"Veritas Et Aequitas" - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Modern Law School AU) - Chapter One: Orientation
a/n: surprise shorrrdy! apparently i couldn't resist. i hope y'all enjoy this - based off of a request for a hotd law school au from @an-enigmatic-avenger 🤭❤️
Summary: You're at your orientation for your first year at Harvard Law School, and that's when you meet him.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, aemond being a dick, reader being a dick, very strong marvel opinions
Word Count: 3,050 words
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️
All your life has been spent in the pursuit of one goal. Getting into Harvard Law School. You made sure to take all the right classes in high school, all AP and Honors. You went to a prestigious school for undergrad, joined a sorority with a good reputation, joined the Pre Law society and debate team, volunteered, and eventually graduated Summa Cum Laude with departmental and college honors. A model student, and fairly popular, you have every confidence you are going to absolutely kill it in law school.
As you walk toward the orientation check-in tables, a spring in your step, a bright smile on your face, the perfect day you’ve imagined in your head comes crashing down in the form of a six foot tall blonde bumping into you, nearly sending you falling to the ground. And the bastard doesn’t even bother apologizing!
You give him a sharp glare, calling after the stranger, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
You’re only slightly taken aback when the stranger turns to face you, all sharp jawline and high cheekbones, long blonde hair and an annoyed expression on his face - if he hadn’t nearly knocked you down just now, you might’ve even called him good looking, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me! Do you purposely almost mow people down every time you walk somewhere?” you demand, glaring up at him, brushing your shoulder past him as you continue walking, mumbling under your breath, “Asshole.”
You continue toward the orientation tables and, much to your horror, you notice he’s headed in the same direction as you.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you groan.
The blonde scoffs, “You again. Is there something that you want?”
It pisses you off an unreasonable amount that he looks down as he speaks to you, even though it’s clearly on because he’s taller than you. So, you brush past him, ignoring him, still making your way to the tables.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know it’s rude to just brush past people like that?” he demands.
“Sorry, must’ve dropped them when you bumped into me,” you snark, getting into line ahead of him.
“I didn’t ram into you,” he retorts as you grab your schedule and name badge, before grabbing his own, “You just weren’t paying any attention. Not my fault.”
“Sure, Jan,” you scoff, seeing that you’ve been assigned to Group 7.
You watch as your new… Friend takes his own name badge and smirks to himself. The tag reads “Aemond”, and you find yourself thinking that sounds weirdly familiar, but shake it off.
‘Aemond’ then checks his group number and scowls, “Great, we share the same orientation group. Just my luck.”
You’re a few steps ahead of Aemond at this point and so, he heads out after you, prompting you to turn at him, narrow your eyes and question, “Why the fuck are you following me? Stalker.”
He grits his teeth in annoyance, “I’m not following you, we’re going in the same direction, genius.”
“Yeah, okay, let’s pretend I believe that,” you roll your eyes, continuing to walk.
“I’m gonna be stuck with a smartass all day now,” Aemond huffs, still walking behind you, “Wonderful.”
You can feel his gaze burning holes into your back and immediately sass him yet again, “Can you quit staring at my ass? I know it’s nice, but have some decorum. This is Harvard, not Florida State.”
Aemond gives you an incredulous look, “I wasn’t staring at your ass, you narcissist-” he cuts himself off before continuing and instead glares at you, walking faster, hoping to outpace you.
Not one to be outdone, you pick up your pace too. And the two of you go back and forth like this until you’re practically jogging to get to the classroom before him. And, of course, he starts running too, refusing to let you beat him.
“You always this competitive?” Aemond questions.
“We’re at Harvard, everyone here is competitive, smart one.”
Aemond keeps running, eventually overtaking you glancing back over his shoulder, “Yeah, but still. You’re a little bit extra.”
“And you’re more than a little bit extra. I mean the whole dark academia aesthetic?” you gesture to his outfit, “Try hard.”
Aemond glances down at his outfit, a black coat with a cream colored cable knit sweater, gray slacks, and dress shoes. He has his hair in a bun and is wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses along with a cashmere scarf. He relents that dark academia might be an appropriate way of describing him, but refuses to admit it to anyone but himself. He looks you over, noting your choice of attire. A fuschia colored tweed skirt and matching jacket, a white top underneath and a pair of dressy flats. Well, he already saw said skirt when he was checking out your ass, in all honesty, not that he’d ever admit that either.
“Whatever you say, Elle Woods,” he chuckles to himself as the two of you enter the building where your orientation will be, finding your way to the classroom, “You look like you got lost on the way to the ‘Barbie’ audition.”
“And you look like you got lost on the way to the MCR Reunion,” you retort sharply, pushing past him, letting out a triumphant grin that you reached the classroom before he did in the end, walking around to find your assigned seat.
Aemond’s seat is, as luck would have it, beside yours. He sighs, watching as you cross your legs and pull something out of your bag, a pink notebook with a pink pen. How surprising. How can someone who’s so in love with what’s supposed to be a sweet, girly color be so rude?
“This seat sucks,” he mutters, perhaps to you and perhaps to himself, “No back support and the chairs are uncomfortable. Who chose these?”
“Some white old man over two hundred years ago,” you pause before adding, “Maybe one of your ancestors, colonizer.”
“Colonizer?!”
“You’re Valyrian. You have the look. And your name,” you drawl, “Most Valyrians today claim to be descended from Aegon the Colonizer- oops! I mean Conqueror.”
“You know what?” he leans in, looking at you, “You’re really starting to get on my nerves. Is that your goal? To annoy me with your sassiness? Is that what gets you off?”
You don’t move away, nor do you avert your gaze, meeting his evenly as you give him a sarcastic little grin, “No, my vibe gets me off. This is just for fun.”
Aemond lets out a low groan of frustration and looks away from you, his cheeks going slightly pink at the mention of your vibe, “You’re exhausting. You must be single, no one would want to be with someone as annoying as you are.”
“I’m flattered that you’re interested but I’m gonna have to pass. My boyfriend’s at Yale,” you inform him primly as your orientation leader walks into the classroom.
“Really?” Aemond scoffs, “He must be desperate to stay with a girl as rude as you are.”
“I’m not rude to him,” you sass, “That’s reserved for you, Blondie.”
Aemond bites back a laugh at your new nickname for him, “That’s not exactly something to be proud of, is it?”
The orientation officially begins and both of you go quiet, listening to and soaking in all the information about what to expect while you get all situated this week. A lot of information is being thrown at you all at once and both of you take diligent notes on everything of import. However, Aemond keeps finding himself distracted by the way you tap that stupid pink pen of yours against your lips while listening. He glances at it, trying not to laugh, and admits to himself that your whole aesthetic is actually kind of adorable. And the way you bite your lip while in thought.
You notice him looking over at you and frown slightly, turning away from him, your nose wrinkling in distaste. And he thinks that’s kind of adorable too. But, you’re annoying. The most fucking annoying person he’s met in his entire life. He continues taking his notes meticulously and panics when his pen runs out of ink, the orientation leader still dropping new information on you at warp speed. You notice his dilemma and sigh, tossing him a pencil, which is, of course, pink.
“Give it back when you’re done.”
He nods, mumbling out a quick thanks. And that’s when tragedy strikes. That’s when you learn that those in your orientation group will be sharing the same schedule as 1L’s with you. You and Aemond are about to be in every class together. Your eyes widen and Aemond’s jaw drops in horror. This is both of your worst nightmares come true. You won’t be able to avoid each other.
Aemond turns to you, “You’re going to be in all of my classes?! I have to see you every day?!”
You sink down in your seat and groan, covering your face with your hands, “There is a God. And He hates me.”
Aemond can’t help but chuckle a little at this, taunting, Maybe He’s punishing you for being rude to me. Regret it yet?”
“Not one bit,” you snatch your pencil back from him, toss it into your purse and begin walking toward the classroom your group has been told to head off to next.
He lets out a groan of exasperation, muttering under his breath how he hates you, how rude and annoying you are, only to be called out yet again as he follows behind you for staring at your ass.
“I wasn’t staring at your- Okay, for maybe two seconds, but-” he lets out another groan, “Why can’t you stop making things worse? I swear, I hate you so much.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” you catch a glimpse of the folder in his hand, his full name written across it, your mouth forming an o when you see his full name - Aemond Targaryen, “Oh, you’re a nepo baby. It all makes sense now.”
He turns and scowls at you, “Oh, so what? I made it here on my own merit. Just because my family happens to have money, it suddenly means I’m not a real student?”
“Please, I bet you got less than a 171 on your LSATs and still managed to get in here because Mommy and Daddy put in a good word,” Aemond’s scowl deepens, his brows furrowing together, but before he can respond, you’re snarking at him again, “Why are you still following me?”
He pinches his nose and lets out a sigh, “Because we’re literally in the same orientation group. Remember? That means we’re going to the same place,” he says, walking faster to catch up to you.
You walk even faster, “Well, walk on your own, emo boy!”
Aemond rolls his eyes at the slight, “I’m not emo. You’re just… Ugh,” he runs to catch up to you, jaw dropping when you break into a sprint, “This girl is actually insane,” you, naturally, beat him to the classroom, taking your seat and smirking to yourself as he mumbles, “Fine, I guess you win. I hope you’re happy about it.”
“I am,” you grin cockily, “It’s just another bit of evidence that I’m better than you in every conceivable way.”
He grits his teeth, taking a seat beside you, “Sure, it’s proof that you’re an attention-seeking brat, but I don’t think it means you’re better in every way.”
“Why are you sitting next to me?” you narrow your eyes, “There’s an entire classroom full of empty seats, and it’s not assigned seating anymore. You obsessed with me or something?”
He laughs incredulously, “Obsessed with you? That’s rich. You may have that pretty privilege of sorts, but it doesn’t excuse your shitty attitude towards me,” he lowers his voice, leaning in to whisper, “I was trying to annoy you, like you annoy me every time you speak. And I think it’s working,” he grins, “I seem to have gotten under your skin.”
“Pretty privilege? Awww, Gerard Way Junior thinks I’m pretty,” you snicker at his inadvertent confession.
“Of course you’d latch onto that part of what I said, you narcissist,” he scoffs, “I never said you were pretty.”
“You literally just said I have pretty privilege,” you point out.
“Yeah, but I didn’t call you pretty. I just acknowledged that you do have pretty privilege,” Aemond says, smirking to himself, quite satisfied with having dodged that bullet.
Until you snark, “You’re going to be such a shitty lawyer with that circular reasoning.”
“At least I won’t insult my opponents in a courtroom. You’ve got a big mouth and it’s going to land you in a lot of trouble with all of your smart-ass comments,” Aemond says with a laugh, though he gets the feeling you’d be one hell of a prosecutor with how sassy you are.
“Ha, look, You wanna call me Elle Woods? No, no. I’m in my Matt Murdock era, buddy. The Charlie Cox version, and you?” you eye him up and down, almost disdainfully before adding, “You’re the 2003 Ben Affleck version.”
Aemond raises a brow, sounding more than a bit offended, “What did you just say?”
“I said you’re the mid tier non Netflix or MCU Matt Murdock.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, “Well, you know what? The Netflix one sucks. The non-MCU one is miles better in terms of actual Daredevil storytelling.”
Your jaw drops, “Nah. Nah, you didn’t just say that. You did not insult Netflix Daredevil… If I didn’t hate you before…”
Aemond knows he’s talking out of his ass at this point. He hates Ben Affleck and his version of Daredevil but he refuses to acknowledge that you’re right, and instead? Doubles down.
“I did indeed insult the MCU and Netflix Daredevil and I’m not taking it back,” he crosses his arms defiantly.
“So you didn’t cheer when Charlie came on screen in No Way Home?” you press.
He shifts in his seat slightly before admitting, “Maybe a bit. I was more excited about Tobey and Andrew.”
“That’s valid,” you admit, albeit reluctantly, causing Aemond to look at you with genuine confusion that you’ve agreed with him on something, “Tobey was the best Peter. Andrew was the best Spidey. And then… There’s Tom.”
And now you’ve pissed him off, “There’s no way you just said that. Tom is the best Spidey and Peter!”
“Oh my God, I’m so unsurprised that you’re a Tom stan,” you snort out a laugh, and Aemond finds himself surprised that it sounded kind of… Cute?
“You’re insane,” he shakes his head, his voice slightly raised, all eyes in the classroom on the two of you, “You really can’t see why Tom Holland is the perfect Spider-Man and perfect Peter Parker?”
“Literally, the only reason he has any relevance is because Tony was his mentor. The only reason No Way Home wasn’t mid was all the cameos. Far From Home? Mid as fuck. The best part was when he got hit by that train.”
Now he knows you’re trying to rile him up and get some sort of reaction out of him, “You’re trying to piss me off so hard and it’s working,” he snaps, “Far From Home was near perfection!”
“The only good thing about it was Jake Gyllenhaal and that’s not saying much. MCU Spidey villains are meh at best and pathetic at worst. Nothing beats the Raimiverse villains,” you state as though it’s a fact of nature - and to you, it is.
Aemond shakes his head, laughing to himself in disbelief, “Oh, you have got to be joking. The Raimi villains were all cheesy, campy, and over the top. They were terrible.”
You look at him incredulously, as though he’s insulted your entire family line, “Are you insulting Willem fucking Dafoe?”
Aemond backtracks slightly, fumbling a bit, “I- No, of course not! He’s a great actor and he did a great job as Norman and the Green Goblin, but my point still stands, the Raimi villains were just… Cheesier.”
You’re quite worked up at this point, both of you actually, to the point that you don’t notice the guest speaker for the orientation entering the room, “Thomas Hayden Church as Sandman? Alfred Molina as Doc Ock?! Dude, if you think Vulture or Mysterio come anywhere close to those, I dunno what to say to you.”
Aemond is starting to run out of arguments at this point, and so, gives in, backing down, “You know what? Fine then, the Raimi villains are better than the MCU ones. I’m not arguing over this anymore,” he says, clearly annoyed at the victorious little smirk on your face, “You’re a pain, you know that?”
He’s actually a bit amazed that you’ve managed to win the argument, considering his entire life he’s been the one to win every debate he enters. You’ve thrown him for quite a loop and he can’t help but chuckle at your retort.
“I’m a really good lawyer,” you shrug, quoting Matt Murdock.
“That remains to be seen,” Aemond smirks, “So, since you’re so obsessed with the Raimi films, what’s your favorite film of the three?”
“Spider-Man 3.”
He looks at you, absolutely shocked. How in the fuck can the Topher Grace Venom, emo Peter film be your favorite?
“You’re kidding, right? Are you seriously picking the worst movie in the trilogy as your favorite? 2 is clearly the superior-”
“Oh, do not start with me-”
The guest speaker clears their throat, giving both of you an impatient glare. And you both finally quiet down, suitably chastised. You take notes once again on the information they give about what to expect as a 1L and then, it’s time for a short break for lunch.
You start walking off toward the dining hall, not even looking at Aemond as you sass, “Don’t even think about sitting next to me.”
Aemond thinks to himself that the way you said that sounds more like a challenge than anything. He smirks to himself, heading the same way as you, over to the cafeteria, unsure why his pants feel so uncomfortably tight after this exchange.
it’s july 2, 2021 and the Texas power grid is down. the temperature outside is reaching 105° with no sign of respite. dripping with sweat, a trembling Ted Cruz steps off the plane in seattle. he stands alone, gripping a crumpled ticket for a first-class cabin aboard an Alaska cruise. soon he’ll be free from the anguished screams of his constituents.
but there, at the dock, a lone figure waits to greet ted. large, dead eyes meet his and Ted knows he’s at the end of the line. once Gritty finds you, there’s nowhere to run.
Me: …The hell is it called the ‘drawing room’ for? Was drawing really such a wide-spread hobby, and if so, why do I never see any art equipment in the reconstructions of any of these rooms?
Historian, curator and documentary presenter Dr Lucy Wosley: Actually it was originally called the ‘withdrawing room’, as in the place one withdrew to, and where only family and important guests were allowed to enter. The name got shortened over time.
wait, so all those scenes where people are invited into the ‘drawing room’ are actually a declaration of intimacy and close friendship or otherwise close ties / importance?
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