#mostly for the path they chose

[nelkcats]

Tales of Ice & Fire

Phantom, the adopted son of Frostbite, heir to Far Frozen, and Robin, the adopted son of Pandora, heir to the Acropolis of Athens, hated each other to death.

It could be due to their opposing cores, with Phantom being an ice core ghost and Robin being a fire core ghost. Or because of how much they were compared to each other in the Realms, since they had both appeared at the same time.

Their haunts had also lined up next to each other, which didn't help the ghosts' constant argument over "Who's better?". They also had similar abilities, and their outfits looked "heroic" which amused the ghosts a bit. When two Ancients adopted them and proclaimed them heirs, the argument only escalated.

Strangely, none of this was the reason they didn't get along, their mutual hatred stemmed from being too similar. Their personalities constantly clashed but there was a big difference.

While Phantom went through the Fenton portal and played a hero in his dimension constantly, Robin was afraid of the portal, his previous dimension did not bring back good memories so he guarded Acropolis and stayed away from the realm of the living.

Jason hated Danny, but that wasn't exactly right. Jason hated that Danny played the hero, that he took responsibility for his parents mistakes like it was his duty, that he came back with constant injuries and a smile on his face but then hid in his haunt and cried at night. He couldn't understand it.

Jason was a hero, and he was tired of it. Danny hated that Jason held back, that he would give up on his connections, he couldn't imagine himself abandoning Sam, Tucker or Jazz. They had taken different routes and neither of them could understand it.

[nuancefem]

sometimes you have nothing left to lose and everything to gain so without even choosing to do so you end up being more authentic and shameless than ever before. and when you do things it feels like an actual human being, an actual being completing tasks, and those tasks feel like ghibli movies, they feel like domesticity, and even if you live alone it's like you live with a roommate who is always there for you (yourself, your truest self) and before you know it you're thinking of that being living within you, that being you repressed, as your self, as your body, and you forget the fake mask you thought was yourself for years and years because others liked you better that way.

suddenly, when you care about other people's opinions, you start having standards about which people's opinions you hold onto, and you still find yourself placing your ideas as #1 on your list of priorities, because who else knows you better? who else has lived in your shoes, in your mind? only you have. others are simply making assumptions about what's going on in your mind and in your life. even your beloved spouse or bestest of friends would still not know what you are truly like deep down unless you tell her. only you are there for yourself 24/7, and only you know your entire journey from within!

choose yourself!!! choose yourself above everything else!

choose to put out there who you truly are, warts and all. because there is not a single flaw or trait or quirk in yourself that you would never find endearing and lovable and harmless in someone else. the greatest shame is being a hypocrite and inauthentic to the weird, scrungly, beloved creature you truly are. you are so human. you are so strange yet so normal. you are a breathing, living being. there is nothing wrong with you that you are incapable of welcoming with warm, open arms; chances are, you have already done so with others. you are your own cheerleader, trusted advisor, and closest friend. it's time to have that frenemies to soulmates arc with yourself. see it as a 2025 challenge. stop being the mask, begin simply existing.

[freshthoughts2020]

[longagoitwastuesday]

I actually like the last chapter. I think the ideas are very good. I have my qualms on how some things were managed, as I always do, but I think shonen authors get tangled in the expectations of a shonen to the point it jeopardises their writing, often even when they're not lacking in skills

[bluessapphire]

when you just want to live your silly happy life but crippling fear and never ending doubts ruin it all 🙃

[ornstein]

I talked about fanfic to a coworker who also writes but is unfamiliar with fandom stuff yesterday and she asked if I had anything written she could read.

I said no, I don't have original excerpts yet, assuming that was what she was asking for. Because I was really not inclined to share my ao3 lmao.

[dollfat]

the combat looked Really fun and fluid. i also like the stylistic choices of the menu and color palette. im hoping the rooks background isnt just lip service and actually affects the story in minor ways. i really think varrics gonna die.

[heavenly-kazee]

I feel this quite a lot.

Anger, resentment, malice, sadness, loneliness, neglected and spiritually taken away from faith.

It hurts a lot. I've watch my mother slowly ripping my relationship away from God.

They were my freedom and that inner child of mine was taken away.

I forgotten to act like a child again.

For the first time in my life, after I turned 18 years old, I finally ended my words with a simple answer:

"I wish my mom died, my love for education and learning wouldn't be this detrimental."

Three Years Lost to Depersonalization— a eulogy.

All these years.. I've let You bury ME

I watched as You possessed ME

You stole MY mind, MY body

You took ME

Made ME weak, made ME small enough to fit inside Your cage

and then You threw away the key.

I'm sure You thought it was easy…

Truth is, it was.

Not because You were stronger, but because I let You…

I was tired of fighting.

How was I to know You'd be such a fucking bitch?

You turned me into someone I hate.

You tortured ME.

Drowned ME in shame... guilt… disgust

You filled MY life with such putrid misery, and enjoyed every second of it.

But guess what?

All those years, I was sharpening my teeth.

Leathering MY skin.

Breaking MY bones—

turning them into weapons.

Planning Your execution.

You thought You had won

But I was never fully gone. You never fully had ME.

It just took ME a while to catch MY breath.

So... I hope You had fun while it lasted…

Cause now?

Now… You die

I’M the monster You thought You were.

I’M the one to fear.

[nomaishuttle]

got 2 the end of the glass desert got caseys last starmail screammsss

[macheriee]

𝒜pocalypse ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⌗ everyone knew the boy’s father was lord commander of the city watch, that much was apparent. to your mother he was another insult to the throne, to you he was just the bastard, until he wasn’t.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tags enemies to lovers, hate-fucking kinda, aunt-nephew incest, targaryen-hightower!reader, TW: dub-con (oc struggles w/ accepting she got the hots for jace) call it horny guilt lmao but the first encounter is very much dubious but she gives in, lust at first sight, domesticity, fingering, pussy-eating, jace is low-key a simp/sub, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, impact play(?), breeding kinks cause it’s HOTD, rough sex, oc is mean asf at first, happy but angsty ending, light to medium angst, pregnancy mention, kinda canon it lowkey follows ssn 2 n some of 1 but not by a lottt (ex. mentioned scenes/flashbacks), oc n jace have been aged up (20), tweaked a few things to make sense so not completely canon, slow-burn ish but then it’s just fast burn lmao, curly-headed!jace 4ever, TW: oc has a panic attack

ᯓᡣ𐭩 word count 10.7k

your lips my lips, apocalypse..

“Bastards,”

You’ve heard the strange term tumble from your mother and grandsire’s lips the day king Viserys brought forth princess Rhaenyra’s children. They each stood mockingly with their dark unruly curls and equally colored eyes, an uncanny resemblance to the city watch commander.

The truth of it was they were no true Velaryon, nor Targaryen—but a Strong. You wondered if Rhaenyra felt shame the way they came out with their plain features, mayhaps not as your mother said the princess was as stubborn as her dragon mount.

From the start Jacaerys was an aggravating little thing to look at as children when you both clung to your mother’s skirts. His eyes were filled with curiosity as were yours before Alicent found herself shielding you from his sight like she was afraid he’d sully you.

It was clear she had zero desire for her children to associate with Rhaenyra’s much to the king’s dismay (but when has father ever cared?) Your mother hardly kept you out of her sight and if it wasn’t her you were accompanied by your siblings, a handmaid, or Cole.

You never lacked in needing “friends” and grew fine without their company as you had Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. Occasionally you saw Jacaerys and his brother running about like little savages in the halls but you’re pulled away by a Septa just short of crossing paths.

Jacaerys was the one who intrigued you the most. It might have been age but you didn’t understand why it was so bad? What had Jacaerys done for your mother to forbid you from speaking with him? He was a bastard, yes, but what did it exactly have to do with you?

Jace—Jacaerys, wasn’t a threat. You had no throne nor a title of some sorts to claim; there was nothing to your name, so why?

As children during joint lessons there were timid but not so secret glances exchanged. Mostly curiosity but it was something both Cole and your brothers disapproved of, especially Aemond who had come to Helaena’s chambers angry after a lesson in the dragon pits with Aegon and Rhaenyra’s sons.

Eventually they left for Dragonstone, never to be seen again until a day before your tenth name day when you’re called to Driftmark for Lady Laena’s funeral. Why you were called upon such a thing you don’t know, nor care really as you hadn’t known the lady much.

The entire event was a waste—your brother was maimed, the king being the king chose his eldest’s side and the family further divided. Alicent wept and mourned Aemond as Rhaenyra’s bastards would have your brother’s eye. You looked at Jacaerys in anger, resentment, and frustration.

Who was responsible, you don’t care, what angered you was the fact that they paraded their entitlement so freely and shamelessly. Rhaenyra could have outright said she wanted Aemond’s head and your father would still find a way to make excuses for her. (Maybe even give her what she wanted.)

That was the last you ever saw of him before leaving for Kings Landing to resume life without them. You found it much more enjoyable without your half-sister and her family around, in fact you’d rather it stay that way forever.

On occasion you found yourself thinking of your nephew. The memories clung to the walls leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, one in particular haunting:

You and the king stood together atop the balcony watching as Ser Cole trained with the princes—including Rhaenyra’s sons. It was clear Cole favored your brothers evident in the way he praised one side but barked orders (or completely ignored) at the other.

“They’ll make fearsome knights, don’t you think?” Your father turns to you with a gentle smile, his tone warm but distant.

“Possibly, if Aegon ever decides to leave his cups.” You fall into silence shortly after.

You never knew what to say to your father having been so distant and neglected it felt like you didn’t know him at all. You tolerated him at best and affection was out of the question leaving you with nothing, just mere acquaintances.

The king chuckles quietly and his mouth parts to speak with his Hand but Jacaerys interrupts with his angry cry as he charges forward at Aegon. Your lips part in surprise and out of the corner of your eye you see Ser Harwin circling, watching.

Aegon uses the straw dummy to avoid Jacaerys. He’s quick to corner the smaller, kicking Jacaerys down in the process.

“Don’t let him get up.” Cole barks which spurs the commander into action.

You watch in amusement as Cole is beaten to a bloody pulp by the bastard’s father. The king turns with concern, given this was no sight for a lady, “Why don’t you go and see if your mother needs something, perhaps your sister?”

You bow in courtesy, escorted away by your sworn shield but your mother’s apartments aren’t the place you’ll be going, no, you want to watch this mess play out a little longer.

“I wish to see my brothers.” You command softly, already walking towards the training grounds even if your knight was willing or not.

They’re pulling Harwin off when you step foot outside, Jacaerys and his brother huddle close while your older brother in particular looks both amused and bored of the entire ordeal already. No doubt still pissy about being grabbed and promptly scolded by the king (‘Aegon!’) .

“Sister,” Aemond greets once you’ve joined him and Aegon.

“How were your lessons?” You quietly fuss over his messy tunic whilst checking for any bruising or cuts on his face, thankfully none.

Aemond responds in kind with Aegon loudly interrupting but you ignore him and his poor manners. You can’t help the way your eyes flit over him and his brother from across the yard, your gaze scrutinizing and judgemental like your queen mother often wore when she expressed her displeasure.

The little bastard actually rises to the challenge. “Jace!” You turn in time to see him advancing quickly, expression full of anger and accusation.

“Is there something you have to say?” Jacaerys glares.

You look over your shoulder with a cool expression, “I don’t have anything to say, what makes you think that?” It’s agitating having to explain yourself to him of all people.

“Because you look like you have something to say, so say it!” It’s comical the way his cheeks and entire face glow red from anger.

You slowly turned to Jacaerys with folded hands placed politely over your front (as the Septa and your mother taught you), “I was merely talking about how Strong the two of you were out here.”

This immediately draws the attention of Ser Harwin. His face easily betrays his emotions but you simply smile at the commander, “It’s a good thing they have the city watch commander to guide them, isn’t it?”

Challenging little cunt you were, Harwin forces a tight smile, “Indeed, princess.”

He doesn’t get to stay much longer as the guards begin pushing him in the direction of the castle, away from his two Strong boys. You were going to wipe the smug face off that bastard–

Aegon shoves Jacaerys first into the dirt, sending the poor boy flying back as Lucerys panics calling out for him. Lucerys charges with a wooden stick in hand, his face twisted in anger and fear as he swings for Aegon, “Let my brother go!”

You scoff and stick your foot out, tripping the boy as you swiftly place a foot over his back pressing down, “Dohaerās!”

You put more pressure with each passing second he squirmed and cried. “Get off of him!” Jacaerys shoves Aegon off and runs at you, pushing past Aemond knocking him down too in the process.

You turn in time to see a head full of dark curls charging, your father yelling for everyone to put an end to this nonsense. “Or what? You’re going to run to mommy and tell her what I said?”

He stops dead in his tracks when you stalk towards him with a predatory look in your eye, “What’s wrong? Not strong now are you?” You shove him harder, causing him to stumble over the wooden sword, “Better yet, why don’t you call for your father to come save you?”

Harwin stills by the doors and the entire yard grows silent. Jacaerys clenches his fists tightly, “Ser Laenor isn’t here.” He grits.

You lean closer, eyes meeting Ser Harwin’s over Jacaerys’ shoulder, “Is he?”

The ‘Velaryon’ stiffens and you can’t hide your grin, “I was merely joking, relax.” You finish softly pulling away.

Aemond is there holding his elbow out for you to take, the two of you (Aegon included) disappear into the castle passing by the commander. Aemond himself shoots Harwin a look before uttering loud and clear:

“Bastards.” No one corrects him.

You remember the outrage you and your brothers caused with Rhaenyra. She demanded justice—especially towards you after learning you pushed her Luke to the ground and commanded him like an animal. She pushed for a harsh punishment, hell-bent on it.

Alicent, who usually was spoken over by her husband and every other man in her life, for once refused. Your mother made sure of it that no one, not even the king, was to touch or harm you, fiercely defending you against your half-sister.

‘Over words? You wish to have my daughter flogged over an insult?’

Needless to say your mother had the last say after some unsavory words and threats were exchanged in the council room. As Rhaenyra passed you met her eyes briefly before Alicent covered you with her own body.

They left like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs. You, Aegon, and Aemond stood over a balcony watching the ships sail and dragons pass overhead. It was as if they were never there to begin with.

It wasn’t always unpleasant you suppose but with age you slowly begin caring and thinking less and less about those Strong boys.

༺ ──────────── ༻

“There’s to be a petition in court.” Your mother solemnly mumbles from her place by the open windows, she’s in one of her moods again and you wish no part of it. Was it Aegon who went and managed to piss her off for the umpteenth time?

You barely look up from the embroidery you’re working on (it’s a beetle for Helaena who has been feeling blue these days), “A petition for what?”

Alicent turns to you with a melancholic look on her face, she’s smiling but it falls short and her somber mood once again returns. “Nothing of importance my sweetling.” She lifts her skirts to take a seat beside you on the floor, “What are you working on?”

“A beetle, for Helaena.” As you’re showing her the doors to your rooms open and a handmaiden stands by with a soft ‘Prince Aemond, your grace,’

“Mother, y/n.” Aemond greets as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, leg crossed over his other. “For Helaena?” He murmurs, leaning down to get a better look.

You speak amongst quiet whispers while Alicent watches, content to see her two children together. “Mother, the petition does it have anything to do with Rhaenyra and her sons?”

Aemond, who had taken the embroidery to try for himself, stops in his tracks. Alicent feared she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, especially not with you two being so perceptive all the time. Her prolonged silence was enough answer anyway.

“Yes,” she finally relents, “Lord Corlys’ younger brother wishes to challenge Lucerys’ claim for Driftwood.”

Her tone is hesitant and careful, she looks at Aemond when she says his name. She’s treading carefully with her third born knowing he was particularly sensitive when he got angry.

“By extension the rest of her I presume?” You reach for a lemon cake mumbling to Aemond (‘Share one with me… I said to split it, not have it all.’—‘I did.’)

With the king bed-ridden nearing death and his first born off at Dragonstone, there was no need to hold your tongue. “Her claim will be questioned, as will her first born and second,” Aemond adds.

“I worry sometimes,” Alicent finally says, silence following, “for you, Helaena, Aegon—the children.” You know exactly what she means to tell.

“I do believe Helaena has been in need of some company. You may leave me, I have Aemond.” You reach for her hands and gently squeeze, “I will catch up with you two, yes?”

Alicent studies your face in worry before settling on brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, “Alright, I will see you.” She lays a gentle kiss over your head and rises to her feet.

Once the doors slam shut you finally release the sigh you’ve held in through the entire conversation with half a mind to ask for a bath to soothe your oncoming headache. “Seems our dear nephews will be arriving on the morrow.” He comments.

“Hm, seems so.” You’re not entirely sure how you feel, are you supposed to feel anything?

Things were different now you suppose, your hatred died down over the years without their insulting presence. You didn’t like them either, merely tolerated the idea of them.

Then there was the great Jacaerys Velaryon, future of the realm and heir to the throne, the same boy who plagued your dreams and memories all these years.

And he was to be here tomorrow, the first since Lady Laena’s funeral (which you had believed to be the last time you would ever have to see him).

“You’re free to speak plainly sister, we’re in private, we don't have to keep pretending.” Aemond mutters, head lolling in your direction as he stares at you.

You tilt your head, “And what would you have me say? That I’m looking forward to their little visit?”

“What excuse will it be this time? I don’t think she can easily sway the people with the evidence right there in plain sight,” he hums.

The more you think about her and her children coming here into your home tainting it all over again—you grow furious.

“Help me up will you? I think I’ll take a bath and meet you with mother.” You hope it will be enough to curb your anger for now.

Aemond holds you upright and levels you with a stare, “Something’s bothering you.”

“Well, yes–”

“Not them.” Aemond replies quietly and for a second you still.

You gently stroke the side of his face, watching as Aemond leans into your touch with a closed eye, “I’m fine,” you murmur, “now go.”

Luckily Aemond’s just as sweet on you and Helaena as he is stubborn and observant. He lets it go (thankfully) and you’re left alone to think about tomorrow. You could easily feign sickness or escape to the Sept (you were due for a prayer anyways) but mother would never let you as much as she would like to—your grandsire’s word evidently still strong over her.

You soak in the boiling hot tub, enjoying the steam delicate scents from the oils you regularly use. “That’s a problem for another day,” you find yourself murmuring to no one in particular as you sink further into the tub, eyes slipping shut.

༺ ──────────── ༻

You had done your best to carry on with your duties the following morning.

Nearly an hour had passed since you sat around staring at your reflection instead of allowing the handmaids to dress you. By this hour you’d be with your mother and Helaena in the gardens. Your absence however prompts the queen to come searching.

“What’s wrong?” Alicent whispers sitting beside you on the bed with worry etched on her brow as she gently moves your hair from your shoulder, “y/n?”

You place your hand over hers, “Braid my hair, like when I was child?” You hold the brush out for her to take.

She has you sit on the floor in front of her, gently combing the hair brush through your soft locks handling each strand of hair with care. The two of you fall into comfortable silence (save for her soft humming). All of your frustrations quickly lift off your shoulders the more you sink into her gentle caring touch.

“The dress is beautiful, when did you have this tailored?” Alicent comments softly, it was no secret to anyone that she saw herself in her youngest daughter—dutiful, composed, a good daughter.

The only difference was you had freedom she never did. While she had been made a child bride by her own father, you remained an unwed maiden at the age of twenty by choice. Alicent didn’t push for proposals and Otto knew better than to try and meddle with you like he had with Aegon and Helaena.

(‘Aemond had it made for me, Helaena has one in blue.’—‘The fabric, I don’t believe we have that around here do we?’) Your doors open and your drunken (maybe hungover) brother comes stumbling gracelessly.

“Well don’t you look darling.” He comments under his breath and saunters over to where you sit, falling flat on his back with his head in your lap.

“Aegon.” Alicent warns as she starts on another braid.

You look down and flick his forehead, “You smell of wine, and you're going to dirty my dress.” Despite the annoyance you still comb your fingers through his hair affectionately.

Aegon snorts unceremoniously, “Is it a crime to visit my sister now? My very beautiful sister—do say, when are you going to choose a husband? You’re past the age, and well nearly every lord in the realm’s been asking for your hand.” He smirks slyly knowing very well the topic of marriage angered the shit out of you.

“Aegon that’s enough, stop pestering your sister.” Alicent sighs heavily.

Your eyes flick over to the wine pitcher in your maid’s hands, the threat clear. A harmless grin forms on his face, one you can’t help but mirror teasingly as the two of you settle in silence as to not disturb your mother with children’s banter. You left that for your niece and nephew to do.

“There,” Alicent shows you through the mirror, “do you like it?”

“I love it, thank you.” You leaned back to lay in her lap.

Normally she would frown at receiving such affections but because it was you she held her tongue, never truly bothered by any of it. She allows it for a little longer before gently patting your shoulder.

“I must go and see to it that preparations for our guests are going well my sweetlings. I will see you in court later.” She departs hastily.

“Have you eaten?” You ask Aegon, who shakes his head as you rise to your feet together, “I haven’t either.”

Rhaenys and her granddaughter are the first to arrive on dragonback, and then your dear half-sister with her entourage of children and Daemon.

‘Ha, so they really did it,’ Lady Laena hadn’t been dead for a week and these two had already frolicked around (the night at Driftmark, you’re sure the two figures on the beach were them).

No one had been there to receive them—you certainly didn’t bother, you doubt any of your siblings would. You’re outside in the yard watching Criston Cole train with Aemond again, your brother much more swifter than the knight in comparison to when he was a child.

There’s a proud smile on your lips when Aemond emerges victorious, looking your way with a grin. “Come to watch me?” He tilts his head.

“What does it seem like?” You muse softly after seeing that Aemond has garnered attention from other knights and maids, making a spectacle of his sparring in a outstandish way.

“It seems you want to spar with me,” he smirks.

“Daor.”

Aemond snorts, “Fine,” he picks his sword back up and points it to Cole, “again, I wish to win this next round in my sister’s honor.”

A handmaid is quick to bring you a chair, the sound of swords colliding once again filling the yard. Aemond’s eager to prove he’s surpassed Ser Criston and judging by the small crowd forming he’s eating the attention right up. You hear distant murmurs and whispers but pay no mind, it must’ve been the women from court again who didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

“Just look at their hair..” One of them says.

Everyone knows, father, just look at them..

“Princess? Are you alright, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” you hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath in shock and anticipation the entire time.

The swords have stopped and everything goes still, Aemond stands with the tip of his blade pointed in your direction—not at you, but behind you. He had that crazed look in his eye again. You share a look and rise from your seat slowly.

“Nephews, have you come to train?” Your brother’s tone is cold with bitter hate.

Jacaerys stands dumbfounded and unable to form a response, you watch his (soft, plump) lips part but not a single sound comes.

“Nephews.” You quietly say with the tiniest of nods, “It’s been long hasn’t it? I take it the trip over was comfortable, was it not?”

Neither Lucerys nor Jacaerys answer at first with the younger curly-headed boy awkwardly muttering his response, very unbefitting of the next Lord of the Tides.

You barely spare him a look as you turn to Jacaerys, “Would you like me to show you your rooms? I’m sure they’ve been prepared already.”

“..We would appreciate it,” he finally replies, his voice no longer squeaky and high—rather low and suave, “seeing as there was no one to properly welcome us earlier.” His snarky response makes your skin crawl and your temper flare, but for appearances you reel yourself in.

“Apologies, nephews—it’s been a rather exhausting day preparing for the guests.” You force a polite smile.

He fixes you with a dark stare, his gaze dropping from your lips and then back up, “Mm.”

“Follow me,” you hum disappearing into the castle with the two Velaryon boys following close.

Neither one of you made an attempt to speak. What was there to talk about, they were practically strangers and you doubted Lucerys would’ve enjoyed recounting the last time the three of you had the pleasure of sharing the same roof. Jacaerys on the other hand must’ve believed you to be a fool if he thought you hadn't noticed him looking.

Annoyance runs hot through your veins as you finally reach the wing where their rooms sat, “I hope everything is to your liking, don’t hesitate to ask if you need something.”

‘Thank you.’ You hear Lucerys mumble but Jacaerys offers nothing but his heavy stare. “I’ll see you later,” your voice is soft and silky but the lingering (wanton) look you give speaks in volumes.

“Later.” You hear him faintly reply once you’re out of earshot, you can’t help the tiny smirk on your lips.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Court was as you expected—boring and another waste.

You stood by sweet Helaena, who was equally bored, listening as the second son of Driftmark cried over being replaced by a child. A bastard no less, you could only imagine the embarrassment he must have went through—or rather going through because it didn’t seem like he’d be getting a rest from it anytime soon.

During his speech you made eye contact a few times with Jacaerys. You don’t know why it felt natural, like gravity pulled your gaze to him over and over. When you would look he was already watching with the same hunger from before.

The whole fiasco ended in total failure because Vaemond’s killed leaving no challenger. You’re not surprised things worked out in Rhaenyra’s favor after your father wobbled his way to the throne and then had to be carried out because he overexerted himself.

Aemond shields both you and Helaena from the dead body lying on the floor, “That’s enough for today, you’re all dismissed. Someone dispose of the body.” Otto barks through the mess caused by Daemon.

You manage to sneak a last look before being ushered out by your mother and brothers. The walk back quiet and awkward, what was there to say?

“That was..something.” Aegon finally breaks the tense silence.

Your mother doesn’t reply and Aemond snorts, “It was another mess that’s what it was.” You murmur loud enough for them to hear, “Like always, they make a spectacle of themselves and father comes to save the day.”

“Should’ve known father would do that.” Aemond adds in, and it’s true.

You already knew the petition against Rhaenyra’s children of all people would be useless. It was as if the king had a sixth sense when it came to Rhaenyra. Funnily, he was sick enough to be bedridden these past years but well enough to come defend his first born one final time.

“Helaena, why don’t we take the children to the gardens? I’m sure we could both use some fresh air.” You find yourself asking, desperate to forget.

You end up spending the afternoon with Helaena in the gardens talking about everything and nothing. It was always a relaxing affair when it came to your sister and her children. You liked lounging around and watching the twins with a lazy eye. It felt nice having this small escape, kept you from ripping your own hair out over the family drama.

You’re in the middle of playing with Jaehaerys when your mother’s sworn shield interrupts, “Forgive me princesses but your mother has sent me to escort you to tonight's dinner with the king, he has requested all his children be present.”

Helaena’s smile fades and your mood is spoiled for the day, of course the king would pull a stunt like this.

“Hel.” You put a tentative hand on her shoulder, relieved she merely relaxes under your touch. The two of you hesitantly part from the children after promising sweets and more playtime.

Everyone’s barely arriving with your seat being between Aemond’s and grandsire. Aemond looks disinterested (as does everyone else) but you try to put up a farce for the dying old man being carried in. It was possibly his last dinner, might as well make it a memorable one you suppose.

No one wants to speak, Aegon’s got his hands cupped in front of him in exasperation like he’s itching to reach for his wine goblet. Helaena is mumbling to herself mostly and Rhaenyra’s other children stare at their plates.

“Father,” all eyes are on you, “forgive me as I know it was your wish for us to dine together but I’m feeling unwell and would like to rest if I may..” You trail off softly placing your hands on the table, ready to flee.

Jacaerys is still looking down at his plate with a deathly tight grip on his fork. The old croak waves his hand dismissively, smiling painfully, “Yes, go on that’s fine.” He offers a gentle nod at most, you don’t think he even remembers your name.

“Thank you, if you’ll excuse me.” You bow politely,

quickly moving for the exit without a spare glance.

You hear another voice but you can’t make out what they said other than the sound of a chair being pushed out. Something was telling you it was your Strong boy and the thought brings a mischievous smirk to your face as you look over at your sworn shield.

“Leave me, I’ll retire to my rooms alone; you’re dismissed.” You calmly begin walking away.

“But Princess—”

“Go Ser, I will be fine.” You leave no room for argument and hear him reluctantly let out a sigh before heading in the opposite direction.

With the guard handled you find your way through the halls humming in high valyrian until you reach your destination: the king’s council room. It’s dimly lit inside by candles, the windows are open with sounds of small folk singing and dancing heard below.

The slightest creak has you looking to the side without turning your head, “Unwell you said, you must like lying a lot..” He trails off in amusement as he plays with an ornament nearby.

“And what have I lied about nephew? Enlighten me.” You reply softly.

There’s no denying the thrill you’re getting out of this, Jacaerys was bold for following you like this, in a room all alone with no guards around. The secrecy excited you because if anyone were to find you two together—oh they’d think the worst.

An unwed maiden and the prince bastard of Dragonstone.

“You’re acting dense on purpose, putting up a farce—tell me does it make you feel better? Your words, actions—they’re insulting. I don’t think for a moment you’ve had a change of heart.” He scowls, stopping short of the king’s chair.

You spin around to face him with your hands behind your back, “Whatever do you mean?” You can’t help but bat your doe eyes.

Jacaerys hesitates for a second, “You know what I mean, do you take me for a fool.” He says low and threatening, ever so guarded with you.

“Hmm, I’m afraid I don’t know and if you’re just going to keep repeating yourself the door is right there.” You enjoy the look of anger on his face and part your lips to speak once more when he stops you with a hand on your forearm.

The touch is hot, scorching even as you feel the rush of arousal and excitement hit you all at once. No one has ever grabbed you this roughly, or been in the same proximity long enough to keep their head (you had your own way of dealing with unwanted advances).

Yet, Jacaerys still has his hand.

The audacity. “Let go you—” You move to slap him but he grabs your wrist just short of connecting to his face.

“You what? Go on, say it,” he eerily whispers as his hot breath fans over your lips.

Your calm demeanor slips and eyes narrow in anger, “You fucking bastard—unhand me right now!” Your yells are muffled when he seals his lips over yours.

You violently flinch backwards, the kiss bruising as you try pushing him off. In response he merely tightens his hold reminding you he was much stronger than the brat he used to be. Where you move he moves and if you take a step back he takes one forward. Jacaerys slips his hand through your hair and tightly grips, yanking you forward to keep you in place whenever you squirm too much for his liking.

You somehow manage to sneak a hand below your skirts for a dagger you kept and without hesitating bring it up intending to puncture his side. He sees and quickly seizes your wrist, squeezing tight as the blade slips and lands with a clank on the ground.

“I can see the way you look at me,” he whispers all breathless and breathy, “and it kills you to know you want a bastard like me doesn’t it—I wonder if you picture the same things I do,” he briefly pauses as his eyes trail over your swollen lips.

He crowds you into the table with a hand dropping to your hip, “It’s only you and I,” his lips connect with your ear trailing downwards, “you don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go.”

Your spine involuntarily arches from his electrifying touch with goosebumps erupting all over. You can’t help the soft gasp when he tugs you towards him by the hip. The very large bulge in his slacks presses stubbornly into your pelvis, hot and throbbing.

“Jacaerys we can’t,” you begin quietly.

“We can’t or you won’t?” He questions dismissively like he doesn’t believe you.

Your lips part and a shaky sigh escapes when he begins leaving open mouthed kisses over your collarbone and shoulders. You pray he doesn’t leave any marks to the naked eye as you’d hate to have to explain the marks on top of your request for moon tea.

“I can’t.” You hope he’d reconsider but to your utter horror Jacaerys sucks harshly over the soft skin of your chest where your tits sit perfectly cupped and pushed together in your dress.

You cry out from the surprise and sensitivity as your hands came up to grip his shoulders tightly. He gives your other tit the same treatment before dropping to his knees with the same lustful look in his eye from earlier.

“Tell me you want this as much as I do,” he pleads as if he desperately needed to hear it from your lips.

“I..” Do you really want him as much as he believes you do? The very thought of him defiling and tainting your purity caused a dark swirl of emotions within you—you want all of him.

Jacaerys licks his lips hungrily and pushes up your skirts until he’s settled in front of your soft thighs. His hot breath fans over them as he inches closer until he’s eye level with your moistened, throbbing cunt.

“..Yes,” you find yourself whispering after a few moments.

A pleased rumble leaves him and he closes the distance between him and your aching cunt. The first stroke of his hot tongue over your sticky folds has you keening in pleasure and your eyes rolling shut, head thrown back. You can’t help your lewd moan—all high and breathy.

Jacaerys works his tongue over your throbbing clit in firm strokes, hands greedily feeling every inch of your smooth skin. You choke when he throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, the angle shattering as he gains more access to your soft virginal pussy; ripe for the taking.

His lips part over it and he takes your aching bud into his mouth, vigorously sucking and lapping. “Jacaerys–” You choke out as his fingers tread over your folds dipping in to press against your soppy hole, the digits gliding rather easily aided by your dripping wetness.

His middle finger slips through—poking and prodding—until he breaches and pushes past the resisting barrier. There’s a sharp whine as your cunt flutters, greedily swallowing up his fingers, “Mmn..”

You notice how he gets when he hears you make those filthy little noises, the flick of his tongue sharp and his grip growing just a bit tighter. You can’t help eagerly rolling your hips on his face, shuddering as your bare cunt slides over his hot mouth and the tip of his nose dips between your folds brushing over your clit.

“Oh gods,” you gasp breathlessly, hips baring down faster and your grip on the table getting tighter.

There’s a filthy moan below your skirts, the vibrations against your pussy have you mewling needily. With little strength you manage to smother your cunt over his face again until he decides to stop teasing and seals his mouth over your throbbing clit once again.

You whimper out a garbled version of his name as the pleasure simmers hot in your lower belly. Your release hurdles towards you fast, almost knocking the breath out of you from how intense.

“Fuck Jacaerys..!” You gasp as the coil finally snaps; leaving you with legs spread wide and hips angled down with your clit in his mouth and his fingers curled up inside you.

You’re blinded by the hot white pleasure and the slick dribbling down your thighs (to which he greedily licks it up with loud unabashed slurps and moans). You shakily push his head away from your sore spent pussy, whining when he lands one last lick over your throbbing clit before letting up.

Jacaerys stands before you in a disheveled state with his swollen, glossed over lips. His tunic’s slightly rumpled and hair clearly out of place from being buried under your skirts for so long.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly start but he quickly silences you with another kiss, this one sweeter than the last.

You can’t help your sigh leaning into his touch, he treats you much more delicately than his harsh bruising kisses from before. He handles you like you’re meant to be—gentle, pampering, soft. The sentiment leaves you eager but disappointingly he pulls away and just..leaves? If you hadn’t been so out of breath you’d call out to him.

You lay your hand over your chest shuddering at the cool sensation of drying slick between your thighs. A rational side of you argues it’s for the best things ended before escalating but another wants to seek him out.

“Princess?” You hear one of your ladies in waiting from the other side of the door.

You shove your skirts down and fix your hair in an attempt to look modest. “Princess,” her face relaxes and she approaches you with open arms, “your mother sent me, are you still feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine, I’d like to have a bath now,” you take her arm biting your inner cheek to fight the fierce heat blossoming over them from embarrassment, “you shall speak nothing of this to my mother, yes?”

“Yes, my lady.”

No one comments on your troubled look while they bathed and dressed you. They knew better than to poke at the dragon; especially one that was upset.

You’re dressed in a white dainty dress you’d gotten as a gift from Aegon (though you suspected he had other intentions when he gifted it to you). You’re left sitting prettily over soft comforters and cushions, skin still smelling like rich oils and softer than a fox's fur.

“That will be all, thank you.” You bid your ladies good night and see them out just as your sworn shield takes his place in front of your chambers.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Sleep does not come as quickly as you had hoped. You’ve lost count of the hour, too entranced by the crackling firewood and waves hitting the cliffs. The candles have long died out and the moonlight took its place as your source of lighting.

You were tempted to escape to Helaena’s room using the secret tunnels but your sister could either be with Aegon or asleep. Your mother was out of question as she would chastise you about how unbecoming it is of a lady to be sneaking around during the hour of the owl.

(You’d never hear the end of it you’re afraid.)

As you roll over onto your stomach your breath hitches when the soft material glides against your swollen cunt. You quietly hiss and rub your thighs to ease the tension but it only worsens. Your clit pulses wildly, simmering heat boiling in your belly.

“Fuck.” You mutter rolling onto your back with your knees knocked apart, Jacaerys had really done a number on you.

You swallowed harshly thinking about his thick fingers and how your pussy was stretched to the brim. Your cunt flutters as you gasp softly, gods how you wanted to finish what he started earlier in the council room.

Would he lay you down tenderly and fuck you sweet or would he have you like one of those women from the streets of silk? Like a whore bent over and mounted like a bitch where he’d fuck years of hate and anger into you. Anger for what you had done and said about him and his brothers.

The thought does not bother you in the slightest, rather you’re aroused. You don’t have to pretend; all you have to do is let go..

You set your pride aside and slip into slippers sneaking into the secret tunnels. You walk with haste recalling where every room was after Aegon first showed you and Aemond the tunnels. You stand before his door waiting anxiously after giving three hard knocks.

The tunnel floods with light and Jacaerys stands over you, his own body casting a shadow. You stare up at him with parted lips and a dreamy glaze in your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate to bring you closer until your cheek is pressed against his chest.

“Jace,” your voice is nothing more than a whisper yet the grip you have on his robes says otherwise.

He hauls you into his arms leaving you no time to gasp before he’s pinning you onto the silken sheets. He stares down at you intensely, his grip around your wrists tight and secure. Both arms encase you on either side of your head leaving you to marvel up at the Strong Velaryon boy.

Jacaerys says nothing when he tugs his own tunic and robes off with one hand. Each article of clothing falls one by one onto the ground, the bed creaking in protest under his weight as he comes to kneel over you once again.

Throughout this whole ordeal you’ve held intense eye-contact with him, a challenge you most certainly welcomed as he still possessed those flames of desire and anger from before. With a clenched jaw he brings both your wrists to one hand and reaches below with his free to grasp his hard cock.

You can’t help but look, having to bite down on your tongue to hold in the whine that threatened to escape. The weeping head dripped pearly white seed over your soft mound from where he stroked himself. The pulsing heat between your thighs quickly becoming unbearable.

He lowers his hips until his pelvis is smushed into yours, his hard dripping cock trapped between the two of you pressed into your inner thigh. The contact is scalding with the way it throbs, how you yearn for him to take it and fuck you silly with it.

“Jacaerys,” you quietly choke, voice raspy and thick with want & need.

“This will hurt.” He carefully gauges your reaction for any discomfort or hesitance.

“Show me then, my lord Strong. Claim me as you would if I were yours, your ‘plain’ appearance is not of importance to me sweet nephew,” you purr sweetly, “we share blood of the dragon, you and I..”

You decide he needs one last push.

“Imagine a babe just like us…he wouldn’t look like a bastard, no,” his nose flares and grip tightens, “but everyone will know when they see his strong curls—”

A cry spills from your lips as Jacaerys slams his cock into you, buried to the hilt where his soft balls meet your pert cheeks. The pain burns but it’s laced with pleasure in a bittersweet way, still you can’t help the soft hisses that slip through clenched teeth each time he shifts around.

You struggle to house all of him inside, what he lacks in length he makes up for in girth; fat and thick with swollen pussy lips stretched around him wrapped tight and snug. To your utter surprise however, he’s not upset at your small jab—he looks as if he were actually picturing a child with you.

“And yet you still lie beneath me, speared on a bastard’s cock,” he grunts.

Jacaerys rolls his hips, not giving you any time to adjust, “You’ll bear my children fearing they won’t come out like their father—brown hair,” thrust, “brown eyes,” thrust, “every bit of me.” He whispers low and menacing in your ear, his speed relentless and punishing.

The stinging pleasure worsens and your eyes water, it’s a sort of bone deep pleasure balanced out by the pain that was beginning to dull. You were powerless under the Velaryon Prince as you could only helplessly toss your head back from the sweet pain.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? To have my bastards?” He licks his lips and switches his pace to a more smoother one, still jabbing nonetheless but albeit more calmer.

You grit your teeth in refusal to answer, but he didn’t need your answer as he descended upon your lips hungrily and fucked into you faster. Your moans get swallowed up by both him and the slick accompanying his wet thrusts causing you to burn with embarrassment over your filthy coupling.

Your traitorous gaze drops downwards again, the sight leaving you in breathless awe. He has specks of blood smeared against his skin, his cock faring no better as it’s covered in creamy pink. You experimentally squeeze around him just to watch his mouth drop open in a small ‘o’ shuddering through the pleasure.

“Again,” he groans softly, “fuck, more.” He gasps while desperately grinding into you.

You wrap your shaking thighs around his waist and tug him closer until he’s trapped against you unable to pull out. He huffs and kisses your sweaty skin, his hips tilting to bump and grind into that sensitive spot from before.

“Oh Jacaerys,” your back arches and toes curl.

Throaty little moans spill from his lips over each rhythmic squeeze around his swollen cock. He fucks into that soft sticky heat just listening to the filthy wet sounds your cunt makes. He enjoys the soft thwacks of his balls slapping against your taint, splattering creamy slick over the sheets.

“Oh,” you shudder, peak hitting harder than ever

You feel the warmth and utter bliss/satisfaction when you come down from your high. Dollops of wet slick spill from the sides of your stuffed pussy, a phantom pulsing sensation most likely from the aftermath of your orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m gonna–” He bites back his needy moan, pressing deeply to ensure every drop gets buried in your cunt. It seemed like you were going to pay a visit to the maestar soon for moon tea.

However you were far more concerned about your ability to walk, you could barely even feel the space between your legs much less your cunt and knees.

༺ ──────────── ༻

Peace never really lasts long in the Red Keep, not with the never ending feud between both your families.

From what you heard, shortly after Jacaerys left you the first time he joined dinner again only to find himself punching Aemond while Aegon slammed Lucerys into his plate. Aemond had done it again with his taunts over your nephew’s legitimacy.

Rhaenyra was leaving again after those years gone, which meant Jacaerys would be gone too. You hadn’t voiced your displeasure nor let it show when the boys were seen off to their dragons at the pit. You hid by a column, peeking out watching them saddle up for their journey home.

Jacaerys doesn’t notice you at first but when he does he stops and his gaze softens with pity. “Aunt.” He greets striding over with his arms behind his back.

“Jacaerys.” You greet quietly, refusing to meet his eyes in a stubborn act of defiance.

He tilts your chin up gently and forces you to look, “This doesn’t have to be the end you know,” he brushes a stray hair from your face, “unless you want to stop?”

“I don’t,” you find yourself snapping quicker than he can finish which makes him smile, “you know I don’t. I just don’t see how it’s possible to continue..this, if you’re so far away on Dragonstone.” You mumble and cup his cheek.

Jacaerys leans into your touch with a hum, “I’m a dragon ride away my love,” your cheeks burn at the endearment, “I’ll send ravens if I have to—you don’t need to worry about a single thing.”

You gently peck his lips and sigh, “..If you don't write to me, I will..” You trail in high valyrian whilst squeezing his hand until it pops threateningly. He laughs low and brings your hand up to kiss, instantly quelling your temper.

“I swear it,” he replies, kissing your knuckles once more despite Luke calling out to him in the background, his dragon calling out for him.

You allow a soft smile as you whisper ‘go’, no doubt your mother would be looking for you as well. You watch him leave your side once again only this time you knew he’d be returning sometime soon as the king neared the hour of death.

No one knew of your little letters you exchanged with Jacaerys over the course of weeks. He would send you flowers and other things he’d find around Dragonstone while you sent perfumed handkerchiefs or oil scented letters.

You knew he particularly loved when the paper smelled like you. (You’d be rewarded with vulgar responses.)

‘My beloved, everything reminds me of you and how you might enjoy this if you were here. I’d give anything to have you here by my side dressed in Targaryen colors. I personally think red suits you best my love, don’t you think? I’ll have a dress tailored to fit in all the right places, perhaps we can arrange a slit for easy access? You’d enjoy that wouldn’t you?’

If your mother noticed your odd behavior, she didn’t comment. Alicent knew very well what a lovestruck girl looked like as she had been one herself not too long ago. No one comments on the frequent visits to the dragon pit where you’d disappear for hours on end returning once the moon had risen.

The illusion shatters however when Viserys dies.

Right away your mother and grandsire crown Aegon as king. You should feel indifferent about the throne but you can’t help the ugly feeling you get upon seeing Aegon the conqueror's crown over your brother’s head. He was no king. He was not made to be king.

War was coming. With Aegon usurping Rhaenyra, as if that wasn’t enough, Aemond goes and fucking kills your nephew in some petty child’s game.

You heard the boy sunk into the waters after Vhagar mauled his tinier dragon. When you were flying over you heard Vermax’s loud cries of anguish, no doubt feeling his riders emotions as Jacaerys mourned Lucerys.

Your own dragon cried out in return as you swiftly landed and hopped off, stumbling through the sand as Jacaerys quickened his pace. You meet each other halfway with him falling into your arms, brokenly sobbing.

His loud cries are drowned out by the harsh waves hitting shore and seagulls flying around. At that very moment it’s only you and him standing on that beach wrapped up in each other’s arms. You press a series of kisses against his temple, tightening your hold when you feel him tremble.

“Shh.. sh, my love. I’m here.” You murmur soothingly.

Jacaerys swallows harshly, “He…he killed him,” he croaks out, “he’s gone.” It physically hurts seeing him unable to speak, just choking up over his words like a little boy crying for his mother.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

You hold him until he grows tired of sobbing, resorting to softer sniffles as he cowers in your hold. Jacaerys has a death grip around your waist where his fingers dig into you unknowingly. “I can’t lose you.” He mutters.

You will never forget the haunting look in his eye. Jacaerys had already lost his brother, he would not be losing you either..

༺ ──────────── ༻

..A son for a son they said after the ratcatchers beheaded Jaehaerys in his sleep.

You were up for days unable to process the grief and horror, moreso you felt for Helaena (beautiful Helaena who hadn’t deserved any of this). The way your mother had allowed the death of a child—her own blood—to be handled was despicable.

You saw Otto Hightower for what he was: a power hungry cunt. Your own brothers were strangers to you, Aemond having killed his own nephew in cold blood and Aegon a bloodthirsty idiot who didn’t know what he was doing.

You understand why Viserys favored Rhaenyra now.

“He’s a fool, mother was right to tell him he would be more useful doing nothing,” you sharply reply.

You’re in Jacaerys’ room after a sneaky endeavor in his bed all afternoon, complaining about your stupid brothers. Your lover lays on his side with a hand supporting his head listening attentively with a loving gaze.

“What was it you said that he told Aemond—I can have to make a war?” Jacaerys snorts in amusement brushing his fingers through your hair.

“He’s an idiot. It’s a wonder anyone can actually stand being in the same room as him, if he’s not crying about Aemond making plans behind his back then he’s crying that no one respects him.” You shake your head.

“Hm, my mother still thinks we can avoid war,” he sighs deeply, “if only it were easy, right?” He slides your hand in his, holding it tightly while stroking over your knuckles with his thumb.

You can’t help but squeeze back, “Patience my love, everyone already sees how incompetent Aegon is. He’s already the usurper in their eyes and nobody really listens to him so to speak.”

“Suppose you're right about a few things.” Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your plush lips, still swollen and bitten-raw from his punishing little nips and aggressive kissing.

Your stomach swoops with excitement as a playful grin forms over your lips, “Only a few things?” You lean down to whisper, lips inches away from his.

He smiles lazily and cups your cheeks, “Of course not you know I trust your judgment, my love.” He mumbles soothingly while brushing over your loose curls.

He looks beautiful like this—the sheets hung low around his bare hips and the love bites littered across his shoulders and neck. You’d like to stay forever like this with him, all tangled up and the only sounds being your soft voices and the waves hitting the cliffs by his open window.

“Do you? Or is my prince only saying that because he desires a kiss?”

It’s comical the way Jacaerys lights up like a child faced with a fresh batch of lemon cakes. He eagerly slots his lips over yours and draws your naked body closer to him until his stirring cock is pressed flush against your hip—still coated in wet slick and oils from earlier.

You reach with one hand to tangle it through his soft curls, yanking his head back, “That isn’t an answer my love; does my prince want a kiss or not?” You ask firmer this time.

His eyes hollow darkly as he licks his lips, “May I? Your prince desires it.” He whispers low and breathy. When he says it like that you simply can’t deny as you eagerly press into him.

Jacaerys wraps his arms around your back and hauls you under him pinning you down against the soft sheets. You moan into his mouth reaching below to grasp his heavy cock in your soft palm and squeezing the head.

“Seems he desires more than a kiss,” you husk, tugging at his cock and enjoying the way he chases your touch.

“I want to claim every inch of you until you’re filled with my cum, maybe this time you will catch,” He finishes with a growl in high valyrian.

His cock slides between your sticky folds bumping and slipping against your clit. You angle the tip downward until it catches against your rim with a hitch, “Jace,” you sigh.

You feel every inch until he’s fed your cunt his cock. The stretch is mouthwateringly good, you don’t think you’ll ever find anyone else who could come this close to pleasuring as Jacaerys did. He wastes no time in rocking into you with long forceful thrusts.

“Oh fuck,” you thread your fingers through his hair turning your head away.

Jacaerys messily mouths along your neck and shoulder with muffled groans while desperately covering every inch of your skin with his mouth. You catch him off guard when you wrap your limbs around him and roll the two of you over.

“Lie back my love,” you seductively whisper.

He watches, entranced as you set your hands over his bare chest and push. The delicious weight combined with the heavenly warmth around his cock has his head rearing back and a long moan escaping.

You bite down on your lip taking in his every reaction. From this angle he strikes deep leaving you with a pleasant ache you’d be feeling the coming days. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, hips stuttering in their movements.

Jacaerys gets his hands over your hips and tugs you back down over his lap causing a groan to bubble out of your throat. He uses his newfound grip to bounce you in his lap until a low fopping sound from his thighs smacking into your cheeks fills the room.

Your gasps come out in short stuttered breaths with the occasional ‘mm’ thrown in there. Mid-roll you manage to firmly plant yourself in his lap trapping his fat cock in your wet cunt. You feel it twitching inside, desperate for another release.

Soft ‘ah, ah, ah’s fill the room alongside the sounds of sheets shuffling and seagulls in the distance. You’re lost in the moment basking in sunny rays and hot bubbling pleasure. His grip not once loosening nor slipping.

“Seven hells, you’re going to be the death of me.” He breathlessly groans.

His cock pulses faintly and then you’re being filled with thick spurts of white. He lazily squeezes your soft cheeks, watching with a blissed out expression. While you had yet to reach your own peak, you also didn’t mind just this.

Your hips came to a stop and you found yourself laying over his chest staring out at the orange-pink sky as you mumble, “I love you.”

༺ ──────────── ༻

Helaena hasn’t spoken much about your nephew since the funeral. She says she’s fine but you doubt that’s any true, you supposed she grieved differently. Helaena has always been a special case (in a positive light).

“Aegon left to battle,” you find yourself saying after an hour of silence, “Aemond too.”

Helaena can offer no insight as she kneels before her caged insects, speaking in soft whispers like she usually did, only this time her tone accompanied by her soft hums.

“How is Jaehaera?”

“..Fine.” More humming.

“And what have you embroidered as of lately–”

“You can go,” she softly interrupts, “everything is fine.” You’re stunned, maybe you overstepped and she wasn’t in need of visitors. That was fine, Helaena’s doing fine—

Your sister reaches over to grasp your hands tightly, staring into your eyes, “Everything will be fine. You must leave or else it will be too late,” a pained smile forms over her lips, “you will be one soon, and then two.”

“..what about you?” Your eyes watered, you dread the thought of leaving her here to suffer alone at the hands of Aegon.

Helaena lays a sweet kiss over your head, “There’s a storm coming, it makes flying harder.”

You wipe your tears and shakily nod, embracing her one last time before rushing through the hidden tunnels to your room. In a satchel you threw a few items of importance along with jewelry you doubt you’d need but something in your gut told you otherwise.

It’s easy to slip unnoticed through the tunnels and keep, the city proves much harder. You manage to pass through the small folk using alleys and hidden paths until you’re outside of the dragon pit. None of the dragon keepers question you and simply bring out Melaxes.

She senses your anxiety and begins to whine, “Shh, lykirī.” You’re quick to soothe her by leaning your forehead against her side.

When she calms down you guide her out of the pit, “Soves,” you murmur and Melaxes roars into the sky disappearing into the thick clouds.

You will be one soon, and then two.

Realization dawns: you haven’t bled for two moons now. Your hand immediately comes up to cover the swell of your stomach. Of course, what were you expecting?

You didn’t drink fucking moon tea and Jacaerys never cared to pull off. Your throat tightens up and tears spring to your eyes, “No,” you claw at your collar heaving.

Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Rook’s Rest. Your eyes widened—Larys Strong had heard talks of Princess Rhaenys and Prince Jacaerys going to battle together..

“Naejot!” You plunge forward until Melaxes zips above the sea, you pray to whatever god listening that Jacaerys is there safe and sound waiting for you.

You leave her not too far from the castle as you run up the hill towards the one place you knew he’d have to be. It’s a miracle no one notices Alicent Hightower’s youngest daughter storming through the halls until you reach Rhaenyra’s council room.

No one’s there.

“Oh fuck..” You whisper with a hand over your stomach, “No, no, no, no.” (There’s a loud ringing in your ear and it won’t stop.)

The tears come before you can even stop them as your vision quickly blurs. There’s something in your throat but it won’t come out no matter how much you heave and gag on your saliva.

“Mmn,” you whimper in discomfort and pain while curling away, refusing to believe Jacaerys was gone. You want your mother.

Your arm shakily shoots out to grab onto the stone for balance, “..please,” it comes out as a wheeze.

“y/n?” Was this a cruel dream? Jacaerys frowns and immediately starts walking to your side, “What’s wrong?”

He’s met with your lips and a tight crushing grip when you bury your fingers through his hair. You fiercely smother him in a desperate kiss which draws out a hiss from him when you bite his bottom lip.

“..We have to leave,” you mumble.

“Leave?” He frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Jacaerys, please trust me—we need to go,” you desperately plead.

Jacaerys shakes his head, “y/n you’re not making sense right now, leave where? And what of my mother? What of Baela, Rhaena, Joffrey? What of my duty as heir to the throne? You say it as if it’s so simple.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Why won’t you just tell me?!” He slams his hand over the table.

“I’m expecting a child,” you choke up, “and I don’t want my baby to die, Jacaerys. I want our baby to live.” You cry softly.

Jacaerys goes eerily still, silently watching you weep all you’ve held in until now. His eyes cast downward over the Targaryen pin on his tunic, glistening under the light shining proudly as a reminder of where he came from.

He says nothing and reaches up to unpin the dragon sigil resting over his shoulder. He reaches over to silently do the same with your own before neatly placing both over the table, releasing his sharp breath.

There’s no other way around this regardless if you stayed or not your child was in danger simply by living and breathing. The Greens would come after you, maybe Aemond would be the one to kill you or perhaps even Daemon. Your child would be dead either way as the king made it obvious how he felt about bastard children.

Jacaerys turns to you with a gentle but pained smile, and in that moment you knew what he chose. Your lip curls sadly and with an outstretched hand you accept him. He squeezes tightly like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air.

“I love you.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand manages to sneak between the two of you to press into your stomach where your child would soon grow.

Neither one of you says anything while Jacaerys packs what he plans to take. He writes to Rhaenyra and leaves the letter in plain sight over his desk. It’s quiet but comforting as he leads you to Melaxes and Vermax.

When she finds the letter Rhaenyra weeps. She can’t find it in her to be upset with him and while yes you had been another insolent brat as a child; you were still her half-sister who was now carrying her grandchild.

“If we fly out now we might catch up to them.” Daemon seethes as he paces back and forth before the queen, “This is just absurd, has the boy officially gone mad? A Hightower cunt no less.” He scoffs.

“Leave them, they’ve made their choice and we will make ours.” Rhaenyra shoots a pointed look at anyone who dares protest. She knows she’s vulnerable now that she’s lost two heirs.

..and if she hears the small folk speaking of two dragon riders traveling across the narrow sea, months later after reclaiming Kings Landing; she turns a blind eye and prays.

+ translations:

dohaerās (serve)

daor (no)

lykirī (be calm)

soves (fly)

naejot (forward)

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 16: The One About That Time I Shot an Arrow into the Air

“…It fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight.”

Archery has always been one of my fortes in life. I have absolutely no idea why, but I’m strangely quite good at it. My father, of course, attributes it to my ancestors; something passed down to me in my genes. So, I’m not sure that any arrow I shot into the air wouldn’t naturally find itself in the direction of its intended target. Today, that target would almost certainly be in the jugular of a Cerberus-like creature. Ah, yes, that mythical hellhound with three heads that guards the entrance to the Underworld. Not only does it dictate who can enter the realm of Hades, but also who can leave. And I’m not fond of creatures that would rather devour you alive than let you leave of your own freewill. Plus, could you imagine having three heads with three different personalities? Ugh, that would get confusing quickly. And, even worse, could you imagine all the in-fighting? I mean, an arrow to the throat – if it didn’t dismantle the beast – would almost certainly silence it. Luckily, we don’t have any three-headed dogs in this fandom…

Where am I going with this? Well – besides down a long and winding path that draws attention to the fact I enjoy poetry and archery – actually, I chose today’s poem for a specific purpose. If you haven’t figured it out from my previous cracks about the Kraken, I also like Greek mythology. In fact, learning about Greek mythology at around the age of 11 – yes, that defiant age where we’re no longer interested in Barbie (not that I was ever interested in Barbie) but we’re also not cool enough to be considered teenagers – was the first time I remember finding myself “thinking outside of the box.” And by that, I mean asking the question that I probably should not have said out loud: “If Zeus is a myth, does that mean God is fake, too?” That went down like a lead balloon (and, I hope, no one takes offense to reading that now; it is not meant with any disrespect). My mother was, of course, telephoned by the school and, when I returned home, she greeted me with (something along the lines of) a simple: “Did they answer your question? No? Then I suggest you find it for yourself.”

We all have our own truth, don’t we? Even in this fandom, we are each tasked with choosing our own path. Weeding out facts from speculation and speculation from rumor. Choosing what we want to believe over what is being pushed on us. Overcoming our willingness to follow blindly versus our refusal to be backed into corner. I suppose that’s why I’ve always liked Greek mythology (and, perhaps, storytelling in general) – because it helps us navigate life’s challenges by better understanding human nature. It’s also one of the reasons why my favorite story has always been the trials and tribulations of Eros and Psyche.

Ah-ha! See, I told you I had a purpose for bringing up those damn arrows!

Yes, Eros was the Greek equivalent of the Roman Cupid; that weird little dude who fired love arrows like a bouquet of flowers at a wedding. But Eros wasn’t some creepy little cherub in a cloth diaper; he was the devastatingly handsome God of Love. And he fell in love with the equally beautiful human Psyche. That part about her being human, however,managed to get Psyche some major side-eye from Eros’s mother, Aphrodite. In retaliation for humans worshiping Psyche’s beauty over her own, Aphrodite sent Eros down to earth to pierce Psyche with one of his love arrows so she would fall madly in love with a hideous monster (unfortunately for the Cerberus, it wasn’t them). But Eros defied his mother and, unbeknownst to Aphrodite, kept Psyche for himself hidden away in a castle. There, Psyche lived – mostly happily – with Eros visiting her every night. Eros promised Psyche she could live there indefinitely so long as she never looked upon his face (hence why he only visited her in darkness). But humans have this uncanny knack for being curious and, of course, Psyche peeked. Well, fuck! Haha, I won’t ruin the rest of the story for you except to say, yes, Eros was royally peeved at Psyche’s betrayal, fled their home, and sought refuge with his bitchy mother (because, of course, he did). Devastated, Psyche went clambering up to her pseudo-mother-in-law’s shrine to beg for forgiveness and Aphrodite, being a bit of a bitchy goddess, gave Psyche a series of impossible tasks to complete to prove her worthiness. Amazingly Psyche did in fact complete each of these four tasks but only because she managed to get a little help from some fantastical friends. Well, except for that final task for which Psyche was warned – don’t look in the fucking box. Damn humans.

Like all stories passed down from generation to generation, there are multiple versions of this myth, particularly when it comes to who helped Psyche complete her four tasks. Sometimes it’s one god(dess), other times it’s multiple; sometimes it’s earth’s creatures (the ants, the plants, and the flying things). But my favorite version is the one where Eros was the one pulling those invisible strings – or, at the very least, keeping an eye on Psyche from the shadows – because no matter how angry he was with her, Eros still loved Psyche and wanted to protect her.

Why do I bring this story up? Well, for starters, if you didn’t notice (because you were too focused on carriages and mirrors), Bridgerton Season 3 made quite a few parallels between Colin and Penelope and Eros and Psyche, even referring to the latter by name at the end of the fourth episode. The show also brushed on the importance of trust, the consequences of betrayal, and the idea that love can conquer all. Funny thing is I never thought Colin to be much of an Eros; he made a better Psyche, in my opinion. I mean, he was the one to peek into Penelope’s secret life!

But Colin’s real-life counterpart, Luke, makes a rather entertaining Eros.

On December 16, when Luke reposted to his Instagram stories a link to Nicola’s “Part 1” of her 2024 Year, the fandom went wild. And I’m not talking about just the Lukolas going insane with excitement; the Jakolas were having a field day, too – but not in a good way. The unease they’d almost certainly felt with those coordinated airplane and “Polin” posts from October returned with a vengeance when Luke resurfaced in support of Nicola – the woman for whom he consistently comes out hiding. I realized then that the one person who could simultaneously make the Lukolas’ hearts flutter and the Adjacents’ blood boil was Luke (i.e., our Eros could make Psyche rejoice while making Aphrodite lash out in anger).

If you really think about it, Luke has pulled us out of the black waters of the River Styx multiple times, making him the perfect Eros to our Psyche. Yes, our Psyche. The fandom is absolutely the Psyche of this story. After all, the fandom was the one who betrayed Luke with our collective reaction to Papsmear (but, in the fandom’s defense, that was a shitty fucking day). And, of course, that wench Aphrodite is collectively all the side story bullshit, from the Adjacent narratives to rag-mags sticking their ever-growing noses into places they don't belong.

As we finish out the year, I thought it would be fun to give Luke some credit where credit is due. In other words, I thought I’d highlight four times Luke “Eros-ed” (i.e., “rescued”) us from some mucky ass shit. This is not every moment Luke came out of hiding to do something wonderful; these are simply my top four moments where I believe Luke single-handedly resuscitated the fandom. You’re welcome to share your best Luke moments in the comments.

No. 1 - That Post-Papsmear Thing That Everyone Ignored:

Fuck, yes.

I am starting with the most overlooked event in the Lukola-verse – Luke’s post-Papsmear Cressida story. This is the taproot that keeps my faith in Lukola from falling over during a storm – Luke taking one for Team Lukola by promoting Season 3 using the scene from Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening. Yeah, yeah, Luke totally missed the target with that post but – again, in the fandom’s defense – everyone was still reeling from the sudden-but-not-so-sudden materialization of Antonia at the London premiere. In hindsight, though, you know you want to give him an “atta boy” for basically throwing shade at the Lutonia narrative while using a massive social media platform to do so. It was jaw-dropping, brilliant, and ballsy as fuck.

If you’re totally lost about how entertaining this Cressida story was, go read Entry 1 to be my blog. But, seriously, how have you not read it already?

No. 2 – Delivering the Cake:

Alright, fast forward three months (yes, three goddamn months!) to September 7 when Luke posted pictures from his stay at the Puente Romano resort.

No big deal, right?

Wrong!

It was a big fucking deal because, for starters, Antonia creeped in and posted random pictures of herself at roughly the same time Luke posted his resort pictures. And, of course, Luke had to like Antonia’s Instagram post. To make matters worse (gasp!) Luke’s had palm trees in his pictures which were oh, so reminiscent (but, not really) of palm trees posted by Antonia the previous day to her Instagram stories. Oh my God! And, then the real kicker? Luke’s slide deck included him eating a picture of himself from the London premiere sans Nicola! The horror! I mean, what probably started out as a cute post by Luke turned into a full-on Lukola heart attack within 30 minutes or less!

But then Luke pulled out a defibrillator and revived the fandom. Almost immediately.

After presumably hearing the cries from the Lukola fandom that he’d cut Nicola from the London premiere image, Luke demonstrated through his Instagram stories that (a) he was eating part of a cake (he was even darling enough to put the cake emoji with a smiley face), and (b) that the cake never had Nicola’s image on it to begin with (meaning, he didn’t remove her from it). Thank you for that clarification, Luke. Seriously, the fandom appreciated it.

After they recovered from their near-death experience, the Lukolas finally took the time to look at the images Luke posted. A not-so-random chaise lounge; a random white shirt; a restaurant called El Pimpi (which is a word used for the people who delivered messages to a ship’s crew and passengers); Luke throwing up the peace sign with his now infamous digits in – what appeared to be – the reflection of a glass table; and a reference to cake. It was Lukola- and/or Polin-coded shit. And, to make it just a smidge better, there was no visible reference to Antonia anywhere.

And, yes, I will cut in here to acknowledge that Antonia would, on October 25, include a lone picture of a balcony which was identical to the one Luke posted in his – what I like to call – “clarification stories” from September 7. Do I care about Antonia’s balcony? Not in the least. Could she have been at the resort? Sure. In fact, I’ve always found the idea of Antonia being present quite comical since Luke made it fairly obvious he omitted something (ahem, someone) from his Instagram post and instead filled it with random shit that seemed Lukola- and/or Polin-coded. Plus, if you want me to be perfectly honest, “insinuation” posts from Antonia stopped doing it for me months ago.

Back to what I saying… We must give Luke a round of applause for placating an entire fandom with something as simple as a cake emoji. Bravo, bravo!

No. 3 – Shutting Down the Mean Girls:

We closed out September with Antonia riling up the fandom by posting Instagram story after Instagram story, none of which were worth a second glance from a Lukola except for the “phone screen” one (see “Entry 7: The One Where the Queen Asked, ‘Did That Go the Way You Thought It Was Gonna Go?’” for reference). Oh, wait, there is another story – just for my own amusement – on October 1, Antonia reshared a story where she was labeled “Aphroditi.” Rather convenient for my story today, isn't it? Any ways, the Lukolas were a bit high-strung by October 2 when Nicola announced via Instagram that she had been named as part of the Time 100. Luke liked the post – but apparently to the haters on X he didn’t do it motherfucking fast enough. These weird-ass people do actually exist – the ones that genuinely believe Instagram likes (and the speed thereof) equate to true love.

Any ways, Luke apparently decided he was having none of that bullshit and stepped in on October 3 with his Polin-themed “Mean Girls” story. It was a throwback to a conversation he and Nicola had had in, I believe, 2022 on, haha, X.

“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was.”

“It’s October 3rd.”

Luke captioned the story, “Xx.”

Not only did the fandom rejoice that Luke had returned to post something after nearly a month away, but the post included a throwback to Nicola, and it came on the heels of Halley Brisker’s now legendary “Nicola lately” post. Yeah, the one with Luke in the background (seriously, convince me it was someone else). Luke’s story also seemed to be one hell of a clapback to a rabid pack animal on X who faulted Luke for not leaving a comment on Nicola’s Time 100 post.

“Xx.”

No. 4 – The Littlest Things:

I debated over choosing Luke’s People magazine interview for the fourth moment, but that interview – although it made the fandom incredibly happy – didn’t pull our heads out of our own asses. So, I decided instead to go with the little things Luke has done over the past few months, namely, joining in on the Like Wars but in his own oh, so subtle way.

Let’s start with Antonia’s September 21 post of – honestly, who the hell cares? She posted and we knew Luke’s obligatory like was coming. It just took 10 ½ hours for Luke to get to it and it was only given after Nicola posted to her Instagram stories pictures from a concert she had attended. Was the fandom a bit deflated Luke liked Antonia’s post? Of course! But it was also fun to see the like come hours after Luke had already been online and on the heels of Nicola popping up online.

On October 11, we had a similar event happen. Antonia posted to her grid and Luke seemingly ignored it for roughly five hours. But, while Luke was ignoring her post, Antonia was going hard at it with Instagram stories and TikTok videos (Nicola, for her part, seemed to be playing her own game on social media during this time). Luke finally liked Antonia’s post and Antonia went silent thereafter. Then, on October 12, Luke officially made it back from his October 4 “Brb” moment and posted “Somewhere in Mayfair” to his Instagram stories. Let the fandom rejoice!

But I’m not stopping there. Let’s not forget about Luke and Nicola’s coordinated “Polin” pictures on October 21 or that, while Antonia was “rolling pasta” on November 17, Luke made it a point to go back and like Nicola’s Dr. Who post from November 15. On December 6, when Luke coughed up a like to Antonia’s grid post, he also handed a like out to Nicola at the same time (and a few others). Do you see a pattern starting to form?

Honestly, I believe Luke is owed a standing ovation for the way he has taken control of his own narrative and managed to deflect from the so-called “importance” of these bullshit Instagram likes. Although Nicola has historically attempted to distract the fandom from Antonia, in my opinion, it was always Luke’s responsibility to diminish the importance of Antonia’s role in his story. And, for the past several months, he has been doing just that – in the quietest way possible.

I’ve decided Luke is a bit like a shadow. Inconspicuous – sometimes even completely invisible – but when the light hits just right, it’s impossible to ignore his immense presence.

When Luke posts, or when he coyly plays around with the Instagram likes – even when he likes Nicola’s posts – it somehow resonates differently with the fandom. Nicola could post her year-end stuff and the fandom would be, like, “Oh, that’s cool.” But, when Luke reshares her post to his stories? “Holy fuck, that’s awesome!” It's a "different energy on set." Somewhere in the middle of all the bullshit that goes on within the fandom, Luke found his own truth. The “Bad Guy” who was “on a break” during Hot Boy Summer somehow became our hero; the shadowy figure that pulls us out of the water and sets our heads back on straight. Over and over again. It's been so subtle, we've barely even noticed.

I’m going to end this entry with the Longfellow poem I quoted at the beginning, mainly because I like it, but also because it’s about something that cannot be easily seen once released into the world but, if found, can have an everlasting effect on us.

“I shot an arrow into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for so swiftly it flew, the sight; could not follow it in its flight;

“I breathed a song into the air; it fell to earth, I knew not where; for who has sight so keen and strong; that it can follow the flight of song?

“Long, long afterward, in an oak; I found the arrow, still unbroke; and the song, from beginning to end; I found again in the heart of a friend.”

P.S. In the story, Psyche is rescued by Eros (hurray!) and is made the Goddess of the Soul.

[i-didnt-quite-get-that-now]

These are way too good to be left in the tags @daylighteclipsed :

Nobody understands Kingdom Hearts that well cause everybody compares it to shonen anime when it's actually a magical girl anime because it has:

-A protagonist who is an ordinary lad who got given a special power that could save the universe

Teammates that the protagonist can lean on and who help the protagonist with said special power

A love interest heavily involved in the plot that both motivates the protagonist and is motivated by the protagonist

A monster of the week format that has its own standalone conflict that eventually leads to the next major plot point in the story

Overarching themes about love and friendships and connections and identity

[freshthoughts2020]

[4linos]

how they ask to marry you.

stray kids hyung line x gn!reader

synopsis: how stray kids hyung line proposes ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

wc: 1063 (maknae line ver.)

bang chan.. right from the start, you two decided to keep your relationship quiet and very private, with only a select few people—your parents, his parents, and of course the members—knowing. He had been able to arrange for your whole family to be flown from your home country to Australia, where you two had been going on "vacation." The night before your last day, he was sure that he had been acting weird to you, mostly because of nervousness, and he wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible. you two were taking a walk along a beach as the sun started to set, and you said, "oh look! someone looks like they're getting proposed to.” when you saw a long crimson carpet with candles and rose petals leading to a large illuminated sign that read, "will you marry me?" you exclaimed out. chan laughed and said, "let’s get closer?" with excitement, you nodded. until you realized he had started to walk ahead of you and you saw the familiar faces of both his and your families. when you got to him, he got down on one knee, held the ring, and began, "there are countless ways I could express my love for you, but I believe that what really counts is that I want to live out the rest of my days demonstrating to you how much you mean to me. I feel like I can handle anything with you by my side, even though I know life can be unpredictable and there are many obstacles in my path. Your love, your support, and your trust are more than I could have ever asked for. Will you marry me? For the remainder of our journey together, will you walk hand in hand with me?" you blurted out, "yes," without hesitation.

lee know.. everyone knew you two were going to be together for a long time from the minute you two became a couple. no one has ever seen minho so enamored of someone as he was with you. since you two started dating, you had taken vacations together, so when he told you he wanted to spend the weekend at a cabin, you didn't suspect anything. However, when he urged you to get your nails done and purchase a formal outfit for a dinner, you began to feel suspicious.

after finishing the meal that minho had cooked for you on the last night of your weekend, you were making your way back up to your cabin from outside. "That was delicious, Min. thank you," you said as you placed your dish in the sink. "You're welcome, love." You paused before kissing him when you heard a pop come from your cabin bedroom. "What the hell was that?" you shrieked in fear "You wait here, and I'll check." Before you could object, he hurried up to the bedroom and said, "Y/n!" He yelled from upstairs, startling you, and you snatched up whatever weapon you could just in case. When you entered, you noticed lit candles, white balloons, and petals spread out in a heart shape. "Oh my God, Minho! You—" "I want to go through every high and every low with you, even though I know life won't always be perfect. No matter what, I want to stay by your side forever. Will you marry me?” lowering himself to one knee and smiling warmly while offering the ring, and saying, "this is it, no turning back." before you said yes, you kissed him.

changbin.. had always been open about his relationship with you even though dispatch had knowingly exposed your relationship, he was the one who confirmed it and asked everyone to respect your privacy and his relationship with you. you two had been dating for five years, but he knew he wanted to marry you since you stayed with him despite all the bad headlines that had been written about your relationship. he had grown highly protective of you and quickly silenced any negative comments of you.

so for his proposal he’d definitely gone all out, he had to, it’s what you deserved. changbin chose a rooftop overlooking the city skyline, where the setting was exquisitely furnished to fit the theme, complete with fairy lights, candles, and calming music. he would tell you how you have helped him grow as a person, how he views you as his partner in everything and how he can't imagine going into the future with anyone else. It would be raw, emotional, and completely authentic. changbin wanted the proposal to be a moment you both share with the people you care about the most. when you answer "yes," he would have your closest friends and family members hidden nearby to join in the cheering and celebration. the air would be filled with love, excitement, and enthusiasm as you two shared this unique time with your loved ones.

hyunjin.. although you had known each other since high school, you didn't start dating until a few years after his debut. over the years, he had accomplished great success and was appreciative that you had remained by his side for so long, despite being convinced that he wasn't the greatest partner. he had a big proposal plan for you and wanted everything to be special for you, but his plans were derailed when he unintentionally sent you a text about the details that was meant for someone else. he put off his proposal for a while in hopes that you would forget about it, but one day he asked you to join him for an “event” in paris. although you had already visited with him there a few times, he assured you that this time you would have more time to spend with each other. during his "event," he would plan an intimate dinner at a modest café overlooking the night skyline of paris. following a memorable evening, he would take you to a beautiful, hidden spot with a secret garden nestled in the nearby area. the warm, poetic light of a neighboring streetlamp would illuminate you both as hyunjin took your hand and explained his desire to live out the rest of his days with you. then he would come down on one knee and ask you to be his lifelong partner with a gentle but sincere "will you marry me?"

—

nini’s notes 110524

hi hi 😙 definitely say this every time but i’m nervous about this one 😀 i hope you enjoy this? i’m sorry if this is bad it’s my first time writing something like this :>

asks are always open if you have a request, concern, or question!

-🎀

[rebelspykatie]

Steve comes from a long line of only children. He’s the last one standing after his mother dies, left alone on a barren family tree. This deep longing for an extended family made a home in Steve’s soul at a young age. For so long, it was only Steve and his mother. She raised him as best she could, but Steve never wanted that lonely existence. 

Finding someone that would want that life with him didn’t pan out the way he thought it would. Dating in Hawkins was limited and if he wanted to be truthful with people, also dangerous. Robin was the best dating app mishap turned best friend Steve could’ve hoped for, and she encouraged him to look into solo parenting, promising to be his platonic coparent every step of the way. 

Before his transition, he started a grueling IVF journey. Wanted to quit more times than he wanted to carry on. It didn’t take the first time, and Robin was there to hold him when he wasn’t sure he could handle another round of it. They didn’t know how lucky they’d get the second time. 

Dustin was born just after Thanksgiving that year, and he turned into a precocious toddler faster than Steve could blink. He had this mass of hair that Steve was in awe of, the height definitely coming from him but the curls were a mystery gift from their donor. Steve loved his chubby cheeks and toothless smile more than anything on earth. 

Everything about Dustin brightened up Steve’s world, even when his screams kept Steve and Robin awake all night, or he spit up on Steve’s shirt right before work and he had to change into a questionably dirty shirt because he hadn’t had time for laundry. Steve loved it all. He especially loved how smart his kid was, shooting straight to the top of his class, reading above grade level, doing math equations faster than Steve could comprehend. Robin joked that the donor must have some strong nerd genes to come from Steve and be that much of a math genius. 

He doesn’t actually know much about the donor, other than the recording he has from the interview and a brief profile of his family’s medical history. It might be silly, but Steve ended up picking this donor because of his laugh. It was melodic, ringing in the air long after he finished laughing, and something about it pulled at Steve’s heart in a way the others didn’t. 

Steve doesn’t hide much from Dustin, there’s no point really when your kid’s a genius, but he doesn’t give Dustin the file until he turns 11, doesn’t even hint at it. While Dustin is a curious kid, he’s also got a knack for knowing when to press an issue or not. He had a lot of questions about the process, but always shied away from asking more about how Steve chose or who his donor was. When they finally talked about it as Steve handed over the file to Dustin on his eleventh birthday, Dustin said he always knew Steve chose to have him and that was all that mattered. 

But once he gets his hands on that file, the curiosity voyage sets sail and Dustin’s chasing leads on who this man is like he’s in an episode of scooby doo. The agency will only give them the contact information they had on file 12 years ago. It’s a long shot, expecting someone’s number to be the same, but it’s all they have. A single phone number. 

When a gruff voice answers the phone and Steve explains the situation, the man on the other line agrees to meet them. The address he gives is for the Munson ranch about an hour outside of town. He knows about the ranch in the same way everyone in a small town knows of each other. He’s never been there, but the owner brings a lot of money into the town and mostly keeps to himself. His nephew was a few years ahead of Steve in school, but they never crossed paths. 

It turns out there’s only one Munson left in Hawkins, and Steve’s pretty sure the bald man that’s twice Steve’s age and looks down his nose at Steve and Dustin, isn’t the donor. Recognition sparks in his eyes, though, when Dustin starts talking, some of that defensiveness melting off his face. It’s softening into the same fondness Steve has when looking at Dustin, that inescapable way he pulls you into his orbit and snatches your heart right up. He lets Dustin take the reins, watching Wayne fall under Dustin’s spell.

His first words after Dustin’s long rambling opener about their predicament are, “Your hair looks just like his at that age.” 

Hope blooms in Steve’s chest. He’d been afraid that they wouldn’t find anything, or what they found might disappoint Dustin. But there’s someone out there that’s half of Dustin. Someone that might have given him all these little quirks that Steve’s so fond of. Someone that might want to be a part of his life, even if Steve isn’t sure he’s ready for that. 

Wayne explains that his nephew is out of town with his band, touring somewhere until the end of the month when they come home for the holidays. That’s only two weeks away and it doesn’t give Steve long to prepare for meeting someone that helped bring the best thing into his life, but it’s enough time for Wayne to welcome them into his home with an open heart.

It’s just long enough for Steve to find out that Eddie grew up on the ranch with Wayne and his father, who abandoned them when Eddie was about Dustin’s age. To find out that Eddie always loved music more than the horses and took off the first chance he got once he had the funds. To see pictures along a mantle of another precocious kid with a wild mane of hair that looks about as unstoppable as Dustin. 

Robin comes with them the night they’re going to meet Eddie. It’s a few days after he’s returned from tour. Wayne wanted enough time to prepare him before getting Dustin’s hopes all the way up. When they got the okay, Steve wasn’t sure he could do it alone, so Robin is glued to his side when they pull up at the ranch and come face to face with Edde Munson. 

But Steve relaxes when he sees the same wide grin on Eddie’s face that he sees on Dustin’s every day. And he doesn’t know it yet, but maybe he’s finally filled out that family tree and found the home he never knew he needed, with branches for Robin, Dustin, and maybe two Munsons.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Hi, hello, I can't stop thinking about the Ford Kook AU. I NEED to know more. Like, if this is Ford, then where is Fiddleford? Did Fiddleford go through the portal? Is Stan desperately trying to reverse engineer the science bullshit that scrambled Ford's brain to make something that can unscramble it? If Fidds isn't in the portal, is he helping Stan try to unscramble Ford? Did Ford even send the postcard?! Is Stan even there at all!?! I am HOOKED. I will take any scraps or crumbs you have to give I am on my hands and knees begging

Hello hello!! I'm so glad you're liking my Au already :] I love all your suggestions! So far the lore is a bit rickety since I'm still on the fence as to how I want to incorporate Stanley and Fiddleford into the AU, since they'll be taking pretty major roles in the lore.

I'm hesitating between prioritizing a fun dynamic between characters and a fun story. I have some options that I'm going through though! Mostly just spitballing, nothing concrete :D

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Fiddleford's potential fates in this AU:

Option 1. He was sucked into the portal during a testing trial accident and is part of the reason why Ford went mad with Project Mentem. He becomes something similar to Portal Ford, but he is later brought back (idk how yet)

Option 2. He is fine and still in his dimension, just not with Ford. He will still play a larger role later in the AU, just in other ways.

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Stan's potential fates in this AU:

Option 1. He faked his death and chose to stay low (also inadvertently becoming part of the reasons to Ford's meltdown and madness when the latter learns of the news). He will accidentally cross paths with Ford, maybe. Or he will be brought to Gravity Falls by some other way.

Option 2. He is dead. (I may make Stanford interact instead with perhaps another version of Stan from another dimension, maybe a reverse portal / drifter Stan, just for a fun dynamic. But this idea might overlap with Fiddleford's option 1 fate, and also overcomplicate things a lot, so I'm a little opposed to it.)

Option 3. MAFIA BOSS.