Need To Remind Myself Of This Masterpiece When It Updates No Matter How Long It Takes

Need to remind myself of this masterpiece when it updates no matter how long it takes

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you have a tendency to pick up strays, but when you pick up the king of westeros (who was supposed to have died hundreds of years ago), things begin to get a little complicated

cw: NSFW, f!reader, aegon being a creep (shocker), aegon being deeply pathetic (also shocker), aegon is drunk or possibly hung over, attempted sex (aegon begs for a handjob but doesn't get one)

read on ao3, divider by saradika

You’ve always been too nice. You’re aware of this unfortunate fact, though you staunchly refuse to admit it’s a weakness. Has this trait left you without necessities from time to time because you gave them to someone who needed them more? Yes, but you sleep better at night knowing that that homeless girl had sturdy new shoes, even if you had to walk home barefoot. You can always handle a bit of discomfort if it means improving someone’s day marginally. It’s not as though you’re without any sense of self preservation– you know when to say no, or when to walk away. When someone is out for their own self interest, or just plain dangerous. 

You’re smart about it. Mostly. Sometimes, though, your sympathy gene takes over, and you approach the danger because you feel there’s more beneath the surface. So far, it hasn’t put you in any troubling positions. Still, first time for everything. And as you stand on the edge of the pavement, toes of your shoes swinging down into the gutter as you sway back and forth, you wonder if you’re about to break your successful streak.

There’s a man in the busy city street, raving and desperately trying to get someone’s attention. Usually, he’s the type you’d regretfully ignore for your own safety, but he seems different. He doesn’t seem like the usual King’s Landing crackheads. He’s dressed too nice, for starters. Strange, yes, but still nice. In fact, it looks to be better quality than anything you own. And he’s young– which isn't uncommon in this situation, but it always makes your heart ache when they’re young. 

He looks desperate, terrified, and as another person ducks their head and walks past him, you feel yourself moving toward him. You don't know why. Maybe because you know if you leave now, you’ll not sleep tonight for the sheer guilt of passing him by. He spots you making your way over and turns to you, seeming to hope against hope that you’re going to acknowledge him. 

“Hi,” you say in a calm, even voice. It's a tone you’ve gotten quite good at. You’re not professionally trained by any means, but these things generally come with the territory. “Let's get you out of the road, okay? You could get hurt.”

“What the fuck are those things?” He demands of you as a car stops to let you take him across. You wave your thanks to the driver, who looks mildly disgruntled, and take the young man gently by the arms to get him onto the pavement. “Where are the horses?”

You know he must be confused, so you’re gentle with him. “There's no horses,” you say, still holding his arms as he finally looks away from the disappearing car and into your eyes. He looks so deeply afraid, but you notice he does take a moment to look you over. You let him, trying to see the best in him and hoping it's just curiosity. It doesn't matter right now anyway, you tell yourself. “Are you okay?”

“No!” He snaps. “Course I’m not bloody okay! Where am I?!”

“You’re in King’s Landing,” you say. “Let's get you somewhere quiet, okay? Are you hungry?”

“This,” he laughs in disbelief, looking around. “Is not King’s Landing, I know what King’s Landing looks like!”

“Okay,” you nod. “I believe you. Let's go sit down, I’ll buy you something to eat.”

The man looks at you with what you think is an offended scowl, but the offer of food does seem to intrigue him. “And wine?”

“No,” you say, and he deflates. 

He scratches at his chin, but nods in agreement. “Yes, fine.”

You smile, a bit of relief easing the worry in your ribs. Sometimes people won't cooperate, or they’ll turn you away when you say you won't buy them booze or give them money outright. This young man seems to be content enough without wine, so you wave your hand and lead him down the road toward the nearest fast food joint. 

He follows behind you, panicked eyes still looking around as though he's never seen the world before. It's not wonder, but something close to anger, indignation maybe. You make it to a diner you like, opening the door for him. He's clearly astounded by the ugly cacophony of colours inside, but you can't blame him. You don't come here for the aesthetics. 

“Go sit down?” You tell him gently, framing it like a suggestion as you point to your favourite booth. He scowls, but does as bid. 

The teen behind the counter takes little notice of your strange company. It's King’s Landing, he's probably seen something ten times as strange already today. Once you’ve paid, you join your new stray, sitting down across from him and folding your hands on the table. 

“So, what's your name?” You ask him, and he looks away from the bustling street outside the window to stare at you in what you assume is disbelief. 

“What’s my name?” He echoes, leaning slightly over the table. “Are you serious?”

You blink. That’s… not a question anyone’s ever been mad at you for. You learned quickly which questions to steer clear of to avoid pissing people off.

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat and tapping a dirtied fingernail against the peeling surface of the table. “Aegon,” he says, almost experimentally. Like he's testing the waters. 

You nod politely, and tell him yours.

He stares at you. “Nothing? Aegon? You’ve not heard the name Aegon?”

“Well, of course I have,” you say, confused smile pulling at your lips. “It's a common enough name. I think I knew a guy in school named Aegon–”

“You have been to school?” Aegon asks, eyebrows shooting up and a laugh spilling from his mouth. He leans back, dragging his hands over his clammy face. “Have I been drugged?!”

You’d put serious money on that being a resounding yes. 

“This is crazy,” he says, leaning forward again. He says your name slowly, glancing around before his eyes land on you. “Can you tell me what's going on?”

You bite your lip, thankful when the cashier calls out your order number. You rush to get up and get it, fearing you may be way out of your depth this time. He talks like he’s never seen the world before, and his comment about you having gone to school… none of it makes any sense. You’ve never even had the thought of dropping someone off with someone who’s better equipped to handle problems of this magnitude, but Aegon has you really considering it. When you return with the tray of food and set it down, Aegon has the specials menu in hand and is squinting at it. 

“I got you what I usually get,” you say, setting the tray down and placing his wrapped burger in front of him, leaving the fries on the tray. “Aegon, I want to help you, but I’m at a bit of a loss.”

“That certainly makes two of us,” Aegon says, unwrapping the burger curiously. “What meat is this?”

“It’s beef,” you tell him, unwrapping your own. He watches as you take a bite of yours, and he nods as though in satisfaction before taking a hefty bite of his. “Aegon, I want to understand what’s going on in your head. Can you just…”

You’re not sure how to say it, really. It’s invasive, and you don’t want him to feel like you believe he’s crazy, or lying.

“What’s your deal?”

He chews slowly on his burger, eyeing you suspiciously. “My deal,” he echoes, lips turned down in a scowl. “Is that I’m the King of Westeros.”

You nod slowly, biting into your burger so you don’t have to answer right away. You hope if you stay silent long enough, he’ll feel compelled to keep talking. 

“King Aegon,” he says slowly, like you’re the deluded one. “Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Protector of the Realm, all the rest. Are you serious?”

You swallow your mouthful and nod. You’re not particularly well versed in history, but the titles ring a bell. It’s some sort of messiah complex, you’d wager. Trying your best not to seem dismissive, you pull out your phone. “Let me see,” you say. 

“What’s that?” He asks, leaning forward and trying to snatch it from you. You move it out of his way, yelping softly in contrition. 

“My phone!” You say. “I’m just looking you up, Aegon.”

“You’re what?” He says, looking horrified. “Give me that!”

“Dude, no! Let me just–” You stand up from your seat to be out of his reach, hurriedly typing the name he’d told you into the search bar. “Look, I know the name Targaryen, that’s the Conqueror's name!”

“Yes! Aegon the Conqueror!” He cries. “You’re finally making sense!”

“What? No, I mean Daenerys!”

“Who!?”

“Aegon, sit back down!” You snap, and he pauses in his pursuit of your phone, stunned into silence by your firm tone. Slowly, he returns to his seat, picking up a fry to eat it. 

“Only because I want to,” he says childishly. 

You frown at him, shaking your head before looking back at your phone as it pulls up the results for your search. 

‘Aegon II Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Elder, was the sixth Targaryen king to sit the Iron Throne, succeeding his father, Viserys I Targaryen, as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.’

The search pulls up a picture as well, one of those terribly done paintings from the dark ages. It’s hard to say whether the Aegon in front of you looks much like the one in the painting, but he does have the same pale blonde hair and violet eyes. He’s a lot more pathetic than the portrait, too. He has the qualities of a wet cat, and you hate that it’s somewhat endearing. When you keep scrolling, you find a painting that can’t have been contemporary. This is a more detailed portrait, likely from half a century ago, where Aegon is covered in burns and lies dead in a carriage. 

You look up, meeting the wary eyes of the confused but un-burned man before you, and slowly sit back down. You know that he isn’t actually the king from nearly a millennium ago, but there’s an uncanny quality about him that makes you want to doubt the logical truth. His clothes, for one. You don’t know many homeless guys with such fine embroidery on their clothes. And there’s his features… you know them to be Valyrian, but rarely does anyone still pop up with the stark blond and violet irises. You remember well enough from your high school history classes that the Targaryen dynasty had those features.

“What does your little brick do?”

You blink, looking down at it and pulling up the contemporary portrait – part of you tells you not to show him the other. He scowls at it, but nods. “Seven hells, that’s not flattering. Where did you get this miniature? You have this and yet claim not to know me? What game do you play?”

You sigh. He truly doesn’t understand, does he? 

“Aegon, what year do you think it is?”

He rears back and regards you with more suspicion. “129 AC,” he says.

“And what were you doing before this?” 

“I will not tell you that,” he says. “You’re one of Rhaenyra’s spies, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who Rhaenyra is,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, Aegon, I’m not a history buff.”

“History–” He stops, and goes deathly silent for a long moment, as though the whole situation is finally processing for him. You wonder if it’s the stench of wine that hangs off him explains his slow processing. “What year do you think it is?”

You tell him the year, even tack today’s date on for him. He stares are you, and you can see his brain buffering yet again. 

“Seven hells,” he murmurs. You find you share a similar sentiment. 

He picks up his burger and begins to eat it slowly. He’s silent for a long while, eyes seeming far away as he contemplates. You try not to stare at him, but it's no easy task. 

“This is going to sound crazy,” he says after a long while. “But I believe I may have travelled… through time.”

“I’d say so, yeah,” you respond. At this point, it's the only explanation. You’d usually say something about eliminating all the impossible options, but that just doesn't work here. Time travel is impossible, or it should be. And it's possible Aegon is just suffering from a deeply intense messiah complex. But that doesn't seem right. Your instincts haven't led you wrong before, you’re not about to ignore them now. 

“What am I going to do?” asks Aegon.

You want to tell him you’re going to try to find a way to get him back to his own time, but you’re struck once more with the image of him burned and twisted, dead in a carriage. How can you send him back to his fate knowing his grisly end?

You take in the man in front of you, this historical figure you’d never heard of until five minutes ago, and bite your lip. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise him. “You… can stay with me until we do.”

That’s probably dumb, and you’ll probably regret it. But not more than you would regret leaving him out on the streets.

“I suppose,” sighs Aegon like he’s spoiled for choice. You get up to ask for a bag for your food, glancing back as Aegon chews sadly on his burger. 

You get Aegon back to your place, and he wanders into the flat ahead of you. You watch him go with a soft huff, rolling your eyes. If everything else hadn’t convinced you, his attitude is proof positive that he’s from the past. He has all the entitlement of a prince and none of the consideration of those around him that modern men have (sometimes) gained. 

Your flat isn't much, two bedrooms and mostly paid for by your university. You had a flatmate for a time, but their sudden withdrawal left you without anyone and the school doesn’t seem to have noticed. Aegon can stay in the empty room until you figure him out. 

Aegon’s standing in your living room, staring in wonder at the decor you’ve collected over the course of your degree, at your television, maybe he’s just looking at all of it. He’s turning in a slow circle, eyes narrowed. 

“This is very nice for a commoner. Very strange, but it is not… disgusting.” He pauses in his assessing, looking between you and the ridiculous tapestry you purchased one night after far too many drinks. “Who is this man?”

“Oh, he’s this guy from a movie,” you say, not really processing that he won’t understand what a movie is. He stands there, dumbstruck, while you go to put your leftover food in the fridge. 

“A what?”

“Just… don’t worry about it. There’s going to be a lot for you to take in, but with any luck you won’t be here too long.” You come back over to him, taking him in. He looks out of place standing here in his king’s threads. “Let me get you something to wear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he says, shifting and taking in your clothes. “Where is your father? Your husband?”

“My father is in my hometown, and I don’t have a husband.”

“You live without a man?” He eyes you suspiciously. “A whore?”

“Okay,” you say, gently grabbing him by the shoulders and walking him over to the sofa. “Sit here, I have some men’s clothes lying around. Do not move.”

Aegon huffs, rolling his eyes and sitting back with folded arms. You wonder, as you go into your room to find something for him, if he’s heard the word ‘no’ very much in his life. It wouldn’t seem that way, but sometimes the way he reacts to you telling him off leaves you thinking otherwise. He’s a bigger mystery than you’ve ever faced, but something tells you he’s worth it.

You emerge after a while to see him flicking through the book you’d left on your coffee table, frowning. He looks up when you enter, setting the book down. “Your home is peculiar,” he informs you. 

“I know,” you say, handing him the soft clothes you’d found. “Student housing is kind of a lottery. You can get changed in the spare room, if you want. I’m going to go shower. If you get hungry, your leftovers are in that big white box there, okay?”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” 

You watch him enter the near-empty bedroom and shut the door, heaving a heavy sigh before you go off to your own room. You don't shower. Instead, you pull out your computer and set out to learn all that you possibly can about Aegon. 

What you learn twists your stomach into knots so tight you feel that they would trap the nausea that grips your throat from escaping. Aegon was no saint, no, but what you find is that his life is steeped in tragedy. If he believes himself to be king now but remains unburned by his cousin’s dragon, he must be near the end of his life; but the worst of his troubles have yet to begin. 

It is strange to think of the pathetic and bratty man in your flat as growing into the role of a king, if one could say he ever did. He seems nothing but a lost young man, unloved but for the power he afforded his Hightower family. 

The reports on him are so extensive and exhaustive that an hour has passed before you realise you haven’t been disturbed. You get up from your desk, wondering if Aegon has somehow wandered out of your flat and back onto the street.

When you open the door, you’re greeted by the sight of your kitchen cabinets strewn open, and your cheap bottle of vodka now empty on the counter. Aegon is sprawled on your sofa, cradling a novelty ceramic beer mug you won in a pub quiz in your first year. 

“Seven hells,” you mumble, going over to him and snatching the cup from him to be met with his whining protests. You sniff the cup, nose scrunching in disgust at the acetone-y smell. “Not even a mixer…”

Aegon looks up at you, trying to reach for the cup and whining your name. At least he changed into the sweats. The King’s Landing University jumper rather suits him, actually. 

“Please,” he says, looking even more closely akin to a wet cat. He seems on the verge of tears. “You’re pretty, do you know?”

“I’ve heard,” you say, setting the cup down on the coffee table and turning to him.

He grabs your wrist, tugging you closer with surprising strength considering how sloshed he is. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. He almost sings your name. “Will you get me off?”

“Wh- Aegon!” You snap, tearing your wrist away. “No!”

“Please! Just your hand, you’ve got such soft hands!”

“Aegon,” you hiss. “No. You’re drunk. Even if I wanted to, that wouldn't be okay. You don't know what you're saying.”

Aegon pouts at you, falling back against the sofa and letting out a soft hiccup. “That doesn't make sense.”

“Maybe not in your time,” you say, grabbing him a blanket and laying it over him. “Gods- just- just try to get some sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning when you're fully sober.”

“I’ll die before that,” he says, snuggling up to the soft blanket with a ridiculous cartoon of a wolf on it. Another of your decor purchases you thought would be hilarious in the moment. You grab his cup and pour what’s left of the vodka into the sink before gathering up your remaining bottles and vowing to take them to the cabinet in your room with a lock. 

“Maybe. But if you vomit on my carpet, you’ll be paying the cleaning bill, your grace.”

The First Queen

Aegon II Targaryen x niece!Reader

Important notice: in this series reader has features of Ser Harwin, including Brown hair and tone of skin.

Previous chapter

First Chapter

Just like her mother, young Y/N was given the nickname, the Sunshine of the Castle. The girl was already 2 years old, by this time Princess Rhaenyra had another son, Luceris, Luke for his loved ones. The little prince also has dark curls, which are unusual for a Targaryen. Ser Laenor's three children do not look like him in appearance, it is too early to talk about the similarity of character, but despite all the gossip within the walls of the Red Castle, he spends all his time with all the children. Jayce teaches how to hold a sword and parry blows, walks with Y/N in the garden and helps catch butterflies, which are then carried to Helaena and the three of them look at them, and together with Luke watches the dragon egg, which is in the cradle.

Dragons. As one of the last houses to survive the Doom of Valyria, dragons became a family trait within House Targaryen, along with platinum hair and violet eyes. With the help of dragons, they captured Westeros, protected the dynasty, conquered new lands and connections, and conquered the skies. They say that the Targaryens are closer to gods than to people. But sometimes even the gods do terrible things, it all depends on the dragon riders.

Jace's egg has already hatched and a new resident, Vermax, has appeared in the Dragonpit. The dragon keepers say that even at his young age, Vermax avoids the cold in every possible way and tries to be close to other, older dragons. For example, Sunfyre.

The golden dragon belongs to Aegon and is similar in character to its rider. A nosy and nimble dragon cannot stay in one place for more than a day. The catacombs of the Dragon's Lair seem to be suffocating him, so his mood changes dramatically when the dragon is brought out to the prince. While the small dragon always approaches its owner with joy and excitement in its eyes. Dragon keepers would swear they've seen Aegon hugged his arms around a dragon's neck a couple of times.

  And his sister, young Helaena, during walks with her father in the dragon’s lair, shows a special interest in the Dreamfyre. The dragon also reacts calmly to her presence and even allowed herself to be touched.

The situation was different for peers, Aemond and Y/N. Their eggs did not hatch and the children were too young to understand what was happening. Some say that the year of their birth was cursed, others say that it is a punishment for the fact that the origin of Rhaenyra's children is called into question, but then what does Aemond have to do with it. The boy inherited all of his father's Valyrian features, Platinum hair and purple eyes.

Everyone thought. No, hoped that the eggs would hatch over time, but two years is already quite a long time. The firstborn of King Viserys 1 has already spoken to her father that if Syrax lays the clutch, then she is ready to give her daughter a new egg, she is even ready to give Aemond one, as a sign of goodwill for his mother.

Once old friends, now they meet only on certain occasions. The queen and princess, who once communicated warmly and cordially, now greet each other with cold glances and the proper courtesies that the royal court expects from them.

The relationship finally deteriorated when Lord Otto Hightower, the queen's father, was removed from his position as Hand. From that moment on, Alicent did not believe a single word of her former friend. There were a lot of lies, they flowed through the Red Castle like streams, flowing down the steps, parapets and entrevolts into the ears, penetrating into the common sense and hearts of all the inhabitants of the castle.

  Therefore, when the queen caustically noted that for some strange reason the Baratheon genes outplayed the strong genes of the Targaryens, Velaryons and even the Arryns three times, this only created another reason for new whispers in the dark corners of the castle.

Now the royal family will have to meet again and put on fake smiles for everyone around them. For the second time in a year, the king announced a royal hunt. Two moons ago they were dedicated to Prince Aemond, second son of King Viserys. The boy turned two years old and his curiosity about everything around him began to awaken. Especially to his father's model of ancient Valyria, he often walked around him, and Viserys sometimes helped him, lifting him into his arms and showing the figures closer. The prince especially liked miniatures of dragons, which he only had in toy format and could never emit real fire.

Today, the royal hunt was dedicated to the second anniversary of Princess Y/N, the king’s granddaughter from his beloved daughter. The girl was wearing a light blue dress. It reached to the ground, and there was a rectangular cutout under the neck to make the princess feel comfortable under the summer sun. The sleeves barely reached the elbows and their bottoms were framed by flowers made of silver fabric. The skirt of the dress was also inlaid with silver threads and small stones.

Despite the obvious colors of House Velaryon in the costume of the young heiress, the head was still adorned with now long brown hair, like the other offspring of Princess Rhaenyra. The hair shimmered brightly under the sun's rays and made it a warmer shade than it originally was.

In the clearing in the middle of the Royal Forest, tents were already erected, and the servants were urgently making final preparations. The united coat of arms of House Targaryen and Velaryon fluttered in the wind, and the standards fit tightly into the ground. The clearing gradually filled with guests, lords and ladies from different parts of Westeros. Any event in the royal family means the possibility of potential alliances, which is why many noble families were present today, despite other plans and assignments.

But all this did not worry the young Targaryen heirs. Three royal carriages were almost approaching the scene of the event. The first was the King and Queen's carriage. Alicent sat inside, heavily pregnant. The maesters said that in one moon the queen would give birth to another child for the king of the seven kingdoms.

On her lap sat the princess of Helaena. The girl played with her long platinum hair, some of which was braided. Her light green dress shone from the rays coming through the window.

Sitting on Viserys' lap was his second son, Aemond. The two-year-old prince was looking at pictures in a book about his ancestors, about Aegon and his two conquering sisters. He especially looked at the illustrations of dragons.

To their right sat Aegon, the prince was talking about something with his father, when the latter handed him a goblet of wine.

“Viserys,” Alicent shouted. "He is only six years old," the queen was unhappy with her son's affinity for wine.

“He is already six years old,” the king commented good-naturedly and with a smile. “Even more so, it’s diluted,” after these words, Viserys shook his head approvingly towards Aegon, mentally giving permission to try the drink. The prince took a sip and broke into a smile.

Suddenly the carriage hit a stone and the remaining wine from the goblet spilled onto Aemond’s book, covering Vhagar’s drawing with a dark red stain. Two-year-old Aemond was clearly unhappy with this and hit his brother with his small fist. The carriage suddenly filled with noise in an attempt to calm the dragon's offspring.

But this was not heard in the next cart. Princess Rhaenyra was stationed there with her husband Ser Laenor and two children, Jacaerys and Y/N. It was decided to leave the newborn Luke in the castle under the supervision of maesters and midwives. The little girl tried to fall asleep, burying herself in her father's side, while Jace, on the contrary, tried to start a conversation. For a three year old he was very active. And now he was trying to teach his sister to pronounce his full name.

“Come on, tell Jacaerys,” the prince had been trying for ten minutes.

“Jace,” the girl said and laughed, seeing her brother’s dejected face. Rhaenyra also grinned and turned to the first child, "Don't worry, she will say your full name someday, right now it's still hard for her, she's only two years old."

“I hope it will be easier with Luke,” Jace said and frowned. Y/N carefully approached him and carefully hugged her brother.

“Jace,” she said and smiled. Jacaerys was no longer dissatisfied and smiled, “Well, at least I’m her favorite relative.” Everyone grinned.

“Favourite relative,” Y/N said carefully and in syllables and hugged her brother tighter.

  The third carriage carried the rulers of Driftmark, Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen. They were discussing Laena, who had recently given birth. She gave birth to Damon's two daughters, Bail and Reyna. The babies were not even a year old. They now live in Pentos and due to the danger of travel for the girls, they were unable to come to King's Landing. Although before pregnancy, they visited Westeros and Leina became quite close friends with Rhaenyra. Eyewitnesses say that they often saw three dragons flying together. Caraxes, Vhagar and Syrax.

Now, when the clatter of the hooves of the royal horses can be heard from the clearing, the musicians line up holding the fanfare high. Golden chimneys shine and shimmer under the rays of the sun, and the coats of arms of the Targaryen and Velaryon houses hang proudly in a row. The sounds of music spread throughout all the tents, the invited guests head to the meeting place of the main persons of this holiday.

The carriages drove into the clearing and, to the deafening claps of the guests, the Royal Family went outside. The fanfare blew so loudly that six-year-old Aegon covered his ears in displeasure and there was some disgust on his face. But it soon disappeared, when he saw Rhaenyra’s only daughter, his niece.

It was unusual, but something attracted him to her. From the moment of her birth, Aegon made sure to spend time with her. He looked at her in the cradle and gave her small toys from his own collection. Hell, he even let her slobber all over him just to see her smile. And now, when the holiday was in full swing, he wanted to see her. But his mother distracted him.

The birthday girl of this celebration sat in her mother's arms as she spoke with the chief of the city guard, Harwin Strong.

“Princess, I also have a small gift for you,” Harwin said with a smile. He handed a small toy into the girl's hands. It was a white wooden horse whose mane was decorated with green, red and blue colors. Those colors that decorated the coat of arms of the House of Strong. The girl examined the gift and then poked it in Harwin’s chest, where that very coat of arms was and smiled.

“You have a bright child growing up, a rare combination of intelligence and beauty,” Harwin chuckled. Princess Rhaenyra also smiled and lightly patted the baby's head. Y/N and she really was smart, she often saw Ser Harwin and how he spoke to her mother. Therefore, the next phrase plunged the two adults into a slight stupor.

“Favorite relative,” Y/N squealed happily and stretched out her arms in an attempt to hug Harvin. Rhaenyra looked around sharply, trying to figure out if anyone had heard this phrase. Harvin was a little embarrassed, but in his heart he was pleased, although he understood that all this was wrong.

“No, Y/N, you can’t say that,” Rhaenyra said. The baby frowned and did not understand the reason. When she said this to Jace, her mother was pleased, but now she scolds her. Harwin asked her to cheer up the baby.

“How does the horse gallop?”

“Clunk clunk,” the girl imitated, picking up the toy, and then laughed with Harwin. After that, Rhaenyra smiled guiltily and went to the royal tent.

“I would like a niece like this,” said Laris, who suddenly appeared.

There was fun in the royal tent. Wine flowed in streams, and bards entertained the high-ranking guests. Y/N sat on the carpets next to other children and looked at the toy. The color red reminded her of her mother, grandfather and all the Targaryens. Blue was similar to the color of her father and relatives from Driftmark. And Green, who did green remind her of? His. Aegon.

The prince appeared in her field of vision and the girl smiled at him, stood up and hugged him. Aegon chuckled and sat down next to her.

“You,” Y/N exclaimed and first pointed to the green line on the horse, and then to his green tunic.

“Yes, Green,” said Aegon

“Gween,” Y/N repeated incorrectly.

“Gween,” the prince assured with a grin and thought for a couple of seconds. Suddenly an idea popped into his head and he tried to implement it. "Do you know my name?"

The girl thought and blinked her eyes a couple of times in confusion. Y/N frowned and shook her head in denial.

“I am Aegon. Can you repeat that? Ae-Gon,” the prince pronounced his name syllable by syllable and looked at her expectantly. After a couple of attempts the girl exclaimed

“Aegon,” Y/N started laughing and Aegon smiled from ear to ear. Jace, who was sitting next to him at the time, frowned and became indignant.

“Why can you say his name, but not mine,” the prince exclaimed displeasedly.

“It’s obvious, nephew, I’m her favorite relative,” Aegon said and Y/N smiled

“Aegon, Beloved Relative,” said the princess and buried herself in Aegon’s chest, hugging him with her small arms. The prince blushed.

“At least I still have Luke,” Jace muttered dissatisfied and continued to play.

Because at this point, I feel like I need one!

All current works are posted. Take a look at some future WIPs, if you're curious 😉

Thank you for the banner, @renhoeku !

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

FULL LENGTH FICS

ONE-SHOTS/HCS

KYOJURO RENGOKU

FULL LENGTH FICS

ONE-SHOTS/HCS

GIYUU TOMIOKA

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REQUESTS

PEACH'S 2K MILESTONE EVENT

Hey, you are not an embarrassment for not knowing how to do certain household chores/basic self-care. They do not come naturally to us. A lot of it takes practice! Maybe you had a neglectful guardian. Maybe you had one that was very coddling and never thought to teach you. Maybe you haven't lived in a place where these things were available to you or needed. Doesn't matter. It's okay to not know and far more common than you might realise.

That said, this website provides very simple instructions on how to do everyday tasks such as making your bed, using a washing machine, cooking different foods, washing dishes, taking a shower, etc. All you have to do is use the search bar to find the task you're struggling with, and it'll come up with what you need + other related how-to's:)

If you're having trouble navigating it, let me provide you with some examples:

How to clean dishes by hand

How to make your bed (with visual demonstrations of each step!)

How to fold clothes (with visual demonstrations of each step!)

How to take a shower & dry yourself off (also provides ways to shave beards, armpits, legs and genitals)

How to shave legs, armpits, beards, pubic areas, etc. (a more in-depth guide)

How to mop the floor

How to sweep the floor

How to swallow pills

How to make small talk

How to make eye contact in different situations (or how to avoid it while still looking natural)

It's also perfectly okay if these don't help or aren't appealing to you. Unfortunately, nothing helps everyone.

Demons slayer skits obanaiXmitsuri

I keep thinking about all those TikTok ers who do demon slayer skits (caitposh is my fav) and how they make obanai such as fuckn simp for mitsuri and goes crazy if anything happens to her. I use to think it was an exaggeration and yeah he’s in love with her but he isn’t that intense!

I was so wrong.

I actually forgot the part in the manga where he gets a letter from mitsuri until it got animated. She talks about how she made tanjiro pancakes and shit and he goes feral,

My boy was tweaking

He was trembling in jealousy over the fact that tanjiro even talked to her.