SUMMARY: after andrew cody’s 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 “hey… remember your coping mechanisms?”
just finished animal kingdom and ??? rude. extremely rude. i was minding my business, and now i’m sad for fictional people again. Anyways, come suffer w me for a bit
1- Denial comes first, but it doesn’t feel like denial, it feels like patience, like waiting for something that’s 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 isn’t strange, he’s just late, that’s 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 isn’t final and that he’ll come back, quiet as ever, like nothing ever really changed.
2 - Anger doesn’t arrive all at once, but builds slowly, hidden inside your thoughts until it has nowhere else to go…. and then it lands on J.
You start to understand what he did. The money, the setup, the way everything unraveled. You can’t 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 don’t come with answers and somehow, the anger twists back into yourself, into every single thing you didn’t 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 didn’t lose him at all. you never find that version, but you keep looking anyway.
4- Depression follows when the questions finally wear you down.
You’re 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 can’t 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. There’s 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 it’s 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 that’s 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 don’t have a grave to visit, nowhere to go when it gets too heavy and you need to feel close to him. You don’t 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 doesn’t leave you alone, it keeps coming back, because it makes everything feel unfinished.
5- Acceptance doesn’t feel like peace, at all
You stop expecting him to come back, stop building a future around something that isn’t there anymore. The routine becomes more solid and automatic. Life continues, even if it feels smaller now, he’s 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 doesn’t
And sometimes you find yourself hoping. praying, even, to something you’re not sure you believe in, but know he used to…
ANIMAL KINGDOM SPOILERS — 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 didn’t even stop to think about what it must’ve 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, we’re sad about Pope’s death, but looking at it neutrally, i can’t 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 Viserys’ death, with the Dothraki, she would begin to see vampirism in a more positive light, but she still wouldn’t drink the blood of her followers (who would probably offer it). She would only drink Khal Drogo’s 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 doesn’t 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
I opened c.ai for the first time in a long time cause I'm just obsessed with boys of tommen and i ended up finding SOOOO MANY ROMANTIC bots of ollie and tadhg
these people change their ages, making them older but still, it's such a freak behavior reading books with children in vulnerable situations and thinking, "Wow, I wish they were older so I could date them, I'm going to make some bots."
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. He’ll tuck his chin over the top of your head and pull you flush against his chest.
It’s 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 doesn’t 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 you’re basically his living blanket. He’ll have his arms wrapped tight around your middle; hands locked behind your back.
He likes the weight of you; it’s the only thing that helps him settle his restless energy. He’ll 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.
He’s very observant. If you kick the blankets off in your sleep, he’s 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 there’s zero daylight between you. He’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck and hold you so tight, almost as if he’s scared you might disappear.
It’s intense. He doesn't move. He’s 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. He’ll spend an hour just twining your hair around his fingers, admiring how "magnificent" you look while unconscious.
It’s very "Look at us." Even if no one is watching, he feels like a dragon guarding his rider. He’ll 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.
It’s desperate and sweet. He’ll 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; you’re 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. He’ll 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. It’s a "grounding" hold, functional and firm. I also feel like Raymun would be impartial to being the ‘little spoon’.
It feels like home. He likes to feel your warmth. If you start to roll toward the edge of the bed, he’ll 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!
"He’ll 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
daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird (dad!Aerion Targaryen x mom!Reader)
if the mockingbird don’t sing, or the ring don’t shine, i’mma break that little birdie’s 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 Baelor’s oopsie so here’s 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 just…looked.
When saw his son’s tiny hands, his little delicate feet, how he cooed so softly, Aerion couldn’t fight the smile that happened upon him.
You think it was the only time you’ve seen him smile, outside of fucking and fighting. It could’ve just been the exhaustion of childbearing and the sweat in your eyes making you see things, though.
Aerion’s hand lightly stroked the few silver streaks on his son’s head—who he had already named Maegor. He had a streak of your hair. Faint, but at the front of his head.
Maegor’s eyes were a dark, grayish purple. Your own eye color washing out the bright violet any Valyrian should have.
A few freckled dotted Maegor’s face. Placed irregularly, and obviously inherited from you. One on his chin. One above his brow. Another by his ear.
Somehow, Aerion found those…discrepancies endearing.
“The Maester said he is small,” you breathed, still sitting and exhausted, “But, he is healthy.”
Aerion looked to you—sweat covering the freckle that marked the skin above your eyebrow—and said nothing. Only a firm, stiff nod of approval.
Instead he spoke to the wet nurses, “Get my wife a bath. She has done good work, and must recover to give me another.”
When the second son came, Aerion didn’t even try to mask his feelings.
Even though the babe had your hair and little to no Valyrian features, it was still his.
“He favors you, my Y/N,” he whispered quietly.
“Does that displease you?” you asked, weakly and croaking.
“Strangely, it does not.”
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 couldn’t 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 wife—and their daughter.
Aerion thought he may not mind a daughter. But, only if she looked like you. Actually, no.
No. She couldn’t look like you. You had bewitched him already, he couldn’t 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. Well—as 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 wouldn’t 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 again—and sulking over to help.
Patience paid off, however.
Aerion never had to make his desires known to you. You came to him.
“Y/N?” he asked, early in the morning, “Fuck are you doing?”
His cock hardened under your touch, hidden by the covers.
“Waking you up,” you smiled, “I wish for the dragon to claim me on this morning.”
He hummed, “Since you look so pretty…”
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 dragon’s 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 at—harsher than before—to 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? He’d never conquer all of Westeros for you.
He’d conquer the entirety of the Known World. He’d 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.
“Aerion…?”
“Yes?”
“May I have a kiss?”
“Just hold on a moment, I’m sharpening my blade.”
Aerion set it down a moment later. His lips were on yours before you could blink.
“All you have to do, is ask,” he told you. “Somehow, I find myself wanting to give you all you’ve ever desired—and more.”
-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 ᥫ᭡
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.
aerion’s 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 mummer’s 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 am…sorry dear wife, that i’ve 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 "just…stay."
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.
aerion’s 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 daughter’s 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 father’s. he took your daughter’s 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 didn’t. 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 father’s 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 son’s 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 wasn’t 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 son’s earnest face to his daughter’s 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 wife’s 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 Viserys’ death, with the Dothraki, she would begin to see vampirism in a more positive light, but she still wouldn’t drink the blood of her followers (who would probably offer it). She would only drink Khal Drogo’s 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 doesn’t 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
