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

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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

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Author's Notes: We are back from hiatus on APRIL 26, 2024 with Chapter 16! Hope you join us! These will continue to be crossposted so instead of seeing my usual AO3 link with snippet, you will see posts like these so you can continue to read on AO3 should you wish, or on tumblr!

we are now in the 'oh my god these two are so fucking feral for each other it makes them look dumb' era and SPICY SPICY! plus djkfhsdf some cute things I'm sure you've been waiting for.

Translations: Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin - two hearts as one Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus - half of my heart

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Your Love Is Like Sunlight

Pride is taken and love is given.

Aegon had wandered through the mass of small folk without a care, a grin across his face as vendors hawked and goods were sold, as people came out to rejoice for his day. Alyn had fallen in step beside him, following him and Aemond into the tent where Daeron was waiting. His little brother, dark blonde hair mussed from sleep, was furiously polishing Aegon’s new armor.

Not even the thick, red and black canvas of the tent could block out all the sounds of the crowds pouring into the arena that morning, but once the flaps closed, there was a kind of muffling effect to it all that made Aegon feel like he’d entered another world.

“How lucky,” he’d told his baby brother as Daeron jumped to attention and went about his duties. “That I get Ser Gwayne’s prized squire for this tournament.” The boy had preened and glowed beneath the attention in a shy, nervous way that belied his newness to the position at large. Aemond posted beside the trestle table, helping himself to watered wine and the platter of cold meat and cheese while Alyn lingered near the rack holding Aegon’s sword.

“Two swords, hm?” he’d inquired, admiring the balance on the blades with a critical eye. Which was really only Alyn trying to pretend he knew exactly what he was talking about when it came to the elegance of worked steel. It wasn’t even Valyrian steel.

“Aegon’s rare moments of overachieving,” Aemond drolled. Aegon rolled his eyes, ignoring Alyn’s soft snickering, while Daeron went to work, his gaze drifting to the second rack where his suit of armor rested, the breastplate his brother had been working on reverently placed back where it belonged.

“You are the king’s eldest son. You think the men you’ll liege over would respect a lord who’d never donned a suit of armor?” The Tower had snapped at what Aegon thought was a simple question as to why. It was a strange feeling when he was a dragonrider of all things, bonded with the greatest creature to exist. He was a god amongst men.

Once, custom dictated that a dragonrider must always be in the Dragonpit should the call to arms sound, but his mother had put her foot down when Aegon had asked. Which hadn’t really mattered, since on days where his melancholy threatened to smother him, he’d sneak out to sleep with Sunfyre anyway. Days where he felt like he would burst from his own skin, rend his flesh with claws of his own, where he swore in his dreams he was Sunfyre himself.

This day, Aegon did not have claws and fangs, nor could he breathe fire. With both feet firmly planted on the ground, he would don the armor of his mother’s people, of mere mortals. He shifted as Daeron tugged on the red padded arming doublet he was wrestling him into with a kind of single minded efficiency that strongly reminded him of Aemond. They both poked their tongues between their lips, eyes squinted in focus. It took everything in Aegon not to reach up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair and instead kept uncharacteristically cooperative at the boy’s assistance.

Warmth spread through his chest while Daeron straightened the padding and examined the red fabric for wear and tear now that it was on him.

“Can you move, Aeg?”

He twisted at the waist and raised his arms up and down to show that he could and Daeron went to the pieces of polished black armor. The finely crafted plates layered together like dragonscales of his very own, edged in beaten gold, and over his chest, a dragon was etched into the metal. Aegon was still surprised how perfectly the armor fit. He flexed constantly under Daeron’s questions and it was so different from the training breastplate he wore that would have to last through the growth spurts of his youth. This suit of armor felt like a second skin, as if he was covered with his very bones. He flexed once Daeron had finished, lifting his legs and bending around to ensure that all was where it was meant to be and he grinned at Daeron.

“Well done, squire,” he complimented. Daeron’s beam made him look younger than his two and ten years, and as brilliant as the sun. “I think you’ve earned a place with us to go mucking around Flea Bottom, hm?”

“Thank you,” he said shyly, blushing at the praise, and preening a little even though the only audience was Aemond and Alyn. “I’d hate for you to make a fool of yourself on your nameday in front of everyone.” The cheeky look in his cornflower blue eyes had Aegon lightly swiping at him, the boy dancing away while Aemond made an annoyed sound.

Aegon snatched a piece of meat off of his brother’s plate. “You know, Aemond, if you’re going to be a miserable arse, you don’t have to be here. Go sit in the box with our mother, let all the pretty girls stare at you. I’m sure it would be more fun. I was certain that Maega Stokeworth was trying to figure out how to swoon in your arms.” Aemond had found himself beneath the center of attention in a way he’d never encountered since the court had begun to fill in the past few weeks. “Or better yet, let Karstark be your shield once more and you can swoon into her arms.” It hadn’t been missed that his brother had gone straight for Abby’s lady as soon as the proverbial sharks had begun to circle. Aegon would not deny his surprise, but he kept it to himself. It wasn’t everyday his brother and his violet gaze targeted someone he wasn’t intendending to declare an enemy.

Unless declaring Wylla Karstark his enemy was a form of foreplay. Perhaps a northern custom he wasn’t aware of but surely Aemond knew everything about. Mating habits and rituals and all that.

His brother rolled his eye but the pink that tinged his cheeks had Aegon smirking in satisfaction as he looked over the drink available. Cider had been his choice since Mother had forbidden wine. A carafe of it had made it into the tent, the Arbor red he preferred calling to him. His fingers clenched and he went for the water instead. He needed his wits about him.

“And miss your great debut? I hear Vance has been known to fight with a pollaxe and you’ve only matched against blade and the morningstar.” Aemond’s unimpressed commentary on Aegon’s resurgence in training for this event dripped through every word and he scoffed.

“Are you truly belittling me for participating in my nameday tournament while you peacock around going,” Aegon lilted his voice to match Aemond’s slightly higher tone. “Fuck tourneys, I want a war and a real fight, watch me jump around the training circle with Criston Cole.”

Daeron giggled, sweet boy that he was, and even Aemond’s glower was softened at the long missed sound.

“I’ll fight in the joust at Harrenhal,” Aemond declared, his mouth curling in satisfaction at the sound of surprise Aegon made.

“You? Joust? But you hate jousting.”

“I wouldn’t want to face him in a joust,” Alyn offered with a serious look. “You’ve met your brother, right?”

Aemond shifted in his chair, chin tilting slightly with his own hint of preening. The curl of his mouth turned deadly sharp with satisfaction. “Well, well, looks like you should be trusting Hull’s judgment more than I gave him credit for. It seems he’s not the fool I thought.”

“To finally be recognized by the One-Eyed Prince!” Alyn said, clasping his hands together in prayer. “Warrior, you have heard my prayers to have my statement of the obvious that I have eyes and know when to not engage with the scariest cunt in the room is taken seriously.”

Aegon veered to the left as Aemond chucked a piece of meat at his friend, Alyn’s locs swinging with the motion, and with an open mouth, he caught the piece in his mouth, but gasped and choked briefly from the speed at which Aemond threw it. His brother looked stunned, getting up to thump Alyn on the back. Aegon glanced down at Daeron, his brother only a scant few inches shorter and promising another growth spurt.

“So proud of the progress they’ve been making.”

“Aye,” Daeron said seriously. “But I’m still your favorite.”

Aegon tapped the side of his nose and poured Daeron a cup of wine and another for Alyn, who’d coughed up the projectile. Aemond was now examining the blades for himself now that Hull wasn’t in danger of expiring.

“I still think you should go with the single blade and shield.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“It’s flashy.”

Aegon’s face contorted into confusion. “Of course it’s flashy. What? I don’t get to be flashy, you twat? Is this because you’re jealous my dragon is lovelier than yours?”

“Don’t you compare anything to Vhagar, you golden peacock.”

“Oh please, Vhagar’s more wrinkled than Beesbury’s ballsack.”

Aegon saw a flash of light as the tent flap opened, but it was Alyn who startled to attention, cutting through the bickering loudly. “Lady Abrogail!” Aegon jerked his head around, watching as Alyn hurried up to the slight figure who just entered the tent. He sketched a bow before her, Abby’s eyebrows raised in amusement as he took her hand to press a kiss to it. “It is a pleasure to finally put a name to the face, my lady. The prince’s songs of your beauty do little to match the vision you present.”

Whatever demands Aegon was about to make for Alyn to stop with his charms died on his tongue when he took Abby in, lined by the sunlight coming through the part of the tent flaps. Her wrap gown was nothing she’d worn before and it took Aegon a moment to realize it was similar to Rhaenyra’s gowns. There was nothing of his mother’s influence or of the Riverlands about it. The silk blue as a robin’s egg, the lining of her belled sleeves a warm sunset orange-gold, and the belt cinched around her waist was a wrap of golden metal etched with decorative roses and weirwood leaves. A heated sensation curled through Aegon’s chest when he caught sight of the numerous golden dragons embroidered along her body: over one shoulder where the dragon’s head rested over her heart, wrapped around one arm, down along the drape of fabric and across her skirts.

Not just a dragon. It was his dragon. Sunfyre decorating his bride’s gown, so everyone knew she was his, his to protect, his to care for, his to hoard. The place inside his bones where Sunfyre fused into him purred.

Her hair was a cascade of copper curls, a loose knotwork of braids twisted along the crown of her head, the cinnamon sugar of her freckles were dark against her softly flushed cheeks. Woven into her braids was a strand of sea pearls interspersed with topaz gems that brought out the river blue of her eyes. His eyes darted to the necklace she wore, the warmth of it a contrast against her lightly flushed skin.

He still needed to get a necklace for her. One that was wholly from him.

“Off,” Aegon barked at Alyn as if he were a pup begging. “All of you out.”

“Mother said you’re not to be left alone with Abby,” Daeron chimed from where he was putting away his armor polish. “She was very insistent, but said I’m allowed to leave you two alone after you're married.”

Aegon stared at Daeron, blinking in confusion until he caught the scent of Abby’s rose and red currant perfume.

“It’s alright,” she reassured. Aegon felt his cheeks flush while Abby stroked her hands admiringly over his armor plated bicep. “I’m nothing if not a proper lady. Besides, I brought Aegon a present.”

“Would that be proper?” Alyn asked innocently, his meaning clear. Aegon growled, feeling Sunfyre huff in his throat, a heated thing in his chest. Abby’s cheeks flushed but she paid Alyn no mind, reaching beneath the fold of her gown. For a moment, Aegon thought he might catch a glimpse of creamy skin and the little freckle along the edge of right breast, but she pulled a folded scrap of fabric out instead.

Aegon thought of the tourneys they had watched when they were little, of knights coming to the stands and the royal box to curry a favor from one of the ladies. Ser Criston would wear his mother’s favor, Ser Harwin a boon from his elder sister. How daring they all looked, wearing those favors meant to keep them safe and bring them victory.

He didn’t see so much as heard Aemond’s low voice and the rustle of the tent fabric as he pushed Alyn and Daeron out of the tent, leaving him alone with Abby.

“You made me a favor?” he asked, so soft that he could barely hear his own voice. Abby’s teeth caught at the plump red of her lower lip and with careful fingers, unwrapped the gift.

The leather braid was multicolored, the red, blue and green of House Strong snaked with the black of House Targaryen, silver charms woven into it etched with tiny runes. On closer inspection, he realized they were like the runes on the gold chain that Lyonel Strong had worn. Aegon recalled how they danced in the candlelight as the two of them sat at the table on his nameday not long before he died, and Aegon had promised not to tell that Lord Lyonel was helping himself to the strawberry cream cakes that the Maester said he wasn’t meant to have. The favor was woven and twisted into a complicated knot, foreign in its design. It was familiar, tickling at some distant memory he couldn’t quite place, but knew he had seen it somewhere before. Abby held it in her hands and he touched it, taking it in hand and he could see that it hung on a leather cord to hang around his neck.

Emotions seized at Aegon’s throat. A sense of longing that he couldn’t quite place, grief at the loss of the man he had once known, and a strange sort of trepidation that curled through it. ‘I’ll protect her, I swear it’.

“It’s…” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips and Aegon’s mouth watered at the sight of it. She looked up at him beneath her lashes, her eyes so blue they looked like sapphires. “Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin.” She paused, and then said it once more with a scrunch of her nose as she pronounced it slightly differently. “Two hearts as one, interlocked with no beginning and no end… I worked on it all night!” she added in a rush. Aegon could see her hand shaking and the twitch of her fingers from nerves. “What hurts you hurts me and the charms are protection to ensure that you’re safe and-”

Aegon closed the distance between them, his hand cradled her cheek while the other held the knot between them. He took advantage of her parted mouth to lick his way inside, and steal the taste of her mint and honey tea she drank in the mornings, of the sweet cream she slathered on her bread, of whatever taste that remained that was hers. She whimpered into his mouth and he drank it greedily, a growl low in the back of his throat. He stepped closer so there was no space between them, and Abby arched into him, uncaring of the armor that separated them.

“Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus,” Aegon breathed into her. The words unbidden, a spell, a promise, a declaration. His hand was trembling and he could feel her shaking against him. When he dared to open his eyes, her own were heavy lidded and looking back at him, the slightest pull of confusion creasing her brow. Her heart shaped mouth was red and kiss swollen, trembling as he was. “Half of my heart,” he whispered, the very thing pounding in his chest, his throat, the blood rushing through his ears that he felt dizzy with it.

He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

Three times to matter. Three times to make it true.

“Aegon.” Abby’s voice cracked on the end of his name and she reached up her free hand to curl against his cheek and pull him closer again. She nuzzled her nose against his and tried to speak, but her voice cracked again, wordless.

His words, however, did not fail him. Aegon’s fingers stroked against the soft curve of her cheek, brushing away the copper of her hair from where it had fallen into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Let him be the first to tell her, for she was always the first to say so many things to him.

Her eyes widened, the smile spreading slowly across her face, and Aegon felt as if the sun broke through the storm clouds, the warmth of her as reassuring as Sunfyre. Her eyes crinkled and Aegon could feel his own crinkle in return as he smiled back at her, basking in the warmth between them.

“I love you.” Soft voiced but there was no lack of confidence, no indecision in the return of the declaration. Favor still clutched in her hand, Abby’s fingers dove into his hair, pulling him closer.

Aegon tilted her head back, touch reverent and mouth hungry, to taste the words for himself.

The silver necklace Abby wore was one meant for the Lady of Castamere. It belonged, by rights, to her grandmother, Dalla Swift, and was meant to pass onto her uncle’s wife when he took the seat. It was, however, the necklace her mother had worn on her wedding day and Abby’s fingers toyed with flame hued carnelian. It hung, smooth and flat backed in a lay of silver along her neck. The delicate silver chain was deceptively strong, strung with smaller carnelians.

‘Strength and bravery,’ her mother had told her of the precious stones she would wear. ‘Courage and joy.’ Abby ran her thumb along the smooth surface. ‘Brave, my little river lion. The fire of my heart.’

Helaena tugged at the ends of the braid slung over her shoulder, clad in a pleated gown of midnight blue with dragon pins at each shoulder, the fall of blue silk brushing against her shoulders. Rubies on a twisted band of woven gold were braided around the crown of her head, a veil of sheer red falling around her like a shield. Her mouth was pinched, brow furrowed, and it was clear the princess was at the end of her patience with the crowds.

“I will leave after Aegon’s gone,” Helaena murmured when she saw the concern on Abby’s face. She sunk further back into the low chair she sat in, her left leg bouncing. Abby reached into the basket at their feet and pulled out the half done embroidery that she’d been working on. Butterflies and beetles glimmering in jewel tones. She pressed it into the princess’ grasp, stroking her fingers along the back of her hands with a tapping motion.

“I’ll let you know when it’s his turn. Just focus on this.” Helaena’s mouth twitched as she clutched at her embroidery hoop, and Abby chanced a glance in the row behind them.

The royal box was an elegant thing. Rectangular with four massive stone columns at each corner carved with snarling dragons circling around each one. The roof was made of terracotta shingles coming to three points for the two lower levels on either side of the main royal box. The Targaryen banner flew from the highest point, with three banners each on the other two: Stark, Tully, and Arryn on the left, and Lannister, Tyrell, and Baratheon on the right. The view of the pitch was unimpeded from either end, and allowed those in the stands around them to view their liege.

King Viserys sat in a padded chair like a chicken in a nest, his crown of gold heavy on his brow and a cup of wine in hand as he inclined his head towards Lord Otto and her grandfather. The Queen was resplendent in a gown of verdant green, braided cord across the shoulders of the gown and snaking down her bodice in a mimicry of flames. Her auburn curls were free down her back save for the delicate twists that held it from her face and held her crown of state in place. She was smiling at Lady Lysa beside her and Abby was startled with how young the queen looked. So used to the cold remoteness of her cousin, the laughter spilling from her mouth was a rare sound.

She swallowed and turned away, uncertain how she felt about the sight.

“Have you had a chance to talk with Lady Alys yet?” she asked Wylla to her left. She looked beautiful in her bronze brocade surcoat, striking against the black kirtle beneath with bronze embroidery along the arms. Her thick hair was braided into cauls on either side of her head, much how she’d seen Lady Lysa wear her hair. Abby wound one of her own red curls around her finger and wondered if she too could pull off such an elegant style. Pearls draped around the crown of her friend’s head, little treasures nestled in the expanse of raven wing hair.

“Briefly, during the feast,” Wylla said and the pair glanced down towards the seats to their left. Harrion was easy to spot with his height in the crowd, his head inclined to the smaller figure beside him. Alys Bracken, his bride to be, her dark red hair caught in a snood - less delicate than the nets favored in the crownlands and the Queen’s court. She was a tiny thing compared to her betrothed, and Abby smiled as she saw the woman reach to touch Harrion’s arm. “She’s nice. Quiet.” Wylla pursed her mouth a bit in the expression she wore when she was trying to find something tactful to say. “Are all girls from the Riverlands like that?”

“Mmm, not if you were speaking with Melony Piper last night,” Abby grinned. Wylla was brash, and Abby wondered if her mother was such a way as well. “It is difficult sometimes to find one’s voice when everyone is so loud.” She clucked her tongue and took a sip of the strawberry wine that had come in for Aegon’s nameday, feeling rather smug about engaging with House Buckler on trade agreements. It was good wine, less heavy than the Arbor Red that Aegon tended to enjoy that was too dry for her tastes. “Why, I do think you fell rather quiet when Aemond pulled you onto the floor.”

“Och! Are you going to start with me?” Wylla’s attention pulled from her brother to smooth her hands over her black skirt and her pale cheeks flushed a touch. “It was very nice of him to ask me to dance-”

“Nice, was it?” Abby would not forget how Wylla had teased her so, pulling the details of the clandestine affair that had gone on in Abby’s bedroom by the firelight. “Did his hand stay in its proper place, or did you encourage him.” She put on a low mimic of Wylla’s brogue, sounding more Riverlander than Northerner as her lilt came on stronger. “Oh, Prince Aemond, your hand is so warm-”

“Prince Jacaerys!” Wylla’s voice came out high pitched and a little strangled, loud enough to carry over the din. There was a chair that separated him and Helaena before the King, for when Aegon and Aemond came up after the melee, he would take it as his place of honor. In the meantime, Helaena was, as she put it ‘staking her claim until her brother proved himself worthy of it’.

Jace was reclined in his chair, his head bent towards Baela’s. His jerkin was dark red leather edged in black, the buckles were shining silver seahorses. “Lady Wylla,” he smiled, a look so familiar it made Abby’s chest ache.

“Are you not competing today?”

Baela laughed and Jace rolled his eyes at her before returning to Wylla’s question with a sly grin that she recalled from their youth. It generally predated some sort of mischief, Aemond often its target. “I would, but since it is my Uncle’s nameday, I thought it would be in poor taste to upstage him.”

“Upstage him?” Baela snorted, reaching down beside her to lift one of the little vases that the vendors were selling among other things. A crude painting of a yellow dragon was splashed across the red clay and a black figure holding a sword was positioned for battle. “How could you upstage the man whose liking is splashed across a dozen pisspots?”

“They’re too narrow to be pisspots,” Helaena said mildly. “But they’d be perfect for the foxglove and oleander growing in Visenya’s garden. I could show you, if you’d like, cousin.”

Abby gave the princesses a sidelong look, but was pleased to see Baela’s expression was one of amused appreciation and Helaena’s own smile was small. Jace looked confused and uncertain of what he was meant to do before huffing and helping himself to some more finger foods from the low table. Abby hummed, her own smile crossing her face as the trumpets sounded for the first round of contestants. Squires marched out onto the pitch carrying the banners of their knights. Warren Fossoway was no longer among their ranks - he’d been knighted only a few weeks ago and would compete in the melee. Many of the women around her cooed over the sons and brothers proud on the pitch with their standards.

“Oh!” Abby leaned forward, touching Helaena’s arm to draw her attention before pointing. “There’s Daeron!”

The youngest Targaryen’s blonde hair gleamed golden in the morning light, proudly bearing the blood red, three headed dragon upon the field of black for his eldest brother. Ser Gwayne had let the boy squire for Aegon this day, and Daeron looked so proud and so serious all at once.

“He looks like Aemond,” Wylla said with a soft laugh. “They both have that same serious look.” Abby giggled at the comparison. Even this far away, it was undeniable.

“He has my hair though,” Helaena chimed in, waving out to Daeron with a beaming smile amidst her discomfort of being in the crowd. Her hands clutched back at her embroidery hoop as a wave of cheers rippled through the crowd again as the standards were placed in pairs of who would face off against whom.

“What is it that you’re making?” Abby looked over to see Jace leaning over to admire her embroidery. He’d slid over to Aegon’s empty chair, while Baela remained in her own chair, speaking with one of the ladies that had accompanied her, Zara Celtigar. “Would you show me?” Helaena nodded and Abby was relieved to see her focus on Jace’s question and interest. She recalled when they were young, that Jace had joined them on their explorations into the mud and underbrush for Helaena’s interest, always asking her questions about what she’d found and what she was looking for. Tension riddled through her own bones at what Jacaerys and Baela’s arrival would mean, but the fear that Jace would have turned cruel over the years felt silly now. Hopefully it would remain as such.

First on the pitch was Ser Warren Fossoway, the gleaming gold and red of Cider Hall embolized on his shield. His squire, a sandy haired boy who had served as page for Lord Otto, bounded in front of him proudly as the heralds announced him with trumpet and drummed fanfare. She did not know the boy’s name, but his preening and excitement was adorable. Warren’s light brown hair curled along the back of his neck, his armor heavy plate that suited his broad frame well. As his opponent, Lord Ryam Merryweather, called for a favor from his lady wife, Warren approached the royal box, his helmet beneath his arm. The squires got out of the way, perching with the heralds

“Princess Helaena!” he called, cheeks flushed from the excitement and a boldness that Abby wasn’t entirely surprised by. Helaena’s head jerked up from where it was bent next to Jace’s, startled at the public address. “It would be a great boon to my spirits if you would grant me your favor on this day!”

Her round cheeks went flush pink, and Abby wondered when the last time Helaena had snuck off to trade favors with the knight before them. The princess handed off her embroidery hoop to Jace and reached into the basket for her favor. She pulled out one of the twisted bands of flowers and ivy wrapped with ribbon, normally used to crown the lances of the jousters than for a melee fighter but it worked all the same. Ser Warren would be able to hook it on his belt without issue. Helaena rose smoothly, approaching the railing and tossing the favor down to him.

“I hope this protects that pretty face of yours, Ser Warren!” she called down to him, anxiety pushed away and teasing in her tone. “It would be a pity to lose such handsome countenance to some knightly foolishness.”

Warren caught the woven circlet and sketched a bow, sending a wink up at the princess before going to meet Lord Ryam out on the pitch.

“I’m sure Warren appreciates your blessing,” Abby teased her sister. Helaena rolled her eyes and took her seat once more. Jace’s lavender eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed as he looked from Helaena to Warren as the knight swung his sword with a great yell and the bout started.

Abby winced at the first screech of Lord Ryam’s blade across Warren’s shield and the wave of excited hollering that washed across the arena. She was giddy with the excitement that it spurred on. Gone were the tangled snake nest of nerves that fostered in her belly from the feast. Here, there was comfort being in the relative privacy of the box. Yes, the eyes of the realm kept gazing up, pointing and whispering, but there were men drawing blood in the arena below, and Abby could pretend they were pointing at anyone else but her.

For his first tourney, Warren stood his ground. It took everything Lord Ryam, an experienced tourney knight with a decade and a half on the younger man to land each blow. Each white flag for the knights were slow to come. Twisting and turning, it was an exciting start to the melee events and finally, Warren struck the last blow: a clang of castleforged steel along the back of Lord Ryam’s shoulders. Lady Lysa, from her seat behind the queen, stood and cheered along with the applause of the rest of the court. Even Ser Westerling, stoic as he oft was, shouted, “Well done!” that carried over the crowd.

Helaena shifted in her chair and Abby glanced over at her. Teeth caught on her lower lip as her occasional paramour bowed to the royal box and Abby noted the flush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t know Warren Fossoway became a knight,” Jace said casually. Heleana did not clap, but held her hands before her, a broad and encouraging smile on her face, eyes dancing with curiosity.

Helaena shrugged. “It’s well earned, mind you. Ser Warren is the attentive sort. Not even Aemond could cow him.” She settled back in her chair to focus on the embroidery in her lap. “He’s worked hard for it and he makes quite a handsome figure in his armor.”

On her other side, Wylla muffled her snort into a cough and Abby silently handed her a goblet of wine with an amused shake of her head.

“What was it like twirling about the feast in Aemond’s arms?” Abby asked as the next competitors took the pitch. Her heart thrummed in her chest, her cheeks heated when her thoughts strayed to the feel of Aegon’s mouth on hers, the taste of him, the feel of his armored arms wrapped around her. She sighed, soft and distracted before her bright blue eyes landed on Wylla, who was giving her a knowing look.

“I will throw you from this box, lady. I’m not drunk yet.” She took a swallow of the strawberry wine, making an intrigued face at the taste and then another sip. “Did he get under your skirts again?” Wylla asked quietly, leaning her head closer so as not to be so easily overheard.

Abby’s cheeks flushed. “So did Aemond pull you on the dance floor to argue with you, or to be his human shield?” Their eyes met, both challenging, but there was no bite beneath their words. She would not be dissuaded from her line of questioning.

The crowd cheered as Ser Corbin Manderly knocked Ser Janos Farley’s helmet from his head.

Wylla’s cheeks, fair as the winter snow, flushed pink. “He said, rather dashingly, that he knew I’d be a good dance partner because I would not bore him with inane conversation. I then proceeded to tell him how I never, ever wanted to sew the beads upon your wedding slippers ever again. I did it for the love of you, but you better not ask for beaded slippers for any other dress or for your children or anyone else.”

“But I didn’t ask you for beaded slippers, you offered.”

“I will throw you from this box.”

Abby giggled and took her own sip of strawberry wine. “You’ve said that already. We need to get you new threats.” She glanced down at the pitch, clapping along with the crowd. “So you explained the intricacies of beaded slippers. You danced quite a bit, so he must not have been dissuaded.” Aemond and Wylla had danced several turns before he was pulled to dance with other maidens of the court. He’d not danced with anyone else even half as frequently as he’d danced with the northerner.

“He was quite pleased to discuss the original plans of the Aegonfort,” Wylla huffed, but there was a smile dancing about her red lips. The kind of womanly secret Abby had been jealous of in Cassandra Baratheon. The kind that Abby wondered if she held now. Wylla clapped politely as the knights finished, Ser Janos the victor this time around. The expression she wore was a pensive one, uncertainty creasing at the corner of her eyes. Reaching over, Abby stroked the elder girl’s arm, comforting if not sympathetic, as she was uncertain if Wylla needed sympathy so much as reassurance.

“Aemond is mercurial and moody, and knows everything, but he is, above all else, honest.” Abby’s fingers brushed at a loose thread on the bronze silk of Wylla’s gown. She had never been to the north, but Wylla had spoken of it lovingly, with a homesickness laced with the kind of frustrations one developed with a need to see the world. “I know this place is one of duplicity and confusion, but you can believe me when I tell you that Aemond plays no games. His intentions are what they are. He finds deception in such things to be foolish.” Abby grinned then. “Why be underhanded and duplicitous when he can simply threaten or show he knows more?”

Wylla snorted. “He knows everything about the Aegonfort.”

Abby shrugged, grinning. “He plans to be an unparalleled military man, you know.”

Their conversation was cut short as the trumpets sounded, louder now than they had been for the men who had come before. It was the Targaryen herald song, the drums thrumming through the stadium as the people rose, cheering for Aegon Targaryen, son of the king. Abby’s heart pounded in time with the beat, slowly rising to her feet with a grin, cheering along with the rest of the crowd that chanted his name. ‘Aegon! Aegon!’ They shouted. ‘Prince! Prince!’ Her feet took her to the railing, if only to get as close as she could, the breeze tugging at the loose curls that hung down her back.

Daeron looked so serious leading the way, carrying Aegon’s Targaryen standard to be hung, the breeze catching at his curls. This was not his first tournament, nor, Abby surmised, was it even his tenth. He carried his duties with the experience of a squire far older than he. As he hung the standard up and stepped back, Aegon grabbed his hand to tug him close, lifting their joined fists in the air together. Even with all his experience, the boy was not immune to the cheering and shouting chants of his own name as the brothers stood beneath the crowd, Aegon sharing this moment with his littlest brother. Daeron broke out into a grin, his own cheering as the people of King’s Landing, the lords and ladies of the realm who had come down, shouted out their wishes.

Aegon was so handsome. Everything narrowed down to seeing him standing there. His armor was a burnished black, the plates of it layered like Sunfyre’s dragon scales. The pauldrons were layered similarly, broadening his already broad shoulders. The gold chasing glimmered in the sunlight, his helmet beneath his arm. His silver hair shone golden beneath the light, pulled back from his face in a few small braids that Aemond must have done for him so his hair would not fall into his eyes beneath the helmet.

He turned from the crowd to approach the box as all the contestants did, his lilac eyes meeting hers. A flush unfurled beneath her cheeks even if all he did was smile so wide that his eyes squinted with it.

“My lady!” he called, his voice nearly lost to the noise of the arena. “The joy on your face could outshine the sun itself!” Abby heard Wylla scoff behind her, but paid her little mind, teeth nibbling along her lower lip. “Are you truly so happy this day?”

“I am, my prince,” she called down to him, feeling Wylla slide the braided ring of flowers into her hand. Abby toyed with the favor. She wanted to call down to him that she was so happy because he told her he’d loved her. He had said those words to her, confessed them to her first and she was drunk with it, giddy and incandescent. She wanted to kiss him again, to taste the promises on his pouty mouth, but all she could do now was toss the favor down to him. “And if you wish to keep me so happy, you will come back to me safe and victorious!”

Aegon’s smile took a mischievous edge, a rakish glint in his eye. “I do wish it, my lady. All you must do is command me.” He tucked the favor onto his armor, turning his gaze to meet his father’s. He crossed his arm across his chest in a sign of fealty and bowed before giving her a wink and going to stand by Daeron who held his swords in hand. Further down the pitch, Abby could see Aemond and Alyn Hull standing safely out of the way. Aemond looked serious, face pinched in concern as Alyn hollered his cheers of encouragement.

Abby watched as Ser Edmund entered, the cheers for him quieter than the people who cheered for their prince, but the sound of it joined the excitement of the match to come. His squire was one of the Piper boys, only a little older than Daeron and no less experienced. Edmund looked like a knight from a song, his light brown hair golden in the sun, the placid smile on his face making it seem as if the accolades of the crowd bored him. His armor was bright plated steel, elegant in its simplicity, but the strange eyes that made up the Vance coat of arms unnerved her. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes on the older carvings within the Red Keep: sightless, with their wide, frozen gazes.

His page carried his arms for him, the two handed greatsword nearly overwhelming the boy. Aegon stood with Daeron on the other side of the platform where the standards were set beside the officials for the match. He barely spared the elder man a glance, busy flexing his hands and adjusting his gauntlets. Daeron had his brother’s swords sheathed and ready.

Anxiety curled in Abby’s gut. Aegon had a natural talent with the blade, had found great joy in it when he was younger, like any boy would when they found themselves handed something sharp and deadly and taught to wield it from some of the best swordsmen in the realm. Regardless of natural talent, Aegon had not spent the past three years throwing himself into blade mastery. Not the way Aemond had.

A hot hand found her own and Abby blinked when Helaena appeared at her side and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re giving Mother lemons,” she whispered. Abby felt her cheeks flame deeper but she did not spare a glance over her shoulder.

“Let her. The realm enjoys my foolish childishness,” Abby murmured. Helaena chuckled, but her form grew tense as Edmund Vance’s eyes cut in their direction. The knight approached, bowing before the king and the court.

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Lady Abrogail!” he called up, his eyes flicking towards Aegon. “I do hope to deliver His Grace back to you in one piece!”

Her fingers scraped against the stone railing she leaned against, the smile still firmly on her face. She ached to claw at him again, to peel back the layers and reveal the ugliness that lay beneath.

“That is too kind, Ser Edmund. I only hope that you are prepared to fight your first dragon.” She tilted her head. “They are fearsome opponents.”

As if on cue, Sunfyre’s call came from the dragon pit, loud even as Aegon’s mount was confined. He’d broken out that night months ago when Aegon and Aemond had fought, and was under even more guard to ensure he did not break free again.

Aegon’s grin was bright and full of what might have been boyish innocence had he been anyone else. Instead, there was something invitingly dangerous about it. It made her belly feel as if it was turning circles, the embarrassed flush morphing into something wanting and excited. His eyes met hers, his lilac gaze bright as the pink streaked across the sky at night.

The herald called the start of the match and the two men were on each other like Braavosi dervishes. Vance, with his greatsword glinting in the light, and Aegon meeting each strike with the clang of his own steel. He wielded an arming sword along with a slightly shorter sword and it was a sight to behold to see him in true combat and not just in the training yard with padded armor. Abby exhaled slowly, too breathless, too anxious to shout for him, but her eyes did not stray.

Her heart was in her throat. Ser Edmund was fierce and well practiced, a tourney knight several times over. Each powerful swing had her gasping in fear. Each clang of Aegon’s swords against his had her trembling. Edmund had reach, but Aegon had a ferocity that was less polished, more wild than his brother. He dove under swings instead of jumping back out of harm’s way. Abby had watched him in the training yard sparring against Harrion Karstark, the northman a powerhouse of grace and battle readiness. Aegon had held his own, although different from how he did now.

The crowd was a wave and a roar of cheers and hollering as if this was the best fight they would ever witness. Let it not be said the people did not enjoy a drama, or the sight of the king’s son, a fierce warrior.

Abby’s teeth caught at her lower lip, worrying the pink flesh with her nerves and excitement. Vance swung and a scream caught in her throat when the sharp edge of that great blade knocked Aegon’s helmet from his head, sending it flying and skipping across the ground and too far to reach. Abby heard Alicent cry out in worry, but there was no tearing her gaze from him.

Sweat dampened his silver hair, the fine braids Aemond put in doing their work to keep his vision clear. A laugh escaped him and then Vance’s gauntlet knocked him about the face, sending him reeling back.

Aegon laughed as the knight before him advanced, spitting blood on the ground from his. He twirled his swords lazily, arms open as if he meant to embrace Vance. The man swung, and Aegon abandoned his right blade, tossing it behind him in the dirt. His left sword came up to block the swing as he stepped into Vance’s reach. This time, a wordless cry ripped from her, more inhale than exhale. Helaena gripped her hand tightly, reassuringly, but was otherwise silent in her observation.

She’d seen Aegon pull the move before. It was not something taught by Ser Criston. No, this was purely Aegon, who spent his time in taverns and brothels, coming home with split lips and bruised egos. As Aegon stepped into Vance, his left blade blocking the elder’s sword, he turned. It all happened so fast. One moment they were both upright, the next, Vance was flying over Aegon’s shoulder, his greatsword falling out of his reach and even from the dirt of the pitch, Abby swore she could hear the ring of metal armor as Ser Edmund Vance hit the ground so hard his own helmet careened off, leaving the man red-faced and gasping.

“I don’t need to take his hands.”

“And what have you decided to take instead?”

“His pride.”

Aegon still held his arm in his grasp, looking down at him. He shouted something but Abby could barely make it out over the roar of the crowd, louder than dragons. His hands jerked and twisted Edmund’s arm in a sudden motion, the knight howling in pain as his arm fell limply to his chest, broken. The herald was declaring Aegon the winner. Vance’s page was running out to the field with two other men as Daeron ran to his brother, cheering and pumping his fists in the air. Aegon embraced him, spinning him around as the pair cheered, shortly being joined by Aemond and Alyn.

Abby’s grip on Helaena’s hand eased and her whole body trembled as the tension bled out. The heat remained though. The twisted tangle low in her belly was warm and syrupy and this time she screamed out his name, like one of the small folk in the stands, her grin so bright it might have hurt if she even registered it.

“He really did it,” Baela said. “And fucked his sword arm while he was at it.” It was only then that Abby registered that they had been joined at the railing. Jace on Helaena’s other side, Baela beside him, leaning over the railing like she could get closer. Wylla was to her left, clapping and shouting along with the rest of the crowd. “Fuck. I owe Lannister ten dragons.”

“I won’t say I didn’t think he had it in him…” Wylla began, a teasing note in her voice. “But your betrothed was in fine form today. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Abby repeated with a faint voice, her eyes affixed on the man below basking beneath the accolades and triumph. It was the second time in as many days that the realm cheered for him in a way he was so deeply unaccustomed to. Aegon reveled in it, blowing kisses to the crowd and waving both hands.

The favor she had publicly given him was still affixed to his belt and he unhooked it, twirling it thoughtfully around a finger before flinging it into a section of the crowd. Abby watched the scramble it caused but the crowd was too thick for her to see who had come out with the prize.

“The Golden Sunfyre indeed,” Helaena grinned. “Although more like a Golden Peacock. Abby, you don’t seem to mind, do you?”

She glanced at her. “Did you enjoy dancing with Jace at the feast?” She was no longer the only one who could be teased, and she’d make sure the rest of them knew that. It was nice, getting to have something to poke at the others about.

Jace’s face flushed. Helaena raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing across her soft features.

As the boys below disappeared back to the tents, Abby turned to take her seat. Her eyes caught the Queen’s from where she sat on the right side of her husband. There was a vague air of annoyance on her face and Abby was immediately concerned it was due to her.

‘Why should I be concerned about cheering Aegon on?’ Abby thought. It would have been a poor showing indeed if she had not. She squared her shoulders, inclining her head. Aegon had shown up sober and ready to make a good impression, both things she thought would soften the queen’s edges.

“Quite the show,” her grandfather said from where he sat on Lord Otto’s other side, an indulgent smile on his face. “Prince Aegon is quite the creative warrior, and practiced with the crowd.” He raised his goblet to the king and queen and Lord Otto. “Congratulations on raising a fine young man. To Prince Aegon on his nameday indeed.”

“Ah, that he is. We’ve minded him well, and he’ll make a fine lord, having minded the example I’ve set.” Lord Otto choked momentarily on his goblet of wine. The queen flushed, plucking at her skirts while she hesitantly returned the smile, as if expecting a jest, but found none.

“Thank you, Uncle. He is… still a rambunctious boy in many ways. But it seems my hunch was right that a gentle hand was what he needed.”

Abby sucked in her lips to hide the smile that threatened at the uncomfortable looks that her grandfather was pretending not to notice while he commented on the taste of the wine. Her heart ached with it. The presence of Rodrick Reyne had been a balm to her soul. To have someone in power care about her wellbeing in such a genuine way as he had shown her in the days that he’d been there felt as if it had started to heal something she did not even realize was broken. He did not care about her becoming Aegon’s queen, or the games that were being played. He just wanted her to be happy.

She reached back, squeezing Wylla’s arm before looking over at Helaena. “I’ll accompany you to Aegon’s tent before you go back to the castle, now that the important show is done with.”

Helaena’s relief at escape was palpable, naked on her face and she shoved her embroidery back into the basket, smoothing her hands over her skirt. The queen’s brow furrowed.

“Helaena, darling, are you well?”

The princess plucked at her skirt as she bobbed a curtsy. “A headache from all the sound,” she said. It was a familiar statement and while it did little to ease the concern on Alicent’s face, understanding shone and she nodded. Lord Otto’s concern was also there as he noticed them moving towards the back of the box. He waved to one of the servants lingering along the side of the box.

“Have the cook prepare Helaena some sherbert and send it up to her rooms,” he ordered. Helaena’s gaze brightened at the prospect of the spiced compote and she shuffled over to press a kiss to her grandfather’s cheek.

Arm in arm, Abby and Helaena exited the royal box. Her heart thudded like the drums between her ribs and she felt Helaena tug her back when she walked faster.

“Give him time to get out of his armor first,” Helaena said softly.

Abby gave her a look, prim and proper. “And what if I want to help him out of his armor?” The princess scrunched her face up to hold back her laughter. The guards outside Aegon’s tent bowed and opened the flap to let them inside the dim interior.

Aegon was indeed in the process of getting out of his armor, Daeron tugging at the shoulder strap of the cuirass with a concentrated look so far removed from his boyish glee that he’d shown just moments before.

“I can’t believe you used the same move on him that Gabor put you through that table with!” Alyn crowed as if Aegon’s victory was his own. “I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face when you started laughing-” His words were cut off as Aemond punched his shoulder, drawing his attention to the tent opening. Alyn sputtered, jumping to attention and bowing like the most experienced of courtiers, rather than the smooth talker he’d been before. “Your Grace, Lady Abrogail.”

Abby tilted her head. “So I only get such gallantry from you if I’m in the company of the princess?” she asked, a soft, imperious tone to her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon smirk. “Such a shame.”

Alyn blanched, mouth gaping like a fish. “N-no, my lady! I never mean any disrespect. I…” The poor man was at a loss for words. Aemond was also looking amused at Alyn Hull caught on the edge of the unexpected teasing. Abby moved further into the cool confines of the tent, folding her hands beneath the long bell sleeves of her lapis gown. It was her first foray into the Targaryen styles that had been popular when Princess Rhaenyra was at court and a gown that she found quite comfortable in.

“Leave us,” she commanded, a smile playing on her face. “I would like some time alone with my gallant knight, and the princess needs her escort towards the carriage to go back to the castle.”

Aemond’s gaze shot over to Helaena, concerned before understanding. He grabbed Alyn by the shoulder and hauled him up. “We’ll escort her, since Prince Jacaerys lacks such manners.”

“Wylla is still in the royal box. I’m sure she’ll be lonely since we’ve left her to fend for herself,” Abby piped up. Aemond’s cheeks turned so red she thought he’d burst into flames, and he growled low before following Helaena from the tent. Abby looked at Daeron expectantly as he undid the second strap and was removing Aegon’s cuirass. “You too.” Daeron frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Aegon rested a hand on his head, mussing his hair and pushing him away.

“You did well today, squire,” Aegon told him. “Go have some fun before you have to help Uncle Gwayne for the joust.”

Daeron squinted at the pair of them before shaking his head with the most put upon sigh Abby thought she’d ever heard before he scampered away. The flap closed behind him, cutting off the shaft of light that came in, muffling some of the revelry outside. Heat flushed through her body and Abby turned, studying Aegon half out of his armor.

He was still smirking at her, a dark look in his lilac gaze, his lower lip cut and swollen from the hit he took. Aegon turned and pulled over the chair to sit and work on his greaves, and Abby came to undo the rerebrace that protected his biceps. He smelled of sweat and the lavender mint of his soap. There was the subtle scent of something warm, something inherently Aegon that she couldn’t put her finger on, but had her belly fluttering and rolling with heat. It made her fingers tremble, the only sound the clinking of his armor as the pieces were slowly removed.

Abby moved to his other side to work on the braces, her fingers stroking over the braids in his short hair. “Aemond?” she asked softly.

“They work, even if my hair’s…” He waved a negligent hand and she stroked her hand over his head again.

“I think it looks nice. I’ll learn, if you’d like,” she offered. Aegon made a soft sound and handed her the greaves for her to put on the table so he could work on his other leg. Once both his arms were free of the armor, Abby leaned against the side of his chair to stroke her fingers over his hair again. Aegon nuzzled his head back instinctively into the touch. She remembered the shadowy night on Driftmark, the trembling fear she felt as her brother was accused of fathering heirs to the throne, of Rhaenyra demanding Aemond be questioned. Of feeling so lost in the midst of dragon fire.

Flame that eventually consumed those she held dear.

She slowly worked the braids free, tenderly untangling the twists with a sigh, as if she could breathe out the bad memories that lingered and threatened. Abby inhaled, letting the scent of him fill her gaps and spaces. If only she could crack open her body and bring him into her, caging him into the space between her ribs and lacing herself closed. Perhaps then this newfound feeling of safety, of acceptance, would never leave her.

How warm he was. More than warm, Aegon, like his siblings, ran hot with the dragonfire in their blood, and she hungered for his closeness as she always had. To keep her warm and comforted. He tilted his head back to rest along the back of the high-backed chair, a lazy smile on his face, eyes still heavy with the dark look that blew his pupils so wide the lilac was just a rim.

“I should call you kēlītsos, shouldn’t I? You’ve been flexing your claws and baring your teeth.” His voice was low and rough in that way that she adored. It had her breath hitch and the ache inside her grew. Arousal was thick in her veins, pulsing through her with each pound of her heart.

“What does that mean? Kēlītsos?” She had finally asked Helaena what hunītsos meant, blushing so deeply at being told it meant little rabbit that she swore Helaena to secrecy upon her coveted orb weaver.

“Little lion,” he said with a shrug, heavy lidded with the attention she was paying him. “Technically, little cat, but the point-”

Fingers in his hair, Abby licked her way into his open mouth without hesitation. No tender, shy touch of her lips against his. No, she was parched as if she’d been lost in the deserts of Dorne and Aegon was the only spring she’d seen in days. He tasted like salt and strawberry wine, of the copper tang of blood from his split lip. He growled into her mouth and she moaned in response, fingers dropping from his damp hair to his sweat soaked linen shirt. He was eager, giving in to the way she yanked him up to feel him against her, to lean into him on her shaky legs. Aegon wasted no time, his arm hooking around her waist to hold her close to him.

Her teeth caught instinctually on his lower lip and Aegon grunted with a note of pain. “Sorry,” she mumbled into his mouth, not really sorry at all, and Aegon didn’t seem to mind, for he growled at her murmured apology. All that mattered was the slide of his tongue against hers, the way the heat of him sunk into her, nestled there, and the heat that pooled between her thighs, of the way her hips pressed into his without nary a thought for what it meant.

Abby bumped back into the edge of the trestle table, the armor on the other side clinking with the jostle and tried to hoist herself up, but her gown was in the way and she didn’t want to let go. Aegon handled it, his broad hands grasping her waist and dropping her down on the table top. He broke the kiss, flushed face and nipping at the tip of her nose, grinning as she giggled at the playfulness. His hands played along the decorative metal and chain of her belt, stroking around to her back to toy with the clasp. Her eyes darted to his, drawn to the heated darkness of his gaze and the concentrated furrow between his brows as he worked the clasp. He held her gaze and her lips parted with each unhooked chain until they were undone.

‘Eyes on me’ she recalled, uncaring as he dropped the belt to the table, the slide and thump as it slid off. Abby swallowed, a whimper escaping her, nipples peaked against the fabric of her gown with that needy sort of aching that was spiraling through her.

“Aegon,” she breathed and arched into him, his hands coming up to cradle her jaw and caress her neck, fingers diving into the curls that flowed about her. Her hands trembled as she grabbed at his hips to pull him closer with all the imperious demanding she was capable of. He laughed into her mouth, and Abby swallowed it greedily while her hands worked at his own belt, the back of her hand brushing against the hard evidence of his own arousal. She whined again and Aegon brushed her hair from her neck to nip along her jaw and down the pulsing flutter of her heartbeat beneath her flushed skin.

“Abby,” he breathed back, his prayer answering her own. Hands tugged on the gown she wore, kindly undoing the ties that kept the wrap of the dress closed. The air hit her when the fabric was pulled away, baring her body beneath the airy linen that protected her skin from the scratchy underside of the gown. Abby shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

The feeling overtook her. It was a heady thing, like she’d drunk too much wine. Her hand lifted to tangle into his hair, his mouth dragging against the crook of her shoulder. Her other hand came up, pulling aside the collar of the loose linen shirt and she sank her teeth into the crook of his shoulder, biting into the salty taste of him. She moaned and growled as if she too were a dragon and Aegon gave a shout, a growl that sounded too deep, too inhuman to come from a human body before he snarled, his teeth locking onto her shoulder to make a twin. The sharp pain of his bite spiked hot and she bit harder into his shoulder to muffle her cry, the copper taste hitting her tongue as she broke skin.

His hands were yanking into her hair and she cried out when he pulled her off him only to take her mouth with his. He was frenzied with it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss and her own hands pulled at his shoulders, tearing into the linen shirt. Her legs came up, now free from the confines of the gown to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, feel the hardness of him press into the soft heat of her. She wanted him. She craved him. ‘Fuck what the queen says’, she thought with a possessed need that had been coalescing inside of her since the first time Aegon had kissed her beside the lake. She would have her husband now, open her body to him so he could never leave, so he would never stop touching her.

The cry that escaped her was bereft when he broke the kiss, both of their mouths red from the exertion. Aegon looked wild, a man possessed, his eyes bright as he licked his lips and leaned back to take a look at her. Abby leaned back so he could see her, the way she wanted him. The fabric was only on this side of sheer, the shadow of her form visible beneath - the dusky pink of her achingly peaked nipples, the gentle round of her breasts and the way the neckline of the shift was tugged down over a shoulder.

He growled low in his throat and leaned forward, pushing her back so she had to brace herself on her hands to keep from falling back. Aegon cupped a breast in one hand, his mouth capturing the other, the wet of his touch soaking into the material as he tended to the aching peak. It was heated and she whined, helpless to his touch and unable to reach for him lest she fall. She pulled her legs up to hook her ankles to the small of his back and hold him close, digging her hips into him to feel the thick outline of his cock pressing against her. She instinctively wriggled like a caught cat, rubbing herself against him for a way to relieve the ache that was driving her mad.

There was a knot growing in the syrupy heat of her belly and she gasped out, “Aeg, please,” but Seven help her, Abby didn’t know what she was asking for. Aegon must have, for his hand came up to press against her back to hold her steady and she immediately looped an arm around his neck while the other hand clawed at the linen of his sleeve, so hard she might have torn at the seams. It brought her closer into him and he encouraged it, his thumb rubbing over her other nipple in soothing strokes that made her shake. She felt a pang of jealousy at the idea of him touching other women like this, possessive with the need to have him all to herself, to let him forget about the faceless women, to make sure Cassandra Baratheon was a flitting memory.

Let her be filled with the womanly secret. Let her be the one he was mad for. Let her always be the one that he fought stupid men for, whose favors he wore.

The woven knot had slipped from his collar, brushing against her and she smiled, mouth brushing against the crown of his head. She pressed herself further against him and Aegon’s hips snapped into her, the groan he let out filling the tent as he switched the breast he tended to.

She wanted his mouth everywhere.

Abby’s hand wormed back between them, tugging at the fastenings of his trousers, eager to feel him, to feel the warm weight of him, to imagine what it would be like once he was inside of her. “Let me,” she begged. Demanded. Whined for with all the impatience of a child waiting for a treat. Her fingers found him, the warm velvet feel of his cock and the violent shudder that went through him. She cried out louder this time, his name broken on her voice when his teeth bit down on her breast from the shock of it before he soothed it with gentle licks of his tongue.

He was as thick as she remembered, her fingers unable to properly wrap around him and the feel of it made her light headed to wonder at how he would fit, when his finger stroking in had felt like an intrusion. Yet, she was eager to find out, hungry for it. With a grunt, Abby pressed her free hand against his shoulder to push him back, her breasts cold from the absence of his mouth. She needed space between them so she could see, so she could take in the sight of him, heavy and warm and what he would look like wrapped in her cool hand. It was an image she had been robbed of before.

She had only touched him once before in the night when he had crawled into her bed like a demon from Asshai, the kind that crept into a maiden’s dreams. It had not been as easy as this and she had barely been able to touch him properly, but had thought about it often in the weeks since. Now she could look at him and so she did, Aegon still holding her up with his hand braced against her back. A kind lover.

She was not a blind nor sheltered girl. Abby had seen the tapestries that the queen had moved into the gallery. The lurid Valyrian ones of men and women copulating in all sorts of poses. Of women embraced with other women, groups of them all tangled in a mess like snakes. Books of anatomy snuck from the library had also done little to prepare her for this.

He was flushed and thick, the tip of him beading with moisture and he bobbed as if seeking her hand when she reached down to touch him. A nervous giggle escaped her.

“Are you making fun of me?” Aegon asked, curious and teasing. “It’s just saying hello.”

She gently wrapped her fingers around him, another giggle escaping her. “It’s soft.” She did not know whether to meet his gaze or to keep looking at him to hide her sudden nervousness that did little to wick away her needy giddiness, her insatiable curiosity.

Aegon grunted, his eyes fluttering as her cool fingers wrapped around him. “It’s very much the opposite, kēlītsos,” he said in a voice so gravely and raw that it seemed to come from somewhere else. It hooked down into the knot deep in her belly, tugging at it like she might peak at the mere sound of his voice. Her fingers could not properly meet, and she felt truly dizzy. Aegon’s mouth was warm on her forehead, nuzzling into her and she sighed, eyes fluttering closed as their mouths brushed, the laziness of the motion contrasting with the frantic need that pulsed between them.

Tentatively, Abby’s hand began to stroke and Aegon’s shiver was delicious to feel, the whimper that escaped him like a wounded animal, broken and gasping against her mouth. She swiped the tip of him, gathering the wet that beaded there, and licked at the cut on his lower lip. Aegon’s eyes fluttered, the growl he made before rumbling through him.

She gasped, an abbreviated kind of giggle. “You sound like Sunfyre,” she murmured and Aegon chuckled, groaning low into her hair.

“You love him more than me,” he complained as his hot hand bunched up her shift, pushing away her blue gown some more so he could stroke his fingers across her belly. The muscles clenched and it was her turn to groan, an indelicate sound that had her jumping, her hips shifting and seeking that pressure again, the delicious touch that she had missed. “There’s not enough time to taste you.” He shook his head in annoyance, a glance at the hourglass on another table.

“Take me instead,” she said, her cool hand reaching to cup his face and draw his attention back to her. She looked up at him, beseeching. “I don’t care, I want you. I love you.”

An agonized expression crossed Aegon’s beautiful face, the feral edge he had when they first begun and the softness that came after, the fondness and love.

“Not now, not like this.” He was shifting her back from him, removing her hand so he could use both hands to tug the gown away from under her, pushing her around to tug it free. “When I take you, I won’t stop. We’ll be in bed for days,” he told her, serious, his gaze heated, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. “Just when I taste you, I need more than the little time we have. I want to feast on you, not rush.” He took her gown and carefully laid it over the back of the armor rack.

Abby swung her legs, her blue eyes large and heavy lidded, watching as his hand wrapped around himself, tugging with purpose. She committed the motion to memory, tongue darting out to lick at her lower lip in an expression reminiscent of his. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders, and she was shivering not from cold, but from the heat coursing through her, the achy want that she could taste in the back of her throat and feel roiling and twisting in her belly. She reached for him, whimpering, “Aegon, please,” on her trembling voice and hooked her fingers once more into the linen shirt and tugged him to her once he was within reach.

She wanted to die when he kissed her. She wanted to drift into the endlessness of oblivion where nothing else mattered, where it was just the taste and feel of her Aegon, the feel of his body against hers, the shape of him fit against her, the only fabric separating them the damp cloth of her smallclothes. It wasn’t enough and she canted her hips, and Aegon rutted against her, the thick of him sliding along the shape of her separated by her small clothes. Abby couldn’t breathe, all she could do was taste the copper and the strawberry wine, the imagined feeling of Aegon slipping in and filling her up, right where he belonged. She craved the touch, craved his heat in a way she never knew she was capable of. Her legs came back to press against his hips, her feet hooked at the small of his back to trap him to her where he was hers, and only hers, and she belonged to him.

The familiar feeling of something building came rising through her, the gathering of a great wave to crash upon the shore. Abby gripped him frantically, tugging at his hair, pulling at his shirt sleeves, fingers scratching against his shoulders to keep from falling, even when it was all she wanted to do. Aegon rutted against her with the abandon she wanted from him, no care at all except the chase of pleasure between them as he nudged that spot only recently discovered. Her head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as she frantically sought her end and dimly, she registered Aegon consoling her, his murmured words against her throat where he’d bitten her, the mark red and surely to bruise.

“You are so beautiful, look at me,” he commanded her in reverent tones. She forced her eyes open, heavy lidded, to focus on his own distraught and desperate look. There was a sensation of insurmountable feeling as she teetered on the cusp, the world focused onto the look in his bright eyes, their gazes locked to one another. Aegon’s hand dipped between them, his rutting ebbing to be replaced with hot, calloused fingers dipping beneath the mess soaked linen. Her cry was loud, strangled, and it took everything to keep her eyes on his while he rubbed at the aching of her, fingers dipping teasingly into the heat and then she clenched on nothing, unfairly nothing, the rushing and roaring of blood in her ears and the gasping of air as she fell from the pleasure washing over her. That great wave that crashed against the shore was crashing through her.

She was vaguely aware of the way he tugged her smallclothes away, words spilling from him, “You’re so beautiful, this cunt belongs to me now, look at you,” and she nodded, whimpering over and over, ‘Please’ and ‘yours yours’ and ‘love you love you.’ She felt the heat of him rub against her, the sticky sound of it and Aegon’s own groan loud before something wet and full of heat brushed onto her. Abby watched him stroke his cock, the milky white spend of him falling upon her cunt, caught in the thatch of red curls and the sinful, delightfully reckless feeling of it all made Abby squirm. The feeling of him sliding over her heated skin, the way she was entranced by it was a feeling she couldn’t describe.

She reached down, swiping her fingers through the mess to stick them into her mouth, the way she had watched him suck her own taste from her fingers, her eyes never leaving his. In turn, she shivered as he dragged his own fingers through the mess he’d made of her. Abby canted her hip, wanting him to press inside but instead, he licked the taste from himself as well.

It felt like a ritual. Like something strangely holy, reverent within the indulgence of it. ‘Fuck what the septa said. What the queen said’, she thought savagely to herself. ‘There is nothing wrong in this, and I won’t be denied.’ She opened her arms to him and Aegon gently tugged her smallclothes back over her, petting her softly before stepping into her hold and wrapping his arms around her. Abby sighed and buried her face against the crook of his neck, her mouth pressed to where she’d bitten him.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair and she shimmered and glowed in his hold, feeling his arms squeeze her in the clinging way he had not done for so long, like he was afraid she would slip through his touch.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck, trying to cast a spell that would embed the words into his skin, to be indelible, a tattoo that would protect him in the way her favor might not. “Can we stay here? I want to stay here with you.”

He chuckled, low and fond and stroked his fingers through the mess of her hair. “I’ll help put you back together. Pity there’s nothing to clean you with.” It was a lie, and he didn’t sound sorry at all, for her gaze drifted over to the barrel of water, soap and cloths in the corner. “You’ll just have to carry the mess for the rest of the afternoon.” Aegon sounded pleased with himself, and Abby squirmed deeper into his hold, blushing with it, shy and heady. “Come, let’s get you put together before Daeron comes back, and then we’ll go watch the jousting.”

There was a tenderness in the care he showed after it that warmed her, and Abby watched him with a soft, giddy feeling as he grabbed a comb from the table to start putting her hair to rights with unpracticed but eager attentiveness. She sighed and settled in to let him tend, and let herself drift into the afterglow.

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please support by reblogging <3

I'd love to know your favorite bit: What did you think about Abby and Aegon telling each other their love? How great is Alyn Hull? He is my fave lil dude and I'm so happy whenever I write him. Or the way the group ended up watching the fight. I mean BAELA! she got involved! We love that for her.

#signal boost for my friend

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 3 hours

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By nature, I tend to ruminate on things and boy did I ruminate on this. I’ve watched, I read, I listened to different opinions and I formed my own.

There’s no winning side in all of this. That’s how I see it. Condemning the disgusting and racist behaviour is a sad refrain that it’s useless to sing again. What saddens me mostly is that while I appreciate, I really do, people taking accountability for their wrong doings, I cannot but think that for some time you took part in that mean game, as you publicly stated. And more than the following inaction, it’s precisely this knowledge that baffles me. Yes, we may all have talked behind the back of a friend at least once in our life, but to this level? And what for?

And yes, those screenshots may be doctored but in my opinion that’s not the point. The point for me is that you undermined my trust in you and in your future interactions with me. That is why it’s best for me to distance myself. I want my blog to be a safe space. I am by nature a very anxious person and I don’t want, I don’t need, to second guess everything, a like, a comment, wondering “did they really think that?”.

I’m not disappearing or going on hiatus because this is my little escape from life, but I’ll limit my activity to only posting gifs.

I send my mutuals who got bullied and harassed my deepest love, and I hope everyone will eventually heal from all of this.

#signal boost #I appreciate this and welcome people to take the distance they deserve #do not feel obligated to take a ‘side’#remove yourself from the entire web #everyone is entitled to a safe and kind experience #and I have more than played my part in destroying that

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 3 hours

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Call me crazy, say i am over reaching, BUT

I firmly think that some of the cishet white MALE cast mates should def be speaking out against the treatment from specifically THEIR FANS towards the queer and poc actors.

Like OBVIOUSLY Bethany, Emma and Steven can stand up for themselves, but if the condemnation came from the Actor(s) who play the character that often times these hateful people are fans of or “on the side”(on the side of their characters), maybe they would shut the hell up. Like if their favourite white boy tells them not to say racist hateful shit- maybe they ACTUALLY WILL.

I also think perhaps they (Both the writers and honestly the older actors) should speak out against the hate levied towards THE CHILD ACTORS on their show. Harry Collett is no longer a child, but if i remember correctly was underage during the show. I constantly see people calling him a bastard, and wishing him dead, and saying he deserves awful things. I also see people constantly hating on Harvey (young luke), Eliot (Luke), Ty (young aegon), Leo (young jace), Shani (young baela), Eva (young Rhaena), and Olive (Jaehaera). All of this behaviour is disgusting and deplorable and it is severely disappointing to not see a single actor (not that it is their job to but they do have large platforms) or writer or even producer speaking out about this.

Obviously, harassing, threatening, having fantasies about, or making torture porn about ANY child is ridiculous. Especially for a fucking TV show.

Just my opinion.

Also- i love Bethany and if any of you have any shit to say about her, fucking block me now.

#signal boost

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 4 hours

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Okay, this is the last thing that I’m going to say about this entire shit storm that's been happening the last few weeks.

A lot of racism concerns have been brought up in light of the very evidently doctored screenshots that are going around (a post proving that they’ve been edited can be found here - just a request to do some research before we start dogpiling).

People are accusing Ange of just letting the racism slide, of only severing the friendship with certain individuals when “girl code” was broken and former friends were contacted again, or whatever. But that genuinely wasn’t the case. Now look, she doesn’t need me to white knight for her, she’s perfectly capable of defending herself and owning her part in shit, but I will say for Ange, when certain individuals were sending a slew of hateful anons (many of which were deleted because I don’t need to see that shit on my own blog), some of which referred to me as a “bad jew” or racist against my own people for having a white oc in my current fanfic (for reference, I’m also mixed race), Ange was there for me. And the racist hate I endured was part of what spurred Em on in dropping the screenshots pertaining to these people and how they operate. They decided that they were not just going to let it slide, knowing that the crossfire would be brutal. I’m not going to say that my experience trumps anyone else's, or carries more weight, but I would hope it could be considered alongside everything else. I've endured some foul shit in my time in fandom, but this was the first time that shit was racist and antisemitic.

Could she have been more firm? Yes. Should she have been? Yeah, I'll say so. But she was actively made to feel by this person that it wasn't her place to do so as a white woman.

Honestly, I was ready to just wash my hands of this entire thing. I am only tangentially involved and the entire thing has been super triggering for me for a multitude of reasons. We have all said stupid shit in our time on the internet, we've all been unkind, we've all been *insert whatever here*, but the doxxing and the editing of screenshots is just so beyond insane, and the way it's being minimized is so out of pocket, and frankly, it's dangerous - it's how things like this are allowed to continue.

#this was more than I did #I just ignored it or exited the group chat #I don’t know when I became like this

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 4 hours

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I am a graphic designer by education and profession. Looking for modifications and manipulations in graphics is my hobby. You can see the most in graphics when they are properly exposed. For example, using the exposure tool in Photoshop. I set the sliders to: first one: +13.65, second one: +0.0096, third one: +1.65 and this is what my eyes saw.

Each application has its own way of encoding images and text. Here, apparently, when writing text, the application created transparent rectangular frames under each text, which you can clearly see below.

But I noticed something strange in some screenshots. Text without such borders. Text I think was added in a graphics program. There are only pixels around it.

Here, in turn, I noticed a different relationship. When the text comes from the original screenshot, the pixels around the text surround the text so that it floats on long letters like "d,t,l,b,k". However, somehow magically in others, the pixels around them are perfectly even and take the shape of a rectangle.

These screenshots come from the wonderful houseoftheassholes.

Now let's look at the couple of screenshots Em published. You can clearly see after I overexposed the area that she blurred in the program to obscure the data. Apart from that? Clean screenshot in very good quality. Eveything looks the same.

In graphics, nothing happens without a reason. The applications are created automatically and operate on the basis of numbers and calculations. They don't make mistakes, it's impossible for one text to be displayed one way and another another.

I haven't checked all the screenshots because I don't have the strength to do it anymore. I just felt that as a graphic designer I owed it to everyone to check it out.

No one told me to do this or asked me to do it. This is my personal opinion on my personal blog. I leave it to you to decide what you think about it.

#this doesn’t make what WAS said okay

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 12 hours

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This was beautiful. Thank you for sharing it with the Daemon lovers.

An Offer From A Rogue

Word Count: ~9,448

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Warnings⚠️: 18+; incest, smut, choking, a little bit of soft dom!Daemon; p in v penetration; a tiny dash of degradation; fingering against a wall

Description: Words could never convey quite what she felt. Not in that moment. Not when there was this fire she felt spreading throughout her. Engulfing her. Turning her to flame.

AN: Based on this request by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored. So sorry it’s late🙏🏽

The sound of dancing and a lively tune could be heard streaming in from just beyond the wrought iron door, but that had long been put out from her mind.

Another tune entirely played reached her. It took her a great deal more effort than it perhaps should have to realize that the sound came from her.

A whine which she felt clawing its way out from the back of her throat and breaking out into the quiet of her chambers. Desperate and greedy thing it was. Not in the least bit ladylike, but she supposed this was most assuredly unladylike and he was encouraging her with his murmurs of let me hear you sweet one and let go for me sweetling I have you.

He did have her. Brown legs wrapped around his middle. She clung to him like a vine, splayed against the backdrop of her chamber, though she was mostly being held up by his strength. Hers having long since departed from her already spent form.

The rest of her senses fared little better. Her ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton, all she could taste was the salt of his skin mixed with an unearthly of smoke and dragon at his nape, and her voice had gone a while ago, but she had gathered that it hadn’t really mattered. Who needed oxygen when they had this? His breath breathed life into her better than undiluted air ever could.

Who needed to speak when one could moan out her pleasure no. It did not matter.

Words could never convey quite what she felt. Not at that moment. Not when there was this fire she felt spreading throughout her. Engulfing her. Turning her to flame. To pure heat and want. She could never describe that. What she felt. What was before. What was after. If there even was an after.

What was apart from this chamber, it truly did not matter.

That world that she had ventured from so distant. So foreign. So immaterial. It was no more real than the creatures in old fisher wives tales told to scare naughty children who crept from their beds in the dead of night.

Everything else had faded and turned to gray. There was just him and her in vibrant color and even then she had a hard time distinguishing between the shades that made up him and the ones that made her.

The guests feasting below let out another round of shouts and cheers. Their stomping faintly registered in the back of her mind overcoming the haze for a brief moment.

They were getting quite loud. Quite merry. Quite drunk.

Twas probably for the best. She was being quite loud herself. With each mewl and breathless moan that broke free of her body increasing in duration and volume. Unrestrained as they serenaded a most captive audience.

An audience that drew out a whine lodged in the back of her throat to pass through kiss swollen lips. The cause of which was no more than a mere swipe of ardent tongue upon her décolleté and the deft brush of fingers upon her all too sensitive nub sat atop her womanhood. Over and over again as she yielded to her pleasure.

“That’s it sweet one,” he hummed. Voice thick and with something she could not quite name, but it was something which she felt too. Something that sparked another gasp for the air which he had taken from with another murmur and lap of the wet muscle at her neck. “That’s it.”

She would have tried to stifle that moan if she had her bearings, if she had any sense or care for her name, but all manner of proprietary and good breeding had flown from her and floated down into the world of gray. Thankfully forgotten for if that gray had collided with her world of color, staining them with the red welts, yelps, and slick of their passion to which she would never forget the shame of it.

She should have shame. She would have had shame at her own visage if she had any left. If she could gaze down at herself or look into the mirror she kept on the opposite wall of her chamber near her vanity and behind the changing screen which hid her bath, not that she needed to.

Slacked-jawed, flushed, and incapable of any intelligible speech. She made a lovely sight. By the way in which the brute of a man before stood leering over her, the way his tongue lapped at her, tasting her, marking her as his, she knew she made a lovely sight, but she could not be more indecent.

Body given away to the haze of euphoria that enwrapped her courtesy of a pair of strong arms that kept her firmly pressed against a most willing figure complete with calloused fingers embedded deeply inside her reaching her in places where she had not know existed, but where nonetheless needed him most, and a set of thin, but determined lips upon every bit of exposed brown skin they could reach.

She could hear the squelching sound that his fingers made as they rocked them in and out of her warmth. Clenching around them whenever he grazed over that place within her that had her seeing the stars of the night sky reflected on the back of her eyelids. Good girl he chanted when she gave into him. Gushing down on his arm with her slick.

She could feel her curls glued to the wall by his exertions. See the wet trail she had left upon his robes and the deep purple bruises forming over skin on the tops of her ample breasts. Bruises that she’d have to explain away to one of her maids when they came to attend to her in the morn.

I tripped over my skirts and only managed to catch myself upon the railing would do or mayhaps a simple my stays were too tight would suffice. Would they believe her? Mayhaps they would.

She would have to throw away the horrid garment on the second account. It would be replaced by some other God's awful contraption of death before she could forget the feel of it constricting her, and on the first—well she was a rather clumsy adventurer it had always been easy enough for her to bruise.

A fall upon her knees would leave her looking as if she were a peasant girl who had been milking cows upon her knees and climbing up trees or traversing through the thistle field where Vermiothor liked to roam would leave her arms raw and red with her own lifeblood.

But the days of childhood clumsiness had long since passed her and while she might fool a pack of serving girls who were scarcely older than she, she would most certainly not fool her Septa.

No she wouldn't be so naive.

She would see what had happened. What he had done to her. What she in truth had let him do to her even if she could not believe it so.

Her septa, a woman not quite old enough to be her grandmother, but a fair deal older than her mother had been, would have been alert that oher whines and whimpers. She was good natured, if not a little strict. She was a sweet woman above all. Wise. Dependable.

Though unmarried at two and twenty she was getting rather old to need her septa as she did, but truthfully, she did not know what she would do without her. She was all she had known. The only maternal figure which she had and her septa seemed to love he in all the ways that she had seen a mother love their daughter

She could not recall her mothers laugh, the feel of her hands stroking her hair as she brushed and braided her riot of coils, and most importantly, well important to her, her face which she had been told more times than she had inherited.

She supposed she must have inherited it. She knew she had not inherited much of her fathers Valyrian countenance, the details of which she could not quite recall either.

Though in that moment she supposed she could not quite recall anyone’s face apart from the man who had buried his head silver into her neck among other things laying heavy kisses into her flushed skin as she absentmindedly stroked down the planes and contours of his person that she knew better than her own image. better than she should have known.

She was not the first to do so. The first to touch him as he had her, but she knew a part of him. Knew what he sounded like when he tried to contain his own grunts of pleasure, murmuring into her skin with pet names which she would not go without.

“My sweet one,” he whispered as she drank up the praise. She knew what those saccharine groans tasted like upon her tongue. The sweetness.

Knew what it felt like to feel his length pressing against her. rubbing upon her thighs, her womanhood. hard and wanting. She knew him like this and she enjoyed the knowledge more than she should. Letting it wash over her. Engulfing her with every grunt and groan intended or not that slipped from his lips.

Daemon had been rough with his affections and she had not minded it. She liked it. She had not known she would, not knowing what had lied dormant within her, waiting to be awakened, but no that it had, she was wanton. She was utterly wanton. Every bit debauched. A creature which needed to be fed lest she wilt away to nothing.

She had heard about girls like this. Her septa had warned her about girls like her.

Wayward. Fallen. Ruined whatever one wanted to call it, innocence had been corrupted.

Tainted with sin and damned for it. Their great shame and what a shame it was.

She would have died from the shame of it if the older woman were to somehow apparate configured from her rapture before her very eyes.

Or would she?

She was desperate. Starved. Not caring on but propriety or for the gentle breeding of a lady which had been drilled into her skull since before she could even write her own name.

But now—now the only name which she knew was his. What a name it was. What it stirred within her. Who could have known that a single word could leave her so wanting.

“Daemon,” she moaned when he had nuzzled at a particularly sensitive patch of skin underneath her ear. Trailing open mouthed kisses down her neck. It was not as pleasant as what his fingers could stir from a few fervid rolls of the little pearl he had found at the apex of her mound when he he tweaked her to stiff , or the push of those digits in and out of her heat at the languid pace which he had set, but it was bliss nonetheless. A bliss she was happy to chase.

Pulling the man as close as their still clothed bodies would allow her to as she wound her fingers through silver strands slicked by lust. Feeding her hunger.

This, this is why they kept girls away from the truth of what went on between men and women in prowling hours of the wolf in the comfort of their chambers with fears of proprietary and damnation.

Shrouding it with mystery and hushed chastisements that it was for the marriage bed and if that should be broken it one would risk body and soul as well as social ostracism to silence the more curious sort for if they knew the truth of what pleasure lied, of what lay within them, they should not forgo it. They should grow to want as she had grown to want and wanted and wanted. He had made her want.

A gale, no, a raging thunderstorm had been awakened within her that she could not put out by her own hands. No matter what she had tried and tried and tried to her great frustration.

Repeating those same ministrations that he had, the tips of drumming circles into her bundle of nerves, his rhythm steady. Long fingers pistoled in and out of her heat trying to reach that spongy spot he had found within her that had her mewling like one of the feral cats that roamed around the castle, but it was no good.

Everything was wrong. So very wrong. The pads of her fingers had been too delicate in their movements. Her slender digits had not filled her in the way he had. Had not quite stretched her to find that spot and what they could reach had certainly not elicit that same intensity he had ignited. They had not the callouses which did not catch upon her clit no matter what way she had positioned them. And yet she tried.

Tried chasing her high that he had taken from her for the better part of the hours between dusk and dawn.

She was in a frenzy of want. Of heat. Of fire, trying to stoke that burning fire until it burst before her into molten magma and still it eluded her. He eluded her and with him that delightful bliss he had set into motion by his strong hand.

She was made to give up the feverish coxcomb of self pleasure all too soon. Forced herself to for she was gaining nothing from it except anguish.

Laying there in a empty bed, in the dead of night with soaked fingers, a sore cunny overflowing with her slick, a brown face marred with tears, and pride in her throat caught with a scream upon her tongue that she did not dare let it out lest her Septa find her in her ruin or that insufferable man howl with his own pride at having left her in such a state of unabashed avarice.

Her mother had been in this exact position. Or something similar to it.

It was how she came about. What bastards grew up with the knowledge of. Still while she may be a bastard she was the bastard sister to a king. Had grown up with his children, under his eye, and that acknowledge meant things were expected of her.

If her Septa happened to walk in this moment, if anyone happened to walk in, and see that she was no better than a common whore, no better than her mother she’d be ruined. Absolutely ruined

the blood of the dragon gone to waste. Common blood won out, unless the man who was doing his best to ruin her for all other men saved her. Unless Daemon asked for her hand and restored her honor.

Would he do so? Would he save her or at least her virtue? Ask her to be his wife. Be the mother of his children? Would give up his life for her? Would he forsake all others, have her pass through his life at his side, and sully his blood with hers . Would he do that for her?

She was not quite sure what he would do. After All he had pulled her into his depths and converted her to this nymph. Drawn her away from her, but did she care?

Marriage certainly did not have any bearing in this. Seven help her, thinking in its entirety had lost its place here with him.

There was only divinity itself. She felt divine. Absolutely divine there with him. As if she had tasted the heavens and had touched the face of the Maiden herself. Gods oh Gods.

Did he find another? Had he been with her or was his hand enough? Was a rough hand scared by battle adequate replacement to her tight warmth or had he taken his pleasure in a whores cunt instead?

Was that why he left her or had he like her gone without satisfaction in its entirety? It seemed now when she had him worshiping her when his mouth was and nipping at her commanding her to let go to give into him and he’d be there to catch her as she tumbled into her ecstasy so silly to wonder where he had been, but now was not then.

Then he had left her to want. Left her to cry like a child and beg for him to return to her and make him put out that fire which he had so brought her to life. Make her feel alive for the first time in her short muted life. She’d never live down the shame of it.

She had hardly gotten more than a few dreary hours of sleep because of him. Plagued by dreams of him and those fingers that held magic in their tips. In his tongue that left In the length of him.

Him. All him. He consumed her. Burned her.

It was all the cause of that man who was trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck rough yet surprisingly nimble fingers caressing her in a place in a way that she was left in this sorrowful state, but nonetheless, only he seemed to know that she had been driven mad with passion and lorded it over her. She had found utter bliss and lost it in a few hours and had been left wanting in its absence. In his absence.

Oh he had known what he was doing. What he had been doing for a good fortnight.

He had rarely let her side since he had arrived back from his latest excursion away to some distant land he would take her to. You ought to see more of the world than this place. He had told her. Arms linked and his head bent to hers as they took a turn about the Red Keeps gardens. Taking great pains to detail the full exoticism that his travels afforded him. Which could be afforded to her.

Her septa had not liked that. Muttering to herself with discontent when they had arrived back to her chambers, but there was not much she could do. For Daemon commanded her company to make up for his absence in that time between and who was she to deny a prince?

How could she deny him when she insisted that she be seated besides him at each feast. Asking for her favor at every tourney. Every dance was reserved for him lest she find the lord who dared to take her away from him for a mere round needing to be carried off his mount at said tourneys the next mourn.

Daemon drew her in with whispers into her lips curl into a smile and a heavy hand upon her covered knee that sent a shiver through her for want of more than mere warmth.

“Let them stare sweet one,” he had told her with a grin she did not wish to escape from. Wandering fingers inching up the silk which she had painfully stitched together by her own hand. It had taken her the better part of a moon to make the gown, but when she had shown it to her septa she could not have been prouder.

It was a ruin now much the same as her.

The bodice ripped in two courtesy of the man in her grasps lust ridden possession to free her breasts from their restraints.

He had been restrained up until that point, but that restraint had severed when she had begun to quake and drool around him. Needing to suckle upon her breast seemingly as much as she needed him within her. Taking the erect bud between his lips and to lavish them with his tongue as he had done so with her neck. Not caring that he had soiled the garment with his salvations and his essence.

She did not know entirely how the latter had even over, perhaps he had taken himself in hand while she was preoccupied with the feel of him inside her, any part of him inside her, surrounding her, but whatever may be the case it smelled of his musk. Almost overpowering her smell with that smoky scent of warm salt air, dornish red, dragonhide, and open sky.

She had hid it as best as tucked away under a loose bit of stone under her bed. She hadn't a choice on that matter.

How was she to explain away that when they saw the state of it? What would they ask her? What would she say? She could feel the words catching in her throat beneath her high. Would anyone say anything?

No one had said a thing when he had first laid eyes upon it. When he kept his gaze, his hands, his attentions a laugh at their guests upon her. He kept her person firmly affixed to his side. Eyes darkened under his adore and the dim glow of the candlelight. It was quite hard to tell if his eyes had darkened, but they had lost their violet hue.

They had gawked at them of course, received a few raised brows, but a brother, even a Targaryen brother, paying compliments to his dearest sister, his only sister, was not so very wrong. And from their eyes such affection did not resemble those of lovers.

Her brown skin covered her blushes and the table covered his hand inching up her leg hiking up her skirts or how her foot just so happened to be grazing whenever the wandering limb got particularly close to her cunt underneath such frills. Her own hand wished to touch him in the same way as she did.

She was not completely naive. She had seen the hounds at it once. Twas a vicious affair consisting of a stubby appendage making rapid pumps in and out of a puckered hole that made her stomach churn and wish to expel her breakfast. It could hardly be comforting for his mate.

One of the serving girls between fits of raucous laughter when her mistress had finally found the stomach and courage to do so told her it was how pups were made, but people were not dogs.

Still the question and the answer to that circled back around her this sweltering fortnight.

How would it be with him? Would he be quick? Would he be gentle? Would he take her from behind like a dog? He already had her pressed up against the wall twice now the ravenous mad dog he was. She knew that humans were different, but he had not even taken her to the bed as befitting her status.

What would it be like if he had? What would it be like to have him hovering over her? How would his flesh feel atop hers? How would his length feel like inside her? Would he let her touch him? Love him as he loved her? Hand drifting to where a growing tent was ensconced under his robes?

How would it be?

He certainly had to be bigger than a dog. He felt bigger than what she imagined the hound did deep inside his mate. Would his length bring her pleasure in the way that his hands had? Blind her with it and turn her into some lust ridden beast. She felt like that. Then. Now.

Oh, she was depraved, but he did not seem to mind her need when he had caught her staring at him with what she was sure was her need. Hands drifting.

“What's mine is yours sweet one,” the warmth of his breath fanned her nape as he spoke the words into her ear. Her cheeks warmed as he had taken her hovering hand in his bestowing a light kiss upon the supple brown flesh before he pulled away. His touch lingering where his lips could not.

It looked more like lively banter, albeit laced with the affections from the depths of their kinship, than the makings of a passionate tryst.

Even still she was not so green as to think that the eyes and ears of the Red Keep would not notice something if they kept on as they had. They were Targaryens after all and Targaryens were not so common as mere men in their desires and wants.

She had not followed him when he had left the Great Hall last night well before dessert was brought in. Their brother huffed and eyed the top of the man’s pale head in the crowd of ravens and browns and gold with some measure of suspicion, but he did not command him to stay.

Letting him leave without saying a word in protest.

Daemon did as he pleased and there was no point in keeping him, especially when his behavior raised brows from their more stodgy guests and the ones connected by law than by blood. The ones who would not understand this. What they meant to each other or how natural it was even beneath the sin.

After a time, which she had deemed appropriate where no one would guess what had been up to under the cover of that table where their hands had wandered and communicated what whispers and gazes could not in an overcrowded hall, she took her leave of the merriment.

Viserys did not seem to mind if she stayed either. Sending her off with a solitary flicks of his hand in the same direction that their brother had left.

She thought he was rather relieved to see her go. She could picture the small as her back turned to him. Feel his stare on the back of neck. He always seemed rather relieved to see her go. As did the rest of the hall save for her cousins. Her very existence raised brows and that was not limited to the ones who were supposed to love her best, the king included among them.

True enough he cared for her. Their father had seen to that as had Daemon, but he was not brotherly, barely familial and though he was old enough to be her father he had never taken upon that role after Baelon had met his abrupt end.

Too much like her mother she suspected. He had never been fond of the Naathni whore who had captured their fathers gaze.

Then again Viserys did not seem very fond of anything apart from his daughter and the little prince she had birthed who looked no more Valyrian than she. His indifference to her was really less to do with her blood and more to do with his general indifference to all things Viserys was not so concerned with the purity of their family and her lack of it, but Daemon, Daemon who loved her, Daemon who had defiled her, Daemon he was was another matter.

Daemon had not been particularly brotherly either with his comings and goings, but his indifference was a foreign concept to her. Her youngest brother had never hid his affections; his care for her even if those affections had turned into something more than it ought to be. Or something as it in truth should be.

“You’re a Targaryen sweet girl as much as I am.” He would always say when she questioned why he was so affectionate with her without a breath spared. Whispering in her ear and sealing his words with a kiss to her temple or peppering her face with sloppy kisses. Never mind the frowns and deep furrows they’d received for said affection. They wouldn’t understand.

Half was still a Targaryen. She was still a Targaryen no matter who her mother had been. That was the beginning and end of it or just the beginning.

It was why they were here and why she was presently in a half state of undress stuffed with her brother's fingers, soaking his hand with her slick and his mouth upon her breasts. They were Targaryens and Targaryens did what they liked. Would have what they liked. Take what they like. Conqueror.

As he had done with her. Twas in their blood. Her blood that was a siren call and he had answered. Like calling to like. Blood to blood. He had answered with his own call.

Silly and naive as it was, she had thought he had actually gone to bed. That he had gotten bored of her of the game they played, but he most decidedly had not.

She had only managed to make it a quarter of the way to her chambers before a pale hand shot out from the dark and pulled her back into it. Pulling her into a hard chest while his mouth caught the scream she was sure to have let out if not for his tongue tangling with hers in the most lovely dance swiping across her lips to gain entrance circling the roof of her mouth upon hers she had given into him without much fight.

And now what little fight she had had vanquished along with the rate of rapidly deteriorating care for anything apart from the feel of him upon her. In her. around her. Him. She had not cared for anything else since last night. Just him.

“Don't turn away from me, little one.” his hand had quickly enough found its way to up her skirts once more when his fingers finally pulled away from her lips.

The pale Targaryen man wasting no time venturing them up her leg. Grazing the smooth embellished bronze skin of her thighs until he found her warmth waiting for him. Placing a toned thigh between her legs and spreading them apart. Finding no resistance to stop him. To keep him from her. To keep this pleasure he wished to give her and she would take it all and thank him for it like a dog dying from thirst.

He could've commanded her to streak across that very dark, very quiet hall naked as the day she was and she would've gladly done so. She would've done anything with those digits working her through. A finger gliding across her glistening slit to collect her slick before bringing it up to tease her little button. Drawing crescents into the engorged nub as he grew moans and whimpers from her lips. Getting drunk off the noises. His breath upon her.

She had been shamefully wet. She still had some shame in that regard when she had heard the sound of her wetness filling in that tiny enclave. The pool of slick he made which stained them both and reached something in her that had her tightening around him and arching back on to him.

He found the places in herself she had never known and had never dreamed of knowing.

She had touched herself on occasion before. Feeble thing it was. Timid and unsure movements made when the castle had gone quiet and the only company she had were the moon's light, her slender hand, and her labored breaths. Each time no different than the last and neither was this attempt at self gratification. Not unpleasant, but it was not particularly eventful, nothing remarkable, nothing euphoric in it.

She did not have those flutterings spreading from the pit of her core. Had never spasmed around her fingers. Wet them with her arousal.

Only once had she ever attempted entering them within her channel and she had never tasted herself. She certainly had never lost herself in her fumblings. Not in this way. Never gone and she had been gone. She was gone.

Every thought left from her body besides that cresting feeling overtaking her like a wave in the harbor and she a ship soaked through with love embrace.

Gone enough to let him debase her there upon that wall where anyone might see them, see her like a common whore. Chanting his name like a possessed woman.

Daemon. Daemon. Daemon.

Gone enough to let him kiss away her moans. To whisper sweet things into her dampened flesh. Things that made her cheeks flush with warmth and her stomach clench in pleasure. Bearing down upon his fingers as she clung to him.

She was gone, gone, gone. And then he was gone.

“Patience is a virtue dear sister,” he had whispered onto her lips.

Gifting her one last kiss upon the hot skin beneath the shell of her ear just as she felt herself cresting over that little hill of fire which he had built, halting her as he pulled the ground from out under her.

He did not catch the gasp when he had pulled his fingers from her. A gush of her wetness went with him as he brought those digits to his lips to sample her excitement and left the rest to run down her thighs and stain that ruined silk that of course was then. A wink, and the inaudible groan he let out as he tasted were the last trendles of bliss he had afforded her, before he left her in that scorching void of need and agony, but that memory had been painted over with the vibrancy of desire.

Now whatever had made him leave her, whatever lesson he had tried to impart upon her, whatever, whatever he had seared into her mind with his, he had returned to her with great fury.

Passion reignited as he had thrown open the doors to her chambers after she had tried to slip through them in search of him. His lips were upon hers with not a word spoken between them as he removed all traces of what he was to say to him. The only thing cushioning her head from hitting the wall which he had backed them into was his hands placed behind her that softened the blow. Then it did not matter. What her septa thought, what did not matter. There had only been now.

Now she was not willing to let it slip through her fingers that were presently holding onto the pale man until she had her fill and more then.

“Don't leave me,” she rasped with a whimper out into the shell of his ear. The last bit of consciousness before the fall. The words choked out with a gasp for breath over the sound of the squelches growing in their obscenity and his panting into her skin.

it was pathetic it sounded childish to her own ears, but she was determined to let him know. To not have what had happened repeat to be left as she didn't think she could bear that. She would collapse into herself and never leave from this place he had set her atop above all the rest.

Passion faded. Flesh rotted. Bones turned to dust. Withering away until whatever had been her, the old her and the new was gone too.

She could not bear that.

“I never left you. I will never leave you sweet one.” She believed him.

Believed him as she could feel him at her fingers. The resolute beating of his pulse. Thump, thump, thump. The heat of his skin she managed to pull. His blood strumming through him.

Believed him as he lifted his head at last from where he had trailed his kisses down from her neck to her décolletage. The warmth of his breath fanning her exposed skin dampened by his hearty ministrations.

Daemon had come back, that is what mattered. He had never strayed. Not truly. Not in any way that mattered. He had come for her. He had found her and taken her for his own, giving her this gift of pleasure. This new her.

“Is this all for me sweet one?” He crooned out the question. Goosebumps erupted across her body as those long digits of his hit the back of her cervix, his pace unrelenting. “Is this why you

She wouldn’t have been able to contain her moan then even if she wanted to. Nor the shudder that wracked through her body as she folded into him. Nor answer him. Clawing at him. Pulling him tighter to her practically suffocating the man with her bare breasts having pulled down her flimsy gown as if he would flit away as he had before, but he did not. She would not. Not with the way he groaned into her skin. The way he lapped at whatever he could find as he sped up the pumps of his fingers within her heat.

There was something comforting in knowing that she had ruined him the same as he had ruined her.

Help her mother. If she had found the Gods on the rough pads of his fingers stroking her, loving her, what would she find on the end of his cock? What would that cock make her see, stroking her, loving her, how would she feel?

A moan interrupted her thoughts once more.

“That’s it sweet girl.” He teased with a nip at the back of her ear. Taking her lobe between his teeth to suckle upon as his fingers worked her through. In and out over that spongy spot he had. Striking a delicate balance as he kept her on the edge. The balance that she had missed. Come to crave.

A little heaven right under her nose which she had been kept from. Not that she was complaining, who would complain about heaven when they had reached it, but then she was in fact complaining. Whining again when he pulled his hand from her and with it that heaven.

The sound of her wetness around his fingers filling the still. Twitching around nothing after being filled for so long.

She felt empty. Cold somehow and empty. The air leaving out from her lungs. Left starving once more as she clawed at him. Her grip unrelenting.

She had forgotten what it felt like to feel so empty. It was somehow worse than when he left her crying in the hall. She detested it with every fiber of her being.

She whined and that whine turned into another moan when he brought those soaked digits to his lips to taste her. His eyes remained locked on her. Watching her as she squirmed around him.

He was a cruel man and he had chosen her to be on the receiving end of this cruelty.

Cruelty seemed to beget more cruelty. With a pop those fingers were and had voyaged to swipe them through her sticky folds. Torturing her, but she did not have to wait long. He plunged them back into her depths in the next breath. Reaching her cervix as he curled them. Leaving her shaking in his arms.

“Do you feel how wet you are for me sweetling,” he growled out eyes scanning her face for acknowledgement and when he received no such thing besides her quaking in his hold silent by the pleasure, he emphasized the point. Pressing his fingers deep into that spongy spot atop her walls, she answered his growl at last with a whimper.

She could do no more than whimper at the truth of it. The squelches of her heat playing on a loop. In and in and in. Not stopping. Never stopping as he worked her up the little hill he had molded. Her descent into the abyss threatening to undo came thundering down upon her like a clap of thunder. “Come for me sweetling.” And she did.

Giving into that magma that had been boiling over. Seeping into the hot puddle of her own bliss. Her vision swirling with life and her body trembling with wave after wave until all that was left was her soul.

Climax overtaking her until she felt nothing but those hands on her. arching into his fingers to draw out that fluttering feeling. Her stomach tightening with it. Body loosening into it until she was but a puddle of molten passion.

Oh Gods. Nothing more for what else was there, but this bliss. What else was there but this? What else could there be?

Strange and unearthly as it sounded she had left this mortal plane for that brief duration of her orgasm which seemed to stretch endlessly. That puddle of bliss an overflowing fountain which kept replenishing with the sweetest liquid ambrosia.

She hadn’t realized he had moved them to her bed until she felt the heaviness of his weight and the heat of his skin on top of her. Warming her now cool form contrasting with the feel of the soft linens and the fluff of her pillow at her back cushioning her.

He wore a smile and greeted her with a tone as if he were frightened that she might float away from him, but how could she after this.

“Hello.” The corners of his violet eyes which had regained some of their hue crickling with mirth as he petted her cheek with the back of his hand. Softer than she imagined it would be. It was the hand that had been inside with the way it glistened in the moon's light.

“I think you’ve broken me,” she returned barely above a whisper and more breathy than she would like, but not knowing what else to say. She felt broken. Like a ragdoll. Breathless and listless with what remained of her orgasm.

He laughed at her ragged state, but it was not the jeering sort. It was as airy as her own voice. Breathless happy if she would be so bold. Not just gloating he was truly happy. Pleased. Pleased with her. Pleased with pleasing her and he was far from being done doing so.

“I shall endeavor to do that more often than.” He brought his hand up to her cheek. Caressing the flushed skin from brow down to her nape with the back of his knuckles.

If she hadn't had the good sense to allow her maid to braid up her hair for the night as she had last night too restless with yearning for a relief that had never come till now to allow them to do such, He might’ve encountered loose coils which he could grip. Instead her mop of raven coils were braided neatly into two plaits resting upon her shoulders.

Though she imagined he might have liked the sight of her mane unbound considering he could not keep his hands from brushing the back of those coils, for he knew better now than to try to attempt to comb through the delicate strands, last night when they had been as such during the feast. Only adorned with a band of rubies atop her head to restrain them.

Her hair would have been a mess to comb in the morrow, resembling more a brittle bird's nest than hair and taking the better part of that very mourn to undo the damage which had been done, but she’d let him play.

She’d let him play with her whenever he’d like.

“Perhaps I can fuck the church mouse from you,” he mused. His thumb swiping across the expanse of freckles resembling a consolation across her nose. If he meant to raise offense to virgins sensibilities which had been bred into her that would have her hiding her embarrassment from his vulgarity he was surely to be disappointed at her reply for she met him in kind.

“Mayhaps I shall fuck the cruelty from you dearest brother.”

Wideyed staring up at him she expected a sharp quip for her cheek, perhaps another lewd castigation, but he was to disappoint her as much as she so joyously disappointed him.

“You’re so beautiful,” his hand had ventured to her lips, eyes darting between them and her brown gaze with not so much as a hint of mischief. “So beautiful.” She should have felt subconscious, full of virgins blush at the intensity in which he watched her, but the flush of lust was still coursing through her waiting to be attended to. Waiting in this hellish limbo that kept her from celestial rapture.

Bare before her, his robes discarded into a pile with her gown just outside the peripheral of her vision. Covering every inch of her person with his pale flesh and staring down at her. Staring straight through her and right down to her soul. The violet of his irises blown out, replaced with the black of his pupils, he looked the picture of it. Valyrian god come to life to lead her into wickedness.

Through her haze, she saw he was motioning towards her slightly parted lips swollen from his kisses he commanded her with a solitary word. “Suck.”

It was less vulgar and more reverent than one would expect from the meaning of the words. Less a command too, more like he had called her beautiful once more with that starry look in his eyes that suited him odd as it was though she did not need to be flattered and she certainly did not need to be told twice.

The taste was not unpleasant. Salty mainly, she did not taste of berries and honey, but there was a sweetness there. A sweetness which she could understand why men seemed to go wild from it, why Daemon seemed so eager to have her taste herself.

If she were to admit to it, and she hardly thought she could even at his command,it satisfied some dark perverse part of her crawling that crawled out with a tiny moan stiffened by his fingers, but that darkness still hungered. Wondering how Daemon would taste on her tongue.

To see him reduced to a mere husk of man that would see him beg her with that solitary word and throaty pants.

Her hand had crawled between their bodies blindly with want. Instinct drove her around this new bend as she took him in hand.

He was hot to the touch. His skin felt soft like velvet yet rigid with his arousal. Throbbing in her hand and far larger than that hound imprinted in her memory.

He allowed her to go on like that. encouraging her in her explorations as his hand joined hers between their bodies. Guiding her little tugs upon his length, but halted her movements when she had felt him begin to coat her hands with his spunk.

The haze of lust she found herself in abated somewhat with a slap placed onto the meat of her thigh which had her yelping at the sting of it.

Another was placed in that same spot rubbing the brown skin tender for good measure when she had tried to bring her hand to her mouth to taste him as he had tasted her. She could not meet his eye when he sneered down at her.

“I did not did not give you permission to do that sweet sister.”

Taking her hand in his as Daemon brought her fingers to his lips. Enveloping the digits into to suckle upon before releasing them not a half minute after with a pop that had her wetting her thighs that she tried clamping together for some relief, but was stopped by the hard body atop. Gods, did he have to keep her from this too?

“Greedy little thing whatever am I to do with you?” His eye sparkled with mirth at her whines and squirms beneath his person, but he took some mercy on her.

“Next time sweet one,” her brother promised. The tips of his pointer finger on the other hand that had not been in her tracing her lips as his bent head smirked down at her. She desperately wanted to meet the small admonition with a protest of her own making. Why could she not love him as he loved him, but he supplanted the words with a moan by way of his lips returning to its rightful place upon hers.

“Next time I’ll teach you how to use that pretty mouth.” He breathed into her his want.

Next time his promise swimmed in her head as her tongue wet and wild battled with his. Giving in as was becoming a habit when he swiped it across the nerves atop the roof of her mouth. She did not mind waiting for the next time if it would lead to this. She could wait for next time. Next time. Next time.

He wanted there to be a next time. He wanted a next time with her. Mayhaps even more than that if he made good on his promise. If he took her away from this half-life of dictums, indifference, and daggers hidden behind tight smiles. Mayhaps there will be a thousand next times. She could almost picture it beneath the clouds. Almost feel it if she just reached for it. If she just—

“Shh sweetling,” he panted out. Pulling away from the kiss, but only just for his lips still ghosted hers. the warmth of his breath fanning her fevered cheeks as he moved his hands to back up to cup her face as he murmured plaintives. “I’m right here.”

She did not know why, but she had begun to cry. She had not even aware she had, hadn’t even felt the telltale sting upon her cheeks nor tasted the salt of her tears, the thought of next time and its pleasures gripping hold of her til Daemon leaned down to kiss them away. Peppered her face with kisses as he shushed her.

Trying to calm her overtaxed state with his own branding. Bringing her back down from the skies which he had ascended her into with the gentleness of his touch. And yet he was far from sending her into that bliss. Next time could wait. There was a now to see too

She whimpered as he spread her legs, this time with his bare thigh which felt like a balm to that heat that was regrowing in the pit of her belly. Feeling the stretch and her own stickiness but mostly how sore she had become. Dear god he really was trying to send her to heaven or to whatever land of milk and honey he had come from or perhaps the land of fire and blood was a more apt description for it.

“Daemon please,” she begged, but he had only answered with a laugh and the tilt of her

“You’ve been neglected for far too long,” He was toying with her, teasing her. Controlling her movements as he grinded her heat down upon his thigh.

It was too much. It was not enough.

“I can’t promise it won’t hurt.” That hand which had been guiding the erratic dilutions of her hips had shifted to the apex of her womanhood cupping her curls before pulling her labia apart to renew their efforts upon her pulsing button; it did not take much to send her spiraling delirious with want as she was.

“I don’t care,” and she didn’t. Feeling her orgasm crescendo once more with each circle he drew into her engorged clit. That hill so intoxicating a climb. Her sopping cunt pulsing around nothing as her clit thrummed, but so desperately needing to be filled as she once had. “I don't please.”

She wasn’t above begging now. Not when she had a taste. “I need you please I need you—- Daemon,” she choked on her moan as he answered her call. her nails digging into his back as he breached her pulsing walls. She could tell that she was drawing blood, but she had bled for him and the man atop her had choked out a groan of his own as he sheathed himself within her to the hilt.

He had been right there was pain but it was but a prick swiftly overtaken by that wave of pleasure which he brought the heady concoction that he made for her.

In out.

Not stopping.

Never stopping for she was a finely tuned instrument he knew only how to play.

Ever the master of his craft his mouth hot on hers as his tongue soaked up every song she gifted him. The long digits of his right hand remained on her clit. The pads of his fingers rubbing circle while his length bullied that spongy spot within her heat which once pulsed around his fingers while the fingers belonging to his left hand wrapped themselves around her throat. Squeezing as her walls squeezed his length. Milking him for all that he would give her.

She arched her hips up onto him when he tried to leave from her walls just to thrust himself deeper within them, meeting him thrust for thrust. Her need taking over as she let the man use her for their pleasure.

His thumb had never abandoned her clit as he kept himself seated deep within her quivering walls as she watched black dots blanketing her vision. A little death of the color he had painted over her world of gray, blind as she was, but there was so much more to feel.

This, this was the thing which she had needed. This was what she was meant for.

His skin upon hers. Sweat, spit, and spunk gluing their bodies together. The squelches from their lovemaking her spend and his combining with each tilt drowning out whatever remained of the world outside or even within the walls of these sultry chambers.

The push and pull of him stretching her. His rigid length dragged across her walls, filling her better than his fingers. She felt whole.

Each thrust somehow deeper and deeper. Carving out a space that had not existed before this, but was always to be. that want and longing that had tormented her so quelled like a babe at his mothers breasts.

She came around him, soaking him, squeezing him, without so much as a release of breath, but he was there to breathe for her. There to speak for her. There to be her anchor.

That's a good girl. That's my good girl. Gods, you're so tight, so tight. Naughty little thing you squeeze me so perfectly. That's it, he crooned, adores position by his low rasps of breath. Voice strained in the back of his throat as he commanded her, Let go for me.

It was not his words that undid her. Nor his grunts of pleasure he did not refrain from gifting her.

It was in his eyes that bore into her. Violet turned midnight eyes that mirrored her own which said You'll be my death you sweet thing, but I will not leave you. In. I belong here. In. In you. In. With you. In. You are mine. In. As I am yours.

In. In. In. In.

She shook beneath him and he groaned into the hollow space between her breasts. Eyelids fluttering shut as he bent into her. Squirting around his hot member as he spilled into her.

He was everywhere. Had taken everything from her body from the depths of her being and she did not care.

This was the beginning, the after, everything. Her body curled into itself. Curling around him. He did not stop and she did not want him to stop going further and further up a cliff which she did not know only that it was more than last time. Stronger too as she tumbled over into the welcoming arms of elation.

Time had lost all its meaning as her orgasm wrecked through body. White and silver the color of moonlight flashing across her. The salt of his skin the only taste on her tongue. The little grunts and moans they let out to the other as effortless as one's heartbeat. Where he ended and she began extended past where their bodies were joined for there was no him, no her, just this. Just them.

It was his hand that she came to the world of color. Petting her cheek as he had before when she had returned back to him from that mountain of bliss. Hand upon her bare hip a comforting weight, but he made no move to exert her further.

“I will not touch you, but I need to take care of you sweet one.” Another kiss, this one placed on the tip of her freckled nose as she exhaled, loosening that ball of energy that remained from her worn body.

Cupping her warm face between his palms as he leaned in so that his damped forehead rested upon hers. “Will you let me take care of you?" she nodded, that ragdoll feeling coming about her again, wanting to do but she knew better than to take his words in vain.

She laid there doll like upon a mountain of pillows that as he fetched a cloth and thimble of water from her wash basin. Still as naked as she, backside turned, throwing her a boyish smile every so often over his shoulder as he dampened the rag, but having no shame in her seeing him as such and she was too tired to be embarrassed by the sight of a naked man or to care what any others might think of it. Let them make what they like.

She would not trade this, seeing that lovely gaze with light in every corner of his face which made him look ten years younger for what had been before ruined as she was.

There was no talking as he washed slick and spend from her body. Stilted breaths, trembles when he dragged the cloth against her sour cunny, and little gulps of water from the chalice he handed to her when he had deemed his washing the only tune which played. Even the feast below them had gone well and truly quiet. The moon that hung low in the night sky which would soon glow a bloom of red and orange their only company.

Half bathed in the shadows he stretched out a pale hand towards her as he finally settled himself beside her. Having thrown the soiled rag clear across the room for one of her maids to find in the morning along with her, but that would wait til dawn broke free of the night.

The moon high his fingers glistened in its light with water droplets from the basin as she took that outstretched hand without pause. Daemon pulled her into him with one tug.

A feminine yelp and a contented sigh the brief interlude that cut the still. Nestling her head beneath his chin as he resumed stroking down her body.

Gentle.

It shocked her how he who could be so maddening who could elicit such scorn and want, even from her, yet he was still so gentle with her when it was all said and done. She couldn’t complain that he was so gentle resting there in his arms, but it was a shock albeit the most pleasant kind.

They went on like that. Time continuing to be immaterial. The soothing caresses down her bare back pulling her tenderly to the land of dreams. That contented quiet having quenched the hunger prevailing until he broke it.

Pulling her head slightly away from his shoulder where she had rested to lift her chin up enough to face him but not quite enough to pull her in for another sweet kiss or a searing one to begin their lovemaking anew as she had thought. She was not so very tired and the sun was still aslumber, but then she met his eye.

Brown met Violet as their gazes aligned.

“Come away with me.” He whispered. His voice sounded just as boyish as he looked then. A slight bit of apprehension beyond the brilliance of his gaze, but so full of hope. A hope she would not leave unanswered.

Meeting him the rest of the way she leaned into his touch. Her lips grazed his as she breathed her reply into him.

“Okay.” She’d follow him anywhere. Into bliss and beyond.

Ao3 Link:

#fanfiction recommendations #fanfiction reblogs

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 20 hours

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Caraxes ❤️‍🔥🩸🍷

Be prepared for the house of the dragon wallpapers in honour of season two coming out.

#caraxes

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 20 hours

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I have been off of Tumblr all day. But I am saddened and sickened to see what I’ve returned to.

I have a genuine love for the people I interact with here. While I have had my differences in the past with people, most have been resolved by talking it out like mature adults in private, so that we can move past it and resume our friendship. As it should be.

I will admit, I have been unkind about people I have had mutual enmity with, where a resolution was not possible and there was ill feeling on both sides. But who is not guilty of that? The post circulated today contains a blend of genuine screenshots, and a lot of ones that have been doctored. For those that converse with me on a regular basis, you’ll be aware of my use of syntax, turns of phrase and general mannerisms of speech. To quote a good friend “this Ange feels very ooc to me.”

To further address the racism, I will hold my hands up and apologise for not speaking out sooner. I have never excused it, simply been avoidant of it because I did not feel safe to speak out. When someone repeatedly uses the p-slur, laughs at your discomfort and continues to do it, claiming it’s fine because they are of mixed race, it’s difficult to know how to respond beyond simply pulling away quietly and hoping it stops.

I didn’t feel safe to speak on it sooner. To be honest, what forced my hand was finding out that I had been doxxed. That was frightening to me, and has very real life consequences. I have since learned that further illegal action has been taken against other users. That’s not something I want to be a part of. No, I can’t excuse racism, and I can’t excuse doxxing and cyberstalking either. If you felt there was a genuine concern for your safety, wouldn’t you want to act on it? Everything that has transpired since is utterly bewildering to me. The level of hatred is atonishing.

I don’t care what happens to me or this blog, if I’m being perfectly honest, but I do care about the feelings of others, and I appreciate that my inaction has hurt people. If your space feels safer without me in it, please feel free to do what you need to do to remedy that.

All I have ever wanted is to write, and to encourage others to contribute towards the community. I genuinely love this fandom and the friends I have made within it, but sometimes when you love stuff you have to let it go. And I am willing to do that if it means people can move on and continue to be creative.

#signal boost

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 20 hours

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Please see the original post. Thank you to @queen--kenobi for sharing it with me.

You are correct and so very justified in this.

I have been hateful to others. I have been woefully complicit in the racial harassment of a POC user @themotherofblood—a girl who is so very young to have received the horror she did—and the harassment of several other members of the community during my acquaintanceship with Bel and Fae, in a manner that is at best cowardly and at worst morally and fundamentally reprehensible. I have behaved in a manner that is disgusting, deplorable, wrong on every level of measurement.

I either ignored the mention of or laugh-reacted at conveyance of numerous anons Bel and Fae reported themselves as having sent. I continued in conversation as they made lengthy, detailed insults about other users, offering no criticism of the behaviour. I said nothing while people experienced their frustration over receiving hate. I let my anger and paranoia fuel me into creating an entirely new Discord account for the sole purpose of ensuring that others weren’t committing the very same behaviours I was allowing against me. I created a burner account to retrieve “evidence” from another blog to support my statements, violating their right to feel entitled to privacy. I never once voiced suspicions over other anons I privately attributed to Bel and Fae due to the similarities in their cadence and seeming motivation. I fell into the most toxic cesspit of groupthink and let others direct my appalling behaviour without acknowledging the fact that as an adult, the only one in control of my behaviour should be myself. My entitlement gave me the illusion that my suffering during my time in fandom excused me from doing my moral duty to this community and to society. And, perhaps the most damning of it all, it was not until I was personally motivated by my own selfish fear and anxiety that I finally abandoned the source of so much hate.

It didn’t end there. I continued to say nothing, days and weeks and months after the fallout. I did not act quickly in the wake of the fallout. I sat, silent, complicit, soundless while the hate rampaged on.

Thank you to @/witheredoffherwitch for a thoughtful and well-articulated call-out of things I was too arrogant to see within the scope of my own circle. I deserved the things said, and I should have been far less up my own arse to see this for myself. I will not make any kind of excuse here. This is not the place for it.

I definitely do suck ass. I am and have historically been a petty, mean loser. I am a hypocrite, an asshole, and a piece of shit for the way I have behaved. I have done a great deal of harm in publicising the things I have, and even more in having ever been involved in the first place. Your lives are not sport for our entertainment. You’re real people too, just the same as me.

I will very much try to do better and be far more strong-willed in future. I will be kinder and devote my energy to being someone that no longer resembles a piece of human crap. Whether that be a journey I take with or without the people I have met and adored along the way, that is what must be. I want to get back to writing, but actively ensure I do not simply “leave this experience in the past”. It is something I need to carry ahead with me as a reminder of the damage I have done and the very many people I have hurt and disappointed.

I am going to try. It doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it okay.

#hotd fandom drama

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 22 hours

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To clarify, one of the users involved in the release of information over the past few days has gone ahead and made posts disclosing @/officerbrowneyes’s legal name and sharing voice recordings online.

For your information:

There is no more debating in the criminality these people are willing to undertake. All necessary information has been noted down or saved prior to the original poster’s deletion and deactivation. This has been referred onto the authorities.

Releasing voice notes without the explicit permission of the other party is against the law. This is now going to be a criminal investigation from here on out.

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 day

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Jesus.

Anyone harassing the black & brown cast of HOTD needs to fucking cope and seethe.

Bethany is Baela the Brave and she’s splendid. I can’t wait for her to get the chance to play Baela after all the racist harassment she has had to experience from not only the fandom but the shitty writing.

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 day

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#daemyra #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 day

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This is from J, a user named @officerbrowneyes formerly, who was close friends with the women I have posted about until a couple of weeks ago. I invite you all to read. This is a painful, honest, raw reflection on her experiences, and I am greatly angered and saddened by its contents.

Trust No One.

@houseofassholes. This one is for you. Enjoy. Hi Bel, Chris, Fae, and Cal! Enjoy! I own my shit. I don't fucking run from it. Unlike you cowards. I will be pursuing legal action from here on out, this will be a matter for the authorities.

Hello,

I bet you all thought you’d seen the last of me, huh? Some of you may remember me as, officerbrowneyes. Yes, that one. Yes, I deactivated. Yes, I am here. No, I will not allow a group of very disturbed women to control my life. I’m not afraid.

First, I would like to start this off by saying, to all those who have been hurt by this group, who have been hurt by the things I have said, I deeply apologize. From the bottom of my heart. I apologize. I am ashamed of how I acted, and I have reached out to those affected privately and apologized for everything, and I wanted to apologize publicly as well. Though I am not at the level that they are, I have been complicit in the ongoing hatred for @em-writes-stuff-sometimes and @ewanmitchellcrumbs.

In all my years on this earth, I am still regrettably learning that my words have consequences. At my age, I should know better. I do, and I still allowed things to escalate. For that, I deeply apologize. To all those who have been affected by my association with them, I apologize.

I would like to extend my deepest and most heartfelt gratitude to Em. She has been nothing but kind, loving, and welcoming to someone she could have absolutely kicked to the curb. Rightfully so. Had the tables been turned, I am not sure I would have done the same. This speaks to her character. To put aside a stupid feud that was fueled by the hatred of others, to help someone she saw as an enemy, speaks VOLUMES to her character.

She has been consistently checking in on me, to make sure I was okay. She has been talking to me everyday since the incident occurred (more on that later), and made sure I was taking care of myself. She is a gem of a human being. Anyone who says differently can kiss my ass. She has shown me more kindness than these women have ever shown anyone. For that I am indebted to her. No words can describe how immensely grateful I am to her.

She has given me the courage to come on here and say my piece. As well as other friends who I have scorned because of falsehoods I was led to believe for so long. You all have been my saving grace.

No one deserves more praise than Em, my friend I’ll call Apple, and Sarah. For whom I don’t know where I would be right now. Especially my best friend Sarah (and my real life best friends). She has been my rock. My lifeline. My everything. I love her more than words can express. So thank you, my love. For showing me the meaning of true friendship.

Now, I did not want to have to do this. I did not want to come out here and air my dirty laundry as well as everyone else’s. I felt I had no choice, given the recent turn of events.

I had been friends with Bel, well, mutuals you could say, since before any of her scandals. Chris was technically the first person I truly connected with in this fandom. Another person I believed loved and cared about me. I was wrong.

I had gotten closer to Bel over the coming year, after I graduated from college, and saw she was struggling with community labels that had been struck on her stories by a fellow creator here. I showed her some ways to protect her online presence on Tumblr (ironic now considering all I know now), and she was grateful to me and we struck up a conversation.

We talked here and there and we were friendly with one another. In those months however, I drew closer to Chris as she was very open at the time and seemed to take a genuine interest in getting to know me. I was excited by the idea of making friends in this new fandom (I hadn’t really gotten into HOTD since it aired but got more interested the more clips I had seen on Tumblr).

Things went better than expected. I started to make more friends here, and my tiny circle was slowly growing. I didn’t have a great understanding of everything that happened between Bel, Chris and everyone, but I knew OF it, as she had given me the cliff notes version of it. I took her at her word because why would any of them lie to me. Right?

However, I will say Chris and Bel never made me feel as though I had to “choose a side” to be their friend, which I will give them that. I never felt obligated to pick one over the other. Though it was contentious and albeit a bit awkward at times. For the most part, it was fine.

Fast forward to “anal gate” which is still the stupidest thing next to “bimbo gate” to have ever graced this dreaded part of the internet. I woke up one day and the internet exploded. I was again given the cliff notes. However, through my own investigation, I had found out that someone, let’s continue to call them Apple, was the one being vague posted about, and then later on was told it was about a “Gotham fanfic on AO3”, another crock of shit I was fed.

As someone who had a minor insight into the fall out between Ange, Bel, Chris, etc. I offered advice to all parties involved. I wanted to help as I thought maybe there could be a reconciliation down the line. It was also, dumb as hell and petty as hell. It was one of the many instances of Bel tearing others down to lift herself up. A pattern you will soon come to find.

I mentioned that I found her behavior unbecoming and that it was a “mean girl” mentality. I suggested ways to air out her frustrations through her notes app, Google Docs, etc. as posting on her blog brought unnecessary hatred to others. She agreed and thanked me for my help. I noticed a shift in her behavior after that. Whether she was scared of more backlash or not, who’s to say.

I thought I had seen a shift in her behavior. She was reblogging smaller creators, being more open, becoming silly on her blog, and showcasing what I thought was a genuine side of herself. I commended her on her improvement. I was so proud of her at the time. I felt like a big sister watching someone mature.

We got closer and closer as did Chris and I. We got embroiled in a debacle of our own down the line, of which I will not discuss here as I’m not sure any of that was truthful either. I grew even closer to both Bel and Chris as a result of this.

I will say, Bel seemed genuinely concerned for my well being and spent hours talking to me after a depressive episode. I felt heard and validated.

Fast forward I met my now best friend Sarah. I helped her gain her footing from being a quiet lurker to a writer on the platform. We have had our ups and downs, we’ve gotten into arguments, we’ve let people get in our ears, but we remained joined at the hip. I have since apologized for the things I said out of anger and the catty responses to things she had done or said. She knows it all, and still chose to stay my friend. We have our theories about that, but I will not get into that now. It’s between Sarah and I and those we choose to speak about this with.

Anyways, a few instances on Tumblr happened within the Michael Gavey realm that left a sour taste in my mouth, but it never really affected me as I was a casual writer and didn’t really get the uproar people had over it. I digress. Bimbo gate. A debacle I was informed of as Chris had mentioned to me while I was away from my phone. I saw Bel’s post and then asked her if she was okay, as she seemed gutted by the turn of events.

She revealed to me that she was upset by the statements Ange made (now in retrospect she and the other person involved were allowed to have) and I agreed with her at the time, as I had tunnel vision and believed Ange was out to hurt her friend. Bel too believed this was deliberate and a final blow to their friendship and believed this was Ange putting the final nail in the coffin to rid herself of Bel. I offered my condolences and Chris and I, as well as the others in our friendly group chat, offered to let her join so she could feel some sense of camaraderie as she felt alone.

Chris and Bel had managed to bury the hatchet (I don’t care how up my own ass this sounds, but I facilitated their reunion as Bel had no intention of reuniting with Chris) and were coming together over their shared enemy/enemies.

Soon a few others joined in. A good friend of mine being one of them, who was spoon fed lies as well, about the incident so as to turn her ire towards Ange.

Before I continue, I should note, this is from my memory, as I do not wish to include many screenshots in this. I feel the ones released have sufficed and there is no need for me to share my own. Take what I say and have said with a pinch of salt and draw your own conclusions. I am not here to slander anyone, but I WILL clear my name. As I have learned more and more, I feel the need to speak up and speak my truth. I have lost friends (outside of this core group) because of the slander and vitriol that has been spewed.

You will NOT lie on my name. I will be damned if I let anyone lie on my name.

You do not have to block anyone on my behalf, you do not have to unfollow these people. Make your own choices. Do not let me decide for you. I was just fed up with the lies and needed to say something. This has gone on for far too long, despite what others might lead you to believe.

Now, continuing from where I left off, things went well. However, from the jump, the group chat began with shitting on Ange mostly. I partook in that as well based on an interaction I’d had with her that she more than likely doesn’t remember, and honestly I don’t care to hold onto the anger over that anymore as it was silly and pointless.

However, I tried my best to allow those to air their grievances but I put up boundaries in MY group chat. It was mine and I had limited what could be discussed. I refused to allow photos to be shared and the ones that were shared I asked to be taken down as these people did not consent to their pictures being shown. My requests were obeyed and for the most part it wasn’t as scandalous as the next one I was part of. More on that later.

We had bonded over a lot (not just our “common enemy” which is so stupid looking back and a shit foundation for a friendship). We would laugh about silly videos, memes, share ideas, talk about school work, life, etc. Any time someone had something that was negative to say I’d try and keep it to a minimum and introduce “palate cleansers” and we would share a funny video, meme, or something about a celeb or ourselves.

It was great. Until some things began to unravel. I won’t get into it, as it’s between Sarah and I, but I believed she was “ignoring me” and I felt that, well, no one was really speaking with me (I know why now) and so I made the decision to leave the chat. A mistake I still regret as I had more control over that situation and perhaps, maybe, it wouldn’t have devolved into something so nasty and repulsive.

I talked everything out with everyone involved and I was planning on staying away from group chats for a while. Things between Sarah and I were still fresh and I wanted to keep our interactions to DM’s only as I felt (and now know why things were different between her and I in group settings; again that’s between her and I) that our friendship was too precious to me and I wanted to keep it to strictly the two of us and it worked better that way.

There is again, more we have discussed behind the scenes but that’s between her and I.

However, Bel (or me I can’t remember, I believe it was Bel) had asked if I wanted to be in another group chat. I relented and said, okay but we can invite Sarah when I’m ready if we go down that route, as we had just gotten out of that disagreement and it was still too fresh. Bel said okay, and created the group chat. Soon Cal and Fae joined. I don’t exactly remember how that happened so please excuse me if I don’t get into that. I’m honestly still frazzled from everything and so some of it I don’t remember.

It was nice in the beginning. Cal and I had gotten closer, and I was getting to know Fae, who quite frankly scared me for a long time as I had heard things about her that were…questionable.

Fast forward, the chat moved quickly and I have college so, a lot of the time I was jumping in late. There would sometimes be over 500+ messages when I would have the time to long on.

I noticed a pattern popping up. The nastiness slowly creeping back in. The catty mean girl behavior that I had a handle on in my other group chats, and put a limit to what was being said, was not at my disposal anymore. Now, it was getting into very lowbrow and quite honestly bullying behavior.

I will make this clear. I am not absolved of this. I have said things I am not proud of. I am complicit as well. I take full ownership over the things I have said as they were mean and beneath me and who I am as a person. I knew better and still chose to act in a way that was unbecoming of me. I want to reiterate, I have apologized to the individuals I have hurt and explained each and everything I said to them, as this group enjoys weaponizing past conversations to bring people down when their deplorable behavior is called out. I refuse to be black mailed by a group of despicable women who stoop so low as to do something like that.

However, I tried my best not to partake in things such as just going after people’s looks and personal things. I tried. Or I would say something to divert it away from someone’s appearance or just leave the chat and put my phone away completely.

There were things said and done that I still am shocked over. At the time again, when it got into…creepy territory I was usually offline (how interesting that it most usually wasn’t when I was online). I would come back to again, a gaggle of messages and I would be scrolling for sometimes over ten minutes going over everything.

It was starting to bring me down negatively. The constant stalking of people’s blogs and screenshotting their posts, making fun of other creators, the fucking downright nasty comments; it took a toll on my mental health.

I had been in touch with my therapist and I even discussed it with her. She suggested I put up strong boundaries and remove myself if I felt this was a toxic situation. It was.

I had been in and out of the chat for a few days; no one really noticed and the trashing continued sans my presence.

The day I decided to leave I had been talking to Sarah who suggested I tell them first before leaving. I told her no, I don’t have to! They’re my friends! I’ll talk to them when I’m ready and they’ll understand! Wrong. So, so, so, wrong.

For context: the day before, my sister's fiance who is in law enforcement was in a shootout/stabbing situation that he was not allowed to discuss until days after I left the chat. He was having a mental health crisis the night before and neither my sister nor him could discuss it. My grades were not where I wanted them to be as I have been dealing with multiple double ear infections, and found out I’d have to have surgery (again) on them, and frankly I was tired of it all.

I made the decision to leave. I left every group chat I was in (even dead ones) as I needed to focus on my studies and buckle down. I was in a heightened state of emotions and needed out.

I signed out of Discord (I didn’t want to talk to ANYONE as I was in a depressive episode and anxiety attack) and just went about my day, talking to my mom and helping her around the house and with stuff she needed. I was also in a severe amount of pain from my ear infections, and my asthma was triggered as well because of all the post nasal drip. I slept off and on in between assisting my Mom, doing school work, and being in pain/a depressive episode.

I tried to log back into Discord after I woke up from a fever induced nap, and forgot I had changed my password a long time ago and forgot to put it down.

I tried logging in for over an hour, and it would either glitch, or tell me I exceeded my logins. I had to wait and then finally reset my password. However, once that was done, I had errands to run with my fiance that night and barely had time to look at my phone.

At that time, Chris had texted me (for privacy reasons I will not release those texts, but if my hand is twisted, I will have no choice, though they don’t say anything different than what I will be explaining). I was in the car when she was texting me asking if I was okay and why I left the chat. I told her that I just wasn’t feeling well, I was busy, stressed, a myriad of other things. I also said, now this isn’t verbatim, so I’m going off of my memory, but I believe I said something akin to “And honestly I’m fucking sick and tired of the mean girl shit to be honest. I couldn’t handle them constantly shitting on Ange and Em every fucking day. I was getting emotionally exhausted”. A back and forth ensued in which she told me they “deserved to know ahead of time”, which is ironic considering she was upset when the same was asked of her when she left the HOTD server without warning and deleted her blog, but I digress.

I told her I don’t “owe anyone anything”. That was my boundary. That was my limit. I didn’t feel I owed it to anyone to explain myself. Mind you, I thought that answer would suffice. It didn’t. I explained that I didn’t answer because I needed time to myself. I have already mentioned this to her before and everyone else, I isolate when I need to think about things and before I approach someone with an issue that I have. That is my boundary, as I know myself and I know when I speak when I’m angry, it doesn’t end well. I end up lashing out and saying things out of anger. I am working on it. I am talking to my therapist about it and dealing with this with her.

Again, Chris pushed back and told me that “everyone was confused and deserved to know why”. I said, I would talk to them individually, and when I was ready. That answer wasn’t good enough for her. She continued to push me and demand that I tell them. I said no. So she threatened me and said “well if you don’t tell them, then I will” . I said, no you will not. You do not have that right. I want to talk to them when I’m good and ready. This continued until I got to the store and even as I entered the store. I was crying and sending her voice notes, just asking her to please let me tell them myself. She didn’t answer for a while, and we ended up having to go to another store.

At this other store, we were still “talking”. More like, her demanding I tell them and not allowing me to. So, finally I told one of them but they were sleeping at that time and I will admit, I snottily replied “I told so and so, are you happy? I will tell the others when I’m ready.”. I will admit, I was fucking fed up with her at this point. I was tired of her telling me what to do and demanding an answer. I was walking around the store when I saw my texts and saw her message stating something along the lines of “I told them what you said, you can be mad at me all you want, I don’t care. I think we should go our separate ways now 😔”. AGAIN, this is verbatim, I’m not about to stretch out the picture limit by sharing the screenshots of this pointless conversation.

I will not lie, I broke down crying in the store. I had every intention of talking to them when I wasn’t in a heightened state of emotions. I was crying so badly, my fiance had to take me back to the car because I was crying and causing a scene. I sent her a series of messages chewing her out because I was beyond angry. My trust was broken. When we got home, everyone had unfollowed me. Excuse me, nearly everyone. I texted Bel stating “if you don’t want to be my friend anymore either than please tell me now”. No answer. No one was fucking listening to me. No one would talk to me. I was beyond distraught.

I then find out hours later through Sarah that Cal had told her I went on a “psychopathic rant” and had a “meltdown”. I got upset and messaged Chris through text and told her “Now everyone thinks I’m a psychopath and hates me. Thanks a lot Chris. Thanks.” I sent the same thing on Tumblr as I wasn’t sure where I was blocked. She messaged me back saying no one hated me. Okay, then why did everyone unfollow me with a quickness? No one hated me, but no one cared to speak to me either. They had no intention of doing so is my best guess.

I messaged Bel again out of frustration and said “Are you fucking serious? Everyone is unfollowing me because I called you all fucking catty? This is fucking ridiculous.” something along those lines. No answer, but she was posting as if nothing was wrong as was everyone else. I was angry, I was fucking hurting, and I couldn’t understand why people I thought were my friends were icing me out.

I unfollowed everyone else that was left, because if they all wanted to reach out to me they had several other avenues to do so. Chris messaged me back and told me to talk on Discord. I said okay. This went nowhere. Another round about conversation with no end. It wasn’t until I snapped and told her that I had lost my login info that she relented somewhat. I told her I should HAVE TO tell her that in order to have a boundary I put down, respected. I was called a “bad friend, bad communicator, and immature”. At that point the fight in me was gone. I was just fucking tired of talking in circles. We went our separate ways, and I unfollowed everyone on Tumblr.

Days went by, no one reached out to hear my side of the story. No one. I felt fucking alone. I felt shunned and cast aside. So, I reached out to Sarah and asked her if she could get into contact with Martha who was also treated in a similar manner as me. Conveniently also because of Bel bringing up shit from the past and weaponizing it, to turn everyone against her.

Martha and I spoke for a while and then we realized a lot of things weren’t making sense. A lot of lies we were both fed were making sense. Pieces that didn’t fit, suddenly made sense.

Martha reached out to Em with the things I said. Martha already apologized to me for going to Em without asking me first. I have since forgiven her because this would have never come to light without her. After the first screenshots were posted, a friend reached out and asked if Chris could talk to me. I said sure. I was getting my hair done at the time and hadn’t the slightest clue what transpired when I was gone. To be honest, with the way I was treated, I didn’t care until I saw how nasty the things said about Chris were.

We talked and we admitted we said and did things we didn’t mean. We acted out of pocket and apologized. I told her I didn’t like how she came for Ange’s appearance and I mentioned this multiple times as she said “I would never say something about another person’s appearance” though she has. We agreed we fucked up. I felt guilty about something I said, that I won’t repeat (it was honestly stupid and I said it as a joke and didn’t even mean it at the time). I was TRULY, TRULY, sorry for what I said. I apologized and she said she forgave me but needed time. I said, it’s okay if you don’t forgive me right away. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Or something like that.

I woke up and found out I was blocked on everything. No explanation, nothing. I was confused beyond all reason. I found that Cal wanted to be my friend on Discord again, and I honestly had a sinking feeling. Sarah stood up for her and insisted that Cal wouldn’t want to get involved. She insisted I befriend her again (I don’t hold Sarah responsible for this at all). I did.

What happened next….I can only show in screenshots.

I have never cried so hard in such a long time. I was fucking broken. I’m not going to lie, and I was embarrassed to say this at the time….I was fucking suicidal. This fucking triggered me so badly, I thought I was going to have to go to the psych ward because I didn’t trust myself.

Sarah was checking in on me periodically because of how scared she was. I will never be able to repay her for that. She is truly my fucking angel sent from heaven, and I love that woman more than words can express.

I was bullied all throughout pre-k to middle school. I have been called racist names, I have been told to kill myself, I have been told I didn’t deserve to be here. This brought all of those feelings back. Maybe that makes me stupid, maybe that makes me sensitive, I don’t know. But, reading all of that almost had me vomiting because I was so upset. At that point, I had nothing left to lose and I reached out to Em. Best decision I ever made.

Em has proven this is a pattern of behavior and that this a cycle with no end in sight. I literally nuked everything because they made me want to die. I felt like 12 year old me again, being told that I was a “stupid Hispanic monkey that should fucking die”. I was fucking triggered and beyond depressed.

Through this, Em, me, and many others have come together to dismantle the fucking lies we were told. I found out Bel & Co went to Laura and told them I “convinced them to leave their tiny server”. LIES. THEY did. They convinced me it was “weird” and “sneaky”. They told her that one of my fucking best friends told Bel (whom she hasn’t fucking spoken to in DM’s ever) that I “trauma dumped on her”. LIES. No she fucking didn’t and she’s proven that already to me. When she asked for proof for what I said, they refused to show it.

[ Edit: Also, I apparently “manipulated everyone”. That’s funny considering the only person I spoke to was Martha and Sarah who were just concerned for my well being and wanted to help me. I didn’t ask Martha to talk to Em, and once again, I’m not sorry she did. I’m not the fucking master manipulator here. If you would like to know who the grand architect is, look amongst your little group of friends and you’ll find her. It sure as shit ain’t me. Oh and a few people I let know I had a separate account because I didn’t want to be on my old account where I had lost all of who I thought were my “friends”. ]

She wouldn’t fucking talk to me, because of the fucking lies you all spewed. I don’t want to hear how fucking “sorry” you all are. I don’t want to hear about how you “aren’t that person anymore”. Up until last week you all were these fucking people. Stop fucking lying. Stop fucking manipulating, STOP. We are all so fucking tired. We are tired of feeling like we have no fucking safe place anymore because we don’t even know who to fucking trust anymore. We are sick and tired of all of you bullying us into submission and manipulating everyone like they’re fucking puppets for you to use and abuse. WE ARE DONE.

Don’t fucking act like we are the villains when you all did this. You did this to your fucking selves. If you were sorry you wouldn’t be messaging Ange and others on fucking sock accounts trying “expose” me and others. You don’t want to go down that route. I promise you, you don’t. I owned my fucking shit. I can own that I was a rotten person in the group chat at times. I can say that with my whole chest.

I was a rotten friend at times. I let the mean girl attitude rub off on me because for once, I felt like I had a real group of people I could trust. This just showed me that I can’t trust anyone. I’m not going to be as open as I used to be. I’m not going to be as friendly as I once was. I’m not going to be as engaging as I used to be. You all fucking broke me.

I will also be seeing what legal options are available to ensure that my safety is protected, as I do not trust anyone anymore. I can’t be myself on here. I’m going to have my guard all the way up from here on out. Maybe I should have before. Maybe this is my fault. But, congratulations. You fucking destroyed me. I hope you’re all happy.

Also, for an added bonus here are some screenshots of Bel telling her friends about my main account that I asked her to keep private and she didn’t and shared it with her friends. Also, sharing a post where I was upset over the loss of a friend and showing her excitement over the drama. Sick. Fucking sick.

As the Michael Gavey Queen of Character Ai, I hereby denounce any association with you. Fuck you all. Leave us alone, and pretend we’re fucking dead to each other. You no longer exist to me. I don’t care what happens to any of you anymore. You’re fucking dead to me and I want it to stay that way. Don’t ever reach out to me. Don’t look for me. I don’t want your shit fucking apology. Take it and shove it right up your assholes. No one believes any of you anymore. You’re not sorry. You’re sorry you’ve been found out.

#hotd fandom drama

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