The weirdest guy I ever met in a church was this boy who referred to “Buzz Aldrin and his husband” going to the moon. I was completely baffled, and when I asked if he’d misspoken, he got really angry and accused me of being deliberately ignorant of the facts. It turned out that he was somehow comvinced that Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong were married. It took five Wikipedia articles to convince him otherwise.
Romcom where two dudes in the 1960s fall in love and come up with an elaborate plan to become astronauts to get married in space because gay marriage is illegal everywhere but it can’t be illegal on the moon
Genuinely don't understand why Rin is considered the token Normal Girl of Team Minato. She does literally only two (2) things in all of canon and they are:
Number one, going "say less" when obito asks her to perform an unprecedented medical operation and pop his eyeball into their teammate's freshly-gouged eye socket while behind enemy lines in a cave that is ACTIVELY collapsing.
And number two, altering the trajectory of the ninja world by killing herself in the cuntiest manner imaginable.
How - how do you look at that and decide wow, this girl is so free of Disorders and Demons?
I’m gonna need you all to get more obsessed with Supergirl 2026. It’s literally every single sarcastic, messy, depressed, grieving, male lead from recent media that accidentally adopts an angry, young girl (also grieving) which forces him to confront his self destructive behavior and realize the impact he can still make. But she’s a girl. This is the character you all love in every piece of media. I’m begging you all to adore her the same way.
aegon and aemond crying about the other being mummy's favourite meanwhile mummy's actual favourite is like. can you please leave me alone i do NOT want to drink that get OFF
"here's my original character, Man Who Sucks But Loves His Daughter Very Much" and it's a guy who worships at the altar of patriarchal violence and the woman he uses as an excuse and an effigy to absolve him
summary: in which, daeron finds himself longing for the baratheon heir even though it scares him half to death, maekar low-key berates himself for not traveling to storm's end w the kids sooner, and lyonel is a girldad !
words: 2,9k
c.w: mentions of blood
a.n: btw this blog is a totalitarian regime and in MY dictatorship baelor and lyonel are friends, lyonel has no beef with the targaryens at all and as he’s close to maekar's age, he fought alongside the targaryens in the first blackfyre rebellion.
also! reader may be a baratheon but there will be no physical description of her whatsoever and her mother is not mentioned
The sun is yet to show itself in the sky when the halls of the Red Keep come alive with movement, servants and guards alike walking a beat faster than usual, which could be attributed to the preparations needed for the royal progress that is set to take place the same day… or the screaming of Prince Maekar, who seems hellbent on waking up every other resident of the castle who had not yet risen.
“I do not care if you have to search for him in every inn in Flea Bottom or if you have to scour the entirety of the Street of Silk, find him, for fuck’s sake”.
The prince storms through the never-ending halls, yelling commands to the knights of the Kingsguard to find his son at once. Of course he had to be missing today of all days, mere hours away from their departure from King’s Landing to Storm's End.
In Daeron's defense, he had not failed to communicate his wishes beforehand — to stay at the keep and drink his nights away, that is. The young prince was nowhere to be found in the keep, the guards told Prince Maekar once they were sent to fetch him, only to find his chambers devoid of life, with three empty bottles of Dornish red lying carelessly by his unmade bed.
These are not my usual dreams.
Daeron thinks to himself as he lies unconscious on the wooden table of an inn he frequents, confused once again by the contents of his usually tortured mind. There is no fire now. In its place, pouring rain and thick fog. He feels his cloak weighed down by the rainwater he’s currently drenched in. He does not know where he is, though the place is familiar, and he finds himself looking around for something. Anything.
Everywhere he looks seems the same: black rock, covering anything and everything. Focused on the bleak landscape, the prince fails to notice the rainwater beginning to turn blood red, and by the time he does, it seems to be entirely too late. The water continues to rise at an alarming pace, surrounding him completely. There’s nowhere to go. Daeron knows that looking around for a way out, will once again prove fruitless, but he does so anyways and —
Was that here before?
He wakes up with a gasp.
A stag. A dark brown stag with fierce eyes, covered in blood. Pretty, Daeron thinks. It makes its way over to him through the fog, and the prince squints to see it better, shielding his face with his hands from the blood rain. It’s coming closer and as it opens its mouth–
“My prince”.
“My prince, your father is calling for you. We are to take you to the Keep at once”. He looks around in a daze as he spots the two kingsguard, then he notices his wet strands of hair and his now completely drenched cloak.
“Did you throw water on me?” He asks as he sits up and his mouth hanging slightly opened in offense, entirely baffled at the new situation he finds himself in. The kingsguard share a look, though they do not answer. He goes with them anyways. He’ll get an earful from his father either way— probably more than an earful.
Traveling along the Kingsroad does not make a trip that takes nearly half a moon’s turn any easier, especially when it’s on horseback. His father and his uncle, Prince Baelor, insisted that no wheelhouses were needed for such a short journey, as the princes were old and experienced enough to travel on their own horses, even his youngest brother, Prince Aegon.
It did not stop them from complaining, though. Aerion had grown increasingly more irritated as the days passed and they had yet to reach the Stormlands, while Daeron was barely keeping himself upright on horseback, the wine leaving him uncoordinated but pliant enough to not enrage their father further. Egg’s excitement for adventure had faded after the first three days or so, as he now pestered their father every few hours, asking if they were there yet.
“You will know we are there when you are able to see the castle, boy. ¿Do you see the castle?” Prince Maekar answered with a deep scowl on his face.
“No”, said the young prince.
“Then we are not there yet”, Maekar answered, raising his voice slightly as his patience withered. He would need to replenish his energies somehow, he had the feeling he would need it. Especially during the entirety of their stay at Storm’s End, and everything that entailed.
King Daeron II thought wise for the royal family to further strengthen its alliance to House Baratheon, as Lord Lyonel Baratheon celebrated his nameday with a feast large enough to feed the entire realm and a hunting trip to the Rainwood that would last for days, it seemed the perfect occasion for the dragon family to show a united front to all of the noble houses in Westeros. Prince Baelor, ever the dutiful heir, had accepted immediately thinking it would be a good idea to take Valarr in order to polish his diplomatic abilities as the next heir to the Iron Throne. It had also been so long ago since he had last seen Lyonel, a man he had come to consider his friend.
They fared well on the travels, of course they did. Father and son conducted themselves with their usual composure and grace, much to Maekar’s dismay— Do they have to be so perfect all the fucking time? Maekar looked back at his own sons, and sighed.
You opened your eyes as the sun shone brightly though the windows of Storm's End. Your fortress. It was the very place you called home. The place that rarely, if ever, remained quiet. Today was no exception, especially considering your father’s nameday celebrations were taking place.
“It is not only a day, my darling. It will last the whole fucking moon’s turn if I can help it!” he told you once, as you conjured the memory of his spirited face and bright smile from a few namedays ago in your mind. He seemed convinced by the idea that he would be a failure to himself and your house if he were unable to improve and upscale the celebrations year after year. Which resulted in you being woken by his shouting, which seemed to bounce off of every brick in the fortress.
“No, no, no! You are doing it completely wrong! Again!” He yelled at the musicians, who had apparently been practicing your father’s favourite songs repeatedly and had yet to reach perfection, according to Lyonel.
You climb out of the comfortable silks of your bed and do not bother to call your maids to help with your dress. It was a particularly humid day in the summertime, so a light dress made with fresh fabrics would have to do. Hair still unkept and barely awake from your slumber, you march into the great hall determined to yell at your father for ruining a perfectly good morning’s sleep. As you make your way through the halls and reach your destination you see your father’s tense back and the musician’s tired faces.
“Are you aware of the time, you absolute madman?” You yell at Lyonel, though no real anger is present in your voice, only slight amusement at his usual antics – and vague irritation. He turns around to face you with a big, stupid grin.
“My darling girl! You are awake at last!”
“The sun isn’t even up-”
“Here, come. Tell these buffoons that this subpar so-called music has no place in my nameday celebrations-”
“The songs sounded completely fine.”
“-that their mediocrity will not be tolerated.” A small laugh escapes you.
“I will tell them no such thing,” you say. Your father turns to face you, as if you had stabbed him in the back with your own dagger. He frowns down at you, as you fail to remain serious in the face of his dramatics.
Halfway through the day, guests begin to arrive and you are forced to wear more appropriate clothing to greet the lords and ladies from different houses of the realm. Not that your father minds which dresses you wear, but someone has to be the face of House Baratheon while your father parties day and night. Someone who remains sober, at least. Or someone who keeps their clothes on. As the night approached, you noticed a certain dragon family had yet to make an appearance. Perhaps they enjoy being fashionably late, you thought. You were seemingly wrong, though.
“You wound me, my girl.”
You laugh.
Truth be told, he could have escaped the guards once again and hidden long enough for his family to be forced to leave the Red Keep without him, but something about his dreams at the inn kept him curious enough not to resist wholeheartedly. Daeron had long since given up trying to understand his dreams, all of them horrid in nature, always featuring great fires, the putrid sight of black blood beneath the moonlight, and burning dragons.
House Targaryen would not arrive on Storm’s End for yet another day, as they experienced a slight setback during their journey from King’s Landing. As in, the food from the night before had not settled well in Egg’s stomach, and caused the young prince to throw up all over his horse. And so, they had to stop for a few hours to clean Egg’s horse and wait until he felt well enough to ride again.
Daeron had thrown up as well, though for… different reasons.
He tried with all his might to recall whether he had ever dreamt of stags before, but it proved fruitless. If he had ever dreamt of stags and lakes of blood before, then either the dream had been completely inconsequential, or the wine had managed to erase all memory of it. It was probably the latter.
As they arrive a heir destination, Storm's End's surrounding walls stand tall and intimidating as the royal family approaches. While Baelor and Maekar remain indifferent to the sight, having visited the black fortress on political matters when they were boys themselves, the younger princes gape at the sheer sturdiness of its walls. All save Aerion, who is rarely impressed by anything at all—though even he has to admit that the stronghold looks more formidable than the Red Keep.
The Targaryens follow behind, with knights surrounding them on all sides. The farther they move into the fortress, the more the sounds of laughter and music envelop them, and the younger princes exchange glances, instinctively looking toward their fathers, who already seem to know exactly what is about to happen.
"Baelor!"
Lyonel's booming voice carries across the courtyard as he emerges through the castle doors, with you trailing behind him while he practically runs to greet the royal family without any semblance of propriety whatsoever. As the princes dismount their horses, Baelor braces himself for the incoming assault, and Maekar sighs.
Lyonel laughs loudly, the sound echoing throughout Storm's End as he closes the distance between them and throws his arms around the heir to the Iron Throne in a crushing embrace.
Baelor, for his part, takes it in stride. He returns the embrace with the composure only a man raised in a den of vipers, where kindness is so often mistaken for weakness, could possess. He pats Lyonel's back before offering him a warm smile.
Valarr remains rooted to the spot.
Of course, his father had told him stories of the Laughing Storm during their campaign against the Blackfyres, of how fiercely the Storm Lord had fought beside both him and his uncle Maekar. Still, hearing those stories was one thing. Witnessing Lord Baratheon all but tackle the heir to the Iron Throne before the horses had even come to a full stop was quite another.
"Lord Baratheon. It has been too long."
Still laughing, Lyonel waves a dismissive hand. "What's with the formalities, dragon? As if I haven't seen your bare arse covered in rebel blood before."
Daeron has to fight the urge to laugh at the remark, while Valarr, Aerion, and Egg can only stare in bafflement. They had never seen anyone speak to their uncle with a familiarity usually reserved for, well, family. Lyonel's attention then shifts to Maekar, causing the prince to close his eyes in anticipation.
"Gods, you look even more brooding than the last time I saw you."
Maekar groans.
You watch the interactions unfold, thoroughly amused by your father's antics and Prince Maekar’s barely concealed irritation at the theatrics for which the Storm Lord was so well known. The young princes, meanwhile, seem absolutely bewildered by the spectacle, clearly unaccustomed to seeing their fathers interact in such a manner and not yet knowing what to make of it.
Then, they glance at you.
They had never met you before. Their fathers had always considered them too young to accompany them on the few visits they paid to Storm's End. As the years passed, the family had been struck by tragedy not once but twice, as both princes lost their wives, and the children their mothers.
Your own mother had died in the birthing bed as well. Not that your father had ever allowed you to fully feel her absence, as he had made certain you lacked for nothing— be it love, friendship, or a shoulder to cry on. As you look upon the young princes, you become aware for the first time that they had not been afforded the same fortune.
You set your eyes on Prince Valarr first. He is a difficult man to overlook, with his mismatched eyes and a striking white streak of hair on the side of his head. He looks perfect. Perhaps a bit too perfect.
His posture is so impeccably straight to the point where you question if it pains him to maintain it for a long time. His smile is equally flawless, not too warm yet not vain. His hands rest neatly behind his back as he inclines his head in greeting. Everything about him looks utterly exhausting.
“Ah, yes!” Lyonel claps a hand against his own head, as if he had only now remembered that several people need to be introduced and especially, that the particular task is his duty. “Your Graces, this is my lovely daughter” Your father introduces you by name to the family, as you fought the overwhelming urge to glare at him for his complete lack of propriety.
“Father”
“What?” He grins. “You are lovely.”
Deciding that glaring at your father—or pinching the bridge of your nose as you desperately wished to do —would only make matters worse, you dip into a curtsy before the princes of House Targaryen.
“Your Graces, it is an honour to welcome you to Storm's End.”
Prince Baelor steps forward first, there is little about the heir to the Iron Thone that comes as a surprise to you; everything you had ever heard of him proves true at first glance. He carries himself with effortless confidence, his eyes filled with quiet wisdom, every movement experienced and measured without ever appearing rehearsed. His smile is warm and genuine, though restrained, a concept that strikes you as entirely foreign.
“Lady Baratheon. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
As the introductions carry on, you properly greet the rest of the princes. Prince Valarr greets you in the practised manner of a chivalrous prince, one that must’ve taken ages to fully master.
Prince Maekar appears to be a man of actions rather than a man of words, as he voiced nothing more than a simple, “My Lady” before fixing you with a steady stare. Right.
Prince Aegon seems excited enough for the entire family, tummy ache completely forgotten, as he greets you without truly looking at you, his attention instead fixed upon the towering castle walls with open fascination.
Prince Aerion neither smiles nor bows particularly deeply, he merely offers a curt Lady Baratheon as his gaze sets upon you. There is something restless about him. Something unnerving. It almost makes you want to look away first, but something tells you that doing so would read as a retreat of sorts, and you decide almost immediately that you would do nothing before him that could be perceived as weak. And so, you simply nod at him. You could swear he seems almost pleased by the gesture.
Only one prince remains now. Curiously, he has not moved. And so, you look.
He is already looking at you.
Lavender eyes find yours with an intensity that gives you pause. He stares unabashedly at you, his expression carrying something akin to recognition. As though, somewhere deep down, this is a meeting he had expected and was only now realizing so. The silence stretches a fraction too long, you are not the only one that seems to be aware that something deep stirs behind the heir of Summerhall's eyes.
“...My prince?” You whisper to him. Unsure on how to proceed, you find you do not wish to startle him.
He blinks. “Oh.” he speaks, his voice softer than you would’ve imagined. Softer than all the others’. “...Daeron.” Nothing more. Not Prince Daeron. Not a proper greeting, not even a Lady Baratheon. Simply his name, as though he had forgotten the rest. Prince Maekar clears his throat. Daeron tears his gaze away from you, and his eyes find the floor. “...My Lady.”
You incline your head. “My Prince.”
Daeron’s eyes snap back at yours.
Gods, you think, he’s an odd one.
author's note: gawddd this took way too long to write but alas, it is here. obviously this is gonna be a part of a series and i'm gonna be updating soon. idk when. but soon. trust
"Tens of thousands packed the streets cheering Aegon and Jaehaera as they were carried in an open litter up to the Red Keep, where the prince was crowned with a circlet of yellow gold, simple and unadorned, and proclaimed Aegon of House Targaryen, the Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon himself placed the crown upon the head of his child bride."
The casual, callous, "liberality" in which the Moon Tea is used in the show is mind boggling to me..
1. It says more about the show runners/writers than anything else....oh, "problematic" pregnancy...use the termination magic potion. Never question the morality of it.
2. That's not how it works..it was dangerous..there were consequences to using it, or atleast using it improperly...Lysa Arryn being a prime example.
3. Taking a character like Alicent, and then writing her to try and force the abortion tea down her own daughters throat is just...I can't comprehend...how you can look at Fire and Blood...and then be like yes, Alicent would try to coerce her own daughter, to then murder her grandchild. Obviously I'm not this shows number 1 fan, but that was the first time I think I was truly flabbergasted by this show and the nonsense they try to throw at the audience.
And again with the whole escape plan...we have to escape...and go where...where are you going...and after the failed murder attempt of one grandchild, she tries to trick Helaena into abandoning the other...like good lord...
I take solace in knowing that HBO cut all of your funding and what we are watching now is basically the temper tantrum of two people, who are struggling to finish their super shitty fanfic. And that as an audience member and a Team Green fan, I've won.
Ormund Hightower x Targ!reader, Daeron x sister!reader (maternal)
summary: And if it now been decided that a queen should sit the throne and not the king, what then?
words: 5.3k
cw: MDNI 18+ canon divergence, targcest (Ormund is technically her cousin and I guess that does not count in GOT terms, but I am warning it anyways), SMUT, p in v, breeding, riding, choking, toxic relationship themes, manipulation, slightly OOC Ormund?, religious themes, talks of blood “impurity”, reader rides Silverwing, reader is Aegon’s twin, but no physical description is used, not proofread, lmk if I missed any
Previous Part
Vermithor let out a sound that came off more out of excitement than warning. You unhooked yourself from the harness, "Hello!" you called out, sliding off your mount landing onto the ground with a practiced thud.
You did not move from Silverwing's side, not truly knowing if this was going to go in your favor or not, but you had a feeling.
The man did not reply staring down at you, "If it would please you this conversation would be easier on the ground! I have no weapon nor guards so you will have the true advantage here!"
The man hesitated a moment before sliding to the ground. He moved in front of his beast and you did the very same, "Sōvēs," you then instructed Silverwing and she took off into the sky. His mouth opened slightly to try and command his dragon to stay, but Vermithor was already off following after her.
"Our dragons are mates. Did you know that?" you asked, and you could tell by his reaction alone he did not. "I am sure there is a lot she does not tell you."
"I am loyal," he immediately replied, as if that was what you were accusing him as.
You smiled kindly, "I did not say you were not," you nodded looking around rocking back and forth on your heels, "What is your name, good ser?"
"Hugh."
You nodded, "I am told your wife is inside Tumbleton. My husband and I have talked extensively and we would like to provide her a safe exit if that is your will.”
"Your husband?" he asked, confused, his eyebrows drawn together, as if he was missing a piece to the puzzle.
"Lord Ormund Hightower is now my husband. We married a few days ago in the eyes of the Seven. Love just does not wait as I am sure you know," you answered.
He stared at you a moment, saying nothing and you smiled once more, warmly the one you reserved for only two people, but this was not a genuine one and that was okay. "What she offered you have you received yet?"
He said nothing once more and it was an answer enough. You nodded, "Is it something simple that should have been granted by now." For a third time, he was absolutely silent, telling you everything you needed to know, "What is it that you wish for, Ser Hugh?" you finally asked.
"To provide living for both my wife and myself," he finally told you causing you to nod.
You tilted your head back and forth as if it was a hard decision, "And if I tell you I am ready to grant that?"
The hesitation was clear in his face, causing him to open his mouth before clamping it shut as he watched you, "In return for what?" he asked.
You smiled once more at him, faux warmth and kindness dripping "Swear yourself to me, and your dragon. Though as you can see he has no objections in the matter."
"To you?" he questioned, his eyes widening as if he had been expecting someone else. Mayhaps one of your three brother's more than likely the eldest.
"Yes to me. I am the eldest. I am the rightful heir to the throne in the eyes of the Gods and fourteen flames. My brother's are craven boys who hide behind their dragons and as you can see," you gestured around to your beasts flying in the air, "I do not hold their values."
The contemplation was clear as day causing you to nod, "Well I can leave you to it. You can think on if it so pleases you—"
"I accept!" he suddenly blurted to you, causing you to smile, a real one. Silverwing let out a joyous screech from above you.
"You can bend your knee now, and swear your oath now."
"Dragon! My Lord there has been a dragon spotted."
You and Ormund were both on your feet in a flash. Your eyes widened, and you replied before your husband could, "What dragon?" you asked, the man. He did not answer shaking in fear, his mouth opening and closing causing you to roll your eyes.
"Well what fucking color was it you imbecile?" you asked, moving toward the man.
"I do not know—"
"Fuck!" you screamed, moving toward the door, and you almost had it open when a hand quickly wrapped around your arm stopping you.
Ormund stared at you, eyes wide in panic, and the fear he would never voice a loud. Mayhaps for himself. For Daeron. For you.
"You mustn't do this alone. Think what we will loose if we loose you," he tried, but you could see the emotions seeping through. It was not only that. His face was showing every vulnerable emotion he could not
Your hand moved out, cupping his cheek, "Then I will die, and you mourn me while taking Daeron far far away from here," you instructed. Your mouth pressed to his quickly, causing him to be distracted. You pulled away from him before he could stop you once more, disappearing despite his protests calling for you to wait for him,
You ran through the streets, pushing through the people toward the gates. The men guarding it immediately opened it recognizing you. Silverwing flew through the air, coming to land just in front of you as if she knew you were coming.
You went to approach your ready mount, when another dragon was spotted. Your eyes squinted slightly, your hand moving to rest above your eyes blocking the sun from view trying to figure out just who had come to you.
You let out a breath of relief realizing it was Dreamfyre, which meant, "Helaena," you whispered watching as the beautiful blue dragon landed with a soft crash, causing the ground to shake. She let out a roar of warning, causing you to stay planted right where you stood.
Silverwing responded with her own, "Lykirī," you instructed, running a reassuring hand against her side causing her to preen from attention.
Your younger sister and her only daughter slid off the side, approaching you allowing you to finally feel as if you could move from your spot.
"Hi," you breathed out, not in front of the pair of them. "How are you here?" you said your hands, cupping the woman's face as you scanned her face for injuries before moving to her child.
"A knight helped us to the Dragonpit," she explained you, causing you to nod.
You knelt before Jaehera who allowed you to examine her with a timid smile, before you stood back to your full height, "What knight?" you asked, in confusion,
"Alfred Broome. He said to go to Aegon, but I knew that you would be a better choice. That you would protect us. Protect my girl," she sobbed out, her body shaking slightly.
You opened your arms, and she moved forward collapsing into your arms. You held her tightly, "You are safe. Nothing is going to hurt you know, and I will protect you unlike I was able to do with Aemond," you promised, kissing her head as you could feel your own tears collecting in your eyes.
You meant good on your word. Nothing would happen to Helaena, Jaehaera nor Daeron so long as you still draw breath from this earth.
Your boots, squelched against the wet grounds of camp. You navigated back toward the heart of camp. Your back ached from the bark it had been driven into moments ago, and you knew it was painted an angry red, but you did not let it stop you.
You made your way to your youngest brother's tent, stopping just outside the door, "Daeron," you called out, giving him a moment to deny your entry.
The young man appeared pulling back the curtain. His grin widening in excitement seeing you and only you, "I thought you were busy," he said.
"I always have time for you," you assured him. "I was actually hoping we could go for a stroll outside camp," you said, your lips turned up in the gentle smile.
He looked hesitate for a moment, "Does Lord Ormund know?"
You nodded, "It his idea. He wants me to try and wear you out so that you may rest for a few hours before we are set to take off."
Daeron then stepped out, following beside you as you made your way toward the treeline
"We are less than a day away from taking King's Landing," you said, casually.
He nodded, and you could see his lips turn down in a frown, and as if you were apart of him you knew exactly what went through his mind.
The thought of violence. The thought of you having to get hurt to claim what it is yours. The thought of what could happen to his elder brother if this was not done peacefully.
You stopped immediately, your eyes scanning around ignoring his look of confusion before you took a step toward him, "I have a…plan to do this without bloodshed," you suddenly, declared, your voice dropping even lower to prevent yourself from being heard from anyone, but the pair of you.
He blinked at you in, mouth parting in surprise as he stared you. His head whipped around searching for any stray listeners then once he realized it was the pair of you, "How?" he asked immediately.
You stared at him a moment, letting out a sigh, "We are but a few hours march from King's Landing, and Ormund is planning to start once it is dark. We leave ahead of him."
"And do what?" he asked, leaning forward in anticipation.
You smiled, "We walk through the castle, with our heads high and straight to Aegon, because that is still our seat. We are still Targaryens and we have something he does not."
"Dragons," he breathed, out causing you to smile.
Your hand raised, resting against his cheek, "We have the power to take what is ours with fire and blood, but he does not…Therefore we may not have to use it."
The green robe hung loosely on you, as you laid sprawled out against the mattress awaiting Ormund. He was praying, for a swift victory more than likely. You did not really listen when he told you of his intents as you were already formulating a plan of your own.
It was simple. It was so incredibly simple it seemed to easy, but you knew Ormund like the back of your hand. You knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and how to present yourself to sell yourself exactly like you needed too.
You were a weapon. This he knew, and had used on his own will against others time and time again, but this was different. He was a avid schemer, but so where you. And right now you needed to be a better one then him. One step ahead.
He pushed through the tent pausing slightly as he took in your current state. "You are dismissed," he said not turning to even look at who had followed behind him.
He clicked his tongue, as he began to remove his tunic, holding your gaze with a grin, "You have just been laying here nearly bare for anyone to see…What would I have done if someone saw you in such state, dear wife?" he asked, pushing his top layer from him revealing his toned chest.
"You would have their eyes then," you said, pushing yourself to your feet. Your fingers pulled the string, as the material pooled to the floor leaving you completely bare.
Ormund's breath got stuck in his throat for a minute, as he took in your appearance. He then leaned down,not fully pulling his eyes from you as he pulled his boots off, discarding them off to the side.
You moved toward him, your hands trailing down his skin causing his muscle to tense under your touch as he made quick work of his trousers and breeches, now matching you. His mouth shot down claiming yours.
His hand moved wrapping around your throat, holding you in place as his tongue pushed back sweeping into your mouth as if he was trying to devour you whole. He consumed you. Every thought. Every sense. You were his in every way that mattered. In every way that formed you belonged to him.
You were his. Just as her was yours, and you would do anything to make sure he was not harmed.
"Sit down," you instructed, nodding to the bed, causing him to grin.
He stared down at you for a moment, tilting his head, "And what have I done to deserve this?" he asked, settling down against the furs.
You smirked,moving forward slightly, before settling down on top of him, "A husband deserves to be rewarded for all his hard work does he not?" you asked, your legs moving to straddle either side of him. Your hands moving to lace through his hair tilting his head back.
"You are a sight. The maiden favored you," he confessed.
Your hand wrapped around his thick shaft running his tip through your folds, notching himself at your drooling hole.
"The Gods smile upon you Ormund, and therefore they chose me for you," you said, before sinking down atop him.
You let out a moan,your nails digging into his scalp. His hands moved to your hips, not giving you anytime to adjust before he began to guide you. "You are my life. The sins I would commit for you. You—" he let out a low moan as you moved against him, quickening your pace. "You are everything."
"I am nothing without you," you whispered, your head lulling back as you could feel the coil in your belly already threatening to snap. Your swollen clit, rubbed against his pubic bone giving it the attention it so desperately needed.
And at this point your plan was out the window, chasing your own high. Fucking yourself onto your husband as if you were a desperate whore rather than a highborn woman. A Queen.
"Our sons will be dragon riders," you said, your hands tightening in his hair as your eyes rolled back slightly.
"Our son will be destined for glory, and nothing less," he agreed moving your hips against him, faster, as you took him deeper.
"You will father kings, Ormund," you cried out as your orgasm finally wash over you.
Your vision went white, as it traveled all throughout your body. An all consuming burning that came alone with the man that only he could deliver. In a flash you were on your back, as he took over.
He fucked int you like a man possessed, fast, frantic as if he was trying to prove something. His head moved, resting in between the crook of your neck, as he thrusted in and out brutally. Your cunt taking him as if it was it's only life purpose.
"We will be unstoppable. Nothing would ever dare step between you," he whispered, his nose pressed against your flesh breathing you in as he continued to fuck into you. Your nails dragging frantically down his back tearing the skin.
You could feel his hips starting to stutter, each thrust getting lazier, more frantic indicating he was close, "You will save my blood. You will save my line." A final roll of his hips, and he came inside you with a guttural groan. His fingers digging into your hips further, imprinting himself into your skin just like he had every other aspect of your life.
He was a part of you, as you were apart of him. Together you would have exactly what you both desired. Power, but for different reasons. He would be all the same in the end. A throne, a duty pressing into your shoulders that you both would have the strength to uphold as one.
"I love you," you whispered, and his mind was too hazy from his post orgasmic state to notice the tone you said it in.
He pressed a kiss to your neck, letting his lips linger on your warm skin, "I love you," he whispered back like a confession, as if he were praying to the Gods at the alter. A higher being rather than his wife.
Ormund laid back, bringing you into him, his slick chest pressing into your back as his arm draped around you firmly. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before closing his eyes, hoping to rest some before the march ahead.
Your eyes did not close. You laid still, listening to his breath even out, before slowly sliding from the bed. You moved quietly pulling your own riding gear on, no wanting to bother calling someone to help.
That was a risk, and you did not need those right now, enough would be waiting for you once you reached King's Landing. Once you were finally dressed, you turned back glancing at your husband's sleeping form
Your heart pulled, urging you to wake him and to inform him on your plan, but you brain stayed firm in its logic. You could do this without him. You could handle this in a calmer way then slaying an entire castle with a large army.
"I love you," you whispered, quietly enough not to disturb him, but you needed to say it at least one more time.
Just incase.
You made your way through the camp. The sun had began to set as you met Daeron awaiting by your two mounts. You let out a breath, trying to steady yourself as you approached the steward awaiting you by the trees.
He was a timid boy, by the name of Bryon. He never could fully meet your eyes for long, and even now as you approached him his eyes laid watching the two dragons in fear. You smiled at him kindly, moving to grip his shoulder causing him to look at you, "I have a task for you."
He stared at you for a moment. Not in the eyes, but somewhere near your cheek, before nodding awaiting his orders, "Once I am in the air I want you to alert Lord Ormund that Daeron and I have departed," you instructed. You stepped around him heading toward Silverwing who let out a sound of excitement.
"To where, Your Grace?" he yelled out.
You paused, "To take my throne."
You sat outside King's Landing in the fields, for some time, giving Ormund and his army time to catch up incase this did not go the way you had in mind. You wanted this done as smoothly as possible, but you were not an idiot. There would be resistance. Mainly from Aegon, but his men were a different story, Mere men believed in power of the dragon, something he now lacked where you did not.
Tessarion landed first, inside the gates causing the man to stumble backwards. "Open the gates for my sister!" he declared, voice steady, masking the kind boy he was underneath.
Silverwing landed outside the door with a loud roar, as you slid off just as the doors opened allowing you to walk through. Daeron stood waiting for you, his hand resting open the sword on his belt.
A knight, one that you did not remember came practically barreling toward you. One of the brave few it seemed, but the fear was evident in his eyes as he eyed Tessarion. Then there a crash behind you.
Neither you or your brother had to turn to know Silverwing now sat atop the gate, her claws digging into the walls as she sat staring down at all the men. He stopped in his steps for a moment, eyes wide before continuing forward.
"We were not expecting you my Prince… Princess," he said out, but did not seem so sure on your title.
You smiled, "Our brother currently sits the throne. Is it not our right to be by his side?"
"Well, yes…but I was told that if you came—"
Silverwing and Tessarion let out a loud roar alerting them of their presence. About the fact that you still had what their King did not. Dragons. The power and fear that came along with that.
"We do not need help finding him do not worry," you called out, before Daeron followed after you. He did not try to stop you, and neither did any of his men, all staring at the dragons with a hesitation.
They had spent months without this. They had gotten to comfortable.
The hallways were practically empty, and you wondered if the staff had already fled or if they were in hiding trying to protect themselves from the beasts that sat right outside.
You did not allow yourself to look around reminiscing on the halls of your childhood, vision straight as you made your way to the throne room. Daeron on the other hand did the opposite, "I do not remember this place," he whispered, looking around as if he were afraid of the ghosts.
"You turned out better, because you do not remember this place," you replied, as he followed after you.
Muscle memory carry you toward the throne room. If your twin was not already there it would be only moments there until he was no doubt being alerted of your presence. You finally reached your destination pausing outside the doors.
"Are you afraid?" Daeron whispered.
You shook your head, "No. I know it is what I must do," you said, turning toward him.
And it was the truth, because the alternative was him. Was putting a crown on his head he had no desire for. It was a title that would drain his light, and duties that would waste his youth instead of the peace he should have as a third son.
Then yours and Daeron's name sounded through the air, causing you to both to pause turning toward the source. Your mother came barreling toward the pair of you. Her red hair pulled back, as her eyes looked wild. Her face looked sunken in, and she looked tired, drained from the events that had transpired after she placed her son on the throne.
"What—What are you doing here?" she asked, looking between the pair of you.
She reminded you more of a wild animal that the composed woman of court she was suppose to be. You merely smiled, "I am here to talk with Aegon."
Her head then snapped back down the hall, "Where is…" she trailed off, but you knew what she was asking.
Where is Ormund. Where is the army she knew would be close if you stood here before her.
You smiled, "My husband." She flinched in disgust at the thought. The truth that you were now married to her cousin. To a man older then her. That this was truly her fault. She had sent you to him. "Is right outside King's Landing. Do not fret he will be here soon."
You then turned toward Daeron. "I want you to wait here," you told him, "Catch up with our…dear mother," the disdain was clear in your words as you looked to the woman.
"But—" Daeron protested, moving toward you trying to stop you. He stopped when you turned toward him.
Your hand moved cupping his face, "I need you to trust me. I will handle this like I do everything."
He stared at you a moment, before nodding in agreement, "I trust you." Alicent watched her eyes flickering between the pair of you, her lips slowly turning down.
You smiled at him, "Come alert me once Ormund is here. If things do not go as plan you will leave. You will save yourself and only yourself going back to Helaena," you instructed. She had instructions. She had a further plan, if this went even further. One that would keep her, Jaehaera and Daeron safe just like you promised.
He frowned at you, his eyes watering slightly. You kept your smile, nodding to him before finally turning away from him. You turned to the door, your hands resting over the large oak.
"Let me—" your mother started, trying to insert herself, to accompany you.
But that was the last thing you needed. "Know your role, Alicent," you hissed, repeating the words she had once told you.
She flinched, as you pushed open the doors slamming behind you, "Well this is a sight," you declared looking to your twin.
Aegon sat in a wooden chair at the end of the throne. The few members left of his council and two guards sat off toward the side. Corlys, Larys and Orwyle all stood as you made your way into the throne room.
"Sister," Aegon greeted, though you could hear the edge in his voice as he watched you carefully.
You smiled. You walked slowly, unhurried as you were, "You look truly pathetic," you declared.
"I could have your tongue for that."
"Aegon you cannot even stand. Let us talk honestly now," you tsked. "I have come for my throne," you called out, with a shrug.
He looked toward his council in disbelief, before his head snapped back to you, "Your throne?" he laughed, "You have no more right to the Throne than the Bitch Queen of Bastards."
You chucked, "And yet she sat your throne for half a year in your absence, because you fled." The smile drained from his face as you moved into the room, closer to him. His three men moved off to the side standing beside each other as they watched you and your twin.
You stopped in front of him, your eyes moving over his legs to which no doubt were mangled leaving him truly incapable of walking properly, "One could argue I have more right then you…You have no heir, no dragon, and you cannot even walk… Your wife and daughter fled to me for safety after you abandoned them like a craven, and you believe you are fit to rule?" you asked, laughing as you looked around. Corlys Velaryon, Maester Orwyle and Larys Strong said nothing, but staring at you.
The intrigue clear in their eyes. "I have a dragon. Three more sworn to me. I am married to Lord of Oldtown and commander of the Hightower army who currently marches upon this very kingdom ready to seize it. And my youngest brother Daeron is my heir until I can produce one of my own. Aegon can not control his cock how can you expect him to control a Kingdom."
You turned toward him with the smile, "And there is the fact he is not—"
"Stop!" he screeched, his chair rutting against the floor as he tried to stand, but was unsuccessful collapsing into the wood.
You let out a laugh, your shoulders shaking, "Oh…Do they not know?" you asked before turning to his council.
Your twin screamed your name urging you to stop, "Aegon did not even come out the womb first. Not very fit of a king if you ask me. You can even ask our mother that," you said nodding to the door that kept you separated from her.
"Aegon has brought you nothing, but death and destruction. He has killed the dragons, he has killed families. Mine, yours, and others. His time is over, and now we seek a new beginning. One that myself and my own council are ready to bring you. One that most of you have the chance to serve on if you prove yourself worthy," you declared with a shrug.
"Fuck you!" he yelled tossing his chalice across trying to aim for you, but missing horribly. You stepped back slightly, let out a laugh at his pathetic attempt.
You then turned to his council once more, The three remaining men who stood staring at you, when a roar from outside that rattled the castle walls. "Lord Ormund has arrived. The Hightower host is outside the gates," Daeron declared, bursting through the doors, moving to your side quickly.
"Your final chance to do this without bloodshed, My Lords," you warned.
"Kill her! Kill the bitch!" Aegon declared, but not a single person made a move.
"Open the doors for the Hightower Host. Save yourself rather than a dying king who has already cost you so much."
The three men leaned their heads together whispering and you watched your brother's eyes widen in horror, understanding what they were doing, "You are loyal to me! I am the king! I am the fucking king!" he made an attempt to stand, reaching for his crutch, but it fell from his shaky hands causing him to crumple to the floor.
Corlys and Larys shared a look, "We will open the gates," the Velaryon declared, as the Strong followed after him.
Aegon let out a scream of agony, frustration or even defeat you weren't sure, but you turned to him nonetheless. "Help the prince into his chair," you instructed turning to his guards, "And then move him out of the way."
"I am the fucking king!" you rolled your eyes. You watched his few men help him into his chair before moving it of to the side slightly, looking toward you for your approval. You nodded, before going to step forward, but a hand shout out stopping you.
"Do not get to close," Daeron warned, eyes wide in fear.
"He cannot hurt me. Not anymore," you whispered, assuring him with a smile as you made your way toward your twin.
You kneeled in front of him, far enough that he could not grab you, but still close enough that you did not have to talk loudly. "This is for the best."
"Fuck you," he grit out.
You smiled at him, "Oh, Aegon. You never will just grow up," you sighed, standing to your feet once more.
The doors burst open once more, revealing your mother who ran to you, eyes wide as they flickered between each of her children, but you did not pay attention to her. Your eyes remained solely on Ormund who stood in the doorway, a proud smile filing his face as he looked to you and only you.
Hands reached out, cupping your cheeks forcing you to meet Alicent's gaze for the first time in a long time, "Mother," you greeted, coldly, sending shivers down her spine.
She stared at you, her eyes frantic as she blinked at you, "What have you done?" she asked, forcing you to stare at her.
You almost scoffed in reply. Instead you smiled at her, but it lacked any warmth, "What you could not," you said, before removing her hands off you.
You turned staring at the throne, as you felt someone fill the spot next to you, and you did not even need to turn to see who it was. You could feel his presence, seeping in through you as if you finally felt whole with him standing next you.
"My wife, the Queen," he whispered to you, and you could hear the awe in his voice. The slight disbelief that this was real life and not some dream of his. "My wife! The rightful heir of the throne has finally come to take back her Kingdom!" he then declared, turning to the hall.
You stared at the Iron Throne for a moment longer before finally beginning to climb the steps, slowly, You took your time, taking in the moments listening to your husband list off the extensive list of titles that now followed after your name.
You sat down on the throne as Ormund finally finished listing off your titles, as you stared out at the small crowd with a smile, leaning back into the iron chair as if were made of plush rather then steal.
"You may begin by swearing your oaths to my wife. The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
Working an office job will truly make you have the wildest enemies, bc why is my nemesis rn a woman I’ve never met and who exclusively haunts me by sending diabolical emails, and also a specific guy who left my company before I even worked here and made the system so fuckass that it ruined procedures for like a year
Yesterday my nemesis (woman I’ve never met and whose face I’ve never seen) sent my office an email so rude, basically saying we had fucked up every project she ever ordered from us, one of the worst emails I’ve ever read in my life.
And it pissed me off so badly that I spent the ENTIRE WORK DAY today compiling evidence from every project my team has ever done for her, pulling past emails she’d sent us, putting together an entire case proving that she had been the problem all along. That she got projects mixed up, that she’d made requests that were nonsensical, literally everything you could possibly imagine. Screenshots of emails, reports we’d submitted, EVERYTHING.
This woman in particular has been terrorizing my team for years, her name is almost a slur in my office, I had simply had ENOUGH of her.
I put all of this evidence together and sent it to all of my bosses at 4:30pm. Then I took a long break to eat a sweet treat and drink some tea.
After my break, my bosses all called in an emergency meeting with me and they said they read my report and fucking loved it. And I sat on a teams call with my boss’ boss as she wrote my nemesis the scathing email I had always fantasized about sending, using the evidence I’d compiled, and hit send.
It was the most satisfying workday I’ve had since I got hired.
