I need Lady Arryn to know that her husband was never a little monster. I need her to know and see that Aerion was once a cheerful boy who loved going fishing. 🥺🐉🎣
──── Aerion Targaryen┆The Reluctant Bride
author’s note: I miss them your honor. This work contains: drinking, Daeron being drunk and yapping, late night with baby Maegor, lowkey inspired by this post.
Aerion Targaryen x Arryn!reader
It’s been late when you finally decided to return to your bedchambers — the night already fell upon Summerhall hours ago and with it the feast ended, only a few remained by the table, sharing goblets, bottles and stories of past, hidden and kept a secret from those whose ears it shouldn't be reaching.
Aerion returned back to your rooms before Daeron even had a chance to wet his lips with wine — what for him of course was a rare thing, but after everything that happened he still did everything that would not risk another scolding from his father — excusing his early disappearance with a headache or lack of sleep caused by his newborn son's crying.
Lied they were — clear to everyone that were around the prince for the past weeks. It seemed that they were clearer to those who watched him that to Aerion himself. Because the boy — your sweet, sweet Maegor was thank the gods was a calm one, barely fussing, crying only when he was in need of something. Yet in your husband's eyes that was what was so concerning about him, the prince was so sure that there had to be something wrong with the boy, that the bundle he was holding each night — with face hard as stone and eyes filled with anxiety — couldn't be simply perfect.
Going through the halls of the castle your brother’s in law words ringed in your ears like bells that rang in the King’s Landing.
You both were sitting by the table, Daeron nursing his drink after everybody left — the maids were starting to clean off the tables and you stayed out of propriety… or just to not let him drink alone and make an even bigger fool of himself in the eyes of the servants.
He lifted his head slowly — as if it was heavier than usual, with violet eyes followed the servants working before they settled on you. He was tired, you could see it clearly, perhaps not sleeping properly again, not like he should be but neither was you really, not with newborn to stress over, no matter how soft of nature he was.
You saw how his eyes flickered to Aerion’s seat and he sighed quietly, lifting the goblet to his mouth.
“I’ve heard you got a quiet one.” Daeron mumbled without looking at you but still after weeks from Maegor’s birth the rumors of his quietness had been spreading through the Summerhall.
"Yes..." you said and nodded before a gentle, small smile slipped onto your face. "very much unlike his father." you added before taking a sip of your juice from the goblet.
"Oh that's for sure." he huffed quietly and one of the corners of his lips lifted up as in an reluctant smile. "I've heard only think the boy apparently got from my brother is his looks." Daeron added before taking a swing of his drink.
"That is unmistakable." you nodded and smiled bigger at the memory of the curious lavender eyes and snow-looking hair, so soft and sweet smelling that each time you buried your nose in the white strands you couldn't help but wonder how is it possible that the boy smell as such. "His father likeness... yet still the quiet nature... if it stays throughout the years I can only wonder what Aerion will do." you added quietly and looked at your brother in law.
Daeron swallowed before his eyes flickered to the goblet, his fingers wrapping gently around it as he seemed deep in thought. "He wasn't always like this..." he mumbled and shook his head gently, making the dirty-blonde strand of his hair to fall over his face. "Not such a monster like some say... Aerion was a glad child once... long time before even meeting you." he swallowed before his eyebrows lifted in fetched nonchalance. "He liked fishing." he added.
The words — even now when you were walking calmly down the corridor to the shared chambers of yours — shook something deep inside of you.
A glad child once... long time ago.
A thought almost ridiculous. You knew your husband — you knew what a little monster he can be, you saw it in Ashford moons ago and the sight rooted itself in your mind like many different faces of your husband have. A prince that scared servants passing him in the hall, a husband with reluctance showed you affection but was unmistakably loyal even if it was a pain in his eyes, a father that made up excuses to watch over his firstborn to avoid being seen as weak or vulnerable. Yet a glad child... it was not something that pictured itself easily in your mind.
And now, there he was, the same face — a prince, a husband and a father — deep in sleep with his cheek smushed against the fluff pillowed he insisted on having. The white strands of his own hair falling gently over his skin as the blanket enveloped him snuggling, leaving only a bit of his shirtless statue visible.
And there was your boy also — safe in his father's eyes, cheeks round and rosy as he looked around curious, without making a sound. He wriggled gently in Aerion's arms and your gaze fell on the prince's face again.
It was so soft, so angelic all of the sudden as if all the fight and stubbornness melted away with his sleep, leaving only this — mushy face surrounded to sleep.
You've seen it often, very often really, every night to be exact, yet something now, seeing him holding Maegor like a dragon guarding his hatchling moved something in you as you slid under the duvet yourself.
"I took him in." Aerion mumbled without opening his violet eyes, only reacting when he felt the mattress dip under your weight. "He was breathing weirdly... unevenly, I figured it's safer if he sleeps here." he added and his eyebrows scrunched slightly.
"Tis' alright..." you whispered brushing Maegor's hair away as his eyelids fell closed. "Just don't squish him in your sleep." you added before pressing a kiss upon Aerion's brow.
The grimace softened as he nuzzled deeper into pillow and huffed quietly before stilling again — one hand placed securely over sleeping Maegor's tummy.
You placed you own head on the pillow next to his, you eyes flickered over both of them in the dim lighting as you pulled the duvet over yourself and sighed.
Perhaps both of those glad boys will go fishing together once in the future.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! It was genuinely so sweet to write and so easy too, a quite short piece but oh my it made my heart swell, these are literally my babies having a baby 🥹
Simon “Ghost” Riley x Gn!Scarred!Reader (can be read as platonic or intimate)
Word Count: 1,017
AN: inspired by conversations had with @plumteaa-remus
TW-Scars, SH mention, self loathing, body dysmorphia
Summary: Simon is friends with a heavily scarred reader. She is confident in her scars and he wants to know how.
I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYBODY HERE OR ON ANOTHER SITE TO REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR FEED MY WORK TO AN A.I OF ANY KIND.
GIF by naturecopy
Simon stood at the sink basin feeling disgusted. The mission they had just completed left him with a nasty gash on his temple, one that needed to be stitched. Since he refused to see the medics about it, he was left stitching the wound himself.
Now Simon was no stranger to stitching himself up. He’d done it hundreds of times. But even if he had done it thousands of times, it would never prepare himself for the face he saw in the mirror.
Dark brown eyes that looked oh so tired gazed back at him. He couldn’t stand his face, he absolutely hated it.
The man staring back at Simon Riley was a monster and he knew it. The face of a killer and a man so broken that even he didn’t know who he was.
That wasn’t completely true though.
Simon knew the man that was looking back at him. The same brown eyes were the ones that haunted his past. The same eyes that took him to dirty concerts and made him laugh at death. The same eyes that forced him into the mold he had broken.
Simon looked in the mirror and saw the face of his father.
Simon felt rage well up in his soul as he lifted his hand and punched the mirror to pieces. He didn’t care that his hand was now bleeding. He didn’t care that someone probably heard the mirror shattering. All he wanted was to destroy the face he saw in the mirror.
He didn't hear the door open to his room, and he didn't hear the door of the bathroom opening. He didn't know when he had started crying, but he was well aware of the arms that held him softly and pulled him away from the sink.
“Hey…Simon…hey..” a voice in his ear, a soft one that he knew so well. The voice that told him jokes while waiting for exfil. The voice that hummed lullabies to themselves before they fell asleep. It was you.
“I’ve gotchu. Breathe Simon…” they cooed. Simon clutched at them and buried his face in their chest. He could see the scars that littered their arms and legs. They never hid them, never even tried.
You led Simon to his bed and allowed him to collapse into you. You gently helped him to the floor and hummed sweet words to him. He curled into you, his entire form being sheltered by you.
You knew what it was like to hate the face in the mirror. You understood how it felt to have marks on your body that you despised. But unlike Simon, you had grown to love them. Even the scars from your blades years ago that never seemed to fade completely.
You didn’t tell him to stop crying, or to relax. You knew those words wouldn’t be helpful. He just needed to get it out of his system. Simon was always strong for others, but he rarely was strong for himself.
You gently started to rock back and forth, holding his head with one hand and his hand with another. He squeezed your hand as if it was the only thing tethering himself to this world. The only thing that was keeping him from sinking into the depths of his misery.
Simon soon stopped sobbing, Re placing it with hiccups and sharp inhales.
“I know. I understand.” You whispered. He kept his head pressed against your chest, listening to your beating heart.
“I hate it. I hate them.” He choked out. You nodded, tracing a series of lines on his bicep.
“We all do at first.” You replied, your words kind and honest.
“You don’t hate them. You always…show ‘em off.” He mumbles. You exhale sharply through your nose, a laugh.
“I didn’t always do that. I used to cover them up in all the time. The amount of times I almost got heat stroke from wearing long sleeves and pants in the middle of summer is frankly embarrassing." You say softly. Simon knew you wouldn't lie to him, and he knew that you really meant the words you said.
"What made you stop hiding them? What made you stop hating yourself?" He asked. He was sitting up now, but still sitting between your legs. He needed that comfort right now and you were more than willing to give it to him.
"I never stopped Simon. I still hate what I see. I still regret those scars that I caused myself. But I always have to think that they are reminders." You whisper as you start running your fingers through his hair. You were still rocking him back and forth while he held onto you tightly. You could tell he was coming down from his panic.
"They're reminders that I'm alive. That I was able to pull myself up and live even though everything around me was trying to kill me." You gently pull him away and direct his head to your forearm.
"That's from when I fell on a mission and a rock sliced my arm." You point to another one on your hand. "This is from when I told my friend I could do a front handspring and I missed my mark, breaking the bone." You point to one that goes along your wrist, horizontal. "This is one from Highschool when I was at my lowest point."
You then gently place your fingers under his chin and direct his eyes to yours. You press your forehead against his and wipe some of the lingering tears away.
"Your scars prove to the world that it couldn't kill you. That you were able to live and to heal from the injury. Sure it might have left a mark on you, but that only shows that you're still going. That you're refusing to let things knock you down." You say. Simon closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He knew he could believe you, you were somehow always right.
"You're here Simon. You're here and I'm so proud of you."
And for once in his life, Simon felt proud of himself too.
Vox (@voxtekoverlord) discovered a way of inter-dimensional travel and began a campaign to become relevant in a whole other realty's Hell that is presided over by another Lucifer (@burningfeathersx).
Things got very complicated for Vox.
Valentino inevitably took note of the traveling and became curious. He made use of the technology himself and started to travel back and forth as well. This had a few benefits such as access to their Earth-side with use of asmodian crystals Vox got ahold of. Giving access to things like Earth-side food and shops.
Though Valentino has little interest in actual expansion out of Hazbin-Hell, he does enjoy the ability to cause mischief, earn a little side money, and have a bit of 'fun'.
The travel has had some unusual and unintended side-effects--or, at least, Valentino is blaming the travel for changes.
Given Valentino's traumatic history, he had a strong inclination for total dissociation. Though intermittent for most of his life/unlife, an event in the late eighties that resulted in his destroyed antenna drove him out of his own mind and body entirely. When that happened he disappeared shortly after the event and never...came back. Leading into his more despicable behaviors and personas.
Normally, he only came around on himself for sparse few minutes after post-coitus.
Now it is all of the time.
He's 'awake' and 'present'. Feeling emotions he only was aware of in a distant and detached way that effected him and his decisions in absolutely no way. Content to continue being a monster to keep himself 'safe and in control' of his existence.
Since the return of himself to himself, he has been acting tense, paranoid, and unusual. This has caught the attention of various people in his life and caused a number of contradictory actions and behaviors.
More recently, he had quite the break up and break down with Vox that has led to some stability of mind. Though not entirely stable.
Valentino remains unfamiliar with his own expressed and properly felt emotions. And the reconciliation of what he now feels and what he had done remains volatile.
Make no mistake, he is still a cruel, selfish, greedy, bad man...
But, more and more, his fists find objects instead of people.
And when he looks at certain people, his chest aches.
Sometimes he cares.
[ Update 1-7-25 ]
Valentino and Alastor ( @radioiaci ) had a talk that has somehow steered Valentino into accepting and somewhat embracing his changes. At least when he feels safe around another person. He still promotes the ideas of still being a very abusive bastard sex pot and whatever else, but that's more a PR show to keep himself, his V's. and others he cares about safe.
He's still highly sexual and comes off vain or vapid or comically dumb. He plays up his 'smooth-brain' persona more while out and about.
He is still also highly temperamental, volatile towards inanimate objects, and prone to sharp manic and depressive episodes.
He tries to temper these things towards making others general feel better in some way and a vicious protective streak respectively.
His reputation often sours most of his interactions at the onset due to his history. So sometimes he'll be cold and aloof before anything else, unwilling and unable to break the illusion once his reputation had pre-set someone's opinion of him.
The Four can also be referred to as the Princes. These four are the current rulers of Chelonii. Each has their own designated area of expertise, but all run the kingdom equally. However, the people respect them all differently and because of their estranged relationships with one another, nothing is done of it.
Leonardo has the most respect of them all. He is the oldest of the brothers and the most outspoken. He is the one seen the most outside of the castle. He meets with the people, interacts and holds meetings and such. He helps uphold the laws and creates new ones if needed. Leonardo is avoided by all his brothers for reasons the people are in the dark about. Not a soul really knows why, and those that lived in the palace that might have had an idea, have long since passed. No foul play was found in their deaths, at least none that can be proven.
Leonardo was well educated in terms of socializing, which is why he is typically the face of the four. He was taught proper etiquette and mannerisms. It is assumed that he will be the first of the four to court a female of his choosing. There have been rumors of him once having a love, but none have ever seen who she is or might have been. All that is known is that he once had a sparkle in his eye and a bounce in his step. That sparkle is long since gone, and his stride is dull and normal. There is scarring on one of his fingers, but no one can recall if it was there before or not. Aside from that one scar, Leonardo is considered one of Chelonii’s most eligible bachelors. Skin free from scarring, blue eyes bright and inviting. Muscular and tall.
If only they knew-
It is advised that strangers still tread cautiously around him. He is easily insulted and knows only a sliver of mercy. That can be said of them all, as they were all trained to kill if needed, but Leonardo is the quickest to snap.
Raphael is shown respect out of fear. His body is littered with scars from his many triumphs in battle. Not one to half-ass things, he fought his way to the top of commanding Cheloniis armies and officers. He made sure his men knew he wasn’t commanding solely because he was one of the Four. He worked to earn his respect, used blood and sweat and bodies to gain what he now has. It is rare for him to be seen out of the Palace. If he is seen, everyone hopes he’s not out to see them.
Raphael is only called out when he has to drag a criminal out and into the open. He is the most gruesome when dealing with abusers and rapists. It is a sight no one wishes to see. Males would much rather be trained by him than be found guilty of an unforgiving crime. No ones sure why he takes such crimes to heart, and they are all too scared to ask.
Coming up to him while he is out is like asking for death. No one can get in his way. One would have to be in dire need of help and be where no one else could see him. He wants to help, but he has a reputation to uphold.
Most women fear Raphael, they see him as too scarred, however there are some rare types that are unbothered. He has yet to fully entertain any, at least as far as anyone knows. His shell is beat up and filled with bits of metal from Donatello operating on him to keep him alive on one or two occasions. Even his plastron holds some cracks, now healed. His scars are large and puffy, angry like him. He is the biggest and tallest of the brothers, yet somehow.. he is not the strongest.
Raphael will never be seen in the same close proximity as Leonardo. The end result would be deadly, especially at their age now. Their last fight was at roughly eighteen years of age, and they were much smaller then.
Donatello is shown some respect, if only because of his brain. He’s a jack of all trades as some would say. Good in almost anything, but a master of very few. He’s very good with medicines and tech. He keeps security tight and the people healthy. He loses respect when he expresses a desire to get medicine to those in the bottom class. He wishes to make it easier to access but the greedy upper class does not like that, and so he has difficulty trying to do so. He is never seen outside of the Palace. Rumors float around that he sneaks out with medicine for the outer city of Anma. Some others come from inside the Palace, saying he’s often locked in his lab, high out his mind. Some whispers are heard of him conducting some.. odd experiments, as if he was trying to bring what was once extinct back to life to answer questions he should not be asking. No one can prove the last one, but it does make people wary of him.
Donatello is lanky but lean. Like his brothers, he was trained to kill. He questions the true history of his people, and such has gotten him into deep trouble. He has but one scar running down the side of his body. He says it was from an accident, but some people have heard it was from the Elders. The story tells of him talking out of turn and of something he should not have been. No ones quite sure what could have caused such a scar. Donatello will not tell, and the Elders oddly are no longer alive to speak on it.
Due to him never being seen outside of the Palace, women have no opinion on him. Few are curious, most have eyes for Leonardo. Sometimes the really curious ones get their questions answered, but they never remember. They just remember feeling good.
Donatello also avoids Leonardo, far more than his second oldest brother. The reason for this is unknown.
Michelangelo is the youngest of the Four. Typically, the duties of the Four are split up, but because they were not for them, he’s never had a proper specialty. The other three took up the most important jobs.He once held parties and gatherings, entertainment for the people of his kingdom, but those have since stopped soon after they began, and it wasn’t because they weren’t enjoyed. The people see him as some sort of freeloader. They say he doesn't belong- that he’s the weakest of them all, despite having the same training. He is the shortest and was the smallest in muscle mass. Due to peoples cruel words and actions, he has since bulked up and grew tougher skin. No longer can his people try to ambush him outside the palace. Like Raphael, if he is ever shown respect, it is out of fear.
Since bulking up, some women have taken to him. However none have managed to keep him all to themself. He’s not hard to bed but he is impossible to have exclusively. There’s something that prevents him, however no one knows. Rumors float around about him being a playboy with no respect for women.
Michelangelo is the second most scarred of his brothers. Second only because of Raphael and his knack for starting and finishing fights. His scars however, come from the people. He used to be beaten and tortured when he stepped out of the palace. The upper class don’t like to get their hands dirty, but they had money. They’d pay lower class people to attack him, and nothing was done of it. Not even by his own guards. This is what truly caused the estranged relationships, however, it is mostly a strained relationship with his eldest. Leonardo was the only one of his brothers to show no concern when he learned of it. Not even when he saw his youngest brother be ran into emergency care, to take out a big knife lodged just inches away from vital organs.
Michelangelo remembers Leonardo once being the most caring of his brothers, and so to see him be that way was a horrific shock. Nothing has been the same since, and he’s not sure if anything ever will be..
