#wyldes fics

[brittlebutch]

Shoutout to Bill and Ted’s Excellent Holiday Special for giving us outright canonical Jewish Bill S. Preston Esq. <3

#N posts stuff #bnt #bill s preston esquire #bill and ted #i mean it Was already canon : face the music had that one newspaper in the intro #that mentions Wyld Stallyns doing a ‘kabbalah inspired’ album <- no way around that. that’s Jewish #and the actor is jewish so that was always a plus #but it’s nice that he gets to say it lol; even if it IS in a joke where it’s something Ted keeps forgetting :/ #i’ve been half planning a few fics about jewish bill (and ted <- converted) and the girls so this was a fun surprise for me :3

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

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

Chapter Seventy-Five

The ride back to Harrenhall was filled with a sense of hope and anticipation, buoyed by the discovery of the dragon egg. Maera rode atop Ēbrion with a renewed energy, the wind whipping through her hair as they soared through the skies.As Ēbrion propelled them forward with powerful beats of his wings, Maera felt a surge of exhilaration course through her veins. She clung to the dragon's saddle with determination, her eyes scanning the horizon with newfound optimism.

The landscape below rushed by in a blur of greenery and winding rivers, the sunlight casting a golden glow upon the land. Glancing across the vast expanse of sky, Maera spotted Aemond flying on Vhagar alongside them. His figure was a distant silhouette against the backdrop of clouds, his dragon's wings slicing gracefully through the air.

As they landed back at Harrenhall and made their way to the castle gates, Maera and Aemond were filled with a temporary sense of excitement and camaraderie. The tension that had lingered between them seemed to melt away in the exhilaration of their adventure. Maera spoke animatedly about their discovery of the dragon egg, her green eyes alight with enthusiasm as she recounted the details of their flight and the breathtaking sight of the molten rock. Aemond listened attentively, his own excitement mirroring hers as they shared in the joy of their discovery.

Entering the courtyard, they were greeted by a flurry of activity and a sense of panic among the guards. However, as Maera and Aemond approached, relaxed and seemingly unaware of the commotion, the tension in the air dissipated. Maera couldn't help but giggle at the reaction they had caused. It was clear that their absence had been longer than expected, and the sight of them returning unharmed eased the worries of those within the castle walls.

Ser Adrian, Maera’s brother-in-law, approached them first, his blue eyes reflecting genuine concern. “We thought something had happened,” he confessed, his freckled face flushed with relief.

Maera couldn’t suppress her amusement. “Something did happen, good-brother,” she replied, a playful glint in her eye. Aemond grabbed the dragon egg from under his arm and proudly presented it to the onlookers. With a blackened shell and flecks of green, the sight of the rare and precious egg elicited murmurs of awe and excitement from those gathered around, their eyes widening in wonder at the remarkable discovery.

“Gods, even if it doesn’t hatch, it’s worth a fortune,” Ser Adrian remarked, his tone tinged with bewilderment.

“It will hatch,” Aemond asserted firmly, his confidence unwavering, earning a playful nudge in the ribs from Maera’s elbow.

Maera interjected with a gentler tone, her words carrying the weight of tradition and expertise. “What my husband means is that Targaryens are skilled in the art of hand-rearing dragon eggs and hatchlings,” she explained, her voice a soothing counterpoint to Aemond’s sternness.

As they made their way back to their chambers, Aemond’s hand rested protectively on Maera’s back, the warmth of his touch a comforting presence amidst the turmoil that surrounded them. For a fleeting moment, they found solace in each other’s company, their shared mission bonding them once more.

However, their temporary respite was shattered when they turned a corner in the corridors and came face to face with Alys, her swollen belly unmistakable beneath her green dress. “You have both returned unharmed. I’m glad,” the witch greeted them with a saccharine smile, but Maera couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that lingered within her.

The Princess’s heart pounded with trepidation as the witch's cat-like eyes lingered on the dragon egg cradled beneath Aemond's arm. "Is that...?" Alys began, her voice tinged with bewildered curiosity. The weight of Alys's fixation filled Maera with a sense of dread, her fingers instinctively reached out to Aemond's forearm for support, though she hardly noticed her own actions.

A knowing grin spread across Alys's lips as she clasped her hands together, her words dripping with eerie reverence. "It seems the Gods favor you, Prince Aemond. This is undoubtedly an omen from them." Maera's jaw clenched as Alys's gaze flickered momentarily to her before settling back on Aemond, her fingers absently tracing the curve of her swollen stomach. "What a powerful Prince your son will be as a dragon rider," the witch mused, her words hanging heavy in the air.

The Princess’s silent anger simmered beneath the surface as Alys brazenly requested the dragon egg for her own child, despite it not being a true Targaryen. The audacity of the request fueled Maera's disdain for the woman who had meddled in her marriage and sought to undermine her at every turn. Unable to tolerate Alys’s insolence any longer, Maera braced herself to speak out, but to her surprise, it was Aemond who broke the tense silence.

“Indeed,” he replied calmly, his tone devoid of emotion, causing Maera’s eyes to widen in disbelief. Surely he wasn’t entertaining Alys’s absurd notion. The One-Eyed Prince’s gaze shifted from Alys to Maera, his single violet eye piercing through her with a depth that left her breathless.

For a moment, their silent exchange spoke volumes, a silent understanding passing between them before Aemond returned his attention to Alys once more. “The egg will be placed in the cradle of my trueborn child,” he declared firmly, his words cutting through the tension like a blade.

Alys's reaction was immediate, her expression momentarily stunned before morphing into a mask of disbelief. Maera couldn't help but revel in the sight of shock on the witch's face, a small victory amidst the swirling currents of uncertainty that surrounded them.

Aemond's hand remained a reassuring presence on Maera's back as he attempted to gently guide them both around Alys, his gesture signaling his desire to end the conversation with the witch and continue their journey back to their chambers.

Yet Alys sidestepped, effectively blocking the couple's path with a determined stance. "Do you think that wise?" she challenged, her tone firm and unwavering.

Maera glanced up at her husband, noticing the subtle tightening of his jaw, a sign of his growing agitation. The Prince's response was swift and sharp, his voice laced with a dangerous edge that made Maera jump in surprise. "Alys, I suggest you hold your tongue," he growled, his words carrying a weight of authority that both frightened and thrilled Maera to hear him finally stand up to the witch.

Undeterred, Aemond pressed on, his voice dripping with suppressed fury. "I have endured your presence for the sake of your sight and your contributions to the war effort," he began, his gaze unwavering as he met Alys's defiant stare. "But quite frankly, I have tolerated your disrespect, particularly towards my wife, for long enough."

Alys's cat-like eyes blazed with fury, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface as she met Aemond's gaze head-on. Though Maera harbored doubts about the witch's supposed magical abilities, she couldn't shake the sense of apprehension that gripped her at the prospect of things escalating further. The tension in the air crackled with the unspoken threat of confrontation, leaving Maera longing for a swift resolution to their encounter.

"Aemond..." Maera's voice carried a note of pleading as she tugged gently on his arm, her eyes silently urging him to let the confrontation with Alys come to an end. But her husband, consumed by anger, seemed beyond reason.

"Should the Gods desire their vision to come to fruition so desperately, they can do so on my terms," Aemond declared, his single violet eye flashing with determination as he cast a steely gaze between the two women, ensuring they both understood the gravity of his words.

Maera nodded silently, her gaze downcast but a small, relieved smile playing at the corners of her lips. It seemed her husband had finally found his clarity. Yet, Alys remained undeterred.

"But, my Prince..." Alys began, her voice tinged with desperation.

At that moment, Aemond's composure shattered, his anger boiling over as he abruptly pulled away from Maera and advanced towards the witch with determined strides. He loomed over Alys, his voice dripping with venom as he spat out his words. "Do you really think it would be placed in the cradle of a half-breed? Of a bastard to a whore?”

As Alys averted her gaze, Aemond closed the distance even further and leaned down so his face was at the same level as the witch’s, his pointed nose and chiseled features accentuating his disdain. "Do you think I would entrust a dragon's egg to a child I did not desire? To a child I was assured would never come to be?" His voice, though hushed, carried a weight of stern authority that caused even Maera to flinch.

Sensing the tension reaching its breaking point, and seeing the tremble in Alys's frame, Maera stepped forward, her hand gently settling on Aemond's shoulder. At her touch, the Prince's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, his stormy demeanor softening as he took a step back from the witch, regaining his usual stoic composure.

"We are done here," Maera declared firmly, her gaze flickering between her husband and the shaken witch. With a firm grip on Aemond's arm, she guided him away, the tension dissipating as they retreated to the sanctuary of their shared chambers, feeling a renewed sense of solidarity between them.

In their rooms, the silence hung heavy between Maera and Aemond, thick with unspoken tension. Maera could sense the seething fury radiating from her husband after is interaction with Alys, a palpable force that filled the room with its intensity. A few months ago, Maera would have approached him, seeking to ease his anger and discuss the situation calmly. But now, after enduring so much hurt and betrayal, she chose to let him stew in his rage. It was a deliberate choice, a silent retaliation for the pain he had inflicted upon her with his indifference and betrayal.

As they sat in the oppressive silence, each concentrating on their own tasks of reading and writing, Maera allowed herself a small sense of satisfaction, knowing that Aemond was experiencing just a fraction of the turmoil she had endured since the arrival of Alys. It was a bitter victory, but one that offered a semblance of vindication in the face of their fractured marriage.With the hours passing by, the oppressive tension in the room began to ease, replaced by a more subdued atmosphere. Maera remained engrossed in her book, delving into the intricacies of Aegon's Conquest, while Aemond meticulously transcribed his notes into a new ledger, his movements deliberate and focused.

The Princess couldn't help but notice the new leather bound ledger, a replacement for the one she had thrown into the hearth in a fit of anger. Part of her felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if vital information had been lost in her impulsive act. However, another part of her, fueled by pettiness, secretly relished the idea of inconveniencing Aemond, who had to rewrite his old notes from scratch. Despite the lack of verbal communication, Maera and Aemond occasionally stole glances at each other, their eyes meeting fleetingly. In those moments, there was a silent yearning for connection, a longing for the bond they once shared to be restored.

When night fell, the couple shared their evening meal together before making their preparations for bed. Maera was assisted by the maid out of her dress and into a soft nightgown, her pregnant belly more prominent beneath the fabric with each passing day. The child within her seemed particularly active tonight, its kicks a comforting reminder of the life growing inside her.

As Maera settled into bed, she observed Aemond's nightly routine unfold. He made his way to the chair by the hearth, a ritual he had faithfully followed for the past month since she had banished him from their bed. He glanced at the black dragon egg in its metal pot, sitting atop burning coals before placing the lid back on top of it. With graceful movements, he untied his straight silver hair, allowing it to cascade around his shoulders, and removed his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire glint of his remaining eye in the flickering firelight.

Sensing Maera's gaze upon him, Aemond looked up, meeting her eyes with a silent acknowledgment. In response, Maera threw back the sheet covering her side of the bed and patted the space beside her, a wordless invitation laden with unspoken longing and a plea for connection.The Prince hesitated for a moment, uncertainty flickering in his violet eye as he silently questioned Maera's invitation. Her small, sad smile in response seemed to give him the reassurance he needed. With a newfound resolve, he stood and made his way to the bedside.

Slowly, Aemond removed his sleep shirt, revealing his slim yet toned chest and stomach, a sight that stirred a sense of longing in Maera. As he sat on the bed and discarded his trousers, he revealed himself completely, his vulnerability laid bare along with his form. With a gentle hand, he removed the sapphire from his eye socket and placed the gem in a dish on his bedside table.

Maera, too, shed her nightgown, lying before him naked, just as they had always been with each other in Kings Landing when they retired to bed. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the changes her body had undergone in the past month. Her curves had become more pronounced, her breasts somehow even larger, her stomach swollen with the life growing inside her, adorned with a few blue and purple stretch marks—a testament to the journey of motherhood she was embarking on.

As Aemond extinguished the candle, enveloping them in darkness, the only sensation permeating the silence was the rhythmic cadence of their breathing, intertwining in the stillness of the chamber. A shiver coursed through Maera's body as the cool air prickled her exposed skin. Accustomed to sleeping alone and clothed since banishing Aemond from their shared bed, she now felt a chill settle over her skin.

Seeking warmth and solace, Maera inched closer to him, her body instinctively drawn to his. With a tentative gesture, she rested her head on his bare chest, seeking the comfort of his proximity. In response, Aemond's muscular arm encircled her, drawing her closer to him. His hand found the curls on her head, his fingers gently stroking them with a soothing rhythm, a silent gesture of reassurance and affection in the darkness. As Maera stirred awake the next morning, she found herself still comfortably entwined with her husband, nestled against his chest with her head tucked under his chin. Aemond's arm remained draped protectively around her, his other hand tenderly resting on her swollen stomach, eliciting a contented smile from Maera as she savored the warmth of their shared embrace.

When they entered the council room that morning, the Prince and Princess presented a striking image of unity, both adorned in attire that echoed their shared allegiance. Clad in matching black leather accented with gleaming gold symbols of dragons, they exuded a palpable sense of connection that didn't go unnoticed by the courtiers who greeted them with respectful nods and murmurs.

Seated together, Maera observed in silence as Aemond took command of the room with confidence, providing updates and soliciting counsel from the assembled advisors. Throughout the proceedings, his hand remained firmly planted on her thigh, a subtle yet reassuring gesture of their renewed bond that Maera welcomed wholeheartedly.

As each lord provided their updates on strategy and army numbers, Maera couldn’t help but notice a distinct air of optimism that seemed to permeate the room, a stark contrast to previous meetings. From what she could surmise, the reports sounded more positive, hinting at progress and potential victories on the horizon.

When Aemond finally turned to Alys for her input, Maera noticed her sitting at the opposite side of the room, her expression dark and brooding. Despite her discomfort from the late stages of her pregnancy, Alys rose from her chair with determination, her hand resting protectively on her bump as she addressed the council.

“I would like to bring before the council once more the matter of the Westerlands, my Lords,” Alys proclaimed, her voice carrying an air of self-importance that elicited an eye roll from Maera before she continued. “The Gods have revealed to me that the Lannister forces will remain unharmed as they journey here. Therefore, I believe assigning the Princess to patrol the western border is a misuse of valuable resources.”

Maera couldn’t suppress a scoff at the absurdity of Alys’s suggestion, quickly masking it with a discreet clearing of her throat. Glancing around the room, she noted the skepticism mirrored in the expressions of the other council members.

“I’m not certain House Lannister would share your theory,” Ser Adrian interjected diplomatically, attempting to maintain a sense of decorum in the face of Alys’s bold proclamation.

“Indeed. The Princess’s patrol of the area ensures safety in the west,” the Peake Lord concurred, his agreement echoing the sentiments shared by many in the room. Maera offered him a silent nod of appreciation for his support as their eyes briefly met.

Meanwhile, the elder Lord Vance stroked his grey beard thoughtfully, considering Alys’s words with a hint of skepticism. “And what, may I ask, is your proposed course of action?” he inquired, directing his gaze towards the witch.

Alys’s smile widened at the attention, her confidence unwavering as she laid out her suggestion. “I propose that the Princess return to King’s Landing,” she declared, her voice dripping with certainty. “I have foreseen the sky above the Keep ablaze with red and gold flames, and venom seeping into Blackwater Bay. With her in the Capital, the catastrophe would be prevented.”

Maera’s eyes widened in disbelief at Alys’s proposal. The sheer audacity of suggesting such a thing, especially after Aemond had begun to stand up for her, left Maera incredulous. It was a ridiculous notion, and Maera couldn’t help but feel insulted by the suggestion. However, she was glad to see that the room had erupted into murmurs, frowns, and shaking heads among the attending lords and knights. The notion of sending the Princess away was met with disbelief and disapproval from those present, meaning Maera had the support of the councilmen.

But there was only one person’s support she truly needed. The Princess turned to her husband, but found his gaze fixed on Alys with a steely intensity that sent a clear message of disapproval. His hand remained reassuringly on Maera’s thigh as he addressed the witch, his voice carrying the weight of authority. “And is this belief rooted in fact? Or is it just a gut feeling?” The Prince sneered, all eyes around the room locked onto his commanding figure. Alys simply blinked bewilderedly at his words. Despite her attempts to maintain composure, the shock of Aemond’s rebuke was evident on her face, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Prince shook his head, leaning forward to rest it on his propped-up elbow. “Aegon holds the city on Sunfyre. The city watch guards the gates, preventing any invasions,” he asserted, his tone laced with confidence. The attending lords and knights nodded in agreement, their murmurs of assent echoing throughout the chamber. Maera observed Alys closely, noting the flicker of realization in the witch’s eyes as she came to the stark realization that nobody in the room supported her misguided proposal.

Undeterred, Aemond continued, his hand rubbing reassuringly up and down Maera’s leg as he spoke. “There is no conceivable reason for Rhaenyra to invade King’s Landing at this time,” he reasoned, his voice firm with conviction.

Alys’s confidence wavered visibly, her demeanor shifting from assertive to bewildered as Aemond’s words sank in. Her cat-like eyes widened in surprise, and she ran a frustrated hand through her long dark hair, a subtle sign of her discomfort and annoyance at being challenged so publicly. The witch then scoffed dismissively, her defiance evident in her tone. “You’re not listening,” she retorted, her frustration palpable.

“And why should I listen to you?” Aemond shot back, his anger simmering beneath the surface as he scanned the room, locking eyes with each council member in turn. “I couldn’t give a shit what you think, Alys. My wife remains here,” he declared firmly, his loyalty to Maera unwavering.

Before Alys could voice another protest, Maera rose gracefully from her seat, her black and gold attire emphasizing her regal presence. Her gravid form, a testament to her impending motherhood, only added to her commanding aura, a symbol of her union with the Prince and her significance in the realm.

As the Princess surveyed the room, a sense of empowerment washed over her. She felt the weight of the Lords’ reliance on her and her dragon, recognizing the shift in power that had occurred in her favor. With Aemond’s support and the respect of the assembled courtiers, Maera was no longer a pawn in Alys’s scheming prophecies, but a force to be reckoned with in her own right.

Turning her green gaze upon the witch, Maera conveyed authority and determination. It was a silent warning, a declaration that Alys’s manipulations would no longer be tolerated. With her husband’s backing, the Lords’ esteem, and her own formidable intellect, Maera addressed those surrounding the table. “Clear the room,” she commanded, her voice carrying an air of authority that brooked no opposition.

Without hesitation, the council members promptly rose and filed out of the chamber, leaving Maera and Aemond alone with Alys. The witch lingered for a moment longer, shooting a venomous glare at the royal couple before finally exiting, her departure marking the end of the tumultuous council meeting.

The room was now empty, aside from Maera and her husband. She moved from her seat and circled the table, her gaze tracing the intricacies of the map of Westeros spread out before her. The figurines representing the Blacks' forces dotted the map, a testament to their growing strength. Yet, amidst them, she noticed new green figurines, symbolizing the dragons aligned with the Greens. Her heart swelled with pride as she spotted Ēbrion's figurine placed strategically on the border of the Westerlands, a clear indication of her contribution to the cause.

As she lifted her eyes from the map, she found her husband engrossed in reading from a scroll. A sense of admiration washed over her as she took in his features, the chiseled lines of his face, the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't help but marvel at the sudden change in his demeanor, the way he had staunchly defended her during the council meeting. It sparked a flicker of curiosity within her, wondering what had prompted this shift in his stance.

"You're being particularly cruel this morning," she remarked with a small smile, acknowledging his firm handling of Alys

Aemond remained focused on his scroll, but his response carried a flirtatious undertone. "I thought you enjoyed a bit of cruelty."

Maera chuckled softly, knowing the effect her next words would have on him. "It depends on the context, issa darys," my king, she teased noticing the way Aemond swallowed at the sound of the High Valyrian words, stirring something deep within him. But her amusement faded as she furrowed her brow in genuine confusion. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? What's changed for you to challenge her so suddenly?" she pressed, her tone tinged with concern.

Aemond's gaze flicked up to meet hers, and after a moment, he closed the scroll with a heavy sigh. “You are right. I have been a fool,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. Rising from his seat, the scrape of the chair against the stone floor echoing in the chamber, he approached her with purpose. “So blinded by notions of the Gods’s Will and their plan for me, that I have allowed you endure great pain.”

Maera felt her cheeks flush under the intensity of his burning gaze, and she averted her eyes, focusing instead on the map spread out before them. She felt his presence behind her, the warmth of his body radiating against her back as he reached out to lightly graze her shoulder, his fingers brushing away stray tendrils of hair to expose the nape of her neck to him. "And in doing so, I've risked losing you," he concluded softly, his warm breath teasing her skin as he leaned closer, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine.

As Aemond's lips brushed delicately against her neck, Maera's breath hitched in her throat, her heart quickening its pace. She felt his arm wrap around her waist, pulling her closer until the Prince's body was firmly pressed against her back.

"Your sense of duty and your drive to better yourself are qualities I admire most about you," Maera breathed, her words tinged with affection, even as Aemond continued to pepper wet kisses along her neck. Despite the sensations coursing through her, she fought to maintain her composure. "But your ambition can sometimes make you arrogant and blind to logic and reason."

Aemond's mouth trailed up to her earlobe, he bit down harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp from Maera. She turned to face him, her hands finding purchase on his chest, while one of his hands settled on her waist and the other threaded through her scalp, lightly tugging on her dark brown curls.

Meeting his gaze, Maera's expression turned serious. “I do not know what she told you of the Gods’s plan for you. In truth I do not wish to know as I do not trust her with every fibre of my being,” she admitted, her frown deepening as she referred to Alys. Aemond responded with a soft hum, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip. With a gentle touch, Maera's hand traced the sharp contours of Aemond's jawline, her touch imbued with a mixture of affection and concern. "But regardless of fate, your place is by my side," she affirmed, her voice filled with unwavering certainty.

Aemond sighed in response, his thumb tracing the curve of her bottom lip. "I am unworthy of you," he confessed, his voice heavy with self-doubt.

A mischievous smile danced across Maera's lips as she met his gaze. "I know," she teased, her tone playful yet affectionate.

Without hesitation, Aemond leaned forward, capturing her lips in a fervent, passionate kiss. Maera melted into his embrace, returning the kiss with equal fervor, their passion igniting like a wildfire as they surrendered to the irresistible pull of desire. His hand found its way to the back of her head, tugging on the roots of her hair so Maera’s head would tilt backwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

The kiss was warm and wet, all teeth and tongue and filled with desperation and lust. It was as if he never wanted to let her go, that he had now finally realised what was a stake. To hell with the Gods, to Hell with fate. There was only her. His Princess. His Wife. Maera attempted to keep up, sliding her tongue against his with equal enthusiasm but found herself breathless and lightheaded. She then felt his strong hands on her backside, lifting her up onto the table, knocking some of the black and green figurines over.

He jammed his knee between her legs, forcing them open and slotted himself between them, never breaking the desperate kiss for even a second. Maera’s hands found the clasps on his doublet and began to undo the buckles frantically, consumed by the need to feel his skin on hers. The Prince in turn began to greedily bunch her skirts in his fists, hiking up the fabric until it sat just above her hips. His calloused palms gripped onto her plush thighs, watching her concentrating on unclasping the very last buckle on his chest before pushing the leather from his shoulders, his white cotton shirt underneath.

Growing impatient, he discarded the remaining barrier to his torso quickly, allowing Maera to run her fingers over the chiseled muscles, licking and biting at the scars that littered his chest, causing him to close his eye and groan. Maera’s fingers descended lower and lower, down his toned stomach before reached the front of his trousers and palming his very obvious bulge through the fabric.

Aemond growled and pulled away for a moment, only to reach behind her and push all the black and green figurines off of the table, the marble objects bouncing off the stone floor below. Maera gasped in surprise and excitement before being roughly pushed back onto the table, her chest heaving beneath her dress as her breathing increased rapidly.

His cock grew impossibly hard at the sight of her like this, so the Prince reached forward and grabbed both of her breasts, eagerly cupping the soft flesh, his hands not being able to grasp them entirely due to their size.

“I have never seen you so beautiful,” he murmured darkly before squeezing the flesh in his palm. “You will look like the Maiden herself when these are full of milk for our child.” Maera’s core clenched at his words and she let out a desperate whine, causing the Prince to smirk at her needy response.

He withdrew for a moment, and Maera propped herself up on her elbows to see him pulling up a chair so he could sit comfortably between her legs. Grabbing her by the ankles, he yanked her towards him and sat down, his violet eye darkening as he fixated on the noticeable wet patch on her smallclothes, before ripping them off her legs and throwing them across the room. Aemond began to press wet kisses against one of her rounded thighs, lips trailing slowly up to where she needed him most before he abruptly switched to her other thigh, indicating that he was going to take his time.

“For fuck’s sake Aemond,” Maera groaned through gritted teeth, her hips practically chasing his face and the back of her head hitting the table in frustration. “Just take me, I need you!”

He leaned forward in his chair, his breath fanning across her bare cunt. “Patience, issa daria,” my queen, he chuckled cruelly, before pressing a feather-light kiss to her dripping centre, causing her to gasp. Aemond then began to deliberately bestow kitten licks on her clit, the pressure hard enough to elicit a gasp, but too light for a release to build. Maera felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his tongue on her pearl but desperate for so much more.

She attempted to compose herself, to not seem so wanting, but that idea left her head the his tongue slipping inside her and tasting her greedily, his sharp nose prodding against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Mmm, the sweetest cunt in the Seven Kingdoms,” he growled against her folds, lapping at her centre frantically as his hands resting on her hips to keep her in place.

The Princess panted as the pleasure began to build in her lower stomach, eyes rolling to the back of her head and hips bucking into Aemond’s face as he continued to feast upon her with practiced eased, groaning obscenities into her slick folds as he savoured the sweet taste. When he moved his tongue to her clit once more , Maera felt his skilled fingers gathering the wetness around her core before plunging two of them deep inside of her.

Her back arched as he immediately found her spongey spot, moving his fingers in a come hither motion, all the while sucking on her sensitive bundle of nerves relentlessly, the knot deep in her stomach winding tighter and tighter. Maera’s plush thighs began to shake and clench around his head, making him continue to press harshly on her hips with his free hand to keep her in place.

Rapidly, her body tensed as an unbelievable high hit her, blinding hot pleasure coursing through her veins, a sweaty sheen forming on her body as she rode out her orgasm against her husband’s mouth. Aemond’s fingers slowed inside her, a contented hum escaping his lips as he took in the sight before him; his wife, red-faced, panting and sweating, all because he had caused her to become undone.

Maera did not have time to think before the air was knocked out of her lungs as her husband sheathed his long, thick cock into her, filling her to the hilt before setting a tempestuous rhythm, thrusting in and out of her as if his life depended on it. The fact that they were doing this here, when just minutes ago they were sat having a meeting made the experience all the more captivating, the thought of it causing Maera to clench around her husband as she moaned his name.

“Fuck,” he groaned in response. “Such a perfect cunt. And it belongs to me.” He adjusted his hips upwards so that his length brushed against the soft spongey spot within, that familiar coil winding itself tighter and tighter once again.

“Gods, Aemond. Please!” She babbled, tears streaming down her face as she was jolted upwards on the table, the slapping sound of skin on skin making her even wetter.

“Tell me who you belong to, sweet wife,” he grunted, slamming his hips faster and faster into her. When Maera’s reply did not come quick enough, he reached between them and used his thumb to rub against her pearl, the sensation sending a jolt up her spine.

She relented between moans. “You, my Prince! I’m yours!”

“And I am yours,” he rambled, his cock bullying the sweet spot inside of her causing her second release to come upon her suddenly, her body convulsing as he fucked her through her high. Maera’s vice-like grip around his cock practically milked him for his seed, squeezing him so tightly that his pace faltered and he came with a deep and guttural grunt, his jaw going slack as he filled her up with his cum.

There was no sound left in the chambers, except the couple’s desperate panting as each of them came down from their high. After a moment, Maera propped herself up on her elbows, smirking as she drank in her husband’s cunt-struck face. Aemond raised a brow at her before abruptly withdrawing his softening cock, the loss of contact causing her to hiss. He then offered his hand and pulled her up, causing her to sit up straight and rest her face upon his bare chest, the rapid beating of his heart pulsing beneath his skin.

Hopping off the table, Maera smoothed down her skirts and combed her hand through her brown and silver curls. She turned to look at the table and felt Aemond’s hand caress her rounded stomach before he pressed a firm kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering a moment before he pulled away. Maera met his gaze and smiled contently before pointing at the table.

“I hope you remember where all the Black and Green figures go, because I don’t.”

Notes: Ok so I went over my word count this chapter, sue me! But definitely after this one it’s two more chapters of Alys, I’m sick of her as well. But hey we got smut so 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #prince aemond

[lya-dustin]

Growth

Or Aemond breaks up with his mistress/friend with benefits, Lady Jena Wylde but doesn't tell her why.

Takes place in my fic, All is Bliss

Cw: abuse of power, mentions of nonconsenual sex and Aegon being show!Aegon

Thanks @emilykaldwen for the request of "I am sorry that you found out this way"

“Couldn’t you be man enough to say it to my face?” Jena took his book away to make sure she had all his attention.

Aemond had broken things off with her, he’d sent an impersonal message through the page who delivered their correspondence and with Aegon’s permission gave into his desire for his brother’s wife.

“I am sorry that you found out this way.” He apologized out of guilt of tossing Jena, his friend and former lover, out of his life like that.

Normally he wouldn’t have cared, Aemond wasn’t raised to truly care about other people’s feelings especially people his mother doesn’t like.

But Aemma cared, she didn’t like hurting others and he supposed being in her constant company had infected him with empathy.

“You could have told me, instead I am told just as Aegon tells me I am to be his new mistress.” There is no mention of her having consented.

Doesn’t surprise him one bit. Aegon never waited for a yes because it could be a no and knows mother won’t ever dare to stop him because she can’t give grandsire a perfect puppet if she corrected his most heinous habit.

Aemma had admitted she had never even been asked if she wanted to have marital relations with him when he visited her chambers.

If Rhaenyra ordered Aegon’s death when she ascends the throne it might actually be what he deserves.

“I had not expected for Aegon to do that, usually he waits longer and plies ladies with drink to get a drunken yes from them.” The one-eyed prince has never lied to Jena, made no sense to start that now. “I am sorry if this has hurt our friendship, Jen.”

“I suppose I can forgive you, your brother, is well, your brother.”Jena is taken aback by his words, surprised as he is about this new trait of his and assumed he’d misspoken earlier.

He only ever apologized to his mother, Helaena, and Criston, one or twice to Daeron and never Aegon.

“One can hope.”

“And considering how bad Aegon is in the sack, I can forgive sweet princess Aemma from stealing you away. Gods know the girl needs to have a good fuck every night to endure your family.” Harsh, but nothing she hasn’t said before. “If the gods are good, your seed will be as useless as your brother’s.”

#aemond targaryen x oc #jena mertyns wylde #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #aemma velaryon #all is bliss(in the court of aemma the great) fic

[acceleracers-baby]

The Teku & Their Cat.

You all can blame @might-be-a-potato for this one. We were talking about Bumper and then she was like… so the Teku have a cat right??? They thought of the name and everything!! Now I have brain rot beyond repair. Please enjoy the byproduct of us going feral about this last night lol!

———

Smudge

It was Kurts turn to pick up dinner. He’d been dodging the responsibility for the past week and a half due to a cold front blowing through the city. It was freezing out, and he hated having to bundle up just to stay warm. Unfortunately, if he pawned the chore off on someone else again, Karma might get involved. Which is something no one wanted to see happen.

Nolo had been talking about having some sort of soup all week, so instead of stopping by their usual burger joint, Kurt opted to visit the grocery store instead. It was the least he could do after making Nolo pick up his slack when it came to keeping the gang fed. Plus, if he made enough, they would have leftovers for the next few days and not have to worry about risking their cars on the ice. It was a win win.

Kurt was just about to start tossing the grocery bags into his passenger seat when he heard a strange noise come from under the car. He paused for a minute, listening for the sound to repeat, but when it didn’t, he continued to haphazardly toss the bags into the seat. Of course, as soon as he started moving though, he heard the sound again.

“What the…” Quickly, the driver ditched the rest of the bags onto the floor boards, and closed the door to keep whatever heat was left in the car trapped inside. After he heard the noise a third time, he groaned and crouched down next to his car to try and find the source.

He looked around for a good minute or two before his hands and feet began to go numb from the windchill. He was about to give up the search until he heard the noise one last time coming from up near his hood.

There, shaking like a leaf, was a kitten that couldn’t have been larger than his hand. It was covered in soot and grime- probably from trying to keep warm near his engine block- and it looked like it hadn’t had a decent meal in days.

With a grimace, Kurt got onto his hands and knees to fish the poor thing out from under his car. It was wet with snow, and it had to have been freezing. Especially, being as small as it was.

“Talk about an underdog.” Kurt mumbled to himself as he crawled into his car and cranked up the heat. He shed his scarf and used it to dry the poor thing off as best he could but it was soaked to the bone and still shivering awfully hard. After a few minutes of trying to warm the kitten back up, he decided that the best course of action was just stuff the thing into his jacket and hope that would keep it warm enough for them to make it back to garage.

Kurt would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about the thing crawling around while he was trying to drive but luckily it seemed that the cat was just happy to be somewhere warm again, so it didn’t around move much. Every once in a while, it would pop its head out to meow out some commentary, but that was about it did.

The garage wasn’t far, so the drive wasn’t long, and of course as soon as he pulled in and shut the door behind him, his car was swarmed with people trying to help out with the groceries.

“What took you so long? We thought you might have crashed.” Karma stated, opening his car door and pulling out a few bags.

Vert was right behind her, grabbing the remainder or the groceries and walking them over to the kitchenette.

“Yeah, dude. We were starting to get worried. Last time I saw you on ice, you had a pretty hard wipeout,” Vert loved to poke fun at him for what happened on Highway 35. It was better than the alternative he supposed.

Despite his friends concern, Kurt momentarily brushed them off in favor of finding somewhere warm to get the cat currently clinging to the inside of his jacket. On a whim, he rushed over to their makeshift laundry area and put his hand on top of the dryer. It felt like it was in the middle of a cycle, but he couldn’t tell.

“Have these been in here long?” He asked, pulling the door open.

“Yeah, they should almost be done, why?” Vert answered from the kitchen, starting to unpack the bags and lay everything out on the counter.

That was when Shirako and Nolo walked in.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Nolo snarked upon seeing a cold and wet Kurt Wylde raiding their dryer for something warm to wear.

“You’ve go no idea,” Kurt responded before finally tugging the shivering kitten out from the inside of his jacket. Using the random amalgamation of team jackets, towels, and spare blankets, Kurt made a little nest for the thing to sleep in while it warmed up by the space heater they had going.

Within seconds the whole team was gathered around the heater keeping a close eye on the kitten.

“Where’d you find a cat?” Karma finally questioned, fixing Kurt with a look.

“Under my car. I think it was trying to keep warm. Looks like it wasn’t doing a good job though. Thing was practically frozen when I found it.” He explained, wandering over to the kitchen sink to start running some warm water to clean the kitten up. Being covered in all that grime couldn’t be good for it.

“We gonna keep it?” Nolo asked from his place next to the cat. He was starting to pet the top of the blanket pile to let it know that they were still there.

“Well, we can’t just kick it back out into the cold.” Kurt answered, testing the water before putting the stopper in the drain so that the sink would start to fill. It wasn’t hot, but it was still decently warm. He didn’t want to take the chance of burning the kitten or putting it into shock.

When the sink hand enough water in it to at least fill the bottom of the basin, Kurt came back over to the heater and plucked the cat from its makeshift nest. It whined in protest, but didn’t bite or scratch, so Kurt placed it in the water.

All things considered, it took the bath like a champ. Especially with how hard Kurt had to scrub to get some of the grease out of its fur. He made sure to be careful, but some of the stains just weren’t coming out.

“Damn. These won’t come out.” Kurt remarked with a frown, wiping the kittens face dry with a washcloth. “He looks like he’s got grease smudges everywhere.”

Shirako laughed from behind him, peaking over his shoulder at the cat.

“That’s what we should call him. Smudge.” Shirako suggested, as Vert came to join them by the sink.

“Aw, man. That’s adorable!” Vert agreed, clutching at his chest comically.

After a few warm nights spent in lots of Teku beds, Smudge was able to make a full recovery. It wasn’t long until the cat broke out of its shell and started getting into lots of mischief around the garage, but at the end of the day, the Teku don’t mind.

Besides, Smudge becomes a rather fitting mascot. Particularly when the Metal Maniacs start bringing their brutish dog to races. He makes a solid edition to their little family.

——— Thanks for Reading ———

#hot wheels #acceleracers #hot wheels acceleracers #hot wheels highway 35 #acceleracers headcanons #hot wheels hcs #hot wheels fanfic #acceleracers fanfic #kurt wylde #vert wheeler #shirako takamoto #nolo pasaro #karma eiss #might be a potato this is your fault #will this become a series? #the adventures of smudge and bumper? #smudge is the type of cat to lay on your face while you sleep stg #I deleted the word catcicle from this fic if you can believe #teku

[oasis-for3v3r]

Relaxation #

Zakk Wylde x Reader

Prompt- a request for a zakk wylde x reader with all smut and minimal plot. 

A/N- Sorry for the unnanounced hiatus, I hope this makes up for it!

Warnings- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Unprotected Sex, Catholic guilt, kinda slut shaming if you squint. Sin, just pure sin. also bad grammar

Welp, you hate to say it but goddammit you were feeling needy. Again. And its not like you would ever say it out loud anyway. 

You were the type of person to be the horniest but never say shit because you thought that would make you a slut. And with your parents holding extremely traditional values, its not hard to pinpoint where you got your guilt from. You know what they say, Catholic School is the best place to send your child to if you don’t want them to become Catholic. 

Which is part of the reason why you hadn’t had sex with your boyfriend Zakk yet. Trust and believe you wanted to. But its the way you viewed sex, for the most part you found it hot. But on the other you were taught that sex was like a procedure only used for making children, its not something the women enjoyed and if you did, you were dirty and a whore for liking something so sacred to be used for your own pleasure. 

But you couldn’t help it your boyfriend was so damn fine and him playing his guitar during shows made you so damn horny. You were a grown ass woman with needs, and you wanted to relieve it so bad.

But this damn pillow wasn’t cutting it for you. You tried not to be too loud but your pussy felt so.. achy? Not in a bad way but in “if you even so much as breathe on it I will cum.” type of achy. So much that the pillow case was practically soaked by the time you were through humping it.

And you haven’t even cum yet.

You were figuring out what to do next to gain some relief when Zakk came through the door. 

Shame ran through your veins, reddening your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

You tried to do a million things at once, covering yourself, hiding the stained pillow, trying to explain the situation to Zakk. Starting and stopping your own unfinished sentences.

“I didn’t know you were coming home so soon..”

“Im so sorry about the mess..” 

“ Im really sorry Ill go and cover myself up.”

You say the last part while going to your shared bathroom, but he caught your arm gently. 

“Honey, calm down, you looked pretty hot actually” He said with.a glint in his eyes. 

“ Thank you” you tried everything to avoid looking into his eyes because if you did you would melt instantly .

“ You wanna tell me what you were thinking about darling?” His eyes were darker and more intense his hands around your hips. Making you feel safe yet wanted at the same time. 

“ I was thinking about your hips pushing into me, making me feel so full, while you hold me close and whisper dirty things into my ear.” You didn’t know what possesed you to say that but with him, every single worry and guilt had evaporated leaving you with one primal emotion. Fuckin’ Horny.

When you spoke those words, it was like you opened pandora’s box of pleasures. And Zakk was more than happy to give to you. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and patted his lap.

“Come sit right here on my lap while I finger fuck you, honey” You did as you were told, still feeling a bit sensitive after humping the pillow. And the rough demin of his jeans rubbing against your bare clit felt so good. 

He took his middle finger and swirled it around your entrance gathering your wetness. His other arm slid across your waist, keeping you from moving. He gave you a passionate kiss, before he rubbed your clit in gentle circles, ELEPHANT

The rhythm he had fingering you felt heavenly with 2 fingers in your wet tight  hole sliding in and out, with the heel of his hand continuously smacking against your clit. You were holding on to his arm that was stretched over you, muscles flexing underneath your grip.

“That feels good huh honey? Feels so nice when I finger fuck your little hole like this?” He growled into your ear.

You couldn’t answer with anything except for moans and whimpers. You couldn’t focus on anything except the erotic pleasure that Zakk was giving you.

You were just on the brink of cumming when he pulled his fingers out, leaving you clenching around air. You whined while he undressed, noticing a wet spot you left on his jeans. 

“Lay down right here, no its ok honey I know you left a wet spot, don’t worry we’ll leave a bigger one, just relax.” he comforted while putting your ankles around his neck pulling your hips to the edge of the bed so he can hit your sweet spot even deeper. 

There were no words to describe the feeling as he pounded in you, it felt so dirty yet so good at the same time. Fuck you were feeling so full and satisfied at the same time. in fact you wouldn’t mind being like this forever. Having nothing to worry about except to cum hard and where to cum. The thought of wetting his face made you shiver around him. Your bodies were almost one, when you react he reacted even harder, creating a push and pull wave effect on both of your pleasures. 

You were in constant euphoria whenever he thrusted into you. Your eyes damn near rolling back into your head. He then picked you up and began to fuck you standing up. His thrusts became sloppier and sloppier to the point that you creaming over his cock, shaking in his arms. Within a few more thrusts he became stiff and empited himself inside of you. 

You both came down from your high, with him still holding you in his arms. He looked at you with a smirk on his face. “ See what happens when you just relax?’”

#zakk wylde #zakk wylde x reader #smut #hardcore smut #80s #80s icons #punk #classic rock #fanfiction #new fanfic #gutair #My writing #My fic #x reader #stranger things

[prefer-to-be-vilified]

Hi! What are your favorite Wenclair fics?👀

I’m so glad you asked and I’m about to be so extra.

This fandom is beyond talented and I have many favourites. So I might as well make this an official Prefer-to-be-vilified Wenclair Fic Rec Masterlist… post (name could use some work but you get the idea).

I’m going to try to remember/link all my favourites but I’ll probably (definitely) forget some. And also I obviously haven’t read every Wenclair fic out there, my ‘to-read’ list is intimidatingly long and personal preferences are going to play a part in the fics I have included. But if I’ve missed some hidden gems please let me know!

Under the cut because this got long…

One-Shots/Short Chapter Fics:

the Witch & the Wyld by ohHOLYmoves - Long one-shot, Wednesday’s a witch who lives in the woods, Enid’s a werewolf stuck in her wolf form, need I say more?

Reset by Eggplant_Crusader - The OG. Probably the first fic read by a good portion of this fandom. Short, sweet, what the miscommunication trope is supposed to be.

her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest by lensbian_dykely - Long one-shot, Wednesday tells her parents that her and Enid are together without informing Enid.

What does he have that I don’t? by kofeew_milkk - Jealous Enid meets Werewolf instincts.

hello there, it’s me, the bull in the china shop by bogteats - Established Wenclair, 5+1 fic leading up to their first time.

I Think I Love You by tawen - Enid gets dosed with truth serum, Enid’s in love with Wednesday…

I Can Hear Your Heartbeat by LesbihonestGuys - Wednesday is a simp coming to terms with being in love and she’s real mad about it.

sandbox love by hanjisgirlfriend - Childhood friends falling in love.

gifts from a cat by Rennajade - Wednesday being a weirdo.

She’s my mate, Yoko! by lovely_shadow_minx - Enid realises Wednesday’s her mate and freaks out about it.

i tend to handle things usually by myself and i can’t ever seem to try and ask for help by Charlie_Balle - Wednesday’s actually allergic to colour.

The Art of Courting by Athems - Wednesday tries to court Enid but Enid thinks she’s threatening her.

Please (Just This Once) by whitebeltwriter - Wednesday trying to prevent a vision and the very emotional aftermath.

Wednesday Finds a Puppy by whitebeltwriter - Wednesday finds a random puppy in the woods and thinks it’s Enid… it’s not Enid.

Are You Going To Claim Your Prize? by wintersdume - The furs make a bet over who can get Wednesday’s number, Enid gets jealous.

It’s the Uniform, Isn’t it? by wintersdume - Enid plays baseballs, Wednesday gay panics.

Mobile Etiquette by Axinite25 - Wednesday not understanding the nuisances of teenage dating/friendship.

fuel the pyre of your enemies by heliamphoria - Wenclair meet cute while committing crimes.

Scrapped Scenes by MomochiZoey - Enid’s nosy and discovers that Wednesday’s self insert Viper now has a blonde love interest.

Premonition’s Embrace by whitebeltwriter - Wednesday has a vision that forces her to admit her feelings for Enid.

if she grabs for your hand (she might want a kiss) by ipretendtobesane - Short love confession, adorable.

Stormy Weather by SspiltDecision - Wednesday’s scared of thunder, Enid helps her.

don’t talk to me or my scary goth gf ever again by Kybee1497 - Protective (slightly feral) Enid and Xavier not taking a hint.

Complete Long Fics:

Terms of Endearment by Calchexxis - AU future fic/they didn’t meet at Nevermore, Enid goes to the Addams family for help after being kicked out of her pack for not being able to wolf-out but Wednesday’s the only one home, Wednesday has visions every time they touch about different versions of them/their ancestors throughout history, SIMPING, the worlds gayest mystery, I’ve read it several times and it always hits.

Forged in Blood by RiseAboveTheAshes_203 - Post season 1, I don’t know how to describe it other than angsty devotion, if for some insane reason you haven’t read this fic do it now.

The San Francisco Incident by Apeoflight - AU future fic/they don’t meet at Nevermore, Omegaverse, Werewolf mates, falling in love, real smutty, what’s not to love?

the nature of idiosyncrasies by bogteats - One of the fics I managed to catch early on and I was OBSESSED, AU, future fic, they weren’t friends at Nevermore but Enid had a crush, Omegaverse, their dynamic in this is to die for, angsty, smutty, a real and honest portrayal of not only Wenclair but people and love in general, read it, that was a threat, if you already have read it again.

raven in the den, wolf in the nest by Barbara_Lazuli - Canon divergence, fake dating to annoy Esther Sinclair, full honesty I read this awhile ago so I’m not 100% certain what happens but I remember enjoying it, might need to do a re-read.

black marked sun by chasinghours - AU college/university, Wednesday’s Yoko and Bianca’s roommate and Enid becomes infatuated, very cute, a little angsty but nothing crazy, shy Wednesday??? if I remember correctly, gay pining, we love to see it.

Purgatory Would Be Beautiful With You by EmilyWritesStuff - In universe, WEREWOLF MATES (aka the best Wenclair trope), fun and easy read, each chapter is like a slice of their life as mates.

Dance With Wolves by wolfwars - Fake dating BUT Wednesday doesn’t realise that it’s fake (because Enid was vague af), Enid’s pining, Wednesday’s confused, great idea and really well executed.

You Are my Moon by Bee-nut - Fake dating except Wednesday commits to the bit so hard she ends up facing off against Enid’s family aka a pack of werewolves in various dangerous challenges in order to win Enid’s hand, great idea, loved every minute of it.

Old Wounds by Sharpen_your_hatchet - Wenclair reunite years after graduation, less falling in love more realising they were always in love and coming to terms with that, sweet and easy read.

So This Is Love by LoriLoud - Unhinged Murderous Wenclair… no further explanation needed.

La Petite Mort by Apeoflight AND Wednesday’s Pet by Apeoflight - Smut, they’re both smut fics, I cannot remember which was which plot wise, but same author, they’re both really good and with a good helping of falling in love, yearning, denial of feelings, miscommunication, angst… all the good stuff.

Vortex by ALotOfConfusion - Need a refresher but childhood friends to lovers, little Wednesday wants to study werewolves and I remember enjoying it.

Puppy Love by Vaniloqu3nce - Enid’s wolf starts talking to her after recognising Wednesday as their mate, havoc follows, great read.

yours, eurydice by hanjisgirlfriend - AU, future fic, they never met at Nevermore, Wednesday’s a writer, Enid’s an actress, they live across the hall from each other, they write each other love letters and fall in love, cute af, a little angsty but not too heavy, definitely a must read.

It’s hard to espresso my feelings for you by SquishiestRose - Coffee shop AU, Wednesday works at the Weathervane and she has it BAD, the platonic Wyler this world needs, a little angsty but nothing crazy, cute, fun read.

Spell It Out by forgot_my_art - A spell gone wrong leads to both a misunderstanding and an accidental proposal… I mean it’s Wenclair, of course it did, fun read.

A raven’s dream of wolf by tokyocorgi - AU future fic/they never met at Nevermore, Wednesday’s sex dreams are also prophecy’s of her future, we love to see it.

All That’s Best of Dark and Bright by Porcie - Wednesday runs from her feelings post season 1, they reunite years later, Wednesday has a vision that forces her to stay in Enid’s life and by extension forces her to confront her feelings, they’re in love the entire time while pretending they aren’t, almost soulmate-ish, a bit angsty, but a fun read.

On-Going Long Fics:

[friendly reminder to read in-progress fic as a way to encourage and support our talented writers]

I’d Eat the Sun Just to Feel Your Warmth in my Bones by MsMio - AU college/university, I still need to catch up but ANGST, childhood friends, a very interesting take on the Addams family curse, Wednesday suffers from chronic pain, a good sad read but a hopeful one.

our immeasurable ties that bind by bogteats - Fantasy type AU, some very interesting world building, Enid wakes up pregnant with no idea who she is, where she is, or how she got there, super excited to see where this goes.

Blood and Shadows by DarkVisitors - Historical AU, western vibes, angst, horny gay yearning, a vague line in the summary that alludes to them being forced to marry at gun point but it hasn’t happened yet, I am beyond invested.

A Kidnapping By Any Other Name by RavenMoon33 - Wednesday “kidnaps” Enid to spend the break with her at the Addams Estate, I’m still catching up but Wenclair antics meets Addams Family antics, Wednesday’s having visions, there’s a mystery afoot and it’s linked to Wednesday’s ancestors. I might try to squeeze in another chapter later today actually 👀 (I didn’t read the OG so no spoilers!)

Whatever This Is… by CautiouslyPessimistic - A NEW FAKE DATING AU! In universe, takes place at Nevermore, only 2 chapters so far, but well written and I’m excited to see more.

Well… That’s Knew by Chaos_of_the_valkyries - Post season 1, Enid presents as a werewolf alpha and your honour they’re mates, protective Enid, Wednesday going soft, apparently I’ve missed the last two updates??? A crime, I will be rectifying that asap.

The Bite that Binds, the Gift that Gives by TieDyeKing - Historical Fantasy-ish AU, Wenclair arranged marriage, immediate connection but they’re being cautious/don’t trust each other, beautiful imagery/world building, an intriguing plot, Esther Sinclair being Esther Sinclair (aka causing problems), only a few chapters but one of my favourites since forever ago, in love with this fic and you should be too.

Symbiotic Relationship by SquishiestRose - AU future fic/they don’t meet at Nevermore, Enid gets kicked out of her pack and ends up desperate enough that she accepts a job working as the live in servant of a woman she’s pretty sure is going to kill her (hint: it’s just Wednesday being her normal off putting self), I’m a sucker for future fics with a very isolated and lonely Wednesday learning to fall in love and this is that.

#this just took me so fucking long to do holy shit #I had stuff to do today #worth it though #wednesday #wenclair #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #enid x wednesday #wednesday netflix #wednesday 2022 #wenclair fic #wenclair fic rec #wenclair fanfic #wenclair fanfiction #asks #ptbv

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Oh my GOSSSSSH, with every chapter I post, we get closer and closer to the end and I'm literally wriggling in my chair in excitement, like holy shit! hahaha, anyway, I so hope you enjoy this new chapter and the remaining ones to come! ENJOYYYYY <3

Chapter 101: The Merciless Queen 

“If we are to give Flea Bottom gold to build new dwellings, whose to say that the other small folk across the realm won’t decide to take arms and demand the same?” Lord Tyland Lannister, elder brother of Jason Lannister and Master of Coin argued, seated amongst the other Small Council members who seemed to be in a disarray since the slaying of their previous King, Aegon.

It had been a few days since his death, and whilst Aemond and yourself could not keep your hands off of each other, there was no denying the tension that still circled around the two of you. 

You had been coronated as Queen Consort, a short lived affair in the throne room with only the Small Council present, letters written to be sent out shortly thereafter to their supporters. There was no celebrations to be had, no drinking or dancing. It was short, brief, and most importantly, political move.

And now, all sat in wait for the more pressing question at hand.

What was to happen to the treaty?

And yet despite this question, and the sheer multitude of meetings with the council, Aemond let the unknown hover over your head like smoke, filling your lungs thickly and choking you.

When once Maester Orwyle had asked the same question, which was asked more than once a day, Aemond had barely given the man a second glance, and redirected the question elsewhere. 

In no time however, much to the urging of Otto Hightower and Lord Jasper Wylde, word would soon reach Dragonstone, and the Green Council would need to be ready for such events.

There was a very real possibility that at the knowledge of Aegon being indisposed of, and the Greens thus only having one dragon rider, may invoke the wrath and fury of all the Black’s power. 

And in this moment, they had it. 

And the council, knew it. 

There was an all encompassing feeling of dread that filled each member. The anticipation being a most poisonous thing, and at any loud noise or uncertain sound, Alicent Hightower would jump in her seat, eyes skating to the doors of the chamber they were in, or looking out the window to the skies. 

“Then see to it that they do not.” Breezed Aemond, the Conquerors Crown seated atop his head, ruby glinting in the light of the chambers.

“I do not see why we need to do so in the first place, Your Grace.” Maester Orwyle spoke, “The small folk are not in need or want, nor do they know more than what they have.”

Aemond blinked slowly, finger impatiently tapping on the table as he looked at his men and mother, the gold ring upon is finger clunking on the wooden surface.

“We have the gold, not much, but enough. As it is, their disdain for us was exaggerated by my brother and his selfish disregard for their needs." Aemond began, "I couldn’t care for what they do below in their shit and piss, but my Lady wife has spoken of the benefits of having the love of the small people, and we are in dire need of support.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling the eyes of all the Lords at the table, and the ever present scowl of Alicent Hightower directed at you. Swallowing, you licked your lips, fingers finding your council sphere and spinning it in its dish.

“My mother is loved by the small folk, as was I,” Before they dubbed me the Merciless, “‘The Realms Delight', they named her, most beloved and fair, much the same for my sweet aunt Helaena."

You paused, letting your gaze stop on Alicent, "Where as when they think of the King, they have little good things to say. Two Kinslayers on the throne would no doubt further press their disdain." You turned back to Aemond, "The support of the common folk is important when ruling, it makes things easier, and if the time comes, they will take up arms to support your cause.”

Larys Strong’s voice carried across the table, his high lilt directed at you. His hands were crossed over the top of his cane delicately between his knees at the table, “My spiders have told me that there are ample supporters of your rule, Your Grace.”

You scoffed, “Supporters of the Faith perhaps, or the whispers of the old militant sect even, but that support lies with Alicent, and they would surely have issue with mine and Aemond's union, as is our tradition as Targaryens, and also the very issue of us both being Kinslayers," You looked to Alicent, "Which we are very much reminded of. But the small folk, the true small folk who live in poverty, where sickness and disease is ripe, have no positive feelings of loyalty towards a King who does not see them and gorges upon riches unimaginable. My father took to the streets and killed every rapist and murderer in Flea Bottom, punished thieves and crooks, and the small people felt safer.”

“They were scared out of their wits.” Otto sighed, “The small people need nothing but the clothes on their backs. Simple minds think not of extravagant pleasures.”

Anger rolled through you, “Having proper housing and not living in the streets is not an extravagant pleasure. I would say it is a right for them to live freely and happily, to pursue their desires and passions.”

Jasper Wylde placed his long fingers upon the sphere, several gold and silver rings adorning the digits, “The Queen makes a point, Your Grace. King Jaehaerys was loved by the small folk for his benevolence, and the actions of Maegor the Cruel brought him nothing but trouble. Perhaps the spending of a few Gold Dragons on Flea Bottom’s worse affected slums could bring you support, especially now that the treaty is in question.”

Lord Jasper Wylde, Master of Laws, opened the conversation for the treaty to be discussed. 

Again.

All eyes were now on Aemond, who sat stiffly in his chair, one elbow upon the armrest, the other still tapping against the table.

“Has word reached Dragonstone?” Aemond questioned Larys, noncommittally. 

The brunette leant forward, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, “As it were, a spider intercepted an attempt to alert them. Though I have no doubt they will receive word by the morrow.”

The King hummed.

“Will the treaty be renewed, Your Grace?" Maester Orwyle began, eyes flicking to you, then back to the King, "I believe it to be prudent that we do so. As it were, we are outnumbered in dragons. You are but the lone rider here at the Keep.” You narrowed your eyes at Maester Orwyle, “Perhaps if we sent word and new terms, Rhaenyra will be-“

“-No.” Aemond’s word cut through the air like a knife. Crisp. Icy.

Final.

“No?” Otto questioned, “The realm will fall to war again if-“

Your heart beat against your chest like a drum, iciness spreading across your skin and at the base of your skull.

No.

“What do you mean, no?” You breathed.

Aemond did not turn to face you.

You snapped, “If you do not sign a treaty, they will come for you, Aemond. My mother and father will come to claim what is theirs.”

The King’s nostrils flared, “Let them. I ride the largest dragon in the world. If my half-sister wishes to declare war at the risk of your safety, then it shall be your blood upon her hands, not mine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“My blood?”

Aemond did not even turn to face you.

Your hands slammed against the table, and you shot out of your chair, leaning towards your husband as you sneered, "Have you learnt nothing? You are blinded by your hatred. You will be our ruin, not Aegon.”

Aemond breathed sharply, eye solely on you as he spoke to the table, “Send coin to Flea Bottom. Hire masons and workers, or let the small folk build it themselves.” He looked to his men before finishing, “Clear the chambers.” He commanded the room, and all Lords and Lady Alicent, stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, leaving Aemond with an enraged wife.

“Are you to doom us all with your stubbornness? Have you gone mad?” You growled, “Your thirst for the throne will kill us, Aemond. My mother and father are not to be trifled with. My brother and sisters are not to be trifled with. Do you think that we will survive this?”

Aemond simply stared at you, hand still on the table tapping, whilst the other gripped the arm of the chair fiercely, knuckles white.

“Is it your true desire to have another war? Or is this a foolish little boys dream?” You said in disbelief, looking down at him from your standing position, hands still flat against the table to ground you, “I barely survived the last one, and yet you wish to play games with my mother and father? With my life? Do you know what they will do to you? What they could do to you? You would be dead before you even reached the skies.” You sneered.

The King’s lips pulled into a thin line, brows furrowed as he looked at you, barely contained anger burning behind the violet of his eye.

“They would not do it if it meant jeopardising your life.”

You flinched backwards, as though he had hit you, curling your hands into fists at your sides as you tried to steady your breathing, but panic coursed through your veins, and your throat grew tighter with each passing second.

"Is that a threat?”

Aemond frowned at you, the lines in forehead pulling the crown down in the slightest of movements. It was as though he was offended by your question, and though you had questioned every natural fibre of his being. 

“You think I would harm you? After all that has happened? After all I have done for you?” His voice became raised, anger leaking into each syllable. 

You scoffed, “You just said that them acting would put me at risk. What will you do? Have Ser Cole at my side, sword ready to cast against my neck or plunge into my heart?” 

Aemond leant forward and sneered, “Do you truly think so lowly of me? I did this for you! I love you!”

“Then do this for me, too! Renew the treaty, Aemond.”

“I can’t do that.” He breathed.

The backs of your calves hit the edge of the chair as you leant back, looking at your uncle from down your nose, “You can. But you won’t.”

Aemond did not respond.

“Sign the treaty.” You said more sternly, anger causing the words to come out harsh, and biting.

The King's broad chest rose and fell in his robes shallowly, his one eye watching you as his hands flexed upon the table.

“Why do you wish to sign a treaty with them? After all they have done?” Aemond growled.

After all they had done?

“They cast you aside! Abandoned you here to be tormented by Aegon.” Aemond continued, voice rising.

“They did not abandon me!” You snapped, hurt and betrayal causing tears to prick in your eyes.

“Oh? But they knew what would happen to you once you were wed to me. They let you be raped. You were sold to me like a brood mare.”

“And who did those things to me?!” You screamed, a tear falling down your cheek, “Who, Aemond? Who raped me? Who defiled me? Who scarred me? Because it wasn’t them.”

Aemond’s anger seemed to bleed out of him as he looked at you.

You pushed the chair backwards hard with a kick of your foot, sending the high-backed wooden seat to crash against the stones loudly, “You raped me. You hurt me. You did that. Not them. You! You act as though you’re innocent in all of this!”

“I don’t-“

“-I will not survive another war.”

The anger was back.

Aemond’s lips curled in disgust, “You expect me to bend the knee to your mother? The very woman who wished to punish me after her son took my eye?”

Your face fell, “No.” You declared, “I expect you to give the treaty a chance. Countless lives will be lost if you start another war, Aemond. Needless blood will be shed. Could you live with yourself knowing this?”

“Yes.”

The answer came so quickly, that it seemed that Aemond had not even needed to give it a second thought. As though he had already weighed all possibilities against each other, as though he had measured the odds.

And still, he had said yes.

You swallowed thickly, wishing the damn lump to leave your throat. And so quietly, you asked a question which clawed at you from the back of you mind. A question of doubt. Of fear. Of another ‘what if’ that you had to bat away with a swift blink of your eye.

“Even if it is mine?”

It was an uncomfortable sort of silence, and this time, Aemond did not answer straight away. Not like how he had a moment before. As though he had not weighed up this question in his mind yet, or perhaps he had, and had come to no conclusion. You watched his face as he stared at you, his seeing eye flickering across your face as a finger twirled the ring upon his hand.

“I will not lose you." He began, making a move towards you, "But I will not bend a knee to Rhaenyra, and kiss her old cunny for the sake of peace.”

His tone was final, he had hissed your mothers name like a curse, and there was no changing his mind. No shifting of the tide that had been steadily building for months now, a tide which had moved away from the shore, sucking the water and life away from the beach, revealing the jagged rocks that were hidden beneath.

You blinked again, another tear falling down your cheek.

Your uncle continued, “And if it need come to war, then so it shall be.”

It was so point of fact. 

So emotionless.

Toneless. 

Void of anything other than finality. 

War was to come.

And there would be no changing that.

“But,” Aemond’s voice startled you from your thoughts, your eyes racing over his face, “You are Queen now. My Queen. Something that is and was always your birthright.”

“Like my mothers.” You sneered.

Aemond ignored your comment and continued, “And you, as Rhaenyra’s heir shall sit the Iron Throne in her place. And then, when the time comes, our heir shall follow."

It was clear to you then, that Aemond had thought on this.

"If Rhaenyra’s concern for succession is blood, then she can be satiated in knowing that the daughter she denied shall sit where she is owed by her birthright.”

You stepped towards him, hands clenching and unclenching, “Aemond, please. Think about this. You are asking me to depose my mother.”

“I ask nothing of you. I am telling you, zaldritsos. I will not have you be pushed aside again for your bastard brother. I will not bend the knee to my half-sister. This throne is ours. It is ours by birthright. And I will be damned if I let anyone take you away from me again."

The air in the chambers shifted, and you inched towards your husband as he continued to speak.

"Do you think that if I bent the knee to them, that your father would let you stay wed to me? Think on it a moment, Y/n. Do you think that your mother would let you stay wed to a monster? The man who killed her son? They will take you from me."

You stepped away from him, turning your back as your mind raced a as you looked around the chambers, eyes casting out the veranda at the clouded skies. Dread settled in your gut.

You didn't want to be parted from him.

You loved him.

The air was charged as you spoke, voice shaking, “So what now? Are you to send word to them?”

Aemond stood behind you, the chair scraping against the stone floors.

“I will be sending Otto and Ser Cole to Dragonstone as envoys to give word to Rhaenyra and Daemon. They will be told that their blood sits upon the Iron Throne as Queen. They will be allowed to live where they do. My half-sister can have Dragonstone, I have no need for it when I have Kings Landing and you. And they will bend the knee.”

You shook your head, still not turning to face him, “You should know that they will not.”

“Not if you don’t encourage them.”

Your eyes widened as you spun on your heel to look at him.

He was deathly serious.

“You wish for me to ask them to bend the knee to you?” You laughed.

Aemond frowned, “A letter from the Queen is a hard one to refuse. Especially if the Queen is their own daughter. Tell them of the fears that you have. That war will break if they do not swear me as their King and you as their Queen. They can remain on Dragonstone, and you shall remain here, with me. Where you belong.” 

He seemed so sure that it would work. So sure that a simple letter from you would bring the water back to shore. But the tide was gone from your reach, and you were anchored on the coast atop a beached ship with no way to get off. 

Aemond stepped forward, cupping the side of your face gently as he looked at you, "They will listen to you.”

You grasped his wrist tightly, “I am not so sure.” Your voice was quiet, so fragile, like the finest of glass from Essos. One octave higher, one shift against your throat could cause them to crack or break.

If you did this, you would be betraying them.

You would be deposing your mother.

Aemond pulled you into a reassuring kiss, one he poured love and adoration into as he cupped your face in his hands. When he pulled back, his eye roamed your face softly, “I do not wish to see bloodshed, nor do I wish to see you harmed. This is the only way, surely you can see that."

And you did.

You did see that.

You saw it all clearly.

Your husband pressed another kiss against the top of your hairline, your eyes sliding shut as you breathed through your nose, preparing yourself for what you had to do.

"I trust that my Queen will know what to do.”

And you did.

You knew what you had to do.

And so with a short nod, you agreed to his terms.

“I will have Otto deliver your letter by hand.”

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[helaelaemond]

Before The Storm - Aemond x sister!reader

Pairing: Aemond x sister!reader

Word count: 3.6k

this was the second winner in this poll / osferth fic that also won the poll

Summary: Alicent and Otto have decided that Aemond will be used to broker an alliance with House Baratheon. As the only unwed adult child of Viserys, First of His Name, a betrothal with Aemond One-Eye is a commodity bound to secure alliances for the wars to come. Fuck the wars to come, though.

Aegon might be your husband and king, but it is Aemond that belongs to you.

Oral sex (male receiving, female receiving), penetrative sex, elements of possessiveness, jealousy, canon-typical incest, slightly nasty sex, little brother isn't so little anymore

Content warning(s): mentions of child marriage/rape (very brief), brief mentions of Lucerys' death

Rating: E

Tag list: @sylasthegrim / @arcielee / @myfandomprompts / sorry I forget who might want to be included

You keep your head down as the Small Council leaves the meeting chamber. Past you walks Lannister and Wylde and Orwyle. Beesbury is dead. Cole killed him, everyone knows it, but Mother protects him. And he protects you, you know. When Meleys had erupted from the depths of the dragonpit, he had shielded you with his body and had been ready to sacrifice his life for yours. He can be a cruel man, but he loves you. Just like Grandfather.

Just like Aemond.

The men in your life are not good. But they love you. Selfish though it is, that's enough for now.

You enter the chamber and find your brothers there, your mother and grandfather, too. Ser Criston keeps his place behind the queen. The dowager queen, that is.

"My dear, sit down," Grandfather says quietly. You take Orwyle's seat opposite Mother. It's strange to see Aegon at the head of the table now. At least he doesn't wear the crown now - it had looked so strange on him.

Aegon and Mother are talking. "... matter which, so long as it's one of them. Let him choose."

Alicent frowns. "It should be the eldest, as is tradition."

Aegon smirks. "And what if the youngest is prettiest?"

"The youngest is but thirteen-"

"Plenty of girls are ready for marriage at thirteen."

"Don't be obscene."

Aegon laughs, and shrugs. "My own wife was not much older."

Aemond taps his finger slowly on the wood of the table. You look at his long hand, his elegant digits, and it gives you butterflies. He hasn't touched you since the coronation, but he's looked. Gods, he's looked.

You slip into the seat next to Grandfather as he watches them talk. Opposite you, Aemond avoids your gaze.

"It should be the eldest," Grandfather agrees. You don't look at anyone but your younger brother, but you listen closely.

"But what if he doesn't like her face?"

"Her face is of no consequence; it's her father's forces we want, as you well know, Your Grace." The sarcasm with which Otto spoke the last phrase is lost on no one at the table. Aegon's expression sours.

"I suppose he can always fuck her from behind if she's ugly," he says spitefully.

Alicent looks down at her lap in despair. "Gods, Aegon."

You stare at Aemond. Understanding what they're talking about makes you want to shrink into nothing, to disappear between the cracks in the floor. Aemond is to have a wife. A wife.

"When do you wish for me to go?" Aemond speaks at last. He looks at Aegon with his own good eye, his expression blank.

"Tomorrow will do." Some of the bravado leaves the king when he shares a gaze with his little brother. "Take Vhagar, not a ship. She speaks louder than any of us."

Aemond nods stiffly. He looks between Grandfather and Mother. "Aegon will have Storm's End, and I will have this girl."

The smile that your brother gives Aemond is more genuine now. When he is truly happy, Aegon is quite pretty. It's a shame he refuses to find happiness, then, for the most part. Perhaps his Flea Bottom girls get to see that smile more than you. "Thank you, Aemond. Truly."

He's punishing you, you think. Your spiteful, inattentive husband is punishing you for finding your own happiness.

No one in the chamber has paid you any mind yet, but when you stand up and the chair loudly scrapes against the stone, all gazes are on you. The pressure of it makes your cheeks flush. Say something. Anything.

"Congratulations, brother," you say stiffly. Not that. "I wish you luck in the wars to come."

You sweep out of the council chamber as quickly as you arrived. Only Grandfather calls your name, but you ignore him. Panic swells in your chest. Only when you arrive back in your chambers od you allow yourself to cry.

"Sister?"

There is a secret passage that connects your rooms to the maze of corridors hidden in Maegor's Holdfast, and over the years, you and Aemond have learned it well. Through a concealed door behind a bookcase, he peeks now.

You sit cross-legged in your windowseat as you look across the city beyond the castle walls. A hundred thousand lights flicker under the night sky, orange against the ink of night. Atop the Hill of Rhaenys, the dragonpit looms mighty and foreboding. Your dragon is in there with Aegon's. Vhagar makes her lair on the coast, or in the Kingswood. She comes and goes as she pleases without restraint.

Aemond walks closer to you.

You wonder where Vhagar is tonight.

"You cannot ignore me forever."

"Why not?" you ask quietly. Don't look at him. Don't cave. "You're to have a wife soon. She will give you all I cannot."

Aemond's long strides bring him to your side in an instant, and he kneels before you. Taking the patch off his eye, sapphire and purple bear into you, you can feel it. It makes your skin prickle. "You give me everything."

"Not everything. I do not give you my hand. I do not give you children."

"We don't know that," he murmurs. "The babe in the cradle may be mine, we do not know."

You sigh. "That's the first time you've admitted that in so many words."

"Perhaps tonight is a time for firsts."

You snort. "Like proposals?"

"I begged Mother, the day she betrothed you to Aegon, to let it be me." He squeezes your hand. "I begged her, and Father, to let us wait until I was older so that I could marry you. You know this."

"You didn't try hard enough."

He kisses the back of your hand, your fingers. "I know. I know. Forgive me, sister. Please, please."

You pull your hand out of his and stand up, flitting over to another window and out of his grasp. He rises to his feet and watches you. He licks his lips and glances down in shame.

"Everything will change, Aemond."

"No. No, it won't."

You hug your arms around yourself. "It will. You'll have a wife." Anger suddenly boils in you. "A fucking wife! And what will I be then? You'll set me aside for some Westerosi bride who will give you trueborn heirs and her father's army and-"

Long strides bring him back to you and he takes your face into his hands. He forces you to look at him. The sapphire glints in the light of the fire. Shadows make his scar even deeper, rawer. "Look at me, sister."

All air has gone from you. You're powerless under him. Your eyes meet his.

"I'm yours, and you're mine. I will never love another as I love you."

"You don't know that, Aemond."

"Only a Targaryen can love a Targaryen." His voice is rich and warm, heat simmering beneath the surface. "That I know."

"For now."

He wraps his arms around you possessively and pins your body to his. He is tall and lean and strong against the softness of your curves. He has his place against you. "Forever.'

"You will swear yourself to a stranger and you will bed her, too. I will have to share you."

"As I share you now," he practically growls.

"That's not fair," you protest. But then his hand is in your hair and pulling it to turn your head to the side. His lips press against the slope of your neck and you bite back a sigh.

"No, it's not fair. Our brother gets to bed you and hold you and kiss you without worry."

"And I hate him for it."

Aemond gently bites over your pulse. "As do I."

"Perhaps when you bring your bride here, you can give her to him as a distraction while you have me."

He moves his lips to your ear and darts his tongue inside to make your knees weak. "You want that? Your husband to give my wife his bastards while I give you mine?"

Your fingers dig into his shoulders. He won't have you that easily. "Is that all I am to you? Some mare in heat for you to breed?"

When Aemond pushes you against the stone wall, you grip his sharp jaw and press until his lips open. When you spit into his mouth, he swallows gratefully. "You're everything to me," he groans. "Do that again."

"Aemond."

"Yes, sweet sister?"

"When you marry her, and when you fuck her, think of me."

His jaw is slack when your hand moves to his throat. "No."

You tighten your fingers slightly. "No?"

"I won't debase you like that."

A small noise comes from your nose that is close to a moan. You fumble with the buckles on his leather jerkin while he pushes your heavy dressing gown off. Underneath, you wear only a linen shift, thin enough for him to see your nipples peak. Since your children have come, your body has been much softer, wider and suppler, than before. You wondered, once, if he would desire you less now there is more of you. But it was nothing to worry about; as the years have gone by, Aemond's need for you has grown more and more desperate.

An addiction.

Before you can even push the leather off him, his hands are clutching you. He runs them up and down your back as he kisses you. His lips and tongue are wet and needy, coating yours with his taste. The pressure of his tongue against yours always makes you dizzy, and when it fills your mouth, you cling onto his waist.

"No one compares to you," Aemond whispers against your mouth. You swallow his moans gratefully.

"I want you to fuck me even when you're married."

The words are mumbled against his kisses, but he hears enough to understand. Letting you go only for a moment, he turns you to press your front to the stone wall, and he traps you against it with his body. Strong hands find yours, and he covers them as he pins them either side of your head. Trapped, all you can do is drop your head back against his shoulder.

"I'll never stop," he promises against your ear. Sharp teeth bite it, and familiar lips press below it. "I can't."

"Good."

"Keep your hands there," he tells you.

You're tempted to disobey him, but you don't want him to stop. His touches are firm down your sides, and when you lean back against him, he presses his hands between your chest and the wall. Aemond grasps your breasts and squeezes them, rolling them in his hands. Between his fingers, your nipples are caught, and the stimulation sends bolts of pleasure between your thighs.

"This is mine," he whispers. His long nose runs up the side of your neck and into your hair. It's so like his, almost silver. The blood of the dragon runs thick. It's in you, and it's in him.

Baratheon blood will not come between you.

"And what is mine?" you ask breathlessly.

Aemond groans softly. He slips so easily into High Valyrian, and the words roll off his tongue naturally. "Mirre yno, mandia. Qogralbar, mirre yno." All of me, sister. Fucking all of me.

"Pār ivestragī nyke emagon jemome, lēkia." Then let me have all of you, brother.

Hearing you speak the tongue of your ancestors always makes him hard. When you were younger and in the same lessons, it had made him blush, and sometimes he had to excuse himself when you practised - especially when you got fluent. How few things change. Except this time, he doesn't leave. This time, he moans out loud.

You turn around and force him against the wall this time. His jacket hangs open, and you fumble with the laces of his breeches. Inside, you find his familiar warmth. "Issi ao qopsa syt nyke?" Are you hard for me?

Aemond drops his chin, pleasure washing over his face. "You don't have to do that."

"Let me," you plead. "You never let me."

"You're worth more than this."

"Jaelan naejot sylutegon ao, ñuha jorrāelagon. Kostilus?" I want to taste you, my love. Please?

"Qrugh." Shit.

And then Aemond's hand is in your hair, and he's guiding your head closer, and you sink to your knees worshipfully. His cock is so pretty, you think. Pink and flushed, a thick vein running up the underside. You trace it with your tongue, a feather-light touch that has him tilting his head to the side. He doesn't let you suck his cock often. Sometimes, you practice on the wooden cock he gave you on your nineteenth nameday. It has a sapphire buried in the hilt.

"Ah, mandia." Ah, sister.

You wrap your hand around the base of him to hold him steady, and your lips seal around the tip. You swirl your tongue around his head; it's impossible to hold back the moan at the back of your throat when you taste the salt of his skin, smell the musk of his body. Tomorrow, a stranger will have claim to this part of Aemond. But for tonight, he's all yours. You suckle on the head and it earns you praise from your little brother.

Not so little anymore.

The taste of him fills your mouth. Your hand strokes his length and you remove your mouth only to gently pull back his foreskin. The tip of his cock is flushed and shining. Looking up at him, you press the flat of your tongue against his slit. His one good eye rolls back.

"Gods, sister."

"Gaomagon ao hae bona, Aemond?" you ask coyly. Do you like that? You kiss down his length, and press him against your cheek in careful slaps. His cock jumps in your hand, and you smile.

When your mouth takes in his balls, he groans and his head drops back against the wall. You stroke him as you suck him, setting a rhythm that he ends up matching with his hips. It's beautiful, the way Aemond lets go with you, how he trusts you. In his most intimate moments, it's you he needs.

"Sister, stop, stop, I'm-"

You release his balls from your mouth, heavy and wet, and look up at him with shining eyes. Gripping the base of his cock, you watch him as he pants and his face constricts. "Come on my face," you tell him with a heavy gaze. "Show me you own me."

He shakes his head. "I can't."

He thinks it's dirty and debasing, he's told you before. But you want his filth tonight. "Please," you beg shamelessly. "I want it, brother. Please, give me your seed."

His cock twitches in your hand. His body wants it so bad, you can tell. The muscles in his stomach are so tense, and his breathing is laboured. He's fighting it.

"I want it so bad," you whimper. You kiss his flushed head, and you lick the seed that has already leaked there. "Please. Please?"

"Sister," he groans.

You're wet between your legs just from sucking him. It's such a treat to be allowed this that you don't know how to be sensible anymore. Suddenly, you kneel up and pull off your shift. You spit on his cock, and with one hand you hold his base hard to stop him from finishing, and with your other you coat him. He's wet, now, when you press him between your bare breasts. Your fingers catch your nipples as you hold yourself, and you open your mouth to lick his tip.

"Oh, gods," he swears. "Fuck, I'm- I'm-! Sister, I'm-!"

He gives you what you want. As he fucks your breasts, he comes with a strangled cry of your name. Seed shoots from him in hot spurts and it splatters across your chin and nose and chest, some sticking to your hair. He paints you, and it makes you feel drunk on love, on power. This is magic of the old freehold, the blood of the empire. He's your god, and you're his queen.

Aemond is still shaking from his orgasm when he falls to his knees and claims your lips in a deep kiss. His seed is passed between your lips and tongues, rubbed into your noses and cheeks. He tastes slightly sweet under the salt, warm and familiar. You fucking love it.

His trousers are still around his knees when he lies on the flagstone floor and pulls you atop him. Now this is a treat that is often indulged - where he is hesitant to let you use your mouth, he is desperate to use his own. He wastes no time in pulling you to sit astride his face. Your knees are either side of his ears, and your thighs are his crown. Whilst his mouth takes care of your cunt, his hands never remain still. When he kneads your breasts, you lean back and brace your hands back on his thighs. He moans so prettily between your legs. You like it best when he licks and sucks on your wet folds but holds his head still enough for you to find a rhythm on his nose.

His perfect nose.

Aemond can barely breathe under you. It's his heaven. You grind down as his lips carefully pull on your folds and his tongue swipes between them, devouring you. His nose catches your clit with well-practiced movements. Long fingers play with your nipples, and it makes you crash around him. Your whole body shakes as you come, the silence of your open mouth scarcely hiding from Aemond how hard he's had you.

After, you undress him and push him onto the bed you've shared with him countless nights before. He fucks you hard. He starts behind you, pounding into you relentlessly, but it's not enough. Aemond likes to watch your face. So then, he pulls your legs to the end of the bed while he stands and fucks you with a hand around your throat. His seed is still on your face and in your hair. In a moment of depravity, he catches flakes of it dried on your skin between his teeth and lets them dissolve on his tongue.

But tonight is about you, too. About reminding him that his wife be damned, he's yours. Aemond Targaryen is your love, your property. And so you pull him on his back and settle on top of him.

"You belong to me," you tell him in a low voice. His cock is red and pulsing as you grind it between your cunt lips. His fingers dig into your sides. "You'll always be mine."

"I swear it. Yours. Please, sister. Be good to me."

When you grind up his stomach and reach behind to hold him in place, he groans again. You hold each other's gaze as you guide him back inside you.

Your heart leaps every time he slots into you like this. It's the one true place that is home. "I'll always be good to you, Aemond."

And then you fuck him, hard. He pulls on your hair and you slap his face, and he drags his nails down your back and you suck on his neck until bruises flower. Proof of your ownership. Proof he's yours.

His high collar will hide it tomorrow, until he undresses. Then his Baratheon wife will see. Perhaps she won't understand, though, if she's a maiden with her virtue. She'll learn soon enough, though.

Only a Targaryen can love a Targaryen.

Neither of you even think about stopping to let Aemond pull out. When he quietly whines your name and his stomach tightens and his chest turns red, you encourage him and chase him into oblivion. He finishes inside you, and you feel his spend fill you. With his cock in you and his fingers pressing hard against your clit, you follow quickly.

You see stars, you see fire, you see storms. You see him.

You collapse onto his chest and sink into a state of nothingness.

After a while. the feeling of him returns. He's soft inside you now, keeping himself warm in the depths of you. His hands are stroking patterns on your back, and his cheek is against yours. You can feel his spend leaking from you. No, you think. Stay inside me, give me his child.

"Stay," you murmur quietly. "I command it."

"I will stay until dawn, if you'll have me." Aemond kisses your cheek.

You nod. With a wince, you carefully lift your hips and he slips out with a wet noise. When you roll off him, his strong arms stop you from going too far, and he hugs you close to him.

"Nothing will change," he whispers after a moment of peaceful quiet. He rests your foreheads together. This close, it's impossible for you to see him properly. All you can really see is the blurry glitter of the sapphire.

"Everything will change, Aemond."

"No," he insists. Sleep is coming for him "I would sooner have a dead wife than one who stops me from loving you."

"Do not jest."

He kisses you sweetly. "It's no jest. You are my priority, always. I will take a wife, yes, but she will never come close to you."

"That does not mean you should joke about killing her."

"It is no joke, sister. If she tries to come between us, she will die."

When Aemond leaves the next morning, Aegon is proud, and Grandfather is hopeful. Even Mother smiles. Only you watch with a blank stare.

When he returns, it is not news of a dead wife he brings you. No wife at all, actually, but a dead nephew.

You have to hide your smile. It is a fair exchange.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #mine

[goldenheart-supremacy]

Nimona AU - How to train your Dragon

@kestrel-wylde I kinda went nuts here...

During a dragon raid, the chief of Berk, Valerin's husband died.

They were both alternating battling dragons and helping their people.

When Valerin found her dead husband's body, she saw that he'd been burned badly.

Then she found that the reason his arms were tucked into himself was because he had been doing his best to protect a small bundle in his arms.

It was a baby. Since his parents seemed to have died in the raid as well, Valerin had decided to take the child under her care and adopted him since she and her husband haven't the chance to conceive yet.

Time skip to the future.

Ballister was an only child to his biological parents but if he ever did have siblings, he would've been considered the 'runt of the litter', as he didn't seem as well built for a Viking child his age.

At least, compared to the other Viking children his age.

Maybe Valerin and Ballister has a better relationship than Stoick and Hiccup did in the start of this AU story.

The conflict for Ballister is getting the village to accept his as the chiefess's scion and future chief.

Maybe when Ballister finds out and starts training Nimona, his reason for wanting to keep the secret is as to not make his reputation worse. [I don't know yet how he ends up injuring her like Hiccup did Toothless in the movie]

I just added my OCs for more character dynamics, like the original team had in the movie but feel free to use them or not or make your own OPs for the AU hahaha 😆

Some dialogue ideas...

Ballister, voiceover as a narrator: [Tomorrow, when training begins, I'm going to prove myself and show that I can stand at par with the others. Aerin Shieldstone, Connor Silverlock, Todd Sureblade, Abigail Swiftfeet, Atticus Valorarm and...]

Ambrosius was running away from some dragons, and he jumped over some barrels as a Zippleback launched a fireball at him.

Ballister, in a dreamily way: [... Ambrosius...]

Avoiding the impact of the blast, Ambrosius used the remaining leverage from jumping over the barrels to backflip away and ended up landing unto Ballister's arms...

Ambrosius, grinning: Good looking out, Bal.

Ambrosius pinches Ballister's cheek affectionately before leaping out of his arms, grabbing his axe and a bucket to see if there's anywhere else he needs to be...

Ambrosius: Look alive, Bal! Let's get rid of these beasts! Ballister, grabbing a sword: Right behind you, Ambs!

Trainer: Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight! The Deadly Nadder! Atticus, mumbling: Speed: eight; Armor: sixteen. Trainer: The Hideous Zippleback! Atticus: Plus eleven stealth times two. Trainer: ...The Monstrous Nightmare! Atticus: Firepower: fifteen. Trainer: The Terrible Terror! Atticus: Attack: eight; Venom: twelve! Trainer: CAN YOU STOP THAT?! Trainer, sighing: And the Gronkle. Atticus, more quietly: Jaw strength: eight. Connor, smirking: Someone's done some advanced reading... Ambrosius, chuckling: Only about a lot, too Atticus, smiling sheepishly: I read the book seven times. Ambrosius and Connor: Wow.

During training with the Gronkle to avoid getting hit...

Aerin, keeping his eyes on the Gronkle's location: Todd, keeping his eyes on Aerin: So, I moved to my parent's basement. Todd: Got some weights in there, you should come over some time to work out. Aerin, barrel rolls away: Todd, calling out to him: You look like you work out!

Then, the Gronkle hits a shot on the spot Todd was standing at...

Aerin and Connor - my OCs, besties Atticus and Abigail - OCs I remembered reading from your fic 'Love At First Fight', I just gave Atticus a temporary last name. Unless, you know, @kestrel-wylde wants to make it final haha I didn't write Abigal yet since I don't know much how to write the character. Atticus is based off the otter knight from the movie, so I kinda headcanon him as someone nerdy with animal facts, so I made him like Fishlegs here.

Edit: Please check out Kestrel's Httyd Nimona AU art!

#Nimona #Nimona AU #Httyd AU #Ballister Boldheart #Queen Valerin #or is it Chiefess Valerin now? #Ambrosius Goldenloin #Todd Sureblade #Nimona OCs #Aerin Shieldstone #Connor Silverlock #Abigal Swiftfeet #Atticus Valorarm

[emilykaldwen]

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

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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

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Author's Note: After a lot of encouragement, I will be posting chapters in their entirety here and on AO3. Many many huge thanks to @acrossthesestars for being my co-pilot, and for holding my hand through writing this story. Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and commented. Your words mean the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE - THE WEIGHT THAT BROUGHT US HERE

Alicent watched the lords of the council settle into their seats, placing their markers in the proper place. Lord Tyland Lannister took his seat at the opposite end of the magnificent table, Lord Lyman Beesbury to his right. Maester Mellos and then Lord Larys at her own left hand. Jasper Wylde sat beside her father’s usual place at the right hand. The power of the realm all concentrated right in this room. They prayed to the Crone for guidance and wisdom at the beginning of every meeting, a practice that had thankfully not reached the ears of the king, as he’d been cloistered in his rooms since his illness had taken more of his body. It was one thing to allow her Faith to grace their dinner table. It was a whole other to have the Faith find its place at the Small Council. While his signature still graced the decrees, and his decisions still paramount for he was the King, Viserys had left the dealings of the realm to them. It was for the best - Viserys’ mind was giving way to his illness and the less seen, the better. Alicent didn’t know what she preferred: her husband demeaning her and neglecting her children, or him calling her Aemma when she came to care for him at night.

She grazed her fingers over the polished black marble ball in front of her as Maester Mellos began rattling off the never ending fighting between the Brackens and Blackwoods that not even the Father bearing down from the heavens himself could stop. They continued to tear themselves apart as if they would win all the gold in Casterly Rock for the longest, most ridiculous spat that the Tullys were no longer capable of handling. Sometimes she wished she could just drag charcoal lines along the map, piece off the floodplains to the north and the west and the mountains, let the other kingdoms take their pieces.

“Begs the question if perhaps it isn’t time to elect a new Lord Paramount to bring them to heel,” Lord Wylde harrumphed in his self-important way. The man was well and agreeable enough, Alicent thought, but every time he spoke, she missed Lyonel Strong. None of his proposals contained this ‘begging the question’ sort of nonsense, and none of Wylde’s attempts had any of the late Lord Strong’s well thought out solutions and easy friendliness.

“Unless grievous injustice is done, we cannot normally strip the title of Lord Paramount, but their inability to bring either house to heel since given the title is threatening the stability of the realm. Blackwoods own more land than the Tullys, and now we have reports they’ve gone undermining one another’s orchards, and putting others at risk.” Jasper turned his gaze to Larys, who had not spoken since the prayer. “Strong, your holding is Harrenhal. What do you have to say about this matter?”

Larys’ manner did not fool Alicent, but it worked wonders, as always, on Jasper. “This quarrel of theirs has lasted as long as the dynasty and longer still. King Jaehaerys brokered peace, and we cannot ascertain what sparked it again.” From the nervous licking of his lips to the fidgeting of his hands, he was a master at seeming far less dangerous than he truly was. “You might seek instead the opinion of my dearest uncle Simon. He is the castellan and knows both it and the Riverlands far better than I do, as I’ve been here during most of this recent infighting. ”

Wylde humphed, twitching his nose in such a way that his bushy mustache reminded Alicent of a walrus she’d seen at Driftmark. She dug her nails into her palm to hold back her laugh. “Should we offer the Tullys more incentive?” Wylde blustered, reaching for a solution that he could take credit for.

“Incentive for not letting their bannerman destroy harvests?” Tyland Lannister snorted, reclined in his chair as if he were the one running the meeting. “That’s their duty. If they can’t do it, then there’s a bigger issue to deal with.”

“Perhaps a betrothal,” Lord Beesbury spoke up, his eyes darting from Larys’ to hers. Alicent straightened, watching the man try to figure out how to present his own suggestion. “The Tullys are proud, and the Riverlands command a great host when they come together. Lord Tully’s great-grandson is around Princess Helaena’s age. It would be a show of friendship and goodwill.”

“A show of a dragon is what you mean, isn’t it?” Her father’s voice cut in smoothly, but she could see the annoyance in his eyes at the prospect of Helaena being sent to the Riverlands. She did not want her sweet girl sent so far away either, but his words hurt in their easy protectiveness of her daughter, when they had never done for herself.

“Dragons are a statement, my Lord Hand. If not the princess, perhaps… Lord Strong, your youngest sister is not yet married,” Beesbury continued, flush with ideas. Was Rhaenyra feeding them to him?

“If Grover Tully, or whomever is handling their seat, cannot bring them to heel, we should have the Lords Bracken and Blackwood come and explain themselves to the crown,” she cut in before Beesbury could really get his momentum going. Heads turned to look at her, and Alicent looked to the Grand Maester. “Send ravens today. By the moon’s turn, I want them before the Iron Throne explaining themselves.” There was a curl of satisfaction on her lips as the aging Mellos gestured to his assistant. “We should also have Lord Tully, or his son, also come to answer. I know Lord Grover has been recently ill,” she continued. Authority and compassion were the balance she must always strike, so that her decisions could not be questioned, her judgment nothing but sound. She was the Mother of the Realm after all.

“Well said, your Grace,” Larys said softly, that shadow blink of a smile on his face. Lord Beesbury’s suggestions were easily dismissed.

Tension knotted between her shoulder blades, and she shifted in her chair to relieve the pain. She drummed her fingers on the armrest of the chair as her father’s warning spun dizzily through her thoughts.

Either you prepare Aegon to rule, or you cleave to Rhaenyra and pray for her mercy.

That morning, Ser Criston found the boy who might be king passed out in the stables with his cock in hand; at least her father hadn’t found out. Alicent felt nauseated at the idea of sacrificing a girl barely younger than she’d been in an attempt to corral her son into leadership.

The doors of the chamber opened. Ser Harrold Westerling entered the room with the head dragonkeeper, Arryx, following behind. Her father rose not in a show of respect for the Kingsguard Commander, but some show of power - the unyielding stone and height of the tower that would not bow to neither wind nor storm.

“Forgive my tardiness, your Grace, my lords.”

Her father waved a hand and sat back down. “We were told that you were attending to an urgent matter, Lord Commander.”

Ser Harrold clasped his arm across his chest and bowed to her. “This morning, I was alerted to events that transpired last night inside of the dragonpit. Keeper Arryx wanted to speak of the matter to you personally.” Ser Harrold stepped back to allow the aging keeper to take the floor. Alicent gave her own nod to the man as he rose from his prostration.

“Dreamfyre has laid another clutch of eggs. Only three, your Grace, and she will let no one near them. Vhagar has been circling,” Arryx said.

Alicent frowned. Dreamfyre had not laid a clutch in several years now, and Vhagar rarely came to the pit. She was too old, too large, with little desire to be kept with her smaller brethren. The horrific beast preferred a rocky outcropping far out into the bay.

Aemond had given her a quizzical look when she’d brought it up once, when he was still bedridden and recovering from his mutilation. Her sweet boy was now strung through with a confidence that she’d never seen ignite within him when he had both eyes. The dangerous glint that confidence took as he’d grown older was also new.

She’s protecting what is hers, mother. We both are, he’d said.

“I have spoken with the Commander of the City Watch, your Grace, to ensure that those in the areas closest to the pit keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. It has allowed us to take stock of the current state of those neighborhoods.” Ser Harrold turned to look at Ser Otto. “A full report will be on your desk.”

Her father nodded, and Ser Harrold looked once more to the keeper.

Arryx shifted on his feet, and Alicent watched his eyes flick to the Grand Maester with an expression that she could not discern. The Citadel and the Hightowers have always stood side by side for the betterment of the realm, Alicent, and you’ll continue to foster that friendship, won’t you?

“Five of the kitlings have also died, your Grace. They were unbonded, brought from Dragonstone before…”

Before Daemon had come back.

“How many dragons does this put us at?” Her father’s deceptively mild tone was the opposite of his glee when Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The numbers requested were ones he’d calculated in his head, monthly, since he’d come back.

“Claimed, my lord?” Arryx asked, pausing momentarily. “Eleven, throughout the family. Lady Rhaena’s dragon hatched, but it was born twisted and sickly and did not last. I have not received word otherwise of any intention for Lady Rhaena to come and try to claim another dragon.”

Half of the dragons were claimed. Alicent watched her father drum his fingers along the table. Identifying the pattern took only a moment. He was counting.

Specifically, the dragons that were on their side.

“I want reports of the necropsies upon their completion,” her father said with a narrowed and assessing look, disturbed by the news. “The last thing we need is some strange illness to rip through all of them.”

Alicent chewed on the inside of her lip and watched the shining outline of the seven-pointed star beaming down on the table.

“Syrax is almost big enough for two riders now. Will you come touch the clouds with me, Alicent? Please?” Rhaenyra had always begged, mouth close to her ear, hands stroking her arms, her wounded and bloody fingers.

The joyful look that Aegon once gave her now reserved for a beast: “I’ve never known love until Sunfyre, mother. It’s like the world has color now that we’re together.”

“Dreamfyre keeps me tethered to the ground even as I fly in my dreams. She’s the only anchor I have,” said Helaena, who would withdraw from her touch as if it were a sting from a bee.

Little Daeron and his dragon clutched in his arms: “I can’t leave Tessarion behind, mother! I won’t know how to be happy without her!”

Dragons had robbed Alicent of everything.

“Thank you, Arryx. I will speak to the children and see what Prince Aemond might do about Vhagar.” The idea of her sweet, once immaculate and tender-hearted child being near that twisted, hoary thing still terrified her, no matter how gently reassuring Aemond could be.

Arryx did not move to leave just yet. “Forgive me, your Grace, but Vhagar is no Vermithor or Sunfyre: she is old and willful, and although she is bonded with our prince, I would suggest caution. He is… young, and Vhagar was forged in the fires of battle.”

He bowed once more before taking his leave.

Even in indescribable pain, in the face of his own father’s disregard and disdain, Aemond sought to soothe her. “Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

What else would her father do to get more dragons on their side?

Nervous tension pulsed in the silence left when the doors closed behind the dragonkeeper, filled only by the soft creak of the Kingsguard’s mail and the gentle clink of the chain around Grand Maester Mellos’ neck as he shifted in his chair, barely audible. The enduring mystery and curiosity of dragons was a specter of The Stranger above them all. Alicent had heard her kingly husband remind Rhaenyra repeatedly: Dragons were not pets. The bond with them should not blind their riders to the power that thrummed ancient and thick in their veins.

She breathed slowly, letting the quiet ease, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes as the tumult of feelings inside of her crashed upon the jagged edges of her broken ribs. This was the right choice. Her babies were only half-Targaryen, and Rhaenyra’s bastards were the same, whether she’d ever admit to it or not.

Everyone in the room had grown up with the stories that the Conquerors spread when they forged the throne: The Valyrian blood magic that had made them dragonriders was only to be found in their Targaryen blood. That bloodline needed to remain pure. Yet, Rhaena’s pure Valyrian blood did not save her first dragon from being born sickly and dying quickly, while Aemond - Targaryen only by half - bonded with Vhagar, the most powerful beast in the world.

There were no further reasons to believe the Targaryens were gods after all, and above the realm they had conquered.

The great chair of the King creaked as she slowly rose, taking in the council before her. There were no Targaryens in this room, even if she had birthed her own clutch of half-dragons. Alicent bore this task without joy or fanfare. It was a duty to be endured for the good of her family, for the good of her realm.

She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the image of the Mother of the Realm. Alicent had done this once before, when she had declared that she was standing in an official capacity for her husband.

“My lords of the council,” She hedged a glance at her father before moving her gaze to each man at the table. Ladies of the realm should be on the council. “It is with great joy and love that the King and myself, with Lord Larys Strong, announce to the small council that we have arranged the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon Targaryen, and Lady Abrogail Strong.”

Each of the lords straightened in their chairs. Lord Beesbury frowned and glanced away from her. The uncertain and uncomfortable shifting in his chair belied the embarrassment he was attempting to hide. Alicent felt no need to point it out. It was a fine idea that he’d presented and not his fault he did not know what had already been decided. Even if he was Rhaenyra’s lapdog, Alicent would be the better person, and not rub his face in it.

The congratulations buzzed in her ears as she sat back down in her chair, and beneath the table, she tore at the skin along her left thumbnail. The pain was as dull as the congratulations in her ears. Her father’s voice was distant, jovial even.

They hadn’t even told Aegon and Abrogail yet. She remembered standing in the same position, knowing what was coming, knowing what it would destroy and desperately hoping that it might not.

I have decided to take a new wife. I intend to marry Lady Alicent Hightower before Spring’s end.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Rhaenyra forgive me forgivemeforgiveme.

“A feast is in order to announce Prince Aegon and Lady Abrogail’s betrothal,” Tyland’s jovial tone broke the silence. His suggestion—or statement, depending on how Alicent took it—was not one that she’d expected when she sat down in Viserys’ chair, but welcomed the confirmation of his support.

Meanwhile, Larys’s expression gave nothing away. He simply inclined his head in agreement.

Her son — her trueborn son — for all his faults, deserved to be celebrated. She was happy she didn’t have to fight for this. It was Mellos who spoke next: “Given the last wedding that was celebrated within these halls, it would be a reassuring gesture to the Lords of the Realm if they were given the opportunity, and for us to show unity within House Targaryen. With the Prince’s nameday in a few moons, perhaps we can celebrate with a tournament.”

Alicent’s eyes cut to her father, who smiled lightly, nodding in agreement but careful not to say a word, allowing the Maester to be responsible for the idea.

“Even better,” Tyland raised his goblet in agreement. “We haven’t had a proper celebration in years. What better occasion? Lord Rickard Reyne will be overjoyed to hear the honor bestowed on his granddaughter.” He looked over at her father. “I take it you’ll be writing to him, Lord Hand?”

The last time Alicent had seen her uncle Lord Rickard had been at her mother’s funeral: now no longer the worst day of her life, but the memory that was still seared into her mind. She recalled Lord Reyne as a stoic man, but he’d been kind to her in her grief. Alicent hoped the years had not taken that away from him, but they likely had.

Time always stole away kindness.

Lord Beesbury looked pensive. Alicent could practically hear the man pushing house markers along the map in his head as the conversation continued. “Was Princess Rhaenyra involved in such a discussion?”

“The Princess Rhaenyra has continued to seclude herself and,” he paused, his gaze heavy and considering as he took in those around the table. “Her second husband, Daemon Targaryen, at Dragonstone. Neither has she come to the small council as her status allows, nor has she engaged with matters of the realm that her being heir gives her right to,” her father said smoothly, and he was right. “The king still grieves his daughter’s choices, and she has yet to amend with him. I agree with Lord Lannister and our Grand Maester. This would show the strength and unity and willingness of House Targaryen to bond and celebrate with the realm.”

Beesbury gave a humorless chuckle. “And nothing to do with presenting Prince Aegon formally.” As a contender. As a choice - that was left unsaid.

Alicent felt a surge of anger inside of her, instinct compelling her to protect her children and pull the wool Viserys and Rhaenyra spun from Beesbury’s eyes so he could see the truths they refused to acknowledge.

Not long after Aemond had been born, Lord Lyonel had enlisted her in trying to get Viserys to hold another declaration to follow Rhaenyra, if she was truly his desired heir even with two healthy boys of his blood. The King had originally chosen Rhaenyra because of the loss of Baelon and Aemma. Everyone wanted to keep Daemon off the throne, lest he became another Maegor the Cruel… and now, he was to be Rhaenyra’s consort, and Viserys still would do nothing. Alicent refused to believe that Rhaenyra would kill her half-siblings, that she would kill Alicent’s children for whatever love had been there. Every dark, curly haired little boy caused her to fear not what Rhaenyra would decide, but what others would encourage her to do. Her father had not been wrong - her sons would be beacons of rebellion, damned by the man who had so desperately craved a son, yet now ignored. How bitter a pill.

Daemon terrified her. They should all be terrified of him. Daemon now had Rhaenyra’s ear and her heart and her body. Daemon was not one to hesitate if something stood in his way.

Did you fuck Daemon Targaryen in a pleasure house? Targaryens have such queer customs.

“Prince Aegon is eight and ten, an accomplished dragonrider, ah…” Mellos trailed off, and the uncertainty on his face clawed at Alicent’s insides. Failure was acid in her throat.

Either you prepare Aegon…

That boy who would be king had groped six serving girls at the last feast before drinking and whoring his way through the Street of Silk.

“My sister and heir is of unimpeachable character,” Larys’ quiet voice carried within the room. “As a child, Abrogail was a playmate of Prince Aegon and his siblings, and she has become a beloved ward of Queen Alicent, who has done a remarkable job of raising her after the deaths of our parents. I would consider her to be a prime example of all our realm offers to a family that has, if I may be candid, gone to great lengths to keep to their own since the conquest. Wouldn’t you agree, Grand Maester?”

That poor girl she’d now chained to him was a picture of the Maiden. It had taken everything to ensure that her father waited for it. She would not have another bride offered to the throne before she was of age, while her father wanted nothing more than for Aegon to grow up.

Tension crept back into the room at Larys’ words. Nobody would think to utter these thoughts had Viserys been sitting there. Mellos cleared his throat and avoided her father’s gaze to adjust the heavy chain around his neck. The title of Grand Maester had been his even before Viserys’ reign, and he was possibly the closest representative that was not her to speak to Viserys’ mind.

“I would agree, Lord Strong. Perhaps even exploring the eventuality of wedding Prince Aegon’s children to Prince Jacaerys’ would… reassure Princess Rhaenyra. She once suggested a betrothal between Princess Helaena and-”

“We already have other candidates in mind for my daughter,” Alicent cut in immediately. She wouldn’t say anything about Jace’s children and future grandchildren. She refused to entertain the idea that Helaena would marry Rhaneyra’s son to cover her indignity and insult to everything that she had been given and born into. “We have time before the wedding,” she said with a gentler tone. “A year should be more than enough to introduce them to the realm and start introducing Prince Aegon to newer responsibilities befitting his station.”

That was time enough to beat her son into someone who could be King.

Morning light streamed through the gauzy, sage curtains of the princess’ room. Abrogail licked the honey clinging to her fingers as she moved towards the washbasin, abandoning half-eaten bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Helaena also ignored their meal as she lingered at the only window that could give her a good view of the Dragonpit. Vhagar had been on the prowl that morning, unusually territorial, and the change in the dragon’s temperament had entranced the friend whom she called sister. She jumped when Abby ventured near her, eyes wide and body tense as a startled cat, so the redhead pivoted in the opposite direction in order to retrieve Helaena’s bodice. Normally, she did not wear one unless the Queen noticed, but on days when her mind drifted, the structure of the garment seemed to keep Helaena focused on the moment instead of her dreams. The princess was somewhere else in her thoughts, mechanically holding up her arms to have the bodice slipped over her shift.

“I’m going to tighten the laces now, alright, Helaena?” Abrogail told the princess as she always did, walking through the process so she wasn’t surprised by anything.

Helaena gave no verbal indication that she was listening, but Abby noticed her pale blonde head bob in acceptance. Slowly, she began straightening the garment, mindful of keeping her touch on the lacing and the chemise from pulling and pinching uncomfortably and defeating the purpose.

“Pink and red, he might be dead. Blue and black, no coming back,” Helaena murmured. Her gaze drifted to Myrella Penrose, who approached with a yellow, diamond patterned dress for inspection. “I don’t want my scales to be so bright.” Helaena’s voice did not rise from her quiet tone, and her gaze flitted away.

“How about the new one from Sevenmas?” Abby offered brightly before Myrella’s face could twist into the uncertain and disturbed look it took whenever Helaena drifted. “The ocean blue one with the beading. That’ll be nice to feel, right, Helaena?”

The princess tilted her head about, humming. “Yes, that would be.” She threaded her fingers together, pressing in so the knuckles would crack. Myrella visibly winced at the sound, but Abby just shook her head and carefully tucked the laces into the bodice. “The perfect hug,” came the breathless statement, before Helaena’s bright lavender eyes finally focused away from whatever she was tracking to turn around and look towards her. Abby took the dress from Myrella and offered her cousin a smile as she held it up. She was used to Helaena’s inquisitive gazes, as if she was a bug under the pretty Maester’s glass Aemond had gifted his sister. “Do you need them, too?”

“A hug?” Abby frowned.

“Scales - armor to protect you,” she clarified. Helaena held her arms up to slide the dress over her head, and Abby left her to do the little buttons down the front herself. “Or would you prefer a pretty carapace? Silver and reds, greens and blue. Pinks and black and gold.”

Abby laughed at the idea of being covered in so many colors, and Helaena even returned the smile as she finished her buttons. It was a good sign, and the tingle of worry that had been crawling up and down along her spine immediately eased. “To be decorated in so many colors? That would make for lovely armor.”

Helaena’s mood was improving, which meant that when the Queen finally came in, she wouldn’t immediately launch into fretting and worrying about the princess being in ‘one of her episodes.’ Abby knew the Queen did not mean it badly, but it still made her uncomfortable. Were her mother still there, she would say something if Abby expressed her concern. She was alone here now, and things were as different as the day and night.

The door creaked open, but it wasn’t Alicent who entered. Helaena’s little smile turned bright and beaming: “Aemond!”

At four and ten, the boy was steadily growing with each passing turn of the moon. While bypassing Abrogail in height was no difficult feat, he now stood as tall as his sister and mother. Prince Aegon was the next family member he was bound to outgrow, and the Queen had already tasked her with ordering clothes to be made ready for when Aemond shot up again. Lord Otto towered over most, and he japed that Aemond might make it where Aegon had failed to surpass him.

Hearing Helaena’s joyous declaration, Abby caught a spray of pink blooming on his pale cheeks, and Aemond reached up to adjust the soft leather strap of his eyepatch. The scar no longer looked angry, but it was prominent; a ridge of thick skin that was only just smoothing out with time. The prince held a jar carefully in his hands. He took several steps before Abby clucked her tongue at him the way she would at her own cat, though Theraxis had not joined her that morning in Helaena’s room. Earlier, a maid brought along with their meals news that the cat was gallivanting in the discarded feathers while the scullery maids plucked chickens.

“Your mother will be up any minute. She said she doesn’t want to catch you in here anymore,” Abby warned with an arched brow. There was no censure in her teasing tone. Aemond was nearly her own little brother, although much was changing as they left their childhoods behind.

“She won’t be here for him,” Helaena said in a voice far more present than it had been before, Aemond’s very presence pulling her back down to earth and away from the clouds. “What did you bring me?” Even though her buttons were only half-done, Helaena rushed across the room to Aemond with her arms outstretched and fingers wiggling. “Oh! It’s beautiful! Abby! Look!” She held up the jar filled with little sticks and leaves – a fat blue and yellow cocoon precariously hanging from one forked stick inside. “I wonder if it belongs to the ones I released last year.”

“You’ll be the mother of all the moths and butterflies in the Red Keep,” Aemond said softly, so softly that Abby could hardly hear him despite standing close by.

Abrogail moved away from the siblings, smiling at Myrella and leading the woman to the opened door. “Thank you for your help this morning. I believe the Queen will need you more today. Let her know we’ll be going to the gardens later, if you please.” Lately, the Queen had been sending the Penrose woman to help Abby tend to the princess’ needs. It had made her nervous. When she asked the Queen if she was being replaced, the words stuck to her throat. Her Grace had been adamant that it was not the case at all, that it was only so Abrogail could learn from her in preparation for her own running of a household, and give Helaena time to get used to someone else helping her.

Another part of Abby wondered if the Queen knew Aemond was still coming to visit in the morning. Or worse, that Uncle Otto was spying. Abby was protective of her friends, her kin. They were siblings bonded through the years of fights in the mud and pranks and stories in the nursery. Bonds such as theirs were not so easily broken; they only changed as time passed, as things happened, like Aemond losing an eye.

Myrella Penrose gave her a tight smile and left down the hall. Abby watched her go, lingering in the door as Aemond and Helaena whispered in the room. Her friend’s quiet giggles were a rare sound, and Abby would do anything to protect those moments for her, for them both. She tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her dark blue-gray dress, thumbs brushing the little weirwood leaves sewn in delicate scarlet thread. Little golden dragons danced through them as a symbol of her ties with the family. Aegon had picked the golden thread, predictable as ever, when she’d asked his opinion.

She thought of the embroidered knot Helaena had been making – silver and green, tangling with red and black and gold. There were so many twists, but Helaena assured her that there was a rhyme to it, a dance with complicated steps. Aemond’s soft laugh cracked a bit, and Abby bit her lower lip to hide her giggle at the sound. She turned her head, and while she couldn’t quite make them out, she could see their shadows along the stone floor. They stood close together, heads bowed over something - maybe the jar, she couldn’t tell.

Heavy and purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall. Abby’s head snapped up from where she stood within the doorway, not immediately visible. She strained to identify the cadence, and her stomach twisted when she did.

“It’s him,” she hissed, glancing wide-eyed over her shoulder. Aemond’s head was close to Helaena’s with her hands resting on his shoulders. At Abby’s raised alarm, her fingers twisted in his dark green doublet and yanked him towards the partition, shoving him behind it. Abby snatched the jar with the precious cocoon inside and tucked it on the bookshelf behind the embroidered manticore Helaena had just finished. Otto Hightower’s footsteps were not alone, although the Hightower guards did not enter the Princess’ room when he swept in. Abby immediately dropped into a curtsy, a murmur of, “Lord Uncle.” Helaena bobbed slightly, twisting back and forth a bit. “Good morning, grandfather,” she said, bounding up to press a kiss on his cheek. If Otto had any weakness, it would be his unparalleled love and favoritism of his granddaughter. It was hard to tell how much Helaena enjoyed her grandfather’s attention and how much was one of her games, but whatever it was, it worked.

“Good morning, sweet girl. You look lovely today.” Otto’s voice was fond, his smile more gentle than he seemed capable of. He was an intimidating man. Abby had received nothing but kindness and vague disinterest, but he still made her nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to borrow your cousin.” She felt her cheeks color as Otto’s gaze moved to her. Her mouth dried as her nerves returned to where they’d been when standing before the Queen, wondering if she was being replaced. Perhaps Larys was sending her back to Harrenhal or her sister was demanding she go to her in Casterly Rock.

Helaena smiled at her, though, with her hands folded across her stomach. “I’ll help you with your carapace later,” she reassured her. “You won’t be without armor.”

Closing the door behind them, the Hightower guards followed a few paces behind as Abby fell in step with him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked as they went left instead of right, towards the Hand’s tower. It had been years since she’d walked this path that had been as familiar to her as the gardens of the Red Keep. Her eyes glanced for the loose stone at the corner of the step, where she’d stow secret messages in the little hollow behind it. Had she left a note there? Was there perhaps a mystery one waiting for her?

“It is. And I hope you have been well yourself.” Lord Otto looked down at her gently, and she nodded. “The Queen says you pray often in the Sept?”

A prompt. A strange one, but a prompt all the same. She swallowed past her dry mouth and put a smile on her face. “Yes, I enjoy the quiet, and it helps me feel closer to my parents.” And brother, but she was careful not to mention Harwin around anyone but a handful. “It’s especially nice when her Grace joins me. It’s almost like I have my mother back.” No one could replace her mother, but the Queen had been there for as long as she could remember, and sometimes, when she tilted her head a certain way and the light caught in Queen Alicent’s auburn curls, she could pretend her mother was there once more.

“Her Grace speaks highly of you – how good you are with Princess Helaena, well behaved and polite. She said that you and the princess have made things for the poor children of the city. A very kind and admirable pursuit for you both. Your father would be very proud.”

“Thank you.” Abby wasn’t sure what else to say or what he was getting at as they began climbing the winding staircase. The familiarity of it hit her like a scent memory - one sudden and revealing of long-forgotten feelings. “I do my best to follow the Queen’s guidance and reflect well on my position within the family and her example.”

“Good. Very good.” She wasn’t sure if it was something she was supposed to reply to, so she hedged her bets and remained quiet. Her palms were sweating, and she discreetly wiped them on her skirt as she held the fabric. “I’ve noticed that you and Prince Aegon do not spend as much time together as you used to.”

Aegon? Why was she being asked about Aegon? Her stomach twisted, and she felt a prickle of heat along the back of her neck. It was true: they didn’t spend as much time together, but they hadn’t for years now, not since she spent more of her time with Helaena and… Aegon? Well, Aegon had been withdrawing slowly but surely for so long, like fraying threads at the seams. She’d be lying if she claimed to not miss him, because she did. She missed the happier boy he’d been, who did not constantly ply himself with drink and was more mercurial than a wild dragon.

Abrogail would also be lying if she claimed they saw little of one another, or spent no time at all because that was untrue as well. Until the past few moons, she’d gather lunch for the two of them when he finally rose well past noon, and he’d take her flying wherever he and Sunfyre desired to go. It had been something quiet and cherished, simply the three of them away from everything. Until Aegon had gotten in the tavern brawl all that time ago. Until Aegon started avoiding her. Until he barely acknowledged her at meals that he decided to join, even when he sat beside her. There was no way that Otto Hightower would not be aware of that, and she would not hedge around it. It wasn’t like anything untoward was happening.

“Not as much, but that is a natural casualty of leaving behind childhood. He found me earlier this week because it seemed there was a lack of honey cakes in the kitchen and I was the first to be interrogated.” There was a note of amusement in her voice, and Abby smiled in memory of his indignation and how silly he looked when she shoved honey cake into his mouth to stop his ranting. “He occasionally accompanies me in the Sept to pray. It’s incredibly kind of him to do so.”

She mounted a few more steps before realizing that Lord Hightower had paused. She turned to look at him. Morning light streaked through the narrow, delicate paned windows, casting shadow and illuminating dust in the air. He stared up at her, and with a few steps between them, she stood at his height. It was the first time she’d ever met her uncle’s eyes. Unlike her own unreadable brother, Otto’s face was not so impassive. He looked intrigued by her admission. Abby’s hands wound into her skirt so as not to fidget.

“He was not inappropriate, if that is your concern, my lord. Prince Aegon behaved with due respect.” To defend Aegon was second nature to her, and she would do so towards arguably the most powerful man in the realm if it meant to spare Aegon more shame and ire when, for once, he’d done nothing wrong. Which was true. Aegon hadn’t said a single thing. He knelt beside her, lighting candles, and simply stayed with her while she prayed for her family. He hadn’t even put a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She felt that was worth mentioning, given his current proclivities. She would not deny his vices, but she would not break confidence, and she would let no one, especially Lord Otto, think any worse of him if she could help it.

“Very good.” It took everything in her to keep the bewilderment off her face as she tried to understand what exactly he was trying to figure out. Otto resumed their progress, although now he rested a heavy hand between her shoulder blades like a father guiding a child. “So, you have no current complications with him?”

Complications? Did he think she’d lifted her skirts for Aegon? It wasn’t like she’d never thought of kissing him on those lazy afternoons when they’d lay in the grass and stare at the sky somewhere in the Kingswood with Sunfyre sunning himself like a cat. Of course she’d thought about kissing him, especially when he was at his most melancholy, with tears pooling in his eyes, making them pinker than normal. A kiss beyond the games children play, a kiss to comfort an angry prince in the firelight’s glow, his tears coursing down his cheeks with each snip of her embroidery scissors that sent locks of moonlight hair to the ground.

He’d never touched her more than a handhold, and far less than she touched him in her casual affections.

“No. No complications,” she confirmed.

They reached the landing, and Abby ran her hand over the stone dragon curled up in eternal sleep at the top of the stairs. Her fingers scratched along the smooth curve of its head the way she’d done every morning when she visited her father. She felt her uncle’s gaze on her, and she drew her hand away, hurrying to follow him into his office with her cheeks burning beneath her freckles, relieved only just by his vaguely amused expression.

The room was darker than it had been before. Gone were the stacks of books with various slips of paper sticking out haphazardly, or Theraxis lounging lazily along the cool stone floor by the door with his fluffy tail, sending motes of dust into the air. She instinctively clutched her skirt on the right to pull them away, so used to a giant paw the size of her hand grabbing at the fluttering fabric. But Theraxis was not there. The crumbling tome about the Andal invasion was absent from where it once rested on the side table. Instead, Larys stood by the fire with his back to her, as did the Queen, her lovely green dress covering her from neck to wrist with a golden pattern woven in the fabric that caught the firelight. Her face pinched in the way it did when she was uncertain and trying not to pick at her nails.

Abby noticed, of course. It usually meant that someone was about to get yelled at or she would send them away with the other ladies.

The figure in the chair slouched so far down that his silver head nearly vanished behind the back of it. At the clearing of Lord Otto’s throat, Aegon jerked up. His whole body held so much tension that it made Abby’s own hurt just by looking at him. He peered over his shoulder at them with glossy, red-rimmed eyes that give him a strange, ethereal sort of gaze, skin pale enough to prominently display the flushed pink mottling of a strike against his right cheek. He looked stuffy and uncomfortable in his dark green doublet, his fingers absently tugging at the buttons and collar. As his gaze focused, his eyes widened and darted from the uncertainty she knew was on her own face to his grandfather behind her.

The thud as Otto shut the door reverberated through her, and she and Aegon both flinched at the sound. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see the Queen flinch as well. Larys, as always, looked unphased. The heavy hand on her back pushed her towards the empty chair closer to the fire, and she had no time to bob a curtsy; courtesies stuck like toffee in her mouth.

The chairs once held the delicately embroidered pillows her mother made. She would curl up with them and read aloud from the books scattered around while her papa worked. He would-

“Queen Alicent and Lord Larys have received several letters expressing interest in you, Abrogail,” Otto said, walking behind his desk. She dug her thumbnail into the pad of her middle finger, and she saw Aegon’s booted foot twitch on the flagstone – a rocking motion from the ball of his foot to his heel before slapping it back down beneath the desk. Wood crackled in the fireplace. “Lord Farman is looking for a wife for his eldest, and Faircastle would be close to your sister.”

He plucked a scroll from the basket as he spoke, and Abby felt her stomach churn with nerves as a red heat clawed along her throat. She did not venture a look at Aegon, save for the foot he kept rocking back, the heel he repeatedly ground into the floor. He’d not gone back to slouching. He could be indolent and rude when he wanted, but not even Aegon dared to in his grandfather’s presence. Abby didn’t understand what this was about, or why Aegon was here.

“Edmund Vance, the heir to House Vance, recently lost his wife. A good man, and part of the Riverlands although a small seat. Or, if you married Jesper Celtigar, the heir of Crackclaw, you’d be able to remain in King’s Landing.”

Otto Hightower produced scroll after scroll and Abrogail felt the flush of embarrassment in her cheeks, confusion keeping her words locked away. How was she supposed to react to all of this? What was he trying to say? Were all these marriage proposals meant to make her feel better about herself? No, that was too odd to contemplate.

Why was Aegon here?

“Lord Grover has also written of his interest in you for his grandson. A Paramount seat would let you be close to your home at Harrenhal, and he already has an heir. He would take good care of you, and your children would have every opportunity.” Another scroll plucked from the basket. “It would bring Harrenhal into their holdings. Is that not correct, Lord Larys?”

Right. Harrenhal.

A woman’s lot is to only be worth what she could bring to the table.

Her brother was a man of few words, and he inclined his head with a shadow of a smile flickering across his face. Abby looked at the queen to find that her face was pinching harder. In the interim, Queen Alicent stepped away from the fire and moved instead to the desk with the gentle swoosh of her skirts gliding across the stone. She cleared her throat, a smile fighting its way on her face.

“All the offers were wonderful for you, my sweet girl, but none seemed right.” The Queen reached out to tuck a copper curl behind her ear, and Abby could not tell if this was supposed to be comforting to her or if the Queen sought comfort in the action for herself. Her lungs felt constricted, and it finally dawned on her.

Oh.

The sole of Aegon’s boot continued to drag across the stone in both a nervous fidget and to keep himself from slouching down even further into the chair. The only reason she could hear it was because of how focused she’d been on it, but now blood rushed into her head and Abby broke eye contact with her cousin to look down in her lap.

“What does seem right is for you and Aegon to be married, after your nameday. You’ll be eight and ten, and the pair of you will go to live at Harrenhal, and make your home there.”

Oh.

“Are you fucking serious?” Aegon’s voice was a hoarse, disused rasp from a night with endless drink. When she looked at him again, she noticed that his hair was still damp, and that beads of water from the wet ends had soaked little spots into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t looking at her, but up at his mother, and then, incredulously, across the desk at his grandfather.

Otto’s face remained impassive following his grandson’s outburst. Abby wanted to grab Aegon and drag him out of the way of whatever was about to come out of the Hand’s mouth, as if the words would physically harm him.

The silence lengthened. Another log popped in the fireplace.

“He speaks.” The amusement in Otto’s voice caused Aegon to draw back further into his chair before he finally turned to look at her. His eyes were so red-rimmed, and his sullen face was so terribly pale that the pink-lilac of his eyes stood out ethereally, inhumanly like the drawing of a fae folk from a book she had as a child - wild and cornered. He’d bitten his pouty, chapped lips bloody.

Aegon searched her face for an answer to a question that she did not know. The only thing Abrogail could do was give him the gentle, reassuring smile she’d given him countless times before. It was what she did in this world: comfort her loved ones in any way possible, even as she needed to bury her own feelings on the matter. Feelings that, in this particular case, she couldn’t even begin untangling in the moment.

“Well, that makes us luckier than most, doesn’t it?” Abby cleared her throat and turned the smile onto the others in the room. She reached up to grasp the Queen’s hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze before she burst into a million pieces. Whether it was her, or the Queen, that might burst, she could not say. “We are fortunate to know one another so well and to be of an age. I thank you Lord Hightower, your Grace.” She looked at Larys, who remained silent in his observations, as always – an owl in a tree, eyes taking in everything. “Thank you, brother, for looking out for me.”

She felt Aegon’s eyes continue to pin on her. She looked back at him.

The wild and anxious expression was still on his face, and instinct compelled her, as it often did, to reach out her hand to take his - but he surprised her by beating her to it. His skin felt like fire engulfing her frigid hand and his fingers tangled with hers with easy familiarity. Before she could register what was happening, Aegon’s chair was already scraping across the floor and he pulled her from her chair with the momentum of jumping from his own. There was no pause in his movement as he dragged her to the door.

“How very fortunate we are.” A laugh bubbled from Aegon’s chest. It was a joyless sound when he laughed in the presence of his mother and grandsire. It was edged with the familiar mania; Aegon laughed when he was afraid, when he was anxious, when he was trying not to scream as his world was coming apart, or the laughter and joy on the back of Sunfyre. He tilted his head to stare up at the ceiling before throwing a look over his shoulder at the three across the room. “How very lucky we are.”

Aegon’s hand was clammy around hers, his grip bordering on painful. He yanked the door open with a protesting whine of the latch. Abby heard the Queen calling after him, but Aegon’s strides were purposeful as they ate up the ground to get away. Only the grip of their hands kept her from being left behind in the claustrophobic room where their future was being decided for them.

It might have been the second bravest thing she’d ever witnessed from him.

[Chapter Two]

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon x abby #fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #my fics

[stevenssticks]

Welcome to my blog!!!

hello y’all! you can call me P. i’m new to the metal and grunge scene online but have been a fan for a long time! i’m here to make some friends and read and write fanfiction.

I’m not really interested in writing full stories right now but blurbs are cool!!! I’m warming up to this

REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY OPEN.

🚨🚨i am starting college on Aug 30th!!!! i will not be as active from then on🚨🚨

please see more below abt what i will and will not write.

Who I like:

Steven Adler!!!!!!!! (MY NUMBER ONE MAN), Jason Newsted!!!, Cliff Burton!!!, James Hetfield, Izzy Stradlin, Slash, Kirk Hammett, Dave Mustaine!!!!, Duff Mckagan, Zakk Wylde, Chris Cornell, Eddie Vedder, Layne Staley, Jerry Cantrell, Mike Starr, Nick Menza, Jonathan Davis, Robert Plant, Steve Vai, Dimebag Darrell

What I WILL NOT WRITE

christmas fics, kid fics, pregnancy, x male reader (sorry guys im afab and don’t feel like i would be able to write it well), whips/chains, public sex (no i’m not talking abt some teasing under the table at dinner that’s fine), cnc (consent non consent), ddlg, blood/knives, watersports god no i’m sorry, scat, just a lot of stuff that might be seen as “extreme”

if consent is dubious i will always note ahead of time that both people are willing participants.

#axl rose #slash #slash gnr #izzy stradlin #steven adler #duff mckagan #guns n roses #jason newsted #gnr #metallica #axl gnr #slash guns n roses #steven adler fanfiction #metallica fanfiction #kirk hammett #dave mustaine #guns n' roses #grunge #layne staley #jerry cantrell #chris cornell #cliff burton #james hetfield

[ember-owlet]

Hi! I can’t remember if I ask this already or not, but could you please make a Wylde Hare/Detective Zagzagel agre mood board?

(Zagzagel as either a caregiver or little.)

(I personally headcanon him as a little because he’s too much of a workaholic and needs a break.)

of course firelight! detective/angel zagzagel is definitely in need of a break. he works so hard for the people he cares about!! i would love to see a fic where gabby takes care of him when he regresses or be supervised by francine. i hope you enjoy the board! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

#he is an old man i just know when he's regressed or not he'd be BLOWN away by electronic toys /lovingly #regressor! zagzagel #cw religious imagery #cw analog horror #angel hare agere #angel hare #angel zaggy #angel zagzagel #fandom agere #agere #age regression #agere moodboard #sfw agere moodboard #sfw agere #sfw age regression #sfw agere blog #sfw age regression blog #sfw interaction only #ember creates

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Contents Page

Part One (Prologue- Chapter Fifty-One)

Part Two (Chapter Fifty-Two-)

Aemond POV (Chapter One-)

Extras: Moodboards, Lore and Dragon Eggs

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Summary: Following the crowing of King Aegon, second of his name, Lady Maera Wylde, eldest daughter of Master of Laws, is called to return to the capital to assist her old friend, Helaena, in becoming accustomed to her new role as Queen. As well as navigating the complexities of court and discrediting the accusations previously made about her, Maera must also face Prince Aemond, having not seen him in three long years. Once allies, their relationship is no longer what it was when they were children, and they must find a way to live together for the sake of the Crown.

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

Writer

#aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #jasper wylde #enemies to lovers #slow burn #hotd #aemond fic #ewan mitchell #maera wylde #house wylde #house of the dragon #house targaryen #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #smut #alys rivers #aemond x original character #aemond fluff #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #aemond #house of the dragon season 2 #aemond fanfic #ewan nation

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 9

Cw: mentions of underage sex, refrenced statuory r*pe and loss of bodily autonomy(basically just a regular day in westeros)

Gif by @behindfairytales

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @aemondx

Jena Mertyns of Mistwood had risen in court using her gods-given gifts of charm and beauty in record time.

Lord Jasper Wylde had no need of more children ---he had a total of nine and twenty children with the bulk of them being illegitimate--- and while the Ironrod was prodigious with his cock, he was not a prince.

Bookish, violent, and misunderstood Aemond had been her second lover.

The first being her now husband who educated her in the ways of carnal pleasures.

She had been only six and ten when it began, Jena had been a Mertyns by birth and heir to Mistwood given her cousin ,brother of the first Lady Wylde, died without issue less than ten moons onto their marriage.

Ironrod had already had her by the time she arrived at court that year to make her case on the matter of her husband’s will, so she knew there was no one else to seduce to gain what was rightfully hers.

But then she met Aemond.

Aemond who was pleasant company when he wasn’t being the cold and indifferent prince with a talent for violence.

Aemond was she is very sure was a man maiden when she first brought him to her bed weeks after his sixth and tenth nameday.

She made him a man and now he had left her in the dust and replaced her with his six- and ten-year-old niece a year later.

Of course, Jena was a beauty with hair like ebony, a sharp tongue and powerful allies, but Princess Aemma with her silver gold ringlets, sweet demeanor and high rank had made her lose her coveted spot in both court and Aemond’s heart.

You are a servant, she is a queen, her husband had said when both began to feel the loss of her status as the One-Eyed Prince’s mistress.

They did not feel the waning of their influence for too long.

Not now that Prince Aegon out of spite had bent her over a card table after his little wife fucked his brother like she loved him.

Love.

The one thing few have and that you sure as hell do not find with your husband.

This morning she received jewels, gold and a gelding as dark as her hair.

Aemond had not been as generous, how could he be when a second son had less than the firstborn?

“Did you like the gelding, Lady Wylde?” Princess Aemma smiled sweetly as she asked.

She could be a bitch; marriage had made her a delightful creature.

The Pearl of Dragonstone had been as sweet as naïve as her goodsister, only the Pearl’s sweetness had begun to melt away to reveal sharp edges after her return from the progress.

A shitty husband and goodmother does that to a girl.

“Yes, his highness was rather thoughtful to gift me such a beautiful horse.” Jena thanked her knowing this faux kindness will leave once she hears the rumors of her and Aemond.

Jena had the advantage of the court gossip mill and friends amongst the ladies.

Aemma spent so much time playing the lord of the castle and bettering the lives of the smallfolk she had not bothered with making the vapid hens her friends like Jena had done.

Her name was not enough here.

Not when Alicent Hightower ruled with an iron fist.

The girl giggles, “He deserves no such praise, Lady Wylde. The gelding was my gift to you.  He wanted to give you a mare, but the gelding seemed more fitting.”

Ah, so it is true then! The lady catches onto the meaning quickly.

Oh, poor, stupid, Aemond.

He was being used as a stud and fell in love with his brother’s wife.

Really the mummers in Braavos could never write something as good as this.

“Yes, even more than you think, your highness. I heard you have acquired a stud worthy of a kingdom, a stud I broke in myself, I might add.

Rode him till he cried for mercy the morning your highness returned from the progress.” Jena lowered her voice and tried not to look too gleeful when the princess was caught unawares by her words.

She didn’t know, sweet Aemond had not told her about her.

“I suppose I should thank you; he is a great fuck.” The princess tries to shake off the surprise and returns fire like a natural when a handmaiden comes to tell her letters from Dragonstone had arrived for her. “Good day, Lady Wylde and I hope your new gelding satisfies you as much as he satisfied me.”

Nothing like fucking the same man to bring out the bitch in you.

“Bitch.” Jena mutters knowing she can hear her.

“Princess Bitch.” Aemma corrects with a disarming smile.

This will be the start of an interesting friendship.

Because her mother will be returning to court, Aemma must get her tonic ---which is a vial she must drink without fail once a week--- early and have enough in supply for the next moon.

Even meeting Aemond’s former lover has not hampered her joy at having her family and her ladies returning here.

Even grandmother is supposed to be coming for a visit.

Something about Uncle Vaemond wanting to contest grandfather’s will.

Why he’d do so when grandfather is perfectly fine and Baela and Rhaena are above him in the succession, is not said in the letter.

But that is a question for another day.

The first question of the day is why the apothecary’s shop is closed?

And the second is, why is Ser Criston here?

“Your goodmother has had me follow you ever since the agreement.” He says keeping things vague as if their silver hair peeking from their hoods and hats didn’t give them away already.

They wore hooded cloaks and while Teora in her Septa’s robes could hide her, they were too fine to not draw attention to them.

“I was buying fertility tonics; it is not my fault it did not work. If you will excuse me, Ser, I need to find another apothecary willing to keep their mouth shut for a reasonable price.” Aemma lied and tried to return to her unmarked carriage without him tailing her.

She had known the carriage was a bad investment.

“Lord Strong had the apothecary questioned, the ruse is up, your highness.” The Dornish knight whispers as he helps her into the fucking carriage like a little girl caught running off to cause mischief.

“Fuck.” Aemma mutters and gestures for him to join them inside the carriage.

“Language, Aemma.” Her Septa chastised her as if that even mattered now and she tells her so.

“I cannot, will not, have a child. I would rather have Silverwing burn me alive than give Aegon an heir.” Aemma digs her nails onto the leather seat to stop herself from crying at how much she fucking loathes the hand she has been dealt. “I do not want to live my mother’s life.”

“It is for the better of the realm, your highness.” He repeats the same phrase she hears from the septons, the maesters, the members of the small council and now the man who fucked her mother and has the audacity to call her a whore.

“As if that makes it any better!” She scoffed at his words. “My mother did the same and was branded a whore, by her no less! Her grace may feign to be righteous and good, but whatever hell my mother will burn in, it is a consolation to know Alicent will be right there beside her.”

The knight tries to counter her, spread the gospel about poor queen Alicent who only wants to protect her children and make the perfect puppet king for her father because gods forbid that woman grows a damn spine and tells her father to go fuck himself.

But Aemma does not listen.

Once she is queen, she will send her on a long walk off a short pier.

#aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #asoiaf fanfic #ocappreciationtag #house of the dragon #aegon ii x oc x aemond #oc:jena wylde #all is bliss fic #ewan mitchell #fyeahhotdocs #fyeahasoiafocs

[zyrafowe-sny]

WIP Wednesday Game

I am not seeing a new one this week, so I'm copying the rules from kedreeva. :)

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

I'll reblog with my stuff shortly.

Tagging some writers off the top of my head (by no means comprehensive!): @branmuffins22 @abstract-moth @gakriele-lvs-blog @bright-thorn @sir-ballister-boldheart @kestrel-wylde @madlad06 @candyskiez @violet-prism-creatively @watery-melon-baller

#wip wednesday #wip wednesday game #ask game

[fionnemrys]

Tagged by: @fazedlight. Thanks! 🥰

Last Song(s): Whatever’s playing in this Panera right now. But the song that has been an incessant earworm all week is “Last Resort” by Lindsay Mac. 

Currently Watching: The Way Home (Chyler Leigh’s latest show, which is surprisingly good for a Hallmark production.) and Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Three ships: Xena/Gabrielle, Supercorp, and Wenclair (Why only three? What about my love of Dreamling, Ineffible Husbands, Wayhaught, and Valcarol, to name just a few?)

Favorite color: It varies, but usually either green or purple.

Currently consuming: Tea

First ship: Probably Xena/Gabrielle

Relationship status: Single 😔

Last movie: The Marvels. I love this movie so much!

Currently working on: beta reading a couple of fics for Mayhem and doing another playthrough of Wylde Flowers for “research” for a fic idea.

No-Pressure tags: @jadedloverart, @badcures, @livesvicariouslythroughfiction, @jedifighterpilot2727, @scifrey, @mycatismyeditor

#tag game #it me