𝐌𝐀𝐄 ✞ 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 ✞ 𝐒𝐇𝐄/𝐇𝐄𝐑 ✞
I consider this blog multi-fandom ! ✞ ao3 ✞ requests are open and appreciated !
𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ✞ I don't have many, please just be kind ! I have a life outside of this blog, and it takes precedent over this blog. I only really write for x reader content on here, I might do canon x canon on my ao3 but that's about it. I also won't write the big no-no's which in my book are incest, pedo/philia and racism. I also won't write piss or scat play sorry that's just not my vibe ! Everything else is basically on the table.
𝐃𝐍𝐈 ✞ if you're just going to send hate or be hateful I won't stand for it and it'll be an immediate block, this blog is for fun ! ✞ minors !
𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒 ✞ akotsk, game of thrones, hotd, resident evil, tlou, bg3, itwtv, marvel, jjk, aot, harry potter, red dead redemption 2, fallout there's more but i'm just lazy </3
𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✞ a knight of the seven kingdoms
ೃ⁀➷ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
𝐀 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐒
𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒
✞ 𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄; The various ways the men of Westeros love falling asleep next to you.
✞ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; The ways the men of Westeros share their hobbies with you.
✞ 𝐁𝐄 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 (𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄); 18+, The boy’s kinks and how they introduce you to them.
𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍
𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐇; A sickness has spread through the realm, “The Great Spring Sickness” as the Maesters call it, your dear husband has come down with such a illness, and is being such a baby about it.
𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍
𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐈-𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓; General & relationship head-canons for dark!Aerion
i’m taking you up on that lol prepare for a yap fest
now i never actually sat down and read fire and blood but i’ve read snippets and know how most of the book goes and i totally get that it’s left up to interpretation for the most part because it isn’t a cohesive story per say like how asoiaf is written. it’s written from the pov of someone studying the dance or whatever and it’s supposed to be an unreliable narration of she said he said and bla bla bla. HOWEVER !!! and this is where the SPOILERS come in so tread lightly for anyone not caught up!
the fact that !! alicent just HANDS over kings landing? i looked it up, rhaenyra is supposed to take it by force! she invades ! she EARNS her throne, alicent doesn’t just backtrack on the entire war because she feels like she’s raised monsters or she remembers her bond with rhaenyra. THAT IS SO BULLSHIT! none of these characters are supposed to be good people, it’s westeros for christ sake everyone is morally grey !! making alicent kneel over and just hand over the throne doesn’t even make sense for her character, she fought and plotted to put aegon on the throne over rhaenyra and kept her wits about her that entire time? just because aemond is now in charge she wouldn’t just throw that away? even if he is fucking insane lmao. it downplays team black so much!!! they’re fighters! rhaenyra would have WANTED to EARN her spot, she wouldn’t just want it handed over to her?? at least from my perspective.
ALSO ITS THE DANCE OF THE DRAGONS !! WHERE ARE THE DRAGONS AND WHY AREN’T THEY DANCING? we barely see the dragons imo, the battle of the gullet was genuinely disappointing in my eyes given how much the show was hyping it up as the opening episode just for it to not even be the real focal point of that episode. it felt so rushed, and so slow. i didnt feel any stakes when compared to game of thrones battles or even the trial of the seven in akotsk. they said the battle of the gullet was the bloodiest battle in the entire franchises history…. where? that battle genuinely had nothing on the battle of castle black, the battle of the bastards, OR even the battle of the black water. the pacing was just so shot 💀
warning(s): smuttiness, established relationship, camcorder sex, lowkey voyeurism, fingering, boy is a freak
a/n: i had to do a little blurb on this don’t @ me idek what this is, entirely self indulgent
The beady eye of the camera blinked red in the dark.
Not bright enough to flood the room but enough to capture your face, that and the small lamplight left on in the corner, settling you against in pillows in an orange glow. The only perfect view in the peeling paint and wallpaper of the motel room around you.
Bobby noticed your eyes stare into it sitting in the palm of his hand as he kneeled over you between your legs, sheets tightening under his weight.
“You nervous?” He spoke up in that quiet way, soft even if rough around the edges, flashing you a charming smile with his hair falling just in his face. You weren’t, not completely, you were used to it. Used to all the times it had been shoved in your face on dinner dates and late night walks in the city, there was little you could do to escape the way he captured you.
And he did it always with a smile on his face, eyes twinkling as he’d watch them back, scrolling through reel after reel.
You pulled the sheets over your naked chest higher anyway, looking up at him, “You sure no one’s going to see this?”
“Nah,” He smiled a little then, dropping the camera a touch to look at you with his own eyes, “It’s mine.”
The words shouldn’t have made heat rush to your face the way they did. Not just for the video, or your nerves.
His.
He reached over eventually, thumb brushing your cheek. “C’mere.” His hand scooped around to the side of your head, closing the gap between you, his teeth gnawing at your lips until they locked with his. Your arms brushed up through the thin cotton, material falling away at your arms as you moved against him, fingers threading through his hair.
“Let me see you baby..”
Blue eyes flashed to yours, foreheads pressed together as he focused the camera from your flushed face down to your chest. Inch by inch it fell from you by his hands, shivers tingling your spine as your breast spilled free on show.
“God look at you.. you seein’ this? That’s my gorgeous girl..”
His finger plucked at your nipple, tugging it taut between his fingers and at the other until they pebbled. He spoke aloud, mouth half pressed into the camera’s viewfinder with eyes peering over every so often to catch yours. His hands coasted down the sheets where the video followed, pulling down and down, over your sternum, fingers trailing slowly and teasingly to your navel.
His mouth replaced his hands, leaving a trail of pen mouthed kisses across the skin of your groin and hips, stopping only every so often to suck down harshly. And constantly having the stupid thing in his hands must have made up for some skill, because he didn’t drop it once, just the gentle hover of it between you.
He collected himself for a moment, mouthing at your bare knee as he finally slid the rest of the sheets away down your legs.
“Open up for me baby..”
Two fingers spread you open, his head ducking between your legs as the camera peered up through them, your mouth falling open as he thumbed at your clit.
“Bobby..”
He groaned at the sound, sweet and wanton, your hips arching up into his touch, wetness sliding over his fingers as he slipped two of them inside of you, sinking inside inch by inch.
“I know.. let me hear you.” He raised then, bracing himself up over your knees, pressing a kiss to one and raising over you. He made sure you could se everything, every curve of your body shadowed by the light, every writhe of your hips and the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers in with every curl of them.
You came undone like that, head rocking back against the pillows as he egged you on, his thumb circling harsher on your swollen clit. The pressure ignited deep in your belly when you let go, a sudden shudder bucking on his hand before he carefully pulled them from you.
He could barely suck them into his mouth, swirling his tongue around your juices with a hum before he’d had enough.
“Fuck it..”
The pure sight of you, the thoughts running wild of having something like that to keep, so intimate, so yours. His cock was hard in his jeans, aching and throbbing from the time you’d even said yes to the idea.
He crawled back over you, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling as his hands dropped the camera, the black plastic tumbling onto the bed where his hands clamped down at your hips. His mouth found yours again after trailing wet kisses up your jaw, slipping his tongue into your mouth with a groan, rocking into you.
“Sweet girl.. fuck, you have no idea what you do..”
Bobby gave one last reach behind him to set the camera upright, giving full side view of him fucking you. But the footage was long forgotten, his only focus was on you.
Your bodies pressed together, his jean shorts shrugged down to his knees as he wrapped your thighs at his middle. He didn’t leave any more time as you whimpered and moaned against his lips, slipping inside of you with one steady thrust.
The red light still flashed behind you, something to save for later, something he was proud of. And every roll of his hips into yours, your breaths mingling, all he could think of was how he was going to to show you it later.
Most likely with you sat his lap, pressing kisses all over your face and neck, hands roaming your body as he’d remind you.
His gorgeous girl.
loving taglist: @starxs-s @targlocket — only because idk who else will read this LMFAO 💗😭
kissing aerion is not romantic. it isn’t soft nor is it caring.
it’s consuming. it’s his hand wrapped around your throat, his thumb pressed into the spot below your jaw, pressing your chin back, opening you up to him.
it’s his fingers pressing into your cheeks to force your lips apart, to lick his way inside with his own tongue, to taste and to claim.
it’s him pushing you back and back and back until your shoulders hit the wall or your knees hit the mattress. it’s him crowding around you, cutting off any chance that there may have been a hint of an escape from his affections.
it’s baring your throat to him as his lips trail from your mouth, to your jaw, to that spot below your ear before the familiar prickle of pain sinks into your neck. it’s letting him bite you so hard it leaves a mark.
to kiss aerion is to be claimed. to give yourself to him with your belly up and vulnerable. to let him consume you, to let him drink in your gasps and whines, to hear him hiss as your fingernails dig into his shoulders.
say yes to heaven by lana is so insanely valarr that it physically pains me to hear that song and deal with the fact he isn’t real nor is he my male-wife 😩
currently trying to figure out how to make the headers on my fics have more than one picture n actually look nice … cannot say it’s going well i feel so out of touch w technology 😭😭
Contents: None really, just softness and domesticity ! This was written with the idea that you and the boys are in an established relationship.
Word Count: 1.6k
Author’s Note: Hiii ! So I tried to keep the hobbies mentioned here canon-compliant. I was scouring the asoiaf wiki trying to find different ways people passed the times back then when there wasn't a rebellion or a war going on. Also ik that cyvasse didn’t come to king’s landing until joffrey’s reign but uhhhh idc ! I hope you all like it ! Like always please excuse any grammatical and/or spelling errors :D Enjoy ! Credit to @cursed-carmine for the dividers used, @onstmehotbuns for helping me brainstorm these ideas & user @/wendcline on pinterest for the image used in the header.
Song Rec: These Foolish Things by Sam Cooke, it was indeed on repeat while I wrote this.
Baelor Targaryen
Intelligent. Observant. Sharp. Prince Baelor is all of these things, so it comes to no one’s surprise that he absolutely dominates in chess.
He has a table set up within his chambers, tucked into the corner, gleaming with polished marble. He’ll say it’s to keep his mind sharp, that it’s just something to pass the time, but the moment you sit opposite of him, ready and willing to learn the basics, his demeanor changes. Baelor gets competitive. He teaches you the basics, how to move the pieces and how to knock his own from the board. But once you’re studied up on the terms, make no mistake, he will not be going easy on you. It quickly dissolves into a heated battle of the mind, his fingers pressed to his chin as he squints at the board, wicked grins taking place on his lips when he recognizes which move will be your undoing. It stays lighthearted enough, playful words tossed at one another from across the table, laughter filling the air when either of you makes a bad call, gasps and dropped jaws when one of you successfully captures a piece from the other. It’s never over after just one game either, on the days you have the time, whenever someone declares checkmate, you’re setting the board right back up, playing into the dark hours of the night.
Maekar Targaryen
Peace and quiet. Those are the two things Maekar yearns for above all else.
With six children, a king for a father, and a perfect heir for a brother, Maekar just wants to sit down and let it all go. He’s found over the years that he actually quite enjoys sitting before a fire with a chunk of wood in one hand and a dagger in the other. Woodcarving, something so menial has started to become something he looked forward to whenever he had the time to himself. He’d made small versions of animals, little decorative dragons, whittled small knives for the sole purpose of enjoyment. You’d stumbled across this habit of his one evening at Summerhall, stood in the archway just watching as he shaved the oak down into something intricate before he’d noticed you. He’d beckoned you over swiftly enough, urging you to pull a chair to join him by the roaring flames. When you’d asked about it, he simply handed you a chunk of wood, a smaller knife, and instructed you to cut, reminding you to be careful. You’d follow suit, tongue poking against your cheek as you concentrated, quietly engrossed in the act alongside him. He’d given you pointers, held your hand when you almost drove the knife into your flesh by accident, voice soft and controlled when you asked questions.
Ser Duncan The Tall
Ser Duncan is likely the character with the most free-time on deck. When he isn’t entering lists or going on adventures with a certain Targaryen prince, he’s with his horses.
Sweetfoot, Thunder and Chestnut are higher on Dunk’s list for who he’d rather spend his time with than almost any human being he’s had the pleasure of meeting. If there’s ever down time between journeys, he’s with the horses, brushing their manes, feeding them apples, and telling them all about his day. The first time you stumble across this, he gets adorably embarrassed. Stuttering and all, face a glorious red as he promises he isn’t insane, that the horses are just good listeners. When you giggle and shake your head, insisting you don’t think he’s mad, he relaxes just slightly. When you ask to help him brush them however? He’s preening. He nods enthusiastically, beckoning you over and showing you how to brush along their coat. His hand will come over yours, guiding you with the brush, telling you gently how good of a job you’re doing, how Sweetfoot has really taken a liking to you. When you feed an apple to the three, Duncan will stand back with his eyes just tracking your movements with a soft smile blooming on his face, eyes sparkling with pure adoration at the way you’re just so sweet with his dear traveling companions.
Daeron Targaryen
Daeron’s entire life since gaining consciousness has been turmoil after turmoil.
Plagued by prophetic dreams, incessant mumblings about futures he couldn’t quite understand rolling off his lips, he had found comfort in two things; the drink and weaving. The drink didn’t come until later in his life, well after his mother had passed when he was a boy just shy of his teenage years. Before that, his comfort came in weaving, something he learned from his mother when he would cling to her skirts, crying about the visions he suffered during the night. Dyanna’s solution had been the craft, something she herself had learned in girlhood, now passed down to her son. The repetitive movements seemed to quell his horrors, the colorful silk moving between deft fingers as he tightened them into bracelets, accessories, baskets and the like. It had become something of a lost art to him as he turned more to wine than art, until you happened of course. He’d told you about the lessons from his mother one night, thrown the idea out there just to assume it would be forgotten. You did not forget however, surprising him with the tools needed to perform the art, a shy smile decorating your lips as you offered him the chance to teach you like his mother had taught him. It’d turned into a quiet night, one where he guided you and your hands through the steps, forgoing the wine for a night to spend it clear-headed with you. By the time you both had finished, you both had bracelets made by the other to wear around your wrists and they have not been removed since.
Aerion Targaryen
If there is one thing Prince Aerion loves above everything else, including himself, it’s history.
He loves his family history, he’s both fascinated and distraught over the fact the Targaryens used to ride dragons. It’s no surprise that whenever he does find himself with freetime, you can find him in the Red Keep’s library. It’s filled with walls and walls of dusty tomes, with bookshelves spanning from the floor to the ceiling. Maester’s might be milling about, sat at tables with scrolls spread across them, murmuring amongst themselves. You can find Aerion by the windows, sat before the sunlight, silver-blonde hair illuminated to the point of blinding whoever happens to stare too long. He’s quick to let you join him, pushing the book towards you and pointing out his favorite passages. The two of you will be pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, with his finger trailing along the words. His voice will drop to a whisper, devoid of all the arrogance he usually speaks with, tone softer, more welcoming. His excitement bleeds through, talking a mile a minute in your ear about Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar and Sheepstealer. He’ll translate the Valyrian for you, teasing you to try and laughing when your tongue struggles to roll the letters perfectly. But his eyes are soft, a small smile playing on his lips hearing you speak his family’s mother tongue, eyes alight when you let him ramble for hours about the golden age of the dragons.
Valarr Targaryen
The Young Prince is just that…Young.
While Valarr might try to act like the perfect future heir to the throne, and he does a fantastic job of doing so, he is still a younger man, and he does still enjoy things past the lists and tourneys and education. Valarr’s secret pleasure lies within the game of Cyvasse. A game from Volantis, something he and Matarys had learned from a courtier passing through the courts when they were younger. He shows you the game like it’s a secret, ushering you underneath the Weirwood tree in the Godswood at dusk, explaining the rules animatedly like it’s the best thing in the world. For once, you’re seeing Valarr in full boyish charm, with wide smiles and quiet laughs, nothing like the man the court sees. He’s louder, he’s competitive, he’s teasing. It’s like a breath of fresh air, seeing him act so carefree and downright dorkish, acting less like the prince everyone expects him to be and more like the young man he is. It’s adorably sweet, how he’ll gently teach you the rules of the game only to yell out when you manage to beat him, even though he doesn’t truly mind, not when that big beautiful smile takes place on your face at your excitement at winning. He’d happily forgo the win if it meant he could see you smile at him like that.
Lyonel Baratheon
Lyonel loves a good night out. What does he love more than a good night out? A good night out with you.
Whenever you’re beside him, knocking back ale and wine and twirling around to the music with him, he swears he’s on cloud nine. Everything just seems more intense when you’re beside him, crashing into his body and throwing your head back and laughing, he’s never seen something so lovely. You’ll both be in the middle of the crowd, swirling around and coming back to one another over and over. The telltale signs of intoxication are branded on you both, the flush on both of your faces, the way you’re both swaying side to side holding onto one another to stay upright. While the dancing and partying is one of his favorite parts, the truth to what really makes his heart sing comes after. When the two of you tumble into bed, breathless and still laughing at some stupid joke from hours ago. Rolling over on your sides and propping yourselves up on your elbows to face each other, giggling into the night and speaking in hushed tones like someone might overhear. This continues for all of ten minutes until one of you begins to doze off, only to be met with the teasing words of your counterpart, something about not being able to keep up.
Summary: These are my personal headcanons about Aerion ! based on this ask !
Characters: Aerion Targaryen , x F!Reader in the relationship part
Contents: mentions of reader belonging to a noble house but the house is never described or named, yandere!aerion lowkey, manipulation and ab/use but not described in detail, bloodplay, knifeplay, stalking if u squint, obsession but in a sexy way, possession but again imo in a sexy way, controlling behavior, power imbalances, dub?con?maybe? like if u squint, manipulation, dollification sorta, mentions of death, biting, marking and other animalistic behaviors….lmk if i missed anything el oh el.
Word Count: 1.3k
Author’s Note: So these are MY personal headcanons about aerion and i totally get it people dont agree with everything i think ! anon requested darker headcanons so i tried my best to do that but ngl i think my calling is fluff, love and happiness, so this might not be the darkest headcanons out there. There’s two parts to this, a generalized portion for just how i see aerion and a romantic/relationship section for all my fellow aerion lovers<3. Format for this is a little different but I am also writing these off of five glasses of wine…so….yeah ! credit to @cursed-carmine for the dividers used, enjoy !
Song Rec: Ruthless by The Marias, this is my personal theme song for aerion !
GENERAL HEADCANONS
Aerion is abusive and manipulative, stringing together lies and intrigue to serve his own personal interests. He doesn’t care for those around him and if he does find himself caring about people, he’s gathering secrets and spinning lies for him to use later should the need arise.
On that note, Aerion is super paranoid. He’s deluded, trapping himself in a sense of unsafety. He thinks those in court are out to get him; he thinks every whisper he overhears is spoken about him and that everyone is sneering at him, readying their refutes against him. He believes just about everyone around him is out to get him. He does not think anyone is seriously on his side, not even his father, who has proved time and time again he will back Aerion no matter what.
Where did this all start? What drives Aerion to abuse his brothers, to manipulate his father, to think everyone in the world wants to see him fail? Daeron himself said he was a normal enough child, so why would he do a complete 180? I believe it has something to do with his mother’s passing but also reading the histories of his house. House Targaryen was once the house, they had dragons, they conquered seven kingdoms and brought them together under one rule and Aerion has been born in the era where the people of Westeros openly mock them? His house, his dragons, his very being being a joke? While I certainly think Dyanna’s death had something to do with it, I also fully believe it has to do with the fact he’s having to see his own house which was once feared and worshipped as Gods reduced to little more than a joke.
Aerion, as we know, is arrogant as all hell. He thinks he’s akin to a dragon, something to be feared and held above the likes of men. He makes sure people recognize this and if they don’t he refutes it with violence and sadism. He likes to see others in pain, especially when he is the one to cause it and even more so when it stems from them treating him in a way he thinks he is not deserving of. He feels the utmost excitement knowing he can get away with this too - who would dare refute the dragon? A prince from the ruling royal family? The answer is no one.
Aerion relishes in his reputation, in knowing the people of the Seven Kingdoms find him repulsive and undeserving, he enjoys knowing he makes lips curl in disdain, that everyone around him thinks the world would have been a better place had he never been born. He enjoys it because he knows no one can ever do anything about it, not really anyway. He’s free to do what he wants with little consequence and that makes him happy. He likes the reputation he has made for himself.
On a happier note, if Aerion had a dragon, it would be a smaller one. I do see a lot of people headcanoning him claiming Caraxes and while I agree that their vibes are certainly similar, I just think he would have a smaller dragon. Aerion is fairly young and he is impulsive. I feel like Sunfyre, Sheepstealer or maybe even Syrax would be in the realm of possibility for him!
BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH AERION WOULD INCLUDE
There is no asking or formal courting when Aerion lays eyes on something he desires, he simply takes. He sees you once at court or at a tourney and you catch his attention which is never a good thing. He wastes no time either, he simply sends a proposal to your family's house and the deed is done, because honestly, who is refusing the most notorious prince of House Targaryen?
Aerion claims you publicly and privately. Privately, he’s forcing you to say who you belong to outloud, refusing to let up until you’re crying his name out loud enough for the entire western side of the Red Keep to hear. Publicly, his hands never leave you. He doesn’t care for propriety, not when it comes down to what he believes belongs to him. A hand will always be on the small of your back guiding you through the halls, a hand fiddling with a lock on your hair during feasts. When he is feeling particularly bold he might even cup your chin with more force than necessary, tilting your head to make you gaze up at him while he speaks to you in that low tone you’ve grown to love. Every Lord and Lady know you belong to him without either of you needing to say a word.
He adorns you with gold and jewels, decorating your body as he sees fit. It isn’t because he wants to spoil you, not completely anyway. He swears up and down he does it solely because it makes you look more worthy to stand by his side, decorated up in the colors of his house, the gold around your neck catching the light like a flame, matching him exactly.
Aerion is not one to let you do as you please. He’s paranoid enough in court, constantly thinking everyone is working against him and trying to remove him from the line of succession and he refuses to make any mistakes surrounding you. He’s extremely controlling. He dresses you how he wants, watches everything you do, say or eat with the eyes of a hawk. He’s constantly undermining you, enjoying the flustered look that crosses over your face when you don’t know how to answer his questions, going as far to interrogate you about your whereabouts, what conversations you had during your day at court, and every thought that passed through your pretty little head during dinner. God forbid you dare have a laugh at another Lord’s words, he’ll be at your side in a moment’s notice, lips pressing against your temple in the false show of a tender kiss while his words bore directly into your ear. “How dare you giggle and preen under this lesser Lord’s attention while your husband is only a few steps away. What would the Septons think of this?”
He refuses to share your time. You belong to him, as does your attention, your loyalty and your time. He views you giggling with your ladies-in-waiting as a slight against him, convinced they’re trying to turn you against him by whispering falsities into your ear.
However, you will never feel disrespected by his side. His protection follows you everywhere you go and he refuses to lie by and let others speak ill of you. No harm, physically or otherwise, is going to be looked over. You’re crying because another Lady spoke out of turn and said something particularly nasty in passing? Suddenly her husband has disappeared and her house is now in ruins without a head to lead them…how unfortunate.
Aerion loves blood. He loves seeing it on you, dripping from the small cuts he’s left behind from his Valyrian steel dagger. He loves to lick at it, tasting the iron on his tongue and groaning from between your thighs as he swears up and down it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Loves knowing he can cut as deep as he wants and you’ll always come crawling back for more.
To be with Aerion is to be claimed and to be claimed is to be marked. Bruises will make their appearance on your thighs, your hips, your wrists. Love bites will litter your breasts and neck to the point you have to wear a high-necked dress in the dead of a Southern winter. Healed cuts and fresh ones litter your body as if you were an exalted warrior, a constant reminder of Aerion’s claim over you and your body. He bites at you like an animal whenever he sees fit, the mark of his canines crested into the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, the soreness a morbid keepsake from the night before when he was whispering how you were his and his alone.
TUMBLR'S RECENT UPDATE IS AWFUL AND WE SHOULD COMPLAIN LOUDER AGAINST IT.
Hey so, I thought maybe we should participate in a blackout day to protest against the new tumblr update.
Let's try March 19. So that people have time to see this and plan for it.
Do not log in or use tumblr for 24 on this day.
Reblog this and make a tag chain to maximise visbility—the more people aware of this awful update, the better.
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I think we should show tumblr that we are not happy with this update in every possible way we can.
File support tickets with feedback (SEE BELOW ON HOW TO SEND FEEDBACK), post about how this update makes you feel, reblog other's posts about this update, offer as detailed and honest feedback as possible to tumblr—WE DO NOT WANT THIS UPDATE!!
Remember that WE are the end consumers.
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I used to like tumblr and I'd like to cling to it, but this update is just horrible. It makes me not want to continue posting at all. It is utterly demotovating as-is with my being mature labelled, but this update is just intolerable. I do not know how I will feel motivated to post at all in the future if this update is not rolled back.
I know I don't have much reach, especially with a label on, but I hope this reaches at least a few people.
Please participate if you care. Please reblog and tag people you know. Send every bit of feedback to tumblr that you possibly can.
I really don't want to see my once favorite site ruined beyond repair. I really want to continue enjoying this site. I have a community of people here which I have built over years, a community which I deeply love and appreciate and cherish interacting with. My blog thrives on being able to see feedback in reblogs on my post. The whole point of posting is that people see it and engage with it. This update is at best nonsensical and at worst, going to shred off many creators from the platform and rip apart any last bits of fun we have using it.
SEE BELOW for more information on the update & how to send a support ticket to give feedback.
HOW TO SEND FEEDBACK THROUGH SUPPORT TICKETS
Go to tumblr support
Select the category "feedback"
Write in formal, polite tone—try not to sound rude, but constructive and earnest about how dissatisfied you feel about the update and its effects
EXAMPLE: I am writing regarding tumblr's recent update. I am not happy with this feature and do not see myself enjoying the platform with this being implemented. Please rollback this update.
IMPORTANT LINKS
Comment your feedback on tumblr's twitter
Here is the original tumblr post stating the update change
This post by @thatlittleegyptologist explains the effects of the update
Dear tumblr please listen to our feedback and rollback this update.
in which your hedge knight only has determination and a dream... but he refuses to let highborn lords and low beat him for your affection!
genre/warnings:
suggestive, crack, fluff, jealous!dunk, drinking and getting drunk, more fluff, targaryen!reader (reader is egg's sister)
notes:
sweet dunk is injected in my veins <3 comments & reblogs are much appreciated!
Dunk wanted to crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty.
It wasn’t out of nowhere. It was the way your face lit up with wonder at the last tourney when the champion rode forward and placed the victor’s laurel upon the woman he loved.
“How nice it must be to be that lucky lady!” Your eyes were practically sparkling— and Dunk had been utterly captivated. From that moment on, he could only think of ways to see that pretty smile on your face again.
Ser Duncan the Tall might not have much to offer in this world, but a tourney victory—if he fought with everything he had—was something he could at least try to win.
And so, as the road carried him, you and Egg towards the next tourney he meant to enter, Dunk made that silent vow to himself.
“Ser Duncan! This is no small tourney, you know— this is Harrenhal! Harrenhal!”
Egg was jumping up and down ever since he knew the three of you were heading to the Harrenhal tourney. He was visibly excited, giving him warnings, cautions and everything of the like.
“Aye, I gathered that from the crowds.”
“You must get in shape!” the boy insisted righteously. “I will take Thunder each morning for exercises, so you better train properly or you’ll embarrass us before the lists even begin.”
“Us? I’m the one holding the lance, lad.”
“Well, you represent me too!”
I will do everything to win this tourney, lad, he wanted to retort, but Dunk decided he would not voice it just yet.
You had gone earlier to get his shield repainted, insisting it ought to look proper before he entered the lists. It made his heart warm that you would go out of your way for him, but that had been some time ago.
Dunk shifted his weight, glancing down the lane again. The camp was busy with squires, merchants, and knights moving about, yet you were nowhere among them.
Egg was still going on about the many points Dunk had to remember for the tourney, and he had long since stopped truly listening—
“...and if by some chance you do win—” the little boy said, pacing in front of him, pulling on the expression as if he wasn’t too sure of it happening at all but he had to say this regardless so his knight wouldn’t forget. “You must remember to ride properly when presenting the crown to my sister! It’s only right she gets to be the queen of beauty and it is a very important moment— You cannot look clumsy!”
I won’t fumble it, lad, Dunk thought. He wanted so badly to tell Egg of his plan, but if he lost, the boy would only be disappointed. So he chose to direct the conversation elsewhere.
“How long does it take to repaint a shield?”
“An hour, perhaps, give or take?” Egg shrugged. “The painter might need more time too.”
You had certainly been gone for more than an hour. Even if you had stopped to browse a few other stalls, it shouldn’t have taken this long for you to return.
“Or perhaps something’s wrong,” Dunk concluded.
Without another word, he pushed himself to his feet, unease settling in his chest as the thought crept in that something might have happened to you.
. . .
And Gods be good, because it didn’t take long to find you. Dunk spotted you near one of the outer tents where a small crowd had gathered around a few craftsmen’s stalls.
However, you were not alone.
You were standing close to a man dressed in fine riding leathers trimmed with black and gold. The fellow leaned in as he spoke, smiling broadly while you returned his grin with a sweet one of your own.
Too close. His cool blue eyes twitched in unsatisfaction. He immediately strode forward surely, stepping between the two of you, his broad frame an immediate wall between you and the stranger.
“Is there a problem here?” The words came out sharper than he intended as his eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you need from her?”
“Oh? Oh! None at all, ser!” the man replied quickly, clearly taken aback by his height. “Just a bit of conversation…”
The man proceeded to give him a small, courteous nod.
“Ser Bryn,” he introduced. “A knight of House Whent.”
“Ser Duncan. Hedge knight.”
Bryn’s grin only widened. “Ah! Coming to test your fortune at Harrenhal?” He clapped Dunk’s arm with easy familiarity before gesturing back towards you. “With a fair maiden, no less.”
Dunk frowned, but the other knight’s expression brightened further.
“In fact, if you survive the tourney, Ser Duncan— you ought to join me for a drink! Harrenhal’s ale tastes much better after a good day’s joust!”
‘If I survive’…? I definitely will, short man.
With that, the knight took his leave, not before tossing you a parting grin though, which made Dunk’s brow rise even higher. “See you later, fair lady!”
Dunk decided he disliked this Bryn fellow at first sight.
However, contrary to his distaste, you got close with that blasted Ser Bryn of House Whent in a span of a short time.
Before long, Dunk began noticing him everywhere. Bryn seemed to follow you like a puppy, turning up whenever you wandered off to the stalls, the practice fields, even the tavern.
And worse still—
“Is that so? You’re very funny, Ser Bryn!”
Dunk would hear your bright, easy laughter from across the yard and when he looked up, sure enough, there Bryn would be, grinning like he’d won some grand prize.
But what irked Dunk even more was what followed afterwards. You would come back to him all bright-eyed, chattering away about whatever that overdressed twat had said or shown you, like:
“He told me he always lets his horse sleep near the hay so it gets a good night’s rest before the tourney. Ser Duncan, maybe you should try that for Thunder too!”
In addition of that also the tricks Bryn had seen in past tourneys, and (most irritatingly) the little jokes he made that had you giggling halfway through your sentences.
Dunk would listen, or at least pretend to. He would nod along and grunt where it seemed right, but each word only made the knot inside his chest tighten further. Sometimes, when you talked about him with that bright look in your eyes, Dunk could not help but wonder—
If the day came and the champion rode forward to name you his Queen of Love and Beauty… would you rather it be Bryn holding the crown instead of him?
“Ser Duncan, you’re competing tomorrow! C’mon, don’t look so miserable!”
Egg stood in front of him with his hands on his hips, staring up at Dunk with open disapproval. The boy had been scolding him for the better part of the evening now.
But drowning in his sorrows, Dunk only lifted his cup and took another long drink.
“You shouldn’t be drinking like that!” Egg went on, frowning. “Knights are meant to be sharp before a tourney, not sulking!”
“I ain’t sulking.”
“You are! You hardly said a word all night!”
Dunk didn’t answer him. Instead, he tipped the cup back again, letting the ale burn its way down his throat. It did little to warm the sour heaviness sitting in his chest.
“If you keep this up, you’ll be useless in the lists tomorrow!” Egg scolded, reaching for the tankard to pull it away, but the knight swatted his hand aside without even looking.
“Then I’ll fall off the horse quick,” Dunk retorted thickly, his head swaying a bit. “Saves everyone the trouble.”
The boy looked horrified. “Ser Duncan!”
Dunk waved him off lazily, already reaching for more drink.
“Go find your sister… She could be out there somewhere with… with bad sorts…”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Dunk muttered with half-lidded eyes, his words beginning to slur. “Best keep an eye on her. Don’t want her running about with the wrong, shiny knights—”
Egg opened his mouth to argue again, but before he could, Dunk’s elbow slipped off the table. With a heavy thud, the big knight slumped forward, his head dropping against his folded arms.
“Ser Duncan...?” Egg asked cautiously, nudging him. He didn’t stir.
For the next ten minutes, he tried everything—pushing at his arm, pinching his cheek, even shaking him with all the strength he could muster but he didn’t budge at all.
“Oh no... Ser Duncan!”
. . .
When your brother came running to you in tears, yelling about how Ser Duncan was unconscious, your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. You rushed towards the tavern Egg had pointed out, half-terrified you might find him gravely injured—
And found him at first sight.
Your knight was slumped across one of the rough tables—thoroughly, hopelessly drunk. Several empty tankards surrounded him like fallen soldiers.
You touched his shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “Ser Duncan, wake up— Wake up, please.”
A groan rumbled out of him. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, unfocused and glassy, and for a brief moment they landed directly on you.
Encouraged, you reached out to help him up—but the moment your hand brushed him, Dunk suddenly slapped it away with surprising force—
“No, no, lady!” he slurred thickly, waving a loose, shaky hand in the air as though fending you off. “You seem nice— real nice! But I have another lady—!”
Dunk frowned with great seriousness, though his eyes were already sliding shut again as he collapsed back onto the table—
“My princess. She’s the only one I serve… the only one I belong to…”
You stood there for a long moment, staring at the enormous, unconscious knight, feeling your face steadily heating up and your chest fluttered from his words.
But Dunk was far too large to leave sprawled in a tavern. With considerable effort—and the help of a very amused tavern keeper—you eventually dragged the dead-weight knight back to your pavilion.
You had just finished straightening the bed when Dunk shifted with a groan. His blue eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused and bleary.
“...M’lady?” he rasped.
You leaned forward slightly, smiling. “You’re awake.”
Dunk dragged a large hand over his face, looking thoroughly confused. For a moment he simply tried to get his bearings together while you helped him sit upright and pressed a cup of water into his hands.
“You silly oaf,” you reprimanded with a soft sigh, patting his hair fondly. “Why must you drink so much?”
He drank obediently, almost bashful, like a very large, bewildered child. When he lowered the cup and looked at you again, there was something strangely sad in his expression.
You, however, were far too busy fussing with blankets.
“You should sleep,” you said, moving to fetch another comforter. “You’ve had far too much to dri—”
“Am I not good enough for you, m’lady?”
The sudden question took you off-guard, and you turned to him only to find his round, blue eyes looking at you as if his whole world depended on you.
“What brought this on?” you asked, blinking. “Of course you are. You’re good enough for me, Ser Duncan.”
He studied you, still unconvinced.
“If so… then why do you have eyes for other men?”
“Who—”
“Ser Bryn,” Dunk accused. “Of House Wheat.”
“House Whent,” you corrected. Dunk only puckered his lips in displeasure, clearly unimpressed.
“You are enamored with Ser Wheat.”
“...? I am not!”
“I saw you. You were smiling at him.”
“I smile at many people,” you protested, feeling your face warm under the weight of his gaze. “I was only speaking with him... In fact, most of that conversation was me trying to pry secrets from him to help you in the field...”
Dunk still looked deeply troubled. His eyes, still hazy from ale, lingered on you—searching your face, as though trying to determine whether you were simply saying what he wanted to hear.
And you softened nonetheless, a faint, almost giddy warmth rising in your chest.
“I don’t like him, Ser Duncan,” you reassured with a smile, stroking his back, as you would with your brother whenever he was being petulant.
“Really...?”
“Really, really.”
He only stared at you, as if weighing those words. However, before you could console him further, his large and warm hand suddenly tugged you that you tumbled straight into his lap—
“If I’m good enough for you...”
Dunk leaned closer, his voice dropping low, the words slipping out in a quiet whisper that made your heart skip a beat:
“Then please… have eyes for me only.”
With that, he kissed you. The sheer force of it stole the breath from your lungs.
This was nothing like his usual kisses. Dunk was normally so careful with you—shy in his affection, as though afraid his strength alone might crush you, but now the kiss was deep, desperate, and overwhelming.
His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that felt almost frantic, like a man afraid something precious might slip through his fingers. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close, anchoring you firmly against him.
“Ser—Duncan…” you breathed between kisses, the faint taste of ale still lingering on his lips.
A quiet, almost helpless noise rumbled in his chest as though hearing you say his name had lit some reckless fire in him. His arm tightened around your waist before he pulled you into another kiss—and then another, and another—each one more fervent than the last.
And when he pushed you onto the cushions, the world seemed to tilt with you.
The soft bedding dipped beneath your weight while Dunk followed after, catching himself with both arms braced beside your head. His broad frame hovered over you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.
For a moment, he simply stared. His pale cerulean eyes were dazed now, as though he could scarcely believe what he was seeing. You, lying beneath him. In his bed.
“Are you sure you want me… princess?”
The question came out softer than anything he had said all night. Beneath the lingering haze of ale and envy, there was something else there—hesitation, almost boyish, as though he feared waking from a dream.
Still breathless and witless, for a heartbeat you simply looked up at him.
This kind, silly man. He had taken possession of your entire heart and he didn’t even know.
Instead of answering, your hands rose to the front of his tunic and tugged him down hard towards you— so that your lips met his once more.
That was an answer enough.
Dunk let out a startled breath against your lips before the sound melted into the kiss itself. Before long it deepened without thought, unpracticed and earnest in a way that was so very him. Every so often he would pause, as though simply to look at you again, his gaze lingering with the same quiet wonder.
And each time, you drew him close.
Your laughter escaped once when he knocked his forehead against yours in his eagerness, mumbling a sheepish murmur from the towering knight before he hid the apology with another kiss.
The night stretched on that way. His arms around you felt impossibly safe, the strength in them comforting, like the shelter of a great elm tree in a storm.
“Oh no… oh no, oh no—”
This can’t be happening!
The morning after, once his wits had fully returned, Dunk felt as though the whole world had collapsed on him... because waking up to your bosom was usually the stuff coming from his wet dreams.
But now it had become real! And far worse, that means he... he has slept with you!
The muttered words, thick with rising panic, slowly pulled you from the warmth of sleep. You lifted your head slightly, still groggy, only to find Dunk staring down at you like a man who had just discovered a dragon in his bed.
“Oh—!” he choked, immediately looking away, then looking back again as if he wasn’t sure which direction was safer. “M’—m’lady—! I mean—Princess—!”
“Ser…?” you murmured softly, your voice still heavy with sleep, brows knit with mild confusion. The way you called him so defenselessly nearly made him jump.
“I swear it wasn’t my intention!”
You merely blinked at him. “…What?”
“I mean— I did mean to—wait, not mean to—! Last night— I was not myself!” he blurted in complete disarray, words tumbling over each other as the color in his face deepened into a spectacular shade of red. “I’d never take advantage of you—”
Oh. Meanwhile, you only watched him with interest, nonchalantly pulling the blanket up a little higher around yourself as you sat on the bed.
Dunk was mortified, and even that word wasn’t even enough. He looked ready to march himself straight to the gallows if you so much as frowned.
“I would never mean to sully your honor, m’lady, I swear it on my knighthood! I’ll take responsibility, I will, I just— Gods, please, just castrate me—”
He literally buried his face in his hands. The sight of your lover being thoroughly flustered was so endearing that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
“Ser Duncan, we have gone through this before... Castrating you is a loss to the realm.”
Your voice, soft but steady, finally broke through his spiraling panic. Those pale blue eyes snapped toward you, wide and full of dread.
“But— your honor—”
“My honor is quite intact.”
“Truly?”
“Consider it so, Ser Duncan.”
Dunk remained painfully serious, which made your lips twitch. While you had assured him everything was fine, he still looked like a man who couldn’t believe he had been pardoned at the gallows.
“Ser Duncan, if you truly wish to make it up to me…”
He straightened immediately, resolve snapping into place like armor being buckled. “Anything,” he said at once. “Just name it.”
A small, almost mischievous smile appeared on your lips.
“Win the tourney.”
“…Gods,” he muttered under his breath. So suddenly, he was reminded of his own vow to himself that he would crown you the Queen of Love and Beauty. His ears turned red again at the thought.
But he meant it. Every bit of it.
After a moment, his mouth curved into a shy but resolute grin.
“I’ll fight bravely, my princess, you’ll see.”
True to his word, Ser Duncan the Tall fought bravely in the lists, unwavering in the two things he held fast above all else—honor and valor.
Even from the stands, you could see the determination in him. His armor bore a few scratches already, and dust clung to his surcoat, but his seat in the saddle was steady and proud.
“Look at him!” Egg pointed out excitedly. “He’s already unhorsed two knights!”
“I can see that…” you replied, trying to sound composed, though the way your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of your dress betrayed your nerves.
However, perhaps you shouldn’t worry too much after all. Again and again he rode out, and again and again the lances shattered.
By the time the final tilt was called, murmurs had turned into full cheers across the stands.
“Ser Duncan! Ser Duncan the Tall!”
Egg, ever the proud squire, grinned up at you. “They’re cheering for him!”
You could hardly believe the sight yourself. Below, Dunk rode back into the lists for the final match—against Ser Bryn of House Whent.
The herald’s voice rang out, and the two knights marched. Wood splintered again and again beneath the force of their passes. One tilt followed another until six lances had been broken between them, the crowd roaring louder with each thunderous collision.
Then, on the seventh pass— the impact came so hard it knocked both men clean from their saddles.
You gasped, half rising from your seat in fright. Beside you, Egg leaned forward anxiously. “He’s all right… he’s getting up!”
Indeed he was. Dunk pushed himself upright with a grunt, clearly shaken but still standing. Across from him, Ser Bryn struggled to his feet as well.
A contest of arms followed afterwards, and swords were drawn.
The fight that followed was far less graceful than the tilting. Ser Bryn fought with sharp, practiced strikes, his blade flashing again and again as Dunk struggled to keep pace. For a moment your heart seized—Dunk’s swordsmanship was never the finest.
But he had something else.
With a sudden burst of strength, he closed the distance, catching Ser Bryn off guard. In the next moment he grappled the other knight outright, locking his arms around him in a hold that looked more suited to a brawl than a tourney.
The two men staggered, armored bodies straining—until Dunk finally wrenched Ser Bryn off balance and threw him hard into the dirt so hard that his breath was knocked out of him.
The herald rushed forward, counting to three, and he failed to rise—
“Victory! Victory for Ser Duncan the Tall!”
The stands erupted, cheering for your champion with so much merriment. You hardly realized you had risen to your feet until Egg tugged excitedly at your sleeve to lead you to the edge.
“He did it! He actually did it! He’s going to crown you now!”
Below, Dunk stood catching his breath for a moment before the victor’s laurel was placed in his hands. For a second he looked almost bewildered by it. Then his gaze lifted—and found yours.
Your gentle knight, with his soft eyes and kind heart. A shy sort of determination crossed his face.
Moments later, the great knight made his way toward the stands, the laurel held carefully in his large hand. When he stopped before you, he looked almost as nervous.
Yet he presented the crown to you with pride, fulfilling his promise.
“I dedicate my victory to you, m’lady.”
For a heartbeat the world seemed to pause, before cheers rolled across the lists like thunder, louder than they had been all day, happy for the two of you. There was something so earnest about the way he smiled before you, so utterly sincere, that even the most hardened spectators could not help but be charmed by it.
“The princess of his heart!” someone called from the stands.
Happiness swelled in your chest, warm and overwhelming, until you felt as though your heart might burst from it.
Ser Duncan the Tall had won the day.
And before the whole realm, he had crowned you the lady of his victory.
Epilogue
The tourney grounds were already beginning to empty by the time the three of you returned to your pavilion. It would be your last night here and you, Dunk and Egg were busy packing your belongings before continuing your journey on the morrow.
You were just folding your cloak when the pavilion flap rustled.
“Ser Duncan!”
All three of you turned as Ser Bryn of House Whent stepped inside. His arm was bandaged, but his grin was good-natured.
“A fine victory you had today!” he said, offering Dunk a hand. “Well fought. You nearly knocked the wind out of me for good!”
Dunk looked a little startled but shook it. “Ah—thank you, ser. You fought well too.”
“I’d say we both earned a drink after that.” Ser Bryn clapped him on the shoulder. “Come join me and the others tonight!”
Then his gaze shifted to you—and he suddenly looked far less composed.
“And, ah… if the lady would not mind,” he added bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “You see, I believe I have been charmed by you, and if it isn’t too much to ask... I’d quite like to get to know you better.”
Dunk frowned. Egg gaped. You blinked. All three of you most certainly never expected this open confession.
Your hedge knight’s expression soured at once and he looked ready to object right then and there— but before he could say a word, a soft giggle slipped from you.
“Oh, I’m afraid I won’t be available for that.”
You slipped your arm comfortably through Dunk’s, smiling up at him before turning back to the other knight.
“You see,” you continued sweetly, “I happen to be Ser Duncan’s wife.”
Ser Bryn stared, the color draining from his face. Beside you, Dunk felt heat rush up to his face at your bold-faced lie, though after a moment he straightened and stood a little taller at your side.
“Well then, we’re going to spend the evening just the two of us,” you said cheerfully, already guiding your man towards the exit. “Good evening, ser.”
Dunk shot Ser Bryn a rather pointed stink eye over his shoulder, utterly satisfied, as you two left him in the dust.
Egg lingered behind for just a moment longer. He looked up at the stunned knight, sighed dramatically, and patted him on the arm.
akotsk targ men as lana del rey songs they remind me of.. #thinking 💭 3am thoughts! pls feel free to share what songs y’all associate them with! ᱒ᐢ ܸ. . .ྀིܸ ᐢ১
