#rhaegonweek2024

[rhaegonthinker]

happy rhaegon week!

{day 1: all tied up, whether that be rhaenyra or aegon’s blood ties that keep them tethered to each other, or the rope, the chains that keeps them in bondage to one another.}

bonded and bounded by blood {mature, 950 words}

Rhaenyra traces over the scar her stepmother inflicted on her all those years ago. the mended flesh her father’s catspaw dagger sliced through, tarnishing her porcelain flesh. The same dagger revealing Aegon the Conqueror’s dream she wished she had within her grasp, wanting to run her hand along the Valyrian blade, reveal its secrets once more to her. Of fire and blood.

But another of her blood, one with fire swirling through his veins, holds onto it no, grasps onto it tighter, not afraid to cut his own flesh upon it—her half-brother. One named after Aegon the Conqueror, the second of his name. Second in everything Rhaenyra was first in: first born, first loved, first, first, first.

Thoughts of her consume him daily, memories of the night when his own mother cut his sister with the curved dagger, once her filth, her sins, had been revealed for all to see. All because he was jealous of her, of the attention and love she got from their father wholly. even from his mother. He envied that his sister’s bastards got kisses to their foreheads, a comforting touch to their bruised cheeks, while all Aegon received was a harsh, swift slap to his own cheek, marks his mother left—for never being enough. For always being too much.

Aegon cried himself to sleep that night dreaming of a younger version of his older sister, dressed in white and gold, intricate braids piled on top of her head, rubies placed like bloody tears drops amongst them. He was marrying her, he was placing a cloak of his protection around her—one of black fire and crimson blood. And Aegon smiled down at her, his dreams coming true. But Rhaenyra was crying, looking at him with misery in her lilac eyes, disappointment. She held the dagger to her young flesh and carved an A into it, then she carved an R into his arm, joining her blood to his. This is what you wanted, brother. Now we are one and the same, our blood and fates forever linked. Rhaenyra licked the blood of the blade, kissing him, sharing the taste of both of their blood with him. She bit his lip, injuring him strikingly. And Aegon awoke from that nightmare, that dream, harder than steel. He pleasured himself to the memory of her copper and saliva, how sweet, how metallic it tasted. He imagined fucking her on their wedding night, how she would bleed on his cock, once he pierced through her maidenhead, officially making her his sisterwife.

Aegon always imagined it was her each and every time he fucked another, drinking until he was dizzy and couldn’t differentiate a simple whore, picturing the sister he craved in place of them. And at least with actual sisterwife who favored his Rhaenyra, he could imagine more easily, effortlessly, especially if he fucked her from behind, imagining her tears and moans of pain were those of pleasure. For he knew Rhaenyra would find pleasure in the pain he could gift her, give her always.

As the years went by, without his sister’s presence in his life, learning that she had an Aegon of her to own now—with their uncle of all people, Aegon’s love turned to rot, beginning to loathe, while still harboring the lust that that twisted sickly inside his soul. Still believing she was his, that she owed him.

The day he saw her before the throne, belly full and festering with their uncle’s seed, Aegon smirked at her, salaciously, sinfully, wanting her to hear the filth in his mind. Of how he thought of fucking her in front of their uncle, her sons, their father, his mother. Of how he thought of ruining her, giving her wounds along her perfect flesh to match the wounds he felt inside himself, never able to heal. Not since that night she started haunting him, that his blood began to hunger for hers. He couldn’t help but act out, taunt and bully her bastard sons. Take out his frustrations on them, when she was jovial, smiling and laughing, all joy, no hurt.

And when the dagger was finally placed in his hands for the first time, he felt a thrill holding the curved blade. The same steel that cut his sister, that drew her blood. He almost envied the dagger. He wanted to lick the edge of it with his tongue. See if it tasted like her.

Aegon holds onto it now, tightly, obsessively, never letting go. A piece of her always with him, never out of his sight, always in his grasp. He's tempted to use it on his flesh, to make himself bleed, hurt. To feel it slice through his pale skin and cause him pain, like she causes him everyday. But Aegon is patient, and he is king now, his father's rightful heir. And he knows Rhaenyra will come to claim her rightful place; that his sister will come with fire and blood to take what is undoubtedly hers. And Aegon eagerly awaits the day she does, for he will graciously give her her throne, made of iron and steel swords. As long as she submits to his steel carving into her flesh once more, making her bleed for him and only him. A fresh bloody wound signifying his mark on her, his claim upon her pristine flesh, branded onto her body by her brother, on her very soul for eternity.

In life and even in death. For her fire will always scorch and burn through him, for they share the same blood. Are bonded and bound by it, wounded and stitched, sewn back together by the veins that intertwine their destinies, their fates together. 

[rhaegonthinker]

created a ao3 collection for rhaegon week at the end of november!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[jacenyra]

ravishment | rhaegon | {e. 3.7k}

religious americana inspired au from the song dog days by ethel cain

[written for day 5: past, present, and future for rhaegon week by @rhaegonthinker]