eye either episode one or two - Deaths of Daemon, Caraxes, Aemond and Vhagar rip daemon, FREE MATT!!!

However, I could also see them pushing this event out to keep Matt around for longer. God's Eye is an event most people are looking forward to, and they may be scared that people will check out after they lose their biggest name - I hope I am painfully incorrect about this.

Rhaenyra really unravels as she has been betrayed and lost her biggest ally - possibly Corlys turns on her at this point if it doesn't already happen in season three (or at all...)

Storming of the Dragonpit - orchestrated by Mysaria? - deaths of Joffery, Dreamfyre and Syrax

Tumbleton 2.0 - Death of Addam, Daeron, Ulf, Hugh and the remaining dragons (Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke, Tessarion)

Rhaenyra flees to Dragonstone - her death

Aegon is poisoned at this point I think Alicent will be the one to do it lol

Hour of the Wolf - Deaths of Larys and Mysaria

Series ends with Aegon being crowned

So basically three very large CGI and battle sequences each season (with smaller set pieces with the dragons in between) to make it somewhat work, hitting the key points from the book.

Let’s hope and pray HBO have upped that budget lol

[fanfics4all]

Dubcon

Request: Yes / No Kinktober day 6!

Requests are closed  <3 Have a nice day/night

Troy Otto x Fem!Reader 

Word count: 1037

Warnings: SMUT!

Y/N: Your Name 

Prompt(s): Dubcon

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

“I want you to do something for me.” Troy said with a smirk. 

“P-Please, whatever it is, please just-” 

“Quiet!” He said with an edge to his voice. 

“Take those off, now.” He ordered. 

“I… I can’t!” I said and he scoffed. 

“Yes you can. You’ll do it now, or else this photo will be sent to your Father. Do you understand?” He asked and my eyes widened. If my Dad see me dress in lingerie he’ll kill me! 

“You can’t!” I hissed. 

“I can. This is yours, isn’t it?” He asked and turned the phone to me. There I was dressed in a red lacey one piece, posing in my mirror. I don’t know how he got it, considering I never sent it to anyone. I didn’t even have that picture anymore! 

“I’ll ask you again. Take your jeans off.” He said. I tried my hardest to take slow breaths as I stared at him. He was serious and there was no way I’d be able to take the phone from him. I gulped and nodded. I slowly undid my zipper and he smirked slightly. 

“That’s right.” He said under his breath. He flipped the phone back around and took a step back. After pulling my jeans off, along with my shoes I stood up, glaring at him. 

“Good, now unbutton your shift.” He said. 

“P-Please…” I mumbled, a pit forming in my stomach. He simply waved his hand with a ‘get to it’ motion and I grit my teeth. I slowly undid each button one by one. My white bra now revealed to him. Troy took multiple pictures and I couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Good girl, very good girl.” He said and stopped taking pictures. 

“Please don’t send those…” I begged and he smirked again. 

“I won’t as long as you do everything I tell you to, got it?” He said as he pocked his phone. 

“L-Like what?” I asked. He just smirked and grabbed me. He was larger and stronger than me so I couldn’t escape. He forced my hands together and pulled a zip tie from his pocket. He tied my hands tightly together behind me. He pulled me over to the bed and pushed me onto my stomach. He ripped off my bra and and I gasped in shock. He buried his face into my ass, licking my tight virgin asshole. He forced the tip of his tongue inside and I suddered with excitement. 

I felt myself starting to get turned on, but I also felt ashamed. Troy was practically a stranger, yet he was making me feel so good. He spread my legs wider and pulled my hips closer to him. He started to flick his tongue against my now wet pussy. I moaned in pleasure, but they were muffled by the pillows. Without realizing, I started grinding onto his face. He abruptly stopped and flipped me onto my back. 

“You like this don’t you? You’re such a slut, Y/N.” He said with a smirk. 

“D-Do I need to be restrained?” I asked and his smirk grew. Troy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. 

“Promise me you’re gonna be a good girl.” He said and I nodded. He gripped my face and held the night close to my face. 

“Use your words.” He growled. 

“Yes…” I whispered. He cut the ties from my wrists and pulled me off the bed. He pushed me onto my knees and I looked up at him. He grabbed his hard member through his jeans. I gulped and he smiled. 

“You wanna suck this cock?” He asked. I bit my lip and nodded slowly. Troy stepped closer to me, his stare unwavering. 

“Take it out.” He ordered. I reached up to undo his pants. I pushed them down to his tighes, along with his boxers. His cock sprung free and I gulped at the size. I looked up at him and he gave me a nod. I slowly opened my mouth and put his dick inside. He moaned and grabbed my hair. He pushed me down and made me gag as he was too big. 

“You can take it. Open your fucking throat.” He said. I tried my best to do as he said and open my throat. He pushed inside more and I managed to take him without gagging. 

“Oh fuck!” He groaned. He ripped me off him and pulled me up by my hair. He pushed me onto the bed so I was on all fours. He spread my ass open and spit right on my asshole. My eyes widened and I tried to crawl away, but he gripped me tighter. 

“Don’t fucking move.” He growled as he slammed his cock inside. I howled in pain as he relentlessly stretched my hole. He fucked my ass hard, not caring about how I was feeling. Once the pain let up there was pleasure flooding my veins. I could hardly form a sound as I whimpered in ecstasy. 

“You like getting fucked don’t you, you little cum slut.” He growled in my ear. 

“Y-Yes! I-I like it!” I moaned and he gripped me tighter. I reached down and started to rub my drenched clit. My eyes widened as I felt how wet I was. I’ve never been so wet in my life! Troy started thrusting deeper and harder. 

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna fill your tight little ass up! I fucking own you now.” He moaned. He pushed so deep inside me and I felt him filling me up. I moaned loudly and came as I felt his cum filling me. My legs were shaking as he pulled out of me and I collapsed on the bed. Troy walked off to the bathroom and came back a few moments later with a warm towel. He wiped me down and smacked my ass. 

“You better keep that cum inside you baby.” He said as he finished cleaning me. I just nodded and let my eyes flutter close. Troy crawled into the bed next to me and pulled me into his arms. 

“You’re mine now, Y/N… All mine…” He whispered and kissed my head. I was so tired and quickly fell asleep.

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction

[bullet-prooflove]

Burn It Down: Alexander 'Tig' Trager x Reader

Tagging: @mortal--soul @yourwinchesterbros @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @ritasantosworld @bl4ckt00thgr1n @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @iinky-baby @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond  @rubes2323

It’s late when Tig gets the call, his hand reaches out for you as and he’s surprised to find that the bed is empty. You didn’t come home last night, you always come home. There’s a bad feeling stirring in his gut, he stares at your vacant pillow, and it makes something tighten in chest.

“Yea?” He growls into his cellphone, his fingertips rubbing at the space between his eyes.  

His brain stumbles over the sentences as Chibs speaks, catching on the words, before he jerks himself out of bed, clambering for the jeans he’s left tossed on the floor.

“There’s been a fire laddie, at Cara Cara. The whole place has been burned to the ground.”

He knows you were working late; he’d dropped in before eleven to check in and ended up spreading you out on your desk, tongue fucking you until you came on his face.

“You work too hard baby,” he’d whispered into your ear, his stubble grazing along the line of your jaw as his fingertips trailed along the inner seam of your jeans. “Let me take care of you for a minute, the stress isn’t good for you.”

You’d promised to return the favour when you got in, you just needed to finish up some of the rough cuts you were been working on. You’d slipped your panties in the front pocket of his jeans in case he couldn’t wait. He’s wrapped them around his cock and jerked off when he’d got back from the clubhouse, leaving the debauched fabric in the laundry hamper.

You’d been busy since Luann’s death, throwing your grief into maintaining the business that she had created, making it flourish. It had been a surprise to them all, including you, that she’d chosen you as her successor. It made sense when Tig thought about it. The two of you had been tight, you were there when she needed someone to keep all of those plates spinning, and she’s picked up the pieces and put you back together in the aftermath of the Ghanezi brothers.

You were dedicated, putting in the same time and the effort as she had. You made sure Otto still received his dues, visited him in prison and kept him up to date with the comings and goings of the outside world. The Sons still turned a legit profit, more so now that no one was skimming off the top. You’d made a couple of changes, Ima was gone, Lyla now a director, you’d moved some of the servers off site because you didn’t like having all of your eggs in one basket. At this point in time, you were all making bank.

The fire’s still blazing by the time he gets there. Charming Fire Department are valiantly trying to put it out but he already knows it’s too late. He can feel the heat from where he’s standing, the smoke curling up towards the sky. It’s an inferno, violent and merciless, devouring everything in it’s path. The stench of burning plastic is in his nostrils, it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue as something inside of him breaks. Chibs is talking to him but it’s just noise, he can’t pick out the words over the roaring in his ears. Agony rips through him, shredding his insides, it feels like he can’t fucking breathe. He launches himself towards the flames, because he saw your car in the parking lot on the way in, he knows you’re in there.

There’s a frenzied wailing in his head, it’s a hoarse scream that makes him feel like he’s channelling a fucking banshee as someone grabs him and tries to haul him back. He fights them, he’s fucking feral, throwing punches, kicking anywhere he fucking can, teeth snapping together because if you’re in there, he wants to be too. He wants the fire to fucking consume him, he wants it to guzzle down his bones and leave nothing but a pile of ashes to be scattered along with yours in Charming Gardens, underneath the blossom tree, the two of you had made love under.

The world fucking tilts and he finds himself hurtling through space and time before he impacts the ground. The air rushes out of his lungs, stunning him as the gravel digs into his back.

“Stop fucking fighting me, ya mad bastard.” Chibs snarls, his gloved hand gripping Tig’s chin so he can focus the other man’s attention. “Stop fighting me and fucking look.”

Tig swears his heart stops beating.

You’re seated on the steps of an ambulance behind the fire truck, an oxygen mask pressed to your mouth and nose as an EMT talks to you. There’s dirt and soot streaked across your face, some of your hair is singed but otherwise you seem intact.

When Chibs releases him he’s already in motion, boots scrambling in the earth as he bolts towards you. His eyes are fucking stinging by the time he gets to you, his hands tremble as he reaches for you, thumbs smoothing over the blush of your cheeks as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I was so fucking scared.” He whispers as you draw the oxygen mask down. “Shit I thought I’d lost you.”

“Chuckie saved me.” Your voice is a rasp, rough and chesty, like a smoker whose only salvation is forty a day. You gesture at the EMT, wrapping Chuckie’s hands in fresh gauze a few meters away in the back of the ambulance. “I had my headphones on, I didn’t even hear them come in. If he hadn’t…”

You trail off and Tig feels his knees go weak as the adrenaline surges out of his system.

If he hadn’t you would have burned to death. He owes Chuck big time.

You cough, it’s a wretched noise that causes your chest to heave at the exertion of it. It scares the living shit out of him. He remembers reading somewhere that more people die of smoke inhalation than the actual fire itself.

“This is going back on.” He says, grasping the plastic oxygen mask and guiding it back over your mouth and nose. You inhale deeply, he watches as your chest expands and contracts before it relaxes once more into a natural rhythm.

He drops down onto the steps of the ambulance alongside of you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he draws you as close as humanly possible.  The tension ebbs out of your body as you press your cheek to his chest and listen to the sound of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re alright.” He reassures you, his lips brushing over your hairline. “I promise you sweetheart, everything’s gonna be alright.”

Love Tig? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[compact-turtle]

Lovin ur oc Atticus so much! He sounds so cute, but how would he react to a darling that more or less doesn’t give any f’s?? Polite as hell but doesn’t care abt things most of the time.

Maybe because of his habit of stealing clothes one of readers’ friends decide to let them borrow a tight tank top that says “slut” on the front?? Reader really doesnt care but I feel like Atticus might a little too much. 😅 if you don’t like these kinds of asks pls feel free to delete! No pressure

I think it’s a super cute idea!! I love it ( *｀ω´)

——-

-this is a socially isolated man who doesn’t get out much and doesn’t understand what the shirt means 

-he thinks it’s a cute shirt on you. He likes how it doesn’t hide anything from his eyes. Often checks you out when you’re making dinner or doing laundry. 

-finally clicks for him when he’s watching a tv show that brings up the word 

-asks you about it in a weird roundabout way. You explain that it’s just a shirt and you don’t really care about it. 

-he does Bc he feels like it disrespects you and doesn’t want you to feel bad (sees it as a negative connotation due to how the tv show and town portrays slut shaming) 

-Waits until you’re in the shower or in a different outfit to enact his plan. 

-Steals some dog treats from the kitchen. Hides the dog treat in the shirt. Calls for Otto and Earl to come upstairs.

-The dogs are elated to find a treat for them. They’ve been working so hard! They dig into it not caring about the garment.  

-You find the shirt ripped in pieces underneath two happy dogs who just got a free snack. 

-Atticus comes in and lectures them for ruining your clothes 

-It’s ok though! You can wear his flannels. He’ll makes sure to wash it for you :) 

-Does give your friend a lighter workload the next day so they don’t get upset at you for ruining the shirt too much. 

-The poor dogs who got scolded after being tricked:

[bucknastysbabe]

For the kink bingo, rimming and/or pegging with Aegon x wife!reader (maybe twin sister-wife if that’s something you’re okay with writing)?

Uh yes you got it!

Kink Bingo - Rimming

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Incest, Sub!Aegon, Twin!Wife!Reader, Aegon is a little chubby in this one, Hightowers In The Back, analingus, she runs the show and the actors yup

For anyone that asked, King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name did not bow to anyone. Simultaneously everyone knew he bowed to his twin sister-wife like a loyal servant. They just didn’t utter it aloud, lest the dowager queen or the hand sent Ser Criston to personally cut out their tongue.

Alicent and Otto carefully crafted the image that her son was not a drunk and clung to his wife like a babe. He’d always had, even when Aegon was running the streets of Flea Bottom. The Kingsguard would escort the sniveling prince back to his sister’s quarters in the morn so he could nuzzle at her and wrap up under her sweet-smelling blankets. After she made him wash of course.

The Hightower’s couldn’t have supporters of the late Rhaenyra whispering of putting her Velaryon bastards on the Iron Throne. Still, Aegon was easy to shirk his duties before being dragged by his ever present twin to court. She carried all of the self-confidence and smarts Aegon floundered with.

So the greens had owed her a little bit of gratitude for keeping the king in check, especially Otto who doted on his granddaughter. Alicent, ever pious and holding strange feelings about women in power could be acrid to the pair.

The sister-wife in question laughed in the face of all the flying rumors and her mother’s outdated thinking. Why would it matter when she basically sat the Iron Throne by fucking her brother silly every night. Aegon listened to her, worshipped her, cried for her love. He sat at her feet now, begging, “Sister, my love, something- anything please.” His eyes were glassy with tears and the drink.

His discarded cup of red sat beside the pair on a table. The woman thumbed his cheek and hummed, “What do you want me to do Aegon?” Her husband’s matching violet eyes looked to the side in thought. Aegon worried at his lip, dumbfounded on his response. She was pretty sure he wished for everything under the sun, greedy whore.

She smiled and sighed, “I always have to do the thinking for you, don’t I sweetling?” Aegon pouted, still arching into her touch needily. Pulling on curls that looked exactly like her own the queen ordered, “Go get on the bed and strip down. Don’t touch yourself.” Her other half scrambled to the huge bed, drunkenly pawing and ripping at his clothing.

His wife watched in amusement, taking a drink from Aegon’s discarded goblet. He was so pretty yet so, so vapid. She tilted her head, shifting minutely while watching Aegon fuss with his belt. The annoyed king whined and pulled on the constricting piece.

“Got too plump for it, my king,” she teased meanly, “Lay off the wine and feasts, mayhaps love?”

Aegon cast an annoyed look in her direction, throwing the belt down and yanking off his jacket. He looked down at his padded hips and fleshy stomach, swallowing in panic. He jerked his head up and whined, “Why didn’t you tell me I was growing stout?”

She shrugged and finished the cup, “I never thought you cared, it’s normal for the king to grow a bit…soft.” The female Targaryen eyed him with heat, pointing toward the bed. Personally she liked the extra flesh, made him more sensitive and soft in her opinion. Aegon complained on, glaring at his body and pinching, “I must ride Sunfyre more.”

“Or actually take your lazy ass to the training yard. Get on the bed already or I’ll leave you there.”

Aegon huffed and clambered onto the bed. His twin lowly whistled at the sight— pallid skin and sweet curves stark against the covers. She undid her gauzy nightgown and carefully placed it on the chair. She complimented the trembling Aegon, “I don’t mind it, not really, you’re so beautiful sweetling.”

Hopeful purple eyes peered up at her, looming over his prone form. He whispered, “Do you mean it?” Carding her fingers through his curls she cooed, “More than anything in the world. My perfect brother.” He happily nuzzled into her hand, fighting to stay still.

The queen slung a leg over the side of the bed to settle between his calves. She stared down at his pale ass, cute and bubbly. The twin asked, “Did you clean up like I asked?” He bobbed his head in quick movements. So eager.

She groped one cheek and smacked the other, grinning wildly at Aegon’s sharp yelp. The Valyrian murmured, “Should I eat your greedy cunt tonight?” She expected his wanton response.

“Please oh gods please fuck baby,” he panted.

She smacked his ass again, watching the pink handprint bloom. Of course Aegon wanted that tonight, she always knew what he wanted. They were one and the same, shared a womb, shared a bed, shared their heart. Always meant to be.

“Ass up then, my king.”

She sucked in a breath at his pink twitching furl, always so pretty for her. Aegon’s ringed fingers gripped at the silken sheets desperately. He quivered eagerly, awaiting his love’s tongue. She breathed over his most intimate part and cooed, “Good boy. No touching your cock, it belongs to me.”

He clenched his eyes and whined, “Only you!”

Aegon’s wife grabbed a handful of his fleshy cheeks and laved a hot stripe from taint to tailbone, him shouting and writhing at contact. Aegon’s head fell down as she began to kiss and lick deeply, working his tight hole open with ease.

He whimpered at her tongue flicking over his sensitive rim, thighs clenching wildly. She dug her fingertips into his ass greedily, wanting to eat her brother whole. Sloppier and quicker Aegon’s wife ate and lapped at his cunt, moaning like she was the one getting eaten out.

Aegon had to swallow back the drool collecting in his mouth, squirming and panting. Sweat began to bead all over his body when she pointed her tongue and began to spear his entrance. Aegon babbled, “Love, fuck- fuck! S’good s’goodGODS!”

She wickedly kissed at his hole while tongue deep, one of her hands coming down to grab his heavy balls. Aegon pathetically moaned, rocking back onto her tongue— crying her name. The wife softly rolled his balls while slurping at his loosened hole, sucking in his whimpers and moans like the air she breathed.

“M’close sister, gah, I love you!,” he cried.

She grinned and licked harder, swiping her tongue in playful circles while massaging his sac. Aegon’s sweet belly tightened and rolled as he curled into himself at the nearness of climax. He was close to tearing the sheets. His cock twitched and weakly spurted out pre.

She smacked his ass again for good measure, sending the king over the edge with a bonafide wail. He shook and clenched around her tongue, balls drawing tight. He came on his shaking belly and the silk sheets, crying for her like a maiden. She eased off his rim and cooed, “Good boy, my sweetling cums so pretty, love you.”

He mewled at the last few spurts of his overtaxed prick, sinking back onto the bed into his mess. She clicked her tongue and rolled the worn king over on his back. The woman grabbed a discarded article of clothing to wipe his soft belly, her other hand stroking his pale thigh. Aegon panted and watched her with lidded eyes.

“I love you,” he repeated.

She grinned. “And I love you Aegon.”

He petulantly pulled her into his body, needing her warmth and love. It made him happier than wine— which was saying a lot. Aegon murmured, “I’m so lucky to have you,” he smirked, “And your tongue.”

She jested in return, feeling up the fatty part on his hip, “I’m lucky too and I’ll include your slutty mouth for measure.”

He pouted, “You like my slutty mouth.”

“I’ll put it to good use for me soon, my king.”

His cock twitched again in earnest.

[ming-sik]

Protagonist!revolutionary!Tuuli 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

if this posts tumblr assassins have failed to kill it for the third time

myne's first invention is a modified version of mercantile that's easier to learn. she practices this by teaching lutz to read while she learns mercantile from otto and mostly as an afterthought teaches tuuli. after her family realizes that myne has the devouring and tuuli realizes myne will unavoidably be ripped away from her and sent to the temple solely because she was born without money or status, she can't let go of her grief when she's told to act like myne died and decides to honor her dream by teaching commoners to read to work towards myne's dream of even a peasant girl being able to read books.

she replaces otto when he leaves the guard to run the gilberta company by leveraging her literacy/connection to gunther and tries to start a school for peasant kids in her free time. she views lutz as a traitor to myne's memory for trying to turn her dream into products for the very nobles who killed her. lutz loses contact with the lower city once myne joins the nobility since the plantin company is immediately forced to relocate to illgner and nobody has contact with her as a gray priest so she just… doesn't get to learn what happened to myne, and her memory distorts over time. either way, in the process of finding kids to teach she comes into contact with the families of other devouring kids, and she starts developing the idea of a world without nobles.

this crystallizes when she meets gil after he and high priest in training wilfried get permission to let the orphans forage. gil is a devouring gray priest who knew myne in the temple, and found out from rosina who rozemyne bought as a music teacher what happened. well actually rosina was told that rozemyne was a noble the whole time and she needed to be hidden from bezewanst, but tuuli knows that's bullshit, so she and he piece together the real story. tuuli refuses to believe that her perfect angel of a sister would willingly participate in noble cruelty and her resolve to eliminate the system only accelerates.

she also learns more about noble society from gil and wilfried(who's in contact with sylvester because he refuses to abandon his son, even as people worry he's pulling a veronica). when wilfried finds the record of the scribes' revolt, they suddenly have both a framework and knowledge of what issues they need to plan for.

wilfried and tuuli are the protagonists but gil and delia as devouring priests are the secondary protagonists of the temple section. i have to make up OCs for the lower city section so that's still in progress, but tuuli trying to convince the temple cast that revolution is possible is her first major obstacle, during which ferdinand is their primary antagonist, and as they actually start putting their plans into motion(there's also this whole thing where wilfried learns the gods' language and teaches the devouring revolutionaries divine magic but this isn't about him) she's the one who realizes that ferdinand will protect ehrenfest with his life, which means that for their revolution to succeed, they need to find a way to take him out. tuuli kills ferdinand at the climax of that arc >:)

also she and myne meet up again when things are already in motion and the two of them have to realize that their idealized versions of each other have become completely separate from their actual sister and tuuli has to convince myne to join her cause. charlotte, rozemyne, and sylvester are the sympathetic antagonists of the temple/lower city part and convincing them to join their cause is the primary conflict when the two parts of the story crash into each other. wilfried has to convince sylvester, tuuli has to convince rozemyne and then rozemyne has to convince charlotte who is the final boss of that particular conflict. and she and sylvester have their own conflict since she killed his brother.

tuuli and wilfried fight over trying to recruit the archducal family at all, but wilfried targets the fact that there's no way she's leaving behind HER family and convinces her to at least let him try, which ends up paying off! im still working on the ending but she's definitely going to have a role there. for the story's themes it's really important that there be a protagonist who has no magic and no status and her and myne idealizing each other is very interesting to me.

[theanomily]

H.I.V.E. Birthday Bundle-

Wing Fanchu

Picrew used:

https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/51747

Headcanons

Pre-H.I.V.E. series

In book one, Otto notices both that Wing is inexpressive and that he has a lot of scars. It is also in book one that we see the first of the whole sleeping-Wing-swats-a-hand-away-before-it-touches-him thing. In Overlord Protocol, Cypher reveals to Nero that Xiu Mei had been assassinated during a "burglary." I believe he also says that it would have been more standard for him and Wing to have been killed alongside her.

Now, Xiu Mei discovering pieces of Overlord's code is a major risk for G.L.O.V.E. Thus, I imagine that multiple operatives were sent to kill her. Equally, I imagine it would have occurred during the night to give the operatives optimum cover. Speaking of cover, they must have used knives since guns are illegal in Japan, and so using them would have brought more unwelcome inquiries regarding the break-in.

So, they enter the Fanchu household, and they split up with the intent of finding Mei. One of them stumbles across young Wing, asleep. Working on standard procedure, he goes to stab him, but he's stopped- say, for example, by one of his teammates walking past the room and reminding him that their mission is Mei alone. At some point during the incident, Wing had woken up to his stomach having a small portion of knife in it.

Following this, he struggles with sleep disturbances, and his relationships with his tutors suffer greatly for it, with him having the bare minimum energy for his studies and to be generally polite, but not enough to hide the side effects of irritability/mood swings. At the same time, his father is also becoming ever more of a recluse, making Wing ever more lonely. He's rational, yes, but anyone in this kind of situation would inevitably overthink and spiral. He becomes hyper aware of how he's expressing himself and how it seems to be driving everybody away. Therefore, he crafts himself the inexpressive mask that we all know him for. But, hey, he got his ninja reflexes in his sleep, right?

In-series (is this a term?? Well, it is now)

Wing and Nigel are the only kids in the group who have significant G.L.O.V.E. family members (sorry, Franz). Thus, when Franz begins his act of threatening kids with Nigel's father, Wing is the one to challenge Franz, whereas the others- despite feeling sorry for Nigel- primarily found it amusing. During this period, Wing ends up joining Nigel routinely in his lab, tending to something normal like peonies while Nigel invents more sinister species. Every time he does, Wing is sure to request that some nerve clusters be placed in an easily accessible location.

-

He's undisputably the best at drawing in the group (much to Shelby's dismay).

Post-series

After Otto's death, he meets someone who introduces themselves as "[surname... forename, surname]". Intrigued as it resembles his and Otto's first meeting, he asks this new person why he introduced himself as he did. The response is that he's a fan of the James Bond franchise. Assuming that Otto had once been a fan, he watches the series to commemorate his friend. When he reunites with Otto, he makes various references to James Bond, which go completely unnoticed until Shelby catches on to what he's doing. Then Otto rips Wing apart for his fan behaviour.

-

When setting up the orphanage, Wing was mildly conflicted. He could do everything the legal way: purchase materials, build everything himself, pay bills properly, etc. Or he could do it as Otto would have wanted: steal materials, convince another labourer to work for free, evade all bills, etc. In the interest of keeping the children safe and just general morals, he, of course, opted to go down the legal route, but that didn't stop him from stealing some cans of paint and a pack of screwdrivers. He denies the act to this day.

-

Initially, Wing struggled immensely with the kids. It wasn't that he disliked them or that they were poorly behaved, but when he was around them, it was like they were speaking in riddles. He felt that he was a bad role model for them in terms of surface social skills (in that he takes things literally and it's hard for them to tell when they've crossed a line because he doesn't sound mad when he speaks, but nor does he wish to shout at them, etc). He even offered to become a full-time groundskeeper rather than any form of teacher, but this never became the case.

-

Related to the above, he actively tries to become more expressive for the sake of the younger kids' development. He also makes an effort to learn various idioms and (to a far lesser extent) understand pop culture references from various different countries

-

He doubts that it would ever happen, but he knows that if he and Shelby were to be married, he would take her name and get rid of Fanchu because it was a) fake and b) his father's (and also not his mother's), and he had more of a family in Shelby than in his dad

-

However, it's not that he wants to forget his family, for he remembers fondly the time before Overlord crept back into their lives and ruined them for good. And it's not that Wing is materialistic. But when he sees a small, complete yin yang on a basic brown string, he picks it up, and it never leaves his neck.

Art

Fanfic

Rating: G, No warnings apply. However, it is very much unfinished, so this is subject to change.

From Wing's perspective, a final mission when three familiar faces pop back into his life.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58545772

(Just know that I will be hurting him somehow further down the line).

Playlist

Link:

Plain text:

Prompts For You

Final Note

Now, I know what you're thinking. It's something along the lines of: "Hey, what the fuck? There's entire categories missing, and what I've been given has all the substance of celery soup and all the appeal of expired fish guts. Who convinced me to come to this shit-ass restaurant?"

And to that, I say yeah, you're right. There's a longer post explaining myself in the drafts that just needs to be proofread. But if you're not interested in that:

A. I am sorry

B. I will aim to get this version of it finished in the next couple of weeks (so, more headcanons (probably posted seperately), the playlist, and the "prompts for you" section). The only thing exempted from this is the fanfiction, for it cannot be completed within this timeframe, but I will try my best for longer, better, and consistant updates.

C. I will not add them to this bundle, but I did have other projects intended for this planned, discarded or in the early stages of execution. I will finish them to the best of my admittedly limited ability and post them separately. I also plan to redo each element of my art showcased here and post them once they are decent enough to show in their non-minaturised form.

[sendme-2hell]

Ranking the HOTD episodes by how gay they are

10. Episode 3. really very little happened except Rhaenrya and Alicent having their gay little fight in the godswood 5/10

9. Episode 5 this episode isn’t super heavy on Alicent/Rhaenrya other than Alicent having her big green dress moment and angrily calling Rhaenrya “stepdaughter”. But it DOES introduce a very important gay couple: Laenor and Joffrey. If this episode hadn’t violently murdered joffrey in a way that diverged from F&B and made it MORE traumatic for Laenor, making him get married in the same building his love was murdered in, hours afterwards, I would give it more points for having a canon gay couple. I’m not over the change however. I still don’t understand how Criston got away with that .10/10 for joffrey and Laenor before the end of the episode -10/10 after the ending

8. Episode 2. This episode was also homophobic bc Alicent got engaged to Viserys. But it did have a scene of Alicent comforting Rhaenrya in the crypt, which 1) shows Alicent is religious 2) is the beginning of the holding hands motif 3) was sweet 4) also a parallel to them sitting at the table in episode 8 with the candles 5) highlights how they are both two young women who have lost their mothers and neither of them should be anywhere near a certain two targaryen brothers😔 6/10

7. Episode 6. This episode was important because it introduced Emma D’Arcy and Olivia Cooke. And the question on everyone’s (my) mind was: now that the younger actors are being replaced, will the homoerotic subtext remain? And the answer is a resounding yes. Episode 6 was an experiment to see how much gay tension you could fit in one small council scene. Alicent was really mean to Rhaenrya in this episode and also accidentally asked for the murder of her baby daddy but I still call it a win 8/10

6. Episode 1. I rememeber having extremely low expectations for HOTD due to GOT disappointment but after watching the first episode there was only one question on my mind: did they add lesbians to game of thrones? Even my extremely straight friend texted me to ask if I thought Alicent and Rhaenrya seemed a little bit in love. 10/10

5. Episode 7. The entire knife scene is one of the best on the show. And really showcased a breaking point in Rhaenrya and Alicent’s relationship. The rituals were intricate I fear. Also Alicent called Rhaenrya’s feet pretty. oops. This is also the episode that Laenor and Quarl avoid death and HBO avoids the #buryyourgays accusation so I’m happy for them 9/10

4. Episode 9. In this episode Otto calls Alicent gay to her face, and Alicent loses her shit at the mention of murdering Rhaenrya. It lays it out for us that Alicent cares a lot about Rhaenrya and it’s messing with Otto’s plans. But also Alicent crowning Aegon is not gonna help her pull Rhaenrya. 9/10

3. Episode 10. In this episode Otto recovers and finds a way to use his daughter’s inconvenient lesbianism to his advantage. Is it gay to keep a ripped out piece of paper your ex-homoerotic bestie-now-enemy gave you decades ago? Is it gay to receive this piece of paper and shed a singular angry tear? The way that Rhaenrya says “Alicent…. asked …..you to …declare ….for Aegon” is the second most heartbreaking line delivery on the show, right after “he is your son, Viserys”. Clearly Rhaenyra cared about Alicent. 10/10

2. Episode 4. First of all this episode contains possibly the gayest scenes in the whole show, when Alicent and Rhaenrya are sitting on the bench. Rhaenyra apologizes to Alicent and says she missed her too and grabs her hand. In interviews, Milly Alcock and Emily Carey said they thought they were gonna kiss and reader, I did too. This scene of almost reconnection is so tender and heartbreaking and it adds to the hand motif these girls got going. But second of all, the way that Alicent reacts to rumors of Rhaenrya fucking daemon. I’m sorry there is no heterosexual explanation for HOW upset she is. None at all. 11/10

1. Episode 8. Rhaenyra and Alicent giving forgiveness toasts. Rhaenrya and Alicent staring at each other while pretending to stare at Viserys. But most of all, Alicent begging Rhaenrya to stay and giving her a death grip and Rhaenrya gently reciprocating as she promises to return, even though I think in some way they both know that if she leaves their tenuous reconciliation will not last. Every time I see a gif of that grip I go feral. All of the shots of their hands touching in episode 1,2,4,7 for it to culminate in this shot of them desperate to find each other again. 100/10

[kckt88]

Petitions & Final Tributes.

Summary:

Rhaenyra returns to Kings Landing to defend Luke's claim to Driftmark and Aemond delivers a tribute to his nephews.

Warning(s): Anger, Swearing, Violence, Death & Mentions of Sexual Actions.

Word Count: 2605

Author Note: A companion piece to Wedding & Consummation/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/A Time for Grief/The Gullet & Harrenhal and the Rivers, but can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

“Vaemond Velaryon is coming to Kings Landing to petition for his right to claim Driftmark”.

“Lord Corlys isn’t even dead yet, and the vultures already circle” muttered Vaera.

“He means to challenge Lucerys’ claim as heir,” said Otto.

A young squire entered the room, nervously wringing his hands.

"Apologise Lord Hand, but the dragons Meleys, and Moondancer have landed at the dragon pit."

"Oh, Do you suppose she has come to petition herself or claim Baela as heir?" asked Alicent.

It was a good question. Rhaenys has ruled in the absence of her husband with Baela as her ward, so if anyone had a claim, it could be Rhaenys. And Baela was the true born daughter of a Velaryon. But Vaemond would no doubt argue against both of them as they were women.

"Rhaenys is smart, she knows that Vaemond has more of a claim than her” said Aemond.

"Baela is her ward, and she is the trueborn daughter of Lady Laena. Baela would be a good option to rule” said Vaera.

“I doubt Vaemond would accept Baela being named heir,” said Otto.

“What of Rhaenyra?” asked Aemond.

“No doubt she will fight for Luke’s claim. What choice does she have” replied Vaera.

“What of Viserys?” asked Alicent.

“The King is far too ill to sit the Iron Throne. As Queen it shall be you who sits in judgement over who shall claim Driftmark” said Otto firmly.

In the last two years, Viserys health had seriously declined. He appeared almost skeletal, his flesh decaying at a rapid rate. He’d lost his right eye and most of his cheek, he spent his days in bed so dosed up on milk of the poppy that he was barely coherent.

He had no idea who he was, or where he was. He also had no idea who anyone else was either. Several times he’d mistaken Vaera for his beloved Rhaenyra. He’d even grasped her hand once and breathed ‘Rhaenyra. My only child’. Vaera stopped visiting him after that, and she certainly never told Aemond what he’d said.

Later that day, Vaera was pacing around the nursery she really didn’t want to see her mother or Daemon, but she had no choice, no doubt they’d heard of Vaemond’s plan to petition for the right to Driftmark which would essentially call Luke’s legitimacy into question as it was announced earlier in the day that they were on their way to Kings Landing.

“I hate feeling like this” muttered Vaera.

“How do you feel?” asked Aemond.

“Upset. Confused. Angry. Pick one”.

“Try not to worry Issa jorrāelagon” replied Aemond (My love).

“Easier said than done I’m afraid”.

“I know things with your mother and Daemon were never easy. But the petition tomorrow is important. We have to be there” said Aemond.

“I know we do, that was never in doubt. I just hope they don’t stay too long. This is our home. Our children’s home and I don’t want them spoiling our happiness”.

“I can assure you that won’t happen and if they even try, I’ll see their tongues ripped from their mouths” said Aemond.

“So violent” muttered Vaera as she pressed a kiss to her husband’s lips.

“Oh, you have no idea. But for now, let’s just focus on getting the petition out of the way and not worrying about anything or anyone that comes along with it” said Aemond.

“With you by my side. I’ll try” said Vaera.

“I’ll always be by your side” exclaimed Aemond.

“You are joking right?” asked Vaera stunned.

“I’m afraid not Princess. Your mother has requested to see you, she has also asked that you bring the children”.

“Apologise but you can tell my mother that I do not wish to see her, and she will not be seeing my sons” said Vaera firmly as she gently brushed Aemon’s hair.

“Princess” said the maid bowing respectfully before she left.

“She requests to see you now?” snarked Aemond as he lifted Rhaegar onto his knee.

“I have not seen or heard from my mother since our wedding. She didn’t even come to see her grandsons when they were born, but she can come to Kings Landing to defend Luke’s claim to Driftmark” snapped Vaera as she started braiding Aemon’s hair.

“She’s up to something” replied Aemond as he bounded Rhaegar on his knee, his son squealing gleefully.

“No doubt she wants to see me and the boys, so she can pretend to be the doting mother and grandmother to sweet talk me into standing by her at the petition as a show of support”.

“A pointless endeavour if I ever saw one” muttered Aemond.

“Not a chance will I give in to her whims. I mean can you imagine the trouble it would cause if I was to stand by her” snapped Vaera.

“It would definitely keep the court gossips busy” said Aemond.

"Amongst other things" muttered Vaera.

Vaera could feel the cold glare of Daemon as she stood next to Aemond, Helaena and Aegon in the Throne room.

“Looks like he’s about to piss himself” muttered Aegon as he nodded towards Luke.

Vaera tutted at Aegon’s comment, but now it was time for the petitions to begin.

Vaemond spoke first. When Rhaenyra interrupted him, Vaera was actually pleased that Alicent put her in her place. Did she really think she could just interrupt him? If he had interrupted her, she would have raised hell.

But he was done, and it was her turn.

“If I am to answer this farce with any sort of grace, then I should start by reminding the court that almost twenty years-“

“-King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" said Ser Erryk loudly.

Vaera shook her head in disbelief.

It was over.

Vaemond was never going to win against Rhaenyra, not now Viserys had miraculously roused himself from his medicated stupor to come to the defence of his favourite child.

It took an age for the ailing King to reach the Irone Throne, but he made it, albeit with some help from Daemon.

"I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys' wishes is the Princess Rhaenys" said Viserys between pants and gasps for air. 

"It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his, trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry Jace, and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree" said Rhaenys.

Naturally, Vaemond was furious at his failure to seize control of Driftmark.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it."

"'Allow it'? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond. Lucerys is my trueborn grandson, and you are no more than a second son of Driftmark" snapped Viserys. 

Vaemond was aghast at the King’s words.

"That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!" yelled Vaemond as he pointed towards Luke.

Vaera reached for Aemond's hand.

"Go to your chambers. You have said enough," ordered Rhaenyra frowning.

In all her faults, Rhaenyra never tolerated anyone for calling her children bastards, not even Vaera. But that was then, this is now, and much had changed.

"You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom, and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned, I will not see it ended on the account of this-"

Vaemond paused.

"Say it” urged Daemon smirking.

"Her children. ARE BASTARDS! Even the one standing over there that calls herself Targaryen, they are the products of their WHORE mother!" screamed Vaemond.

Aemond squeezed Vaera’s hand.

"I will have your tongue for this!" hissed Viserys.

But it was too late.

Daemon sliced Dark Sister through Vaemond's skull like it was jelly. Alicent, Helaena and Aegon all back up in horror as Vaemond's lifeless body hit the stone floor, but Vaera and Aemond stayed put, staring down at Vaemond’s decapitated corpse as the blood pooled across the stone floor.

Vaera looked at Daemon who smirked at her.

"Disarm him!" yelled Otto. 

"No need," said Daemon as he turned away and cleaned his blade.

Viserys soon fell back onto the throne groaning and Alicent ran to him.

"Call the maesters! Please, my love, you must take something for the pain” urged Alicent as she helped Viserys to his feet.

"I will not cloud my mind. I must make things right" gasped Viserys as he was escorted out of the Throne room by a maester and Ser Erryk.

“You look beautiful” muttered Aemond.

“What are you after?” asked Vaera smiling as she placed a gentle kiss on Aemond’s jaw.

“My wife. Moaning my name as I fuck her. Hard” whispered Aemond as he nuzzled the side of Vaera’s face, ignoring the gaze of his mother.

“Mērī lo nyke kostagon bībagon aōha orvorta ēlī” (Only if I can suck your cock first).

“Nyke kostagon rȳbagon ao” said Aegon grimacing slightly (I can hear you).

Vaera blushes as Aemond presses his lips against her cheek just as Rhaenyra entered, with Daemon and the children following.

Soon the King entered, and everyone rose from their seats as Viserys was carried to the table.

"How good it is to see you all tonight together" wheezed Viserys once everyone was seated.

"Prayer before we begin. May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest”.

Vaera hadn't closed her eyes, but Aemond had. So, he hadn't noticed Daemon's smirk when Alicent prayed for Vaemond. 

"This is a cause for celebration. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, shall marry their cousins, Rhaena and Baela, to further strengthen the bond between our families. A toast to the young princes, and their betrothed" said Viserys.

Vaera saw Aegon lean over to Jace and whisper something to him. By the reaction Jace had, Vaera could only imagine how lewd Aegon had been.

"And to Lucerys Velaryon, future Lord of the Tides!"

"Hear, hear!" said Daemon loudly.

More whispering before Jace snapped.

"You can play the jester if you wish but hold your tongue before my betrothed"

Aegon looked over at his brother with a smirk and Vaera tried to hide her smirk.

Viserys seemed keen to start another speech. "It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world yet grown so distant from each other in the years past. My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am”.

The mask came off, and Vaera was still horrified by the sight of his disintegrated cheek and hallowed out eye socket. Rather poetic though, to be missing an eye. Given his lack of reaction to Aemond losing an eye.

"Not just a king, but your father. Your brother. Your husband, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown ... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly" said Viserys.

Quite ironic coming from the man who divided the house in the first place, by marrying Alicent Hightower instead of Laena Velaryon. But then again if he didn’t, Aemond wouldn’t exist, and neither would their sons.

Rhaenyra stood and made a toast for Alicent, which earned an eye roll from Vaera, then she had the audacity to make another toast.

“A toast to my daughter Vaera and my grandsons Aemon and Rhaegar, whom I have yet to meet, I wish them health and happiness” Rhaenyra.

“Who’s fault is that?” muttered Aemond.

“My love, leave it” begged Vaera.

Aegon seemed to have unfished business. For he whispered something else to Jace and he stood, angered. Aemond quickly stood in defence of his brother.

"Jace, no," whispered Rhaenyra.

So Jace raised his cup, looking at his two uncles.

"To Prince Aegon, Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles. And my sweet sister of course"

Vaera noticed that Aemond seemed somewhere else. Fond memories? He couldn't think of a single one with Jace involved. 

But Helaena stood to make a toast, and his attention was now on her.

"I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll soon be married. If they don't fall in love like Vaera and Aemond did, it won't be too bad. Not every relationship can be that wonderful. But it isn't so bad, mostly he ignores you. Except sometimes when he's drunk,” said Helaena.

“Apologise for the interruption. But Prince Rhaegar is calling for his mother,” said Mayla.

“If you’ll excuse me Your Grace” said Vaera as she gave Aemond a kiss on the cheek and swiftly left the dining room.

Having little to no idea of the chaos that would soon erupt in her absence.

“Jēda syt ēdrugon issa dōna byka zaldrīzes” whispered Vaera as she tucked Rhaegar in his bed, making sure that he had his stuffed dragon teddy within his reach (Time for sleep my sweet little dragon).

“Avy jorrāelan muña” muttered Rhaegar as he closed his eyes (I love you mother).

“Avy jorrāelan tolī” replied Vaera smiling (I love you too).

Vaera checked on Aemon who was fast asleep, his hands clutching his favourite blue blanket to his chest.

“Don’t forget to keep the fire going. Aemon doesn’t like the dark” said Vaera.

“Yes Princess” replied Myla.

“Goodnight Myla” said Vaera quietly.

“Goodnight Princess”.

Vaera closed the door to the nursery and crossed the corridor to her shared chambers with Aemond.

Deciding to forgo bathing until the morning, Vaera had barely changed into her shift before her husband came storming in.

“A-Aemond. What’s wrong?” asked Vaera.

“Tell me you love me” muttered Aemond as he pulled Vaera too him.

“I love you”.

“Tell me you need me” begged Aemond as he lowered his head and pressed his face into Vaera’s shoulder.

“I need you”.

“Tell me you want me” whispered Aemond placing gentle kisses along the column of Vaera’s neck.

“I want you”.

“Hm” muttered Aemond as his fingers began untying the laces of her shift.

“I-I haven’t bathed tonight” said Vaera shivering as the shift slipped from her body, leaving her standing naked.

“I don’t care. I need you. Please” muttered Aemond as he began pulling off his own clothes.

Vaera nodded wordlessly as Aemond kissed her, walking them backwards towards the bed.

As Viserys lay on his bed wheezing into the darkness, he knew his time had come.

His family was finally united, and he could leave this world with the knowledge that House Targaryen would continue. The blood of old Valyria would live on.

“A-Aemma. I-I’m coming”

She’s here. She’s come for me. I’m ready. Take me with you.

“M-My love” whispered Viserys his hand stretched into the darkness.

[ronanbrackens]

who: @iona-tully when and where: set in riverrun prior to the departure to the westerlands, the queen of the riverlands continues trying to find her hand a wife.

the hand of the queen had always merely been a pin within the mind of the ruling lord of stone hedge; somethign that did not necessarily hold any greater weight than what he heard reported back to him of all the various hands the green king held. from otto hightower to criston cole, there had always been a major flaw in them all: never did ronan bracken believe he would become hand of the king. but the independence of the riverlands, the splitting of the realm; that changed and shifted things entirely.

it had been ronan who had been one of the first to petition for the river crown to grace the head of the oldest princess, rather than await for the river prince to return - if he would ever return.

that decision had been done with the intent of securing his position; a calculated risk, considering they had just ripped themselves to bits regarding whether a woman had any right to sit upon a throne. whilst ronan bracken would have no issue with speaking of the legal ramifications and loopholes of the dance of dragons, of inheritance and succession, that was a tale he thought his family needed to appear they had learned from.

being the major supporting greens left standing within the riverlands, he was careful not to isolate them; especially in the aftermath of the burning crops of fields. the risk had paid for, for the queen had appointed him her hand.

only, it seemed as though other realms had not yet realised what made the most sense. what caused less issue. the court of the lion king remained reluctant to fully place their support behind iona as the river queen, and a part of him felt a growing inclining of suspicion toward prince casimir tully for containing his close association with the westerland lords. the reach too, had not yet given a stance; something he too had issue with. he could have petitioned to the hightowers, if they had any influence - which they did not, their house being the lowest it had ever been.

his quill was against parchment now, utilising his own connections with the green lords of the westerlands; they needed to get the westerlands on board, lest their gold find more nefarious purposes. it was not yet a problem; but it very easily could be. when he heard the page announce the presence of the queen, ronan bracken stood, his hands clasping together before his tunic and his cloak which he still adorned from his hunting session - his head lowered in a bow as she entered. and what she passed him, was a piece of parchment which no doubt was another suggestion.

the river queen had been trying to find ronan bracken a wife long before the crown had graced her curls. he were surprised she still bothered with all of this. he glanced at the name and roughly sketched portrait of the woman in question, before clearing his throat. a shake of his head, and then…"have i offended yer gracious majesty?" ronan asked, a slight hint of his clover humour peeping through his posed manner. "i meant to give you an update as to the reach and the west."