#Don't You Dare Do This Without Me

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty hints...mainly consensual

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Rhaena THOUGHT she was merely dismissing her husband's call for affection after an argument. Little did she know, her rebuffing had instead sent her petulant husband off on a tirade to burn an enitre village to ash.

.

Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ao3

Note: (THIS fic is intended to be a little mini-series. It's a piece of a plot I've been toying around with for a month or two. A Dark King Aemond story with Queen Rhaena grappling with her horrid situation. I do have an entire long form story/idea for this premise, that would start immediately after the war and span over several years. It would be much darker than this smutty snippet, like practically 'dead dove' really! But this little fun fic here entered my brain and I just figured I'd throw it out here as a mini 5-6 part thingy.)

So hopefully it's an enjoyable little something something!!

——

"I can't believe him, I can't fuc-" Rhaena's anger induced muttering died upon her tongue as she stepped into her shared royal chambers, her feet halting almost immediately as her legs stiffly stood right in front her three-year-old son. Little Aemon had run up to her as soon as the doors flew open, rushing to hug her skirts as he stared up at her expectantly.

What was he doing here? 

It was early, still the middle of the afternoon, she was certain that by all accounts her toddler should only be nearing the end of lessons now. Not dawdling around in her chambers to play-

"Darling! Sweetling, you are early," Rhaena schooled her previously set scowl into a bright affectionate smile, lilting her voice as her eyes took in the visage of her charming little boy. It was beginning to feel like such an effort, schooling her emotions from her son these days, seeing as he seemed to be so perceptive already. Any slight twinge upon her face, and his sweet little face would scrunch into a look of instant concern for his mother's wellbeing. Followed by the little hand he'd place upon her leg before he asked 'are you well, mama?'. 

It was a wonder where he'd managed to inherit such sweetness, surely not from his father. 

With a gentle sigh, Rhaena began to crouch herself down to Aemon's level, careful to keep her balance as her swollen belly carried a true weight to it now. Her back felt it, her thighs and her knees worked to compensate for it. Offset the weight she'd put on for the health of this third babe. Though she was eight moons along, so she was nearly to term. It was a motion she navigated with skill now, for she knew her body well and so she knew her limits when it came to this stage of her pregnancies. Soon enough she'd seat herself down or lay abed for an hour or two before the ache creeping along her calves worked down to her swollen feet. 

In the meantime, however, she placed a soft hand upon her eldest son's check and smiled warmly at him. Eliciting an equally dazzling giggle from her little boy, the adorable sound almost immediately soothed her heart. Allowing her to push aside the stresses of the day, the endless aggravation only her husband could muster within her, just long enough to focus in on her child. Meeting his gaze, she sought to pry just a tad, "what of your lessons in the library, sweet one? Have they truly concluded or have you managed to escape from your maester yet again?" 

At that, Aemon teetered on his toes for a moment. His hand absentmindedly holding onto Rhaena's shoulder for balance as he happily gurgled at the playful accusation. Gently biting his thumb with his free hand, a near bashful blush spread upon the apples of his cheeks as his attention was just as quickly drawn away. Distracted already, the mop of curly platinum blonde hair that reached the nape of his neck swished with the motion he'd made. His pale cinnamon brown skin glowing in the rays of the afternoon sun. 

Ah, dear...she did love her son dearly, but his mind did tend to wander off all too easily at times. If he was not obsessively focused on something of his interest, his mind was liable to dawdle. It was Rhaena who had to work to lure his attention back to her, nudging his chubby cheek with the caress of her thumb. Adding an accompanying prodding hum for him to both listen and follow the sound. 

Thankfully it was enough, her toddler was quick to turn back to her. His distraction, the glittering rays of beaming sunlight, had poured in through the paneled windows of the room. Illuminating everything within sight of the spacious solar, the various deep crimson red furniture, the large round oak table that was just off center. It was still covered with stacked books and rolled scrolls that Aemond had left out to continue analyzing later in the day. Toys still remained scattered by the fire upon the maroon fur carpet, Rhaena supposed Aemon had been sat there waiting for her return. Most likely playing there with his young wet-nurse, Elaya. 

The nineteen-year old maid from the Riverlands was currently sat by the fire in one of the cozier armchairs, rocking Rhaena's second born son, Daemion, in her arms. Now, Daemion shared many features with his elder brother, the same almond eye-shape and rounded bow-shaped lips…both a blend of their parentage. They held the same curly hair texture, although, Daemion’s little tuft of curls shone more silver than Aemon’s blonde in the sunlight. And Aemon’s skin was slightly paler than Daemion’s. His eyes were a shade of bright lilac as opposed to Aemon’s pale indigo. Daemion’s little button nose reminded Rhaena more of her own than Aemond’s, although the point at the end of it still spoke of the boy’s inheritance from his father. 

In either case, little Daemion’s eyes were levelled low as he relaxed in the arms of his wet-nurse. It was to be expected, Rhaena had only nursed the babe but an hour ago, so it was more than likely that her one-year old was simply feeling the drowsy calls of his milk-filled stomach. She'd left her younger son in the safe arms of her trusted wet-nurse perhaps a half hour ago when she'd initially left her chambers to visit her twin sister, Baela. 

In the case of her eldest, however, Rhaena knew well that the bright afternoon sun was an enticing thing to a young Targaryen. It promised games in the garden, playful training in the training yard...but most of all, it promised the possibility for dragon riding. Aemon was newly minted in the activity, having gone for his first flight with his father just a few days ago. It was all he would talk of, on and on he happily talked the ears off of anyone who'd listen. From Maesters to maids, to his aunt, Baela, to his uncle Aegon, and especially to his equally young cousins Maegelle and Laena. The two daughters Baela had birthed for her husband under Aemond's reign as King. All of a part of rebuilding their family's line, restoring the Targaryen bloodline. 

A bloodline Aemond more than single handedly destroyed himself...but Rhaena had gone down that road before. It never led anywhere, it never returned what she'd lost. 

It was easier to focus on what she did have. The title of Queen may have been thrusted upon her, as well as her first born son...but she'd found her stride. Settled herself into motherhood, her new station, her new title, her seat next to the throne. She'd even willingly taken to her main duty as Queen, found her own pleasure in conceiving her second and soon to be third child. She'd found her way to loving and at times controlling the psychopathic irate dragon she'd been made to call 'husband'. 

Besides, he had his moments, she supposed, he was always good to their sons and their nieces. He quite frankly adored all of the young children they’d brought into the world for House Targaryen. He was prideful over their very existence, especially that of their own two sons. He spent every moment in their presence showing them love and acceptance. Their young princes were dotted on ever since their births, they wanted for nothing. They were always made to feel wanted. A sense of innate yet nurturing compensation on Aemond's part, Rhaena was sure. He went wordlessly about it, but she could surmise that he wished to give his sons everything he did not have in his youth. 

Everything his own father failed to deliver. 

As seen by the flight he'd taken Aemon on, their little boy had loved flying upon Vhagar so much. The experience improved greatly by the fact that Aemond had eagerly taken the time to indulge their son of his own accord. Vhagar was the most magnificent dragon to her young son, his favourite of all that he'd seen in his little life. 

And that was why he'd loved that day more than any other. 

Though it was unfortunate, Rhaena always thought. 

For while she agreed, Vhagar was a magnificent dragon, a relic of times long gone...a living piece of history. But she couldn't help but think that her young Aemon had missed a truly glorious age of dragons, he'd never be able to meet his true Targaryen grandparents or two of his other aunts…the rest of his uncles. He'd never be able to see any of their dragons...Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys...so many lost. So many gone...and sometimes four years seemed just long enough to put the darkness behind her, to call it all history so that she might distance herself from the pain of it all.

But other times, it was just too blatant...just too obvious. 

So many members of her family were missing from this current family portrait. The chasms were there, Rhaena’s current life would always lack because of their absence. The vacant holes they'd made upon her person, upon her heart, forever cutting slivers away from her there. No amount of new Targaryen babes could replace them. 

They were all dead and gone...and she was made Queen of the rubble in the aftermath, wed to a kinslayer...the second usurper King. 

What a fate. 

And her little son knew none of it truly. 

"No, mama! I finished, my lessons are all done! Maestwer...um...maestwer Alfa...Alfadwer-" Aemon blurted out his little rambled response, finally recalling that he'd been asked a question nearly ten minutes prior. He'd taken so long, Rhaena's mind had drifted to far darker memories. Though as she'd learned through her experience with motherhood, it didn't do to dwell on such things with children around. They always noticed it...they weren't naive enough to miss it entirely.

"Maester Alfador, you mean," Rhaena gently corrected, smoothing a couple of his curls back behind his ear. 

Aemon was quick to nod eagerly, pointing towards Elaya to add, "yes and...and he told Elaya how papa went out!" 

'Out' was putting it mildly, for while Rhaena knew not the extent of Maester Alfador's knowledge on the matter at hand. She did however know exactly what sent Aemond 'out' of the castle just a few hours ago. As she recalled it, Rhaena had received the order from the Kingsguard guarding her door earlier this morn. 

See, earlier in the morning, before the sun had properly risen. Rhaena had awoken to a rather...regularly expected act, a warm delicious pleasure that crept up between her thighs in long wet languid swipes. The feeling seeped into her peaceful slumber until the aching arousal dragged her back into consciousness. Where she'd awoken to find her husband settled between her legs, his arms tangled around her thighs keeping them spread as he lapped at her quivering wanting cunt. 

Eventful as it was... she'd awoken to many mornings with such activities to pull her from her sleep. Aemond was always eager, he had been ever since he’d stolen her from the Vale and made her his wife. Only now the urges seemed heightened, especially since she began to reciprocate his wantings. The conception of little Daemion was the birth of these feelings...and now the conception of another babe barely a year later had shown the realm and their present court that their union was—mending.

Into what, exactly? 

Something feral and animalistic, surely. A complicated mess of attraction, love and loathing. 

In either case, once Aemond had brought her to the brink of ecstasy itself...he pressed a kiss upon her rounded belly and readied himself for the training yard. From there, she hadn't seen him. Assumably he'd returned to bathe and dress himself again for the early morning council meeting, but she'd fallen back to sleep in-between that time. Only normally, he would have woken her. Normally, they'd have readied for the meeting with his council together...she'd negotiated that right of hers from her husband after the birth of Daemion. As his Queen, she wanted a spot upon his council, to be an active participant in his rule. Time after time, whether it was another one of their vicious volatile arguments between them or an instance of a sweet and tender domesticity as they lazed naked within their bed. Aemond had spent the last two years echoing the sentiment to her, that she was more than just his broodmare. 

And then he did this. 

He removed her from the council this morning. Without even the gall to tell her himself, he left for the meeting without her and then left the information for their guard to relay to her. 

Of course, later upon his return, when Rhaena was properly woken. Bathed and dressed herself in a lovely velvety gown, a dark Targaryen red with intricate black lace linings. With added black lace and sewn jeweled dragons and floral embroidery woven along her bodice and the hem of her skirt. She'd been sat upon her favourite chaise, providing their second son with his early morning feeding.  

That was when Aemond burst through the doors with a look of exhaustion and a need for attention. 

A need she had no intention of abiding by as he sought to exclude her so soundly this morn with no warning once so ever. In all honesty it had tainted the way she'd sweetly awoken in bed with him, as clearly that was more than just his hungered need to taste her first thing in the morn. As it was just as equally his act of service to placate her for what he had planned on doing all along. 

As it happened, Rhaena had burped their babe upon her shoulder, before she swiftly handed him off to Elaya to take to the nursery. It was only once the young wet-nurse had left the room that Aemond moved for Rhaena. Taking long strides to meet her upon the chaise, she'd scoffed at him then, knowing exactly what he wanted. His heated gaze lingered on her still exposed bosom, lustful and wanting...though she was too annoyed with him to indulge him. 

Perky and engorged as they were, she knew he more than likely wished to lay with her. To rest his head upon her swollen breasts as she caressed his hair and allowed him to unwind from his otherwise stressful meeting. And perhaps, had she'd been present for said meeting...or at the very least privy to the information that had been shared or delved into there...she would have sympathized. She would have given him exactly what he wanted, she'd placate him, hold him as he sometimes wishes to be cuddled. 

But no, not then. 

Instead she pulled the buttons of her chemise closed, lifting herself up off of the chaise, she walked around him and made her way to the long ornamented wall-length mirror that stood on the northern side of their chambers. There she stared purposely at her reflection only, working to ignore the way his perplexed expression morphed into one of burning irritation. As Rhaena casually touched up the ends of a few of her long loosening twists, it would soon be time to undo them, free her curls and wash her hair. A task she'd take to later this evening before bed. 

In the moment, however, Rhaena focused on herself. The vast majority of her maternity gowns had elegant buttons upon the front of the gown, made for easier access to nurse her babe at any given time of the day. A stipulation that had always been a part of her marriage, Aemond would have no one but her to nurse their children. 

Though it was in that mirror's reflection that their argument had started. He'd made his way towards her, and she'd turned her dragon's fire directly upon him. Perhaps she'd been warranted in it, that inundated rage of feeling belittled and undermined felt all too consuming for her to ignore in the face of Aemond's condescending rebuttals. That she was apparently in no 'condition' to need to be present for council meetings, that she would be filled in on the most ‘pertinent information’ when needed. 

Perhaps it was her body now, so late in her pregnancy, hormones ran amok fluttering dangerous levels of heightened emotions throughout her. Though even still, she was certain of it. 

He was sidelining her...she could feel it. 

And she didn't know why. 

‘Confinement’ felt like such a half-assed answer. 

He was hiding things from her and yet he still sought rewards for such blatant behaviour. Was it any wonder she denied him those rewards, she was in no mood to lay tangled in bed with him. She was in no mood to allow him to nuzzle his cheek upon her ample chest while he caressed her belly and teased her core with soft presses of his slender fingers. She knew him far too well for that. The progression of him starting off by claiming that he just wished for her to 'set him at ease'. Only, within the hour he'd seduce her to the point of having her gown torn off with his cock working her with rough deep wanting strokes. 

It was something he could never resist, especially when she was this far along with one of her pregnancies. All he wanted was to be inside of her, to feel her heated walls clenched tightly around thick length. His ever constant need to sink into her warmth, soak himself in her wetness. All as he held her tightly against him, nestled between her thighs as he rocked into her with perfect rhythm. Set at a pace of his choosing, with his teeth grazing her neck marking her body. And that ironclad grip of his, enough to set bruises, enough to make her shudder with want…the sort of hold that prevented the mere idea of escape. 

Letting her go...it was never an option, it always seemed a foreign concept to him.  

This would have been no different and seeing as she was cross with him. She chose to stand her ground, to hold fast to her willpower against his handsome seductive charms. It was a hard thing sometimes these days, seeing as her body almost always wanted for him...a true traitor, really. Her body had always betrayed her when it came to him. Ever since her early days, even when she firmed her way through every bedding session. Even the nights she cried through the utter heartbreak of allowing the acts done upon her…in the name of her safety…in the name of her duty. 

It’d been disgusting then, to think that her body had still enjoyed it even when her mind screamed the opposite. The thought of taking in the cock of the man who’d killed her first love, her second love…her grandmother…and then her father. 

Perhaps some days still…she found herself disgusted with herself. Because she didn’t hate it as much as she should anymore…because she’d found her way to enjoying it all. 

Surely the Gods’ frowned upon her. 

Thankfully, though, in that moment, when she denied him she stood by it. And because she stood so harshly against his whims, he stormed out of their rooms. A dark thunderous slam of pent up aggression and building animosity, he needed a different outlet seeing as his preferred choice had repudiated him. And in that knowledge, Rhaena knew well that he'd only ever go to Vhagar next. 

In this world Aemond Targaryen had two sanctuaries. 

Vhagar…and Rhaena, herself. 

And if one would not have him…then he’d storm his way over to the one that would. 

That however, had been several hours ago now. Rhaena had spent the rest of her morning in peace, she'd bathed and dressed Aemon herself. It was a good distraction from her own frustrations. She broke her fast with her young son, watched on as he ate his oats and banana slices messily. Biting back small amused smiles as she corrected his loose hold of his spoon and dabbed a napkin to his grubby mouth. Nibbling on her own custard pastry, delicately sipping her spiced tea in between. Their meal had been nice, they'd spoken about the day's activities her son wished to partake in. The lessons he was most excited to learn about today, as well as his hope to go flying with his father again later in the afternoon. 

Seeing as Morning was still growing, now a much larger beast over the last four years...she was still too small for Rhaena to fly upon herself. Let alone for her to take her son up with her. No, the choices were limited. Aemon could either fly with his father upon Vhagar, with his aunt upon Moondancer, or his uncle upon Sunfyre. As his own little golden hatchling, Golding...was his current name for his bonded beast, the he-dragon was still far too small for him to mount. Though Golding was surely a temporary name as Aemond intended on convincing their son to choose a more suited name for the dragon. But that was a conversation they'd have to shelf for now. Aemon was still a toddler and so he quite enjoyed the name he'd chosen.

In either case, as Aemon's choice for dragons to fly upon was scarce...he would always choose Vhagar first, he was painfully enamoured with every facet of his father. Even the less than savoury parts of him. 

Once Maester Alfador came to fetch Aemon for his lessons to attend with his cousins, Rhaena turned her attention back to her younger son. Playing letter blocks with Daemion, reading to him and singing lullabies as he grew sleepy in her arms. She'd taken him and sat upon the balcony overlooking the courtyard so that her babe could take some sun and fresh air as he slept soundly, there she listened to sounds of the busy castle. The birds chirping in the wind and the distant roars of the dragons near the pits. 

And there she'd thought of Vhagar and her husband. There was so much she still wished to say, so much he'd simply chosen to walk out on just because he could. With the full freedom that came with the title of King...he expressed that power either as intelligently as he wished or as childishly as a man of four and twenty could.

But now with Aemon in her company once again, she'd have to deal with the boy’s father, Aemond later...once he returned from his petulant flight upon Vhagar... she'd deal with him then. 

Returning her focus to her son, she pressed a sweet kiss upon Aemon's forehead. Gazing down into his pale indigo eyes, a mirror of his father's own. In fact, in all honesty…Aemon's entire visage was simply a little mirror to Aemond's own. They shared the same face shape...or at least the pudgy round face Aemond once held in childhood. It was a good indicator for the features their son would one day mature into. The two of them also shared near identical noses and lip shapes. Although, Rhaena's own added genes had ensured that the tip of Aemon's nose was just a tad bit more rounded. His lips more rounded than Aemond's own plush sharp bow-shaped lips. 

It was in the little things, Rhaena supposed. How their son had inherited her curly hair, a pinch of her tawny complexion. Her soft curved eyebrows and her almond shaped eyes. 

Yet still, all in all, their son was the living embodiment of a namesake, one Aemond had purposely bestowed upon their first child. Either to flood his own ego or in a dubious if not blindingly obvious attempt to flaunt his supposed legitimate reign over the one he'd stolen. The one he’d slaughtered in order to usurp the throne.

Though surely the realm was privy to the fact that it was Rhaena's own blood that made their son and the rest of their children so pure, they'd made both a purebred Valyrian heir and a spare for the throne. A union that started with a form of forced coerced duty...now led by something far more complicated. 

Something that existed between the bounds of love and hatred. 

For the moment, Rhaena gave her son leave to return to his toys. He'd want to play with her, but she needed a moment to herself first. She'd only just returned from spending some time with her sister in the gardens, where she'd divulged a splintered version of the events of this morning. Not that it mattered really, Baela may have joined Rhaena in their unified ridiculing of their King. But at the end of the day Baela would remind Rhaena of the same fact she always had, that Aemond Targaryen was a fickle psychotic being…and that she should be careful to never push the bounds and risk her life in the process. 

Because she’d already done so years ago…she’d already made such attempts in the past. And while she still had her life granted to her, she did not walk away the victor in those situations. 

So in that way, her elder sister’s advice had always been sound…but it was hard to swallow at times. Seeing as Rhaena’s forced marriage barely compared to the near bliss Baela was lucky enough to experience with her own spouse. In their case, her union with Aegon was a long time coming, a match Baela had hoped for since she was six and ten. Though it was a shame that just as she'd gotten used to the idea of marrying their sweet and loyal Jace...he'd been plucked from their lives. 

Although Rhaena always supposed that as devastating as his loss was, he was spared in a way. For while he’d come to love his betrothed, his daring Baela…she…she still secretly harboured feelings for the enemy. The night before Viserys had died, Baela had spent one final night with Aegon before he was set to wed Helaena. She'd left that passionate encounter with the settling seed of a man she was most likely to never see again. The Gods, though, they could be funny in that way. Tearing the realm apart, bathing a family in blood and tragedy only for the fates to align yet again. For Baela to finally have Aegon as she once wished, just in time to make her not-so hidden pregnancy legitimate before it was too late. Only now both their hands were tainted. War had taken both Jace and Helaena. War had taken everyone away from the dragon twins except their lone grandsire, Corlys Velaryon and his now legitimized heir Alyn Velaryon. 

*KNOCK, KNOCK...KNOCK* 

The pounding knock at the door drew Rhaena back out of her thoughts once again, she was losing it slowly but surely. She really did need her husband to return, she needed to clear her own mind...she needed to focus on something, anything else. The knock was hard, blunt and formulaic, it could have only belonged to a member of the Kingsguard. So when Rhaena swung the door open to see Ser Willis Fell, she was not surprised to come face to face with his hardened visage. Expressionless as he was, the redheaded man simply stepped aside for a young squire to hold out a silver platter in front of their Queen. 

"For you, my Queen. A raven hath just arrived," the young lanky boy bowed his head, as a sign of sheepish reverence and respect. 

A small scroll. 

A missive.

How odd. 

Tumultuous as this reign had been over the years, at this point in time, nothing beyond yet another rebellion could warrant the urgency of a missive like this.

—

Part 2 coming soon...maybe Friday!

[sergle]

There's something about like. A certain genre of posts / Online Opinions about insecurity/depression/misery/complaints that are so unhelpful that they wrap right around to being straight up hilarious. and it's the ones that are more or less written to the tone of "Feeling bad? That's gross!" Like, just so you know, don't voice your insecurities/ have low self esteem, because that's offputting! You're gross and weird. Don't be insecure about that, though. That would be stupid if you felt insecure about people disliking you for being insecure. Not attractive. You should be thinking about being as attractive as possible. You shouldn't make comments about suicide, even if you're suicidal! Keep those thoughts entirely to yourself. Make sure nobody around you knows you're thinking about this. It would Make Them Uncomfortable. It's better to keep these thoughts in your head where they can fester. Don't post OR talk to friends with complaints about you feeling miserable or depressed. Tbh people who are sad/upset a lot? Kinda a red flag! You are probably miserable because you're a bad person and you've brought this on yourself. If you don't have friends, it's because you're awful to be around. Easy! Solved the problem for you. And no, there is no nuance to this, got it? So, make sure to feel bad about feeling bad, but don't feel bad about it, because, well, that's just gross. And annoying! You might've wanted your brain rotted thoughts to be Peer Reviewed, you might have just needed to vent- you might've been hoping for some comfort, to get things off your chest. Well, don't! Don't talk about thoughts or feelings that are negative with your friends, you'd be burdening them and that's only meant for THERAPY. #SponsoredbyBetterHelp #MentalHealth like, DAMN. that's so helpful. you're so good at helping. I um really liked the part where these are all hard and fast rules that encourage keeping feelings bottled up and keeping your friends at arm's length. That's really funny of you.

[flying-cat]

my brain, 7 times a day: you mean... you're... quirkless again?

[ray935sworld]

Again - Bez needs physical contact (according to the Bez episode of Migno's podcast - didnt watched it yet but saw it somewhere)

Now please consider this: He was properly to nervous to establish first physical contact with Vale in the early stages of being in the academy (relatable). But maybe he was already more comfortable with the other boys, Franky, Pecco, Cele, Luca, and Vale noticed. And realized what's going on. (Or he didn't and was worried that Bez didn't felt safe around him) So he started the physical contact for Bez to make sure he knows that he's okay with it

[liquidstar]

This is such a tangent btw but on the topic of guilt tripping and reblogs... I remember a few years back there were some terrible fires in Greece (and again this year, entire island villages are gone now) and at that time I had family who were caught in them. I can't describe the desperation I felt with these horrible things happening to my family and loved ones in my country. And I remember being frustrated and desperate with how no one around me in America really seemed to give a shit. I remember blogging asking people to PLEASE care please share something please reblog this link for mutual aid please think about the stories and fires etc etc etc. And the thing is I was very much in a state of grief myself, maybe not every word or action was perfectly reasonable, because I don't realistically expect everyone everywhere to care about every tragedy in the world. You can't. Emotionally it's just not possible, especially with all the stuff going on in the states rn too. Yeah it's a lot. It's not like I blog about every tragedy that ever happens either. I understand.

HOWEVER what I also remember was at this time there were a couple mutuals very clearly making vagueposts along the lines of "remember not everyone has the energy to care about everything in the world uwu" while I was posting about family who died and family who were drifting in the ocean for hours as their homes and loved ones burned. Listen. You have to understand sometimes that when a person in grief and frustration with things going on in their countries and communities impacts them very personally beg you to care... It's coming from a place of needing to see that care in the world in general. They're not holding a gun to your head Specifically saying you have to reblog the posts, if you don't have the energy just ignore it.

You don't have to go out of your way saying "um actually I can't care about the horrible stuff you and your family and your country are experiencing rn. I'm too busy focusing on my own stuff so can you be quiet or more reasonable with your grief thanks." Like. Just keep it to yourself then??? Have some fucking sympathy for other people and understand that maybe it's not always logical. The same way you don't have the emotional energy to think about every tragedy in the world, people who've been impacted by them often don't have the emotional energy to handle that alone and may seek somekinda community or solidarity. Idk. It's not about forcing shit on you sometimes it's not about you

[burningfaith]

next month me and my grandma are going to visit my godfather who lives in Spain, but instead of being excited (it's gonna be my second time abroad in my life) I'm anxious af, because even though I'm an adult I live with my parents and I need to tell my father about it. normal parents would - y'know - be happy that their children have opportunity to visit another country, but instead he's gonna be insufferable about it, because it's my mom's side of family and he despises my uncle. but what is he gonna do? kick me out of the house even though he promised that as long as I'm studying or working I don't need to worry about such thing, humiliate me as usual, tell me that I'm childish and spoiled or make my mom's life a living hell again? I'm aware of the fact that the longer I'm putting it off the worse his reaction is gonna be, but I'm just not mentally able to tell him that, because I don't know how he will react. I don't need any money from him, I don't have to use my phone during this trip (I dunno how the roaming and stuff work), I just want to be sure he's gonna behave like a proper human being towards my mom and my siblings when I won't be at home and not act like a total asshole while talking with me about it.

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kusakabe, dear, you're too beautiful to be saying that kind of stuff

[lovinnelily]

Y'all do know you can't make Jason be NOT white without changing his whole character, right?

For other characters, yes, because their physical appearance are not that influential in their story, on how they are viewed by people, on their personality formation — you can have a black/asian/indigenous/arab/brown/latino/etc Nico and yes, the hate he gets will have a undertone of racism but at the same time nothing significant on his story, motivation or personality will need to change. This is also true for other characters: Clarisse risks repeating the "aggressive WoC" stereotype but the character itself doesn't change.

This isn't true for Jason, whose main character trait is how he is perceived by others and how he showcases himself to others based on that perception. (specially with how little effort Riordan put on him besides making him perfect-er Percy who's somehow also weaker and less important than him).

Let's not pretend a black, Arab, indigenous, Asian, Latin man, etc, in the USA would ever be treated with the universal reverence Jason gets from New Roma, you can't have the illusion of perfection and most of all, of invincibility they have about him when you see him suffering racism or xenophobia in the middle of a mission. In theory, nothing in his life has ever gone wrong, that's his image, destined to be king, he is supposed to have no weakness on his peers eyes.

He is not trying to prove people wrong, he is trying to prove them right; he isn't worthy despite their prejudice, on the contrary, he only tried to make himself worthy to fulfill their expectations. He can't be a woman or an immigrant or have a visible disability or any other thing that strays him from a perfect ideal by western society standards, and be that same character.

[bereft-of-frogs]

It has been *erases chalk number* 0 days since I faced peer pressure to watch the clone wars (2008)

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓 Ch. 3

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smutty content mentioned, dirty erotic thoughts

Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: Aemond returns from his afternoon "activities" and is accosted by his mother in the halls of the Red Keep almost immediately, all the while he can't help but eagerly wish to return to his chambers...to return to his wife.

.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4 | Ao3 | 

—

Aemond did not dottle once he returned to the Keep. There was no need, seeing as he still had one thing on his mind. 

One person, really...one woman. 

Though it would seem that news of his exploits had already preceded him, the castle was a buzz. Huddled courtiers leading whispers from one corridor to the next. Careful to linger frightful gazes upon his moving form only to quickly flick them away as he matched them frigidly. Causing them to hurry on, to flee from their monarch.

They were so blatant with it. 

But he was a hurricane, he could care less. His long slender legs moved with the speed of a man possessed and he most certainly was. However, he was, to his dismay, just as emotionally tangled as he was before he stormed out of the castle earlier this afternoon. 

Burning that farming village down to the ground was meant to release this tension. His frayed nerves had blurred with a sting of pleasure when he'd willed Vhagar to breathe her magmatic green flames down from their perched swell in the sky. He'd felt a smoothing ache settle in the pit of his stomach, a roaring deep within the center of his cock. 

Truly…it was monstrous and he knew it. The swelling power that coursed through him as he ended all of those pitiful little lives. It was the sound of the flames engulfing everything, the sweep, the swoop of it. It was the screams...the terror...the horror of it all that engaged him in what he thought would be a form of great release. 

It had been before...her. 

Only now, it felt like a false climax. 

By the time he'd circled back over to King's Landing, his abdomen clenched with the returned weight of it all. The conscious memory of how his council had droned on in his ear during their meeting this morn. Harping on about the countless great Houses who would not truly bend to his will. While they had bent the knee in his presence, their loyalties were a falsehood. And as his council had so boldly reminded him, this handful of Houses were great enough that he could not simply burn and diminish them. He could not simply end the bloodlines of each and every single one of them, just because he wished it so. Dérogeance was barely an option in itself, though he had considered it. 

No, it was a fact that he needed their banners, he needed their men for any such upcoming battle that would require foot soldiers. 

Even still, it was an insult, the snide tones used during that meeting as if he were a fucking imbecile who hadn't even bothered to realize the fucking obvious- 

He should burn something else.

Deplete the levels of rage that threatened to burn outwards, harm those closely around him. This anger of his that was still so embedded in his veins...it was building and in truth, the flight had done nothing to calm him. The stench of death and charred remains had done nothing to ease his mind. And he knew worst of all that he needed it to. Above all else he needed to return home calm enough to interact with his children with due care. He'd barely seen them today, and he'd be damned if his sons' were ever brought up to view him as a monster.

As the rest of the realm continued to do so. Even after he’d done so much for Seven Kingdoms. He’d managed to restore trade, abolished Rhaenyra’s taxes, and had loans given out to rebuild holdings that had been destroyed during the war. The city gates had been duly strengthened as he’d overseen the initiative of constructing several huge fortified granaries set throughout the kingdom, filled and made accessible for the people. Ten new war galleys had been commissioned and more were still yet to come. 

And while it had not been his idea initially, his Queen had argued to the need to re-instill the respect of dragons amongst the smallfolk. As she’d once argued that he’d singlehandedly been responsible for the disillusionment the small folk now felt towards dragons. Although, while she’d hoped he’d find a peaceful way of going about it…he’d instead used terror. She wanted the dragon’s unchained in the dragon pit, and he did just that, riding amongst them upon Vhagar’s back. Purposely close, low to the city to remind them of the untouchable might of House Targaryen. 

Yet even still…

Even after all of that. 

Four years of what Aemond would like to consider held mostly acts of benevolence as far as he was concerned. Executions only held for those who’d earned it, torturing the likes of the conspirators responsible for the three royal assassination attempts he’d squashed under his leadership.

Aemond had been a good King…he had made it his mission to serve the realm to the best of his capabilities.

And yet…to them…to the smallfolk, to the Lords and Ladies of the realm…to his own wife…he was still nothing more than a kinslayer. 

The Kinslayer King. 

He was still a monster to them. As his wife surely still saw him as. Deep down, in her heart...he knew that thick black hatred for him still lived embedded within her like a poison tipped blade. Especially since she drew upon it far too often for him to ignore it. 

Perhaps that fuelled her behaviour this morning as well, he could always blame her for his mood at this very moment if that was the case. His lovely little wife, one half of the ever sought after Dragon Twins. It was by his hand that he made her the most powerful woman in the realm. He'd had her crowned as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it was by his hand that he made her the mother of the future heir to the Iron Throne. The future of their bloodline, of the Targaryen dynasty. 

All she need do was behave accordingly, give him what he wished for when he asked for it. 

As any other dutiful docile demure noble wife would. 

Instead, he chose a dragoness for himself...a right fucking stubborn little pin in his side. One that he'd unfortunately managed to find himself utterly entrapped by, enraptured by a woman who enraged him more often than not. But still, like a fucking hound, he still found himself crawling back to her. Desperate for the slivers of affection he could coax from her. To be so unequivocally wound around her finger as opposed to the opposite, the unseemly fact that it often felt like her body could solve a great deal of his mental woes. 

It was unheard of surely, more akin to an illness than the likes of genuine love. 

At the very least, he could tell himself so at times such as this. That he'd once spent his nights laying with a dark miskept witch in the days before his marriage, and even her visions, her less than shapely body had felt like nothing in comparison to plunging into the heat of his sweet curvaceous Valyrian wife.

Only sweet when she chose to be. 

Forever embittered with him if she could help it. 

Yet she seemed to come around on the pleasures of his company when it suited her needs. Somewhere along the way she’d welcomed the conception of both their second and now third child into her womb, even if she only reluctantly tolerated their first. Those particular behaviours had translated to everything else. With each babe welcomed to their family, it seemed she’d grown more bold and assured of herself. It started with miniscule requests; the return of her dragon Morning, access to the royal library, freedom to walk the grounds of the castle without him. But then her requests shifted into tactile demands. She'd demanded her spot on his council. Was in the making of demanding a complete overhaul of the Keep itself, she wanted the Seven pointed stars removed from the Great Hall and all public view as his mother had once initiated the placement of. She wanted to begone the wearing of stark dark Hightower green, to forgo the dozens of green gowns he'd had her fitted for as she'd always called the colour 'hideous, drab and disrespectful to their family name'. She had hated having to swaddle their babes’ in green blankets and wraps, and she hated to see the 'false' green Targaryen banners hung around the castle. 

As she'd put it...she was no member of the blasted House Hightower. She was not a Green Queen, and he could forget the notion of ever referring to her as such. 

Aemond had recalled chuckling at her indignation, retorting if she’d rather be recognized as a ‘Queen for the Blacks then.’

A remark that earned him only the coldest of responses, ‘no. Because there should no longer be any blacks or greens. The majority of both factions have perished. There should only be House Targaryen, as it once was. Before your mother declared war against a house she was lucky to have even wed into.’ 

That hatred for his mother…that still remained. 

Though as time went on, Aemond couldn’t find it in him to defend his mother’s prior actions. Not when he could finally see through them. Instead, he found himself far more enamoured with his Queen’s bold fire. It made him think that perhaps he was underestimating his feelings for her, at times her defiance brought him great sense of joy. In fact, more often than not, it most certainly did. 

Even now, he nearly smirked to himself. Recalling the way she'd crossed her arms over her swelling belly a few days ago, proclaiming that she wished to return to wearing true Targaryen colours. Reds and black, the true House they were meant to represent. 

She was right, of course. 

Her statements had set a fire beneath him to see her demands met as soon as possible. Seeing as the Dance had long since ended, and in truth he had no interest in being remembered as the Green King Aemond Targaryen. Kinslayer King that he already was, he'd facilitate his reign by wearing their family's trueborn colours. By having pride in their Valyrian ancestry, their history and their culture. He did want for those things...it was his right to have them. He'd just never thought to put them forth so front and center as of yet. 

See, it was in those instances of defiance that he found himself allowing it. She'd coax what she wanted from him when he was at his most vulnerable. Her pale lilac eyes gazing upon him, freezing his heart in place, her long pale lashes batting daintily at him. As they lay in their bed, her beautiful body bare to him. Her plush thighs spread for him, her leaking wanting cunt taking him in full as her legs wrapped around him. By the Gods, he could envision it all so clearly as he’d fallen victim to this embrace over a dozen times. With the way her hands always clutched onto him...welcoming his cock to delve deeply within her. It was the easiest way for her to get exactly what she wanted from him. 

Even if that was only a fraction of the time. For, when the roles were reversed, she somehow still managed to keep her wits about her with her answers. And out of their marital bed, well, he could never have her simply follow his instructions when he gave them. It was much too difficult it seemed to simply follow his command, as her King, as her husband—if it had nothing to do with their bedchamber.

The inequality of it all, truly, in all instances his word should be law. If he wished to have her company, he shouldn't even have to say the word. 

It should be a given. 

It should be happily offered to him. 

His mind still burned with the churning thoughts of his wife and that of his council. As the wind whipped past Aemond as he rode on horseback, only adding to the windswept appearance of his once neatly made singular plait. Ruffling his black leathers as he rode through the streets of Flea Bottom with such vigor. Dismounting his horse in a smooth yet rattled hurry, jumping off before taking large strides to the western entrance of the Red Keep. Needing no greeting or gesture made for the guards standing on duty to push the doors open for their King. It was there that he stomped through the halls with the falsely made cool collected saunter he'd perfected in his youth. 

The swirling aggravation that clouded his every thought, his body felt taut, itching to strike should anyone stand in his way. It was the look upon Rhaena's face earlier that still remained in his mind. Etched to his memory, he couldn't help but recall the look she'd made when she  denied him what was his by right. 

To simply lay with her in their marital bed, with his head nestled upon her ample bosom. 

It was a simple request. 

He only wanted a moment of peace with her. To feel the soft warmth of her body laid against his own, wrapping his arms around her hips. To rest his hand upon the taut yet soft curve of her swollen belly, feeling the life they'd created growing within her womb. Aemond only wanted to listen to the calming rhythm of her heart beat, to deeply inhale the sweetness of her floral scent. To feel her nimble fingers deftly comb through his hair in soothing strokes as he nuzzled his cheek against her pillowy bare chest. To feel the sun warm their skin as they ignored all else in the world and just…

In truth, he only wanted a peaceful hour alone with his wife. 

Instead, her beautiful face had frowned in defiance. Razored verbal attacks were levelled at his feet as if he'd wronged her in some way. 

He had not. 

Did she think he paid so little attention to her that he would not notice the discomfort she was in. The last few weeks of council meetings were waning on her. Waking for the meetings themselves was something she'd grown to dislike in her current condition. As well as the long walk it took to arrive there, the stairs she had to descend and climb back afterwards. The fact that she clearly found the chairs in the council room much too rigid and hard to sit on for an hour or beyond, no matter the cushion used to ease her bottom or her back. There was the fact that she'd often need to excuse herself every time the babe pressed against her bladder, every time she felt overheated or a bout of morning sickness fell upon her. And her feet were often swollen by the time she returned to their chambers after every single meeting. 

Aemond was a keenly observant man…perceptive to the plights of those closest to him. As far as he was concerned, Rhaena was eight moons along in her pregnancy, nearly to term. That was simply the fact of the matter. Confinement for most noble women would have begun at least a moon before now if not even sooner. And here his wife was fighting him on the very chivalrous kindness he'd done her. 

The absolute decency he'd offered her as a proficient loving husband and father to his children, any other woman...

He'd paused when he caught sight of his Lady mother just up ahead, fucksake, he sighed to himself. She was commingling with the Grand Maester, Orwyle, when her eyes caught sight of Aemond moving with assurety. There was a member of Aemond's chosen Kingsguard walking five paces behind him, Ser Rickard Thorne. As Aemond picked up his pace, so did his guard. He did not need to look back towards the man to affirm his assumptions, "my wife, the Queen. She is in my royal chambers, yes?"

A quick beat was all that was needed before the older man intoned, "yes, your grace. I was informed that she returned shortly." 

As expected.

As he wished it-

Wait a minute…returned?

In an unconscious effort to prolong the obvious interlude that would be conversing with his mother. Most likely on the events that had just occurred…burning a small village and that of the repercussions of it. 

Aemond instead, glanced back at Ser Thorne and asked the question that formed on the tip of his tongue, “returned? From where?”

Seeing as his little wife was meant to be in confinement…the mere fact that Ser Willis Fell saw fit to even let her vacate their chambers was a problem in itself. She was meant to be resting, slowing down her daily activities…she was meant to be waiting for him. 

“Your grace, I was only informed that the Queen took to the gardens for a stroll. A short one, with her sister, the Princess Baela,” the knight quickly blustered up a suitable response for his King, surely hoping his slight error would not be seen as incompetence, “Ser Willis Fell and Ser Rickard Thorne were with her, of course. A proper detail guarding her grace.”

“But of course,” Aemond intoned with a bitter tang, it would seem he’d have to clarify the meaning of ‘confinement’ not only to his stubborn wife but as well to the guards of his sworn Kingsgaurd. 

As he made his way down the great hall, the inevitable drew near. With his mother bidding ‘good day’ to the Grand Maester of which she was conversing with, her large brown eyes then locked on to Aemond. Those eyes of hers, they'd always had the power to still him the moment he felt their pressure laid upon him. Her gaze pierced through him in an instant. It was instinctual within him to heel at the sight of her disappointment, the child within him who was still so eager to please her. That child he once was, the little boy who was almost always met with a grim vulnerable look in her eyes, her lips already set to frown as they always did. 

There was no pleasing her...that was a lesson he’d learned with time. Though he was sure she had her reasons this time. It was an often occurrence over these last few years, especially ever since he took his cousin, Rhaena, to wife. But this was not the time, his mind was far too preoccupied. Did he outright wish to ignore his mother entirely, no, he knew better than that. So he did greet her presence with a meaningful nod, but he did not intend on standing by to be lectured by his mother like a boy of ten years of age once more. 

“Mother,” he nodded.

"Aemond," the dowager Queen gritted back, ah, so she most definitely sought to admonish him. With all the force of a verbal lashing that would befit the crime of tripping up a sibling or something lesser, so unimportant. It wasn't until he aimed to rip his gaze away from her, side stepping past her, that her voice grew more assertive, "Aemond! You cannot ignore me. What have you done?! When your reign already lives in a constant state of peril, you move to make more foes rather than alliances?" 

The common tongue, it felt so utterly grating at this moment. Especially coming from her...how his mother itched to remind him of his Andal roots. 

With an irritated sigh, he pursued his lips down at her, "believe me, mother. I am in no mood for this," the words rang out like a gravely hum, anymore inflection and he would have seethed them out. As his body already ached with annoyance, that quiet rage he'd managed to tamp down as he rode back home...it was rushing to the surface once again. The very rage that eased him into the idea of burning fields and small villages as he wished in the first place. 

Though it was unfortunate to say that Alicent Hightower was never one to back down from such a warning. Whether it was a verbal one or a quietly made physically looming one standing before her. Especially when it was her own offspring who permitted it, it was as if she could not see the full grown men her little boys had become. She still viewed them as children, attached to her will. Still in need of her guidance in some way, she still fought to remain so relevant in their eyes. To hurry her shorter legs along, to match Aemond’s long steps just to keep in stride with him, "I am not concerned with your current disposition. I speak with importance. Your allegiances with the North are already wavering, it is true, your council did not lie to you. The point was not made to berate you-"

Agh…such repetition once again.

"Mother, I know," he tried to cut her off sharply, in hopes of ending this admonishment before it could properly begin. But it felt as if there’d been no effect. Like a shattered piece of stone that simply would not burn no matter how hot the flames blasted upon it. 

His heart thumped violently within him. While the heels of his mother's flats only stomped with all of her weight, as she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. Her eyes no longer remained pinned to him, she instead focused on the hall ahead. To give the appearance of a simple casual conversation being had between a mother and her son, "you know, do you? As you currently threaten our bonds with the Westerlands. If you know all this already, then what is to be done? Four years have passed, and you've offered the North nothing of note. Footholds and trade agreements. Clearly they want something more substantial. The North still remains loyal to Rhaenyra's faction even in death, her spirit commanding their stale oaths. They would sooner ride out to face you in record numbers in the name of honour to another. Their loyalty to the name of Jacaerys Velaryon. As opposed to raising their banners for you and any war you might call them upon."

'I KNOW! I FUCKING KNOW!' is what he wanted to roar aloud, damned the look that would fall upon his mother's visage. Damn the fucking peasants who would have heard him, Lords and Ladies be damned, he was at his wits end. He'd had enough for one day. He only needed quiet solitude to think properly, to draw up real plans to secure the North truly to his side. Pacify the damage done during the war…make his mind up on what to do with the Westerlands…

But if all anyone wished to do was drown him in information he already knew-

Grunting as he rolled his shoulders, his eye blazed down at his mother. Tilting his head as he nearly spat his retort, "yes yes and all that stays their hand is their loyalty to their Queen, Rhaena Targaryen. As well as her sister, Aegon's wife, Princess Baela Targaryen. Yes, mother, I know. I chose them strategically. The North will not attack us. And the likes of the fucking Dowager Lady Johanna Westerling has already proven she has no mind for war or true retaliation," Aemond's jaw was grinding as he purposely focused on the corridor ahead. Ignoring the nobles that spotted a heated discussion between their betters as they passed through the halls. 

Making their way up several flights of steps, Aemond found the world around him to blur slightly, the voices around him numbing to the faint mumble of incomprehensible jargon…then focusing in. He shook the uncomfortable feeling from himself, rattling his neck slightly, as he finally turned the corner with his mother. Heading towards his royal chambers, he lowered his voice to a smooth yet dull tone, "see, mother. I'm not some hapless fool. I know the North needs placating. I've known it since Aegon abdicated the throne to me, since my first son was born and then my second...."

There he took another silent moment to breathe deeply, unlatching his hands from behind his back. This level of fury and restlessness, it was convulsing within him, violently transforming into this warped unsettling thing in his gut. Soon enough, unconsciously he found his right hand had sprung up towards his throat. His thumb found comfort in stroking the old vertical scar that spanned down the side of his jaw, spanning the length of his neck.  

Such a clean scar…a straight mark. 

His deranged love for the wound that was given to him by his once caged bird, it was more of a cozy reminder than a haunting. And his chest felt as if heavy laid bricks rested against his heart, it was this reminder of the old slash his wife had once handed him that seemed to calm him. The confident fact that he’d have her in his midst soon enough. And with that certainty in mind, it was becoming far more difficult to not simply dismiss this conversation and leave it as he wished, because he could. Because his mother could no longer order him about as she once did. 

No one could. 

No one but-

She was not present in this hallway. 

His dragoness…

He’d join her in their shared chambers soon. 

He'd much rather be dealing with her than his mother at the moment. 

Rolling his jaw, he knew he had to regulate his emotions. He could not explode, not here, not with his mother. With his dragoness, it was different, it felt mutual. She would fight him on anything...but his mother, she was just a woman. An older one grappling with the changes of the world, the changes in her station. The utter power she’d lost and had failed to ever regain…

Breathing in and out, Aemond continued on, "this is a task that needs planning, precise planning. Does it not? Treating with the Northern Houses, worse yet possibly offering marriage pacts and or true dragon allegiances. I have not taken this lightly. But Targaryen blood is scarce now and I cannot waste it so eagerly. Sending mine or Aegon's own offspring North just to appease a few sour Lords. The bloodline must be secured first and foremost, and other alliances may be needed in our future."

"Aemond-" she'd started, the lacking tone had already informed him of what she might say next.

But he'd given her no room to continue, "mother, when I say that I've considered everything, know that I have. When I say that I am devising a plan that may yet gain the North's favour,  before we are set in a truly perilous situation...you must take my word for it." 

"A perilous situation," Alicent’s frown set deeper, her brows creasing as her eyes sharply fell back onto her second born son, "and was it peril that emboldened you to burn the town of Oxcross? Peril or the basest peak of your petty fury at your own humiliation? That is what the council meeting settled within you, is it not?" she stood firm, her feet planted as they were now safely standing in the royal wing of the castle. With her hands delicately folded in front of her emerald green satin gown. Her fingers itching to fidget with the encrusted jewels there, if only to mitigate her own emotions as she boldly asked the question so few would ever dare to. 

Though she seemed to forget that she held little power over him now. 

Dowager Queen mother that she was. 

Aemond slowed his own steps, eager to end this encounter out in the hall before he stepped into his chambers to face the other bold woman with whom he shared his life with. 

"Mother...careful now. It’s uncouth to pry," his voice lowered to the base of his throat as he slowly stepped towards her, his polished riding boots clacking against the hard stone floors. Echoes permeating the otherwise empty corridor. It was there, he could see it, at the end of the hall. Almost glowing with a direct ray of sun beaming upon the door…Aemond could see the guards there. At his chambers, his sanctuary away from all of this. It was all so close...yet his mother stood in the way like a blockade of the most egregious kind.

"Is that what you're doing now?" Alicent hummed darkly, twisting her own lips in the process. The auburn waves of her unbound hair falling back behind her shoulders as a look of doubt and subtle disgust fell upon her face. She looked him up and down along his form, the wordless gesture of it all was all too clear even before she spoke, "my own son, threatening me once again. First with your wish to rule the Seven Kingdoms, to snatch what was rightfully your elder brother's. What we fought for here, the freedom, our very lives. And then you made the unilateral decision yourself. To bestow upon the two of you, wives that were of the blood of our enemies. The man that almost killed you!"

Exhaling with the whole of his body, he maneuvered around his mother, rolling his stiff shoulders, flexing his fists away from her. Stroking that scar of his, the one that laid just opposite of the one that nearly severed his head that day. Above the God’s Eye, when the Gods’ saw fit to save his life instead. 

No…when Gods’ left everything up to the will of pure luck itself. 

Daemon Targaryen had almost killed him that day…his uncle would have taken them both to oblivion.

And now here he was stroking a scar made by that man’s own daughter, the daughter he’d chosen to take to wife the very same year.

His mother surely knew as much, even as she watched his actions with perplexity. Surely clueless as to why he felt the need to knead his wound as he did. But it was a precaution taken on his end. Because he could feel it building within him, something dark within his soul. Doing his best to tamp down the feeling, trying to remind himself that he could not unleash it here. He couldn't harm her...

However, he could halt this line of questioning. Straightening himself, he stood to his full height, towering above his mother. He watched as the mix of emotions filtered across her face, as the fearlessness in her eyes began to waver. Not that he would ever lift a physical hand against her. But she did doubt him now...ever since the war...ever since Lucerys...she did doubt him. 

She thought him a monster...just like all the rest. 

"Do not forget yourself, mother," he eyed her with cold precision, watching as she took one step back and then another. Her hands were trembling just a bit as he in turn settled his hands behind his back, hardening his countenance in the process, "Aegon handed me his crown, that was his choice, he knew he was not fit for it. But in the case of our wives, no other would do. The war depleted the amount of dragon's blood in the realm. It is my goal to replace what was lost, that cannot be done with any old bride. Andal or otherwise. Both Aegon and myself needed Valyrian brides. And we have since brought forth several trueborn Valyrian children to the crown, to this house. House Targaryen." 

Every statement he made was punctuated with a step towards his mother, so that he could see the understanding settle in her eyes. Watch as her gaze fluttered about his face in a course of action that seemed desperate to find the little boy she was so used to squashing beneath her. The boy she once used to serve her needs first then looked to appease his own. 

But that boy was gone.

He died during the war.

In some horrific form of symmetry or horrid cosmic karma, that little victim of a boy that lived within Aemond had died the day Lucerys Velaryon...Strong had died. Where the anger and pity that swirled within him in a mix of blinding fury and flurried uncertainty. That fury is what led him to chase his young nephew and his tiny dragon up into that storm. With the sole wish of killing the young boy at the forefront of his mind. It was never meant to be a game to him...the sick thrill of it all, terrorizing that child as he gleamed all of the joy in the world from the power he'd felt.

It had all been so glorious.

Justice...for himself, finally delivered.

There was no hesitation, he did not wish to fall back.

Until it happened... he'd bade Vhagar take her moment, strike while the young pair were unprepared. Only then did uncertainty finally strike at Aemond's core...only once he'd done the deed.

Once the boy was dead.

Scattered strewn limbs tossed to the sea...the rest devoured by Vhagar.

A fate worse than a simple death, to be of the blood yet eaten by a dragon.

A cardinal sin, surely.

The act of killing one's kin...the act of severing a line of dragon's blood, no matter how thin. It wouldn't have mattered if he regretted it...the life was already lost. Rhaena had once screamed something along those very same sentiments towards him once before. The truth of the matter had settled there.

And now, looking back at it all, he knew it just as well. The death of Lucerys was the day Aemond knew he could never return to living beneath the will of another. Not as he had existed before...not beneath Criston fucking Cole's will, or his mother's, or his grandfather, and certainly not beneath Aegon in that fashion.

He was King now.

His word was law.

To be obeyed above all else.

Aemond finally relented his stalking pursuit, his mother seemed concerned enough. And truth be told he only needed her attention for one final statement, simply rasping the words, "I've never threatened you, mother. I've only ever stated what is. When I brought the dragon twins here, I stated they'd be made to wed myself and Aegon. It was a decision I made as King, not a Prince, not Prince Regent...but as the highest power in the realm. It was not to be argued with, and most certainly not to be overturned by you or my grandfather. The same could be said about this matter now."

Finally, stepping around her, he made his way towards his chambers. Relieved by the simple fact that he could not hear his mother's footsteps following him, instead he heard her voice trembling off, "and with no one left to guide you any longer...you'd what? Rain ruin and death upon all the land, nobles and smallfolk alike? When you feel insulted? Or denied…wronged in some way? Or just because it makes you feel strong?"

"Neither...or all of the above, feel free to choose for me. Clearly you’ve already decided," he'd shrugged carelessly, not bothering to attach an emotion to his mother’s otherwise heartfelt deliverance. Nodding for the two guards at his door to unlock the room and give him entry. The respectful taste that would normally sour in him, to bid his mother 'good day' or to at the very least 'excuse' himself had evaporated. He'd instead left his mother alone in the corridor, with his back turned towards her, entering the bright sunny haze of his chambers with a breeze of warm Spring air wafting towards him.

His sanctuary. 

Within that breeze was the familiar scent of his wife, sugary sweet wild berries mixed with a bright lilac air. It was Rhaena's signature scent, a mixture of the fragrant oils, soaps and creams she always used to ready herself.

Gods, how he'd missed it.

It’d only been a few hours away from it…but he’d wholeheartedly missed it.

—

Notes: In-universe backstory, that will be fleshed out in the full longform fic that's coming later on. The scar that Aemond is touching so fondly in this chapter was given to him by Rhaena! (there's more detail about this incident in the notes on Ao3!)

[magentagalaxies]

vent incoming:

got my grades back for my courses last semester and most of it was to be expected, mostly A's, maybe an A-, etc. but i honestly can't get over the fact that my independent study (the buddy cole documentary) was for some reason given a B. like sure getting a B isn't bad per se, I usually get at least one B every semester and i honestly don't really care about what my exact gpa is as long as i can graduate, but come on. this school put me through months of psychological torment over this project and didn't even have the nerve to give me a B+??? i'm still coping with the self-doubt they forced on me and this bullshit is not helping!!

[handkinkbis]

It's hard to deny that most women don't seem to care about protecting their own rights. Far right parties might be gaining popularity worldwide, but feminist gains are a given, right? It's better to be liked for speaking out against your own civil rights movement than to identify yourself as a feminist and possibly receive vitriol for it, right? A man might say something mean online, right? It's safer to fuse with the wallpaper than to stick your neck out by calling out the misogyny you see, right? Maybe it's a task for someone else - some woman other than you. And life gets in the way of such trivial things as the preservation of your own rights.

You have no love for other women because you've failed to properly love yourself as a woman. It's the self hatred that turns you away from the sisterhood and towards seeking allegiance with women's oppressors. Conform and obey and you might get some of your basic needs met. After all, scraps are better than nothing and you're just trying to survive. You might even receive love from a man if you perform femininity in just the right way for him. Then you'll finally be worthy once he bestows worthiness onto you, right?

But that's all right. I'll love and adore women on your behalf. I'll praise women on your behalf. I'll love both of us on your behalf. I'll fight for both of us, so that one day you might discover that you're worth fighting for.

[girlbob-boypants]

"I think ff14 and eso have better new player experiences than gw2"

Taking hallucinogens before playing gw2 doesn't give you an accurate experience of the game??

[thislittlekumquat]

I like how millennials who see other millennials on the internet saying "no one under the age of 18 should be online" think that that's a serious proposal. I say that shit all the time and then proceeded to get into an argument with my mother last year over the fact that my uncle not allowing my 17 year old cousin to have his own email account or social media in 2023 was not going to help him avoid bullying, but rather the opposite, and that it was important to give kids access to something in mature and guided ways so they don't go crazy with it as young adults, the same with any other activity or consumable that adults tend to restrict minors' access to.

You all have GOT to learn how to acknowledge that teenagers are deeply annoying sometimes, because you are always going to find some people annoying, no matter what groups you're each part of, and you have to practice having empathy for them anyways. Saying teenagers are never annoying uwu is not accurate or helpful. Cracking extreme jokes about impossible scenarios and blowing off the steam of annoyance is fucking normal, you weirdos. Because at the end of the day, teenagers are just like the rest of us: annoying sometimes, but human and valid and doing nothing wrong just by existing.

[itsnotacostume]

yeah <3

[girlthativealwaysbeen]

sometimes my bestfriend is like an angel in disguise istg