Can you make a short fanfic, in which area and Rhaegal wake up in Aegon and Helaena's body and they panic?
Ask and you shall receive! I really liked this idea tbh, this was very funny to me. I hope you'll enjoy this one! It's mostly humor with a tidbit of friskiness I suppose, but nothing grand. For peeps who find this in the wild without knowing the AU: the context is genderbent!helaegon (Aerea and Rhaegal) waking up in the bodies of their not-genderbent counterparts (Aegon and Helaena).
Genderbent!Helaegon | Humor/Fluff | AU of a series | wc: 1243
Aerea doesn’t bother to open her eyes. It is a chilly morning, and she snuggles with the furs of the bed close, tossing and turning with them to achieve a few more moments of sleep. Despite having three different furs brought for the winter, those around her feel all too thin.
Rhaegal must’ve stolen the rest of them to himself again, she thinks to herself. He had the penchant to be at his most audacious when he dreams, after all. She turns to his side of the bed, fighting against the morning crust that formed by her eyes. Such robbery will not go unanswered, and compensation is well due. If she cannot have her blankets, he’ll have to offer his arms.
When she opens her eyes, however, an unfamiliar woman is laying beside her. Long silver waves falling unkempt from the bed, breathing softly through sleep with her hands tucked awkwardly by her body. Aerea stares for a few moments before snapping back into a sitting position.
“What the fuck?” she yells, and unfurls her furs from the offending lady. How did she even get inside here? Ser Willis Fell should’ve guarded the room. What is she even doing here? Where did she come from? Where is her husband?
Wait. Why is my voice so low?
The woman in front of her is swiftly awoken, eyes vividly violet opening. “What— who are…” she starts asking, but then reaches for her throat in a hurried panic. As her hands fall down her body, so does her gaze, her hands sliding down from her chest to her belly and hips. Finally, she holds on the end her long locks of hair, positively frightened. “What is this?! This is not…!”
At the same time, Aerea looks at her own hands. Pale with purple veins as always, yet larger than hers usually are, with some fine hair on their back and the rather unbecoming hints of dirt under the fingernails. The cold she has felt suddenly makes all the more sense when she realises that for the most part, she is bare. Unlike the lady in front of her, her hair is short, and with one hand coming to her chest, she screams.
She has never been considered well endowed, no, but her chest is gone!
Coming up from the bed, she rushes to the mirror. The room is all the same, but all is wrong. She holds onto the short oily hair, and the broadened shoulders of this body. The dark circles of the man she faces in the reflection only grow more pronounced as she feels the blood draining from his face. Her face.
“This is not funny,” she says, nearly on the verge of tears as she faces the woman on the bed again. “Where is my husba…” she stops herself, and examines that unknown girl again, who nervously played with the Myrish lace of the nightgown she seemed so pensive in. Rhaegal always plays with the lace trimmings of her dresses. “Rhaegal?” she asks.
“...Aerea?” is the woman’s reply and suddenly some air enters her lungs again; she nods, and the ‘woman’s’ eyes brighten too. “Yes, it’s me,” he says in that woman’s feminine yet husky voice. Her husband’s face is far more angular, but the appearance he dons now has a somewhat subdued angularity to match it, and an entirely softer looking body to contrast it with. His new form comes up from the bed and closer and it is almost surreal as he reaches out for her new body.
She looks down at herself again, thinking to take a peek at her breeches. She feels the absurdity of her new male effects, but isn’t she short for a man?
Rhaegal brings a dainty hand to hold her upper arm. “This is strange,” he says as he examines it until finally settles on a squeeze. “How could this be…”
Aerea, resigned, resorts to curling into him, demanding a hug. “Someone put a curse on us and made me a stubby sickly man,” she says in half desperation, leaning her head on her husband’s— wife’s? — shoulder.
“Don’t say that,” he wraps his hands around her, repressing a smile. “I think I may be considered the short one of us two, anyway.”
Aerea huffs as she sniffles. “You are as tall as any woman, and have gained giant teats for yourself,” she says. “Don’t you dare pretend to complain.”
Chuckling, he weaves a hand into her short hair, ruffling through it. “Neither should you, then. I think you make a pretty man.”
“Shut your mouth lest we stay this way!” she yells at him, only making him laugh. “I can’t believe this…” Tightening her embrace upon him, he squeals slightly, the way she often does when he locks on her firmly. He returns it quickly as he relaxes in her thicker arms, but it is strange to have him respond in that manner so easily.
Garnering some interest in that difference, she sets out to understand the situation in her hold better, and scoops him from behind into her hold.
“Aerea—” he yelps, quick to bring his hands to hold onto her body’s shoulder. She licks her lips and carries him around in her arms. She never quite understood why he liked doing it to her, but now she feels she does. It feels quite nice to feel him readjust his hold on her closer and closer.
“This is why you like to twirl me around so much, huh?” she asks. The girlish face he dons is beet red. The dainty fingers that on her nape play with her thin tufts of hair present there gently as he considers what to say.
“...I like it when you do this,” Rhaegal brings the hand back to her new face, cupping the round jaw and leaning down to kiss her slowly. Suddenly, her arms grow shakier. Gods, I need to go against a wall. She likes it when he gets her against a wall —
The doors to their room suddenly slam open, and she loses her grip on her husband-wife’s body. They manage to grip each other so he isn’t toppled backwards to the floor. Holding each other in some shock, they turn their heads to look at Mother, who seems exasperated enough to rip out all of her hair.
Alicent first seems flabbergasted to a degree, but recovers from it with a shake of her head. “Aegon, Helaena, I need you in the hall room,” she says as if she’s about to collapse. “Your brother has lost all of his wits. He woke up and started running around saying his name is Aemma and ogling his swords. Dress up and help me make him regain his sanity, I beg you.”
Aerea and Rhaegal share a prolonged look.
“Prince Aemond, please!” they hear Ser Criston’s voice from outside the hallway.
“I think our sister is going haywire with new opportunities,” Aerea says. “We better see to her, husband.”
Rhaegal hums, while Alicent’s eyes open like saucers.
“What are you talking about,” Alicent yells at her. “Aegon, if you are in on the same shenanigan—”
Rhaegal comes to Alicent, holding her hand with his own small ones. “Mother, we will sort this out. Do not fret a thing.”
Aerea never thought she’d see her mother that speechless ever again, but alas. Until they figure this out, such a world is filled to brim with entertaining opportunities.
In order to improve her school performance and secure her graduation, Usagi is sent to a prestigious school far away from the city. Once there, she experiences an exciting boarding school life full of traditions, friendships, and unexpected love stories. Right after her arrival, she catches the eye of one of the most influential students, Seiya. At first, Usagi rejects Seiya’s advances, but she soon realizes that her feelings are more complicated than she had expected.
This is an old, old fic of mine that I just recently started rewriting after receiving a lovely comment on its old version. It's a WIP and I'm originally writing it in German, and now started to translate it. It's set in an alternate universe and inspired by the anime Strawberry Panic. The main ship will be Usagi and Seiya (duh), with some Minako and Yaten on the side – and also a bit of Haruka and Michiru as well as Haruka and ... Rei.
Harry has started a new career as a fitness influencer online and James is finding it harder and harder to conceal his jealousy and insecurities. A little angst with a lot of fluff ❤️
Hi my writer, I came to let you know here on Tumbrl as you told me about part 2 of the Aerea-Rhaegal body swap fanfic in which they wake up in their genderless counterparts, thank you in advance.
It's been a while since I've got this req, but hehe, did it. Thank you for sending this in! This is part 2 of this req over here, where Aerea, Rhaegal, Aemma and Daella (Genderbent!Green children, ordered by age) wake up in the bodies of their not genderbent counterparts. This time with actual Daella on screen, lol. This one is more of a feel good fanfic, ngl.
Genderbent!Helaegon | Humor/Fluff | AU of a series | wc: 1995
“Prince Daeron has come, your Grace,” a servant says when they all stand at the hall.
Rhaegal lifts his head in interest, and so do his sisters — or brothers, at the current moment. These bodies they found themselves in had not been theirs, but until they found a solution, he had been degined to wear the dresses. It hasn’t been all that bad; Princess Helaena’s dresses all seemed to have been made of comfortable fabrics and cuts, and Aerea had made sure to stick in his hair as many of insect themed jewels that would be considered palatable to court. Seeing ‘Prince Aegon’ help his wife in the mornings seemed to have left their maids speechless, but they’ve all been shooed away quickly enough. Aemma had quite a bit of thrill herself as ‘Prince Aemond’, getting to know she’s one of the Keep’s most intimidating men.
This Queen Alicent had been different from theirs. Certainly, a mother of three boys and one girl, rather than the other way around. But although not their mother, she had been no less caring or worrisome. They have adjusted to the roles of her children to calm her down, told her all had been a prank, but she insisted they remain by her side for a while.
“My sweet boy,” her brown eyes brighten when she sees a silver-haired boy entering the room. He has eyes of violet, as any of them do, with long light eyelashes framing them. The sun pecked him freckled, soft dotting seeming a blush over his nose bridge. He has a tentative smile on, and his arms hold each other in front of his body as if hiding together under billowing sleeves. “The ride must’ve been long. You should’ve told me you are coming, your room would’ve been prepared.”
Prince Daeron smiles a boyish smile.“It is of no matter, mother,” He answers softly. Prince Daeron eyes his siblings prolongedly, as if seeking something out. Aemma and Aerea both glance at Rhaegal, a conference of eyes taking place. There must be a reason for this arrival, at this time, Rhaegal thinks, and comes forward towards the boy, trying to make a proud walk as noticeable as possible with skirts of the dress seeking to drown it out. His sisters follow soon behind him.
“Daeron,” he says, reaching for his arm. The name feels odd on his tongue. “How has it been with Uncle Mundy?”
The queen turns to him, lifting a brown brow. “Uncle Mundy?”
The boy’s eyes crinkle to the utmost joy and relief, their glimmer nothing less than starlike in quality. “Well!” Daeron— Daella, now without doubt— and rushes into his embrace. This male form of his youngest sister is surprisingly lanky. He wonders if this is how sisters feel normally; gods, he has never felt so short.
Perhaps now he could understand his wife’s tantrums of being the smallest of them four. Unfortunately for her, Prince Aegon’s height has only elevated her one spot on that list, and she had been quick to make note of it. “This is ridiculous,” she says annoyedly, when Daella lets him go. Prince Aegon’s hand reaches up to Prince Daeron’s hair, as if to level him. “Who allowed you to become a tree?”
Daella chuckles, coming to hug her and Aemma as well. They are stuck in this position, them all, but at least they are together.
“We should see what you have become on the training yard,” Aemma says, keeping a calm tone, although laced with intrigue. Prince Aemond had a menacing appearance to him, with a strong jaw and the most conniving of looks, but his lips earned a cat-like grin when Aemma spoke. There may be a chance that it was natural to that body, but Rhaegal could tell Aemma had been excited. “Things are quite different, now.”
They both turn to Ser Criston naturally. The man blinks at the both from Alicent’s side; it is clear that they needn't have any of his permission here. He only proceeds to clarify. “At this moment, my Prince?”
The grin on Prince Aemond’s face is undoubtedly Aemma’s. “Yes.”
Aerea snorts, and Rhaegal tries to keep himself from chuckling too. Even in the male bodies, Daella grabs onto Aemma to drag her forward, locking arms with one another. Despite the odd, almost resigned looks from Alicent and Criston, Rhaegal brings his own arm to lock with Aerea and go after them.
It makes the Queen and the Kingsguard even further confused, but he minds it not. Today, Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena walk hand in hand, and Rhaegal will enjoy every minute of it.
—
It is a storm of swords between his sisters in the yard.
They make the fullest of every moment. Each clank of a sword earns them intense cheers from the crowd of watching bystanders, and it is quite a crowd; long it has been since two princes sparred each other on this yard, it appears. It had never been a primary interest of his, but he feels odd now, watching from the sidelines himself.
He leans his head against Prince Aegon’s shoulder. That body is surprisingly not that different in softness from his wife’s, although he can’t say it is quite the same, either. Still, it’s comforting within all this noise and strangeness.
“Sulking?” she asks. It sounds a drier remark in the lower voice she attained herself. He keeps his lips lined.
“No, it is only…” he trails off. The violet gaze of hers is no less piercing as a prince, and the rise of an eyebrow is just as pointed. We agreed on honesty, he reminds himself. He will not break that promise here, even if they spoke that promise from different lips. “Yes.”
Aerea hums and brings a finger to his lips. “I rather like the pout, you know.”
Rhaegal believes she is more inclined to squeeze and hold him as much as possible at the moment. She certainly did not hold back on testing the differences in intimacy. It had been as awkwardly funny as it had been oddly pleasing. He still can’t fathom some sensations that he had felt, and she had made a point to laugh at his relentlessly at some of his questions — but then again, he similarly got to laugh at when she realized fucking is quite a different job from being fucked.
But some natural instincts helped, or one may assume even muscle memory. Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena had a third child, unlike them. Maelor, his mind supplies again, with the image of an infant holding at the edge of his cradle and babbling relentlessly.
He thinks some wistfulness conquered them both. By the time he leaves this body, he wonders if the princess would be left with a fourth.
Either way, Rhaegal bites the finger in his vicinity. Aerea yelps away, pouting at him now. Prince Aegon has a plump pout himself. “And I like yours,” he chuckles and looks back at the scene in front of him. He smiles at his younger sisters, resigning himself to observe. This is a sobering moment; yes, he had not enjoyed swordplay for the sparring itself, but he thinks he can understand Aemma and Daella more fully now that he is not to be included.
From the sidelines, the joy on their faces is enviable; it looks so very fun. He has taken training for granted in his lifetime. He will have to do his best to keep being dedicated and thankful to Criston when he returns to his body.
Rhaegal does hope it will be rather soon. He misses his children, and his mother, and the abilities to hold his wife with no ogling and join his sisters’ in their spars freely.
“Oi,” Aerea huffs at some squire to her left. It is amusing to hear her attempts at impersonating male speech. It nearly brings a smile to his face, but soon enough she completes the sentence whole. “Bring me a sword!”
He squeezes his wife’s upper arm, looking at her confused. He knows not about Prince Aegon, but he could count the times Aerea has held swords in her hands on one palm. “You never liked sparring,” he says, eyebrow lifting. Their sisters would know to be mindful of her inexperience, but she doesn’t even like it. Why would she leave his side for it?
Aerea brings a hand to squeeze on his side in response. The squire returns hastily with a sword in hand, offering it to him. “My prince,” he says, and Aerea takes the sword with little care, the grip on his waist seemingly stronger than the hold on the steel.
“Prince Aegon is joining the fray!” Someone calls. The excited audience claps in excitement, and even Queen Alicent and Ser Criston eye him with intrigue. The princes in the midst of the circle turn to them with confusion that matches his.
Aerea dispels it very quickly. “Dimwit,” she says aloud, “who told you that? It’s not for me,” she turns back to him. “It’s for my wife.”
Ah?
That is met with a deafening silence.
“Aegon, what is this nonesense—” Alicent begins, and Rhaegal feels as if he is watching his mother from years back come alive again. Aerea hadn’t bothered with their mother’s complaints then, and she isn’t bothered by them now, only shoving the sword in the smooth hands of Princess Helaena, and patting him to move forward.
He first stares at his wife, surprised.The sword feels heavier than how it usually does, and certainly the dress is not quite the proper garb for this activity. However, he had trained and fought with swords in many situations in years past, even when it was inconvenient. Aerea knows that too, he reminds himself, and for a moment smiles at the sword as warmth rushes down him.
Go on, that is the message. And he knows his sisters would not allow for anyone to object.
Aerea is steadfast despite the complaints coming her way. Aemma and Daella also care none for the shock among the observers, they return to a starting stance in front of him. He laughs when he sees Ser Criston balking at them; now this Criston might want to put an end to this before anything starts, but his Ser Criston would remind him to not waste an opportunity to take first strike.
Rhaegal grips the sword better, and rushes forward to enter that dance.
Swords clank in a nostalgic symphony. Words die down somewhere between the third of fourth strike he blocks. The audience’s yapping even turns into amused ones when Aemma and his team up to make Daella yield first. Prince Daeron has fallen to his back first, in full hearty laughter.
Aemma turns back to him, sword pointed towards him as she circles him. “Let it be said it is not the dress that would make you lose, sister,” he says. I would know, are the words that remain unspoken. Prince Aemond may have intimidating features, but the contesting tilt of his sister is all the same.
Rhaegal grins; it is a game, and he’ll play along. “It would not need to be said if I win, right?”
“Get him!” Aerea yells loudly from the sidelines. She holds Alicent by the hand, making the stressed, shocked queen cheer alongside her. Daella has retreated to stand by Criston, who seems so bewildered he has been rendered speechless. The rest of the audience, however, seems to have been enjoying the show.
There are many people to please. Wife, sisters, audience, who not? Rhaegal picks up the sword, and lunges forward. In this circle of surprise and cheer however, he himself feels he has already won.
This is odd work for the body he is in, but he puts his best foot forward as swords meet again. He may as well leave this body knowing he gave Princess Helaena her own victory, too.
Can you make a short fanfic we’re aerea is jealous because rhaegal dances with some lady and she tells rhaegal that
Now, anon, I have no idea how you found this blog before I made it public, but well — I guess we're opening this blog with this! Thank you for this opportunity. So yes, I can and I did. If I had to place this little oneshot on the timeline, it would take place at 126AC (two years forward from where we are as of chapter 19).
Genderbent!Helaegon | Humor/Fluff | A part of a series | wc: 761
Aerea’s nameday has been quite the success.
It has been planned down to the very finest of details. Gold thread tablecloths graced the tables, as well as the roasted chickens cooked gold themselves — his wife’s favourite to wash down with Highgarden’s sweetwine. Rhaegal has even convinced Mother to employ some street performers from down the city as the main entertainment; on the off-chance he and Aerea leave the keep, their routines made her laugh loudest.
Countless lords and ladies came to celebrate his wife’s twentieth anniversary on this earth, dancing and singing and gifting all there is to gift. New jewels and dresses and books and whatnot were given, and his wife smiled gladly for them; she was bright most evening, chatting with all the ladies by her side, and yet…
Now that they’re in their room once more, a sour pout comes about.
He finds it endearing, for the most part. She is mildly tipsy, he can tell; her cheeks are rouged a natural pink and her sullen stare is not nearly as intentful. His mind wanders. I can make her lips cherry to match. She flushes so prettily everywhere… his train of thought strays to bring about a warmth at his loins. His own thoughts setting loose on him, he supposes she’s not the only one who feels the sweetwine’s effects… although he admittedly drank much less.
Rhaegal notes her glance at him, pout turning more pronounced. Like a child waiting for attention. She’s better about speaking of what bothers her these days, but sometimes she wants to be noticed first. That’s alright; he’d coddle her if she’d like. He likes how her ears turn red when he does.
“Is something wrong?” he reaches over to her, placing one hand on her waist. The other goes to play with a strand of her loose hair. “I thought you enjoyed the celebrations?”
Aerea hums at the touch, but is quick to force a huff to maintain herself. “That girl,” she says with an upturned nose. “That girl was.. Uh– is, all sorts of wrong!” she slurs, squeezing on his arm.
“Which girl?” he asks. There were plenty of ladies in attendance.
“That Lannister girl, with the mane for her hair,” she says irritably and goes on to spill all her grievances. “You are not allowed to dance widh’ her anymore,” she proclaims. “Or her sisters. Or her cousins! They see golden decor and they think they all shat it themselves.”
Oh. She must be talking about Lord Jason’s daughter. He has too many daughters to keep count, but Rhaegal did end up dancing with his eldest Cerelle for one of the songs that were played. She did have a mop of golden hair, and her mother’s brown eyes. A pretty girl, undoubtedly, and rather talkative as well. He was pleased at that, for that made it so he didn’t have to do much more than nod for the entirety of their conversation.
“Don’t think of her, eith’er!” Aerea slaps his arm. Rhaegal holds himself from smiling; it’s barely a pat, and her exaltation is all too sweet, big eyes demanding his attention back. His arms come around her and his hands meet just below the small of her back. If he teases her, she just might ask him for more.
“I’m trying to recall,” he says innocently. “What was her name…? Cer…” he trails off, letting her frown at him. “Cersei, was it?” he asks with a head tilt. Her expression shifts back to her full pout. Playing dumb can be fun, but kissing her stupid would be…
“Forget her,” she says, bringing her chest against his in an embrace. “T’was my nameday. You’re mine,” she declares and he feels warmth pool down his belly. Every time she says as much butterflies flutter. And you’re mine. He held much of that yearning within for so long, he can’t help his joy. “I should’ve ripped out that gold hair of her when she touched yo—”
Rhaegal brings an arm under her bottom and lifts her up. She squeaks in surprise. “I like your silver,” he says, and his eyes fall to her lips. “And your reds.”
He closes the gap between them, and kisses her all the way to their bed. Laying her down on it, he sees cherry coloured lips in an overjoyed, content grin. Her hand comes to his jaw, and drags his face back down. “I like you,” she says, and takes over lips that will forever be hers.
Yes, Aerea’s twentieth nameday was quite the success.
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list all of them). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line, then tag your favourite authors!
Thank you @hazelestelle for tagging me!!! ❤️This was really fun!!! Obviously I haven’t published 20 fics (yet) but I have a few and god it’s been so long since I posted most of them I even forgot about them XD But it was fun rereading! I know I tend to write WAY too long sentences, a few of these are pushing it too lol Not sure I have an opening style, it really depends on the tone of the story and how quickly I want to get to the main point. I think my fave is ‘James drifted out of sleep as wet lips were scattering slow kisses over his cheeks and neck and he smiled happily.’ bc it feels warm and happy ❤️😭
Hardly Ideal, Jarry - James Nightingale/Harry Thompson (Hollyoaks)
“Budge up a bit, yeah?” Harry instructed, pressing his muscular thigh harder against James’s slender one under the duvet.
Plus One, Jarry - James Nightingale/Harry Thompson (Hollyoaks)
Autumn is in full bloom and the trees have turned their hues, painting a beautiful colourful scenery outside his window.
Merry Christmas, Baby, Jarry - James Nightingale/Harry Thompson (Hollyoaks)
James drifted out of sleep as wet lips were scattering slow kisses over his cheeks and neck and he smiled happily.
5 months later, Jarry - James Nightingale/Harry Thompson (Hollyoaks)
Harry played the recording of Mercedes’s confession over the phone for the Detective.
Hair is where the heart is, Nagron - Agron/Nasir (Spartacus)
”No!”
What Lies Beneath, Nagron - Agron/Nasir (Spartacus)
Agron watched with loving eyes as the man that held his heart dressed in his robe, much too big for his lithe form.
All Inclusive, Various footballer players, Football RPF, (oh god this fic XD can’t believe I wrote all that asggasfdf)
So there he was, pinned down against the soft sheets on a big bed in this luscious hotel room.
