SUMMARY: after andrew codyâs death, you go through the five stages of grief while starting over alone
WARNINGS: heavy angst, grief, mentions of death, mention of dead body, implied violence, depression, emotional distress, Smurf is mentioned twice
A/N: character death hitting so hard it casually pulls you back into writing like âhey⊠remember your coping mechanisms?â
just finished animal kingdom and ??? rude. extremely rude. i was minding my business, and now iâm sad for fictional people again. Anyways, come suffer w me for a bit
1- Denial comes first, but it doesnât feel like denial, it feels like patience, like waiting for something thatâs still in motion.
You tell yourself the plan is still real: get him out, disappear, start over somewhere no one knows your names. Andrew has always moved differently, always carried things you never fully understood, so this isnât strange, heâs just late, thatâs all.
you hold onto that version of things longer than you should, you replay everything, searching for proof that you misunderstood something, maybe a detail out of place, a moment you read wrong, something that says this isnât final and that heâll come back, quiet as ever, like nothing ever really changed.
2 - Anger doesnât arrive all at once, but builds slowly, hidden inside your thoughts until it has nowhere else to goâŠ. and then it lands on J.
You start to understand what he did. The money, the setup, the way everything unraveled. You canât stop thinking about it, turning it over and over in your head until it stops making sense and starts making you completely sick. What if you had paid more attention? What if you had seen him for what he really was before everything broke apart? The questions donât come with answers and somehow, the anger twists back into yourself, into every single thing you didnât noticed
3- Bargaining comes disguised as reflection.
you begin rewriting things in your head, adjusting small details. If you had stayed closer, if you had pushed harder, if you had understood J sooner, maybe if you had given him some sense of justice for killing Smurf, or talked more about Julia none of this would have happened and you would still have Andrew.
maybe there was a version of this where he made it out with you, where the plan worked and you didnât lose him at all. you never find that version, but you keep looking anyway.
4- Depression follows when the questions finally wear you down.
Youâre alone in a new country, living under a fake name. Work, eat, sleep, repeat. That's your routine, no structure, just time passing whether you want it to or not.
And then it hits you in a way you canât avoid: there is nothing left of him. No house, no objects, nothing to prove that he has ever existed. The Cody home burned down, taking everything with it, including him. Thereâs nothing you can hold onto, nothing you can touch to make him feel real again. No pictures, no videos, not even something as small as a shirt that still carries his scent.
Only memory, and memory starts to feel unreliable the longer itâs all you have
You think about the skate park he built with his own hands. Not for the family, not for survival, not because he had to. It was his. Something he chose, something separate from everything that defined him for so long.
It was proof he was getting better, that he was reconnecting with a version of himself that had been lost for a long time, he was learning to live for himself, without being haunted by the ghost of Smurf
And thatâs the part that hurts the most, because he did it right before the end
and yet, what really keeps you awake at night is the after. No funeral, no moment where anyone stopped to recognize that he was gone. You donât have a grave to visit, nowhere to go when it gets too heavy and you need to feel close to him. You donât even know what happened to his body, where he ended up, if anyone treated him like he mattered or if he was just handled and discarded like it was nothing, and that thought doesnât leave you alone, it keeps coming back, because it makes everything feel unfinished.
5- Acceptance doesnât feel like peace, at all
You stop expecting him to come back, stop building a future around something that isnât there anymore. The routine becomes more solid and automatic. Life continues, even if it feels smaller now, heâs still there, though.
Craig, J, Deran⊠they exist in your memory, but always in relation to him, even when you think about them directly, it loops back to Andrew
Your home reduced to ashes, your money gone, your family scattered into something unrecognizable, but none of that compares to losing him
Because if he were here, none of it would really matter
Starting over was always the plan, it was supposed to be the beginning of something better, but doing it alone was never part of it.
Still, you keep going.
You learn how to carry it, how to exist with the weight, some days it feels lighter, most days it doesnât
And sometimes you find yourself hoping. praying, even, to something youâre not sure you believe in, but know he used toâŠ
I'm Suad Mohammad đ 64-year-old mother from Gazađ
I am writing this because my 6 children and I have lost everything in this devastating war. We are now living in a smallđ fragile tent that offers no protection from the scorching sun or the freezing cold đWe are essentially living on the street with nothing to our nameđ
I am reaching out to you as a sister seeking help for her family. Please do not ignore my plea. Even the smallest amount of support could protect my children from hunger and the cold. We are desperate and we truly need you to stand by usđThank you for your humanity.đ«
ANIMAL KINGDOM SPOILERS â when J betrayed the Codys I really was ready to forever be a devoted hater, but I realized, at the same moment Pope probably did, that this boy deserved so, so, so much better
just like his mama.
While watching the show I was so focused on Pope that I didnât even stop to think about what it mustâve been like for J to meet his rich family after spending so many years in complete poverty with no support or help for him, or for Julia. As an audience, weâre sad about Popeâs death, but looking at it neutrally, i canât help but feel empathy for J despite everything
Including: Daenerys, Aerion, Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond (Tell me which Targaryens you'd like to see in part 2!!! <3)
WARNINGS: just vampirism, no smut (for now) . TVD type
DAENERYS;
I feel like at first she would fight against it and be very good at ignoring that side of herself, drinking blood only when Viserys forced her to. After Viserysâ death, with the Dothraki, she would begin to see vampirism in a more positive light, but she still wouldnât drink the blood of her followers (who would probably offer it). She would only drink Khal Drogoâs blood once a night. Over time, she would casually drink blood from a goblet as if it were wine and would frequently feed on her enemies without any hesitation. She would probably give her blood to Grey Worm before each battle to ensure his survival, even if as a vampire. She would turn her humanity off the moment Missandei dies.
AERION;
Aerion has control. He just pretends he doesn't. Poor Maekar would go insane.
God complex!!!! He would only let the victims live if he were caught by his father or someone he considers an authority figure. He would literally tell Maekar that he can't control himself, fake crying and all, but it's a lie. In any case, he spends more time having fun with mind control than drinking blood. He wouldn't use power in a practical and quiet way. He would use it to feed his ego, he would force people to kneel just to prove he could, he would make courtiers praise him in public, he would make someone who insulted him beg for forgiveness, And that's just the tip of the iceberg. with servants, he would test limits, and he would make them stand still just to observe how much he can dominate another human being.
DAEMON;
He's has control? kinda of. but everyone knows he only acts reckless to annoy Viserys. He dramatically turns off his humanity all the time, and the longest he's gone without doing so was during his marriage to Laena, turning it off again to avange Lucerys.
He transforms the battlefield into his personal feast, a true horror show for anyone who witnesses it.
He doesnât care about who's blood he's drinking, but he says valyrian blood is his favorite even though rhaenyra keeps saying it tastes the same. He swear it doesn't. (he just wants to drink hers without having to ask)
AEGON II;
Aegon would be MISERABLEEE. He would hate being a vampire and would have no control whatsoever. He would go out every night, impulsively feed on several people, and then cry himself to sleep. Aemond would try to teach him self-control, but Aegon wouldn't put any effort into learning that either. he would impulsively turn prostitutes, and Aemond and Cole would have to kill them afterward, always cleaning up his mess. He would feel like the worst person in the world, but he would never try to change.
The only thing he likes about vampirism is mind control, and guess what? HE CAN'T DO IT. He never managed to keep anyone compiled for more than a few minutes.
AEMOND;
Aemond is extremely discreet about his habits. He detests the taste of blood unless it is fresh, so he keeps one person in his chambers and feeds only on her. He takes great care to ensure she feels no fear, and he never drinks more than the human body can handle. Finding someone new to feed on would be an inconvenience he prefers to avoid.
He also feeds from the wrist rather than the neck, considering it less intimate.
He sees vampirism as a curse, a punishment upon his family, but he's the best in making others believe is a gift from the gods
Nothing has irritated me more than the pitt fans who simply hate the show. Icon, header, bio, pinned post, everything about the pitt, but they can't stop talking badly about the show??????
These people really need to get their minds off Grey's Anatomy because that's literally what they expect from that show: drama and couples in a show that was created, written, produced, and released as a critique of the American healthcare system and as a way to bring visibility to the problems faced by healthcare professionals.
And people are complaining about Robby being highlighted???????????????? Bitch, is this your first day on Earth? Haven't you ever heard of being the protagonist before? bfr
"I love The Pitt" and sign a petition to cancel the show because a character who was OBVIOUSLY going to leave, actually left. And most of the time the person is just frustrated because their self-insert fantasy with Abbot isn't going to happen and they don't give a damn about Samira as a character/person.
maybe, i'll love you (in) one day (Aerion Targayen x Reader)
maybe, we'll someday grow. till then...
warnings: none! fluff for the soul
a/n: sucker for shady lately
Aerion hunched over on the carriage, holding his ribs while covered in bruises and scars. He could barely walk, eat, or breathe.
Unsurprisingly, Aerion was grumpy.
Your hand lightly touched his thigh, "Sit back, my love. You'll only hurt yourself more, hunched over like that."
He only groaned in response. But he leaned back and rested his head on your shoulder. Closing his eyes, he gruffed, "Where...are we...going?"
"Your Father wanted to send you to Lys," you told him, "But, I couldn't let that happen. He agreed for you to stay with me, under surveillance."
He opened his eyes to look at you. They were full of pain and hurt and betrayal. Tears pricked them but he did not let them fall. Not in front of you. Never. He sighed, and was quiet for a long time.
Each bump of the carriage made him groan and hunch again. You always pulled him back.
The Aerion you knew wasn't the same man everyone else did. He wasn't kind, but he was...different. His gaze was softer and his face was morphed into content more than disgust when you entered a room. To Aerion, the Trial of Seven was him defending your honor. Not that it needed to be defended, neither the puppet girl nor the hedge knight did any wrong.
Still, the thought was nice. At least he thought of you. Same as when he yielded. Aerion whispered your name, something he would never admit, and you would never bring up, but the hedge knight had told you so when you spoke to him after.
It wasn't until almost nightfall when Aerion spoke again.
"I don't...I don't know why I treated you so poorly, Y/N," he breathed, still in pain. "You've been by my side the whole time. I know that, now."
"Treated me poorly when?"
"When you came to King's Landing," he coughed, "I acted like you didn't exist. I thought ignoring you would make you go away."
You thought back to those days, not long past. Aerion would go out of his way to avoid you, when the betroval was in it's early stages. Not a single moment wasted on courting you or getting to know you. You found comfort in Kiera, instead.
"Oh. I'm sorry your plan didn't work, my Prince."
"No," he shook his head, "No. I was so angry, then. I was angry at you, for being a witch."
"What?"
"You must be a witch," he said now, with more strength than he had before, "For it is the only explanation. You've bewitched me. Even my brothers, too."
"How do you know that?"
"Because they helped me spy on you."
He told you of the many times he, Daeron, Egg, and Aemon watched you. From behind bushes in the gardens. Behind the curtain as you bathed and read. Aemon taking notes all the while.
"No citrus in the bath," Aerion told him to write.
Egg had heard you were helping the maids in the kitchens, making brownies for tonight's dessert. The four of them had snuck into there, hours before dinner. Twenty brownies distributed evenly among the four of them. Only the crumbs left on the floor and the chocolate stains around Egg's mouth left as evidence.
Their shadows stood meters behind you as you fed the rabbits carrots and lettuce in the yard. They came to you so easily, like the understood you wouldn't hurt them. Bunnies always hopped away from Aerion.
"You're a witch," he repeated after recounting the stories to you, "And whatever potion you slipped into our cups has plagued me the hardest."
"I'm not a witch," you giggled, "But, I do love you, Aerion. It is why I've stayed by your side all this time, and will until our time together is over. I cannot speak for your brothers, but I can speak for you. I think you may love me back."
"Each day I find myself getting closer to that feeling," he said, "But today is not that day, and it will take many more for it to come."
Dunk is so large that the bed usually feels small, but he makes it work by turning himself into a giant, warm wall.
He likes to lie on his side, facing you, with one of his massive arms draped over your waist like a heavy oak branch. Heâll tuck his chin over the top of your head and pull you flush against his chest.
Itâs incredibly secure. You aren't going anywhere. If you try to roll over in your sleep, you just bump into a wall of muscle and a very sleepy, "Careful now, love," mumbled into your hair.
Lyonel Baratheon
The Laughing Storm doesnât believe in "personal space." He cuddles like he wrestling, with maximum enthusiasm.
He prefers to have you sprawled directly on top of him. He lies on his back, and youâre basically his living blanket. Heâll have his arms wrapped tight around your middle; hands locked behind your back.
He likes the weight of you; itâs the only thing that helps him settle his restless energy. Heâll laugh even in his sleep if you start snoring against his collarbone.
Baelor Targaryen
Even in sleep, Baelor is the protector of the realm. His cuddling is precise and deeply comforting.
He prefers to spoon; he is the big spoon of course. He pulls you close from behind, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together against your stomach. You lie like this while he tells you all the court happenings of the day, and you drift off enveloped in his warmth.
Heâs very observant. If you kick the blankets off in your sleep, heâs up instantly to tuck them back around your shoulders. He finds your ability to fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow incredibly endearing.
Maekar Targaryen
Maekar is a man who carries the weight of the world, and in bed, he wants to carry your weight, too.
He likes to be the "Big Spoon," but he pulls you in so tight thereâs zero daylight between you. Heâll bury his face in the crook of your neck and hold you so tight, almost as if heâs scared you might disappear.
Itâs intense. He doesn't move. Heâs the guy who will let his arm go completely dead and lose all circulation before he even thinks about shifting and risking waking you up.
Aerion Targaryen
He likes to lie on his back with you tucked under one arm, your head on his chest. Heâll spend an hour just twining your hair around his fingers, admiring how "magnificent" you look while unconscious.
Itâs very "Look at us." Even if no one is watching, he feels like a dragon guarding his rider. Heâll likely wake you up just to tell you how lucky you are to be sleeping next to him, then get offended when you fall back asleep mid-sentence.
Daeron Targaryen
For Daeron, bed is the only place in the world where the "dragon dreams" stop bothering him as much, provided you're there to ground him.
You attempting to cuddle is total chaos. You two are a mess of arms, legs, and pillows. He likes to have his forehead pressed against yours, sharing the same air. It helps him feel safe and comfortable enough to actually sleep.
Itâs desperate and sweet. Heâll often fall asleep holding onto a fistful of your nightdress or your hand like a lifeline. He loves that you enjoy sleepy cuddles as he is; youâre the only person who doesn't judge him for wanting to stay under the covers until noon.
Valarr Targaryen
Valarr is all about softness and gentleness. He makes sure the bed is a sanctuary.
He likes to cradle your head in the on his shoulder while he strokes your face with his free hand. Heâll whisper sweet nonsense to you until your breathing evens out.
Raymun Fossoway
Raymun is practical. He knows the best cure to a busy day is some high-quality sleep and cuddles.
You guys cuddle side-by-side, but with his leg hooked over yours and his arm draped across your ribs. Itâs a "grounding" hold, functional and firm. I also feel like Raymun would be impartial to being the âlittle spoonâ.
It feels like home. He likes to feel your warmth. If you start to roll toward the edge of the bed, heâll just calmly hook his arm and haul you back to the centre without even opening his eyes.
Masterlist
a/n: based on this ask, thank you anon for the request!
"Heâll likely wake you up just to tell you how lucky you are to be sleeping next to him, then get offended when you fall back asleep mid-sentence." I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING
daddyâs gonna buy you a mockingbird (dad!Aerion Targaryen x mom!Reader)
if the mockingbird donât sing, or the ring donât shine, iâmma break that little birdieâs neck.
warnings: fluff drabble, brief violence mention, brief smut, pregnancy/birth, children unnamed except for Maegor for your imaginative pleasure
a/n: everyone on this app is depressed after Baelorâs oopsie so hereâs this. haunting daeron in his dreams angst will make up for this
When you gave Aerion his first son, he tried to be indifferent.
He took the boy from you, awkwardly, and justâŠlooked.
When saw his sonâs tiny hands, his little delicate feet, how he cooed so softly, Aerion couldnât fight the smile that happened upon him.
You think it was the only time youâve seen him smile, outside of fucking and fighting. It couldâve just been the exhaustion of childbearing and the sweat in your eyes making you see things, though.
Aerionâs hand lightly stroked the few silver streaks on his sonâs headâwho he had already named Maegor. He had a streak of your hair. Faint, but at the front of his head.
Maegorâs eyes were a dark, grayish purple. Your own eye color washing out the bright violet any Valyrian should have.
A few freckled dotted Maegorâs face. Placed irregularly, and obviously inherited from you. One on his chin. One above his brow. Another by his ear.
Somehow, Aerion found thoseâŠdiscrepancies endearing.
âThe Maester said he is small,â you breathed, still sitting and exhausted, âBut, he is healthy.â
Aerion looked to youâsweat covering the freckle that marked the skin above your eyebrowâand said nothing. Only a firm, stiff nod of approval.
Instead he spoke to the wet nurses, âGet my wife a bath. She has done good work, and must recover to give me another.â
When the second son came, Aerion didnât even try to mask his feelings.
Even though the babe had your hair and little to no Valyrian features, it was still his.
âHe favors you, my Y/N,â he whispered quietly.
âDoes that displease you?â you asked, weakly and croaking.
âStrangely, it does not.â
This birth was particularly hard on you, had the boy not come out when he did, Aerion thought it would end with your death.
He couldnât have it. Never. You were the bearer of life. Of rebirth. Of fire made flesh. Aerion only planted the seed in you. The thought made him feel strange. It mad him feel like he did when Ser Duncan slammed his shield on his face.
Fear.
He still felt it, in the weeks to follow.
Noticing how your face was sullen, walks in the garden growing shorter, attitude becoming more reclusive and despairing.
He also noticed how you gazed towards his brother and his wifeâand their daughter.
Aerion thought he may not mind a daughter. But, only if she looked like you. Actually, no.
No. She couldnât look like you. You had bewitched him already, he couldnât bear to look into the same eyes on another person. It would kill him, he thought.
He also thought getting you with child now would hurt you. It could kill you. You must get better, you must. The dragon has three heads.
Surely, if your mood improved your next pregnancy would go better.
So, begrudgingly, Aerion became kind. Wellâas kind as he could be.
Helping you down the steps. Hand brushing the small of your back whist walking. Appointing you a sworn protector. Yelling and screaming at servants and maids to run your baths as you liked. Kissing softly.
He hated every moment. At first. He hated being kind. To be perceived as weak. Dragons are not weak. Love is weakness.
Tragically, however, Aerion eventually found himself enjoying treating you nicely. He felt like the knights in old stories, protecting you. Through taking care of you post-partum, and tending to your shared small children, Aerion learned to be gentle.
Gentleness was foreign to him. So was patience.
Being patient was much harder than being gentle. He had been so used to every one of needs met then and there, he never expected the days where Maegor wouldnât do as told or you took too long getting out of bed.
Aerion learned to close his eyes, imagine giving the beating they deserved, opening them againâand sulking over to help.
Patience paid off, however.
Aerion never had to make his desires known to you. You came to him.
âY/N?â he asked, early in the morning, âFuck are you doing?â
His cock hardened under your touch, hidden by the covers.
âWaking you up,â you smiled, âI wish for the dragon to claim me on this morning.â
He hummed, âSince you look so prettyâŠâ
That was the morning Aerion found out gentle sex could be just as good as his* normal sex.
He took his time with you, each touch on the edge of roughness, but still sweet enough to stay there. His cock entered slowly, and his thrusts were slower. Aerion shamelessly took more pleasure in watching your face twist in ecstasy than he did physically fucking you.
The dragonâs seed was strong. You had become with child again. This time, a girl. This time, no complications.
The girl looked more like him than she did you. Thank the Gods.
The gentleness did not stay in its entirety. His words went back to being sharp, his jests became cruel once more, and his cock never fucked you slow again.
But.
A hand still guided you down the stairs. Servants were screamed atâharsher than beforeâto run you a bath, and his touch was tender more often. His gaze softened when he saw you, and even more so when he saw your children playing.
He spoiled them rotten.
A cat. A new gown. A Valyrian Steel sword. Baked goods. Desserts. A new bracelet. Anything they wanted, they had it. Aerion would conquer all of Westeros for his children if they asked.
For you? Heâd never conquer all of Westeros for you.
Heâd conquer the entirety of the Known World. Heâd sail west of Westeros. Go farther North than any man had before. Swim until the sea ended. Climb mountains so high, the peak ascended the clouds.
All you had to do was ask.
âAerionâŠ?â
âYes?â
âMay I have a kiss?â
âJust hold on a moment, Iâm sharpening my blade.â
Aerion set it down a moment later. His lips were on yours before you could blink.
âAll you have to do, is ask,â he told you. âSomehow, I find myself wanting to give you all youâve ever desiredâand more.â
-you and the children pay a visit to a healing bruised aerion, angst with a bit of fluff to mend the heartbreak! sorry if there are any spelling mistakes á„«áĄ
the heavy oak door of your chambers closed with a soft thud, shutting out the murmurs of the red keep and the lingering scent of rain from the trial grounds. inside, the air was thick with the cloying sent of myrrh and the coppery tang of blood that no amount of scrubbing could quite erase. it was a scent you knew too well, one that sometimes clung to aerion after a fight, but this time it was different. it was deeper, it was the scent of a near-fatal wound.
he was in your bed, laying shirtless with his head on a pillow, that did little to comfort him. his silver hair was damp and plastered to his forehead, stark against his skin. a couple of cleaned off dried blood marks scatter hear and there on the muscle of his chest and shoulder.
he was staring at the canopy, his jaw set in a rigid line that you knew was less about pain and more about fury. fury at his own weakness, at the indignity of being bested, even for a moment. he did not turn as you approached, but you felt his awareness of you, a subtle shift in the atmosphere of the room.
you placed the tray you carried on the bedside table. on it was a small pitcher of water, a bowl of mugwort, and clean cloths. you said nothing at first, simply taking in the extent of him. the bruising that painted his beautiful face mottled in shades of purple and blue. the shallow, uneven rise and fall of his chest.
the sound of the door being opened just slight caused you to turn and through the crack, you could see two small figures hovering in the antechamber, their presence a silent, anxious weight.
your son, his small hand clutching the doorframe, and your daughter, peering around her brother with wide, worried eyes. they had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, told only that their father had been hurt but would be well.
aerionâs gaze finally slid from the canopy to you. his eyes were clouded with pain, but there was something else there too. a flicker of the familiar coldness, a wall thrown up against the world, but it was cracked. he looked at you not as the world looked at him, as a prince, a thing of fire and fury, but as a man. broken, and letting only you see it.
"they should not be here," he rasped, his voice a low, rough timber, strained from the effort. he didn't look toward the door, but you knew he meant the children. "i do not want them to see me like this. a shattered thing."
"shattered?" you repeated, your voice low, "you are not shattered," you countered softly, as dipped a cloth into the cool water and wrung it out.
you sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with your weight. he flinched, a barely perceptible tightening of his muscles, as you reached for his face. gently, you began to dab at the scrape on his jaw. the water was cool against his heated skin.
for a long moment, the only sound was the soft drip of water back into the bowl and his ragged breathing. he endured your ministrations in silence, a statue of a man carved from marble and pain.
then, as you moved to put some mugwort on his bruised cheek his hand shot out, not with violence, but with a startling swiftness. his fingers wrapped around your wrist.
"i should not even allow you to see me so. leave it-" his grip was firm, but not enough to hurt. it was a plea. you stopped moving, your hand frozen in mid-air.
"are you shattered, aerion? for what? for some imagined insult to your honor? was it worth this?"
his eyes narrowed, the vulnerability instantly shuttered by a flash of his usual arrogance. "i do not allow such disrespect of my name. i am a prince of the blood-"
"you stand there in the yard, demanding a trial of seven as if it were a mummerâs show! you bait them and you bleed them until one of them is good enough to land a blow, and you call it honor? i call it madness husband!" you take a pause, your own chest heaving with anger and fear.
"did you think of us? of the children, waiting to hear if their father would share the same fate as your uncle?" you shook your head and tried to keep your voice calm but the tears springing in your eyes a clear sign that you were not in fact calm.
"did you think of me, standing there and having to watch you play at being a god? though you are my dragon you must know dragons too are not immortal."
the words hung in the air between you, brutal and raw. he stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a harsher rhythm now, his breath catching. he looked away, his jaw working, and for a moment you thought you had pushed him too far, that he would retreat behind a wall of icy silence.
but then his shoulders slumped, just slightly. the fight went out of him, leaving only the exhaustion and the pain. he looked back at you, and the anger in his eyes had been replaced by a deep, weary ache.
"i amâŠsorry dear wife, that iâve placed this fear in you and the children, not for anything else." he ground out, the words sounding foreign and painful on his tongue. it was the closest he could come to an admission of fault.
the fight drained out of you just as quickly, replaced by a wave of overwhelming relief. you let out a shaky breath and closed the distance between you and him on the bed and press a gentle kiss to his temple.
"i only care that you are alive."
his gaze locked on yours again as he whispered "justâŠstay."
you turned your hand in his grasp until your fingers could lace with his. his hand was cold, the knuckles scraped raw. he held on with a desperation that belied his stoic posture. it was in the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles, a repetitive, almost unconscious gesture of reassurance. it was in the way his eyes, usually so hard and assessing, now begged you to understand the words he could not bring himself to say. i was afraid. i do need you.
a soft, muffled sob came from the doorway. your daughter, unable to bear the silence and the sight of her father so still, had let out a small cry.
aerionâs head snapped toward the sound, and the coldness rushed back into his eyes, a shield being hastily raised. "i told you to send them away," he bit out, his voice regaining its edge.
"no," you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. you squeezed his hand. "they are your children. they need to see you. and you need to see them."
you stood and walked to the door, kneeling before the two small, trembling figures. you wiped the tears from your daughterâs cheek with your thumb. "he is hurt, but he is going to be fine," you promised, your voice steady and sure. "he just needs to see his brave son and his strong daughter, yes?"
your son nodded, his little chin set with a determination that was so purely his fatherâs. he took your daughterâs hand and together, they followed you back to the bed.
aerion watched them approach, his expression unreadable. he looked as if he wanted to order them from the room, to retreat back into his solitary shell of pride. but he didnât. he held your gaze, and you gave him a small, encouraging nod.
your son came to his side of the bed first, his small hand reaching out to tentatively touch the blanket covering his fatherâs uninjured leg. "father?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
aerion looked down at the boy, and something in his face shifted. the hardness in his eyes softened, melting like snow in a spring thaw. he did not smile, that was not his way, but the tension in his jaw eased. he lifted his hand and laid it on top of his sonâs head. it was a clumsy, heavy gesture, but it was full of a protective love of blood.
"i am here," aerion said, the words for his son, but his eyes were on you.
your daughter, emboldened, scrambled onto the bed, her movements careful and deliberate. she crawled to his other side and laid her head gently on his shoulder, the one that wasnât too badly injuerd, as if she could anchor him to the world with her own warmth.
aerion went rigid for a second, unused to such tenderness. then, slowly, he relaxed. he looked from his sonâs earnest face to his daughterâs silver head, and then back to you with a look of almost aching gratitude.
he was still the prince of the realm, still the dragon who had faced fire and blood. but here, in the quiet of your chambers, with his children clinging to him and his wifeâs hand finding his again, he was simply a husband and a father.
Including: Daenerys, Aerion, Daemon, Aegon, and Aemond (Tell me which Targaryens you'd like to see in part 2!!! <3)
WARNINGS: just vampirism, no smut (for now) . TVD type
DAENERYS;
I feel like at first she would fight against it and be very good at ignoring that side of herself, drinking blood only when Viserys forced her to. After Viserysâ death, with the Dothraki, she would begin to see vampirism in a more positive light, but she still wouldnât drink the blood of her followers (who would probably offer it). She would only drink Khal Drogoâs blood once a night. Over time, she would casually drink blood from a goblet as if it were wine and would frequently feed on her enemies without any hesitation. She would probably give her blood to Grey Worm before each battle to ensure his survival, even if as a vampire. She would turn her humanity off the moment Missandei dies.
AERION;
Aerion has control. He just pretends he doesn't. Poor Maekar would go insane.
God complex!!!! He would only let the victims live if he were caught by his father or someone he considers an authority figure. He would literally tell Maekar that he can't control himself, fake crying and all, but it's a lie. In any case, he spends more time having fun with mind control than drinking blood. He wouldn't use power in a practical and quiet way. He would use it to feed his ego, he would force people to kneel just to prove he could, he would make courtiers praise him in public, he would make someone who insulted him beg for forgiveness, And that's just the tip of the iceberg. with servants, he would test limits, and he would make them stand still just to observe how much he can dominate another human being.
DAEMON;
He's has control? kinda of. but everyone knows he only acts reckless to annoy Viserys. He dramatically turns off his humanity all the time, and the longest he's gone without doing so was during his marriage to Laena, turning it off again to avange Lucerys.
He transforms the battlefield into his personal feast, a true horror show for anyone who witnesses it.
He doesnât care about who's blood he's drinking, but he says valyrian blood is his favorite even though rhaenyra keeps saying it tastes the same. He swear it doesn't. (he just wants to drink hers without having to ask)
AEGON II;
Aegon would be MISERABLEEE. He would hate being a vampire and would have no control whatsoever. He would go out every night, impulsively feed on several people, and then cry himself to sleep. Aemond would try to teach him self-control, but Aegon wouldn't put any effort into learning that either. he would impulsively turn prostitutes, and Aemond and Cole would have to kill them afterward, always cleaning up his mess. He would feel like the worst person in the world, but he would never try to change.
The only thing he likes about vampirism is mind control, and guess what? HE CAN'T DO IT. He never managed to keep anyone compiled for more than a few minutes.
AEMOND;
Aemond is extremely discreet about his habits. He detests the taste of blood unless it is fresh, so he keeps one person in his chambers and feeds only on her. He takes great care to ensure she feels no fear, and he never drinks more than the human body can handle. Finding someone new to feed on would be an inconvenience he prefers to avoid.
He also feeds from the wrist rather than the neck, considering it less intimate.
He sees vampirism as a curse, a punishment upon his family, but he's the best in making others believe is a gift from the gods
HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON ââââ aerion targaryen.
đŒ they say the dragons died out ages ago. but how could that be true, seeing as you ride one every other week or so?
âââ àŒŻ warnings targcest (reader is baelorâs daughter), p in vâsmut minors do not interact, bratty dom aerion, breeding kink, cheating (sorry valarr), knife play, blood, biting, reader & aerion are schizophrenics who think theyâre dragons, theyâre both evil & crazy, pussy eating, aerion gets tamed in high valyrian, theyâre having a brat off, idk man i just made shit up this is pure filth and aerion brain rot.
âïž porn with a slight cheeky plot me thinks. letâs all collectively ignore the logistics. anyways, hello bloody mouth aerion nation!
REBLOGS&FEEDBACK APPRECIATED ââ àŒŻ word count 3k
SOME GIRLS ARE BORN with pretty eyes or nimble fingers, but you came into this world with both and a third thing, which is the stubborn certainty that youâre fire made flesh.
Not that anyone in Kingâs Landing would believe itâleast of all your utterly loyal and even softer lady in waiting, slipping into your chamber ever so discreetly.
In her hands is a small vial wrapped in plain cloth and half concealed by the fall of her skirts.
âYourâah, your tea, as you asked, princess.â Amara hands it over without looking at you because sheâs polite enough to pretend she isnât dying to ask, but you see the question flicker over her face anyway, and so you brace yourself for it.Â
âGo on, Amara, out with it. youâve been itching to ask.â
âForgive me for prying, princess, but⊠must the Maester prepare it every month? His Grace would be so happy, I believe, if you were to give him a child. The realm would rejoiceââ
You cut her off with a smile and take a slow sip of the disgustingly bitter brew. âI am not fit for motherhood, my sweet summer child. There are enough monsters in House Targaryen as it is. Best not give the gods more ideas, donât you think?â
Amara blushes at your sardonic friendly tone. You know what sheâs thinkingâshe probably assumes you mean your cousin with a known monstrous reputation (and to be quite fair, you do), but you offer her a wicked grin in return because it never once occurs to her that you might mean yourself.
Of all the masks you wear, being the realmâs darling is by far the most tedious of them all.
But whatâs a Targaryen princess such as yourself meant to do when sheâs Baelorâs one and only precious daughter and Valarrâs terribly adored gleaming little wife? These are roles the gods (or fate, or perhaps your fatherâs hunger for peace) chose for you that you play so well you almost convince yourself you are who they say you are.Â
Amara â the closest thing you possess to a conscience (gods bless her foolishly tender heart) â is now halfway through recounting some spectacularly unflattering gossip about some Lordâs cock (allegedly as underwhelming as his sense of honor) and all you can do is smile like a sweet dove and nod as if your mind isnât a thousand leagues away.
ââswore it on his honor, can you imagine?â Amara giggles giddily. âBut truly, princess, what of you? Has His Grace been keeping you sated?â
Oh, dearest, sweetest lamb. If only she knew a tenth of the filth that fills your nights. She looks at you with such open admiration that you do not have the heart to tell her that this talk of cocksâŠ? and bedding and ordinary desire bores you senseless.Â
Though you do enjoy her company. Sheâs the only person left in this godsforsaken pit who makes you feel almost human, but thatâs hardly a high bar. You care for her as much as youâre capable of caring, but loving you is a bit like cradling a starving wolf and praying that they do not lose a hand. Or rather a dragon, if one insists on being poetic. (And you always insist.) Still, youâd cut out your own heart before hurting her. You are quite as certain as your hair is silver that if Amara glimpsed even a sliver of what you have done, she would cross herself and flee to the ends of Westeros as she sobs for the Motherâs mercy.
Which is precisely why you lie to her. (And more so because that is what good princesses do.)
So you go on to tell her pretty stories about Valarrâs gentle hands and careful kisses, and you let her believe the bullshit that you truly are the perfect princess they call you to be â blessed by the Seven and favored by every godly old wife whoâs ever prayed for a daughter with silver hair and untroubled eyes.Â
âDragons are never sated,â you say teasingly, and she thinks you are only being poetic and demure and endlessly loyal to your sweet, stifling, perfectly polite princely husband. âValarr is⊠ever the gentlest, of course. He is a man who would never risk a wrinkle in my gown, let alone a bruise.â
Well, this much is true.
Valarr is golden and kind and dutiful to a fault. He fucks you as though youâre made of glass, and he worries amd frets and dotes and prays for you before he ever thinks to pray for himself, amongst other thingsâall of which is to say: he is everything a proper lady could wish for.
The thought alone is nearly enough to make you yawn.
âYou are so blessed, princess,â she sighs, and you watch the naivete dance in her eyes. âTo be cherished so dearlyâsurely the Seven watch over you. I hesrd he sent you a dozen flowers just last night?â
What you wish to say is: Is that not the true horror of it all? To be cherished and adored in a cage of silk when all you crave is to be bloodied and devoured.
What you actually end up saying, though, is:
 âWasnât it lovely?â You giggle prettily, and sip your wine as if youâre not thinking about blood on your teeth and the sound a certain someone makes when you drag your nails down his back. âHe is ever so thoughtful. Itâs as if I am in a dream.â
Amara sighs and looks as if what youâre saying is the height of romance, and you wonder with viscous curiosity what she would look like if you told her what you truly dream of. Would she scream or simply crumple? Would she faint, or better yet, would this conversation finally grow interesting?Â
The idea of it makes you smile.
The truth is, princess, you⊠oh, you are not so much the darling the realm believes you to beâand you rather like it that way. Gods, it truly is indescribably tedious, really. The only time youâre even halfway sated is with blood on your tongue with your hands wrapped around a throat and your lips shaped into a cruel smile as you watch a man beg for your mercy. What would Amara say if she knew there is a man who sees you exactly as you are and wants you more because of it? And that that man is not your perfect princely husband?Â
You think about him, and something dark and delighted coils in your chest.
âI must leave you for now, sweetling,â you press a kiss to her brow as you stand. âI promised the gods a prayer before supper.âÂ
âThe gods smile down on you, your grace.â she says dreamily and none the wiser.
Oh, you highly doubt the gods are smiling at allâconsidering the mere reality that the only prayers youâve offered in years are whispered into the mouth of a monster with silver hair, and your good sense long since abandoned.
Poor Valarr. If only he knew. He will spend his whole life trying to love you, and as fate will have it, it will never be fucking enough. But not because he failsâoh no, itâs not his fault at all. It is just that love is a fickle thing for a dragon, much less a monster such as yourself.
But what your darling doting brother doesnât know just makes your nights all the more sweeter.
After all, who else could ever sate you, if not another dragon with blood on his mouth and a hunger just as ugly as your own?
Aerion Targaryen is never in the habit of bothering with courtesies.
His idea of a greeting more so leans towards the clatter of a locked door and the snarl of your name as his hand mercilessly finds your throat.Â
Tonight in particular, you are pressed to the bedpost with your gown bunched at your hips, and Aerionâs mouth is buried between your thighs as he devours your pussy like a madman. Somewhere beside you, the moonlight glints off a discarded knifeâthe same one he traced along your thigh minutes earlier, which was just sharp enough to sting but also just dull enough to leave nothing you couldnât explain away. (Which is utterly disappointing, really, but there are only so many times you can explain away strange marks to your poor husband before he starts asking questions he doesnât really want answered.)
Youâve already been at it for gods know how long, but your monstrous cousin is nothing if not a sadist who takes his sweet twisted time.
Aerion is far too entertained feasting between your thighs, licking into you with a tongue so wickedly precise it feels as if heâs trying to find the last traces of dragonfire hidden in your cunt. It feels entirely too incredibleâexcept youâre also keenly aware that youâre running out of time before someone comes knocking, and youâre not sure you have another plausible lie left in you today.
âPatience, cousin,â he hisses against your pussy when you whine at him to hurry. "Didn't your septa ever teach you that virtue?â
âMy septa died. Much like Iâm about to of weariness if you donât make fucking haste and learn to behave,â you snap, though you grind your hips up into his warm mouth and hiss as he bites your inner thigh. âFuckâ Aerion. Iâll have your head on a spike before morning if you fucking mark me again.â
Aerion flicks his tongue over a faint bruise he left the last time, all while making a show of humming. âYou talk so prettily when youâre angry. Do it again.â
âI shall do worse than talking.â You yank at his hair so hard his eyes flash, but he only grins wider and does nothing to stop you. âDonât. Mark. Me. Valarrâs not half as stupid as he acts.â
Aerion lazily smirks, though his face twists momentarily with something which seems to resemble jealousy quite a bit. âCome to think of it⊠Perhaps I should hold you down and carve my name into you right here, so thereâs no mistaking who you truly belong to. Then weâll have your brother come running to find you with my cock still inside you. You think heâd put up a fight, little dragon?âÂ
âI do not belong to anyone, least of all you. And stop smiling, you fool. Iâll cut your cock off and hang it above theââ
âTsk. Youâd mourn it, you impudent little brat,â Aerion cuts you off when he leans and bites at your throat quite harshly.Â
âShut up.â you hiss, though your actions do not match your words as you arch into his touch and moan. âYou find too much pleasure in your own voice.â
Aerionâs mouth curls into a twisted smirk, then he licks your slick off his thumb and pushes it between your lips. You suck his thumb and bite down just enough to make him curse, then you moan around his fingers and his eyes glint with hunger.Â
âFuck. Look at you, such a little filthy whore.âÂ
Your hand flies up and you slap him, and Aerionâs head snaps to the side as a wicked laugh breaks out of him. Anyone else would be dead for even daring to do so, but youâre the only creature in the realm who gets away with this, and you relish in it.
âYouâre the only whore in this room, cousin,â you sneer. âWould you just fuck me already?â
âArenât you forgetting something?â Aerion laughs as he drags his fingers ever so slowly over your slick, aching cunt. âSay please. Princesses should know their manners.â
You roll your eyes. âJust get on with it, Aerion. Or I ought to get my husband to do it for me.â
Aerionâs face twists with anger. âCareful. You know what happens to little brats who bare their fangs at dragons.â
Well, itâs a good thing youâre a dragon yourself then, isn't it? And though it is true that youâve never seen a true dragon with your own eyes, you are well versed enough to know that dragons only ever listen when commanded in their own tongue.Â
âDohaerÄs, Aerion.â the High Valyrian slides off your tongue as sharp as any blade he has ever used, and the effect is instantaneous. Aerionâs eyes flare in the candlelight as he tilts his head, and for a moment he looks very much like the wicked little dragon heâs been accused of being.Â
Obedience is not exactly known to be in Aerion Targaryenâs nature, but youâve always been the only one who could ever tame him.
Aerionâs hand hungrily drops to rip your skirts even higher, and the next thing you know youâre properly sprawled across silk sheets which youâre supposed to keep pristine for your dear husband. Your head presses into the pillow so your crown of silver hair tumbles loose, and Aerion roughly spreads you out once more, baring your cunt to the candlelight as he frees his cock and fists it.
âSee? All you had to do was ask nicely, little dragon.â
Aerion lines his cock up with no preamble or any hint of gentleness whatsoever. Heâs bigger than any man has the right to be, and the stretch is always just on the edge of pure utter agony, but it is always your favorite part, anyway. He slides in all at once and steals your breath in a single brutal thrust, and as always, he does not even bother to wait for you to adjust before he starts snapping his hips into you relentlesslyâand the filthy beast holds your gaze the entire time, and takes pleasure in your pain.
âFuckâfuck,â you choke repeatedly as your cunt swallows him whole, and you are so full you can barely breathe.Â
âQuit your whining,â he ruthlessly buries himself to the hilt in your glistening cunt. âYou can take it. You always do.â He groans and thrusts harder, voice washing over with delight as he watches your already fucked-out face twist in pleasure. âThough⊠letâs see if you can still curse me and speak of my foolish cousin when youâre full of my cock like this.â
You tryâoh, you really fucking try. But all that comes out is a noise that would get you sent to a sept for the rest of your life if anyone ever heard it.
âWhat a shame. You canât evenâahâlook at you, taking every inch like a whore. canât even get a single word out, can you?â Aerionâs laughs as he thrusts in so deep your head tips back. The headboard bangs out a rhythm against the wall in time with the obscene slap of skin on skin, and it only gets louder every time he slams into you. âFuck, you are clinging to me like some maiden at her first bedding. You feel that? Always such a perfect little cunt for me, princess,âÂ
âHarder, Aerion. Gods, fuck me harder!â you moan deliriously, raking your nails down his back hard enough to mark him as you utter a few words in High Valyrian as though youâre commanding a dragon.
He groans and obeys. The stretch is so utterly dizzying and filthy, and your words continue to sloppily choke out of your throat as he fucks into you. Every single thrust rocks you up the bed with your ankles caught around his waist.Â
At some point, your nails find the knife by the pillow and you slash a line down his shoulder just because you can. Aerion hisses, then he grins while he watches his blood paint your fingers. You suck at the mark and drink his blood in when he leans over you, and he groans into the kiss when you crash your lips into his with your bloodied mouth.
âVicious little bitch,â he pants through bloodied lips, and his balls slap harshly against your ass as he thrusts his hips harder into you.
Then he shoves two fingers into your mouth, and he groans when you bite down on them. Your eyes roll back as you suck and moan around his knuckles, so utterly drunk on the way he fucks you that you can barely remember how to speak.
âDokimavorse,â the command falls off his tongue in eager High Valyrian, dragging you back from the edge just so youâll look him in the eye. âSay my name, princess. Say it.â
You gasp as he pulls his fingers out. âAerion,â you moan.
He rewards you by pulling all the way out slowly, just to slam back in so hard you are quite sure you could swear you feel it somewhere in your soul.
âAgain,â he snarls, âLouder. I want them to hear you in the sept.â
âAerion. Aerion. Aerion,â you scream this time, and you donât care who hears, not even when you know Valarr is somewhere in this keep, being the terribly oblivious fool he is.Â
With a growl, you put your whole weight into twisting out from under him and flipping him onto his back with a force that makes him laugh. The feel of his cock dragging along your walls as you lower yourself onto him makes you both hiss, and the stretch is even more obscene from this angle.Â
âGonna ride the dragon, are you?âÂ
âOnly a dragon can handle a dragon, isnât that right?â
âOf course it is,â Aerionâs head falls back as he grins, and the sharp line of his throat gleams in the candlelight. âGo on, then. Show me.â
You let out a blood-curdling moan as you feel him pressing up into your deepest parts, and he latches his mouth onto your breast and bites at it. The two of you moan in unison as you begin to bounce on his cock, and his palms are utterly unrestrained as they clamp bruisingly tight to your hips as you set your pace riding him.Â
âTell me what I am. Tell me who youâre fucking. Say you want the dragon.â he demands.
âYouâre my dragon,â you gasp into his mouth as you ride him harder, feeling him throb inside you. âOnly mine. no one elseâs.â You throw your head back and moan. âI want it, I want you, I want to break you open and eat your fucking heart.âÂ
âGood girlâride your dragon.â He grins as though youâve bewitched him, so stupid and awestruck and so madly and desperately in love with every inch of your wicked soul, even if heâd rather cut out his own tongue than say so.
Aerion is damn near weeping with pleasure as he pants your name like a prayer, bucking up into you all while you bounce on his cock and wetness squelches obscenely with every slap of your bodies. âFuck,â He slaps your ass and then he does it again and again, the pain oh so sharp and sweet. âYou take me so well. Ride me, wicked girl, ride me till you canât speak.â
âGods, youâre so fucking bigââ
âYeah? Too much, is it?â He fists your hair and yanks your mouth down to his, and he bites your lip until it bleeds. Then he groans and slaps at your ass again. âFuck, you are mine. My dragon.â
Aerionâs eyes are wild as he watches you with his mouth dropped open, and your cunt squeezes around him as you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. He must feel it too, because he grabs your hips and takes over entirely. He jackhammers up into you, and your moans grow higher and more desperate. âGods, I want to fill you up. Make you round and see your pretty belly swell and let that idiot wonder why his heir looks nothing like him.â
The thought of it makes you clench around him harder, though the bitter taste of the moon tea still clings to the back of your throat.
You collapse on his chest as your thighs begin to tremble. âI will gut you. Donât you dare cum in me againââ
âOr what? Youâll slay your dragon?â Aerion grins all too cruelly and cuts you off with a brutal snap upwards. âTry and stop meââ
Whatever else he says is lost upon you as heat coils tighter in your belly.
A scream tears out of you as your orgasm hits you like fire, and your cunt clenches so tight you see white as you squeeze the life out of him. Aerion follows right after and groans your name over and over as he spills inside you anyway, filling your sensitive cunt up with his seed deep inside until itâs leaking out along his cock ans onto Valarrâs pristine sheets.
After, you both lie there in the ruined mess of your stupid sheets and bruised bodies and smeared blood, both of you entirely too stubborn to speak first.
âWipe up your mess,â you finally mutter, glaring at the crimson stain you just seemed to notice alongside his leaking seed on the white silk. âIf Valarr sees that, heâllââ
âHeâll do nothing,â Aerion cuts you off with a sneer as he pushes the ruined sheets under your hips. âSpeak of him once more and I swear by all the gods, Iâll sneak into your chambers and fuck you while your dear husband sleeps beside us.â
You shove at his shoulder, and he grabs your hand and kisses your bruised knuckles reverently.
Seven hells. You truly think you might kill him someday, and you know he hopes you try it.
rafe is insanely intense and kind of unstable af. he obviously gets jealous easily and can be possessive, ESPECIALLY in public. at the same time, heâs actually really insecure and needs a looooot of reassurance. sometimes, he can be sweet, mostly protective, but when heâs stressed or upset, he shuts down or lashes, zero communication
