🫧𝖍𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖈𝖑𝖔𝖚𝖉🫧

loved to read books, so started writing them

[cloudydeevz]

At the End of the Hall

Jacaerys Targaryen x targaryen!reader

angst, cause i wrote this after watching the latest episode of hotd. basically targaryen!reader trying to deal with the fact that Jace is dead.

i wrote this while playing stupid song by Olivia Rodrigo on repeat(i love her)

short, only 1.5k words

Silverwing sat merely meters from you, and perhaps that was a good thing. For your own safety.

Because this had become a dangerous world for those who looked like you.

The dragon let out small noises every now and then, but was otherwise quiet— as if she had already detected that you needed the space to let out your emotions. Your sorrow. Your tears.

You could still remember the sight.

You and Jace. Side by side. Riding out into battle.

He had been excited, happy after weeks, for he had been finally doing something, instead of being forced to remain cooped up inside the walls of Dragonstone. And you had been sent out right beside him- for the troops of the Greens had been at the gates.

Aegon the Usurper, a man you had once called your brother, had formed an alliance with the Triarchy.

What they had been promised you could only imagine.

Control over the ocean-routes?

Trade?

Gold?

Or perhaps the mere zeal of winning a battle against Corlys Velaryon?

But you knew that they had provided the Greens with the ships that they had desperately needed.

Even when you had been a child, you had never loved your eldest brother.

Because as Aegon had grown older, he had started to take pleasure in hurting those who couldn’t hurt him.

The late King, your father, had always been a coward. An ignorant coward.

Your mother was a victim of her own circumstances— but that gave her no reason to hurt others.

Helaena had always been a darling, and you had loved her. You loved her still.

And you hated Daemon Targaryen for what he did to her child, an innocent. But you hated Aemond even more for what he had done to Luke.

Aemond.

Sweet, sweet Aemond.

Perhaps that was what hurt the most— that he had once been sweet. That he had been the only one who had truly tried to understand you out of all of your siblings.

Perhaps the bond with Vhagar had been what changed him.

Perhaps the nights spent awake due to the sting of his lost eye had been what changed him.

Perhaps losing you had been what changed him.

It didn’t matter now.

Nothing mattered now.

You couldn’t remember the first time you had met Jace, for the two of you had been mere children.

But for as long as you could remember you had adored him.

You had adored him as he had been Jacaerys Velaryon in the Red Keep.

You had adored him as he had been mocked Jacaerys Strong.

You had adored him as he had become the Prince of Dragonstone, Jacaerys Targaryen.

Because how could you not have adored him?

You had adored him as he had been mere miles away from you on Vermax as Jacaerys Targaryen.

You had adored him as he had been brave in battle, the perfect heir, Jacaerys Strong.

You had adored him as he had died at sea as Jacaerys Velaryon.

In the distance you could hear noises.

Wings?

Silverwing perked up, raising her neck in the direction where the sounds were coming from.

You should have stood up. Should have sat up straight. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Perhaps someone had been sent out to find you.

Perhaps it was Aemond here to finally free you from this nightmare.

In the midst of the battle you had never even realized when he had been surrounded, when Vermax had fallen.

You couldn’t help but blame yourself.

You should never have left his side.

You should have stayed by him, helped him, fought them with him.

And if death was certain, you should have died with him.

You cursed the Myrish archers for they should have shot you too.

You cannot even think about wishing that the precious girl beside you, precious Silverwing, had been hit by the scorpion spears, had been hurt in the battle... but, nevertheless, you should have died in that battle, not Jace.

Never Jace.

And you know that.

You had been riding back, tired but uninjured, when you had been intercepted by Adam on Seasmoke.

He had asked you whether you knew. You had shaken your head in no. Dread had filled your stomach even as you had had no idea what he had been talking about.

You had asked him over the wind over and over, your voice straining, but he had never answered.

You had had nothing else to do but follow him back to Dragonstone.

And there, outside, had been your first clue. But you had not had the presence of mind to notice.

Surely Vermax was not outside because he had already been taken down into the dragonpits.

Not because he had died.

Surely the silence that reigned over the fortress meant something else.

Not because they were in mourning.

Surely Adam of Hull never met your eyes because of something else.

Not because he was guilty, sorry.

Surely Rhaenyra was nowhere to be seen because she had some other engagement.

Not because Jacaerys, her first-born son, had died.

Surely the silence in the halls of Dragonstone, all the men with their heads bowed as she entered, had been because of something else.

Not because the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne, the heir of the Queen Rhaenyra, first to her name, was dead.

And surely the only reason there had been no one waiting for her at the end of the hall, lips curved up in that way she loved, in that way he knew she loved, was because he had been tired from the battle.

Not because there had been no one.

Not because Jace, her Jace, had died.

The first time Vermax had been hit by the scorpion spear, you had been away, raining fire down on the bastards, as Baela had wrenched it out on Moondancer.

He had survived.

And when you realized what had happened, you had flown back to his side.

You had tried to convince him to fall back, to take a moment and then re-enter the battle. But he had refused, stubborn as ever.

Still, it had all been alright.

The three of you had rained fire on the ships and the screams had filled the air.

But then the rogue dragon had arrived.

And that was where it had all started to go wrong.

Sheepstealer, as she had been informed was his name, was still not fully bonded to Rhaena. A wonder of how she even rode it out to the sea.

But the battle had completely thrown the dragon off.

The scent of blood, the shouts, the smoke of wood burning, the sound of wings.

The dragon had gone mad, for it had attacked you.

Silverwing had been hurt.

Had it not been for the saddle, you would have fallen off.

And then...

And then you didn’t know what happened next for you had been almost killed and it had all happened in mere seconds.

A man—you remembered his voice but not his face—had told you what had happened in the halls of Dragonstone.

Had it been the Seasnake, Hand of the Queen?

Had it been Hugh Hammer?

Or had it been one of the Queensguards?

You didn’t know.

What you did know was that in the rush of the moment Jace had decided that it would be wise to go against Sheepstealer alone and on inexperienced young Vermax.

It might have worked, really. Had the rider not been Rhaena. And had he not noticed that.

But he had.

He had noticed and tried to pull out of the attack at the last moment, and in doing so he had flown too low.

The ships had let loose another scorpion spear.

And this time no one had been there.

He had been dragged beneath.

He must have unstrapped himself from the saddle, somehow.

He must have broken free to the water’s surface.

Because Rhaena told you she had seen him.

In his last moments, Rhaena had seen him.

He had been looking up at the sky, clinging to some ship’s wreckage, as the archers had struck his body with arrows.

Rhaena had been unable to rescue him on her rampaging dragon.

Baela had been too far.

You had had no idea what had happened.

Jacaerys Targaryen had drowned to the depths of the Blackwater Bay.

And no matter how many times you returned to Dragonstone

tomorrow,

next week,

next year—

there would never again be someone waiting for you at the end of the hall.

[cloudydeevz]

lived like a true Targaryen fought like a true Strong and died like a true Velaryon.

RIP Jacaerys. You will be missed.

[cloudydeevz]

how can the parents of a country like ours stop their children from pursuing art?

[cloudydeevz]

if questioning a democratic government makes you an anti-nationalist, then is it a democracy at all?

[cloudydeevz]

if questioning a democratic government makes you an anti-nationalist, then is it a democracy at all?

[cloudydeevz]

I fucking HATE people who love to "clean up" on the weekends.

Like what the fuck is your problem? Were you not loved as a child?

And not only will they do their work, dusting and cleaning and tidying up all around the house, they will also force or, a much more effective alternative, guilt trap you into helping them too. Like what the hell?

If you want to clean, clean. But why do you have to do all that hard work around where I am sitting, trying to rest after a very tiring week? And when I actually do help you, you somehow manage to find something else to do and THE CYCLE REPEATS.

This is a sincere request to all the people who do this, please stop🙏

[cloudydeevz]

The Night Everything Went Wrong

or: The Targaryens, The Police and A Very Bad Night

modern!au drabble

Okay. I just realised what this looks like.

This is NOT readerxegg taragaryen.

That is Daella Targaryen, one of Maekar's daughters (the elder one)

This is just suppposed to portray the Targaryen chaos.

All these drabbles will eventually be connected to a lannister!FMC X Maekar Targaryen oneshot I am planning.

Lyonel Baratheon is aged around 20-22 here. I have opted to take his book age and not his show age. Why? Because I don't want high schoolers and college goers going to a party a 40 year old is throwing, lol.

Daella Targaryen did not look particularly like her brothers.

Where they sported hair so light it looked almost white, hers was the colour of the earth. But she had the most beautiful eyes—lilac. Soft, pretty, lilac.

And right now Daella stood on her doorstep, looking up at her with those same lilac eyes, pleading. “Please?”

She stood aside to let Daella enter. “You know I can’t.”

Daella huffed and stalked inside the room. “And you know how long I have been wanting to go to one of his parties—”

“They are more ragers than parties, Daella.”

“Please, please, please, please, please—”

She put her hands over her ears. “Oh my god! Stop!”

Daella pouted.

“Why can’t you just get Aelora to take you?”

“I can’t.”

“Please stop whining.”

“Won’t you ask me why I can’t?!”

“Why?”

“Now I don’t want to.”

She sighed. “Just tell me.”

“Well, uncle Baelor found Daeron’s stash this morning, but he didn’t know whose it was because it was stuffed over the cabinets in the bathroom. So he has grounded everyone until he can identify the culprit.”

“I want to say that I am disappointed, but it was really bound to happen one of these days.”

“Well, will you then?”

She tried to play dumb. “Will I, what?”

“Take me to the party Lyonel’s throwing!”

“Um... no?”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “You are whining again.”

Daella crossed her arms. “Why not?”

“Because I have a lot of assignments due and I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to help you go to a party that your father would very much disapprove of?”

“But I told Dunk that I would be there.” Daella grumbled.

“What now?”

The younger girl blushed, and her words came out in a rush. “Dunk. He is a guy and I really like him and he asked me last week whether I was going to be coming and I said yes and now I really need to be there!”

She sat Daella down on her bed, grinning. “Okay, um... I can see why you want to go. But if Baelor, or worse, Maekar finds out—”

“They won’t. I promise.”

She smiled.

“Well, then. Let’s get you ready for meeting this Dunk.”

......

The party that Lyonel Baratheon had hosted had gotten very clearly out of control.

Daella had long since disappeared into the crowd with her friends, all of whom had been giggling uncontrollably.

“What are you looking so serious about, pretty?”

She cringed, pushing the drunk guy swaying toward her away and continued further into the house.

Normally she wouldn’t have hated coming to a party. To loosen up. To have fun. But tonight had been her night to spend some time with herself. Maybe read conspiracy theories on the internet and shit herself to death or something. Plus, none of her friends were here.

But sadly, she loved little Daella too much. Which was why she was searching for her in this madhouse. It was late anyway. It was time to head back home.

The Targaryens’ home was just around the block, lucky girl. Daella wouldn’t have to walk much. She probably planned to climb in through a window or something.

But she herself would have to walk for around 10 minutes before she would reach her flat. Crashing for the night at her uncle’s house sounded like heaven, but it would only result in unwanted questions in the morning.

The song reached her ears before she was met with the not so welcome sight.

“Oh Alice with three fingers never had a lot, she gave me all she had to give,

Two more than what was sought, oh! Two more than what was sought!”

Lyonel Baratheon was perched on a table with friends.

The boys were making fools of themselves.

Their voices were so loud that they carried over the actual music that was blasting through the speakers. A crowd had gathered, all of them snickering among each other, and some even singing along.

She let her eyes wander, hoping to spot Daella. And then she saw someone familiar. Someone awfully familiar. And awfully out of place.

Her footsteps were fast as she followed the boy into what seemed like a private sitting room of sorts. “Aegon Targaryen, what the hell are you doing here?”

Egg jumped what looked like three feet in the air.

He turned to look at her.

She fumbled for a moment, trying to find a light switch. She couldn’t see him too well in the dark.

“What are you doing here?!” She repeated.

“I... I—oh, I... you!”

“Stop stammering, Egg. You are not supposed to be here!”

“Neither are you!”

Her fingers travelled along the wall, looking for the switch. “Really? Because I believe I am old enough to be here. Are you?”

He sounded sheepish. “Not really.”

“Didn’t Baelor ground the lot of you?”

“How do you know that?!”

She finally found the switchboard. She squinted in the sudden brightness.

“I have my ways.”

They both went quiet for a moment.

It was then that she noticed that something looked awfully different about him. She reached out and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him forward into the light.

“Why are you bald?!”

He flushed.

“I asked Daeron to do it for me.”

“Oh.”

“And when did this happen?”

“This afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I—I... don’t see why I need to tell you.”

“Okay. Um... okay, don’t tell me. Will you at least say what you are doing here?”

“I heard the noise from my room and came over because I couldn’t sleep.”

She stared at him. Then sighed. He looked like he was telling the truth.

And it was not like there was nothing she could do about it now.

She let go of her hold on his arm. Looking around, she sat down on a nearby couch that had looked quite unwelcoming but was surprisingly comfortable.

Egg eyed her. “Excuse me, but where do I know you from?”

She sighed. Of course.

“I was your neighbour, Egg. Until last year. I guess you don't remember. Obviously.”

“A neighbour?”

“I am Gerold Lannister’s niece.”

“Oh. Oh! Are you the one who ran away?”

She rushed to correct him. “I did not exactly run away—”

“I thought you jumped out of your window in the middle of the night?”

She felt herself flush. “Ah... yes, I guess you can say that I did.”

“Isn’t that running away?”

She was saved from the pain of answering his question by a very queer sound— the sound of sirens. Police sirens.

She felt herself stiffening.

Had someone called the police on Baratheon’s stupid party?

She really couldn’t afford to be caught here. Her eyes went to Egg, who looked as if he was contemplating fight or flight (as was everyone else in this building, no doubt).

She stood up and held out her hand for Egg to take.

He kept staring at her, making no move to accept her outstretched hand.

“Let’s go.”

“I—I... uh...”

“Oh, come on. I promise I won’t kidnap you. I am just taking you back to your house. You can sneak back in the way you sneaked out. I won’t say anything.”

“Promise?”

She mimed zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed.”

“Okay, then.”

And then his hand was in hers and they were walking out of the room and outside there was a flurry of movement as everyone seemed to have reached the conclusion she had reached— flight.

She let the crowd of people guide her outside the house, only stopping once to move Egg, who had been trailing behind her, to her front so that she could keep her eyes on him.

And then they were outside the house and the air had gotten much colder since she had last been outside hours ago. Strangely, the police were nowhere in the vicinity.

They must have only been passing by.

But there was no saving the party at that point. The garden of the Baratheons’ and the street was already filled with drunk teenagers making their way home. Some stood on the pavement fiddling with their phones, calling and talking.

It was much better outside of the house than it had been inside. The stuffy, suffocating feeling that had been choking her throat all evening seemed to have quite literally gone with the wind.

And now one of her hand was in her pocket, trying to keep out the cold, while the other was clasped in the boy’s.

Egg looked like he was very close to falling asleep. “I still don’t remember who you are, you know?”

She smiled. “I know.”

He smiled up at her. “But I think I will now.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

And then the Targaryens’ house was just a few meters away and it was apparent that the police cars hadn’t just been passing by— they had been going somewhere.

About half a dozen cars were parked outside the house. Even at the distance, it was quite apparent that something serious had happened.

“Is there any chance that they won’t notice us?”

She grimaced. “Probably not.”

As they neared, she muttered worriedly under her breath, “I hope Daella is okay.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said something.”

She readied herself to somehow distract the boy. But then she didn’t have to. A voice carried over to them. A police officer was waving at them. “Hey!”

“Is that Egg?”

“Egg?!”

And then she was looking into a pair of mismatched eyes. One blue, and one black.

“And what—”

But then Baelor had been pushed aside and Maekar was in her face.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Someone had already forced her to shake off her hold on Egg’s hand. She stumbled back a few steps. Egg was saying something quite loudly, but no one was listening to him.

She was quite suddenly very aware of the numerous eyes on her.

It seemed like the whole family was out of the house. What had happened?

A fire, perhaps?

“I—sir, quite respectfully—”

And then another voice came from somewhere behind the two men who were glaring at her.

“Father, she is the same girl who was selling poisoned cookies a few weeks back! I told you she was no good.”

Baelor and Maekar both turned to look over their shoulders at Aerion Targaryen surprisingly at the same time. She couldn’t see their faces, but it shut the boy up.

And then Baelor spoke and she had never heard someone sound more condescending and polite at the same time.

“She was selling... poisoned cookies?”

Maekar shook his head, fingers going to his forehead.

“I have no idea what the fuck he is talking about.”

She rushed to explain herself, directing her words at the older brother.

“I swear I did not kidnap Aegon or something. I found him at the party around the block and decided to walk him home because it was quite late. I am Gerold Lannister’s niece. I used to live in that house right there.”

She pointed in the direction of her uncle’s house.

“I know Aegon from then and that's why I recognized him.”

Baelor Targaryen stared at her for a moment.

And then she stood and stared at her feet and did nothing as he talked to the officers and Maekar went to talk to Egg.

She wanted to leave. She really did. But she hadn’t exactly been excused or something. And call her stupid or a coward, but she really felt like just leaving out of the blue wouldn't put her in their best graces.

Why did she even care?!

She shifted her weight and, despite herself, let her eyes drift back to Maekar.

He was hunched a little and stood apart from the others, shoulders squared, speaking to Aegon in that low, clipped tone of his.

There was something about the way he carried himself—so solid, so immovably certain—that made the rest of them look like children by comparison.

He was older, yes. Much older. The pox scars on his cheeks were visible even in the dim driveway lights, and his mouth seemed permanently set in a line of mild irritation.

And yet, watching him like this—broad-shouldered, gruff, entirely in command of the situation, and still looking frustrated out of his mind—sent a strange, unwelcome flutter low in her stomach.

She wanted to be the one to wipe that frown off of his face. Her eyes dropped to his lips.

She looked away almost immediately, a little annoyed with herself, shaking her head.

Honestly. Of all the terrible ideas.

The police cars were driving away when she heard the door opening and closing, then feet on the driveway and a voice calling her name. She turned.

Daella, drunkenly trying to shake off her father’s grip.

“Oh no, dad. It’s okay. I know her.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Maekar was scowling.

“She helped me get ready for the party. Don’t worry. I know her!”

She grimaced.

Everyone was staring at her again.

Great.

Great.

Just what she needed.

Daella owed her. Big-time.

The words given in the last parts of the story where Aerion is being all "this is the girl who was selling poisoned cookies" is actually a mention of a drabble I had written previously.

The link to that drabble is given with the words themselves. You can check it out if you want(please do!)

Likes, comments and reblogs will be much appreciated!

[cloudydeevz]

The Night Everything Went Wrong

or: The Targaryens, The Police and A Very Bad Night

modern!au drabble

Okay. I just realised what this looks like.

This is NOT readerxegg taragaryen.

That is Daella Targaryen, one of Maekar's daughters (the elder one)

This is just suppposed to portray the Targaryen chaos.

All these drabbles will eventually be connected to a lannister!FMC X Maekar Targaryen oneshot I am planning.

Lyonel Baratheon is aged around 20-22 here. I have opted to take his book age and not his show age. Why? Because I don't want high schoolers and college goers going to a party a 40 year old is throwing, lol.

Daella Targaryen did not look particularly like her brothers.

Where they sported hair so light it looked almost white, hers was the colour of the earth. But she had the most beautiful eyes—lilac. Soft, pretty, lilac.

And right now Daella stood on her doorstep, looking up at her with those same lilac eyes, pleading. “Please?”

She stood aside to let Daella enter. “You know I can’t.”

Daella huffed and stalked inside the room. “And you know how long I have been wanting to go to one of his parties—”

“They are more ragers than parties, Daella.”

“Please, please, please, please, please—”

She put her hands over her ears. “Oh my god! Stop!”

Daella pouted.

“Why can’t you just get Aelora to take you?”

“I can’t.”

“Please stop whining.”

“Won’t you ask me why I can’t?!”

“Why?”

“Now I don’t want to.”

She sighed. “Just tell me.”

“Well, uncle Baelor found Daeron’s stash this morning, but he didn’t know whose it was because it was stuffed over the cabinets in the bathroom. So he has grounded everyone until he can identify the culprit.”

“I want to say that I am disappointed, but it was really bound to happen one of these days.”

“Well, will you then?”

She tried to play dumb. “Will I, what?”

“Take me to the party Lyonel’s throwing!”

“Um... no?”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “You are whining again.”

Daella crossed her arms. “Why not?”

“Because I have a lot of assignments due and I really don’t think it’s a good idea for me to help you go to a party that your father would very much disapprove of?”

“But I told Dunk that I would be there.” Daella grumbled.

“What now?”

The younger girl blushed, and her words came out in a rush. “Dunk. He is a guy and I really like him and he asked me last week whether I was going to be coming and I said yes and now I really need to be there!”

She sat Daella down on her bed, grinning. “Okay, um... I can see why you want to go. But if Baelor, or worse, Maekar finds out—”

“They won’t. I promise.”

She smiled.

“Well, then. Let’s get you ready for meeting this Dunk.”

......

The party that Lyonel Baratheon had hosted had gotten very clearly out of control.

Daella had long since disappeared into the crowd with her friends, all of whom had been giggling uncontrollably.

“What are you looking so serious about, pretty?”

She cringed, pushing the drunk guy swaying toward her away and continued further into the house.

Normally she wouldn’t have hated coming to a party. To loosen up. To have fun. But tonight had been her night to spend some time with herself. Maybe read conspiracy theories on the internet and shit herself to death or something. Plus, none of her friends were here.

But sadly, she loved little Daella too much. Which was why she was searching for her in this madhouse. It was late anyway. It was time to head back home.

The Targaryens’ home was just around the block, lucky girl. Daella wouldn’t have to walk much. She probably planned to climb in through a window or something.

But she herself would have to walk for around 10 minutes before she would reach her flat. Crashing for the night at her uncle’s house sounded like heaven, but it would only result in unwanted questions in the morning.

The song reached her ears before she was met with the not so welcome sight.

“Oh Alice with three fingers never had a lot, she gave me all she had to give,

Two more than what was sought, oh! Two more than what was sought!”

Lyonel Baratheon was perched on a table with friends.

The boys were making fools of themselves.

Their voices were so loud that they carried over the actual music that was blasting through the speakers. A crowd had gathered, all of them snickering among each other, and some even singing along.

She let her eyes wander, hoping to spot Daella. And then she saw someone familiar. Someone awfully familiar. And awfully out of place.

Her footsteps were fast as she followed the boy into what seemed like a private sitting room of sorts. “Aegon Targaryen, what the hell are you doing here?”

Egg jumped what looked like three feet in the air.

He turned to look at her.

She fumbled for a moment, trying to find a light switch. She couldn’t see him too well in the dark.

“What are you doing here?!” She repeated.

“I... I—oh, I... you!”

“Stop stammering, Egg. You are not supposed to be here!”

“Neither are you!”

Her fingers travelled along the wall, looking for the switch. “Really? Because I believe I am old enough to be here. Are you?”

He sounded sheepish. “Not really.”

“Didn’t Baelor ground the lot of you?”

“How do you know that?!”

She finally found the switchboard. She squinted in the sudden brightness.

“I have my ways.”

They both went quiet for a moment.

It was then that she noticed that something looked awfully different about him. She reached out and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him forward into the light.

“Why are you bald?!”

He flushed.

“I asked Daeron to do it for me.”

“Oh.”

“And when did this happen?”

“This afternoon.”

“Why?”

“I—I... don’t see why I need to tell you.”

“Okay. Um... okay, don’t tell me. Will you at least say what you are doing here?”

“I heard the noise from my room and came over because I couldn’t sleep.”

She stared at him. Then sighed. He looked like he was telling the truth.

And it was not like there was nothing she could do about it now.

She let go of her hold on his arm. Looking around, she sat down on a nearby couch that had looked quite unwelcoming but was surprisingly comfortable.

Egg eyed her. “Excuse me, but where do I know you from?”

She sighed. Of course.

“I was your neighbour, Egg. Until last year. I guess you don't remember. Obviously.”

“A neighbour?”

“I am Gerold Lannister’s niece.”

“Oh. Oh! Are you the one who ran away?”

She rushed to correct him. “I did not exactly run away—”

“I thought you jumped out of your window in the middle of the night?”

She felt herself flush. “Ah... yes, I guess you can say that I did.”

“Isn’t that running away?”

She was saved from the pain of answering his question by a very queer sound— the sound of sirens. Police sirens.

She felt herself stiffening.

Had someone called the police on Baratheon’s stupid party?

She really couldn’t afford to be caught here. Her eyes went to Egg, who looked as if he was contemplating fight or flight (as was everyone else in this building, no doubt).

She stood up and held out her hand for Egg to take.

He kept staring at her, making no move to accept her outstretched hand.

“Let’s go.”

“I—I... uh...”

“Oh, come on. I promise I won’t kidnap you. I am just taking you back to your house. You can sneak back in the way you sneaked out. I won’t say anything.”

“Promise?”

She mimed zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed.”

“Okay, then.”

And then his hand was in hers and they were walking out of the room and outside there was a flurry of movement as everyone seemed to have reached the conclusion she had reached— flight.

She let the crowd of people guide her outside the house, only stopping once to move Egg, who had been trailing behind her, to her front so that she could keep her eyes on him.

And then they were outside the house and the air had gotten much colder since she had last been outside hours ago. Strangely, the police were nowhere in the vicinity.

They must have only been passing by.

But there was no saving the party at that point. The garden of the Baratheons’ and the street was already filled with drunk teenagers making their way home. Some stood on the pavement fiddling with their phones, calling and talking.

It was much better outside of the house than it had been inside. The stuffy, suffocating feeling that had been choking her throat all evening seemed to have quite literally gone with the wind.

And now one of her hand was in her pocket, trying to keep out the cold, while the other was clasped in the boy’s.

Egg looked like he was very close to falling asleep. “I still don’t remember who you are, you know?”

She smiled. “I know.”

He smiled up at her. “But I think I will now.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

And then the Targaryens’ house was just a few meters away and it was apparent that the police cars hadn’t just been passing by— they had been going somewhere.

About half a dozen cars were parked outside the house. Even at the distance, it was quite apparent that something serious had happened.

“Is there any chance that they won’t notice us?”

She grimaced. “Probably not.”

As they neared, she muttered worriedly under her breath, “I hope Daella is okay.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said something.”

She readied herself to somehow distract the boy. But then she didn’t have to. A voice carried over to them. A police officer was waving at them. “Hey!”

“Is that Egg?”

“Egg?!”

And then she was looking into a pair of mismatched eyes. One blue, and one black.

“And what—”

But then Baelor had been pushed aside and Maekar was in her face.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

Someone had already forced her to shake off her hold on Egg’s hand. She stumbled back a few steps. Egg was saying something quite loudly, but no one was listening to him.

She was quite suddenly very aware of the numerous eyes on her.

It seemed like the whole family was out of the house. What had happened?

A fire, perhaps?

“I—sir, quite respectfully—”

And then another voice came from somewhere behind the two men who were glaring at her.

“Father, she is the same girl who was selling poisoned cookies a few weeks back! I told you she was no good.”

Baelor and Maekar both turned to look over their shoulders at Aerion Targaryen surprisingly at the same time. She couldn’t see their faces, but it shut the boy up.

And then Baelor spoke and she had never heard someone sound more condescending and polite at the same time.

“She was selling... poisoned cookies?”

Maekar shook his head, fingers going to his forehead.

“I have no idea what the fuck he is talking about.”

She rushed to explain herself, directing her words at the older brother.

“I swear I did not kidnap Aegon or something. I found him at the party around the block and decided to walk him home because it was quite late. I am Gerold Lannister’s niece. I used to live in that house right there.”

She pointed in the direction of her uncle’s house.

“I know Aegon from then and that's why I recognized him.”

Baelor Targaryen stared at her for a moment.

And then she stood and stared at her feet and did nothing as he talked to the officers and Maekar went to talk to Egg.

She wanted to leave. She really did. But she hadn’t exactly been excused or something. And call her stupid or a coward, but she really felt like just leaving out of the blue wouldn't put her in their best graces.

Why did she even care?!

She shifted her weight and, despite herself, let her eyes drift back to Maekar.

He was hunched a little and stood apart from the others, shoulders squared, speaking to Aegon in that low, clipped tone of his.

There was something about the way he carried himself—so solid, so immovably certain—that made the rest of them look like children by comparison.

He was older, yes. Much older. The pox scars on his cheeks were visible even in the dim driveway lights, and his mouth seemed permanently set in a line of mild irritation.

And yet, watching him like this—broad-shouldered, gruff, entirely in command of the situation, and still looking frustrated out of his mind—sent a strange, unwelcome flutter low in her stomach.

She wanted to be the one to wipe that frown off of his face. Her eyes dropped to his lips.

She looked away almost immediately, a little annoyed with herself, shaking her head.

Honestly. Of all the terrible ideas.

The police cars were driving away when she heard the door opening and closing, then feet on the driveway and a voice calling her name. She turned.

Daella, drunkenly trying to shake off her father’s grip.

“Oh no, dad. It’s okay. I know her.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Maekar was scowling.

“She helped me get ready for the party. Don’t worry. I know her!”

She grimaced.

Everyone was staring at her again.

Great.

Great.

Just what she needed.

Daella owed her. Big-time.

The words given in the last parts of the story where Aerion is being all "this is the girl who was selling poisoned cookies" is actually a mention of a drabble I had written previously.

The link to that drabble is given with the words themselves. You can check it out if you want(please do!)

Likes, comments and reblogs will be much appreciated!

[cloudydeevz]

Trying to Sell Cookies to the Targaryens

or: Aerion Targaryen accuses a pretend Girl Scout of attempted murder

modern au!

The first thing she noticed when the door opened was that the boy who had been behind it looked extremely annoyed. But unmistakeably Targaryen.

I mean, sure, maybe she should have been more patient with ringing the bell. And maybe she shouldn’t have kept on ringing it when the door didn't open fast enough. And she definitely shouldn’t have cussed the Targaryens out loud enough for her voice to carry inside.

But, in her defense, it was really, really hot outside. And the box she was holding was really heavy. And she had never expected that a member of the family was going to be coming to the door himself.

Really, all that money that they had was for nothing if they couldn’t afford to hire staff.

The boy’s eyes had dropped down to what she was wearing, and she could only watch as his scowl deepened. And she couldn’t even blame him. The outfit she had been forced into was ridiculous.

She had been blackmailed by her little cousin.

That was all she could say.

Because, frankly, never in her life had she dreamed that she would be forced to say, even think, those words. But she had also never thought that she would be wandering the neighbourhood with packets of cookies inside a cardboard box, clad in green from head to toe.

So there definitely was a first time for everything.

She put on her best grin. “Cookies?”

The boy’s frown deepened, as his gaze shifted from the box in her arms to her face. He said nothing.

She tried again. “I am from the Brown Birds. We are selling cookies to raise money for the upkeep of the downtown park. Would you care for some? We have—”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be a Girl Scout?”

“What?”

He raised his brows, pursing his lips. “Are. You. Not. A little. Too old. To be. A Girl. Scout.”

She frowned. Did he have to spell it out like that? It was not like she was dumb or anything. She had just been caught off guard by him and his stupid question. And wasn’t the answer obvious? Why was he asking? Maybe he was dumb.

She nodded, trying to keep her smile in place. “Well, yes.”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here then?”

She wanted to cross her arms too but since the box was still in her arms she satisfied herself by huffing. “Selling cookies.”

He scowled. “Why?”

She shifted the box in her arms. “To raise money for the upkeep of the park.”

“But you’re too old.”

“Quite respectfully, I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

His scowl deepened. “It could be my business.”

She raised her brows, saying nothing.

He continued. “How do I know you are not some poor girl trying to poison the people in the rich neighbourhood by feeding them poisoned cookies?”

She couldn’t help the way her eyes widened at his words. She waited a minute for him to apologize. Or tell her that he was kidding.

But he only kept staring at her as if waiting for her to fall to her knees and confess her crimes.

Scoffing, she bent down and placed the box carefully on the floor. “Listen here, boy. You should not talk like that to anyone. Especially not to someone who is older than you—”

His lips stretched into something ugly. “I don’t see why you think you can lecture me about.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Where is your parent?”

“He doesn’t have time to talk to people like you.”

“People like me?! What the fuck do you think you mean by that?”

He smiled. “You know exactly what I mean.”

She took a step forward. “You little—”

His hand reaching for the door, presumably to close it, still smiling. “I am sorry, but you are being too aggressive. I think I am going to have to call security if you don’t leave.”

“Aerion.”

The voice was gruff. Carried a sort of authority. And it definitely did, because the moment it reached them the little prick in front of her went stiff. He turned over his shoulder to look at someone. “Father.”

Oh.

So this was Maekar Targaryen, she thought as he came into view.

Tall. Cheeks marred with what appeared to be pox scars. But still beautiful in an almost regal way. The same beauty that each of the Targaryens seemed to carry.

Even the boy in front of her, even as he scowled and frowned, was beautiful. Unfortunately.

Aerion, was it? Then he was the spoiled son of Maekar.

“Excuse me. Are you his father?”

Maekar didn’t bother to smooth his expression. He simply gave a curt, heavy nod. “And who the fuck are you?”

She took a deep breath. “I am the person who is trying to tell you that your son is very disrespectful. He—”

Maekar took a deep breath. He turned to his son, interrupting her. “What the fuck did you do?”

She raised a hand, as if to say let me finish. But none of them paid any heed to her. She let her hand drop to her side, muttering a small “okay” to herself.

Maekar said something to his son in a low voice. When he noticed her trying to listen, he gave her a look of clear disgust. He turned back to Aerion. “Get inside.”

Aerion glared at her for a bit, and then he stalked back inside the house. Maekar rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, they were fixed on her.

For a minute, he seemed almost surprised. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

She hesitated for a moment, then bent down and picked up the box of cookies again. “Would you like some cookies?”

“What?”

“Cookies. I am from the Brown Birds. We are collecting money for the upkeep of the downtown park. Would you care for some?”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be a Girl Scout?”

She searched her thoughts for a suitable reply. It was impressive how son and father were so similar.

His scowl returned when she didn’t answer fast enough. “No.”

The door closed in her face.

[cloudydeevz]

Trying to Sell Cookies to the Targaryens

or: Aerion Targaryen accuses a pretend Girl Scout of attempted murder

modern au! drabble

The first thing she noticed when the door opened was that the boy who had been behind it looked extremely annoyed. But unmistakeably Targaryen.

And she could make a wild guess as to why he looked so annoyed in the first place.

I mean, sure, maybe she should have been a little bit more patient while ringing the bell.

And maybe she shouldn’t have kept on ringing the bell when the door didn't open fast enough.

And she definitely shouldn’t have cussed the Targaryens out loud, loud enough for her voice to carry inside the house.

But, in her defense, it was really, really hot outside.

And the box she had to hold in her hands was really heavy.

And she had never expected that a member of the family was going to be coming to the door himself.

Really, all that money that they had was for nothing if they couldn’t afford to hire staff.

The boy’s eyes had dropped down to what she was wearing, and she could only watch as his scowl deepened. And even she couldn’t bring herself to blame him. The outfit she had been forced into was ridiculous.

She had been blackmailed by her cousin.

That was all she could say.

Because, frankly, never in her life had she dreamed that she would be forced to say, even think, those words.

But she had also never thought that she would be wandering the neighbourhood with packets of cookies inside a cardboard box, clad in green from head to toe.

So there definitely was a first time for everything.

She put on her best grin. “Cookies?”

The boy’s frown deepened, as his gaze shifted from the box in her arms to her face. He said nothing.

She tried again. “I am from the Brown Birds. We are selling cookies to raise money for the upkeep of the downtown park. Would you care for some? We have—”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be a Girl Scout?”

“What?”

He raised his brows, pursing his lips. “Are. You. Not. A little. Too old. To be. A Girl. Scout.”

She frowned. Did he have to spell it out like that? It was not like she was dumb or anything. She had just been caught off guard by him and his stupid question. And wasn’t the answer obvious? Why was he asking? Maybe he was dumb.

She nodded, trying to keep her smile in place. “Well, yes.”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here then?”

She wanted to cross her arms too but since the box in her arms pretty much made that impossible she satisfied herself by huffing, trying to remain friendly. “Selling cookies.”

He scowled. “Why?”

She shifted the box in her arms. “To raise money for the upkeep of the park.”

“But you’re too old.”

“Quite respectfully, I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

His scowl deepened. “It could be my business.”

She raised her brows.

He continued. “How do I know you are not some poor girl trying to poison the people in the rich neighbourhood by feeding them poisoned cookies?”

She couldn’t help the way her eyes widened at his words. She waited a minute for him to apologize. Or to tell her that he was kidding.

But he only kept staring at her. As if waiting for her to fall to her knees and confess her crimes.

Scoffing, she bent down and placed the box carefully on the floor. “Listen here, boy. You should not talk like that to anyone. Especially not to someone who is older than you—”

His lips stretched into something ugly. “I don’t see why you think you can lecture me about.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Where is your mother? Or your father?”

“He doesn’t have time to talk to people like you.”

“People like me?! What the fuck do you think you mean by that?”

He smiled. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

She took a step forward. “You little—”

His hand reached for the door, still smiling. “I am sorry, but you are being too aggressive. I think I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

She gasped at him.

He added, almost as if warning her, “I am going to have to call security if you don't.”

“Aerion.”

The voice was gruff. Seemed to carry a sort of authority. And it definitely did, because the moment it reached them the little prick in front of her went stiff. He turned over his shoulder to look at someone. “Father.”

Oh.

So this was Maekar Targaryen, she thought as he came into view.

Tall. Cheeks marred with what appeared to be pox scars. But still beautiful in an almost regal way. The same beauty that each of the Targaryens seemed to carry.

Even the boy in front of her, even as he scowled and frowned, was beautiful. Unfortunately.

“Excuse me. Are you his father?”

Maekar didn’t bother to smooth his expression. He simply gave a curt, heavy nod. “And who the fuck are you?”

Maekar took a deep breath and turned to his son, interrupting her. “What the fuck did you do?”

She took a deep breath. “I am the person who is telling you that your son is very disrespectful. He—”

She raised a hand, as if to say let me finish. But none of them paid any heed to her. She let her hand drop to her side, muttering a small “okay” to herself.

Maekar said something to his son in a low voice. When he noticed her trying to listen, he gave her a look of clear disgust. He turned back to Aerion. “Get inside.”

Aerion glared at her for a bit, and then he stalked back inside the house, clearly upset that his attempt to trouble her hadn't worked.

She wondered if that was a hobby of his—going out of his way just to inconvenience random people.

Maekar rolled his shoulders, closing his eyes for a minute. When he opened them, they were fixed on her.

For a minute, he seemed almost surprised. “Why the fuck are you still here?”

She hesitated for a moment, then bent down and picked up the box of cookies again, putting on her best grin once again. “Would you like some cookies?”

He seemed to be creeped out by her smile. “What?”

“Cookies. I am from the Brown Birds. We are collecting money for the upkeep of—”

“Aren’t you a little too old to be a Girl Scout?”

She searched her thoughts for a suitable reply. It was impressive how son and father were so similar.

His scowl returned when she didn’t answer fast enough. “No.”

The door closed in her face.

------

This is my first time writing for the akotsk characters. This is really a drabble, but I plan to connect it to some of the other drabbles I will be posting in the future. Hopefully.

Likes, comments and reblogs will be appreciated!