thoughts...

Lx (they/them) somewhere in the age range of 21 -> 900, neurodivergent, witchy, gender: no, sexuality: idfk, somewhat feral goblin creature. here is a blog for all my hyperfixations; headcanons: closed scenarios/drabbles: closed (and reblogging things that appeal to me.) *please read pinned post before requesting 🥰

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

I've been lurking for way too long now, thought it was about time I made myself a blog!

I am autistic (and awaiting assessments for some other things), so naturally, I have my special interests (mainly dogs, so if i start spouting random dog facts/tips/info at stupid o'clock, forgive me, its just smth i do, lol) and hyperfixations.

My current hyperfixations are:

Idek. Whatever. Lol

Cutler beckett 💗

Aemond Targaryen* 💚

Aerion Targaryen 💞

Larys Strong* 💚

Robin DeNoir 💚

Key - characters/people/things:

💗= I will likely always have a soft spot for.

💞= That I am currently fixating on.

💚= That I've liked for a long time that my interest comes and goes in regards to.

(* I will not be watching S3, and I barely acknowledge the existence of S2, so my depictions of these two will almost certainly be ooc.)

I wilI be accepting any asks/comments/info dumping/whatever in regards to anything/anyone listed above.

Requests are currently closed. (But feel free to send in any random rambling if you want, that's always welcome! I just can't brain enough to write)

Rules for requesting are here

I am an adult, and some content I post/reblog will be mature or nsfw in nature, so it will be tagged and marked appropriately. Minors, please do not interact with such posts.

Masterlist

I am disappointed I have to even entertain the idea of writing the following disclaimer, but:

I will not stand for real-world abuse, hate, racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, pedophilia, zoophilia or any other illegal or morally degenerate ideology here. (Within fandom is different, for example, in Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon, it is a given and unavoidable) Any of the aforementioned, and you will get blocked. Immediately. This is intended to be a safe space, and I will delete any asks, etc, that I deem a violation to that.

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

Me and Ali (friend who introduced me to AKOTSK) are rewatching said show, and she made a comment and now I cant stop thinking...

It was after the part in ep3 where Dunk and Raymun were laughing (presumably over Aerion) just before Egg bursts in to say that his brother had gone feral dragon mode and was attacking Tanselle. Raymun makes the comment that "he's all smiles and chivalry so long as his father's watching!" In regards to Aerion, and Ali's comment to me was, and I loosely quote:

"Do we ever see why he behaves himself around Maekar? I know he gets dragged off by him in the next episode... do you think he's actually scared of his dad then? What must he have done to him to make Aerion scared enough to behave?!"

The conversation progressed, we paused the show to discuss, and the conclusion is that we are both now wondering if (or how badly) Aerion actually gets beaten by Maekar?

Would explain his expression when Maekar drags him off.. literally a cross between "wtf?" "Well, shit." And "help meee!"

Then, as is only natural for my brain, I started going down the rabbit hole of potential scenarios or plot ideas (like the fact I 100% acknowledge he is a Certified Irredeemable Little shit and I genuinely hate his guts, but he's cute and silly and that stupid part of me that's like "I can fix him!" Is just like "nooo! Dont hurt the precious baby! Him's mine!!😡) and now I wanna write. But you know me: I say I'm gonna write, and 4 years later, I still haven't.

[lostrealityr]

Teeth of my lover

Aerion Targaryen x Wife Reader

same universe - The fight

In which Aerion’s wife is the opposite of him in all aspects, her gentle nature is less of something to break, but rather protect. Like a dragon guarding his plunder.

word count: 1,366

cw: 18+ mdni, talks of toxic relationships (not readers), consented biting, this is just pure fluff, sexual themes, characters are adults always - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA THAT YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME

Ashford tourney was supposed to be for mending long lasting alliances with the houses of the Reach. Instead, your father-by-law had lost two of his son’s on the journey, and the one that remained had managed to kill a horse during his first and now only joust. He had been banned from competing for fear the small-folk would try and pelt him to death with stones in the arena. You had been there all of three days, and you were all as sick of it as the people were of you.

Therefore when the evening jousts commenced at sunset, you had urged your husband to join you on a walk in the meadows. No one else will venture there you had said, they are preoccupied with the tournament.

And your words rang true, the meadow was deserted. Insects flew freely, birds sung loudly, an orange glow cast across the entire scene. It was picturesque. Utterly beautiful. That’s where you led amongst the flowers of the field, your head resting in your husband’s lap as his fingers fell idly through your hair.

“You are going to get filthy led down there.” He uttered, fingers tangling several strands together in a pattern which slightly resembled that of a plait. “You worry too much about things that do not matter my dragon.” You reached up a hand, pressing your two central fingers against his lips as he parted them, welcoming their taste against his tongue before biting down lightly. A pout fell across your face as you yanked your hand back, little red crescents bled across your fingers from the rawness of his touch. Biting was a known affection of your husband. He did it playfully, he did it endearingly, he did it in bed, he did it when he thought you needed a reminder of to whom you belong. You had grown used to it being a silent form of I love you, this makes you mine.

In retaliation to his brute touch you kissed his palm tenderly, pressing his fingers flat against your cheek as your lips caressed his callous hands. “You do not always have to be so gentle.” He murmured, his unused hand resuming its place at the crown of your head, massaging gently. “I do not seek to hurt you, husband.” It was true, did his immature actions like killing a horse in a friendly tourney make you want to suffocate him with your pillow? Yes. Would you ever do such a thing? No. Because you maintained impulse control, something your husband feverishly lacked. “People talk of our marriage you know.” It felt like a confession from his lips, he desired to be feared but he hated the whispers that carried pity in your direction, that he would dare lay a hand to his own wife, he would sooner cut it off himself than do such a thing to you. He was rough when he knew it brought you pleasure only, never would he strike you down for merely existing, why would he have taken you to wed if your thoughts and feelings deserved to be silenced at his hand? But he knew what people thought, he was publicly careless in his actions, he hurt others without thinking twice. They pitied you publicly, his own family even contributed.

The Mad Prince’s Poor Wife

Brightflames caged dove

The living ghost of Summerhall

They truly believed you to be so unseen. Sure you were quieter than most, but your husband was devoted to your every need. They did not see his affection, they had not earned it. You had never had to, but to hear the whispers on the wind of their blatant pity was painful. You were not ignored, far from it. But in Summerhall there was few that made good company, you often found yourself wandering the halls late at night when sleep would not find you, resulting in the living ghost becoming an unwanted nickname - because the servants truly believed you were wandering due to the fact your husband was bedding whores in your shared bedchamber, another misconception, he just snores very fucking loud.

“I know of what they say.” You looked up to meet his eyes lightly, his contrasted your own heavily “but again, it does not concern me for they do not know me.” He scoffed, untangling his fingers from your hair “Yes but maybe it should, they speak as if I hate you, I bed whores in our shared bed, I make you suffer when I do bed you.”

“Maybe they think that because you make me scream.” You giggled, you caught the amusement flash across his face in a subtly proud smirk before he shook his head “That is absolutely beside the point. Do not be so vulgar, it is not befitting of a Lady.” He was teasing, abundantly so, he lowered his face until he was inches from your own, upside down from your perspective. The tip of his nose brushed against the bridge of your own, however in his distraction you placed several kisses to his taught jaw. His eyes fell shut with a hum, you tangled your hands in his hair, pulling his face as close as you could get it to your own, kissing his forehead to his cheek tenderly, before releasing him and turning onto your stomach, resting your arms in his lap. You were propped up that way, giving him better access to the entirety of your face. He seized the opportunity to entwine his hands with your hair full, locking them at the base of your scalp so that you were forced to maintain eye contact with him. “Look at this dress. Have you any idea the coin I spent on it?” He tutted, the once flush pink skirts were saddled with marks of dusty mud - it would undoubtedly brush off but he enjoyed the game of making a fuss. “Probably more than was necessary.” You smiled, meeting his lips in a devastating kiss as he groaned into your mouth.

“It is growing late, we should return to bed.” He pulled away ever so slightly but you chased his lips with your own, “I do not wish to depart yet! No need to stay in that dreary place when this is the view.” He groaned against your lips before he was silenced by your tongue fighting its way back into his mouth. You settled yourself into his lap now, allowing you a better reach to his face as he chuckled quietly at your desperation for closeness.

“Do not laugh at me.” You whined, his hands settled to your hips in an attempt to settle your dispute. “You are desperate.” He titled his head, a lazy smile planted onto his face, such a vast separation from the brute man that held his own on a tourney field. “I am allowed to be desperate you are my husband.”

“Yes well, if you would come with me to bed I would be able to satisfy your desires.” He raised an eyebrow, a kiss pressed to the side of your face. “I desire your company and your affection and I want it here in this field.” You demanded, maybe it did sound a bit desperate in hindsight but you didn’t have the care for it. He only laughed louder as you pouted at him, “you sound childish. Lose the attitude my flame it does not best suit you.”

“Childish! How dare you!”

“Oh how dare I? Gods I do forget myself.” His lips joined to your neck in a flurry of hurried kisses that only forced your laughter to join with his. “There, is my wife now satisfied?”

A hazy smile joined your face, you adored your husband more than anything because to you this was who he was. It brought you pain more often than not to know how those around you viewed your relationship. They did not see his affection, they saw your withdrawal from public affection. You did not hold hands, you did not kiss or even touch where others could see. Because it was not for them to have. What you shared was gentle and sacred and entirely your own.

A/N: shorter and entirely out of character for aerion i know, but i couldn’t resist. sometimes i forget im literally writing fanfiction and i can write whatever i want however i want so yes this is not who aerion is as a character but i had a lot of fun so i hope you all enjoyed.

as always: likes, comments, reblogs + any interactions at all are always always appreciated - take care everyone!!

DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.

general akotsk taglist:

@noone1233nobody @antobooh @mikariel195 @kravitzwhore @vanillafan6 @ae-gax @galactict3a @aleemendoza2425-blog @feral-postings @n3rdybirdee @mossthedevouring @loveslide @serduncansdelight @seekingtherapyasap @moonlights-muse @icebearcucumber @poisonedsultana @nerdyinfluencertastemaker @qardasngan

aerion targaryen taglist:

@the-many-fandom-person @gasstationwishes @mindless-rock @rock-lol

@16lcs @kiskisser @licornie @celestrys @scaredgrimes01 @diannnnsss @ophidialantern @b-bef @ariescvnt @irrelevantout28 @kekeke27 @scwheeler @etfrin @beelzebzb @lilyyexe @hanmed

[lostrealityr]

The Fight

Aerion Targaryen x Wife Reader

[same universe: Teeth of my lover]

A fight with your husband, in the unconventional sense. In which he learns he rather likes hunting his wife like prey.

word count: 2,805

cw: 18+ mdni, pure fluff, ooc aerion, consented biting + smacking, this is just pure fluff, sexual themes, aerion with a goatee and moustache bc i said so, characters are adults always - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA THAT YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME

Summerhall was deserted to say the least. Maekar was handling business out in Kings Landing, Daeron was out whoring in the nearby tavern town, Egg was squiring for a Ser Duncan out in the middle of god knows where, and the only staff of Summerhall had been since abed for many hours.

You were sat in your husband’s lap, in the armchair by the fire, wearing one of his tunic’s for your own comfort. Aerion was shirtless, seeing as you had in fact stolen the tunic he had previously been wearing when you returned from your bath. You were forcing him to read to you, much to his feigned annoyance. Valyrian history. He could have told you off of the top of his head, however he had bias towards certain figures in his lineage, you preferred to determine your own mind.

“So if Rhaenyra’s son wed Aegon’s only daughter neither of them truly won the dance.” You stated.

“Rhaenyra won the dance because Aegon’s only daughter threw herself from her bedchamber window at ten. Aegon the younger went on to marry again, proving Rhaenyra to be the winner of the dance.” He explained, why didn’t you already know this.

“But her sons were bastards, you hate bastards.”

“How many times must it be explained to you, the bastards did not continue the lineage, her trueborn sons from Daemon Targaryen did.”

“Oh. Right.” You nodded, Targaryens and their bloody incest. “Do you believe Aegon was right to usurp her for being male.” You questioned, it was certainly a unique situation wrapped in a wreath of an overlapping familial tree.

“If I was born at the time perhaps, but I am a descendant of Rhaenyra’s. Therefore in this day I would support her claim. The bastardy would make it difficult I do admit, but I would not be alive without it in the end.” He went silent for a moment before smirking, head shaking. “I’m lying. If I was alive at the time and wrapped up in a dance already so chaotic, with a dragon also. I’d declare myself king against them all. I wouldn’t care that Rhaenyra’s a woman going for the throne, or Aegon a drunkard who was the trueborn son. They’re equals against me. If we’re already fighting I am fighting for no one but my own claim. I’d be damned to end up like Aemond Targaryen. He had the biggest dragon and the second claim after Aegon’s heir. I would have gone for it, no lying in wait.”

“You worry me sometimes.” You muttered, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d fight for no one but himself, he’d proven that in the trial of seven. He was lucky all of his kin emerged virtually unscathed. He had taken the worst of it, at least Daeron had the wits about him to play dead. In truth your husband was lucky to have not ended up exiled, you had begged Maekar to keep him in Summerhall and keep all else away. For some mad reason Maekar had complied, but you were grateful nonetheless. If you were Aerion’s father you would have sent him away years ago, but that’s neither here nor there. “I’m tired, let’s go to bed”.

“You just don’t want to hear my thoughts.”

“Because they sound awfully close to treason and you’ve already upset the masses by your actions at that tourney three moons ago.” You scolded, rising from his lap only for his hand to clamp around your thigh.

“Yes well, that oaf had it coming.” He scowled.

“You lost? If anyone had it coming it was you!” His hands grasped your waist, book dropping to the floor as he did so. His fingers dug into your sides before he begun tickling you, “I had it coming did I wife? I had it coming?” You fought to get out of his grip, childish giggles escaping you as you managed to escape to the sanctuary of your bed, but he was just as quick. “No come on, look at me and say it.” He teased, you could see the smile on his face. Nobody dared face the dragon, or they shouldn’t anyway. That’s what he believed. But sometimes it felt good to give it back to him, especially when you knew he had a lot of hate in his heart, but not enough to ever hurt you. You grounded him, as Maekar liked to say. Not overly, but just enough to remind him he was not in fact a dragon, and yes he was a prince but he could not just do as he pleased. His morals were certainly lacking but he was definitely improving? You hoped anyway.

He pinned you by your arms either side of your head. “No come on look at me, I want to hear you say it. I had it coming come on. You were so brave a moment ago.” The stubble of his goatee tickled your cheek before his teeth grazed the soft skin.

“You had it coming.” You maintained eye contact, watching as his brows furrowed before his hand collided with the fat of your ass in a firm smack.

“Go on, say it again.” He encouraged, pupils blown as a grin replaced his growing scowl.

You managed to kick his thigh, just enough to push him back before crawling up the bed and rising to your knees. You grabbed a pillow as supple protection. “You’ll need a better shield than feathers my little dragon.” He teased, circling round the bed as you dove back to the other side.

You threw the pillow at him, only for him to launch it straight back at you, using your distraction to circle his way back round until you felt his chest pressed against your back. You looked up at him and smiled, he raised an eyebrow looking back down at you before forcing you down onto your stomach, pressing himself overtop of you. “Come on, fight harder than that.”

“Ugh! You’re heavy how am I supposed to fight you, you’ve never taught me how to fight nobody has!” You whined, on instinct you probably would have thrown out your limbs in hope of getting a good shot then running, but you didn’t exactly want to bruise up your husband, not when he had just best healed.

His forearm found place under your chin, you tilted your head down and tucked your nose in the crook of his elbow before biting down. He let out an almost yelp of surprise before retracting his arm as you moved off of the bed the other side. You beamed proudly as he stared at his teeth marks, little red crescents that you had left indented into his forearm. “A parting gift!” You smiled. Even he had not seen you, or more specifically your teeth, coming.

“A parting gift?” He questioned, rubbing the skin before accepting the fact he was going to have a bruise in the shape of your teeth for the next week or so. “Are you planning on deserting me?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If you’ll let me win.”

He chuckled softly, “Wife, I am not going to let you win just so that you remain satisfied. You’ll get much truer satisfaction out of actually beating me.”

You groaned in annoyance, nothing could ever just be a game to him. You sat on the bed, a stupid mistake, for he lunged and grabbed your ankle, pulling you until you were splayed underneath him. Oh fuck escaped your lips before you even realised you had said it. He forced two fingers into your mouth, flat against your tongue. “Ladies do not swear, foul language is unbefitting of them. Isn’t it?” He lectured, his deep eyes boring into your own as they narrowed back at him. You bit down until he retracted them from between your lips, “What is it with you and your fucking teeth!”

“It’s not as pleasant when you receive it, is it husband.” You smirked, he was more than fond of using his teeth on you. It marked you as his, though you had never truly been bold enough to mark him back. But there was a first for everything.

“We’ll call it a draw.”

“A draw is a joint loss.” You protested, but another firm smack to your bare ass had you nodding rapidly “A draw it is.”

Once you were sensibly cuddled up under the covers, his lips at your ear he spoke softly, “I’m going to hope for my own peace of mind that you’d have better tactics if I were an intruder.”

You chuckled softly, his lips finding your cheek before trailing down to your collarbone. His teeth sank into the firm skin, leaving a mark you knew would not leave for some time.

What had begun as a one off play fight, had quickly developed into a growing game of a dragon versus his prey. Guess which one you were.

You were walking the corridors back from the gardens, unusually late yes, but Summerhall had an exceptional view of the moon on the odd occasion, and you didn’t feel like missing it. You were admiring the walls and the tapestries that lined the place, many replicating Starfall, the house of Aerion’s mother. You knew she had spent years adding her own custom to the place and it was truly so beautiful, to have such enamouring representation of two adjoining houses under one perfect roof.

You were grabbed, forced against the wall chest first, you shouted in surprise only to smell your husband behind you. The scent of him was intoxicating, “Wife.”

“Why would you do such a thing!” You shouted, attempting to push back from the wall yet he only sunk you into it further.

“Did I scare you?” He smiled, teeth finding your earlobe gently.

“Of course you scared me!”

“Hm. You should pay better attention to your surroundings shouldn’t you, my flame.”

“We are in your bloody house no one is coming to attack me in here!”

“You never know, I have a lot of enemies.”

“Well you didn’t need to tell me what I already knew-” You yelped as his hand made contact with your ass firmly, yet again. You stepped on his toes, literally not figuratively, his surprise and slight annoyance at the crushing of his digits allowed you to sprint free down the corridor. You knew that he was coming, you could feel the vibrations from his footfall some paces behind you.

You ran down the corridors, shortening several down other doors and pathways until you were certain you had lost your husband. You checked behind you once more as you walked through an archway only to walk firmly into the chest of your husband. You gasped in surprise, victorious smirk leaving your face, only to be replaced by a pout of annoyance. “Mhm. Think yourself clever?” He tutted, backing you against the wall. The corridor was rarely used, staff were not permitted to walk it and the house was presently deserted outside of the pair of you. His lips found your neck in a mix of flurried kisses and bites, so closely wound together you could not distinguish one affection from the other. You pushed at his chin, cupping his face whilst still trying to detach his mouth from you, but Aerion was relentless.

“Wife.” He whined, glaring at you as his hands pushed you back. This was his new little game, stalk you, hunt you like prey, only once he finally had you in his clutches he’d attack you with his mouth until he felt satisfied he was full. He was a gluttonous being, he never did truly know full.

He just wanted your attention, your affection, like some bratty, spoiled, prince. Oh wait.

He wanted his lips practically sealed to you, any part of you. He wanted to kiss and lick and worship, even suckle at you if he could get away with it, he practically fed off of you. And gods forbid you turn him away, accidentally push his hands from you in the night. It was a personal offence, your instinct is rejection, he would murmur, before pulling you impossibly close once again. Not only did your husband snore, he also ran uncomfortably warm, so yes sometimes in the night you did fight for breath away from the ever climbing furnace that was his body - could you truly take blame for that? Because Aerion certainly believed you could.

“Why do you push me away? Hm?” He questioned, licking a stripe up the curve from your collarbone to your jaw. You grimaced at the wet sensation and fought to remove his lips from you, “I do not push you away, in order to keep you contended you would want to crawl inside of my being.”

“Well if that is on the cards-”

“No!”

He chuckled softly, his lips leaving bruising marks in their wake as you yanked the hair at the nape of his neck, “keep trying it, go on.” He murmured, not in the slightest affected by your pulling, it was attention all the same. You stopped upon realising he was getting off on it, only for the whining brat to return “well don’t stop.”

“You can’t stalk me like prey.” You glared, pulling his head so his eyes would meet yours.

“Why not? I’m having fun and I am harming nobody to get pleasure, you should be contented if anything.” His fingers dug into your sides causing you to jolt and swat away his palms at the intrusion, he only smiled. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a head start.” He squeezed your thigh softly before moving out of the way. You stared at him confused for a moment before taking off down the corridor, he let you leave his view for scarcely a few seconds before he bolted after you.

You had successfully made it into your bedchamber and onto the bed, on your knees, full intent to dive away from any attack he gave. Upon his entry he paused. His face was calculating, he could dive on top of you, but then the game was over all-too quickly. Instead he stared at you, eyes narrowed, before circling round the bed. He took your distraction of you grabbing a pillow- what on earth did she think that was going to do, he thought, shaking his head lightly with a quiet chuckle.

He dove from behind, an arm under your chin. You bit down on the muscle causing him to tense before pinning you flat on your stomach. “One day my little dragon you are going to leave a scar. And people will ask me if it’s from some great battle, and I’ll have to admit, no, my wife just likes biting me.”

You giggled before trying to pry yourself from his grip but to no avail, “You started this biting! I am merely joining in.”

He chuckled, “oh really? Just joining in hm?”

You tried to wriggle free once again, he didn’t look it but he was certainly heavy.

“Still winning?”

“Yes.”

“Really? Because to me it looks as though I am on top.” You fought to break free again before his taunting begun yet again, “come on, admit it. I’m winning.”

The door swung open, a sopping wet prince Maekar entered before stopping still in utter confusion.

“Father, we were not expecting you.” Aerion did not budge, he remained firm in holding you still.

“I am not even going to ask.” To say Maekar looked disgusted would be the least, he knew his son was likely rough in ways he did not wish to know of but to witness the pre-act? Vile.

Aerion ignored his father’s utter distain, “Now if you were to look at our current predicament who would you say is winning?” he questioned.

“Well you, you are on top.” Maekar nodded.

“See even he agrees with me!” Aerion removed an arm to point in his father’s direction, you instead elbowed him in his now exposed ribs. Aerion fell backwards into a heap on the floor as you rose to your knees in victory, “I win!”

Maekar couldn’t help but smile at the sight, even if it was technically at his son’s expense. “I’ll leave you to, whatever the fuck you call this.”

“A fight that I just won, you mean.” You beamed proudly as Maekar murmured in agreement, before exiting. Despite the door shutting firmly you were both graced by the sound of his laughter as he made his way to his own bedchambers, echoing down the halls.

“That was a foul it doesn’t count!” Aerion announced, regaining his composure to stand next to the bed.

“You can’t say it’s a foul just because you didn’t win!”

“Of course I can, my game, my wife, my rules.”

A/N: feeding all our delusions because let’s be real, he’d kick our ass and not even be sorry about it

as always: likes, comments, reblogs + any interactions at all are always always appreciated - take care everyone!!

DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold no rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.

general akotsk taglist:

@noone1233nobody @antobooh @mikariel195 @kravitzwhore @vanillafan6 @ae-gax @galactict3a @aleemendoza2425-blog @feral-postings @n3rdybirdee @mossthedevouring @loveslide @serduncansdelight @seekingtherapyasap @moonlights-muse @icebearcucumber @poisonedsultana @nerdyinfluencertastemaker @qardasngan

aerion targaryen taglist:

@the-many-fandom-person @gasstationwishes @mindless-rock @rock-lol

other tags:

@16Ics @kiskisser @licornie @celestrys @scaredgrimes01 @diannnnsss @ophidialantern @b-bef @ariescvnt @irrelevantout28 @kekeke27 @scwheeler @etfrin @beelzebzb @lilyyexe @hanmed

@kiskisser @lace67 @elenaa199 @pearlsandkelp @twilightmoons358 @njutul

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

I hate him.

But he's pretty.

And Finn is an incredible actor.

And then there's this:

He looks so silly. But he's evil. Now I'm conflicted.

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

He is the opposite of me i swear: I look evil but I'm really just a silly that's dealing with some stuff.

Maybe if I give my evil aura to him in exchange for the silly I will finally make sense 🤔

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

Currently struggling pretty bad with my mental health, awaiting assessments/diagnoses and dealing with psychotherapy, so imma kidnap Aerion so I'm no longer the craziest one in my house.

*yoink!*

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

My Pinterest just did a thing...

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

Sad news folks. Went up to the yard last night to find that Will had passed away in his sleep. He was fine in the morning, ate his apple, followed me round the paddock as I checked the fencing and then toddled off to graze.

He was an old boy at 33, but a fit, healthy old boy. He's been with me all my life and for him to just be gone like that doesn't feel right. Im in shock, I feel sick, I barely slept last night and right now I don't know how to deal with this.

RIP you silly tapir-snoot fence-demolisher I miss you and all your annoying little quirks.

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

So I've had my head meds changed (again), and as a result, I've been having g some weird-ass dreams.

Latest of which was me having a whole "I can fix him!" Moment over Aerion fucking Targaryen.

As far as I remember, it was fairly accurate to canon events, but after the whole Trial of Seven fiasco, to save Aerion from getting exiled, crazy-brain dream-Lx was adamant they could fix his bad attitude so approached Maekar to ask if he would reconsider if I dedicated myself to making Aerion a better person.

Long story short, there was a discussion and a compromise was reached: Maekar would entrust Aerion to me - though he would still have to banish him, just maybe not as far as Lys - but for him to do that, I would have to marry said dragon-furry [affectionate] first, and we were not to return to Westeros until he had learned to behave.

Ultimately, I agreed. Though I can't remember what happened immediately after as Xander woke me up...

... BUT I did go back to sleep afterwards, and there was the vague impression of a continuation in the form of me and Aerion living in a forest somewhere, and in his own messed up way he'd grown attached to me and decided he didn't want to go back to Westeros, so kept misbehaving and being an obnoxious brat deliberately so Maekar wouldn't let him return...

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

Omg. Just paused at that moment...

His face 😂🤣😭

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

I hate him.

But he's pretty.

And Finn is an incredible actor.

And then there's this:

He looks so silly. But he's evil. Now I'm conflicted.

[vhagar-balerion-meraxes]

One week until he returns 🥰

[celestialwyvern]

SOFT SPOT - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - Having met as children and reuniting once you've grown into a woman, Aerion's previous suspicion of you grows into the softest spot imaginable.

CONTAINS - pure fluff, reader is extremely kind, aerion is only kind to reader, classic sunshine x grumpy

A/N - i personally couldn't stop giggling while writing the "pastry" scene. Ughh i need him

The blazing sun over Summerhall was unforgiving, but it did nothing to melt the sour disposition of Prince Aerion.

At barely ten name days old, the boy was already terror embodied. He sat on a smooth rock by the edge of the river, a fishing rod held tight in his small, tense hands.

His eyes glared at the water as if he could command the fish to bite by sheer noble decree.

“They won’t bite if you keep scowling at them,” a bright voice chimed from behind him.

Aerion stiffened, his jaw tightening. He turned his head sharply, expecting a person sent by his father to drag him back to his lessons.

Instead, he saw you.

You were the daughter of Maekar’s most trusted ally, having arrived only an hour ago.

While the adults spoke of their business, you had wandered out into the sun, your heavy skirts already trailing in the damp grass.

You looked entirely out of place among the solemn guards, a little burst of warmth against the grey stones of summerhall.

“Go away,” Aerion snapped, turning back to the water, “You’ll frighten them.”

“You’re the one frightening them,” you retorted easily, completely unbothered by the venom in his tone.

You marched right up to his rock, your slippers squelching in the mud, and plopped down beside him without asking. “My father says that fishes can sense when someone is angry. They don’t like the energy.”

“Your father is a fool, and so are you,” he hissed, expecting you to cry or perhaps run back to the castle.

But you didn’t seem bothered as you tilted your head, watching the bobber dance on the ripples. “You’re doing it wrong anyway. The bait is too high.”

Aerion opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remark—something about how a dragon did not take lessons from a silly girl—but before the words could leave his lips, your smaller, warmer hands brushed against his.

You reached out, bypassing his defensive posture, and gently adjusted his grip on the handle, lowering the tip of the rod so the bait sank properly into the water.

The prince froze. No one touched him without permission. No one dared.

Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the bobber suddenly dipped aggressively. A heavy tug yanked the line down, nearly pulling the rod from his hands.

“See!” you gasped, your face lighting up with a blinding grin. “Pull, Aerion! Pull!”

Forgetting his pride, Aerion yanked the rod back with all his boyhood strength. A massive trout broke the surface, thrashing wildly and splashing mud and lakewater directly across his pristine tunic, and right into your face.

Aerion braced himself for the screaming. Noble girls and boys always screamed when they got dirty.

But then a bright laughter echoed across the banks. “Look at the size of it! We caught it!”

Aerion looked from the wiggling fish to your mud splattered face. His lips twitched, fighting a smile before he forced his features back into a proud mask.

“I caught it,” he corrected, though his voice lacked any real bite. “You merely watched.”

“We caught it,” you insisted, bending down to take a closer look at the trout.

Your father’s visit ended shortly after, and the brief, strange kinship evaporated into memory as the years pulled you both down separate paths.

Years slipped by like water through fingers, and when you finally returned to court as a young woman, the boy by the lake had become a man feared by the entire realm.

Aerion was breathtakingly beautiful, and notoriously cruel. He walked through court with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, but that did not faze you.

From afar, Aerion watched you navigate the treacherous nature of court. You were a vision of light, offering warm smiles to the guards, listening patiently to the older women, and showing unfaltering kindness to everyone you crossed.

To him, it was grating. All noble ladies were trained to be sweet, performing acts of grace to secure a good match or win the favour of higher lords.

He waited for you to finally lose your cool.

But the day never came. No, the reality of your kindness crashed directly into him one afternoon near the small council chamber.

You were walking down the corridor with a butterfly that had landed on your arm when the doors of the chamber burst open.

A flurry of lords tumbled out into the hall, fleeing in terror. Among them was the master of coin, frantically wiping dark ink from his doublet with his bleeding hands, his face pale as death.

“Seven hells,” one of the other lords whispered hoarsely, scurrying past you. “The prince has lost his mind entirely!”

You stopped, watching the chaotic retreat. Instead of turning back like any sensible person would, you set the butterfly on a nearby branch and stepped through the heavy doors.

An iron candelabra laid overturned on the floor, dark wax spilling across the polished wood, and an inkwell had been shattered against the wall.

Aerion stood by the high window, his back to you. His shoulders were incredibly tense, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.

“I thought I made it clear,” Aerion growled without turning, “The next soul to disturb me will lose their tongue.”

“Then it is a good thing I am capable of writing. I do not need my tongue.” you responded lightly, closing the heavy door behind you.

Aerion went still. He turned slowly, his stormy eyes dark with lingering rage. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a harsh, bitter scoff.

“Come to play the saint for me too?” he sneered, maintaining his distance. “Save your sweet smiles for the lords in the hall. I have no patience for your endless charity.”

You took a few measured steps into the room, keeping a respectful distance yourself.

“I don't think they don’t understand how stressful it can be,” you said softly, ignoring his cruel words. “they whisper and push, expecting you to sit quietly while they try to manage your family’s rights. It makes sense that you’d lose your patience when they refuse to listen.”

He stared at you from across the room, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing. He had expected an admonishment, or at the very least, fear.

“They are parasites,” Aerion muttered, his posture unlocking just a fraction. “They look at me as if I am mad because I refuse to let them dictate my bloodline’s terms.”

“I can see that,” you replied gently, giving a small smile. “They may be stressed as well, but no one should have to bend to their whim.”

The room went silent before you spoke again.

“Whenever the court gets too loud for me, I find that walking around the gardens helps. The fresh air is always calming.. maybe it would help you too. It’s quiet out there.”

The fire in his eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He stared at your face, the lines of his memory remembering the specific curve of your smile.

A breathless laugh escaped him.

“The gardens?” Aerion repeated, his voice dropping the edge it possessed just moments ago.

He took a step forward, assessing your form. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? Years ago at Summerhall, you told me the fish wouldn’t bite because of my ‘anger.’ Now you’re trying to herd me into the bushes to calm down.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft laugh bubbling up. “You remember that?”

“I remember a girl pushing my hands around and getting me covered in mud,” he murmured.

He then let out a soft click of his tongue, turning to look at the doorway. “Fine. We will walk the gardens. But only because your previous method somehow worked.”

“Of course,” you smiled.

As the weeks progressed, a unique friendship blossomed between you.

Aerion still remained difficult as ever to the rest of the world, but your presence seemed to simmer that down.

The shift did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the court, leading to an afternoon that they wouldn’t stop gossiping about for days.

You were walking through the outer courtyard with a small retinue of noble ladies, the daughters of prominent lords from the Reach. They were talking endlessly, giggling as they spoke of whatever irrelevant topics crossed their minds.

“You must be careful, my dear,” one of the ladies said, leaning in closer to you. “Prince Aerion may be amused by your novelty but once he grows bored of playing with his new toy, you will be left with nothing but yourself.”

“He is a prince of the blood,” another lady chimed in, her voice tight. “They take what pleases them for a moment and cast it aside. Do not mistake a tyrant’s passing curiosity for actual regard.”

“Aerion simply values sincerity,” you replied, offering an unbothered smile. “There is no game being played.”

“You are far too gullible–” the former lady was cut when Aerion walked out from the room beside.

The ladies instantly adjusted their posture, immediately dropping to curtsies as he approached, each of them desperately hoping to catch the prince’s favour despite their previous warnings to you.

Aerion ignored them, his eyes locking firmly onto you.

Without a word of greeting, and completely disregarding decorum, he walked into the center of the group and stepped right into your space, his frame towering over you.

“You’re late,” his voice was low—meant strictly for you, though it carried across the hall.

“Late for what, my Prince?” you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with your beaming expression.

“I am going to the cliffs, and you are coming with me,” he stated flatly.

Behind you, a collective intake of breath echoed from the ladies. Here he was, actively seeking you out, his attention consuming you and utterly shattering their spiteful claims that you were just a passing game.

You looked back at the girls, giving one last smile before parting from them. “Very well, my Prince, if you insist.”

“I do,” Aerion tilted his head, turning on his heel to fall into step right beside you, his side brushing against yours as he guided you out of the yard.

That would not be the first or last time the court would witness the two of you separating from the rest of the world.

During one evening, after failing in your search for Aerion through the whole castle, you found him alone in the secluded parts of the library.

He was sitting alone, staring dead at a massive volume of ancient Valyrian history.

“I am not in the mood for company,” he hissed out, “leave.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in worry before approaching and setting down a small plate of pastries on the corner of the table. You pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat down despite his request.

Reaching over the plate, you picked up a small pastry and held it right in front of his face, completely disregarding his brooding glare.

“Eat,” you insisted gently as Aerion still refused to acknowledge you. “You always go for these specific ones. I know you like them.”

His fingers that had been gripping the edge of the book twitched, and he finally turned his head to look at you.

The weight on his shoulders gradually disappeared as he looked at the pastry, then up at your fond expression.

Aerion didn’t move to take it from your hand. Keeping his intense gaze locked firmly onto yours, he leaned slightly forward.

Then, totally unprompted, he took a bite right out of the pastry while it was still held between your fingers.

A tiny giggle slipped past your lips, a bright warmth blooming all the way to the tips of your ears at the sheer intimacy of it.

You tried to bite your lip to hide your surprise, but your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked into his smug face.

Aerion chewed slowly, the corners of his lips twitching at your giddy reaction.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmured as he swallowed.

“Maybe,” you agreed, your heart fluttering as you set the remaining half down onto the plate. “But it worked. You feel better already, don’t you?”

Aerion stared at you for a moment, drinking in your presence. He did feel better—the tight, suffocating knot in his chest had already unraveled. But it was certainly not because of the pastry.

Slowly, he hesitantly reached out across the small space between your chairs. With one deliberate movement, he dragged your chair until it hit his.

Then, his hand moved to flip over on the table with his palm facing up, his fingers sprawling open in a silent, stubborn invitation.

You, on the other hand, did not hesitate. You slid your hand into his palm, your fingers easily weaving through his.

Aerion squeezed your hand, his rings pressing firmly against your skin, though his touch was surprisingly careful.

However, the true demonstration of expanse that you two had built played out before the entire court during a grand feast, where Aerion’s attempt to maintain his reputation crumbled.

The feast was deafeningly loud.

You were seated next to Aerion by Prince Maekar.

Aerion had spent the first half of the feast interacting with other lords while you conversed with other ladies.

He was glaring at a group of lesser lords when he noticed your sudden silence. Just then, some of the lords he had been talking to earlier called out to him and he tried to force his eyes back on them.

Aerion was aware that you two were the topic of conversation as of late. He couldn’t let the people of court think he had gone soft. At least that was what his pride told him.

But the sight of your fragile form pulled at him like a physical anchor, shattering his resolve. His demeanor instantly changed.

He turned fully in his seat toward you, his cold stare evaporating.

“You’re pale,” Aerion murmured, voice stripped away of anything harsh. “What is it?”

“Just… a headache, Aerion,” you whispered softly, giving him a tired smile. “The noise is particularly loud tonight.”

Aerion didn’t waste a second as he gently used his hand to cradle the back of your head.

His fingers began combing through the loose parts of your hair, his thumb tracing circles down your temple to ease the pressure.

The chatter around the surrounding tables died down, dozens of eyes tracking his movements, yet no one dared to disrupt. They watched as Aerion paid no mind to everything else the moment you showed discomfort.

You leaned into his touch, a smile returning to your face. “Aerion… everyone is watching.”

Aerion let out a defeated sigh as he grinned. “Let them stare,” he concluded, his fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve broken me anyway.”

Shifting his broad shoulders, he blocked the rest of the room from view, shielding you from prying eyes.

“You are tired,” he paused, “if anyone breathes a word about that, I will have their heads.”

“You can’t murder the entire court,” you teased, lifting your head up for a moment.

A faint smile broke across his face. “Watch me,” he repeated, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. “Now hold still and let me fix it.”

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

I hate him but he's pretty and it'd be fun to put him in his place...

[aemondweek]

i am happy to announce the official dates and prompts for aemond week 2026! this week is dedication to aemond targaryen. use the hashtag to display your art , edits , fics and more! see you in october!

[in-my-feels-probably]

aerion targaryen who keeps having nightmares of reader dying and he doesn't know how to deal with it

He demands reader be there with him 24/7 but also afraid to talk to her too because he's scared he's gonna end up crying when he does

And one night, he wakes up and reader isn't there with him but just as he's about to jump out of bed, reader comes back in the room (turns out she was just hungry for a midnight snack) and aerion who loses his temper "Where were you!?" And reader is just confused "I went to the kitchen-"

Annnndddd I want you to come up with the ending!! :33

I’m Scared I’ll Never Sleep Again

Request: aerion targaryen who keeps having nightmares of reader dying and he doesn't know how to deal with it. He demands reader be there with him 24/7 but also afraid to talk to her too because he's scared he's gonna end up crying when he does. And one night, he wakes up and reader isn't there with him but just as he's about to jump out of bed, reader comes back in the room (turns out she was just hungry for a midnight snack) and aerion who loses his temper "Where were you!?" And reader is just confused "I went to the kitchen-" Annnndddd I want you to come up with the ending!! :33

Hi! So sorry it took me so long to get this out. I haven’t written for Aerion before, so this is a bit out of character. But hopefully you still like it! Thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: mentions of death and blood, swearing, i think that’s it? let me know if i missed anything)

—

Although it was true that Daeron was the dragon dreamer of the family, prophetic and misconstrued dreams plagued three of Maekar’s six children. It wasn’t something your husband talked about often, but you knew he understood the weight of them. He’d familiarized himself with the history and legacy of his house from the time he could read. Of course he knew who throughout his ancestry possessed this rare skill. 

It wasn’t something Daeron could hide. Plagued the most, he chose to drink, gamble, and lust his way through the nights to avoid them. Aerion, however, was much more reserved about it.

When your marriage was first arranged, neither of you were thrilled. You didn’t want to leave your home in Highgarden, and Aerion had no interest in some simpering girl who couldn’t meet his gaze without trembling. Despite his fondness for women, he preferred having the choice. What fun was it if you didn’t know how to play the game with him? 

You were summoned to court shortly after the news of Baelor’s death. Maekar, clinging to what little good he could make of his family after everything that happened, was desperate for a girl that could whip his son into shape. He needed a girl that was strong as well as beautiful, smart as well as dignified. He needed a match for his son that would hopefully finally make a man out of him. After carefully examining the eligible daughters of the Great Houses, you were selected. Within a fortnight of Lord Tyrell receiving the raven, you were on your way to King’s Landing.

Much to his father’s dismay, Aerion was the first to greet you upon your arrival. He didn’t even let Maekar get a word in before he stepped up to the carriage once the door was opened, offering you his hand to help you down. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought the action chivalrous and princely. But you’d heard plenty of tales of the prince before your arrival. You knew this was a calculated move, a test. He was purely waiting to see whether you’d pass or fail. 

Without missing a beat, you hiked your skirts up with one hand and gripped his hand tightly with the other. “Did you know you can smell the shit for miles coming into the city?” 

You carefully stepped over a pile of mud as he helped you down, letting go of him to smooth out your skirts. Once you were satisfied with your appearance, you looked up to meet him in the eye. He didn’t say a word, but you could see the intrigue in his gaze. He cocked his head to the side, glancing back at Maekar.

“Did you hear that, Father?” he hummed, clearly amused by his father’s usual grimace that was temporarily stunned into a look of confusion. “You can smell the shit for miles.”

You remembered your lessons, curtsying carefully. “My lord. It is an honor to meet you. I thank you for the invitation.”

You spoke like the lady he’d hoped you would be, but Maekar could hear the disgenuine tone in your voice. Either you were even smarter than you looked, or he’d made a grave mistake. Only time would tell. 

“The journey was comfortable, I hope?”

More pretty words his own mother had taught him to say. Princes were supposed to care about hospitality and manners, as though they were golden knights among mere men. He’d always found it to be a load of bullshit, but he’d grown accustomed to it over the years. He’d never heard a lady of a noble house speak to him with anything but the carefully crafted words their mothers or septas taught them to say when addressed by a lord. But here you were, swearing upon your first meeting with them. He couldn’t help but begin to like you. 

“Highgarden must smell pleasant with all those gardens,” Aerion mused, gaining your attention. “Does the smell of our city offend you, my lady?”

“Aerion—”

“Nonsense, my prince,” you answered sweetly, taking a deep breath of city air. “It suits me just fine. Shit and all.”

Maekar couldn’t help but laugh, trying and failing to stifle it. “Shit and all, my lady?”

“Shit and all.”

—

The following days were spent getting to know your new home and your betrothed. Aerion, ever the little shit, did all he could to bother you. But not once did you let him phase you. Every harsh word, every too tight grip, every whim he wanted you to indulge him on, you endured it. His father was never far, always watching with a scrutinizing stare to see if you’d slip up. He watched for days and days, but you never once faltered. Whatever tests he and his son had for you, you’d passed them with flying colors. He grew surer and surer about his decision to betroth you by the day. 

When the day of your wedding finally came, Aerion was enamored with you. 

He didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t help himself. He liked you. Your beauty, your wit, your tenacity. He thought he would enjoy making you squirm and wince, but he found himself enjoying the chase more. Your bark was every bit as big as his, and he could only hope your bite was the same. 

He used to shudder at the idea of becoming soft for someone. The only woman he ever got that way for was his mother, and she was long gone. He had no intention of ever letting that part of himself surfacing again, yet you brought it out of him as you slowly settled into your marriage. 

He was still every bit as harsh and possessive as he was the day he’d met you. But where he used to dig his claws in, he now favored a tight grip. His bite had turned into nothing more than a nip. He was learning to love you how you deserved to be loved, unwilling to settle for anything less.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes — the prince was head over heels for his wife.

Despite his closeness to you, Aerion was a tough nut to crack. He was always fond of jokes and deflection when the moment turned serious. Any time you prodded into his past, he’d gently guide you away with a sharp quip or wandering hand. More often than not, you’d let him. But over time, you slowly wore him down. 

It took him weeks into your marriage to even admit that he had strange dreams. You’d pried the information from him the third night in a row you’d found him staring up at the canopies once you started sharing a bed.

“It’s just dreams,” he scoffed once you sat up and looked at him with concern in your gaze. “They don’t mean anything.”

You frowned, reaching up to smooth a hair out of place back down. “You need your rest, Aerion. You annoy me as it is. I will not indulge a husband comparable to a whining child all day tomorrow because he was too stubborn to sleep.”

Aerion stifled a grumble, turning his head to nip at your wrist. He caught it when you tried to pull away, pressing a kiss into your skin instead. You let your wrist go slack in his grip, watching as he guided your hand back into his hair.

“So spoiled,” you whispered, but you were smiling as he relaxed into the pillows once more.

Aerion huffed, closing his eyes. “I am what you made me.”

“Oh, so this is my fault now?”

“It is.”

“It has nothing to do with being a brat all your life before I came along?”

“Shut up, woman.”

“Excuse me?” you asked with a raised brow, pulling your hand away.

“No, no, no, no,” he rushed out, hastily pulling your hand back to his head. “I take it back, I take it back.”

You rolled your eyes, relenting. “Of course you do.”

—

As your marriage progressed, Aerion’s dreams got worse. 

They were violent affairs. Before you, he dreamed of dragon fire and burning cities, the stench of death filling his nose. And before you, these dreams didn’t bother him much. Death was an inevitable thing. He would greet death as he greeted life, with a glint in his eye and a sword in his hand. It was no matter to him. The lives he took, or the one that claimed his, it was all inconsequential. It was a fate his ancestors met for centuries before him, and it was a fate his descendants would meet for centuries after him. 

As his affection for you grew, his dreams began to shift. What was once vague and out of body became too up close and personal. The faceless men he’d watch be slaughtered suddenly began to morph into you, his beloved wife he’d burn down cities for.

The first time it happened, he was dreaming of your wedding day. 

He dreamt of you standing at the altar with him, your beautiful gown flowing behind you. Your hair was done flawlessly, every pin placed with purpose. You smelled of roses and sunlight. Your father had arranged to have oils sent to you to remind you of home. Aerion felt weak in the knees the first time he smelled them on you. You had to pry him off you every time he’d get a whiff in passing and promptly bury his nose in your neck. 

He dreamt of your smile, the way your gaze met his as you said the vows countless others had made before you. Up until that point, it was perfect. It was a happy memory. 

But then your smile faltered.

You lowered your head slowly, grasping at the fabric banded across your stomach. Aerion watched in confusion until he felt dread spread throughout his chest, watching in horror as blood began to seep through your dress. You clutched helplessly at your stomach, looking to Aerion for help with desperate eyes, but there was nothing he could do. His own hand moved to cover yours, pressing down as hard as he could to stem the bleeding. But it was to no avail. You were bleeding out.

You crashed to your knees, clutching at his shoulders like a scared little child. He could hear himself screaming. It was a carnal and pained sound, a wail like the one his mother used to make when it was time to bring a new little brother or sister into the world. He felt like he was drowning in it. 

He clawed and pawed at you, desperately looking around for help from someone, anyone. But help didn’t come. He had no choice but to watch you bleed.

He finally ripped himself from the dream when the light left your eyes, shooting up in the bed with a gasp from breath. His chest heaved as he panicked, blindly reaching over to your side of the bend until he could feel warm skin under his palm. 

“Mmm,” you groaned, shifting onto your side as you cracked open an eye. “Aerion? What is it?” 

I watched you die, he immediately wanted to say. I couldn’t save you. 

But Aerion was full of pride. It pained him to admit vulnerability. He already choked on his love for you as it was. He couldn’t stomach the inevitable look of pity in your eye when he told you the truth. So he took a shaky breath, slowly laying back down.

“I dreamt I was falling,” he murmured, patting your thigh. “Go back to sleep.”

You frowned, throwing a leg over his hip to hold him down. “That’s silly.”

You twisted and turned in his grip until you were pressed flush against him, your limbs intertwined. One hand reached up to thread through his hair, the other resting on his arm. He let out a content purr, like a cat who’d just found a warm lap to sit in. 

“There,” you whispered, resting your head on his chest. “I’ve got you. You can’t fall.”

He turned his head until his nose was buried in your hair. “Clever girl.”

—

The dream repeated itself often in various forms, always ending the same way — he couldn’t save you. 

Whether it be by his hand or another’s, he’d watched you die now more times than he could stomach. Aerion wasn’t as foolish as some of his ancestors. He knew what the dreams were, and he knew they weren’t to be ignored. 

Not when it came to you. 

Still, though, he couldn’t talk to you about it. What if you didn’t understand? What if you laughed at him? What if you looked at him like he was crazy? What if—gods forbid—he burst into tears like some sniveling child clutching at his mothers skirts? 

Before his mother passed, all of his siblings had nightmares at some point bad enough to send them climbing into her bed. Maekar was absolutely no help when it came to comforting his children. 

“It’s not real,” he’d grumble, shifting over in the bed to get whichever child it was off of him. “Don’t be silly.”

Dyanna was kinder. “It was real to them.” 

She’d sit with them until they calmed, rubbing their backs and stroking their hair. Then she’d take them back to their room and tuck them into bed, promising them a restful sleep now that they’d chased the bad dreams away. Aerion’s mother had been gone for years now. He hadn’t had anyone to chase the dreams away in quite a long time, and he didn’t want the burden to fall on you. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t comfort himself, though. 

You’d feel him reach for you in the night, clinging to you even worse than he normally did. He’d hold you close, whispering something you couldn’t quite make out into your skin. If you rolled away from him, he’d drag you back into his chest and lock his arm around your waist. If some part of him wasn’t touching some part of you, you’d get an earful in the morning about it. 

As the dreams progressed, the worse about it he got.

One day, he decreed that you couldn’t leave his side unless absolutely necessary. “Where else do you have to be that’s more important than by my side?”

It was ridiculous, but he looked adorable when he pouted. You couldn’t help but goad him on. 

“So, I'll never have anything for myself again? I have to follow you around to training, to meetings, to wherever you’re summoned? I can’t spend time in the gardens, or meet with any of the ladies of the court?”

“They’re quite dull, I assure you,” he shrugged, a goblet of wine poised at his lips. “We can go to the gardens if you wish. But not by the little yellows ones. They make my eyes water.”

He’d discovered that after following you in one day. He was sneezing for a week before he figured out that the few you’d plucked and gathered into a vase for your room was causing it. He promptly threw the entire thing out the window. 

“You’ll go to the gardens with me?” you asked with a raised brow. 

He smirked, and you knew his intent was less than innocent. “We can hide behind the ivy walls and play a little game. See just how quiet my girl can be.”

You laughed, but there was a shred of annoyance in your tone. “I am not a dog to be leashed, Aerion. You can’t command me to be by your side every second of every day.”

“Can’t I?”

You narrowed your eyes at home. “You can if you tell me why.”

“Because I said so?” he mused, narrowly moving out of the way fast enough to avoid your attack on his arm. “Can’t a husband want his wife by his side?”

“Can’t a husband be honest with his wife?” you countered, grinning when he glared. 

You reached for him, taking his hand in yours. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, we can open this discussion again. Until then, I’m going to the gardens. You’re free to do as you wish, husband. Do behave yourself.”

You turned and walked away before he could protest. He watched you go with a longing ache in his chest, willing himself to call out to you. But his pride wouldn’t let him. Instead, he let you go. 

—

This behavior continued until it all came to a head one night when a dream ripped him from sleep like claws digging into his side, piercing his skin. 

He shot up into the dark with a cry, sucking in air like it was the last breath he’d get. His hand fumbled in the dark for any inch of warm skin he could get his hands on, but dread settled in his stomach when all he felt was cold sheets below his palm. His mind was still muddled with sleep, his heart racing in his chest. He’d yet to get his bearings, but he willed his brain to catch up with his body as he frantically reached around for you. 

It was the middle of the night — where could you have gone? Has something happened to you? Did someone come in and take you? Did you leave him? 

He nearly made himself sick, bile rising in the back of his throat at the thought of any one of those possibilities. He quickly ripped the sheets off his body, clambering to his feet. He stumbled around as he looked around for the clothes he’d kicked off the evening before, finding his shirt at the foot of the bed and his pants across the room on the floor. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes that he willed not to fall as he moved around in the dark with nothing but a single candle to light the way. 

Just as he reached for his shirt, he heard the chamber door creak open with a groan. He immediately lunged for the sword he kept by his bedside, only to stop in his tracks when his wild gaze met your bewildered one. He stared at you in shock for a moment before he finally snapped out of it, his face growing cold. 

“Where were you?” he demanded to know, dropping the sword and the shirt he had balled up in his fist. 

You gently shut the door behind you, setting down the plate you’d taken from the kitchen on the side table. “I was hungry?”

You cautiously approached your husband as if he was a cornered animal, gently reaching out to brush the tips of your fingers along his arm. “What’s going on?”

“You weren’t here!” he spat, pulling away from you like your touch burned. “Why didn’t you wake me? Why did you leave?”

“Aerion—”

“I told you not to leave my side!”

“Aerion!”

There was clearly a lot more going on here than meets the eye. You gently shushed him, reaching for him again, this time with a firmer grip. You could feel him flinch under your grasp, but you didn’t relent. He fussed and whined like a child until you managed to catch both of his wrists, squeezing them until he finally let his arms go lax. 

“There,” you murmured, releasing your grip to slide your hands into his. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”

He was breathing heavily as he clung to your hands, a look of distrust in his eye. You frowned, reaching one hand up to run your thumb along his cheekbone. 

“What is it, Aerion?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead pulling you into a bone crushing hug. He would’ve knocked you off your feet if you hadn’t dug your heels into the floor to brace yourself. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, trying your best to sooth him. 

“What is it, love?” you asked once he’d calmed down some. “What happened?”

He whispered something into your skin, unwilling to pull away even an inch to speak more clearly. 

But you didn’t need to hear him. You’d been seeing the change in him for weeks now. The restless nights, the fidgeting in his sleep. The way he’d refuse to talk about it, always throwing you off the scent. He wasn’t going to talk about it until you forced him to. 

“A dream?” you asked.

His silence was enough of an answer. 

“Someone hurt you?” you gently prodded, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. “Someone hurt me?”

He winced, a blazing look in his eyes. “Never. I will never let anyone hurt you.”

His voice wobbled as he spoke, and you felt something crack in your chest. You slowly guided him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed, silently asking him to sit. When he did, you promptly tucked yourself into his lap, your eyes level with his. He held you so tight that all you could manage was shallow breaths. 

“I’m safe,” you tried to reassure him, speaking softly but surely. “You’re safe. We’re alright.” 

Aerion nuzzled his nose into the crook of your shoulder, inhaling deeply. “I told you not to leave.”

You would’ve scolded him if he didn’t sound so pathetic. You cupped his cheeks, squishing them together until his lips puckered into a pout. You could tell he was scowling, but he made no move to pull away. Any touch from you would be welcomed with open arms.

“Stubborn thing,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He scoffed. “And say what? ‘My love, I keep having dreams of you dying horrible deaths where there’s nothing I can do to stop it?’ That’s what you want to hear?”

“That’s a start,” you mused, brushing his hair back with gentle hands. 

Aerion rolled his eyes, turning his head to nip at your palm. “You’re a pain.”

You laughed, pinching his cheek. “Takes one to know one.”

Aerion grumbled to himself, pulling you closer. He was always like this. He always had to be touching you, feeling your skin on his. Now you understood why. You let him squeeze the life out of you, running a hand up and down his back. 

“You smell like wine,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Have you been drinking?”

“Sometimes it stops the dreams,” he shrugged. 

You sighed, pulling back to look at him. “It also makes you restless. You never sleep well, and you always complain about your chest burning. If you want to sleep dreamlessly that bad, we should ask the Grand Maester if he can make you something.”

Aerion didn’t answer you, too busy analyzing every nook and cranny of your face as if it was the last time he’d get to see it. He scowled at the dreaded love and affection he felt for you growing tenfold when he saw the concern in your eyes. 

“He’ll just tell me to drink tea. I hate tea. It tastes like grass.”

You hummed, leaning forward until your nose brushed his. “I have a question.”

“I don’t have an answer.”

“Oh, shut up,” you grinned, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Do you have good dreams? Happy ones? Or is it only the nightmares?”

Aerion thought a moment before shaking his head. “I have good ones too.”

“Well? Don’t leave me guessing.”

He let his hands settle on your hips, gently squeezing. “Days at Summerhall. Mother telling me a story. You…the day you arrived.”

“Such a sap,” you mused, patting his cheek.

Aerion groaned, dramatically flopping back onto the bed. He dragged you down with him, refusing to let go until you were pressed flat against him like a weighted blanket. Only then did he let you reach for the covers, letting you shift until you were comfortable. You relaxed into the warmth of him. 

“I didn’t even get to eat the bread I took.”

Aerion bit back a grin. “Well, excuse me for wanting to hold my wife. Think you can hold out till morning, you bottomless pit?”

You smacked his arm, earning a laugh. “Bottomless pit? Do you want me to stab you? That can be arranged, husband.”

“I’m sure it could,” he replied, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Sleep.”

You frowned. “What about you? The dreams.”

You could feel him shake his head. “I think you’ve chased them away, love.” 

You felt your cheeks warm at his words, hoping he couldn’t feel the heat of the one pressed against his chest. He softened underneath you, the tension in his muscles starting to ease. His breaths got shallower as sleep started to take hold. You spared a glance up at him once you felt his hands loosen their grip on you. You smiled at the look of peace on his face. 

You laid back down, closing your eyes to drift off with him. 

[nuggetbrainthoughts]

Update on the silly:

Toe is permanently flat and paw is at a weird angle, but at least he can walk without a limp now, and when the weather is cooler again, he has had the all-clear to go running around up the field and going for long walks down to the river again. For a 12yo lab mutt, he's holding together not too bad!