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One OF The Premium Construction Scaffolding in Houston
Scaffolding Today Inc provides top-tier scaffolding services in Houston. We provide top grade scaffolding at a competitive price.
We have several years of expertise selling or renting construction scaffolding in Houston. Scaffolding Today Inc offers the premium construction scaffolding in Houston. Must visit or contact us now!
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you ever think on how on when Byron makes it back to his family, they'll have to leave and maybe hide for a while.. or how Byron would explain to his wife the flirting he did with Alphonse which BASICALLY saved his life, along with him being super nice would Byron's wife be forever grateful to Alphonse and wishes to thank or have the man over for dinner-
guys.
#ghostie fandom rants#just a random thought i had while thinking about other stuff today#i like to think his wife would be super thankful that her husband is still alive#and his daughter oh my god his daughter would be so happy to have dad home :(#i am your beast#alphonse harding#byron ford#strange scaffold
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trying to get out of my comfort zone and practice a skill i need to get better at for my career (video editing, i'm a teacher) vs the mortifying ordeal of being perceived against my will (my sister seeing my vsdc window with minecraft footage in it and making fun of me)
#chesca.txt#it instantly killed my motivation for the sesh if im being so fr#maybe i'll come back to it later today#i might want to reset the world one last time#maybe script out just the intro or something because i need some more scaffolding for myself#i was just struggling with getting it to feel right and trying to suppress the self-cringe instincts and i think i'm not quite#confident enough to stand on my own with it#or maybe i'll just keep playing pentiment....... i don't really get to practice the skills i need to practice for it though
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there's a very particular kind of analysis framing i think where it's not so much that the person at hand presenting their thoughts simply prefers their analytical lens (i.e. "this ship should've been canon") while thoughtfully addressing/skillfully dismantling the alternative ("this ship was canon for XYZ, however i Prefer ABC") but where you can tell the person has blatantly never really considered or thought about the alternative viewpoint at all in any meaningful way whatsoever. like the alternative reasoning for Why canon Did A Thing has never even crossed their mind and it Shows
#otherwise known as 'in assuming there is no characterization bc of contradictions#you throw away interesting characterization built upon those contradictions'#two video essays/reactions did this to me today and. yeah#dragons rambles#also wasn't about ship this time but plot/character beats#and it's like. idk you can tell when someone doesn't realize the scaffolding house of cards#changing a thing would be bc it hasn't occurred the cards are there. y'know?#which like. fair enough. but it leaves the analysis feeling so much more hollow to me#analysis series#sort of#mine
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🌷
#cruising around with my metal blaring so loud#i could see my mirrors shaking at stoplights lmao#i have decided to post the shirt recolors today#it’s exactly the right kind of task#also i love them & want everyone to see#bought some jean cutoffs for myself too#if my hair’s gonna be insane all summer#might as well lean into it#i did scaffold out the 2 posts#i want to finish this weekend. feel good abt those#will i do it during the daytime#or between the hours of 2am and 7am?#unsure but we’ll sure find out ����♀️
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I feel like I’ve lived through at least a month just in the past 3 days. I checked the date just now and damn near had an out of body experience when I realised Monday was only two days ago
#bro the absolute sodding emotional rollercoaster i have been through this past week should be studied by scientists#thursday: unsuccessful job interview. friday: found out that the job interview was unsuccessful. but one of the interviewers (actually a#former colleague of mine lol) gave me a piece of feedback that made me feel like i’d cracked the code for all future interviews#it was this: keep. talking. give as many details as humanly fucking possible. talk about policy. drop in words like safeguarding#list as many examples of stuff as you can. tell stories. bamboozle them#OH i forgot to even fucking mention we had builders at our house until friday. friday was the last day they woke me up with a cacophony#so the weekend was uneventful aside from there was a skip in the driveway and scaffolding all down the side of the house but zero men#monday: successful interview. found out it was successful 5 hours later. got off the phone having accepted the job…… and found a text from#my old boss (the boss i had at the job i really enjoyed. that old boss) inviting me to come back this summer#i had a bit of a mental breakdown but eventually decided to stick with the job i’d just got because it’s a permanent contract and they will#let me sit down#yesterday: found out that the foster doggy i applied for and really wanted is going to her forever home on thursday (which is now tomorrow)#obviously i love this for her but i was like ‘damn. okay’#today: the foster co-ordinator was like ‘hey do you want to foster this rambunctious 3 year old unneutered terrier?’#i was like ‘sure yeah what the fuck. that might as well happen’#(they are neutering him beforehand. and he looks really cute. he’s not aggressive he’s just a young terrier with like 3 brain cells)#unless something finally kills me in the meantime i’m picking him up on monday. i cancelled therapy in order to do this. yes i’m well aware#that there’s a metaphor somewhere in there but it’s fine. i rescheduled therapy#i also have realised i do not know how and when i’m going to get my ssri prescription renewed… i know the pharmacy will call me in a couple#of weeks to make sure i haven’t died. but i think i was supposed to get a prescription renewal at therapy#the therapy i won’t be going to until like 5 days after my prescription runs out. that therapy. foook#honestly withdrawal symptoms would probably just spice up the situation at this point. they’d just make things interesting#i swear to god everything always gets crazy and stupid right before my birthday… remember when i turned 26 and couldn’t drink because i#was on antibiotics for a kidney infection. and when i turned 27 and one of my wisdom teeth tried to emerge#this is like that except with dogs and jobs. at least the skip and the scaffolding are gone now#i AM trying to sell a sofa on facebook marketplace so wish me luck with that ig#personal
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working on house c:

#minecraft#i would've died if i didn't discover how useful scaffolding is#building in survival hard#i've been doing my work on the house today bc my rejection sensitivity hit me like a truck earlier#i'm just quietly recovering with my unicorn sweater on and a plushie on my lap and a blorbo stream in the bg#it's nice#my mood has been really low since last night but i'm trying my best#i have a big bottle of water next to me to keep hydrated
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Il Perù presenta alla Biennale di Venezia 2025 “Living Scaffolding”, un’installazione ispirata alle isole Uros del Lago Titicaca. Un omaggio all’architettura collettiva, alla spiritualità e all’innovazione sostenibile. Scopri di più su Alessandria today.
#Alessandria today#Alex Hudtwalcker#architettura ancestrale#architettura collettiva#architettura e natura#architettura e spiritualità#architettura naturale#architettura partecipata#arte e ambiente#artigianato andino#Biennale Architettura 2025#cerimonie ancestrali#costruzione collettiva#cultura Aimara#cultura Uros#design e sostenibilità#Gianfranco Morales#Google News#INTELLIGENS NATURAL ARTIFICIAL COLLECTIVE#isole Uros#italianewsmedia.com#José Ignacio Beteta#José Orrego#Lago Titicaca#Lava#Living Scaffolding#mostra architettonica internazionale#Mostre internazionali#PACUPE#padiglione Perù
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#i just had a gr9 interview today and this is all i could think of#im so charasmatic#but ask me about scaffolding and idk shit#i rocked their socks off tho#life is going to be ok
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woke up at 5:30 today which had me deeply questioning my life choices
#me: fuck them kids#also me: i have to get to work at 7:15 to prepare a lesson so they are prepared for the unit quiz and have exposure to speeches#anyways i have decided that today and tomorrow we are going to read rip van winkle and then wednesday-friday is famous speeches#i think at least#I’d rather do rhetoric on Patrick Henry LOL#i want to experiment with something (scaffolding ap lang activities for on level bc the unit quizzes are testing them at an ap level)#anyways! teehee
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Protect your construction projects with high-quality scaffolding.
Construction sites are among the busiest areas on the planet. Great sites are well-oiled machines when skilled personnel from many specialities work together and have access to the necessary equipment.
When it comes to having the correct equipment on-site, most people think that safe scaffolding is essential. It acts as a backbone for the workers, allowing them to work safely at heights without jeopardising project timeframes.
But why are scaffolds so important for safety, and how can we make the best use of them as building professionals? Scaffolding Today Inc. offers the best construction scaffolding in Houston In this blog post, we'll look at how scaffolding protects people and helps projects succeed.
Scaffolding: The Foundation of Safety.
Scaffolding, according to USA requirements for safe working at heights, is the first option when solid ground or solid construction is unavailable. It's a dedicated workplace for workers to complete their responsibilities, and the ideal system always includes tools and materials that speed up the construction process.
Scaffolding, technically known as a fall protection device, is critical for decreasing construction-related injuries and fatalities. The finest solutions provide a secure platform for workers, minimising the risk of falls while allowing them to complete work at height promptly.
Great scaffolding systems also ensure safe and efficient access to various regions of the site. Not only does this speed up the project, but it also eliminates the need for any temporary solutions that could jeopardise the crew's safety. Furthermore, it should reduce the likelihood of accidents caused by clutter or restricted movement.
The goal, as with most on-site equipment, is to select high-quality scaffolding that can withstand a variety of hazards without endangering crew members.
What Makes Scaffolding High-Quality?
With so many alternatives available, how can you tell if a scaffolding system is high-quality? There are three major elements we recommend looking into:
Compliance
Reputable scaffold makers are as cautious as possible about industry compliance, guaranteeing that everyone who utilises the system is as safe as a house.
Convenience of Assembly
Great scaffolding systems are simple to install and disassemble. Not only does this shorten project times, but it also reduces the likelihood of damage.
Durability and Stability.
High-quality scaffolding supplies are made of lightweight, sturdy, and long-lasting materials such as aluminium, which are less prone to wear and tear with time.
Before acquiring a scaffolding system, extensively study both the company and the system itself. Examine their maintenance guidelines, assembly instructions, and material information to determine the system's quality for yourself. Once you have the scaffolding, it is up to you to make the most of it.
How to make the most of your scaffolding
Train for installation.
All crews should receive training on how to safely and efficiently install the scaffolding they will be utilising. Whether you're building edge protection or a walkway scaffold platform, your crew must understand what issues to check for and how to address them quickly. That is why, at Scaffolding Today Inc., we provide thorough instructions to help our customers get the most out of our exclusive technology.
Pay attention to load limits.
The load limit or load capacity of your scaffolding indicates how much weight it can safely support. Exceeding these limits is bad news since it can result in instability and even equipment failure. So, make sure your team isn't overloading the platform with tools, personnel, or supplies.
Access and egress points
Safely ascending and exiting the platform is essential when working at heights, as bumps or impacts can result in dangerous falls. Once your system is up and running, set up designated entrance and egress points that are clearly identified.
Choose the Right System.
Of course, one of the most critical aspects of protecting your construction project is selecting the appropriate scaffolding system for the work. The correct system must be thoroughly researched, contain detailed assembly instructions, and meet the objectives of your specific project.
High-quality scaffolding is more than simply a tool; it's the ultimate protection for your projects. It is critical for protecting your employees, complying with work safety requirements, and completing projects on schedule.
If you prioritise scaffolding as part of your equipment purchases, you're officially on track. And if you ever need more advice, the Scaffolding Today Inc staff is available to help.
A system created by pros, for professionals.
The Scaffolding Today Inc. scaffolding and edge protection system resulted from hours of rigorous consideration, design, and testing. Designed for busy construction workers who require versatile systems with safety at its core, this is a low-cost solution regardless of how you manage your site. Browse our scaffolding selection or contact Scaffolding Today Inc. the best Houston scaffolding companies to learn more about our offerings now.
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One Of The Best Scaffolding Companies in Houston
STI(Scaffolding Today Inc) is one of the best Scaffolding companies in Houston. We provides the best scaffolding services scaffolding rentals, scaffold for sale, comprehensive commercial and industrial services,
Delivery and pick-up services, shoring and accessories etc. Contact us today for scaffolding services.
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Scaffold For Sale
Scaffolding Today Inc provides the best scaffolding rental services.. We offers trained crews for the erect and dismantle service of your scaffold projects. We are one of the best scaffolding rental services provider in Houston. Houston scaffolding provides the best scaffolding rentals, scaffold for sale, comprehensive commercial and industrial services. We offer a wide range of scaffoldings and its accessories. We also offers the pick up and drop services. Scaffolding Today Inc is the best scaffolding company in Houston.
#houston scaffolding#erect and dismantle scaffolding#scaffolding today inc#scaffoldforsale#scaffolding services
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hot on the line
warning: blue collar rafe / mentions of sexual themes / suggestive phone call / light dominance / filthy mouth



the call comes in at 3:42 p.m.
you’re lying on the bed in your tank top, fan spinning lazily overhead, when your phone buzzes once. just once. his name. no text. no voicemail. no facetime.
just the call.
you answer on instinct. “hi.”
his voice is low. hoarse. strained. tired. “you alone?”
your lips curl. “yeah.”
“good.”
you bite your lip and adjust the phone against your ear. you can hear background noise—tools clanking, someone yelling, a saw buzzing in the distance.
“where are you?” you ask softly.
“site out by taylor’s creek. been here since six. it’s a bitch.”
you hum. “you okay?”
“better now.” a pause. “what are you wearin’?”
you blink. “excuse me?”
“don’t play dumb,” he mutters, and god—he sounds wrecked. like he’s been thinking about this all day. “i got five minutes before we pour concrete and you’re all i can think about. so tell me what the fuck you’re wearin’, baby.”
you shift on the bed, thighs brushing. heat blooms instantly at the base of your spine. “just… a tank top.”
“no bra?”
“no.”
you can hear the breath catch in his throat. hear the metal clang of something dropping near him.
“fuck. don’t do that to me.”
“you called me, rafe.”
“’cause i needed to hear your voice,” he says, low and filthy. “needed to picture your pretty mouth makin’ those little noises you make when i get you goin’. needed to know if you were thinkin’ about me too.”
you let your hand trail slowly over your stomach, just enough pressure to make yourself squirm. “i was.”
“yeah?”
“mhmm.”
“jesus, baby…”
he exhales hard, like he’s leaning against something. you can hear the sweat in his voice. like the weight of the heat and labor is finally breaking him down.
“you been good for me today?” he asks, slower now.
“i tried.”
“but?”
you grin. “i wore your shirt around the house this morning.”
“the white one?”
“the one you left in the dryer.”
“baby…” his voice is strained again, and you know he’s palming the front of his jeans now, trying to adjust without anyone seeing. “don’t fuckin’ tell me that.”
“you said you wanted to know.”
“you know what that does to me.”
“what exactly does it do?”
you can hear the edge in his breath. the way his control is unraveling slowly. the tension behind his teeth.
“makes me wanna come home early,” he growls. “makes me wanna bend you over the goddamn counter with your legs shaking and my fuckin’ name in your mouth.”
your breath catches. you squeeze your thighs together and try not to make a sound, but he hears it anyway.
“you like that, baby?”
“yeah,” you whisper. “i miss you.”
“i know, baby. i miss you too.” his voice softens, just for a second. “i’m tryin’ to be good. tryin’ to make good money for us. build something real.”
“you are.”
“doesn’t feel like it when i’m fuckin’ hard on a scaffolding, thinkin’ about your ass in my shirt.”
you laugh, and he groans.
“god, i love that sound,” he says. “drives me fuckin’ insane. i’m losin’ it out here.”
“you always talk like this at work?”
“only when i can’t stop picturing your hand down your shorts.”
you flush all over. “i didn’t say—”
“you didn’t have to.”
he’s breathing heavier now, and there’s a muttered “fuckin’ christ” under his breath that makes your spine arch just a little.
“i’m gonna take you apart when i get home,” he says quietly. “slow. real slow. you’ll be beggin’ me to stop.”
“no i won’t.”
he chuckles. “no. you won’t.”
you bite your lip, breath quickening. your voice drops. “how much longer?”
he groans. “two hours. maybe three. boss said we’re behind.”
“you better not show up with dirty hands and try to fuck me on the couch again.”
“i will show up with dirty hands, and i will fuck you on the couch again.”
you shake your head, trying to stifle your smile. “you’re so cocky.”
“’cause i know you’ll let me.”
you don’t argue.
“hey,” he says suddenly, quieter.
“what?”
“you really miss me?”
“of course.”
another pause.
“you think about me when i’m gone?”
you nod, but realize he can’t see you. “yes.”
“you sleep in my side of the bed?”
“every time.”
he groans again, and something about the softness under his filth makes your chest ache.
“you know what i think about?” he asks.
“what?”
“comin’ home. every fuckin’ day. i think about this exact moment—hearin’ your voice. picturing you in bed. smellin’ dinner, or that lotion you wear. seein’ you in my clothes. touchin’ you.”
you swallow hard.
“i don’t give a shit how tired i am,” he says. “you’re always worth it.”
the line goes quiet for a beat. both of you breathing, both of you holding the weight of it in your chests.
then you hear someone yell his name in the distance—“cameron! let’s go!”
he sighs. “gotta get back.”
you nod, voice small. “okay.”
“but listen to me.” his voice hardens again. “don’t touch yourself. not yet.”
“what?”
“you heard me.”
“rafe—”
“i’ll be home by eight. you wait for me.”
“you’re a menace.”
“you love it.”
you pause.
“i do.”
“good. now go put that shirt back on.”
“why?”
“so i can tear it off you later.”
you hear him chuckle low before the line goes dead.
you stare at the screen, heart pounding, face flushed, thighs trembling.
you toss the phone down and bury your face in the pillow.
god help you when that man walks through the door.
tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf
#obx fic#outerbanks rafe#rafe#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x female reader#blue collar! rafe#outer banks x reader#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x you#blue collar rafe cameron
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Fire and Blood (reader's choice)

- Summary: For as long as Maegor could remember, you were denied to him by others. By his own father, by his half-brother, by the gods themselves. They saddled him off with a barren bride and locked you away on Dragonstone. And once Aenys died and Maegor has returned from exile to take the crown, he also takes you, as was his right. But before the wedding could happen, you disappear. You never arrive at the capital with your royal procession. And Maegor tears the realm apart.
- Pairing: niece!reader/Maegor I Targaryen
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne
The air was heavy with the heat of the afternoon sun, and the sky above King's Landing was an expanse of pale blue. The waters of Blackwater Bay sparkled under the light, and the wind carried the scent of salt and stone, mingling with the hum of the city behind. The Red Keep loomed in the background, a skeletal structure still rising from the hill, its walls unfinished, its towers yet to scrape the heavens as Maegor intended. The clatter of hammers and the creak of scaffolding were distant echoes, reminders of the power he was building, brick by brick.
But today, all of that faded into insignificance. Maegor Targaryen stood with his mother, Visenya, the only one who had ever stood by him. His bannermen, royal retainers, and lords stood at a respectful distance, their whispers nothing but gnats in his ears as he stared out at the empty horizon. You were supposed to arrive today, your royal procession expected any moment, the ships that carried you from Dragonstone cutting across the bay.
You. His bride. His blood. His right.
His gloved hands tightened around the pommel of Blackfyre, the ancient sword of his house, as his mind drifted, despite himself, back to all the times you had been denied to him.
His father, King Aegon the Conqueror, had made the first refusal. Maegor had been young then, but old enough to know what he wanted. You were young too, of course, but even then, Maegor saw the fire in your eyes, the way the blood of Old Valyria ran through you. You were his match in every way. He had stood before his father, demanding you be betrothed to him.
"It is not your place to demand, Maegor," Aegon had said, his voice calm, but his eyes cold. "Your brother's daughter is not for you. Aenys' children will be wed to strengthen the realm, not to satisfy your desires."
It was the first time Maegor had felt the sting of denial, but it would not be the last.
His half-brother, Aenys, had been no better. When he became king after Aegon’s death, Maegor thought surely now, with the crown on his brother’s head, he could finally claim what was his. You had grown by then, blooming into a woman with the beauty and strength of their ancestors. Maegor had approached Aenys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, looking every inch the weak ruler he was.
"You will not have her," Aenys had said, shaking his head. "She is promised elsewhere."
"To whom?" Maegor had demanded, his voice laced with barely contained rage. "Who could be more worthy of her than I, her blood and kin?"
"A match will be made in time, but not to you, brother," Aenys had answered, his tone patronizing. "I have other plans for her."
Other plans. The words still tasted bitter on Maegor’s tongue, as though they had been spoken only yesterday.
He had begged. Yes, even he, Maegor the Cruel, had begged. But only to one person. His mother, Visenya. The warrior queen, the woman who had conquered Westeros by Aegon’s side. The only person who had ever truly understood him.
"I will not be denied her," he had told Visenya, pacing the halls of Dragonstone in frustration. "Father, Aenys, the gods themselves conspire against me. They will not give her to me."
Visenya, regal and fierce, had looked at him with those sharp, violet eyes of hers, the eyes of a dragon, and she had smiled—a cold, knowing smile. "They fear you, my son," she had said. "They fear the strength of your blood. Aenys and his ilk think they can control you by keeping her from you, but they are fools. They do not see what I see."
"And what do you see, Mother?" Maegor had asked, desperate for the answer he knew only she could give.
"I see the future of our house," she had answered, stepping close to him, resting a hand on his armored shoulder. "And I see you at its head, with her at your side. The dragons of Old Valyria will rise again, Maegor. And no one—no one—will deny you what is yours."
Her words had kept him sane through the years of exile, through his marriage to Ceryse Hightower, a woman who had proven barren, and a marriage that had been nothing but a chain around his neck. All the while, he had thought of you. You, locked away on Dragonstone, hidden from him by his enemies, the gods, the world. But now, none of that mattered. Aenys was dead, the throne was his, and soon, you would be too.
And yet... the ships did not come.
The sun was sinking lower, casting ghastly shadows over the unfinished Red Keep, over the city of King's Landing, over the assembled lords and banners. Maegor’s patience was wearing thin, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface like wildfire ready to consume all in its path.
"They are late," he growled, his voice low, but his anger clear. "Where are they?"
Visenya stood beside him, silent and still as ever. Her presence was the only thing that soothed him, that kept him from mounting Balerion and flying to Dragonstone himself. But even her patience had its limits, and he could see the tightness in her jaw, the tension in her shoulders. She felt the delay, the insult, as keenly as he did.
"They will come," she said, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice that Maegor did not like.
And what if they did not? What if something had happened? What if your brother, Aegon, or even that fool Rhaena, had interfered, whisked you away before you could reach him? The thought sent a surge of fury through him, and he gripped Blackfyre tighter, his knuckles turning white beneath his gloves.
"No one will keep her from me," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. "Not this time."
Visenya turned to him, her sharp gaze cutting through his anger. "If they try," she said, her voice cold and final, "then we will burn them all."
Maegor’s heart beat with the promise of fire and blood. They had all denied him for so long. His father. His brother. The gods themselves. But he was king now, and no one could deny the King of the Iron Throne.
You would be his, one way or another. The realm would tremble at his wrath if you were not.
But still, the horizon remained empty.
Maegor’s patience shattered like glass underfoot. The stillness of the harbor, the absence of the royal procession, and the delay that felt like a deliberate insult boiled within him until he could bear it no longer. His fury was a living thing, a fire in his chest that demanded release.
Without a word to anyone, Maegor turned sharply on his heel and stalked away from the gathered lords and his waiting bannermen. Visenya's gaze followed him, but she did not call him back. She knew what was coming, and she would not try to stop him. No one would.
He marched through the half-constructed Red Keep, past the workers who hastily moved out of his way, their eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. His blood thundered in his veins, his mind consumed by a singular thought: you. You were not here. Someone had kept you from him again, and he would have answers. One way or another, he would have answers.
Balerion waited for him, the great black beast shifting restlessly as though sensing the storm of rage within his rider. Maegor did not hesitate. He approached the dragon without a word, his dark cloak billowing behind him as he climbed onto Balerion’s back. The dragon’s scales were hot beneath his hands, and the air filled with the smell of smoke and brimstone as Balerion opened his massive jaws, letting out a low growl that reverberated through the air.
"To Dragonstone," Maegor commanded, his voice sharp and cold as steel.
With a mighty beat of his wings, Balerion launched into the air, and the city of King’s Landing fell away beneath them. The wind roared in Maegor’s ears as they ascended, higher and higher, until the Red Keep and the harbor were nothing but distant specks below. His eyes narrowed against the rush of air as they flew toward Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, a place that should have been your prison but was now the key to your disappearance.
The journey was swift. Balerion’s immense wings cut through the sky, and soon, the looming shape of Dragonstone appeared on the horizon, its dark, foreboding towers rising from the volcanic island like jagged teeth. The familiar silhouette of the castle did nothing to soothe Maegor’s fury. If anything, it fueled it. Whoever had dared to take you from him was hiding here, he was certain of it. And they would pay.
Balerion descended with a roar, his massive form casting a shadow over the castle courtyard as he landed with a thunderous crash. Maegor dismounted swiftly, his boots hitting the ground with purpose, and strode toward the keep without hesitation. The guards, clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, scrambled to stand at attention, but Maegor paid them no mind. His eyes were fixed on one figure—Alyssa Velaryon, Dowager Queen, widow of his late half-brother Aenys.
She stood at the entrance of the great hall, flanked by her own royal guards, her expression calm but her eyes wary. She had been expecting him.
"Where is she?" Maegor’s voice was thunder, echoing across the courtyard as he approached. His gaze was locked on Alyssa, his hands still resting on the hilt of Blackfyre at his side.
Alyssa’s lips thinned, but she did not answer immediately. Her silence was an insult in itself.
"Where is she?" Maegor demanded again, his tone darkening, his patience long gone. "The ships have not arrived. My bride is not here. Where is she?"
Alyssa lifted her chin, her eyes meeting his with a quiet defiance. "I do not know," she said, her voice steady, though her guards shifted uneasily around her. "She is not here, Maegor. I swear it on the blood of my children."
His anger flared like a flame doused in oil. He stepped closer, towering over her, his eyes burning with rage. "You lie. Do you think me a fool, Alyssa? Do you think I will believe your false words? You know where she is. Someone here knows."
Alyssa did not waver, though there was a flicker of fear behind her eyes. "I do not lie, Maegor," she said, her voice firm. "Your niece is gone, but I do not know where. You think you can demand answers, but the gods have taken her from you."
"The gods?" Maegor spat the word as if it were poison. "The gods have no power here. I am king. I am the only god that matters in this realm."
He drew Blackfyre from its scabbard with a vicious hiss of steel. The sight of the ancient Valyrian blade, its edge gleaming in the waning sunlight, caused Alyssa’s guards to stiffen, their hands moving to the hilts of their swords. But Maegor did not care. He had faced armies and dragons alike; these men would not stand against him.
"You will tell me where she is," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I will take this castle stone by stone and burn it to the ground. I will burn you all."
Alyssa stood her ground, but her defiance was waning. Still, she did not answer.
Maegor’s grip on Blackfyre tightened. "Very well," he said, his voice cold and final. "If you will not speak, then I declare war on you, on this entire realm, and on the gods themselves. I will rip the truth from your dying lips if I must."
He raised the sword high, and Balerion let out a deafening roar, his fiery breath licking at the sky, as if in answer to his rider’s fury. The ground beneath Maegor’s feet trembled as the beast’s wings unfurled, casting the courtyard into shadow once more.
"Do you hear me, Alyssa?" Maegor shouted, his voice carrying across the castle walls. "I will bring fire and blood to this land until she is returned to me. Every house, every banner, every village will burn. No one will be spared."
Alyssa’s face paled, but she held her tongue, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his rage.
With one final, furious look at her, Maegor turned and mounted Balerion once more. The dragon’s wings beat against the air as they took to the skies, leaving the castle of Dragonstone behind, but not forgotten.
War was coming. The realm would know the full wrath of Maegor Targaryen, and nothing would stand in his way.
Not even the gods.
The sky had darkened with storm clouds, a fitting shroud for what was to come. Maegor could feel the death in the air as Balerion, the Black Dread, flew low over the countryside, the sound of his massive wings beating like the drums of war. Beneath him, the land stretched out in peaceful ignorance—green fields, small villages, and the occasional hamlet, all unaware of the doom that was about to descend upon them.
His fury had not abated. If anything, it had grown, simmering inside him like the flames that Balerion carried in his belly. For days, he had waited—waited for some word, some message, some whisper of where you had been taken. But there had been none. Not from Dragonstone, not from King's Landing, not from any corner of the realm. Silence. It was as if the earth itself conspired to keep you hidden from him.
And so, Maegor had decided to speak in the only language he knew would reach them all—fire.
The town below was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of his rule. It had no great lords, no strategic importance. It was nothing more than a farming village, its people simple, its streets quiet. But that did not matter to Maegor. He was no longer a king seeking strategy. He was a dragon in search of blood.
Balerion let out a growl as they descended, and the townspeople, who had begun to gather in the streets, looked up with wide, terrified eyes. They had heard tales of dragons, but few had seen one in the flesh, let alone the Black Dread himself. Some screamed, others fled, scattering like ants before a boot.
But it was too late.
Maegor did not speak as they approached. He did not announce his arrival or give them time to prepare. His rage did not allow for such mercy. Instead, he gave the only command he had come to deliver.
"Dracarys."
Balerion unleashed his fury with a deafening roar. Flames erupted from his jaws, a torrent of fire that engulfed the first row of houses in an instant. The wooden structures went up like kindling, the dry summer heat making them burn even faster. Screams filled the air, high-pitched and desperate, as people fled their homes, only to be caught by the flames that licked at their heels.
The fire spread with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path—roofs, walls, fields. The village was alight, a beacon of destruction visible for miles around.
Maegor watched from above, his face cold and impassive, his grip on Balerion’s reins tight as the dragon circled over the burning town. The people below looked so small, like insects scurrying for cover, trying to escape the inevitable. But there was no escape. Not for them.
A handful of soldiers, likely from a nearby lord's keep, arrived, rushing into the chaos with spears and shields. They might have hoped to protect their people, to fight off the monster in the sky, but it was a hopeless effort. Balerion roared again, and another wave of fire descended, swallowing the soldiers in flames before they could even raise their weapons.
Still, Maegor felt nothing. No satisfaction, no relief, just the same gnawing fury. This town was but the first of many. If no one would give him what he demanded, then they would all burn.
Balerion landed in the town square, his massive form crushing the few remaining carts and stalls beneath him. The fires crackled and raged around them, the air thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Maegor dismounted, his black armor gleaming with the reflection of the flames, and strode through the smoldering ruins. The people who hadn’t already fled or died in the fire cowered at the edges of the square, their faces streaked with soot and tears, their eyes wide with terror.
One man—a farmer by the looks of him, his face blackened with ash—dared to stand before Maegor. His legs shook, and his hands trembled as he held out a crude pitchfork, a pitiful weapon against the man who wielded Blackfyre.
“Please!” the man cried, his voice cracking. “We’ve done nothing! We don’t know where she is!”
Maegor’s gaze fixed on him, cold and unfeeling. “Then you are of no use to me.”
With a swift motion, he drew Blackfyre and swung. The blade cut through the air with a whistle, and the man’s head rolled to the ground, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings severed. Blood pooled at Maegor’s feet, mixing with the ash and dirt.
He turned to the remaining villagers, their tear-filled eyes pleading for mercy. “Where is she?” Maegor demanded, his voice cutting through the crackling flames. “Tell me, and you will be spared.”
But there were no answers. Only silence, punctuated by the occasional sob or gasp. They knew nothing, and he could see the truth of it in their frightened, helpless faces. These people had never laid eyes on you. They did not know your name. They were caught in a storm that was not theirs, a storm they could not hope to survive.
“Then burn,” Maegor said, his voice flat, his heart devoid of pity.
Balerion roared once more, and fire swept across the square, swallowing the villagers where they stood. The screams of the innocent echoed in the night, but they were distant to Maegor, drowned out by the roar of the flames. He mounted Balerion again, his mind already turning to the next town, the next village. There would be no end to his wrath until you were returned to him.
As they lifted into the air, the once-quiet town was a sea of fire below, the smoke rising in dark plumes that would be visible for miles. The next town would see the flames and know what was coming. They would know the price of silence.
But as they flew over the burning ruins, a grim thought gnawed at Maegor’s mind: even this, even the screams of the dying, had not brought forth any word of you. No ravens, no messengers, no spies. It was as if you had vanished from the face of the earth.
He clenched his jaw, his eyes hard as stone as he looked out over the darkened horizon. Let them hide you. Let them try to keep you from him. He would burn every inch of this realm to ash until they had no choice but to deliver you back into his hands.
War had come, and the realm would know the full measure of his wrath before it was over.
And still, you remained lost to him, as distant and unreachable as ever.
The halls of Oldtown’s grand keep were filled with the scent of burning torches and incense, the air heavy with the weight of old stone and old gods alike. Maegor strode through the corridors, his armor clinking with each step, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. The lords of the Reach had gathered in the great hall ahead, awaiting his arrival, their banners lining the walls like silent witnesses to the war he was bringing to their doors.
He would have their armies. He would have their swords and their oaths. And soon, the realm would bleed for keeping you from him.
Yet, as he approached the towering doors of the hall, he was intercepted by a voice that grated on his already thin patience.
“Maegor.”
He halted but did not turn immediately. He recognized the voice, the cold, haughty tone that had once filled his ears with promises of alliances and power. Ceryse Hightower, his wife—the woman the Faith of the Seven deemed his lawful bride. The one who had failed him, who had borne him no heirs, no strength. She was a chain, an anchor from a life he despised. And now, she stood between him and the destruction he sought to bring upon the world.
With a slow turn, he faced her. She stood in the narrow corridor, her expression as cold as the marble pillars that flanked her. Her gown was white and gold, as befit a woman of her station, but there was no warmth in her. She had never had any warmth for him, nor he for her.
Ceryse’s eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her chin lifted in defiance. "This madness must stop, Maegor. What you are doing—it is unholy. This war you wage for your niece, this obsession, it will bring the gods’ wrath upon you. Upon us all."
Maegor’s eyes, dark and brooding, bore into hers. "The gods?" he scoffed, his voice laced with venom. "Which gods, Ceryse? The Seven who gave me nothing but a barren wife? The gods who have denied me my rightful bride and my throne time and again? They are nothing to me. I am the king, and I will take what is mine."
"You are the king," she snapped, stepping closer, her voice rising, "but I am your wife. The only true wife you have before the gods. I was wed to you under the light of the Seven. I am your queen, not some girl you lust after because she shares your blood and your fire."
Maegor’s lips curled into a sneer. "Do not speak of things you do not understand. She is more than fire. She is mine by right, by blood, by destiny. You are nothing but a symbol of a failed marriage and the weakness of the Faith. Your gods mean nothing to me, Ceryse. They have never meant anything."
Ceryse’s face flushed with anger, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “The Faith is all that holds this realm together. The Seven bless our rule, and you spit on their favor. Do you truly believe this war you’ve started will end with your niece in your arms? The realm will turn against you, the Faith will rise—”
“The Faith?” Maegor’s laughter was dark, a cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. “The Faith cowers beneath the strength of dragons. I have already broken their High Septon, and I will do it again if they dare stand in my way. Do not speak to me of the Faith when they have already bled under my blade.”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “And what of me? Do I mean nothing to you, Maegor? I am your queen. I stood beside you when the world was against you, when you were exiled, when you returned to take the throne. I have endured your temper, your ambitions—everything. And yet you throw it all away for her, for a girl who should never have been yours.”
Maegor stepped closer, towering over her, his voice low and filled with menace. “You have never stood beside me, Ceryse. You have stood in my way, like all the others. The day you failed to give me an heir was the day your use to me ended. You are not my queen. You are a symbol of weakness and failure.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but her pride would not allow her to shrink before him. She held her ground, her chin raised defiantly. “This war is blasphemy. Even your late father would not stand for it. You break every sacred vow for this—this madness. And for what? For a girl who may be dead already, taken by the gods to punish your arrogance.”
Maegor’s hand shot out, gripping her throat, though not enough to truly harm her. His eyes were burning coals, his patience long gone. “Speak of her again,” he growled, his voice dangerously low, “and I will end you here and now, wife or not.”
Ceryse’s eyes widened, but she did not flinch, even with his hand at her throat. “Do it,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but steady. “Do it, and see how the realm turns against you. They already whisper of your cruelty, your madness. Kill your wife, and you will become the monster they fear.”
For a long, tense moment, Maegor said nothing. His grip tightened slightly, the temptation strong, but he released her with a shove, sending her stumbling back a step.
"You are a fool if you think I care for their whispers," Maegor said, his voice filled with disdain. "I will rule through fear if I must. The realm will submit to me, whether they love me or hate me. And you will stay out of my way, or you will burn like the rest of them."
Ceryse straightened, her hand to her throat, her eyes filled with a mixture of defiance and fear. She had pushed him as far as she could, and she knew it.
“You will destroy yourself,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to hide it. “This war, this rage... it will consume you.”
Maegor turned his back on her, his cloak swirling in the dim torchlight as he moved toward the doors of the great hall. "Then let it," he said coldly, without looking back. "I would rather burn the world to ash than live in a world where I am denied what is mine."
The heavy doors of the great hall swung open before him, and Maegor strode inside, leaving Ceryse standing alone in the darkened corridor, her hands shaking, her heart pounding with a fear she had never known before.
The lords inside turned as one to face him, their faces pale with the knowledge of the man they served. Maegor took his place at the head of the long table, his eyes sweeping over the gathered men like a predator surveying its prey.
"You will gather your armies," he said, his voice echoing through the hall, "and you will march with me to war. I care not for the gods, nor for the Faith. Those who stand against me will burn, and those who submit will live. But I will have my bride, or I will see this realm consumed by fire."
The lords exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared defy him. They knew the price of disobedience under Maegor’s rule.
"Are there any who would challenge me?" Maegor demanded, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.
Silence fell over the hall, thick and suffocating. Not a single voice rose in opposition.
"Good," Maegor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Prepare your men. The realm will bleed until she is mine again."
And with that, the great hall of Oldtown descended into preparation for war, while outside, Ceryse Hightower stood in the shadows, her heart heavy with the knowledge that her words had fallen on deaf ears.
The battlefield stretched wide before Maegor, a patchwork of torn earth, trampled grass, and bloodied banners. His army stood in sharp contrast to the smaller force across the field, led by his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a bloody hue over the land, as if the gods themselves had abandoned all hope of peace.
Balerion, the Black Dread, shifted beneath him, his great black wings stretching wide as the dragon growled, sensing the impending battle. Maegor’s grip tightened on Blackfyre, the weight of the ancient sword familiar in his hand as he surveyed the field below. The banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, a cruel mockery of what should have been unity between their blood. But unity had long been shattered.
On the opposite side of the field, Aegon sat astride Quicksilver, his dragon a flash of silver-white scales that shimmered in the dying light. Aegon’s army was smaller, but it was fiercely loyal—men who believed in the legitimacy of his claim, men who called Maegor a usurper and a tyrant. Men who were willing to die for a boy who had been denied his crown.
Maegor’s jaw clenched as he gazed across the field at his nephew, the boy who had dared to raise arms against him. Aegon had your blood running through his veins, and that alone made Maegor’s rage burn hotter. But it was not just Aegon’s challenge to the throne that stoked Maegor’s fury—it was his insolent defiance in keeping you from him.
The armies stood still for a breath, the wind carrying the sound of clinking armor and the distant neighs of restless horses. Maegor’s soldiers waited, their faces grim, their hands tight on their weapons. His bannermen were eager for the bloodshed to begin, eager to crush the boy who dared challenge their king.
But Maegor had eyes only for Aegon, who met his gaze across the field with the same cold intensity. Even from a distance, Maegor could see the steely resolve in the young man’s face. Aegon was no longer the boy he had once dismissed, and that truth gnawed at him.
Without a word, Maegor spurred Balerion forward. The great dragon let out a thunderous roar, his massive wings lifting him from the ground in one powerful sweep. The air around them seemed to hum with tension as Balerion soared into the sky, circling high above the battlefield, casting an enormous shadow over the armies below.
Aegon wasted no time. With a sharp command, he urged Quicksilver into the air, the silver dragon shooting upward with graceful speed. The two beasts circled one another in the sky, the gathered armies below looking up in awe as dragon met dragon.
Maegor’s eyes locked onto Aegon, his blood boiling with the need for victory. He would crush this boy, as he had crushed all who had stood in his way. Blackfyre was already in his hand, the sword gleaming as he prepared to strike.
Quicksilver let out a high-pitched roar and dove toward Balerion, claws outstretched. Aegon, no doubt thinking speed would be his advantage, urged his dragon forward with a deadly precision. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon—he was the Black Dread, the most fearsome of all Targaryen dragons, and his size alone was enough to instill terror in any opponent.
With a bellowing roar, Balerion met Quicksilver head-on, jaws snapping as the two dragons collided in a flurry of wings, fire, and claws. The sky around them lit up with dragonflame, bright orange and yellow in the fading light. The sound of their clash echoed across the battlefield like thunder, and Maegor felt the familiar thrill of battle pulse through his veins.
Aegon swung his sword at him, their blades clashing as Quicksilver veered away, trying to outmaneuver Balerion. But Maegor was relentless. He urged Balerion onward, following the silver dragon, breathing down its neck with every beat of its wings. Aegon was skilled, but Maegor could see the hesitation in his strikes, the uncertainty in his eyes.
"You will never have her, Uncle!" Aegon shouted over the roar of the wind and the battle below, his voice laced with both fury and desperation. "She is free of you! The gods will never let her fall into your hands."
Maegor’s face twisted into a snarl, his fury consuming him as he swung Blackfyre toward Aegon with all the strength he could muster. Their blades met again, the force of the strike sending sparks flying between them. "The gods be damned!" Maegor roared. "You think they care for your claims, boy? I will have her, and no man or god will keep her from me!"
Aegon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his eyes flashing with defiance. "You’re a fool if you think she would come to you willingly," he spat. "She despises you. She will never be yours."
Maegor’s rage flared hotter than dragonfire. He urged Balerion forward, closing the distance between the two dragons, but Quicksilver darted away, its speed giving it the advantage. Maegor’s strikes were powerful, but Aegon’s precision allowed him to evade, always one step ahead, always just out of reach.
Below, the armies had clashed. The sounds of battle—clanging steel, screams, and the thunder of hooves—rose from the ground, but Maegor cared little for what happened below. His focus was entirely on Aegon, on the boy who had denied him his rightful bride, on the nephew who dared to defy him.
Suddenly, Quicksilver darted upward, high into the clouds, and Aegon disappeared from sight. Maegor cursed, pulling Balerion up after them, but by the time he broke through the clouds, Aegon and Quicksilver were gone.
A howl of frustration escaped Maegor’s throat. He scanned the skies, his eyes searching for any sign of the silver dragon, but Aegon had vanished, leaving nothing but the roar of the wind and the distant sounds of the battlefield below.
"Damn you, Aegon!" Maegor bellowed into the empty sky, his voice echoing across the heavens. His blood boiled with fury, his vision clouded with rage. Once again, Aegon had slipped through his fingers, just as you had been denied to him time and time again.
He descended with Balerion, landing amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his soldiers still locked in fierce combat with Aegon’s forces. But it was not enough. The battle, the bloodshed, the cries of dying men—all of it paled in comparison to the rage burning inside Maegor. He had come for victory, for vengeance, for you—and he had been denied once more.
The soldiers around him fell to their knees, their faces streaked with blood and mud, their eyes filled with terror at the sight of their king. But Maegor’s gaze was distant, his thoughts consumed by the promise Aegon had made before vanishing into the clouds.
You were free of him, Aegon had said. You would never be his.
But Maegor was not a man who accepted defeat. Not now. Not ever.
The realm would continue to burn until you were in his hands, and not even his nephew’s empty threats would change that.
With a final, chilling glance at the battlefield around him, Maegor mounted Balerion once more, his mind already racing with thoughts of what was to come. The war was not over. Aegon may have escaped, but Maegor would hunt him down. He would tear the realm apart, piece by piece, until there was nowhere left for his enemies to hide.
And in the end, you would be his.
Whether you wished it or not.
The second clash between Maegor Targaryen and his nephew, Aegon the Uncrowned, was inevitable. The gods had no place on this battlefield; only dragons, fire, and blood would decide the victor. Beneath the clouded skies of the God's Eye, the two riders faced one another atop their colossal beasts. Quicksilver, the pale silver dragon, hovered in the air with Aegon astride him, eyes blazing with defiance, while Maegor sat atop the mighty Balerion, the Black Dread, a shadow over the land, a force of destruction waiting to be unleashed.
Aegon was no child, but neither was he the match of his uncle. And yet, as they circled high above the waters of the God's Eye, you could almost feel the weight of his resolve. Maegor could sense it, too—a determination to stand, to fight, to protect what little remained of his claim. But Aegon was a fool to believe he could stop what was coming. Maegor had returned, stronger than ever, and no man, no dragon, no usurper would deny him what was his—neither the throne nor you.
The dragons roared and circled, Balerion’s immense shadow darkening the sky. Maegor’s heart was black with fury, the rage of the denied, of one betrayed by his own kin. For years, he had been denied you, stolen from him by a weak brother and a cowardly nephew. Aenys had never been strong enough to hold the kingdom together, nor had he the will to make the hard choices. Now Maegor would show Aegon the price of such weakness.
“Tell me where she is,” Maegor bellowed, his voice a force of its own, carrying across the winds between them. “Tell me, and I’ll make your death quick.”
Aegon’s expression hardened, but his lips remained sealed. He said nothing, his jaw tight, the defiance in his eyes unbroken. It was clear that he would rather die than betray your whereabouts, and for a brief moment, Maegor almost admired the boy's stubbornness. Almost.
But that would not save him.
Quicksilver lunged first, his bright scales gleaming like molten metal in the dim light. His teeth snapped, his wings beat the air, and Aegon drove him forward, spear in hand, hoping to catch Balerion’s flank. But Balerion was no ordinary dragon, and Maegor was no ordinary rider. The Black Dread twisted mid-air with terrifying speed, jaws snapping shut around Quicksilver’s wing. The smaller dragon shrieked, a sound that echoed over the lake like thunder, and his body faltered as he was dragged downward, closer to the earth.
Balerion's fire erupted, black and red flames that swallowed the sky. Quicksilver was engulfed, his silvery scales turning black as smoke and ash filled the air. Aegon fought back, his dragon resisting, but it was clear to all who watched that there could only be one outcome.
With a final, sickening crunch, Balerion’s teeth sank into Quicksilver’s neck, tearing through flesh and bone. The dragon screamed, a high-pitched, agonizing cry that seemed to go on forever. And then, with a sickening crash, Quicksilver and Aegon were flung into the earth below, the ground trembling from the impact.
Maegor descended slowly, his eyes never leaving the crumpled form of his nephew. The once-proud Aegon, Uncrowned and unbroken, now lay battered and broken beside his dying dragon. Maegor dismounted, stepping down from Balerion’s back as if descending from a throne. The grass beneath his feet was scorched from the battle, and the air smelled of death and fire.
Aegon coughed, his body shattered, blood pouring from wounds too numerous to count. His breaths were labored, each one a struggle. Maegor stood over him, the weight of his fury and triumph heavy in the air.
“Where is she?” Maegor demanded once more, his voice like steel.
Aegon lifted his head weakly, his eyes meeting Maegor's with the last of his strength. Blood bubbled on his lips as he smiled—a bitter, bloody smile.
“You’ll never find her,” Aegon rasped, defiance even now.
The anger that surged through Maegor was all-consuming, a wildfire burning through his veins. He had half a mind to rip his nephew’s head from his body then and there, but he knew Aegon would welcome such an end. No, his death would come soon enough. But it would not be swift, nor merciful.
With a final look of disgust, Maegor turned his back on the dying boy, mounting Balerion once more. There was no more time to waste on the Uncrowned. He would find you, with or without Aegon’s cooperation. And when he did, nothing and no one would ever separate you from him again.
After the battle, as Maegor's forces regrouped, a rider approached him. The man, bloodied and worn from the fight, bowed low before his king.
“My lord, we have received word,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “It is said... she is being held in Lys.”
Maegor’s eyes narrowed, his blood roaring in his ears. Lys. So far away, beyond the sea, beyond his immediate reach. But no distance was too great. He would cross oceans, burn cities, and tear apart entire kingdoms if need be.
“Prepare the fleet,” Maegor ordered, his voice like iron. “We sail at once.”
Balerion let out a low rumble, as if sensing his master’s intent. There would be no peace until you were his, no rest until the blood debt was paid in full. The dragons were coming, and all of Lys would burn if it meant bringing you home.
The sun had long begun its descent when the black sails of Maegor's fleet appeared on the horizon, darkening the waters that surrounded Lys. The city, gilded with beauty and wealth, stood as a gleaming jewel in the far east. But to Maegor, it was a den of thieves—those who had dared to steal what belonged to him. As Balerion descended from the skies, casting a vast shadow over the city, panic spread like wildfire through its streets. The people of Lys had never seen the likes of such a beast, nor the wrath of a king who had come to reclaim what was his.
You had not expected him so soon.
The small tower in which you were held offered little more than a view of the sea and distant freedom, but you knew that no bars or walls could hold you forever. You had seen the men sent to guard you, faces hardened by greed and violence, yet even they had begun to whisper in hushed tones over the past days—of dragons, of black sails, of the King who would come. Maegor.
For weeks, you had wondered if it was only a matter of time before your captors sold you to another—or worse. But it was not the men of Lys who had taken you—it was Aegon. Your own brother. He had sent you here, far away from Maegor, far from the throne. He believed it was for your own good, to keep you safe from the king who had burned through the realm to take the Iron Throne. To keep you from the man who had claimed you as his.
But your brother had gravely underestimated the lengths to which Maegor would go to have you back.
And now he had come.
The tower trembled beneath your feet as Balerion’s roar split the sky, shaking the very stones of Lys. The dragon’s fire lit the horizon, the harbor a hellscape of flames and destruction. You could hear the distant cries of men fleeing from the wrath of the Black Dread, and in that moment, a strange calm settled over you. You knew Maegor. You had known him since childhood—his strength, his darkness, and above all, his possessiveness. He would burn this city to the ground for you. He would raze every last building, tear every stone apart brick by brick, until he had you back in his grasp.
The door to your chamber flew open, splintering as it slammed against the wall. The guard who had been stationed outside was gone, replaced by men bearing the black and red sigil of House Targaryen. They moved aside without a word, and there, standing in the doorway, was Maegor.
He was just as you remembered him, but now there was a fierceness in his gaze that you had never seen before. His armor, still streaked with blood from battle, glinted in the dim light. His silver hair, windswept from the flight atop Balerion, framed a face carved from stone, hard and unyielding. And his eyes—those dark violet eyes burned with a hunger, an obsession, that had only grown stronger with time. He had come for you.
Without a word, Maegor strode into the room, his presence filling it like a storm. He did not wait for pleasantries, nor for explanations. He reached for you, his hand closing around your arm with a grip that was firm but not painful, his eyes searching your face as if to assure himself that you were real, that you were truly here.
"You’re coming with me," he said, his voice low and rough. There was no question, no hesitation, just the ironclad certainty that had always driven him.
"Maegor," you began, your voice quiet but steady. The words you had rehearsed in your mind seemed to dissolve as you looked into his eyes. The fury, the relief, the need—it was all there, laid bare. He was not a man to be denied.
"You will never be taken from me again," he growled, his fingers tightening slightly around your arm as if to emphasize his point. "I’ve burned half the world to get to you. No one will stand between us now."
You had heard tales of what he had done—of how he had torn through Aegon’s forces at the God's Eye, of how he had set the seas aflame in his pursuit of you. But you never imagined that it would come to this—that your own brother would try to keep you from him. And now that he stood before you, towering, unyielding, you realized that there was no escaping the inevitability of what came next.
"You were mine from the moment you were born," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And they kept you from me. All of them—my father, your brother, the gods themselves. But no more. You will be my queen, and no one will ever take you from me again."
His words, raw and fierce, echoed in the space between you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the distant roar of Balerion outside, the great beast that had carried him across the skies to find you.
You met his gaze, and in that moment, something shifted within you. You had known Maegor your whole life. You had seen the violence in him, but you had also seen the man beneath it—the one who, for all his ruthlessness, had always looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And now, standing before him, you understood that there was no escaping him, not now, not ever.
"Then take me," you whispered, your voice soft but clear. "I’m ready."
Maegor’s eyes darkened, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into him, his lips crashing against yours with all the pent-up fury and longing that had driven him to Lys. His kiss was fierce, possessive, and you knew then that the man who had come for you was not just the king, but the dragon itself—untamable, unstoppable, and wholly yours.
When he pulled away, his hand still cradled the back of your neck, his eyes locked on yours. "We leave now," he said, his voice a low growl. "There’s nothing for you here. Nothing but ash."
He led you from the room without another word, the tower and all its horrors fading behind you as you stepped out into the night. Balerion waited, his massive form dark against the sky, and as Maegor helped you onto the dragon's back, you knew that whatever fate awaited you, it would be by his side.
And so, with a single command, Balerion’s wings unfurled, and together you soared into the night, leaving Lys in flames behind you.
#fire and blood#game of thrones#house of the dragon#hotd#got#a song of ice and fire#asoiaf x reader#maegor x y/n#maegor x you#maegor x reader#maegor targaryen#maegor the cruel#maegor i targaryen#house targaryen
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Action Figure. (A.P.)
Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Reader
Warnings: none
i told y’all asses i had a lot to say!! holding off on posting mbj content until more people have seen sinners. y’all got until friday to do your part.

“I was basically an action figure today,” he said, drawing circles along her spine.
She smiled. “Mmhm. And how many times did they throw you across a room?”
“Three and a half.”
She raised an eyebrow. “How do you get a half?”
“The last one wasn’t in the script. I tripped over one of the camera tracks.”
She pulled back to look up at him, water slicking down her cheeks. “You tripped?”
“I recovered,” he corrected, like that was the same thing. “Real smooth. Nobody noticed.”
“Mhm. Except your ego.”
He grinned. “She’ll live.”
“And the rest of you?”
He leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth, all soft and smug. “Good as new.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue — not yet. “What else did your action figure ass get into?”
“Well…” He shifted behind her, guiding her under the spray as he talked. “They had me do this jump from the scaffolding. Like a leap-catch moment. Looked dope in playback, but they wanted the angle tighter, so I had to land kind of sideways the second time—”
“‘Kind of sideways?’ That sounds fake.”
“It’s a professional term,” he teased.
She laughed, but caught something — a subtle pause in his rhythm as he reached for the shampoo. A small breath caught in his throat.
She tilted her head. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said too quickly, lathering the shampoo into his hands. “Just slipped a little. Tile’s slick.”
“Mhm.” She watched him, eyes narrowing just slightly. “So let me get this straight — you tripped, you did a jump, you landed sideways, and now you’re… slippery?”
He smirked without looking at her. “Is this cross-examination?”
“I’m just saying,” she stepped closer, helping him rub the shampoo into his scalp with slow fingers, “you’ve used three different excuses in under a minute.”
“I didn’t realize I was under surveillance.”
“You live with me, of all people. You’re always under surveillance.”
He laughed, genuinely — but there it was again. As she reached up to rinse his hair, he instinctively pulled back, just slightly, like the movement stretched something the wrong way. His mouth barely twitched, but she saw it.
“What was that?”
He tried to play dumb, blinking soap out of his eyes. “What?”
“You flinched.”
“I didn’t flinch.”
“Aaron.”
He sighed, head tipping back in surrender. “I just tweaked something earlier. It’s not a big deal.”
“Mmm.” She didn’t move. “What’d you tweak?”
He hesitated. Too long.
“Aaron.”
“…Upper back.”
She reached behind him gently, fingers brushing along his shoulder blade until he winced again, barely-there but undeniable. And there — the faintest discoloration beginning to bloom.
She froze.
“You landed sideways.”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t say anything because…?”
He exhaled through his nose, voice quieter now. “Because I didn’t want to worry you. And because if I told you during the story, you’d have made that face.”
“What face?”
“That face.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, the how dare you hide pain from me when I love you and we share a damn mortgage face?”
“That’s the one.”
There was a beat of silence, just the water between them.
“You’re lucky I didn’t elbow it on accident.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Try me.”
#aaron pierre x black reader#aaron pierre#aaron pierre x reader#x black woman#x black fem reader#x black reader
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