#they blamed a WOMAN FOR HER ADULT SON'S ACTIONS

[bonebabbles]

What IS a redemption arc to these writers, exactly?

Because the ONLY thing that Clear Sky has changed about his behavior, by A Forest Divided, is that he's not actively murdering people. He's controlling. He's a bully. He's misconstruing the words of the StarClan cats to create a justification for why he should be in power.

He's even physically abusive again when he gets upset, later. And that's not even counting his sadistic, self-absorbed behavior in sequel books.

We keep getting passages like this;

Which keeps turning his murder and abuse into "Just A Little Mistake," explicitly PART OF LIVING.

Ghosts are tumbling out of the fucking heavens to powder his ass, forcing his mom to forgive him for absolutely nonsensical reasons, saying that killing Rainswept Flower was "predestined" and "just an accident" and he had no control over it, anyway(???). And now, here is the hollowed-out shell of Storm, who was driven out of the Clan while pregnant because Clear Sky's actions were getting innocent cats MAULED AND KILLED, insisting her abusive husband's behavior never drove anyone away and they just had their own paths to walk.

So what IS a redemption arc supposed to be to these writers?

If Clear Sky was NEVER actually that bad, in the 5 books we saw where he's a controlling, power-hungry monster who constantly resorts to physical violence, that what IS the change he needs to make? If it's both a mistake he's totally learned from, YET ALSO he's never done anything wrong??

Do you SEE how these are contradictory ideas? They can't exist together. It's like the writers are just grasping at whatever insane bullshit they can think up and throwing it on the page, because at the end of the day, what they do is write Fundamentally Good and Fundamentally Evil characters.

Because Clear Sky is one of their Fundamentally Good cats, he has nothing to confront. They try to say "the guilt is the worst punishment for him!" and also "He shouldn't feel guilty for anything he did!" and it leaves us with absolutely nothing.

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

@ ppl in the notes: bao si's kingdom was attacked by king you and she was given to the king at age 13 as a peace offering to get him to stop warring with them. she was said to be very depressed all the time, probably because of the whole "forced to marry some guy who kept killing all your countrymen" thing.

king you offered money to people who could make her laugh and someone suggested the smoke signal thing. since she was a chinese concubine in the 8th centure BC, she probably wasn't even educated enough to know or care about the importance of smoke signals. she didn't give the order to continuously squander the warlord's forces for her amusement, it was king you. later when someone actually attacked the zhou kingdom and the warlords didn't respond because of the whole "boy who cried wolf" thing, bao si was kidnapped by some warlord and ended up hanging herself at 21.

a lot of ancient chinese historians studied the fall of various kingdoms and dynasties and instead of attributing it to poor economic circumstances or the irresponsible behaviours of people who were. you know. actually in charge, they instead point to the nearest woman and blame it on her. something about how the woman "was too attractive" and "distracted the king/emperor/lord/whatever." and how she, someone who was usually a young teen forced to entertain a middle aged man or be destitute/dead, should have "known better than to let her husband make bad political decisions." and anyway, i think in the current day, we should know better than to just take this at face value.

(in this case king you of zhou was only 3 years older than bao si. and the whole "trick and make fun of the guys who were supposed to protect your kingdom" thing sounds like what someone in his late teens/early twenties would do tbh. chinese history is full of simps but we only really hear about the simps that do something especially stupid while simping. and even then they blame it on the woman he was simping for as if she put a gun to this guy's head and forced him to simp.)

Source. Source. (there arent very good sources in english but these are the most reliable looking ones i saw with a quick search.)

[chemicalreal]

Alicent's misery is clearly projected onto her children, while the show is trying to paint Viserys as a good king and husband in a rather shameless revision of his character. The writers seem to have lost their way. Instead of depicting a woman in crisis who misplaces her anger and blame (since that was the only way that makes any sense to interpret her character in season 2), they're glorifying and justifying her actions against her innocent family (because her children are ALL innocent in regards to her), while downplaying the faults of the man who married her as a young bride and neglected their children.

This toxic tendency to blame children or dismiss their legitimate grievances is getting out of hand. Jace, for example, is being unfairly ridiculed for daring to confront his mother about the obvious flaws in her actions. It's as if he's supposed to be grateful for the prospect of sacrificing his life in a civil war caused by the very adults around him, even though he clearly sees that his mother's mistakes will only bring more trouble his way.

At this point, all we see are two women who refuse to take responsibility for their mistakes, while their children and grandchildren bear the consequences. They're portrayed as symbols of peace, surrounded by evil men who supposedly want war. But we overlook the fact that there wouldn’t be a war if Rhaenyra simply stepped aside. Her claim to the throne only brings more problems and reasons for conflict, something that anyone with common sense should recognize as a bad idea.

As for Alicent, she pushed for her son to sit on the throne, motivations that were carefully built up throughout the first season. But now, the narrative cowardly backtracks, with her shifting the blame onto her children, who were basically groomed to follow her wishes. The dynamics have completely shifted, with the children existing solely to serve their parents rather than the other way around. Rhaenyra might be shown playing with her kids or mourning her dead son because the show wants you to know she is a good mother, but when it comes down to business, it’s always them who take the fall for her.

It almost seems like this could be a compelling show, but the writers refuse to portray the main characters honestly, based on what they wrote in the first season. Instead, they concoct weak excuses and grander narratives to avoid acknowledging Rhaenyra as driven by self-interest, just like everyone else. This refusal to present her true motivations is significantly undermining the show's quality, especially as it attempts to compare itself to the golden age of GOT.

[kelin-is-writing]

Endeavor is not the only one to blame for ruining the family. Rei is equally to blame for ruining the family as well. She is a completely TERRIBLE and SHIT mother. Has done absolutely NOTHING for her kids. She neglected Dabi, Fuyumi and Natsuo. Willing to replace her own son by creating another kid. That fucked up. Had creepy disturbing thoughts against her own kids just coz they look like their father. Getting slapped is no fucking excuse to further neglect all of her kids by running away and abusing Shoto. As a mother she has no responsibility whatsoever. Rei is no victim. Rei is an abuser who got what she deserved. There's no point in complaining about Endeavor all the time but glorifying Rei. Both are equally bad parents. If you still don't realise that then please don't be a mom. #FuckRei #WorstMotherEver #KillRei

Okay, first of all how about you calm down? We don’t even know each others, but you come into my inbox asking for a not so civil discussion? Yooooo 😂😂😂

And you know what? Yes, Endeavor is entirely to blame actually because everything that happened is a consequence of his big ass man actions and yes, Rei wasn’t a good mother (Nobody said the contrary), but at least she tried unlike someone else who was way too self-absorbed to see anyone else aside from his egotistical self and his selfish goal.

“She neglected her kids”, Well of course she did! Every 2/3 business days she was busy popping out kids like a children machine and not being able to say anything back, otherwise her good-for-nothing and abusive “Husband” would beat her up and blame everything on her. Oh! What a coincidence! Just like how you did right now! Crazy, right? 😃

But what some of you peoples in this fandom fail miserably to grasp, because blinded way too much by whatever you see in Endeavor (or just because you guys like to Victim Blame), is that when the Himura’s sold her to Enji, Rei was prolly underage. Why underage? Easy. Enji is 45 when he’s introduced, while Touya is 24 right? 45-24= 21 and since ALL the married couples in Bnha have a 4 years gap (go check it on their Wikis mwah) and math isn’t an opinion: 21-4= 17 everyone! Wohoo. Right?

Rei was sold to the Todoroki’s when she was underage, but not only that… Enji has groomed her for years, then he started to spiral over greed, fame and power after he found out his child couldn’t achieve for him something that he can’t achieve on his own, because he’s a useless and self-centered beast.

Unlike him who is a whole ass adult when Touya is born, Rei is extremely young AND has become a mother for the very first time so without the guidance and the emotional support of someone who has already been a parent before her, I find it hard to for a woman to deal with both postpartum depression and rising a child alone the way she did at fucking 17 guys. And she has dealt with this over and over for four-freaking-times; Natsuo and Shoto’s ones were even worse because from the scenes alone (manga speaking) you can clearly tell Enji has forced himself on her for the last twos, furthermore Enji beats her up and from Fuyumi, Natsuo and Shoto’s reaction you can tell it wasn’t the first nor the last time since it has gone to the point where Rei was traumatized so bad that she started hallucinating of Enji’s gaze in her kids’ eyes made her have a mental breakdown. That’s how much he has abused her. All this because her husband was too focused on grooming first his wife and then his kids for the sake of a goal he didn’t have the balls to try reach by himself and projecting his insecurities on his family, because he isn’t enough of a man and pisses in his pants only at the mention of All Might’s name. I can’t take such a subject seriously, if I gotta be honest.

Mind you, this madness continued even after Touya’s death. It was during that arc, after she had dealt with four postpartum depression, depression, the pain of the knowledge that her husband has abused her mentally, physically and sexually and the death of her 13 years old son that everything went downhill for her; yet some of you guys act surprised when she had a mental breakdown? Rei had been in a constant state of brainstorming since Natsuo’s birth, if not even earlier, until she didn’t broke down completely after Touya’s passing. So yeah, maybe she wasn’t the best mother for the Todoroki siblings, but ever since she gave birth to Touya, Rei has been trying her best to be there for them and at the same time preserve her sanity. Because in a situation where she had to deal with four kids and a manchild, someone had to try and keep a semblance of balance in there even if she was one of Endeavor’s victims who’s mental health was being destroyed by a lot.

As I already said, some of you guys in this fandom lack a great amount of emotional intelligence and dare I say most of you lack depth too. I don’t expect you guys to be the most empathetic peoples in the world, really, I don’t, but this is a tad bit too much. Do you guys even try to look beyond your own noses anymore? Or has that gone out of fashion?

Also, what’s this new trend of Victim Blaming peoples who came out of an abusive environment? That’s so… Ambiguous…

Anyways! All this didn’t end for good until the whole of Japan found out his son is a Villain and he waited to beg for forgiveness (something he should’ve done sooner), only when everyone has been caught into the hurricane and almost got offed entirely as a family, which is (if you ask me, since you in my inbox) the most unattractive thing a man of his big ass age could ever do.

Everyone, stay away from peoples who lack accountability and self-awareness, because they’re going to play your mental health like a fidget spinner bubs 🫶🏻💜

Last but not least: if you want to talk this way to me and especially about such topics that bad, don’t do it on Anonymous because I will hardly take you seriously.

All this being said and cleared out of the way, hope you have a good evening 💜

[nychthemeron-rants]

Single Mom AU pt 3

Laia’s (Laios’) Timeline

Pt. 1 (AU Summary) Pt.2 (Name Guide) Pt. 4 (Chilchuck's Timeline)

Age 13- tried to disguise herself as a boy and join the army to escape ridicule from both her father and the other kids at school. Was caught and returned home near immediately. This resulted in severe punishments from her parents and even more social isolation from her peers. Her close relationship with her little brother, Fanil, is what got her through this dark period in her life.

Age 14- Encouraged Fanil to go to the magic school their parents have been threatening to send him to. She knew that since Fanil was their only son they didn't want to actually send him and were hoping that the threat would be enough to get Fanil to “act normal” but Laia knew Fanil could use this as an opportunity to escape and make something better of his life than inheriting their father's position.

Age 16- Reached adulthood and was married off to Dimar, the 19 year old eldest son of a wealthy merchant from their village. Dimar's family only agreed to the marriage because of Laia’s status and the chief's daughter and eldest child. While Dimar had heard of Laia's peculiar ways, he also knew she was proficient in many of the skills a “good wife” needed to have, and he considered her good looking enough to be fine with the arrangement. Laia wasn't thrilled but was raised to expect an arranged marriage and was honestly relieved that her husband seemed kind and was of a similar age.

Age 17- Her daughter, Lind, was born. It was shortly after the birth of their daughter, that Dimar's feelings towards the marriage turned from passive contentedness to resentment, as the added responsibility of raising a child with a woman he did not love began to weigh on him. Laia noticed her husband growing distant but blamed it on the exhaustion of having a newborn (despite Dimar doing little to help with Lind). 

Age 19- Dimar's resentment towards Laia and, by extension, Lind, for supposedly holding him back and saddling him with responsibility at a young age and leaving him unfulfilled boils over. He divorces Laia suddenly, leaving their village without informing anyone where he’s gone. He even, vindictively, sold their home expecting her and Lind to simply move back in with her parents. 

Laia, instead, took this as an opportunity to finally leave her village and try to make a life for herself and her daughter thats better than what she's experienced thus far. Obviously her parents were strongly against this, but being an adult now they couldn't do anything about it.

She felt only mild irritation at Dimar's action as she also felt no satisfaction with her life as his wife, had never loved him, and again, saw this as a chance for a new life 

Age 19 cont. - Made it to the Magic academy to see Fanil before she picked where to settle. Besides, Fanil had never had the chance to actually meet his niece before, which Laia wanted to remedy ASAP. 

Fanil convinced her to settle in the town next to the school so they can see each other regularly, which she did, picking up odd-jobs to fund the small apartment she was renting.

Age 22 - Odd jobs stop paying as well and living expenses get dire. Fanil suggests they start adventuring while they ask the school to look after Lind while they're gone. Laia is hesitant at first, considering Lind is only 5, but relents when Fanil asks his best friend and teacher Marcel to help them find long term babysitters for  Lind for cheap. They then join the gold stripping party.

(Marcel is EXTREMELY against this idea as he doesn't want Fanil to leave the school so close to graduation, but relents because he knows Fanil is going to go regardless, and knows that Lind being at the school means he HAS to come back. Still low-key judges Laia, whom he has never met, for being so much of a hot mess she has to “kidnap” her little brother away from his education and dump her daughter on the school.)

Age 23- Leaves the gold stripping party and forms her own party with Fanil. 

Lind, now 7, is old enough to enroll in the Magic Academy, allowing Laia and Fanil to go on longer Adventures as they don't need to go back to the school quite as often. (Both still write Lind as often as possible and visit frequently, as well as Laia sending most of her money back to Lind)

Laia discovers that Chilchuck is also adventuring for the sake of her daughters as a single mother. This happens after Chil discovers Laia quietly crying over a letter from her daughter. In order to comfort her, she explains that she understands her feelings because she has kids to look after too. However, Chil doesn't specify her daughters’ ages and tells Laia to keep her family info quiet.

Age 24 - Marcel joins the party to look after Fanil and try to convince him to come back, after a year ensuring Lind is adjusting well to the school. Decides to stay for research and Fanil.

Age 26 - Plot begins. Fanil is swallowed by the red dragon and with the weight of having her (now 9 year old) daughter on the surface waiting for her safe return, she ventures back into the dungeon with no provision to save her brother.

[glbettwrites]

The Tawlanaari Trail by G.L. Bett

↪ tag

↪ genre(s): adult prehistoric fantasy; high fantasy; adventure; romance ↪ pov: third person, past tense ↪ status: outlining ↪ type: standalone novel ↪ themes and triggers: enemies to lovers/forbidden love, grey morality, complex antagonists, the cycle of revenge, survival (man vs nature, man vs man), pregnancy, young motherhood, found family, self-discovery, redemption, women in a patriarchal society, power, loss and grief, abuse, torture, human sacrifice, and graphic depictions of violence and suffering

↪ hook: A woman's journey to vindicate her sons turns into a race to reclaim them from the spirit world.

↪ the plot:

From captured prize of a decimated tribe to lifemate of Warchief Haarek, Ikrie solidified her place in the hierarchy as the mother of Tribe Twins, whose every action dictates the fortunes of a tribe for as long as they draw breath.

They are four years old.

When the tribe faces near-extinction at the hands of a rival warchief, Ikrie's children suffer the blame. She is sent with an escort to cleanse the boys at a sacred waterfall but they are set upon by the Tribeless, led by a cunning yet savage man who destroys Ikrie's life and plunges her tribe into chaos in a single sweep.

Her children dead, her tribe without guidance; all is lost.

Until from the depths of the sacred waters emerge the Sunken, spirits of the Tawlanaari ancestors, with a singular offer for Ikrie: Follow the Tawlanaari Trail to the place where flesh meets shadow; do this, and you may yet reclaim your fallen sons.

A mother does not ask why. But she cannot act alone. In an uneasy alliance with a man sworn to vengeance against her bloodline and the woman she exiled years before, they carve a slow path through the jungle to the Heart of Tawlanaari.

And no predator that stalks their steps is quite so cold-blooded as the child-killer who does not yet seem content with Ikrie's losses.

[agentrouka-blog]

The only reason Jon views Catelyn as a mother figure/maternal figure is because Ned neglected him enough that Jon projected that onto his father's wife. Ned neglected him by witholding any information about his actual mother and by not providing an adequate emotional replacement for his "son", be that a maternal caretaker or his own damn self.

Ned gets praised to hell and back for the bare minimum.

But people blame Cat for Jon's issues. The actor blames Cat for Jon's issues.

It simply has to be the woman's fault.

The expectation that Catelyn was supposed to act as an actual mother figure to Jon in any official capacity is a massive misogynistic double standard that entirely hinges on ignoring the context of the setting and Ned's responsibilities and on insisting that women have the obligation to provide for the emotional needs to male characters regardless of their own self-interest.

She never treated him "like crap". Her worst "crime" (apart from an emotional outburst at her absolute breaking point) is not being warm to Jon and regarding him with suspicion in a way he was able to detect. It sucks for Jon that he was a child and an adult in his life communicated her dislike of his presence. BUT SHE WAS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR HIS EMOTIONAL VALIDATION. NED WAS.

I will never forgive the show for the absolute character-derailing travesty of a scene where Catelyn castigates herself because she couldn't "love a motherless child" when that is absolutely brushing aside her actual issues in the book canon. It's one of the worst examples of sacrificing a female character's storyline for a male character's validation in the series, and it's on par with Sansa "thanking" the Hound for his abuse or telling Tyrion he was "the best of them", or utterly ignoring Shae's murder.

It cheapens Sansa's validation of Jon because it casts her actions as "making up" for Catelyn (or her own "awful" past, which, don't even get me started on that nonsense). Like it's something Jon is owed by either of them, instead of something Sansa gives to Jon because she she chooses to, because she sees him as worthy of it on her own accord and because of his own actions.

No, instead she has to apologize for not being his #1 stan from day one, like a "good" female character would have been (like Arya). Liking and loving and validating Jon is framed as a default standard, and deviating from it is immediately a transgression that has to be compensated for.

Male-centric, misogynistic nonsense.

My hats off to Kit for giving this mess some thought, but unless his show actually examines the angle that Cat wasn't the bad guy, that the person who withheld emotional validation and crucial information from him was Saint Ned the Honorable... I can't take it seriously.

[missathlete31]

Nowhere To Run- Chapter 8

Chapter Synopsis- After Rooster and Hangman's fight, a trip to the hospital is needed and Jake and Javy get to talk things out.

Story Synopsis + Link to Other Chapter Here -

Despite Naomi’s insistence that she was fine, Javy drove the trio straight to the nearest Florida hospital he could find. He pulled right into the emergency bay, ignoring his wife’s glare at the imposition they were creating for any possible ambulances that might need to get through before he turned to the injured blonde in the backseat. “I’m taking her straight in to be seen,” he shared, his tone as cold as his eyes as he looked at his former best friend, “you can park the car.”

“Javy-“ Naomi moved to argue but Jake waved her off. “I got the car” he confirmed, sliding out the left side of the rental’s back seat to move up to the driver’s, “you just help her.”

Javy made no reply, moving to the passenger chair and taking his wife into his arms carefully. Naomi bristled at the treatment, “I can walk” she mumbled but she was paid no attention to as Javy carried her cautiously inside.

Jake watched for a moment, making sure they got in okay before he started the car and drove towards the parking lot. A part of him wanted to just keep driving, taking the vehicle as far as he could if only to protect the people that he seemed to just keep hurting. He was so disgusted with himself, with his actions, his lack of control, his inability to act like a rational adult whenever Bradshaw was around. Fighting with the older man, in his dress whites and at a teammate's wedding no less was embarrassingly stupid and not the calculated and cunning person that Jake had spent so many years training himself to be.

And the scariest part of all? It could have been so much worse. If Naomi hadn't come out, if the others didn't pull the two feuding pilots apart, Jake was confident the fight would still be going on. Bradshaw had infuriated him tonight, bringing up his childhood and his parents' abuse and flinging it like it was his fault. Of course Hangman shot dirty too, implying that Rooster was only in the Top 1% of the Navy because of who he knew instead of his own merit. In reality, Jake knew that the mustached pilot had the talent to back up his own placement but Jake wanted to hurt Bradley, he wanted to get a response, he wanted the fight. All reactions that normally Hangman would try to avoid, yet once again Bradley freaking Bradshaw managed to bring out the worst in him.

He was ashamed.

But Hangman hated himself even more so when he thought about running away now. He hurt his family: Javy, Naomi and their son; the people he loved more than anyone else in the entire world and his solution was to run away? No, Jake shook himself, he would own up to his mistakes, he would apologize and he would be better. If Javy and Naomi pushed him away after all that than he would respect their wishes and leave them but not before. He was not abandoning them at a random hospital because he was scared to show his face to Coyote’s wrath. No, he deserved all the anger he got from the other man, all the harsh words. Hell he couldn’t even blame Javy if the man punched him in the face like Bradshaw did. Jake would take it all without a word of compliant but he wouldn’t leave them, not until he knew what his stupidity and his emotions ruined once again.

Jake parked the car and headed into the emergency room, taking a few seconds to orient himself as the bright lights of the hospital mixed with the clinical smell of antiseptic and bleach. The blonde’s stomach rolled, not for the first time that night but he held strong and proceeded forward, ignoring the reception desk as he noticed Naomi being helped into a wheelchair. He stepped forward, hesitantly, not wanting to overstep but also needing to know the woman was being helped right away. The pregnant woman caught his eye and turned to the nurse at her side, “he needs to be seen too” she motioned up to Hangman, “he’s bleeding.”

The nurse looked up, her blue eyes scrutinizing the battered blonde in front of them. “We will make sure he gets cleaned up honey, but first let’s get you into a room-“

“But-“

“He will be fine Naomi,” Javy’s tone was set, his hands already moving to steer the wheelchair and his wife through the swinging doors and to an exam room, “can we worry about you for a moment?” The woman didn’t look happy but she didn’t fight, allowing her husband to wheel her around.

When the three disappeared through the doors Jake was finally satisfied enough to go check himself in. He headed back to the desk, a middle aged woman with curly red-hair and glasses typing something on an ipad. Hangman waited until she finished before he cleared his throat, “um excuse me” he murmured softly, not wanting to startle anyone.

The nurse looked up with a concerned gaze, “how can I help you?”

“Uh, I think I need to be checked out” Jake motioned to his face, “I had a bit of an altercation-“

“I’d say” but the nurse didn’t sound unkindly, instead she bustled around the desk for a moment, while she got herself in order. “Take a seat for now” she gestured to the waiting room, “but I’ll have someone out to see you in a bit, and here” she handed over a few bandages, “for your cut.”

Jake nodded in thanks and took the dressing to the gash under his eye. He held in the moan at the slice of pain that radiated from the touch and wasn’t surprised when he saw the white bandage turning red quickly. He sighed, heading to a chair and noticing a few of the others in the waiting room watching him with a weary judgment. He knew he must have been a sight, bleeding and bruised in his Navy dress whites, a member of the armed services looking disgracefully rumpled. The blonde choose to keep his head down, hoping that avoiding eye contact would make this situation even the tiniest bit more bearable.

After only a few short minutes a different nurse called him over and Jake was taken through the same swinging doors that Naomi and Javy did but towards a different room. He was ordered to sit and then put through the works. A flashlight was shown immediately into his eye, his reflexes tested, his neck prodded. He was ordered for a CT scan and then an x-ray for his ribs as the nurse and orderly in his room both paled at the sight of the coloring of his sternum when he was getting undressed and called back for the resident on call. That resident, Doctor Klein, his white coat displayed, looked to be about 40, he aura of command showing he was a trusted and experienced man in the hospital. He ordered blood work with a practiced ease, the other staff jumping straight to it. The older man allowed Jake to explain the events of the night and how each injury was sustained with no comments and minimal questions, making sure to get the whole story first. After the bruised pilot was finished, the salt and peppered haired man ordered a toxicology report; Jake blushing in embarrassment at the thought he not only looked like a fool to the hospital staff but a drunken one as well. Hangman was pleased though when the work came back with only the minimalist amount of alcohol left in his system.

“You’re lucky” Doctor Klein, the medical resident announced slapping a scan of Jake’s skull onto the board behind the bed and lighting it up, “I thought we were looking at an orbital compound fracture but it’s not that severe. You’re going to be bruised for a bit, and it will be painful, but you don’t need surgery and that’s always a win.” He traced a finger along the picture of the bone line under Jake’s right eye, “if you got hit any harder we would be having a very different conversation” the older man warned.

Jake swallowed roughly, even that motion causing pain to his sore face, “so- uh-“ he cleared his throat, “I’m good to fly?”

“I didn’t say that” the doctor warned, crossing his arms sternly and reminding Jake of a disenchanted parent readying for another lecture, “your timetable here is going to be based upon the symptoms you present. It’s still early, the injury only an hour or so old, so it’s harder to gauge what you will be dealing with and what your body can handle. I don’t recommend any cabin pressure for at least a week to play it safe.”

“A week?” Jake couldn’t help his whine; he had been hoping to catch the first flight back to California tomorrow, away from all things Florida and the memories of this wedding nightmare with Bradshaw. Waiting a week to be able to fly put a big wrench in his plan. “But I need to report back to my base” he lied, hoping the doctor might concede to giving him the all clear if he sounded urgent, “I will be considered AWOL if I don’t.”

“I suggest you call your CO then” Doctor Klein replied, not even fazed, “and we will be happy to send over any paperwork you need to explain the situation directly.” He offered a smug look that told Jake he knew exactly what the blonde was trying to pull. “I know it’s frustrating” the resident admitted, softening a bit, “but it’s for the best. Tomorrow you will be feeling this a lot more, and showing it” he pointed to the bruising colors on the blonde’s right side. “May I?” he questioned as he waited for Jake’s consent. When he got it, the doctor moved in closer, taking gentle but practiced hands along the wounded flesh, “bruising and swelling are a given but be on the lookout for any double vision, headaches, nausea or vomiting. Also” he pressed a little harder and Jake couldn’t contain his hiss as a flash of pain shot through the area, “sorry” Klein offered though he kept up his ministrations, “you need to be watching if your eye ball starts to sink-“

“Sink?” Jake felt his brain stutter with the vivid images that came to his mind at the doctor’s caution, “sink where?”

“Sink in” the older man stepped back, offering a small sigh, “you should be okay, like I said it wasn’t a compound fracture, but your eyeball could sink back a little into the socket because of the jarring hit the area sustained. I don’t think it will be the case here but you should be aware.”

Hangman couldn’t get over the absolute terror he would feel if his eyeball was falling back into his head but he mustered up a small nod, “right, okay, well I’ll make sure I pay attention to- for” he corrected, “for that.”

“Also your ribs” the doctor put up another scan, this time the x-ray. “No broken bones or fractures but direct impact to that area is always worrisome. We didn’t notice any internal bleeding but the vicinity is tender and bruised” he looked to the pilot, “you said you’re a fighter pilot right?”

Jake nodded as he swallowed his nerves, “I am Sir.”

“Well then no G’s for at least two weeks.” He raised a hand when Jake looked to immediately argue the diagnosis, “you can’t put that sort of pressure on these ribs, they are too susceptible right now-“

“But you said no fractures” Hangman quarreled, knowing in his heart that he couldn’t handle yet another casualty of this night. Two weeks or not, Jake needed to get back to the skies, if only to clear his own head and get himself back to neutral.

“I know what I said” Klein voice moved to a more authoritarian tone, “but it doesn’t mean you didn’t do any damage. Multiple hits to the sternum is not a joke and flying with pressures like you do is just going to make you get a fracture and then you’re out for months.” He levied the blonde with a serious look, “would you prefer that Lieutenant?”

“No Sir.”

“Good, now your cognitive responses are all sound and like I said before, no internal bleeding. I’m ready to prepare discharge papers, we should be able to get you out of here and resting within the hour, how’s that sound?”

The thought of heading back to the hotel that all the Daggers were staying didn’t exactly sound appealing but Jake knew it was better than being admitted. Plus he also was dying to check on Naomi and the baby. He met the doctor’s gaze and mustered a grateful smile, nowhere near the wattage of his typical Hangman smirk, “I’d appreciate that Sir” he spoke.

“Good” Doctor Klein patted him gently on the shoulder, took the scans from the board and headed from the room. Not a half an hour later, Jake was re-dressed with paperwork for his CO, a copy already scanned and sent to his base in Lemoore. The nurses waved him off, expecting the blonde to leave but instead Jake headed back to the red-head behind the reception counter and waited for her to look up.

“Lieutenant” she greeted, pointing to the butterfly bandage now closing the cut below his eye (Jake was thankful he didn’t need stitches). “That looks better" she offered.

“Yes” Hangman conceded, slowly turning on the charm, “and thank you for your help before with the bandage. I appreciate it.”

“That’s my job” she shared drily, though she looked amused.

“I was hoping you could help me with one more thing, if you didn’t mind.”

She eyed him suspiciously, “Okay.”

“A couple came in before me, Naomi Machado, she’s pregnant and she took a fall-“ because I pushed her, Jake wanted to admit but he knew he needed the nurse on his side for this and saying he hurt a pregnant woman was not the way to do it, “could you tell me if she’s still here?”

The redhead typed on her tablet, looking back up when she found the information she needed, “she was given a room for her examination.”

“I’d imagine you can’t tell me how that examination went right?”

The nurse’s eyes narrowed, “no Sir, I can’t.”

“Can I visit then? If they okay it?”

“I can check” she promised, “take another seat, and I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you Nurse… “ he moved to see if she had a nametag.

“It’s Bradley” the woman shared, not noticing when Jake almost snorted in disbelief at the coincidence, "Sheryl Bradley.”

“Thank you Sheryl” he finally managed, cursing his forever association with all Bradley’s of the world. However this Bradley followed through, arriving not ten minutes later with directions to the exam room that housed the Machados. Hangman hurried down the hall, checking rooms rapidly before he caught a looming figure approaching him.

It was a disheveled Coyote, heading out of a room with a hunch to his shoulder and the sounds of sobs in his throat. The blonde pilot felt his pulse run cold. Javy’s face was blanched from crying, his reddened eyes the only color he seemed to have left as they spilled tear after tear. Jake immediately feared the worse, the devastation building inside of him ready to topple without any more provocation. “J-Javy” he gutted out, his voice ruined, his emotions overflowing, “Javy no, what happened?“ He didn’t think he could ever think clearly again, “the baby… Naomi-“

“She wants to see you” the other man spoke up, wiping his tears from his face with the back of his hand and refusing to meet the blonde’s eye. “She’s in exam room 7.”

“Is she-“

But Coyote repudiated to give him anything more, just nodding towards the direction of his wife. “You shouldn’t keep her waiting” he warned, a taste of cruelty on his lips but he held back at the look of pure devastation on Hangman’s face. “Go Jake” he finally whispered, passing the blonde without even a nudge as he headed in the opposite direction.

It took a few seconds for Jake to gather himself enough to continue walking. His legs were jelly, barely holding his weight but the need to see Naomi, to hear from his biggest advocate this entire night about how he had taken the most precious gift away from her, was too strong to stop him. He deserved this, he deserved to feel like his heart was ripping from his chest, he deserved to hurt like he did to all those around him.

Jake stopped outside the door and took one last breath before knocking three times. When he heard someone call for him to enter, he pushed the door with barely a scrap of strength, petrified at the sight that would greet him.

There in the hospital bed was Naomi, dressed in hospital gown that was pulled up and exposing her belly while a blanket covered her bare legs. A nurse was next to her, checking vitals and machines with no hurry, both women talking calmly and amicably. Compared to how he just saw Javy leave, Jake was undoubtedly confused at the sight, unsure what exactly was going on. Naomi offered him her normal jovial smile, “Jake” she greeted, motioning towards her own face, in mimic of his injuries, “you got checked over” she spoke up, not quite a question. 

Jake ignored her words, staring between Naomi and the nurse trying to figure out what he was missing, "The baby" he all but whispered, "is the baby-"

“Fine” she answered, putting him out of his misery, “the baby is just fine.”

“And you-“

She nodded, “Also fine” the woman shared, “you think you can take a breath now?” she joked at the way he still seemed frozen in the doorway.

“But Coyote” Jake’s mind was still racing, “he was crying-“

“It’s been an emotional night” Naomi conceded, “and I think this last batch of tears was more in relief,” she spoke before lowering her voice in almost a conspiratory whisper, “he just spent the last twenty minutes with his head on my bare stomach, just whispering to the baby. He’s going through a lot, trying to process everything-"

"But you're okay, and the baby is okay?"

She nodded again, patient like a saint as Jake walked himself through the news. The blonde praised his healthy heart because he didn't think he could have handled the roller-coaster of emotions from the night otherwise, "the baby's okay" he repeated again, almost like a mantra, "and so are you."

"We are both okay."

"I didn't kill your baby."

He missed the flinch from both the nurse and Naomi, his face staring down at his traitorous hands instead, the ones that had pushed Naomi not so long ago. "Jake" his friend called, waiting until he met her eye, "you didn't hurt the baby, and you didn't hurt me-"

"I did" he argued back, shaking his head, "I pushed you, intentional or not, and I put you and Javy through all this worry and heartbreak-I mean it" he continued urgently when the other woman looked to interrupt, "Javy is crying out in the hallway right now because of what I put your all through-"

"You're right" Naomi agreed and Hangman was enough of a selfish asshole to admit it hurt to hear her concur so quickly. "He was crying, but it was because of you Jake-"

"I know and I'm so sorry-"

"No" she sighed, "he was crying because he was worried about you too." She watched Jake's confused furrow of his eyebrows and gave a sad smile, "he was scared he pushed you too far away. He was scared you both wouldn't be able to get past this, that the baby would lose his godfather-"

Hangman sniffed back a sob, the tears clinging to his eyelashes as he stubbornly tried to hold them in, "how could you still want me?"

"Because you love this baby as much as we do" Naomi shared softly, urging Jake to come forward but the blonde persistently stayed by the door, almost as though afraid to get too close. "And we love you and we always will. Fights are going to happen, it's inevitable with family but we don't quit on each other because of it, and you're still here despite everything."

"I think that's just because I don't have anywhere else to go-"

"We both know that's not true" she informed him, getting emotional herself, "now come here" she waved him closer, "I want you to meet someone." She gave a nod to the nurse next to her who brought a machine closer to the bed. Using a transducer probe over Naomi's exposed stomach, an image of an almost fully developed baby flickered on the screen. Jake's breath hitched, the sight making the tears finally release as he shuffled closer hesitantly to get an even better look.

The nurse smiled, "there he is again, your strong and healthy little man."

"See" Naomi grinned merrily, keeping a hand on her stomach while she looked over to the blonde, noticing his snuffles, "he's fine Jake, all fine."

"But it could have been so much worse-"

"Yes" she didn't pull any punches, "it could have but it wasn't. Be thankful for that and let your guilt go okay? Please."

"But-"

"And go talk to Javy-"

Jake shook his head while he wiped at his face stubbornly, “I can’t- he- he has every right to hate me-“

“But he doesn’t Jake" Naomi insisted passionately, 'he really doesn’t. Like I told you before, he was crying in here because of you-“

“Because I almost killed his wife and son-“

“No" she raised her voice a tad to be heard, "because as much as he wants to be mad at you right now, he can’t. He loves you Jake, and he always will. Please, go talk to him. For me" she added putting the final nail in the coffin of their argument and all but ensuring Jake would go find his friend. There was no way he would deny Naomi anything especially after tonight.

So there Hangman went, back out into the cold and sterile hallways to search for Javy Machado. He wasn't quite sure where to look at first; not finding him in the cafeteria or even in the chapel. Jake thought about checking outside, thinking perhaps the man needed some fresh air, until the signs for the nursery caught his eye. Knowing his best friend, and the sentimental bastard the man tried to deny being, Jake headed towards his left, not shocked when he saw the darker skinned man staring through the windows at the new born babies.

Jake stepped closer, clearing his throat a bit not to startle the other man. Javy still jumped though, turning to see the blonde pilot before looking back to his window. Since he wasn't told to leave just yet, Jake decided to push his luck, moving to stand next to his friend and watch the same view. It didn't take a mind-reader to understand why Javy had been drawn to this place after his family's close call, no doubt seeing the latest images of his healthy boy and needing to see his impending future. Just a glance over to his right made Jake flash with a sort of pride for his best friend, Coyote was going to be a great father.

The two men stood in silence for a few seconds longer until finally Javy sighed, "did you get checked out?" he asked quietly.

Jake nodded, "I did."

"Anything broken?"Coyote's mouth twitched, "besides your dignity?"

The blonde looked down, "just a lot of bruises. But I can't fly for two weeks just to be safe."

Coyote looked strangely sympathetic, a grounded pilot always hitting a nerve for other aviators, "That sucks" he shared, his tone warming.

"Tell me about it" Jake scoffed, "and they sent the paperwork to Lemoore to let them know."

"Shit" the man trailed off, the not so comfortable silence rising around them again. Jake tapped his foot waiting to see if Coyote was going to say anything else before he started his long and apologetic spiel that he had prepared to say.

When the other man stayed silent, Jake took a deep breath and turned to face his friend, "Javy" he began, waiting for the man to face him, "I just wanted to say how sorry I am, for everything. What happened tonight..." he shook his head, his words feeling inadequate but Hangman knew he had to try to get it out anyway he could, "it was unacceptable. I can never apologize enough for what I put you and Naomi through- what I put your family through. You guys are the most important people in the world to me and to hurt you, especially like this- I'll never forgive myself and I don't expect either of you to every forgive me either." Coyote continued to stand there, listening to Hangman's words silently, his face betraying no emotions. Jake swallowed roughly, "you were right out there tonight, Rooster brings out the worst in me and I don't really know why, but I can't blame him for all this. I yelled at you to leave me alone tonight when all you were trying to do was help me, when all you ever try to do is help me. I didn't leave when you suggested it. I was too embarrassed that I would cut your night short and ruin the fun just because I couldn't deal with being in the same room as Bradshaw and Maverick. I instigated the last fight, I pushed Rooster's buttons until I knew he would hit me. And I pushed Naomi away, I hurt her. I hurt you and I am so sorry, I don't think I will ever be able to say it enough. I'm sorry."

“I know how sorry you are" the other man whispered, his voice breaking slightly, "And I know” Javy paused, inhaling sharply, “that I’ll forgive you for all of this" he looked at Jake, a tear in his eye, "but just not tonight okay?” he told the blonde, his face crumbling with emotion, “I need tonight to be mad at you. I need tonight to be angry about what you put my wife and my unborn son through. Do you understand?”

“Yes-“

“But tomorrow” Javy voice cut out as he became choked up. He shook a shaky finger at Jake, “tomorrow I will forgive you because you are my brother and I love you. And I know how much you love my family.”

“I do" Jake admitted desperately, "I do Javy and I can never apologize enough."

The other man nodded, "tomorrow it's forgiven and forgotten Jake, I'm not letting you carry this over yourself for the rest of your life okay? You got that?"

"But I-"

"You're not the only one at fault for tonight. I could have insisted we leave just as much as you. I saw how uncomfortable you were after the talk with Mav but since you said you were good I let it go-"

The blonde shook his head immediately, "this isn't your fault Javy-"

"I know it's not" the other man shot back, a little of his fire returning, "I'm just saying you're not the only one to blame. I could have made us leave. Rooster could have been less of an ass-" he waved his hand for emphasis, "about everything. He could have stopped goading you constantly, stopped trying to get in your face each time. Fanboy and Harvard and Yale could have kept Rooster inside after your first altercation. I could have been faster out of my chair when I saw Bradshaw leave again instead of rounding up the others. Naomi could have waited and not tried to break up the fight when me and Bob were literally three steps behind her." Coyote watched Hangman shake his head, still ready to argue, "There was blame everywhere Jake" he told the blonde, "and shit man, I'm too tired to feel it anymore. My wife is okay, my son is okay, you're" he motioned to the pilot's bashed face, "kinda okay?" he wagered, "standing at least" he corrected, "so let's just put this behind us."

The blonde's face crumpled but he nodded his assent, afraid to disagree with Coyote anymore, "O-Okay."

Javy released a long breath, his shoulders instantly relaxing as though the burden of his anger was finally leaving him. He patted Jake's shoulder gently, "I'm going to help Naomi get dressed and get her discharge papers and then we can head back to the hotel alright? We will meet you at the entrance-"

"You're going to drive me back?" Jake asked in confusion, "But you said you wouldn't forgive me until tomorrow-"

"That doesn't mean I'm ditching you in some small Florida town" Coyote announced in exasperation, "Your dumbass will get eaten by an alligator or something walking back to the hotel-"

"Javy-"

"I told you" and Coyote's voice didn't waver, "you're my brother and I love you. That's applied all these years despite you being an asshole half the time and a dumbass the other. And it will continue to apply for the rest of your life man so just deal with it okay?" At the slight upturn on Jake's face, Javy smiled, "and besides" he looked at his watch, "it's midnight, officially tomorrow. We're good now."

"We're good?" Jake looked at the watch himself, not quite believing what the other man was saying. "But-"

"Come here" Coyote reached over, pulling Jake into his arms and enveloping the man in a hug. Jake felt himself sink into his best friend's embrace, his sobs fumbling out as he tried to hold onto any semblance of composure. "You're better than the man that Bradshaw makes you become," Javy urged, "I need you to see that."

"I know" Hangman snuffled.

"And him and Mav, they don't know shit about you. The people who love you, they are the ones who know the real Jake Seresin, and they are the ones who will always be by your side. No matter what."

"Thank you" Jake sobbed softly, his head buried in Javy's chest despite the pain it caused his face, "I could never thank you enough for everything you do for me- for everything you forgive me for."

Coyote clutched him tighter, his own eyes tearing, "This isn't a one way friendship man, you've been there for me more times than I can count. I'm a better pilot because of you, a better man. I love you Jake, always."

"I love you too man."

"Jeez" Javy pulled away, and though Jake hated losing that warmth, he reluctantly stepped back. Both men wiped at their eyes, before a laugh escaped them both at their emotions. "We're a sight aren't we" Coyote joked with a sniffle, "crying like a bunch of pansy in the hallway."

"Yeah" Jake agreed, though of all the things he was ashamed for this night, crying with his best friend wasn't one of them. If anything, this might have been his proudest moment, as his best friend patted him one more time and headed to collect his wife, the view of a dozen new babies sleeping soundly left behind in his wake.

[lady-thorn]

The Dragon’s Hoard

Summary: In this one, the dragon protects the princess.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC!fem

Warnings: Smut. Fluff. Enemies to lovers trapped together. Part 2 might follow. ESL, please be patient. What am I doing on Tumblr?

Word count: +15k

Disclaimer: Feedback appreciated. Just wanted to share this unedited story with fellow Aemond fans.

***

“What are you doing, my love?” Queen Alicent approached her daughter with a smile. She should be planning the feast to celebrate Helaena’s marriage to Aegon, but when she looked out the window and saw her only daughter standing among the flowers, she decided to join the princess.

Helaena didn’t take her violet eyes off the animal she was watching, but there was a faint smile on her mouth as she said, “It has our colors.”

“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a red butterfly before,” Alicent said. She didn’t understand her daughter’s fascination with bugs and similar animals, but she tried. Most days, she despaired of forming a bond with Helaena, blamed herself for it. Their relationship was so different from the one the queen had with Lady Ravella, her ward… but then, she was an adult woman with three teenaged children when she met Lady Ravella.

At least, Helaena’s newest friend was a butterfly, instead of some spider or beetle… Alicent shivered, looking at Ravella, currently kneeling in front of the weirwood. Her being there explained Helaena’s presence; the two were inseparable, despite their ages. Their relationship reminded the queen of her early friendship with Rhaenyra, Helaena’s older half-sister. She hoped Ravella and Helaena remained stronger than herself and her now stepdaughter.

What surprised Alicent was Aemond being there as well. Her younger son always took pleasure in calm and tranquil places, though he and Ravella were anything but when together. And yet, he was sitting with his back against the white bark, the gash on his face still healing, visible from a distance. To her, it looked like he was waiting for Ravella, and she was torn between interrupting them before they could start arguing or letting them back, and only acting if necessary.

“It’s very rare,” Helaena agreed, cutting into her mother’s thoughts. She was able to entice the butterfly into flying closer, until the stunning animal settled on her palm. Only then, the princess turned to her mother, a concentrated frown on her face. “She’s bigger than I thought.”

“What a lovely sight,” Alicent smiled, and reached out to touch her daughter’s silver hair. Her heart stopped in her chest, and tears filled her eyes, when Helaena didn’t recoil from her touch. The princess disliked physical contact, which made it difficult for Alicent to console her or show affection. This time, Helaena accepted it, as if being touched were something she welcomed. “I admit I’m surprised to find you here. I expected you to be in your chambers.”

Helaena looked up and smiled back. “I had a dream last night. I think it’s the end of that one I told you about.”

“Really? The great dragon snarling at a hatchling?” Alicent was glad when Helaena nodded. Sometimes, her daughter’s dreams scared her, almost as much as they did Helaena herself. This one in particular was one Helaena had been trying to get to the bottom of for almost two years now.

Relieved, the queen sat on the bench — after chancing a last glance at her son and ward; thankfully, they seemed to be laughing together —, and motioned for her daughter to do the same. “Now I’m curious.”

“It wasn’t a hatchling with the dragon…” Helaena started, her fingertips brushing the butterfly’s red and black wings.

***

“LET ME GO!”

The scream echoed in the woods. Prince Aemond Targaryen looked around, trying to discern where it came from. He knew the owner of that voice, so the best course of action was to go the other way. Lady Ravella Whitmore was a prickly rose — she had too many thorns to be worth plucking — and quite enjoyed prickling him.

She was also a ward of the Crown, he thought with a defeated sigh. He couldn’t just walk away and leave her. In theory, he had the advantage: the kingswood was enormous, and no one could accuse him of being complicit in what was obviously a kidnapping. He could always say he didn’t cross paths with Ravella. After all, he came here a few weeks before the tourney to celebrate his father’s nameday, to be alone. The Red Keep was… crowded these days, after his older half-sister’s arrival with her family.

On the other hand, he wouldn’t ever forgive himself if any harm befell Lady Ravella because of his failure to act. He was cynical and aloof, yes, but he was also a knight. He had duties. He could tell right and wrong apart. And letting a woman be violated in any way went against his nature.

So, mourning the peace he was about to lose, he sighed, and followed her screams.

***

Ravella’s kidnapper was “kind” enough to provide her with a tent, where she was expected to “get ready” before he… consummated their love. She wanted to run, but there was a guard positioned on every side — she was surrounded. Those men would tackle her to the ground and let their lord rape her to force her into accepting his marriage proposal.

She’d rather die.

By now, her disappearance must’ve been noticed. She’d heard Sunfyre and Dreamfyre soaring in the sky, screeching, some hours ago, when King’s Landing was still close, but couldn’t tell if it was because their riders were looking for her, or merely because Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena were out there, having fun. If they were looking for her… she choked on air, swallowing the tears. She didn’t think the king, her guardian, would order Ser Philip Montford intercepted. For all intentions and purposes, the man and his party were coming home from his seat in the stormlands to attend the tourney. The truth was, they had been waiting there for a few days, while Ser Philip and two of his people kidnapped Ravella on her way to an orphanage the queen patronized. As one of Queen Alicent’s ladies-in-waiting, Ravella was expected to handle some business for her, as was common knowledge.

Even if her maid, Rosey, had notified her guardians of her going missing, it still gave Ser Philip at least three hours of advantage. They were deep in the kingswood. And dusk was— “My lady, are you decent?” a man asked from outside.

“Yes!” she turned around with a frown. The flap of the tent was revealed to show — she sucked in a breath — a septon.

“Ser Philip—” the septon started.

“Is mad if he thinks I’ll marry him. Go back and tell him that,” she sat on a chair, her arms crossed over her middle. She didn’t expect her denial to deter him for long, because it should’ve detained him a long time ago, at her first rejection. The problem was, Ser Philip was obsessed, and he wanted her compliant. Ravella couldn’t tell if it was a result of his vanity or his fear of what the king would do if she had complaints. There was a slight chance he might end up gelded for raping her — and she’d make sure all the Seven Kingdoms knew it was rape.

The septon tried to plead with her, by listing all of his lord’s qualities, none of which mattered to her. Ravella had an idea of what she expected in a husband, and Ser Philip wasn’t that man. Finally, the septon sighed and said, “As you wish, my lady. What is—?” he shrieked when a screeching sound came from the back of the tent, as if someone was tearing it to shreds. “Prince Aemond?”

Ravella got to her feet, staring at the merciless one-eyed prince. He had a sword in hand, and the blade was running red with blood, as was the sailcloth he’d cut. Aemond’s right eye wandered all over her. “Are you alright?”

“Physically, yes. Ser Philip’s going to try to rape me.”

A smirk. “Ser Philip has strange tastes.” Her fists clenched. Aemond looked out. “Come on, I’ve killed the guards. The others are soon to follow.”

She rushed to join him. Aemond stared at the septon. “Tell Ser Philip he’ll have to face justice. We’re coming after him with fire and blood.” The older man nodded, his face pale.

Aemond took Ravella by the hand, keeping her to his left, so she wouldn’t be injured if he were attacked — the right was his dominant side, and he’d lost use of his left eye a few months after she moved into the Red Keep. What most people would call a death sentence, Aemond demoted into an inconvenience. They ran into the woods, and Ravella looked back towards the tent, and caught a glimpse of the septon making a “shoo” gesture at her. “The septon is stalling,” she grinned.

“Good. We’re too far from the capital, however. We’ll have to set up camp.”

“Don’t you have a horse?” she grimaced at the thin green branch that struck her across the cheek.

“No. I came on Vhagar. She isn’t here.”

After what seemed like hours, Ravella was gasping for breath. It was cold, and she was tired. The air felt like ice cutting at her throat and lungs. “Aemond, I can’t—”

“Drink this,” he paused to give her something. “Slowly. You don’t want to get drunk. I won’t carry you.”

The wine was too sweet for her taste, so she merely took a gulp. It was cold, too. She wiped her mouth with her forearm as she handed the canteen back. Aemond took it, before he took her hand. They walked now, carefully. The last thing they needed was falling and breaking something. “Look, a hill!” she pointed.

Aemond watched her finding. Apparently, he deemed it safe and took her up there. Climbing was difficult — the ground was muddy, and the mud was soft and falling apart when they stepped on it; they took three steps forward and slid two back. The stones on the top of the hill were slippery, worn out by time and the elements. It’d be a nasty fall.

“I was hoping for a hut or something,” she confessed. Looking around, she saw only a weirwood stump, a beacon of white wood turned into stone with some faded pinkish blemishes from the tree sap. That was good enough; no one would approach without them seeing — unless it was dark. “At least, the old gods will protect us,” she smiled.

“I have a tent in my bag. Help me with it.”

It was a small tent, made of sailcloth. The dark fabric would also provide a cover, especially after Aemond turned it so the three-headed dragon of his House faced the mountain wall, instead of the direction they’d come from. It’d also provide a refuge from the rain and the cold — it’d be better if they weren’t soaked already. The wind complicated things, so it was almost dark when they were finished setting it up. “You don’t happen to have blankets with you, right?” she asked as soon as they went in, her teeth chattering.

“There’s one in the bag. Shed your gown so you won’t get it wet. We’ll have to share later.”

It was difficult to hold the blanket and remove her dripping gown, but Ravella managed. Aemond facing away helped. When she was finished, she said, “It’s done. But I’m still cold.”

“Yes, there’s no wood here, though. We’ll have to make do,” he replied, matter of fact, and removed his coat. It was made of thick linen instead of the usual leather he favored. His boots were next. “We’ll have to lie side by side and leave here as soon as dawn breaks. Maybe Vhagar will be around.”

“Do you want the blanket—?”

“Keep it for now. I’m not freezing yet.” Ravella begrudged him that dragon blood Targaryens were reported to have. Having it in her veins now would be welcome. “How did Ser Philip get you?”

“He was disguised as a beggar outside the Keep. When I approached to offer him some coins, he covered my face with something. I woke up outside King’s Landing.” Her fingers traced her wrists and calves. Her skin was protected from the ropes by silk, so there were no marks. It chilled her to think of all the trouble Ser Philip had gone through to kidnap her.

“He shall be brought to justice. Are you sure he didn’t rape you?”

“I can’t say what he did while I was unconscious. I believe he fondled me whenever possible, but there was no blood or pain between my legs,” she blinked the tears away. She wouldn’t cry in front of Aemond, even under the cover of darkness. He was her childhood enemy and she was his; it was a position she’d earned for being unfazed while everyone else was scared of him.

“He’ll lose his hands as well as cock,” Aemond said. It was a promise.

“I won’t marry him.”

“He’ll be dead before that,” he assured her.

***

There were two pelts in the bag, which Aemond had meant to use as rugs. He gave one to Ravella, and took the other, each one spread side by side on the cold, hard ground, his sword between them. He wouldn’t be accused of taking advantage of her — not that Ravella would do that. Her attacks were always grounded in truth. She considered lying beneath her. But still, when they returned to the Red Keep and told his family about her rescue, he wanted everyone to know he’d been honorable. More for her sake than for his — men didn’t suffer the consequences of those situations. Ravella, however, would be ruined.

Fulfilling his promise of seeing Ser Philip punished would be a challenge. His father wasn’t the most determined person. King Viserys didn’t deserve his crown. He dealt with problems by pretending they didn’t exist, hoping they’d go away. It never happened, and indeed, the problems became worse sooner rather than later. Aemond prayed they’d arrive in King’s Landing to find his grandfather, the Hand, sitting the throne. Otto Hightower would be influenced by his daughter, Aemond’s mother, to serve justice. He’d understand Ser Philip’s action as high treason.

His father? Viserys might as well as reward the man by marrying Ravella to him.

Clattering broke his chain of thoughts. He glanced in Ravella’s direction. “Drink more wine. It’ll warm you up.”

“I don’t want to get drunk,” she stuttered badly from the clanking of her teeth.

“It’s just a sip. Take it,” he insisted. “Are you feeling better?”

“N-no.”

Aemond sighed. They couldn’t make fire, so heat should be found another way. There was only one thing to be done. “Sit. Remove your smallclothes — they aren’t helping. Give me your arm.”

“Which one?” she asked after sitting. It was dark, so he couldn’t see if she still had her smallclothes on, but he supposed she didn’t, due to the sound that had filled his ears of wet silk rubbing against skin.

“Either one,” he found her left arm in the dark, and began rubbing it with vigor. From her wrist to her elbow, until it felt like his palms would ignite. “The other,” he repeated the gesture, and asked, “Have you had lunch?”

“No, I was taken a little before lunchtime. This isn’t working. I’m still cold. I’ll get frostbite.”

“You need extreme cold for that,” he smirked in the dark, although he was furious over having to add hunger to the list of ills Ser Philip had forced upon her. What sort of dolt didn’t properly woo a woman?

“I feel extremely cold,” she coughed.

“I know. At least, this will keep your blood running in your veins. You won’t be in pain,” his words were enough to entice her into offering first a foot, then the other. His callused hands travelled from her delicate toes to the middle of her soft, silken thighs. The sound of his skin scraping hers was oddly discomforting. “How can you walk on these tiny, small little feet?” he asked.

“They’re not. I’m too tall for that.”

“You barely reach the middle of my chest, Ravella,” he shot back.

“I’m taller than your mother.”

“Hm. One or two inches, at most,” he scoffed. “But then, tiny little feet for tiny little butterflies, right. Is your skin numb? No? Good, come here. There’s a way we can avoid getting colder. It’s a hard one to stomach, but we don’t have a choice, now, hm.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “I won’t—”

“Or you can wait for frostbite to catch up with you. If I wake up in the morning to find you dead from the cold, I won’t bother dragging your corpse back to the Red Keep,” he rolled his eye. “I won’t brag about it, if that’s what worries you.”

“I know. It’s just… I want to go my marriage bed a maiden. What if we do something and there are… consequences?”

“You will leave this tent a maiden, as fresh as fallen snow, pure as a lily,” he shook his head, irritated, but not surprised. “I won’t lose control. It’s just some petting to make the cold go away. If I had a way to build us a fire, or feed you, I would, but right now, I don’t.”

Rationally, he knew Ravella was one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms; it was why her unmarried status came as a surprise. However, Aemond wasn’t attracted to her. He didn’t want her. He preferred his women to be sweet and pliable, which his parents’ ward most definitely was not. She was a respected enemy. Too much his equal to whet his appetite in such a way, which was exactly why he looked forward to trading provocations with her.

But, with the cold starting to bother him as well, they didn’t have a choice. If they were in the middle of the kingswood, he might’ve tried to lead her to the coast, and follow it until they came across the Wendwater; some storm lords would be bound to travel through it, to get back to the kingsroad. From there, Aemond and her would be able to return home.

Until that time came, though… “Come here,” he ordered after retrieving his sword and putting it away. He found Ravella’s hands in the dark and brought her closer, helping her lower herself to the ground between his spread legs. The first brush of her skin against his shouldn’t have been so good, but it was. Aemond made her kneel on the rug, her knee against his balls. “I swear to the old gods and the new that I won’t ruin you, Ravella,” he said.

She inhaled. “Thank you, Aemond.”

That settled, she relaxed against him, not wincing when his cold fingers began wandering over her back. Some sounds escaped her throat, and she tilted her head. He took the opportunity to kiss her neck, applying pressure on a spot that made her moan and clutch to him. His lips traveled forward, ready to claim hers, but she halted him by saying, “I’ve never— I want to save my first kiss for my husband. Is that alright?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” he couldn’t hide his surprise. Her plump, red lips were made for kissing; even he knew that.

“No. As I said, only my husband shall do that. Kissing looks so intimate,” he could hear the embarrassment in her voice.

Aemond weighted her words, saw the truth of them. “Alright, then. No kissing on the mouth.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

He licked the side of her mouth. He hadn’t promised not to. The contact of his tongue made her jump, then press her body against him, her fingertips sinking into his shoulders. He liked the rawness of that, almost as much as he liked the way she moaned his name.

He took a fistful of her lush hair to keep her throat exposed, and lavished it with languid, soft kisses. He had to be careful to avoid leaving bruises, because if he did, her honor would be questioned.

“Aemond, what— what should I do?” her fingers opened and closed against his skin, as if she wanted, but wasn’t sure about how, to caress him.

“Just what you’re doing. Don’t worry,” the truth was, she was colder than him. His blood was boiling. Just the feeling of her breathing upon him was enough to make him hot.

His hands circled her back and settled on her buttocks. His fingers sank on her flesh, and he groaned in approval. He hadn’t imagined her ass was so plump. Aemond used the momentum to have her sitting on his spread thighs, straddling him. His erection was pressed between them, the head resting on her stomach. While she moaned out her surprise, he lowered his head, trying to find her breasts in the darkness. When he did, and circled a nipple with his tongue, Ravella’s hand fisted his wet hair, and her hips jerked against his cock. She was so wet, the way she moved a caress in itself. Their juices blended together, making her slide easily along his cock.

In no time, he was moving from a breast to the other, kissing and sucking, leaving bruises and marks behind, for he wanted to mark her flesh. It was mad, this desire to brand her, so she’d know no other man could ever make her feel like this. It was like the enmity between them was giving way to something else, a small concession meant to keep them alive so they could resume their bartering come morning.

He loved the taste of her skin. The texture. The way it adapted around his mouth as he tugged at and sucked her nipples, making them turn harder and more sensitive. He let go of the one his tongue was wrapped around and closed his teeth on the flesh under it, his fingers playing with the wetness between her legs. Ravella screamed, her grip on his biceps tightening as she rode that first orgasm.

Aemond didn’t waste time; while she was shrieking and thrashing, he laid her down and settled his upper body between her silky inner thighs. Her scent was dazzling. His nostrils inflated to take more in. Inside his mouth, his tongue… itched, wanting a taste, as if it had a mind of its own. He indulged — and positioned the tip at her entrance, to gather as much of her flowing juices as possible. They both moaned; Ravella panted, and he groaned deep from the back of his throat.

She was delicious, he thought. How were they supposed to go back from this?

In no time, his lower face was coated in her juices. His thumbs held her lips spread, and he licked each inch of skin. She trembled beneath him, when he licked around her entrance — such a small, tight little hole… he hardened his tongue to thrust in. As she clamped shut around him, her hand found his hair again, keeping him in that position so she could ride his mouth onto another orgasm, his tongue inside her, licking the inside of her walls, his nose pressed on her mound, inhaling her intoxicating scent, his chin a mess from her juices.

He had a flash of laying down on the ground and her sitting on his face, and while the position was too submissive for his taste, it was one he wouldn’t mind practicing with her. She tasted so good, and was so passionate, he wouldn’t mind baring himself like that. He wanted her to fuck his face, to take her pleasure of him. As long as those sweet juices kept pouring out.

As the orgasm approached, her legs threatened to close. He couldn’t have that, so he put her thighs over his shoulders, to keep her spread. “Oh my— gods, Aemond—” she moaned, and it sounded like she was crying.

He should tell her to let go, but no power in the world could make him remove his tongue from her sweet cunt. Unable to respond, he began drawing shapes inside her, realizing it was his name, over and over again. He’d die a happy man, he thought when her hips arched and she let out another scream, her feet curling into balls. After her buttocks fell on the rugs again, and she remained a limp, sated, panting mess, he took it out from her, and hurried to lick her juices, not wanting to waste any. Her flesh was a bit sensitive, her body still shaking from aftershocks… but he wasn’t done.

His next target was her clit. His fingers began massaging the lips, leading up to it— “Are you trying to kill me?” she gasped, trying to hold his wrists.

“No. Why you ask?” he smiled.

“I can’t take another,” she blurted out.

“You can give me at least one… or one hundred. I’m not done yet,” with that, his lips placed a kiss on her swollen, wet clit, before closing around it and sucking, carefully.

Ravella swore, but didn’t voice a complaint, so he continued what he was doing. He kept his pace unhurried, knowing she was sensitive. But his good intentions didn’t mean anything when she continued to make those maddening, needy sounds, sweet whimpers that sounded like music to his ears. The more she shuddered, the hungrier he became for her, the more he wanted this night to never end.

It was dangerous. Seeing her in this light, wanting her, it would drive him insane.

Only, he wouldn’t stop. It was too late for that.

His left arm settled on her hips, pining her down, while his right hand began drawing circles on her inner thigh. His mouth continued its relentless assault on her clit, his pace quickening when she began sobbing, unused to the intensity of those sensations. For a moment, Aemond considered slowing down, letting her rest. She was a virgin. This had to be shocking.

However, his unwillingness to cease went beyond that. He needed her to climax at least once more. So, he made her. It was fast. And sexy. Though he couldn’t see her, his brain insisted on picturing her cheeks flushed, her eyes — “deep pools of molten indigo,” a fitting, albeit tacky, description made by a besotted singer — snapping shut as, with a strangled scream, Ravella surrendered to the immense pleasure he gave her.

When it was over, she was boneless, utterly satiated, and laughing. Aemond, on the other hand? He was about to explode. He kept his head between her legs, puffing hot air on her wetness, his fist closed around his cock, his teeth clamped down on his lips at the feeling of the amount of pre-come leaking from him. It was like a waterfall. Still, he failed to suppress the guttural growl that left his mouth as he touched himself, the sounds he produced obscene, the engorged veins— “Let me,” her hand, so soft, so silken, covered his.

“You don’t have to,” he panted.

“I do. I must learn.”

“For your husband,” he guessed with a growl.

“Yes.”

The word was enough to make him let go, but not before showing her how he liked to be touched. Let her future husband wonder where she’d learned to caress a man, he thought with a thrust of his hips, wroth. Let him go mad with jealousy, searching the faces of every man in court in an attempt to find out who’d taught Ravella that, who she was thinking of when he fucked her.

There was no doubt in his mind Ravella would find marriage unsatisfying. It was more than pettiness saying another man couldn’t please her the way he did — to the point she was shedding her shyness to explore, with both hands, every contour of his cock, pulling on its tight skin, cupping his balls with her hands… the only thing she didn’t do was suck him, but— Aemond’s fingers dug into the earth when her lips placed a kiss to the leaking slit. “Oh, yes — do it again!” he begged. She had more mercy on her than he did, because she obliged. She placed a trail of close-lipped kisses along the shaft, rubbing her mouth on the fluid.

She had to be tasting it, it was impossible not to. And if she had continued to do that, then it meant she liked it. He allowed his mind to wander, to think of what it’d be like to be explored like that in a brightly lit room, where he could watch her reactions. He knew what she looked like when something caught her attention, and wanted to see that when she studied his cock’s responses to her touch and gaze.

“I’m close,” he announced, and took her hand, holding her wrist to still it so he could fuck her fingers. In the end, he shuddered more than she did — the jets of come like lava, it wouldn’t surprise him if there was steam coming off; he roared each time his balls contracted. He screamed her name. And, he was sure, he made a mess. That was for the morrow, though.

He collapsed on the rug and brought her closer, holding on to her hip. “Are you warm yet?”

“Yes. There’s some of your, eh, on my belly… it’s hot,” he could almost hear her blush.

“You won’t get pregnant from it,” he said. “We’ll take a dip in the river to wash off before we continue our journey, hm. Did I hurt you?”

“Aside from trying to kill me? No,” they laughed together.

“Good. I can list at least one hundred different worse ways to die. If you feel cold again, do not hesitate to wake me up,” he said. “Good night, Ravella.”

“Good night, Aemond,” she replied, and fell asleep immediately.

***

It always got a little colder after three in the morning, so Ravella didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for waking him up. Aemond announced dawn was close, so they agreed to not delay. They stroked and caressed each other until each one exploded, because they’d need it — their clothes were still soaked. Aemond had sworn he’d try to hunt something for them to break fasting, so they’d not starve until they met with a storm lord or happened upon an inn.

Her body was oddly languid when she fell on the pelt, resting her head on his shoulder. His eyepatch was gone, the water having ruined the leather. “Won’t your eye hurt if you try to fly without it?”

“Maybe. But I don’t have another,” he replied, getting tense when she touched his cheek just under the scar.

“I can give you a sleeve of my gown. It isn’t much, but at least, it’ll protect your skin from the wind and cold. I hate the cold,” she shivered.

“If you need more warming up—” he started, laughing, his fingers closing on her hip… only to be interrupted by someone opening up the tent.

Ravella screamed, as he reached for his sword. They both stared, dumbfounded, when Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Aemond’s cousin, closed as much of the tent around her leather-clad body as possible to keep the others — possibly an army — outside. “Morning, cousin. I see you’re fine,” she smiled, before shifting her gaze to Ravella.

This wasn’t ideal, she knew as she dressed up. Aegon’s voice could be heard outside — him, Aemond could convince to keep quiet. Helaena, his sister, the same. But Princess Rhaenys? She was sure to tell the king what she’d seen, even if she didn’t have the context. Ravella would be ruined.

“Don’t worry about it,” he touched her elbow.

She nodded. He was lying about the implication of solving that problem, but she appreciated his trying. Aemond also had a reputation, which would be tarnished, because everyone believed him without vices — she knew better, however; she’d overheard more than one lady giggling to her friends about their ‘arrangements.’ Aemond was a man, after all; he had needs. But he also cultivated the repute he had. He wouldn’t suffer same as she, but still… “Cut off the sleeve so I can wrap it around your eye.”

He did. Her suggestion obviously angered him, but he obeyed, and she tied the sleeve around his head while he crouched. She quite liked the way his silken silver hair, a little tousled as a result of getting wet and — she sighed — their exercise, looked in contrast to the blue silk. After that, she gathered one of the pelts and folded it, to put it in the bag, while he did the same to the other. She hesitated before leaving the tent behind him. What was Princess Rhaenys thinking about Ravella?

“Brother,” Aegon greeted, shifting his body to peer at Ravella, “Lady Whitmore. I thought to call out, but you sounded busy,” he grinned.

Aemond’s hand tightened on the sword pommel. “That was very considerate of you, brother,” he glanced around. Ravella’s blood froze when she noticed Princess Rhaenyra’s oldest son and Prince Daemon’s daughters standing to the side with their grandmother. The four of them studied her and Aemond with curiosity, discussing something in whispers. “How did you find us?”

“I followed Vhagar,” Ravella’s mid-section bent like Aemond, and they found the dragon behind the tent, watching and judging. Or was it a fruit of her imagination? “Actually, I landed to ask you to help search for her. I thought to let you finish whatever you were doing,” his lips curved with malice, “and then you said her name… so I figured out you were together. Two rabbits, one stone.”

If possible, Aemond’s face became sourer. “And the others?”

“They must’ve seen the tent, too. You’d left the Red Keep without notice, and didn’t come back. We got worried.”

“Did you?” Aemond growled.

Aegon merely laughed. “Can we go now? Mother was almost laying an egg. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to discover Lady Whitmore was with you, instead of some ruffian.”

“Aegon,” Aemond’s voice made him stop on the way to his dragon. “Ser Philip kidnapped her.”

The older prince frowned, but nodded, before resuming his walk. As he did, Ravella noticed Princess Rhaenys and her granddaughters were already in the air. The grandson, Prince Jacaerys, walked past Aegon and stopped four feet away from them. She was surprised at the hatred burning in his gaze as he glared at his uncle. “Lady Whitmore, are you alright?” he asked.

She felt, more than saw, Aemond tense. She knew what the question meant, and also knew of the difficult relationship between Princess Rhaenyra’s sons and her half-brothers. “Yes, my prince. Thank you for asking.”

“Give me your coat,” Aemond ordered.

“Why would I do that… uncle?” Jacaerys sneered.

“It’s not for me, but for Lady Whitmore, sweet nephew.”

“Why don’t you give her yours?”

“Because mine is damp, your little imbecile,” he snapped. “Her clothes are soaked, she can’t be allowed to be on dragonback as she is, or she’ll freeze.”

Prince Jace sighed. He tossed his coat to Ravella. Aemond caught it in the air and put it around her — it was enormous, which he deemed good. When he was finished, his nephew was flying away already, and she began to feel lethargic. “We have ten minutes to get to King’s Landing. Try to nap on the way there,” he instructed, helping her walk to Vhagar. He unmade the tent while she waited, leaning against the perfectly warm beast. His bag on his shoulder, he then helped her climb the rope stairs up, until she was sitting between his legs. Her head was heavy as he wrapped a rope around their waists, so she wouldn’t slide off while they flew.

It was her first time on a dragon’s back, and she wouldn’t appreciate the sight. She didn’t even notice when Aemond all but carried her down, with the aid of the dragon masters that guarded the Dragon Pit. She didn’t see when he carried her to the wheelhouse, where the rest of his family waited. Someone helped her take a seat, and her head lolled to the side, her forehead glued to the window. Their conversation reached her ears as if from a distance. “What happened to her?” someone asked.

“Ser Philip made her inhale that potion made from poppy seed,” Aemond replied. “I believe it’s still affecting her.”

“Why hasn’t it affected you?” Prince Jace snarled.

“Because I didn’t inhale it,” Aemond’s weight made her lose her balance, and she fell against him. “I read the effects can last for three days.”

“Why did he kidnap her?” Princess Rhaenys.

“Because he’s been trying to woo her for the past year and she refused his advances. In the beginning, he was sure she was trying to charm him, but then he realized she was serious. That bloody idiot.” He snorted. After that, no one else said anything.

***

“Ravella, wake up,” Aemond beat his fingers against her cheeks. It was the most delicate way he knew of waking anyone who wasn’t Aegon up. She startled, looking around. “We’re expected in the throne room. Let me talk, hm?” he held her shoulders until she nodded, still confused.

He held her elbow as they walked to the room, escorted by Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard. Outside the empty room, Grand Maester Orwyle waited with a cup of steaming tea, which he held out to Ravella. “Princess Rhaenys said she was given a sleeping drought. This should help,” he explained to Aemond, who held it for her.

“It’s warm,” she said.

He couldn’t help but grin. “It does help, maester. Thank you.”

The heavy doors closed behind them. Aemond’s gaze locked on… shit, his father was sitting the throne. Still, they approached. When they were close enough, his mother asked, “Is Lady Whitmore—?”

“Ser Philip befuddled her. We’ll have to ask Orwyle more about it later, because I’ve never seen Lady Whitmore like this.”

“I’m getting better,” she moaned beside him, rubbing at her temples. “My head’s going to explode.”

“The very definition of getting better,” Aemond drawled, then turned to the throne. “That man kidnapped your ward.”

“Ser Philip’s intentions—”

“Were to rape her, then force her to marry him. He should be gelded and sent to the Wall.”

“Did he rape her?” Viserys asked.

“Not while she was conscious. Gods only know what he did when she wasn’t.”

“Don’t you know?” his father scoffed. “Luke told me he heard you partaking in… unmarried liberties with Lady Whitmore.”

Aemond glared at his nephew, until his smirk died and he had no choice but to hide beneath his mother’s skirts. Rhaenyra embraced her son, whispering something. “It was dark,” was all he said. “She sustained she was a maiden when he took her.”

“Then septas should be summoned to assess her state,” his mother said.

“If she is, Ser Philip shouldn’t be punished for rape. He didn’t touch her,” Viserys justified.

Aemond exhaled. He was too tired to deal with his father’s ineptitude, so he wasn’t cordial when he said, “Lady Whitmore is your ward, Your Grace. She’s under your protection. Surely, you aren’t as feeble-minded as to not understand whatever you fail to do to bring her kidnapper to justice will reflect badly on you, as well? It won’t matter if the Maiden herself takes form and proclaims her maidenhood, the lords and ladies will disparage her all the same and gossip about your failure to protect her.”

“Aemond!” Alicent snapped.

“No, no, Alicent, let the boy talk,” his father chuckled, his voice raspy. His right side was covered by a mask, his eye eaten away by the mysterious disease that made his body rot — Aemond found it oddly poetic, as he’d refused to act after Luke blinded Aemond. His left side had a sardonic smile turned in Aemond’s direction. “Do you deny you took liberties with her?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Why did you? Surely, you aren’t as feeble-minded as to not understand taking advantage of your parents’ ward would reflect badly on you?” he vomited Aemond’s words back.

Aemond could appreciate the sarcasm, and inclined his head, acknowledging the truth, “It was a desperate measure, Your Grace. I couldn’t build us a fire, nor was I prepared to have company for the night. It rained, and Lady Whitmore and I were drenched. We had to generate heat somehow.” He glanced at Ravella’s ashen face. “As for what people will say about me, I challenge them to say anything. Whether it be good or bad, about me or, more importantly, about Lady Whitmore. It just won’t matter if the Crown just lets Ser Philip walk away without punishment.”

His father burst out laughing. He swirled his right hand up in the air, just three fingers moving, the other two spaces in the black glove empty — more casualties of his disease, sustained before Aemond was born. “You have a way about you, boy… you don’t even bother hiding it anymore, do you?”

Assuming his father was talking about the disdain he felt, Aemond confirmed, while everyone else stared, wondering what the king meant, “I find that holding back is a waste of time and energy, Your Grace. And lying is beneath me,” he smiled.

The king nodded. “Fair enough, Aemond. Lady Whitmore, you were saved from Ser Philip, but did you need saving from Prince Aemond?”

“No, Your Grace,” she replied after sneaking a look at him. “The prince didn’t force me.”

“His not forcing you is a result of a long, secret affair?”

“No, Your Grace,” tears of humiliation burned in her eyes.

“How did Prince Aemond save you?”

“He killed two guards standing vigil outside the tent I was being held in.”

“How did he happen to just walk upon you, Lady Whitmore?”

“I believe he heard me screaming for help.”

The king nodded. “Ser Philip has made several offers for your hand. Why didn’t you accept them?”

“I dislike Ser Philip and would rather die than be wed to him.”

“I see. You’ve always had a curious relationship with Aemond. Would you rather die than marry him?”

She lowered her head. “I believe I informed you and the queen I’d only marry for love.”

Another nod. Aemond wondered when she’d had that conversation with his parents. “Because of your parents,” Viserys said.

“Exactly.”

“That’s no longer an option,” the king warned. “You have a choice: Ser Philip or Aemond.”

“Lady Whitmore and I shall marry,” Aemond spoke up.

“I didn’t know you were so fond of her,” his father chuckled.

“You do not know a lot of things about me, Your Grace. Lady Ravella has been severely compromised because of me. I won’t run from my responsibilities.”

“Very well, then. You shall marry a week hence,” the king decreed.

He was about to get up when Aemond’s voice interrupted him, “What about Ser Philip?”

“You can seek justice in your betrothed’s name, Aemond.” He shook his head. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just knew whatever you chose to do, Your Grace, it’d be another variation of what you always do — not enough.”

***

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Ravella said as Aemond all but dragged her to her chambers.

“He’ll survive,” he growled.

“Aemond… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this.”

“I know. Go rest, Ravella. We’ll talk later, if you want. Right now, I want a bath and a meal. I believe Rosey has had one drawn since she got word you’d been found.”

“Yes, I… I didn’t thank you for saving me from that man’s clutches. I’m sorry I—”

His expression, when he looked down at her, was kind. “There’s no need to thank me. I did what was right. Go rest,” he repeated, squeezing her shoulders.

She was nodding when the door opened to reveal Rosey. There were fat tears running down the plump older woman’s face. “My heart, you’re safe,” she sobbed, holding Ravella close. She smelled of flowers and honey, a smell so comforting, Ravella closed her eyes and started crying, too. The shock and fear of this past day was finally catching up to her. She was so busy sobbing, she didn’t hear Aemond’s soft order that Rosey let her rest as long as she needed.

When she walked into her room, it was to find the most delectable scent of lavender permeating the air. Rosey took her to the tub, placed in front of the creeping fireplace, and helped her undress. She said nothing when she saw the white stains of Aemond’s seed on Ravella’s gown and belly, just set everything aside to be washed. While Ravella sat in the tub, soothed by the scented oil, she washed and brushed Ravella’s hair, which had begun to smell. Two towels were used to dry it as best as possible.

Then someone knocked. Ravella saw, from the corner of her eye, some servants walk in with covered platters, the first one telling Rosey something, and all of them leaving. “Look, sweet one, he sent you food. Eat something before you sleep, you hear. You’ll feel better.”

Ravella did. She didn’t even bother to put on a nightgown — the heavy robe felt warm and fluffy around her, almost as good as Aemond’s arms. She’d have to remember to thank him for this, too — everything was to her taste; her favorite fruits, bread and cakes. Even the cheese and jelly were ones she favored. Too bad, her hands felt too heavy to lift the food to her mouth. Thankfully, Rosey chose that moment to help her into a comfortable, thick nightgown. “I’m going to marry him, Rosey.”

“I know, my love,” the woman smiled. She’d spent Ravella’s entire life teasing her about Ravella’s ‘secret love for Prince Aemond’.

Ravella was going to explain why she was going to marry Aemond, but she didn’t have time — her eyes fluttered close as soon as her head hit the pillow, stuffed with some scented herbs, and Rosey covered her with a blanket.

Mid-afternoon, she woke up, headache-y and ravenous. Rosey was nowhere in sight — though two guards stood outside, watching her door. The queen’s orders, they said, when she asked after hearing someone (Maester Orwyle, bearing more tea) knocking —, but she’d left the platters so Ravella would be able to eat. She took the tea, and sat down to eat, having changed into a simple gown which she left unlaced. Her chambers offered a view of the godswood and training yard, and she was curious if Aemond was in either.

“Good thing you’re up,” Rosey said, closing the door. “Prince Aemond said he’ll meet you in the godswood if you want to talk.”

“Good. Sit down so I can tell you what happened,” she answered, coughing into her fist. Her voice was husky. Rosey, her mother’s former maid, obeyed, helping herself to a slice of orange cake. There was a… paste made of some dark, exotic fruit exported from Essos drizzling down the cake, and Ravella simply loved it. As she told Rosey what happened yesterday, she noticed as her maid’s hands clenched, how she was on the verge of tears. “I promised Monica and Addam I’d protect you,” she sniffed.

“Rosey, you have,” Ravella circled the table to hug her. “You aren’t a warrior, but you’ve protected me — fiercely, I must add. And you’ve showered me with all the love my parents couldn’t give me since the gods took them. Please, don’t cry. I’m alright,” she kissed Rosey’s brow. The sight of her tears unsettled Ravella. Rosey had raised her, since Ravella’s mother died after having her. It was enough to make Ravella want to feed that little leech Ser Philip to Vhagar. Aemond would agree if she asked… exactly why she wouldn’t ask.

“I’m so glad Prince Aemond found you,” Rosey sobbed.

“Me too. I’ve never been happier for seeing him,” she laughed. “Do me a favor? Tell him I’m going to the godswood now, if he can meet me there. I must pray.”

They left the room together, each one going in a direction. In the godswood, Ravella ignored the speculative glances thrown in her direction, and knelt on the ground in front of the uncarved weirwood. It wasn’t common for Houses south of the Neck to worship the old gods, but hers did. And now that she was the last Whitmore alive, it was her duty to keep her family history going. Gods, she had so much to speak to Aemond.

“How long have you been there?” she smirked, her eyes still closed, when she finished preying.

“Some minutes. I didn’t want to disturb you,” he said from his position leaning against the tree. His sword was stuck on the ground to his right. “What did you ask for?”

She made a gesture and he removed the sword, sinking it on the ground between his legs. “I was thanking them for keeping us safe last night. And… I was thinking of my parents. I’m the last of my House.”

“Father said your parents influenced your decision to get married. What did he mean?”

“My father was a minor lord. His estate was rich, his lady wife would have a comfortable life, and he was a wonderful man. But his wealth didn’t compare to what my mother stood to inherit as Lady of Starfall.”

“Your mother was a Dayne?” Aemond asked, his voice louder than she’d ever heard — his screaming of last night discounted.

She nodded. “She was the eldest, and upon her mother’s death, would’ve succeeded her as Lady in her own right. She gave up her birthright in order to marry my father. It was…” Ravella sighed. “The way he talked about her, he said they fell in love at first sight. They met one day, the next she was announcing she was leaving for the Reach, and as soon as they got to the Park from Dorne, they got married. And they never regretted it. She never regretted choosing him. I heard every story my father had to tell, and I knew I wanted that for myself. Not marrying for love would be spitting on them, I thought. And, after he died and I was brought here, I felt so lonely, I needed someone to feel about me the same he did about her. It was the only way I could be whole again.”

“But you’ve been saddled with me instead,” he pointed out.

“It was a vain hope, anyway. What my parents had is rare. Now that I’m older, I believe it was a gift. So, when the subject of marriage first came up, I told your parents I’d settle on an honorable man, who were willing to take up my name… all the better if he worshipped the old gods, too.”

“Only, you got me,” he repeated.

“You’re an honorable man. You not only saved me from Ser Philip, but you also kept your urges under control,” she coughed. “I don’t think most men would have.”

He glanced away. “I made a promise. If I can’t remain true to my word, then what does it matter?” he sighed. “About taking up your name… I’m afraid it’s nonnegotiable — I’m a Targaryen. There’s a slim chance I—” he trailed off. “It doesn’t mean our children can’t be raised to treasure and respect your family’s history. Maybe one or more of them will take up your name and continue your line. I’m not opposed to that.”

“Really?” she sighed.

“Of course. I’m a second son, Ravella. I don’t have a lot to offer. It wouldn’t be honest, or fair, to deny our children the best opportunities, which only you can provide.”

“That’s not true. You’ll be a great father—”

“How? I don’t know what a good father is. The only thing I have is my yearning for a father who loved me. One I buried after mine refused to offer me a single word of comfort when I lost my sight. Ser Criston and my grandsire did their best to step up when a man was needed, but they weren’t my father. You must’ve noticed he never called me ‘son’, only referring to me as ‘boy’ or ‘Aemond’. He keeps us at a distance, as if afraid of being called our father, so I don’t know what fathers must do to be considered good. You do, because you had one.”

She swallowed. She wasn’t used to this side of Aemond — the stoic, jaded prince who exchanged barbs with her to their hearts’ content was the same Aemond everyone knew, only perceived by others as scary. Ravella wondered if anyone considered what lay under the surface that was his impassive face.

“I didn’t have a mother, Aemond. I missed her all my life. Now that I’m about to get married, and maybe to have my own children, I miss her all the worst. Rosey tried, and she was great, but she isn’t my mother. I don’t know what a good wife does, or a good mother. I just wish she were with me, to teach me, and to take care of me, because I know childbearing is hard,” his hand gripped hers, and her chin trembled. “I had the best father in the world. You, the mother,” her sudden brightness made him chuckle. “So… will you protect your children? Teach them how to fight? Share your favorite books? Teach them about riding dragons?” He answered ‘of course’ to each question, so she allowed herself to sit next to him. “Then I think you’re going to do great. We can use what we learned from my great father and your great mother, can’t we? That should suffice. Our children won’t grow up feeling unloved nor unwanted.”

In response, Aemond took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you, my lady.”

She grinned, blushing. But her enthusiasm faded when she realized, “It’s a pity I can’t invite my family for our wedding. I’d love to have them here.”

“A week isn’t enough to sail from Dorne to King’s Landing,” he agreed, expression blank.

“No,” she sighed. “And I wish I could also retrieve my family’s wedding cloak. The one I should wear.”

“That can be done. We take Vhagar and fly to your home. You can send a raven now, asking that it be made ready for you.”

“Would you do that for me?” she asked. “But what about the tourney?”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he scoffed.

“Is that an excuse to avoid crowning me the queen of love and beauty, Prince Aemond?”

“There’s snot during running down your nose, Lady Whitmore. That’s hardly beautiful.”

“There isn’t—” the sneeze cut her off. Mortified, she covered her face with both hands, her eyes wide. “By the gods—”

“Calm down, Ravella. I was just teasing you,” he laughed so hard, he fell on his side.

His mirth at her expanse angered her, so she hushed him. Aemond held her arms, and flipped her so fast, she barely had time to turn right before she sneezed again. He laughed again, loud. When she made it to slap his hands away, he lowered his head and kissed her. His lips felt just right against hers. She didn’t have a choice but to allow him to continue. The fight left her, and Aemond let go of her. She raised her hands to circle his neck.

The kiss ended too soon. True enough, they were breathless, but it was too soon. The idiot was grinning down at her when she opened her eyes. “You were right about something,” he said. “You did save your first kiss to you husband.”

Ravella blinked. He was right, she thought. They weren’t married yet, naturally, but having declared their intentions in public, and in the godswood, just made the ceremony a detail. The realization disarmed her, and made her join him in laughter.

The next time he kissed her, it wasn’t to keep her quiet, but just because they wanted to kiss.

***

Ravella’s cold, then another issue — which he suspected strongly was her moon’s blood — ended up postponing the wedding in three weeks. It was plenty of time for Aemond to prepare a few surprises. While she was on her sick bed, receiving daily visits from him, both of them exchanging insults back and forth even if she were feverish, he flew to her estate, close to Tumbleton, to retrieve her wedding cloak. There, he was shown a portrait of her mother, Lady Monica. The similarities between the two were undeniable. The only difference was the nose, which Ravella inherited from, by the looks of it, her father.

“Lady Monica’s death was hard on her husband? He never blamed Ravella for it, did he?” he asked Maester Gaius, the castellan.

“He… no, Your Grace. Lord Addam worshipped the ground Lady Monica walked on, and he considered Lady Ravella the living proof of their love. He wouldn’t taint their love like that, especially after they spent the better part of two decades trying to conceive. Besides, Lady Monica didn’t die in childbirth.”

“Ravella said—” Aemond frowned.

“Childbirth was difficult on Lady Monica, but it didn’t kill her,” the man insisted. “Two days after Ravella’s birth, she resumed her duties as Lady Whitmore, even though we insisted she did not. We were all fussing over her. She sentenced a guard who’d been trying to rape a maid to be gelded and sent to the Wall, and the man didn’t accept her decree — he attacked her. She killed him, but he had poisoned his blade, thinking he’d have to face Lord Addam. When the wound began to faster, she understood what was happening and asked to be granted mercy. Lord Whitmore… did it himself,” the maester sighed, sad. “A part of him died with her, and he lived only to raise the baby.”

“Gods!” Aemond shook his head. “I wonder how she got the idea that her mother died in childbirth.” That wasn’t exactly what she’d said, but what she’d implied.

“The servant was afraid Ravella would grow up to blame her for her mother’s death, so Lord Whitmore decided to tell Ravella her mother was attacked and killed by a man fleeing justice. I suspect she never believed it, because there was no way Lord Addam would’ve allowed his wife to just wander about a few days after her labors. She must’ve decided he didn’t want to say anything that would make her feel guilty about her mother’s death, either,” the older man laughed. “Ravella was a smart child. She understood from an early age that her father loved speaking of her mother, but doing that always made his heart bleed. So, she paid attention and didn’t question him, to avoid making him suffer. He shared everything of his own volition, though.”

“Poor Ravella,” he shook his head again. Somehow, he’d have to convince her of the truth of the maester’s words. “Why did he do that? Surely Ravella would understand…” a thought occurred. “The servant was Rosey, right?”

A nod. “We told her Rosey was dedicated to her because she was Lady Monica’s maid, which she was, but Ravella grew up thinking Rosey came from Starfall. The truth was, Rosey was determined to repay Lady Monica for saving her, but since she couldn’t do it, she decided to look after her daughter instead.” The maester shrugged, and his chain rattled around his shoulders. “Lady Ravella is an easy person to love, as you must know.”

“Yes,” he nodded, thoughtful. This explained Rosey’s reaction when Ravella returned, the way she’d almost knelt by his feet in gratitude for saving her ‘sweet heart’. “Maester, I need a favor, if you don’t mind.”

Maester Gaius didn’t mind. He did exactly what Aemond asked — not because it was a prince asking, but because it’d make Ravella happy. Aemond had forgotten she spent some months of the year traveling to Dorne, to visit her mother’s family, and to her estate, to keep close to her people. It was at his mother’s suggestion, he was told. On the maester’s insistence, he also took a few days to oversee the estate himself, since he was supposed to rule it as Ravella’s husband. There was nothing wrong, of course — every living person here was devoted to Ravella. They considered her a good lady, just like her parents had been good. It’d make her happy when he returned to King’s Landing and teased her about it.

Not as happy as the surprise he’d planned, he thought a day before the wedding as Vhagar, followed by Sunfyre, landed. He helped his passenger climb down, while Aegon showed his where to step. It was close to dinnertime, so he had an overly emotional Rosey show their guests to their chambers, where they’d change to join the royal family for dinner. They were going to their ward when his mother appeared, escorted by Ser Criston Cole. The Kingsguard blinked several times when he saw who was there, which only made Aemond grin. He introduced the parties, then asked, “Mother, is everything ready?”

“Yes, Aemond. Let’s just hope it doesn’t rain. I’ve also had the sept cleaned, because if it does—”

“It won’t, mother,” he assured her. “Ravella worships the old gods. The godswood is where we shall marry, come rain or shine.”

His mother sighed. “You’re so lucky the High Septon considers this a most romantic wedding gift, Aemond. I swear, if it rains and that poor girl gets drenched and sick, I shall put you on my knees!” But she wouldn’t, and they both knew it. “Now, it isn’t time to argue. I’m sure our guests are tired after their trip,” she opened up a smile and escorted them to their rooms herself. For his part, Aemond was animated for seeing she was accepting of his decision to take Ravella for wife in the godswood. That had to be the world’s worst-kept secret, which explained his mother’s nervousness.

Hours later, he was standing close to the table, talking to Helaena. There was an absent, almost oblivious gleam to his sister’s eyes, but she snapped out of whatever vision she was having, and said, “You’re happy, brother.”

“Yes, dear. It’s strange, isn’t it?” he smiled, caressing her cheek. “Tell me what Ravella did when she found the gown.”

Aemond had flown to Whitmore Park not only to get her wedding cloak, but the gown her mother had worn the day she married her father. Rosey had told him of it, insisting it’d fit Ravella. And, when his eye settled on it, he realized it was perfect. The lilac and silver silk gown would suit her just fine — it bore the colors of her parents’ Houses, after all. As would the necklace he was going to give her.

But he wasn’t a fool. He knew the greatest gift was one she couldn’t hold.

The doors opened and she walked in, stopping by to greet Princess Rhaenys and her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon. For some reason, his father had insisted on summoning the entire family to watch Aemond’s wedding. His half-sister was there, as well, with her bastard sons and their uncle, though they were already seated, Rhaenyra speaking to their father. While his bride spoke to his cousins, Aemond made a discreet gesture to Ser Criston. The man nodded, and disappeared from view.

His mother walked towards Ravella and joined the Velaryons in conversation. His breathing hitched as she made her way to him. He found that he couldn’t wait, so excused himself and left Helaena alone. These past weeks, Aemond had courted Ravella, to let her know their wedding wasn’t a burden. Only, he courted her his own way, in a way she’d appreciate. Not even after his grandfather snapped that he was going to drive her away, Aemond ceased. He knew she looked forward to their verbal battles with the same anticipation as he.

“My prince,” she made a curtsy. “I looked for you these past days. You were running an errand, I was told.”

“I was, my lady,” he confirmed. “I wouldn’t have gone, if I had suspected my absence would peeve you, my sweet, blushing bride.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t peeved. I just thought it was so sad that you felt the need to run and hide from me. I’m not the dragon here,” she shrugged.

“Run? Lady Ravella, the only one about to run is you,” he glared at his mother. Alicent’s smile died when she saw the look on his face. Apparently, she told the Velaryons to take their seats, for dinner would be served soon, and walked to join him and Ravella. “Mother, my bride is under the impression I was running from her.”

“She—? Excuse me?” Alicent blinked, confused.

He repeated his words, adding, “Please, tell her she’s only one about to run.”

“Aemond, no,” his mother pleaded.

“Aemond, yes,” he corrected with an evil glint to his eye. Then, he glanced down at Ravella. “Go ahead, Ravella. If you do consider me such a craven, go away. I won’t stop you.”

“You’re being incredibly childish. How am I supposed to raise my children with a child for their father?” she stomped her foot, then looked at Alicent. “I swear, Your Grace, your son is absolutely impossible.” It didn’t help that his mother was agreeing, although he saw her trying to fight a giggle. “Who guarantees I won’t be dragged back if I do decide to go?”

Aemond leaned forward. “Ravella, let’s be honest — you wouldn’t get past those doors if you tried to leave,” he pointed to the doors, but she didn’t turn. “Try it. I promise I’ll give you half an hour before I set up in pursuit. Surely, you mustn’t deserve the present I spent these past days securing you.”

“Present?” she tilted her head. “What present? No one said anything about presents!” her face contorted. “You were riling me up, Aemond!”

“Was I, though? Try to find out, little butterfly,” the despised nickname, a mockery of her height and House sigil, made sure her temper was triggered. “Go,” he made a shooing gesture.

“Aemond!” his mother held his wrists.

“Why would I go? So you can accuse me of being a coward? I wasn’t the one who disappeared three days before my wedding, Aemond!”

Alicent took that declaration as invitation to excuse herself. Flabbergasted, Aemond realized Ravella was hurt. “Oh, Ravella — were you really upset? I did go away to get you a gift. Your heart’s desire. What were you thinking, silly?”

“I don’t know,” she shook her head. “I just… I wasn’t the bride of your choice. I thought you didn’t want to marry me. And the way everyone behaved, as if they knew something I didn’t…”

“They knew something you didn’t,” he caressed her cheek, smiling. “You couldn’t just do what I expected you to do, right? Had to do things the hard way,” he shook his head, irritated. “Turn around and try to walk past that door, see I won’t let you go. Unless something stops you first.”

“Aemond, this fabled present is behind me, isn’t it? This’d better be good, because—” she swayed to the side, her equilibrium faltering. “Grandma? Uncle Arthur?” she breathed before looking up at him. “I don’t understand—”

“Go to them,” he said, lightly touching her shoulders. “You wanted them here, so I brought them. Good present?” he grinned.

“The best!” she said, pulling him down for a kiss. His mind was still reeling when she suddenly let go and hurled herself at her uncle. The Sword of the Morning caught her with a deep bout of laughter, then kissed her cheek. Aemond watched in silence while she exchanged hugs with her grandmother and uncle, hooking their arms together.

“—of course I will stand there, you silly goose,” Arthur, an older man in his late forties, was saying. “It was why Prince Aemond brought me. He brought Mother because she was important, but me? I’m here to represent your father.”

“Precisely,” Aemond took her hand, grinning. “I’d have brought your entire family, but that was a difficult thing to accomplish. Several ravens were dispatched to negotiate Vhagar’s landing and who’d come. I was most diligent, and expect to be duly thanked, little one.”

“Uncle, if he calls me that again, cut his tongue off,” Ravella ordered, her voice sweet.

Arthur, who was taller than even Aemond, sighed. “Darling—”

She screeched low. “Dear gods, is there one or one hundred harpies somewhere in your family tree?” Aemond asked her grandmother. Ravella blushed, understanding what he was hinting at.

“No, but apparently there are going to be dragons,” the woman’s eyes, a shade closer to purple than to Ravella’s, gleamed.

“Speaking of them, allow me to introduce you to my family,” Aemond smiled, offering his arm. The white-haired woman took it, while Arthur took Ravella’s. They stopped in front of the table, “Your Graces, I’d like to introduce my betrothed’s family. Lady Ravella Dayne of Starfall, and her son, Ser Arthur, the Sword of the Morning.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Dayne,” the king said. “I confess I’ve always been curious to meet the woman who had such scathing words to write to me.”

“You didn’t let my granddaughter live with her family, Your Grace,” Lady Ravella said, drily, as Aemond helped her sit. “You mustn’t have expected thankfulness.”

“Of course not. I was merely respecting her House’s history. She’s a Whitmore, not a Dayne.”

“She’s a Dayne in every way that matters.”

“Mother—”

“Oh, be quiet, Arthur!” Aemond had the feeling this argument was older than Ravella. “But I can’t complain much, Your Grace. If my granddaughter had been sent to Dorne, your son wouldn’t be drooling over her.”

“Excuse me?” the son in question murmured.

“True,” his father’s agreement only added to his shock. “In fact, you have no idea how grateful I am for your granddaughter. This is the first time in years I’ve seen my son happy, and that’s all thanks to her,” he raised his cup. “I’d like to toast to Lady Ravella… Whitmore,” he added, glancing at the older Ravella, before looking at Aemond’s bride. “I’m very pleased to see you joining the family, dear child. Rejecting all those wedding proposals these years was worth it, wasn’t it?” he asked Alicent, who was nodding with a grin, also holding her cup while they all drank.

“Excuse me?” Aemond insisted, louder this time.

“Explain it,” Viserys told his wife.

“Of course, my love,” his mother sipped her wine to buy time. Her face sheepish, she sighed before looking at Aemond. “I… grew very fond of Lady Ravella over the years. She became like a daughter to me. In the beginning, I was worried about the way you two always clashed, but then I realized you both enjoyed it. I was convinced you carried a torch for each other — a dragon-sized torch, really. I just couldn’t force you into anything. I wanted you to conclude it on your own. So, I convinced your father to reject the proposals made, hoping you’d realize what you felt for each other.”

“… What about Ser Philip, Your Grace?” Ravella asked after exchanging a glance with Aemond.

“Oh, that rat!” Alicent growled. Aemond arched a brow, glancing at Aegon. He didn’t know his mother, so meek and sweet, had a temper — but Aegon did. “I’m sorry, Ravella. If I’d known he was so infatuated, I’d have arranged a marriage for him. I’m glad Aemond found you before he could hurt you.”

“So… you didn’t plan this?” Aemond asked.

“Of course not! Why would I do anything to hurt her? I wanted her to marry you, not run the other way at the idea of it!” Alicent shook her head. “You see, Aemond, I’m not the best mother in the world. I make mistakes, but I’ve always wanted what’s best for my children, and I believed Ravella was it for you — you met before you lost your eye, and after it, she never flinched when she saw your eyepatch or the scar. She wasn’t afraid of you. The arguments you had gave you a vigor nothing else did. I had to keep her close. I prayed every day that neither of you would say anything to drive the other away, because the gods know, you can both be impossible. But it has worked out. Not the way I envisioned, but I’m not complaining.”

Aemond stared at her. “It explains the jests,” he inclined his head to Ravella.

“Bloody right it does,” she agreed. “Rosey was your mother’s accomplice.” At that, the queen grinned. “I feel played. Cyvasse pieces don’t feel like I do right now,” she downed her cup.

“And I was thinking myself the smart one,” Aemond drawled, raising his cup. “In this case, I’d like to toast my mother, the most cunning, patient woman to ever grace these Seven Kingdoms. May the Crone continue filling her head with these evil ideas — Daeron is next, I believe. Thank you, Mother,” he grinned, letting her, and only her, see his gratitude.

They drank again. Ravella took her turn, “I’d toast two of the most remarkable women I’ve ever had the honor of meeting. Everything I know about being a wife and a mother… and it isn’t much, I know… I learned from watching you,” she looked at her grandmother. “I spent my entire life hearing about what a wonderful woman my mother was, and I know it’s thanks to you, Grandma. There’s not a day that I didn’t wish to have met her. And then, there’s the queen, who went way beyond what was expected of her to give a child who was, well, a burden, all the care she needed after suddenly finding herself an orphan. You treated me the same as your own children, Your Grace. As things are, I’m incredibly lucky for having you both, because I have a lot to learn yet… and since my mother isn’t here, I can’t think of better teachers,” she swallowed. “And now you’ve entrusted me with your son’s happiness, which I know is a show of the esteem and the respect you feel for me. I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make him happy, Your Grace.”

Aemond downed his cup, as he watched his mother whisper, ‘I know,’ at Ravella, her eyes brimming with tears. He was glad she was at peace with herself — her idea to marry Aegon and Helaena off had backfired in the worst way. This way, she could at least know her foster daughter and one of her sons were happy, because Aemond and Ravella would work to be just that. Happy.

More toasts were made, and Aemond ended up having his and Ravella’s cups filled with diluted wine. “We can’t be seen drunk tomorrow, my bride,” he whispered to her.

“I know, future husband,” she whispered back. “Besides, I swear my head still aches from that stupid concoction Ser Philip forced on me.”

Aemond smiled. He wanted to be in the room when she found out her uncle had pursued the man and killed him. Aemond had been angry with Arthur, but the older knight, cleaning the blood off his sword, explained the killing belonged to him, because, “I’m still Ravella’s closest male kin. You are not. After you’re wed, you can kill anyone you wish, if I don’t catch them first.” It made sense, and more important, Ser Philip was dead and fated to become just a bad memory, so Aemond didn’t raise a fuss.

Still, being killed by the Sword of the Morning himself was more honor than that rat had deserved.

Oh well.

***

Next morning, Ravella was woken at dawn break to get ready for her wedding. She’d slept late, after having excused herself and her family from dinner so they could talk. Aemond had accompanied them. Now, Rosey was scrubbing her scalp and applying a sweet-smelling soap to it. Per her grandmother’s instructions, Ravella was to rest until it was time to leave for the sept.

She stood in front of a mirror as Rosey laced up the beautiful gown her mother had brought from Dorne and wore a few times — the day she married Ravella’s father and the days they commemorated the anniversary of their wedding with a feast. Her hands hovered over it, and she smiled at her reflection; this was the closest she’d ever felt to her mother.

Next, came the beautiful necklace of sapphires set on a shiny black Valyrian steel foundation — Aemond’s wedding gift. He’d told her it was part of the same sapphire he wore in his empty eye socket. Ravella had teased that the gift was an attempt to mark her, and he didn’t deny it, so it filled her with pride to wear the jewel.

Rosey curled her hair, and Ravella decided to let it loose, cascading down her back. Aemond liked her hair, almost as much as she liked his. Last night, while they said their farewells, he embraced her to whisper how anxious he was to see her hair spread over his pillows, so she decided to torment him.

“Your parents would be so proud of you, my sweet,” Rosey smiled at her.

“I like to believe so, Rosey. I miss them. But they left you to take care of me. In a way, they’re still here,” she kissed Rosey’s cheeks, almost asking her to quit crying.

Rosey held her face between her calloused hands. “You finally have what you’ve always looked for,” she said, and it was true. Perhaps Ravella and Aemond weren’t in love the same way as her parents, but it was undeniable they felt something for each other. Maybe everything they went through together had always been fated to lead them to this, she thought.

“Do you think he’s wearing my gift, Rosey?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it on his finger. Prince Aemond shall be a good lord. I’m going to call your uncle now. Wait here,” as if Ravella would dare leave.

“Where’s Rosey, uncle?” she asked a few minutes later.

“She’s with your grandmother. They’re waiting for us,” he replied, serious. “Lysa,” their cousin from High Hermitage, “has sent you a gift. She’d like it if you could wear it.”

“What is it?” Ravella studied the simple gold chain. But then she saw the star and sword pendant.

“This belonged to your mother. Monica gave it to Lysa the day she left Starfall. Our cousin thinks you should have it.”

“Tell her I love— no, I’ll do it myself, when Aemond takes me to Dorne. But, tell her I love it,” she smiled, then pointed out, “This isn’t the way to the sept.”

“I know. We aren’t supposed to go there.” She stared at him, quizzically. He didn’t explain further. As they walked, and she noticed the way the crowd was growing, she held on to his arm. “Is this what I think it is?”

Arthur grinned.

It was. Two tents of sailcloth — in the colors of Houses Whitmore and Dayne — divided the godswood in two. Ravella’s eyes filled with tears, because this was obviously Aemond’s idea. He’d planned the surprise and got everyone to follow suit.

When he stepped into view, positioning his tall, lithe body in front of the weirwood, she smiled at him. He’d gone beyond what she expected to show his commitment. He, who disliked jewels, was even wearing her father’s signet ring with her House’s sigil — a silver butterfly in flight —, and a brooch she’d commissioned of onyx and rubies with the three-headed dragon of his. As usual, he was dressed all in black, which only made the jewels extra sparkly under the bright morning sun.

“I’m so glad you’re here, uncle,” she glanced at him. “There aren’t a lot of people in the world that Father would’ve trusted to do this.”

“I know, my love. That’s why I’ve threatened the prince into making you happy. It’s exactly what your father would do.”

They laughed. Ravella couldn’t take her eyes off Aemond, even if she knew the polite thing was to nod at as many people as possible. She could always look at them later — there was something unbeatable about the enraptured look on his face as he waited for her. Some feet before they reached him, he strode forward, impatient, and offered his hand, which she took. Arthur gave her brow a kiss, and slapped Aemond’s forearm, entrusting her to his care.

They took part in each step of the ceremony — singing, praying, and making their vows. When it came the time to exchange the cloak, Aemond removed hers and took the Targaryen one Aegon was holding. He settled it around her shoulders, then clasped it at her neck. When she turned back to face him, she said, “I love you, Aemond.”

“I love you too, my little butterfly,” he said and kissed her. Enthusiastic clapping followed alongside lewd jokes. It was a pity they couldn’t skip the feast.

***

In the garden, after standing in line to receive compliments, Aemond noticed Helaena staring at him. He approached Ravella, where she was speaking with a group of ladies, and announced he was going to steal her for a while, “Helaena wishes a word, dear.”

He took her by the elbow after they excused themselves, and led her to where Helaena was sitting, alone.

“Helaena, I’m surprised to see you here. Are you enjoying the feast?” Ravella asked. His heart warmed at seeing her affection for his sister; having been raised with them, she knew fully well Helaena had issues with large groups of people.

“Yes, Ravella, I’m enjoying the feast. It’s been mended,” she whispered absently.

“What’s been mended?” Aemond asked after looking at Ravella.

“Destiny — the treads were broken, now they are not,” Helaena said, as if it could be explained. At their blank look, she shook her head. “I can’t say much, but I can tell you something. I told Aemond a long time ago, but he didn’t pay attention, now it’s your turn to hear it, Ravella.”

“Helaena,” he cut her off, “you mean that dream?”

She smiled, nodding. “So, you did pay attention. Do you want to tell Ravella?”

Aemond arched a brow, glancing at his wife. Then, he faced his sister again, “It won’t sound so interesting if you don’t.”

“You’re making me curious,” Ravella laughed.

“Alright,” Helaena clasped her hands. “I had a dream about Aemond not too long before you came to court — I saw him lose his eye to get a dragon. After that, I dreamed of a dragon alone in a dark and cold cave. It was lifeless, but for one much smaller flying animal the dragon snapped his jaws at, in an attempt to capture it. At first, I thought it was a hatchling — they’re known to do that.”

Aemond, having already foreseen the conclusion of Helaena’s dream, pressed his lips together and watched Ravella; she looked hypnotized, as if picturing his sister’s words.

“The dragon turned this way and that, trying to capture the animal that dared poke at him. The little flier didn’t care — it just continued coming, making the dragon lose sight of his treasures. They stayed fighting like that for a long time. However, the dragon simply gave up sometime and let his tormentor come closer… my heart stopped beating when I saw the dragon let loose a steaming breath on it, but the little flier got away again, and after that, everywhere the animal flew to, it was illuminated by a soft silvery glow,” she looked down, smiling.

“What happened next?” Ravella squealed.

“Eventually, after poking so much at the dragon, the little animal — which I’d begun to believe was a firefly —, was able to hit him directly. Again, and again, until it just stopped,” Helaena sighed, sounding frustrated, “as if it’d just given up on pestering the dragon. And, everywhere it touched, the scales turned color, gained life. The dragon went from being pretty formless to crouching on the ground, surrounded by his treasures, his scales a dark, bloody red, while he… snapped at the flier, pestering it to get its attention. I try not to get inside the dreams, but I had to walk in, and take a closer look,” Helaena’s hand shot up to her face.

While Aemond offered her his wine glass, Ravella was nodding. She was one of the few people who didn’t fear Helaena’s visions — something she attributed to First Men magic. There were rumors Ravella was a skinchanger, though Aemond had yet to see it.

“I approached the dragon on light feet, not wanting to startle it, and realized he wasn’t just a Targaryen, but Aemond, since his left side was scarred, and he was missing an eye. It isn’t uncommon for Targaryens to appear in dreams as dragons, you know. Upon that realization, I must’ve made a noise, because the dragon turned his head and spread his wings, holding his body up like a winged snake,” she made the posture, attracting more than one curious glance, while Aemond laughed. “He roared at me. The flier showed up again to resume its fluttering around him, and my eyes were fixed on it, trying to guess what it was. Upon noticing this, the dragon’s fist shot up suddenly, and closed around something — the flier disappeared from sight, frightened of the dragon, I thought. And then the dragon lowered his head, his snout so close I could smell his breath, and opened that mouth full of teeth as tall as me, and I saw a column of green fire at the back of his throat, ready to be unleashed.”

Ravella stared at Aemond, eyes wide. “You threatened your sister?!”

“He did,” Helaena confirmed. “I’d heard of dreamers being injured while in the dreams — which is why I watch from a distance —, and knew my mind would be shattered if the dragon burned me… so I began pleading with him in High Valyrian. I reminded him he was my brother, and in response, he turned his back, clenching his fist so hard, his claws teared at his paw. I didn’t give up, like the flier hadn’t, and was able to circle his huge body again, until I was facing him. Then I asked him to show me the treasure he was holding so close to his heart, and vowed I’d leave if he did. I just wanted to see what it was. He rolled his eye, let out a resigned breath and extended his paws towards me. And… he spread them open,” she sighed, still beaming and gesturing like the dragon in her vision. “He relaxed his hold, and I saw the most beautiful, delicate butterfly in his palm. His grip should’ve smashed her, but she was whole. And even though she could fly away to freedom, to the green forest around, she chose not to. She continued spreading her pale tendrils of silver around the dragon, healing him and the once-dead cave right before my eyes, until he was whole again. And the dragon insisted on keeping the butterfly safe, making her his hoard. The butterfly is you, Ravella.”

She was blinking. Although she said “I’m not… I didn’t—” there was a silly smile on her face.

“You most definitely did,” Aemond interrupted her. Helaena nodded with another beam, lightly touching Ravella’s elbow before she walked away, muttering again about destiny being right. As she did, Aemond held his wife’s hands, demanding that she look at him. “You healed my soul. When I was at my lowest, you convinced me my life was still worth living. Do you remember that?”

A few weeks after he’d lost use of his eye — the globe was removed much later, when Aemond was fifteen and the sight of the ruined, scarred eye filled him with equal parts anger and anguish —, Ravella found him crying in his room. She sat on the bed beside him and just stayed there, refusing to be dismissed. The light touch of her hand on his made Aemond recoil, an unwelcome show of vulnerability displayed to his favorite enemy, but for some reason, instead of being angry, he looked at her. She began spreading an ointment on the ravaged skin, and when she was finished, said, “I was jealous when I saw you protecting your mother.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You told your father Aegon had called Princess Rhaenyra’s sons bastards, but it was the queen. And when you saw her cry over your eye, you told her it was worth it, because you had gotten Vhagar,” she said with a pout. “That’s why your mother loves you so much. I wish I could’ve protected my parents, too,” a sigh, as she folded her hands on her lap. “I wish I had a family to protect.”

Aemond had been shocked by her words — each one. Nobody had suspected the queen as the perpetrator behind the rumors of Rhaenyra’s sons’ parentage, and no one, not even his mother, had guessed at Aemond’s distress at seeing his mother cry. A lot had happened that day, and although young, Aemond knew it shouldn’t be his mother seeking justice for him. And seeing her crying and sad was wrong, so he told her losing his eye was a small price to pay for Vhagar.

Of course, after a lifetime trying to claim a dragon, he’d also believed his words. But as time passed, and he began to find difficulties and fear his dreams would die before he’d even had the chance to consider how to fulfill them, Aemond began to feel despaired, hollow. He hadn’t seen a way out of it, until Ravella’s naïve, heartfelt praise awakened a fire inside him. It was when he decided to push himself, to be at his best. He had had to adapt. Each failure demanded sweat and blood, but then, so did each victory. When he was alone, he cried, and he felt better, for he recalled her words. If Ravella, so mercurial and taunting, a non-friend, could see his worth, then it meant it was hidden down deep.

After that lonely afternoon, Aemond began calling her ‘butterfly’, for she was a small thing of beauty, a real treasure. “Maybe that wasn’t your intention, but you offered a lost boy in agony the incentive he needed to be the man he’s become,” he said.

“Oh my gods, Aemond, I—”

He shushed her with another kiss. Her soft hands framed his face, and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him better while he bent his spine, his fingers circling her waist, lifting her several inches off the ground.

Around them, the crowd roared and clapped. Ravella blushed as several guests made loud jests about their relief at finally seeing them settled, but Aemond didn’t mind; he was relieved, as well.

They broke the kiss and he took her into his arms. “Is it me or they were more anxious than us?” she asked as he walked toward their chambers, carrying her. Not a single person dared stop him, or call for the bedding.

He sighed, “They’ve lived vicariously through us, my love. To them, our wedding is like… reaching the end of a very good book,” he compared. “For us, it’s only the beginning.”

“If it’s to be the start of a good book, then we should start writing the prologue. Do you have ink and paper, dragon prince?” she grinned, rubbing their noses together, her hand tangling in his hair. Aemond arched a brow, and suddenly let out a loud roar, before bursting out laughing. The symphony of Ravella’s own laughter made his once weary soul spark to life. Gently, he lowered her body to their bed, a soft, besotted smile curving his mouth as he announced, “I have you, and that’s all I need, my little butterfly,” before they locked their lips together.

[fluffytimearts]

Here we go...

"First rule of misogyny: women are responsible for men’s actions. "

If were talking about mothers with their sons in terms of parenting, yes. If were talking in general like a girl with her boyfriend or wife with her husband or etc, no, of course not.

"now women giving birth to males means that women are responsible for the evilness men commit. You can’t make this shit up…The mental gymnastics males pull to blame and shame women for the thing men do is truly pure evil!" Actually, that isn't a lie. How a person is raised and what they were raised with does show how a person acts just like a mother does with her daughter. So no this is not a blame or shame game, this is just solid fact in parenting no matter how you twist it or not, now what they do is as a adult is a different matter.

"Nope ! Most women do not report rape due to being shamed and blamed for rape ! There are many societies that forced women to marry their rapists! Many societies that jails, or honor kill women for being raped. Countless women being stoned to death for being raped." This is stastically correct, many women would go to jail even after killing their offenders, This can be found in news reports and proven so I have nothing say for that. However, this post is talking about a experience of being sexually assualted by women, not men. So you are using this to downplay his experience as one who has been SA'd by multiple women in his life and 1 man.

"Yet the worse thing for men is that he might be told he enjoyed it ?

Also who is saying men enjoy rape in most cases ? Other men are ! It is other men that laugh at teenage boy being raped. Proving that men are evil !"

Yes, the men you mentioned in the post below are indeed evil because they laugh and victimize the person who was SA'd by the older woman in the news report. However, the fact you are downplaying and looking over the fact that young boys can't be raped by older or even same age women in sickening in many ways than one. You can believe a man can rape a child, yes, but not a woman? Obvious double standard as well as a core example of not going by character and instead going by gender for being guilty or innocent.

Also yes, the worst thing for men that he is told he was supposed to enjoy it at his age? Yes, because they are normalizing that if you are fucked by a woman forcefully when you did not want it that means you are the problem not the one who did it. This is the same when people tried to say a woman should enjoy it when a man rapes her, it's the same thing and equally as evil and wrong.

@transgendertelekinesis

[snapheart1536]

Bad Arguments

Thomas Seymour

'Dashing'

Perverts are always slobbering over Seymour's 'dashing' appearance.

For it is he:

See?

Well say no more.

She must've wanted it then.

...

Pretending that comedy cult-leader get-up is desirable is your signal to take action.

Chuck that book out the winder.

Might as well, 'cause said term inevitably precedes a heaving, self-insert sex fantasy, dripping with enough lip-smacking festering juiciness to make yer milk curl.

Female writers 'identify' with Parr, hence her inevitable depiction as long-suffering scholarly maiden, nobly sacrificing every lump of her precious spiritual self for The Greater Good, and yet, for all that, BURNING WITH FORBIDDEN PASSION, PEOPLE!

Like them.

Seymour, therefore, has the the most ludicrous turd-polish of the century, where a grungy, follically-unchallenged pædophile is re-packaged as some bizarre Mills-and-Boon vision of heroic ultra-manly masculine macho manliness.

Oh! To be held in those arms!

Now. NOW. Stop it.

Stop scrolling back to his picture.

He IS sexy!

HE IS!

You're just seeing it wrong!

You look with yer patch, not yer bloody eyes.

We're conditioned to 'be nice' and go along with the lie; to accept this frightening depravity o' theirs where Seymour truly is the pinnacle of muscular manhood, and definitely, totally doesn't resemble Hamburglar channeling Rasputin.

'Cause clearly, imagining a couple of middle-aged old duffers getting down to it and bumping some monumental uglies holds great appeal for Women Of A Certain Age.

Sadly, in the midst of this lurid wish-fulfillment sits the loathsome form of that darned Elizabeth; coming over here, being inconvenient and upsetting everyone.

Ooooh. What a bitch.

Not only does The Little Bastard insult All Wummunhud as queen by swearing off men, which novellists take VERY personally, but she's also got the bare-faced cheek to ruin their sordid squelch-athon as a kid by daring to exist.

She's a witch! Burn her!

Exactly. And obviously, it can't possibly be Scummy Scrummy Seymour's fault he kept bursting into a thirteen-year-old girl's room and sexually assaulting her.

Why accusing him would put a right dampner (and the wrong sort) on all these menopausal fits of hysteria, so that's gotta go.

What, this smouldering Adonis?

This tousle-haired, golden-eyed Gift From God, meaty muscles rippling like vomit on a bouncy castle?

You're blaming HIM for any of it?!

As if! It'll be that conniving teenage trollop luring away our shimmering Son of Adam with her fiendish feminine wiles.

Oooooooooh, BITCH!!!

Like the Venerable Parr, Seymour's fangirls don't care if he cheats with a cheap bit on the side, for that only enhances his gushing manliness, where m'lord's eruptions can't be satisfied by merely one woman, such is their epic overflow.

But whilst we excuse him, we certainly don't Elizabeth, what with her Shameless Betrayal Of The Sisterhood.

Well he's gonna tek it if it's onna plate, in'ee?!

Note we're never given any actual proof Elizabeth reciprocated; we're just ordered to accept it by default.

Come on, man. She Was An Adult. It's literally impossible she could ever turn him down.

Why?

Why?! WHY?! He was DASHING!!!

Indeed. I daresay the volcanic heat pulsing from his gorgeous groin was like beholding the scented fullness of mighty Zeus in all his brutish magnificence, and singed off her eyebrows.

Yet some sick freaks these days try to say SHE was the innocent party, and fended off his matted werewolf mitts the best she could.

Oh-ho! Well that's worse! Now the filthy whore's bloody ungrateful to boot!

Kids today, eh? They don't know they're born.

Damn straight. What the Wise Ones wouldn't give for five fabulous minutes beneath that bearded bushiness.

But here's scabby Elizabeth turning up her fat snooty nose at Hirsute Heaven!

Thinks she's too good for it, eh? Well we'll see about that.

Gaslighting the public to see Seymour as 'dashing' is vital to their sloppy narrative.

Admitting he's got the unwashed serial killer style down to a tee casts wicked aspersions on Parr's spotless character (and thus, by extension, their own), for having such disgusting tastes.

What are yer tryna say, man?! That Saint Parr ain't literally perfect?!

Thou jesteth!

Problem with kinning Parr is enjoying some Sasquatch Sexy Times through her fragment form would besmirch her oh-so elevated grace and dignity.

Therefore everything Wimmen are begging Cousin It to do to them they force on Elizabeth instead, panting at the prose yet all the while seething with rage and well jel.

That monkey's mine, bitch!

Yet the notion she found some groping geriatric attractive is blatantly absurd to the point of insanity, and the only reason it's the reflex interpretation is because these authors want it be to justify their own all-encompassing, eye-popping hatred, and infect the rest of us with it too.

They push this 'dashing' denial of reality as if that's evidence in itself, insisting Seymour was apparently irresistible in the extreme, where that hypnotic hairiness o' his easily outweighed being:

• Elizabeth's GUARDIAN!

• Elizabeth's STEPFATHER!

• Elizabeth's UNCLE!

• THRICE Elizabeth's age!

• Part of the faction that KILLED ELIZABETH'S MOTHER!!!

You know how it is, kids.

Sometimes elderly relatives are simply too flamin' fanciable for their own good.

Incest? Schmincest. Yer just gotta 'ave 'em.

And of course, the Real Question remains unanswered:

What is about the Thousand-Year-Old Hermit look that children find so sexy?

[black-lungs-pale-skin]

July 5 -24

As a woman in her late twenties you get some ideas of what the world is and what it isn’t. And the longer you stay in your feelings and look around you will quickly discover that most of what people tell you to be true is false.

What I’ve learned this week to be false is that if you are good. People will treat you accordingly.

I have my whole life tried to be good. I don’t lie. I don’t spread false information. I stick up for people I love. Give people chances because we are all human. I try to be compassionate, caring and loving to everyone that comes into my life. And I would hope that would bring some good karma back to me. But I was wrong.

I have never lied in my adult life to gain anything. I have lied to protect others out of love but that’s all. But somehow I always get treated like I’m not thrust worthy. Even though my “lies” as they say won’t make me gain anything. Why would I lie about my health? Why would I want people to feel bad for me? I have tried my whole life not to get attention from others. So why would I want it in the form of pitty? Im scared for my life and then I would lie? If I lied I wouldn’t have been terrified. If I lied I wouldn’t have bit my cheek and hit my head. But I guess all I could ever want is for people to feel bad for me? Yeah sure.

But in the same breath you, a stranger. A man that works in saving people. Put your hands under my shirt. Did you want my validation? Or did you want to feel powerful over a woman in a health crisis? You couldn’t respect me as an adult but could touch me under my clothes? Disgusting. But then you probably did believe me. You probably thought that after hitting my head I wouldn’t remember you touching me under my shirt. But I do. And my fiance saw it as well. Call if you need help or a life might be in danger. But if you are a young woman. You are probably better off doing it yourself.

Another lesson I learned this week is: just because your parents are supposed to care. Doesn’t mean they will.

My father is as fathers most. Ignorant to his place in where it went wrong with he’s children. Blaming everything and everyone for his own actions. He’s also in the older generation so I’m not even sure if women have more to life than being a wife and a mother in he’s eyes. And of course. Women can’t be angry either. Then they are hysterical.

My father shows love in the form of paying for things. But it’s not to show love to me, but so I will have to say thank you and show gratitude. Stroke his ego so he can feel good about himself. He’s so full of self importance. It’s sickening.

My mother is also probably like most mothers. Adores her son but critical of her daughters. Body shames her daughters. In competition with her daughters. Manipulative, cold and reserved. Unless it can make her look good. Also keeps contact with men that has hurt her children. Because male validation it key. No matter how awful of people they are.

I remember one time when I was young my father yelled at me at how it was my fault my mother was sick. And whist 14 year old me was crying my mother sat there watching. She threw me under the buss. But that has shown to be quite typical of her.

Oh my mother and father are so happy together. If you just look away from my mother cheating on him and him being violent. And me being the one to keep these secrets.

But as with them and friends of mine they trust me with deep dark secrets. Life destroying ones. You would think that they at least would treat me kindly because of it. But no. So there is no reason to keep any of their secrets. I won’t give respect to people that treat me like dirt.

[set-sail-for-morning]

Me yesterday: Man, the way I was treated by the adults around me when I was young was wrong and I deserved better. They were more than twice my age and had considerable more experience at being an adult than I did. I deserved compassion and understanding when I fumbled, not mockery and punishment. I was used and manipulated by people who did not have my best interests at heart and that. Was. Wrong.

Me today: Not only was I used and manipulated and lied to repeatedly, but I was made to believe that those actions were somehow my fault - a belief I still carried unknowingly until yesterday. If my being abused by her son, someone my age, wasn't my fault... then the actions of a bitter middle-aged woman towards a teenager could not possibly be my fault either. While it is fair to say there were moments I acted poorly due to my age, her behavior towards me was unbecoming of someone who claimed to care for me. I was right to be hurt and angry at the time because I deserved better from the adults around me. It was not my fault and I'm not going to continue to blame myself for the shitty actions of someone who should have known better.

[casspurrjoybell-23]

The Raven - Chapter 9

*Warning Adult Content*

In anticipation of his mother's return, the raven slides back under the door in his shadow form before he can be caught lurking about the corridor against his mother's explicit instruction.

Quickly, he returns to his natural state and busies himself with practicing minor magic.

He ensures to use magic that cannot be seen from the slight gap under the door, he would not want to cause a ruckus.

However, if his mother finds him not practicing at all, she would likely be incredibly infuriated with him.

His choice to remain unnoticed in the tower is obviously the safest course of action and should make his mother happy.

Perhaps 'happy' is not the correct term, Raven is unsure that he has ever seen the woman genuinely happy before.

Not even a sliver of delight has ever graced her expression while in his presence.

He is not sure how long he practices the menial tasks he mastered long ago, the urge to do something more exciting bubbling in his stomach.

However, he stuffs it back down, focusing on his pre-planned course instead.

There are some things he would rather keep to himself and the true extent of his magic happens to be one of the most significant.

Besides, if there is even the slightest possibility he could be found out by someone other than his mother, the punishment would likely be dire.

The door to his room opens suddenly, revealing his mother.

After a moment, when the raven is sure his mother has noticed his actions, he calmly ceases his magic to ask...

"Is everything alright, Mother?"

"Yes, yes," she answers hurriedly, waving a hand in dismissal at the question in an apparent attempt to keep the truth from him.

Raven briefly wonders whether or not she knows how easy to read she can be at times.

"There was just a small pest problem that the guards eventually took care of."

Pest?

Is she really calling the prince himself a pest?

The raven wonders how kindly the king and queen would take such a remark against their only son and the country's future ruler, at that.

Something within him encourages him to speak up, some inexplicable and unknown force urging the raven to defend the prince.

It is confusing to him but relatively prominent, leaving a strange twist in his stomach.

However, he bites his tongue, fearful of his own mother's wrath should he do anything to spark the hatred within her, especially after an unexpected visit to the tower by the prince himself.

The raven is not sure why no one is allowed to know of his existence,but he will not audibly question it.

"Now, I will be gone the rest of the day. I expect you to continue practicing your magic while I am away," she informs him, looking at him as if she already knows he will not.

It is like she knows he will spend the whole time dreaming but what she does not know is that it will be the so-called 'pest' that he will be dreaming of.

It will be the probably charming and definitely handsome prince that he thinks of while absolutely not practicing magic.

"It appears the coast is clear now, so you may practice something more useful than... whatever it is you are currently doing."

"Yes, Mother," he responds mechanically, the words leaving his lips in reflex instead of will, the response is pre-programmed into his brain, one that simply slips out without any thought.

Accepting his noncommittal answer, his mother gives a short nod before exiting the room.

When he is alone again, Raven finds himself sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the garden.

Is he hoping the prince will find his way there?

Possibly.

But even if not, Raven still enjoys admiring the view of the tall trees and lovely flowers.

If he was not so afraid of the possibility that his mother would find out and what the repercussions would be, Raven could easily slip under the locked door in his shadow form and explore the castle and find his prince.

He does not like to make his mother angry, though and one would not blame him, as she is far from kind when that flame burns within her.

In fact, she is downright scary and oftentimes violent, as well, the raven has the scars to prove it.

Raven swallows thickly, the lump in his throat catching as he tries to shake away the fear-inducing thoughts.

It is probably not worth all the trouble it will cause just to have a few moments of freedom.

Taking the chance to leave his prison in his tower room or possibly talking to someone other than his mother is not worth the relentless and ruthless consequences that will surely follow.

A sigh escapes him as he tries to convince himself that sneaking away simply to let his eyes roam over the handsome prince just once more is not worth the whipping he would receive in return.

As much as he would love to risk it, to spend even a single moment more in the prince's presence, Raven has not yet learned how to use healing magic and his mother can be brutal.

Instead of attempting even a temporary escape, the raven decides to simply continue with his favorite pastime, gazing out at the flowers and imagining himself flying through the garden in his feathered form.

Of his many forms, his raven is his favorite, it is the one that offers him the greatest reprieve from his monotonous and painstakingly lonely everyday life.

Somehow, being a bird soothes him, comforting him with a promise of eventual freedom.

The raven imagines himself to be free, similarly to the many birds he observes from his place in the window.

They flutter carelessly, sometimes aimlessly, through the flowers and the trees, their wings kissing the sky and their talons touching the grass.

If only he could be that kind of bird.

With a shake of his head, Raven instead focuses on something less depressing, his train of thought immediately switching tracks and leading him back to the positive part of his daydreams.

He closes his eyes and allows his mind to wander, imagining himself soaking in the sunshine, his feet firmly planted in the grass and the scent of freshly cut flowers adorning his long, black hair practically fills his nose.

And the best part of this particular dream?

The handsome prince is by his side, smiling lovingly at him.

If only his life could be different.

[bumblebaubles]

i think its time to re examine the colleen hoover "criticisms”

its latent with internalized misogyny 

-blaming a woman for her fully adult sons actions

-co opting feminist language to condescend other women who read her books

-the conflation of portraying abuse with glorifying abuse

(lets be honest. who else get these criticisms. no ones saying euphoria or heartbreak high are glorifying abuse )

its the im not like other girls paternalist feminism you all pretended to hate yet just cannot quit

[schrullesworld]

The coronation of Tsarina Taisiya Crown Prince Caro of Del Sol and Princess Miri of Oasis Springs are having a good time, mean while Prince Consort Onkar of Del Sol has a chat with the Queen of Windenburg. Caro, Miri and Onkar belong to @motherofroyalsims

Crown Prince Caro (C): This is amazing here, I swear getting a weekend off from Military Camp was totally worth it. Princess Miri (M): At least you have fun on your weekend off. C: You don’t? M: No, no I am having fun, it is just nice to see you again having fun.

C: Best thing, your dad is not here to scold me, I think my dad came here to make sure we don’t do anything stupid. M: We are law abiding citizens. We would never do anything stupid. Although from the way these people are here, we seem rather tame.

C: I agree, but hey they also have some cool stuff here. Never saw an abbey with a partey room. Whoever build that was a genius. M: They lack some chicken nuggets though. C: [sighs] Sadly. But hey we can just ask them if they can make some.

M: You are right, but first we might need to talk to some people here. At least enjoy our time here. Before you go back to being shouted at by a man and me being shouted at by a woman. C: is mum that hard on you?’ M: Hormones, I do not blame her.

Queen Hanna (H): So you are just here with your son and his fiancee? Prince Consort Onkar (O): Yes, I had to keep an eye on them and my wife Caroline kind of ‘kicked’ me out to have some fun. H: [laughs a little bit] O:Nothing bad happend, just that I am cooped up and treat her like she lost a leg, instead of a pregnant woman.

H: Oh congratulation. O: Thanks. It is just so weird sometimes. We did try for yesrs and now when our son is like close to being an adult. She gets pregnant. H: It is still sweet. O: With whom did you attend the coronation? H: My husband and my second daughter. My first one is home with her husband taking care of her baby. O: Oh congratulations?

H: I wish, she is 17. O: Oh...that is... H: Kind of bad I know, but what can you do about it. She was already reprimanded. At least she is taking care of her daughter. O: Oh that is good thing. Must be stressfull for her. H: Well, actions have consequences.

O: Well good look with your daughter and granddaughter. H: Thanks and to you as well, to your new addition. O: Additions. H: Oh? O: She will have triplets. H: Holy shit! Oh...sorry. That just slipped by.