нам с тобой одна дорога на века #baekar #hammeranvil #akotsk

kicking my feet and giggling when fics portray valarr as a petty bitch yes fight back!

modern AU where Aerion carries his pet lizard everywhere

anytime I post about any Dunkaerionling it’s always a hit?? makes me feel bad for what I’ve done to them

writing Aerion’s weird emotional codependency on his kids,, like they’re only babies and he’s full on tweaking in front of them and leaning on them as crutch.. someone get the Dunkaerionlings therapist on the line STAT

(The Hammer and) the Anvil #asoiaf #maekartargaryen #baelortargaryen

valaeron

this ain't a psychosis because this is literally rhaena the black bride

age-gap baekar where Baelor cuts his hair off and is worried about what Maekar will think~

Kingsguard to dunk after they heard aerion's screams last night (he is easy to please just be a tall strong man)

took up someone’s shift so now I’m looking at 18 hours,, I got 6 more to go 🥲 at least I’m off tomorrow right??

“I am sorry, little one.” Dunk can only express his regrets to the infant. He caresses the fine silver he dons, his mother’s colors. He has Aerion’s nose too. A pity it will be overlooked in favor of outsiders trying to see in, to see the Father. “I’m sorry.”

idk where I was going with this but basically dunk cries over each dunkaerionling and prays the gods are merciful to them and apologizes to them over and over again 🚬

watch your hands, Dunk 🫣

You had your chance, years ago Aerion goaded him, dagger to his throat. He had. And he kept to his white cloak instead.

He ignored him then—as best as he could at least. And did as he was bid. Dunk stood watch of the Prince’s apartments, saw each child off to their lessons, offered a guiding hand when appropriate, and kept his distance. They bore his blood, but were not his to claim.

Aerion had spoken, cruel as ever. “If you should fail, do us the service of at least dying in the attempt.” He had taken those words as he had his oaths. To which Aerion had scoffed. “What are your sworn words to me, oathbreaker?”

“Guard them,” Aerion once commanded him. How? With sword and shield he could fight away those who intended to harm them. But what could Dunk do against shadowed whispers and courtly gossip? He had asked. “This is your burden to carry. Carry it and protect it.”

Gifts, Dunk calls them. Luck, Aerion argues. Bastards, the Realm scorns them. No matter how comely they may be. A bastard is a bastard. The misfortune is theirs, and a misfortune it is. Sweet, beautiful things that were neither of their parents.

It’s only when Dunk is sure Aerion is fine does he check on the newborn. They’re large babies but still tiny in comparison to the man who sired them. Whispers will follow this one too, as they do all the others. Silver hair, purple eyes, and Valyrian features.