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Once upon a time, I read an Ivar x Jax fanfic... and I was never the same.

My mind hasn’t stopped since—working day and night, lost in fantasies about that pair I never knew I needed: sexy, rough, jealous. I’m still hoping that, one day, as if by magic, I’ll stumble across another fanfic with those two again.

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Hvitserk: I have spent a lifetime trying to figure out what fate had in store for me.

My boy you are 22 years old. Dial the drama back a bit.

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Tbh Ivar takes the hot girl summer crown of the series, my guy was 19/20 and being the fucking Sun Tzu of Norway, killed his brother for making fun of him, went up against his other brothers, kidnapped a hot older guy, became king, married a pretty girl, ascended to (delusional) godhood, got detroned by his older brother, went backpacking, got kidnapped this time by another hot older guy (psychotic edition) and as far as I know is having his own version of "settling down" = raising a child with his sugar daddy while being shown around like a lap dog and scheming about revenge

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Bruised lip 🩸

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Wip😪

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Ivar the Boneless - Vikings

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The better crutch 🩼

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Fem (Jacaerys) + Modern Mafia au.

The person for whom Daemon feels great affection, even more than for his wife, sometimes it is impossible not to notice the obviousness of his affection and preferences towards Jaera. Could they blame him? With her tender smile, angelic beauty, and gace-like eyes, sometimes his hands cannot stay away from her; her warmth, the comfort she provides, her soft whispers and caresses. (It's clear that he competes for Jasaera affection with his nephew Aemond).

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౨ৎ────── Severus and his bastard rockstar boyfriend *:･ﾟ✧ #snirius #starprince

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Jacaerys mirrored the image of his father. He had inherited his curly, unruly hair and the gentle gestures they both displayed when in disagreement or anger. However, Jacaerys was much shorter and more agile, unlike his father, who was tall, strong, and masculine. The young prince often justified his lack of musculature by saying he was a bearer. Their eyes were the same: brown with flecks of gold, violet, and blue, a divine combination when looked at closely. While Jacaerys preferred the delicacy and skill of the bow, his father leaned more towards the pulsating and heavy.

Were they not alike? His father used to say they had been cut from the same scissors and that, like him, Jacaerys was born for greatness and fame. As similar as they were contradictory in appearance, their personalities were different, though that didn’t matter now.

I would start writing from the night, something similar, although regrets appear when I begin to think it won’t be good enough for the enjoyment of the fandom. I apologize because English is not my native language, and I try to translate as accurately as possible.

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Avarice

Jacaerys Khan, born of a marriage of convenience, stood as a singular enigma. King Viserys I, with the noble intention of securing his daughter’s future claim, forged an alliance with a distant kingdom. Although their religious beliefs diverged and their customs seemed strange, that kingdom possessed a formidable army. Princess Rhaenyra, in turn, entered into a sacred bond with Sultan Murad V.

Following in the footsteps of their progenitors, Jacaerys wed his uncle, Prince Aemond Targaryen. The alliance sought peace, yet it faded like an ephemeral dream. Affection, once warm, transformed into resentment and hatred, burying love in the memories of a tragic childhood. Only duty persisted, along with a son conceived in a corrupted pact. The child, bearing features similar to his father’s in early childhood, posed a question from his well-guarded innocence:

‘Mother, will we ever return to Father?’

Blessed be the innocence that knows not shadows, and cursed be the greedy who pursue only their own gain. The son, estranged from his father, was molded into a formidable soldier. And so, on the battlefield, they would cross paths one last time, separated by opposing sides.

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They are so close that they went fishing. (i cry for the two of them)

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Jasaera, her body trembling, felt the frantic gallop of her heart. Her eyes burned, her mind blank, and she could only hold her head high, gaze fixed ahead. At her side, her step-uncle’s arm, a stoic man who somehow offered support. She looked into that single eye, an intense blue that seemed to capture the entire universe. She sighed, trembling, as she released the older man’s arm, placing her hand in the one that would become her husband’s.

Aemond, as unyielding and emotionless as ever, had only one thought echoing in his mind: “Finally, she is mine. The gods have granted me what was denied to me from birth. Blessed by them, yet cursed for daring to take her.”

In that moment, their destinies intertwined like invisible threads woven by the gods themselves. Jasaera longed to escape her cruel fate, while Aemond, in his silence, held the paradox of being both blessed and cursed at the same time.