#always a linguist at heart

[ryanoftinellb]

When I graduated with a degree in physics, the biggest and smallest SI prefices were ‘yocto’ and ‘yotta’. Now, because the total amount of information available to humans is growing so quickly, we've had to expand upwards to ‘ronna’ and ‘quetta’. It's only the physicists love of symmetry that has given us ‘ronto’ and ‘quecto’.

I have 47 yoctobytes of Star Trek :D .

[joejoeba]

He/him lesbian Josuke who has curves like a supermodel but only wears leather jackets and gets weak in the knees if someone calls him Sir

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[freckliedan]

AUHHH YOU CALLING CHRIS A ONCE POPULAR YOUTUBER AND FORMER FRIEND HURTS LIKE YOU'RE RIGHT BUT IT HURTSSSSS

i forgot i said that :( i can't think about chris for too long or i'll start crying actually.

phil has followed him on instagram since i wrote that paper—dnp saw pj's stage show that chris was in, phil followed chris again afterwards, and shortly after that was a day where chris was juggling oranges in an insta story with pj -> phil tried juggling oranges in his own insta story later the same day so like. i think there's a chance they're all on okay terms now.

ultimately i think being in the public eye is something that really hurt chris & like. i'm glad he and pj are still friends. and odds are we'll never know but i really hope there's been some kind of private reconnection there with dnp too.

[striderincosmos]

Alright, I can't keep it in anymore.

Turians, as they stand visually, have a gap between their lower and upper jaws that shows their teeth, as this photo shows and has largely been the case with most turians for the last nearly two decades.

Here's where my undying love of linguistics comes in. How then, pray tell, are they able to call their home planet Palaven? Plosives (some pronunciations of 't', 'd', 'k', 'g', and most importantly, all pronunciations of 'p' and 'b') require something to stop on. For most letters, it's usually a tightening of the larynx, but for 'p' specifically, it's a hell of a challenge to not contain some air in your mouth and still have the sound come out correctly.

Thus, unless the universal translators that the setting tacitly implys exist are doing some funky things to change the pronunciation of a proper noun, then the turians, as they're showcased, can't even easily and properly say the name of their own home world.

[cementcornfield]

https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Jocing

WHAT DO YOU MEAN JAMARR

Waitttt remember the whole theory about Joe being pregnant (bengals post) and Ja’Marr posted about getting the baby in the cake 👀👀👀

joce has like ten thousand meanings from what i can tell lmao. i'm pretty sure in this context he just means joking/messing around etc.

[slytherinslut0]

Theodore Nott. | that’s what i said.

info: your boyfriend was telling you about his day, when he began speaking fluent Italian, knowing damn well you only knew select words. when you asked him to repeat it, he had you come sit on his lap and ended up doing a little more than just repeating it.

word count: 3k

tags: 18+, literally pure smut. pure lorenzo italian daddy type smut. lots of italian translation (apologies to all my italians out there if they’re a little off) lots of praise, riding, piv, dirty talk.

Reclining across from you, Theodore Nott your lovely boyfriend, exuded an air of relaxed confidence while seated comfortably on the expansive leather couch in his dorm room. His legs were stretched wide, one arm casually draped over the armrest--each of his current mannerisms acting as physical testaments to the ease with which he inhabited the space.

As he delved into the narrative of his day, you, nestled in the love seat opposite him, eagerly absorbed the symphony of his voice. It was a melody that effortlessly traversed between English and Italian, a linguistic dance that had always held a special place in your heart.

His words held an irresistible charm, each syllable cascading like liquid honey off his tongue. The profound rasp of his voice, entwined with his seductive Italian accent stirred something indescribable within your body. The prospect of listening to him like this every day for the rest of your life fueled your anticipation, a certainty that the allure would never lose its magic. It was a sensation you eagerly anticipated, knowing that the richness of his voice would forever remain a timeless delight.

Yet, within the fluidity of his storytelling, Theodore suddenly shifted into Italian, weaving complete sentences with a gaze that lingered through half-lidded eyes, as if this linguistic transformation were the most natural thing in the world. Ordinarily, you might have interrupted him, gently reminding him of your language limitations, but today, well, you just couldn't bring yourself to do so.

You were almost in awe, unable to deny that there was an enchanting quality to the way the words curled off his tongue. That, coupled with the intensity of his stare, seemingly compelled you to stay silent, as if under a trance. You found yourself captivated, clinging to every indecipherable syllable, a familiar heat beginning to kindle between your thighs.

It was as if he momentarily lost himself in the labyrinth of his thoughts, forgetting, if only for an instant, that your understanding of the language was confined solely to select phrases and words. This linguistic detour left you with a quizzical frown, a silent plea for translation in the midst of his enchanting monologue, and finally, noting your confusion after what felt like ages, he paused, cocking a charming eyebrow at you.

"Something on your mind, Bella?" he teased, leisurely spreading his legs further as his gaze meandered from your eyes to your lips, only to return, locking onto your gaze once more. "You appear a touch...lost."

"Theo, I must confess--I haven't the slightest idea what you just said," you admitted, a playful pout gracing your lips. Your eyes sparkled with a blend of curiosity and mischief. "And I know you're well aware that was far beyond my linguistic expertise."

"All this time, and you still haven't mastered my language, Bella Mia..." Theo, with a dramatic flair, feigned a hurt expression, his stormy eyes widening ever so slightly. "You're truly breaking my heart."

Smirking, you teased, "forgive me, amore..."  your fingers traced an absent pattern on the armrest, a subtle invitation. "Please, feel free to repeat it--I love the way it sounds..."

A mischievous glint sparked behind his irises, a playful confidence dancing in their depths. With a self-assured grin, he patted his lap invitingly, his messy brown locks falling effortlessly over his forehead.

"Why don't you come over here," he suggested, his tone velvety, "and I'll gladly repeat it for you?"

Your grin widened, a flicker of anticipation igniting within you as you slowly rose from the chair, not needing a second thought. His burning stare followed your every move as you veered closer to him, an intensity in his eyes that set your senses ablaze without effort. As you approached, a slow, deliberate stride, the air thickened with a tangible tension, your pulse thumping in your throat.

No matter the duration of your relationship with Theo, each touch remained an electric encounter, perpetually reminiscent of the initial spark. His reverence for your body endured, a devotion that unfolded afresh with every caress, as if every moment were a new discovery for his hands and eyes.

Stalling in front of him, you giddily pulled your lip between your teeth as his hands found yours, guiding them to his shoulders as he pulled you down to straddle his lap. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, his hands finding a natural place on your hips.

"Mm," he purred, burying his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling a sharp breath as his fingers dug into your skin. "So beautiful, Bella..."

You stifled a mewl as he pressed careless kisses along your neck, the playful banter giving way to a charged silence as his teeth softly grazed your pulse--the unspoken language between you both pulsating with desire and connection. The messy brown waves of his hair framed a face now tinged with a sultry charm, and the mischievous glint in his eyes promised a shared secret in the language only you two understood.

As if completely instinctively, you rolled your hips against his crotch, head falling back as his hands slid around to your ass, groaning against your neck as he aided your movements, guiding you back and forth against his growing bulge. You could already feel him throbbing beneath you, your cunt clenching in need for his touch as the only thing separating your heat from his groin was your thin layer of underwear, rubbing against his trousers.

"Ho voluto scoparti tutto il giorno..." he murmured, the same phrase he'd said earlier, the one in which you didn't understand. "...sei tutto ciò a cui riesco a pensare."

Your brows furrowed, about to question him, but exasperation quickly took over as he sank his teeth into your neck. He left vivid, possessive marks on your skin, his hands sliding up and under your skirt, tracing the supple contours of your ass. As you continued to move against him, a whirlwind of desire engulfed you, and you quickly lost yourself in the intoxicating rush.

"You're so fucking sexy," he breathed, his voice a low, deep murmur, reverberating a shudder of desire down your spine, his tongue trailing a flat stripe up the side of your throat. "Ho bisogno di te, mia bellissima piccola troia." (I need you, my beautiful little slut.)

"Theo..." you whimpered, your hands entwining in his hair, fingers weaving through his tousled auburn locks. His mouth ascended, planting tender, moist kisses along the ridge of your jawline. "Please-please-"

"Mm, you like that don't you, principessa?" His voice was a seductive purr, the words wrapping around you like silk as he pulled back a hand and gave you a sharp smack on your ass, eliciting an immediate squeal from your throat. "Tu ami grinding that dolce piccola figa on me like this, hm?..." (you love)(sweet little pussy)

In response to his words, an unabashed moan escaped your lips, louder than you had initially intended. Theo responded with a low growl, his free hand moving to your jaw, cradling it delicately as he guided your lips to his. The ensuing kiss spoke a language of its own--one of desire, need, and an unfiltered passion that surpassed any linguistic expression.

Your hold on his hair intensified as you pressed against him more urgently, the rhythm quickening. His tongue boldly slipped past your teeth, exploring your mouth with fervor. Simultaneously, his hands glided to the hem of your blouse, lifting it along your stomach. The kiss briefly broke as he encouraged your arms upward, swiftly pulling your shirt over your head and discarding it on the floor.

"Così bella..." he praised, his eyes fixated on your chest adorned by the delicate, lacy fabric of your white bralette. The intensity in his gaze felt scorching, as if it could sear your skin to ash. "Così, così bella, amore mio..." (So beautiful)(so, so beautiful, my love...)

His words took your breath away, slamming your chest like a fifty pound brick, the worship in his tone enough to render you speechless. You writhed in his lap, seeking friction, more friction that what you were currently experiencing--wanting him; needing him in every possible way. You captured his lips again, rolling your hips harder, the deep moan that escaped him found itself muffled by your mouth as you worked at the buttons on his shirt, fervently popping them free as quickly as you could.

The second his chest was exposed, you scoured it like a starved animal, the skin-on-skin contact sending a desperate clench to your cunt. You mapped his muscles to your memory as though it was the first time you'd ever seen them--the strength of his biceps, his strong, powerful abdomen, all of it hot and vibrating with need--you were breathless at the sight of his beauty under your palms, a feeling that had never once even partially faltered, no matter how many times you fucked him.

"Are you going to tell me what you said, Teddy..." you murmured, a playful smile dancing on your lips as your fingers skillfully moved to his belt, assisting in its release. "That was the whole reason I came over here, was it not?"

"Words can wait, amore," Theo muttered, his voice husky with desire, his gaze locked onto yours as he undid the zipper on your skirt, watching with blaring eyes as you tugged it off, along with your panties and tossed them to the floor. "Actions speak louder, don't they?"

"Mmfh," you moaned as he pulled you back against his mouth, his tongue running along your teeth as your bodies rocked together, his fingers gripping and caressing and squeezing every bit of your body that they could.

Pulling away, he met your eyes, heavily panting for breath as he gazed at you with a hunger that matched your own. His hands shifted, urging you to back up for a moment as he pulled his pants and boxers midway down his thighs--growling low in his chest as his thick, throbbing length sprung free, glistening with precum as it smacked against his chiseled stomach. You clenched.

He pulled you back against him, gliding you in slicking your soaked cunt along the length of his cock, his eyes burning wounds into your flesh as he watched you, lost in pleasure, lost in your need for him.

"Lo vuoi, amore mio?" (You want it, my love?) His voice barely rose above a whisper as he posed the question to which he damn well knew the answer. "You want this fucking cock inside that pretty little cunt?"

You shuddered, clenching hard in anticipation, nodding as you leaned closer, grazing your lips against his, panting heavily into his mouth.

"I want to hear you say it," he growled, one hand sliding up beyond your shoulders to grip the back of your neck, locking your gaze onto his. "Beg me to fuck you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, entire body vibrating. "Please-Theo, please fuck me..."

"No, no," he playfully clucked his tongue, delivering a sharp smack to your ass with his free hand. You instinctively clenched again, the sensation electrifying. "In Italian."

"Gods," you groaned, his ceaseless teasing consistently pushing you to the brink of physical exhilaration in all the most delightful ways. Fortunately, this was a phrase he had taught you from the very beginning, a linguistic lesson that lingered since day one. "Per favore-per favore...ho bisogno di te..." (please-please…I need you.)

He exhaled, grunting. "Good girl."

It was a combined effort--he fisted his length, angling it at your core, your hands clutching his shoulders as you sank onto him, his thick girth stretching you wide with ease. You both collectively groaned, your walls pulsing and clenching around him as you took a second to adjust to his length, before rocking your hips in a slow, erotic rhythm; working yourself open on his cock.

Theo's eyes were glued to yours, watching your every movement as though he was afraid he'd miss something if he looked away. With a grunt, his big hands found your tits, palming and groping at the soft flesh with primal urgency, brushing his thumbs against your nipples, teasing them with soft circles. Your eyes rolled, your head falling back on your shoulders as you increased your pace, soft moans slipping past your lips.

"Esatto, piccola angioletta...così perfetta..." (That's right, little angel... so perfect) he murmured, his voice low, torn with husk. "You're so goddamn tight...squeezing me so good...così buono."

"Gods, Theo..." you whimpered, relishing in how deep he was, how big. "You're so fucking big."

Your boyfriend's hands shifted again, finding your hips, sharp fingernails digging into your skin as he thrust upward to match your movements, his cock hitting all the right spots. Your own fingers burrowed into his shoulders while you throbbed around him, lungs desperate for air, and he snarled, increasing his movements, setting a brutal pace that you couldn't match.

Cries fled you, pushed from your lungs by the carnal force of his hips, and Theodore consumed you--lips sucking at your neck, hands bearing bruises into your ass. His dick stretched you wide, fucked you deep, wracking your body with its punishment, breasts bouncing, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your skin.

You tilted your head back, his fervent mouth tracing down to your collarbone, claiming his territory across as much of your skin as possible. His cock pumped into you, beckoning an orgasm from the bottom of your brain--and as if sensing your clit screaming for attention, his hand snaked between your legs, fingers smoothly gliding over it. In response, you squealed, digging your nails into his shoulders with enough force to shatter the skin, body awash with pleasure.

"That's it, amore..." he groaned, breathless, teeth nipping at your earlobe, free hand gripping your ass with enough force to batter the skin. "Ride me like the good little whore you are."

"Fuck-fuck yes," you cried, your hips moving faster, chasing your orgasm as Theo's fingers rubbed tighter circles against your clit, increasing their relentless pursuit in bringing you over the edge. "Don't stop, Theo-fuck, please don't stop..."

"I won't, my love," he murmured, lips pressed against your ear, breathing the words into your eardrums. "Wouldn't fucking dream of it."

Theo's fingers worked magic on your clit as he thrust up into your cunt faster, harder--his cock hitting your g-spot with each aggressive movement. You could feel the pressure building inside your core, your body coiling like a tightly wound spring as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Theo-" you gasped, your voice practically a scream. "I'm going to-I'm going-"

"Going to what, principessa...hm?" He implored, his voice a low, husky whisper escaping through his teeth; your entire essence pulsating, trembling amid his passionate pursuit. "Verrai per me? That tight little pussy going to cum on my cock?"

You wailed, head falling back, chest swelling for air. "Yes!...Theo-please!"

"Fallo. Cum for me." He graced your ass with another harsh smack, placing wet, sloppy kisses against your jawline. "Let me feel you."

With only a few more strokes, you came undone, cunt clamping around his cock, your whole body shaking as your orgasm washed over your entirety, blazing through every nerve ending and every fucking cell. Theo's fingers continued to rub you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were left gasping for breath, nothing more than babbling nonsensical moans and pleas leaving your lips in the aftermath of his wrath.

Theo grunted, finally peeling his hand off your clit once you were whimpering and squirming against him, gripping the back of your head and drawing your mouth to his, meeting your lips in a sloppy wet kiss, each of you sucking in sharp breaths through your nostrils as you continued to ride him, your walls tingling in post orgasmic rapture.

"Brava ragazza," he moaned into your mouth, his body shaking with the force of his impending release. "So fucking good, bambina."

His movements grew erratic, hips bucking hard as he struggled to hold off his own orgasm, the force of his pace bordering on violent. You gasped, squealed, held onto him for dear life as you rode him, attempting to match his pace, but he was possessed, starved, breaking the kiss to lean back, both hands gripping your hips, holding you steady.

"You want my cum, little slut? Hm?" He gritted out, forehead glistening with sweat, his pupils blown wide with lust. "You want me to fill up this tight little cunt?"

You gasped, nodding frantically. "Yes! Please-please!"

"fuck...I'm gonna cum..." his lids fluttered, dark eyebrows pinching in concentration, his face contorting into a scowl of effort. "Cristo-you feel così buono-shit.."

With a final thrust, he growled, groaned--his movements slowing, breath sputtering from his lungs as he exploded, pumping once, twice, three times--all before coming to a halt, cock twitching inside you as he drained his hot cum deep into your pussy. Sweat beaded each of your foreheads, bliss buzzing between your bodies as you kissed him softly, panting into his mouth as you each worked silently to come back down to earth, pulses pounding in ruthless rhythm.

Spent and fully sated, Theo cradled the back of your head, pulling you into him, his free arm snaking around your back. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him inside you as you two stayed like that for a moment, relishing in the intimacy between your bodies as he softened, his lips placing tender kisses on your shoulder.

"Ho voluto scoparti tutto il giorno..." he murmured softly, a hint of amusement in his tone as he repeated the words he knew you had no idea of their meaning. "sei tutto ciò a cui riesco a pensare."

"Stop teasing me." You huffed, burying your face into the crook of his neck. "It's not very nice of you, Theo..."

He chuckled, a low hum from deep in his chest, smirking against your skin as he tightened his grip around you, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

“I wanted to fuck you all day...” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “You’re all I can think about..."

You pulled back, meeting his stormy eyes. "Is that-"

"Yes." He interrupted you with a gentle kiss, smiling against your lips. "That's what I said."

[medicinemane]

Oh hey, fairylights mod updated to 1.19 back in november... neat

Now I just need to figure out the biome thingy and technically I can work on this project whenever. Maybe next year I'll have a nice village to wander around in

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

@the-haiku-bot

"-wonderful

-delightful

-poetic”

“our best friend on tumblr.com!! i love you i love you i love you!!”

“Haiku bot my friend, my heart and my soul you keep, you bring so much joy.”

“"They're a bot though!" But they're also the OG. Haiku Bot has been there throughout it all. Haiku has always been there for us. We would be nothing without Haiku Bot.”

“The one time it said something on its own, it was to tell us that it loves us.”

@official-linguistics-post

“This blog gives me the warm fuzzies as a kid of linguists - we love a non-prescriptivist icon”

“Language is fun, and I think we all ought to know more about it! The official blog is also fighting the good fight against the “chat is a pronoun” debacle, as that is misinformation. And based on how much that blog has had to dedicate to that, it looks utterly exhausting. Keep your head high, official-linguistics-blog, I believe in you <3”

[otto-s-alskling]

John Price X Reader

Fluff. Just. Freaking cotton ball fluff.

Captain John Price was never one to go aggressively court a lady, no no. He's too old fashioned for that Gen Z energy. But he definitely is one for the long game. Always praising you casually with "Nice job" and "Well done" and "Couldn't have done it without ya." Which slowly evolved to "That's great, sweetheart" to more questionable ones like "Nice one, Lovie." It lowkey made you wonder how many endearments can one man use before he uses "that phrase."

It was hard to know when really. It was a slow night at the office and Price was busy with the last of the paperworks. Of course, the little sweetheart that you are, you stayed behind as well and brought him coffee.

"Hi, Cap... Thought you'd want a bit of coffee for a lil pick-me-up?"

Price smiled at the sweet gesture, immediately putting out the cigar that he had and waving away the smoke that linger.

"Thanks, Lovie. Can you put it here?"

You nodded and approached his desk, putting the cup of coffee (black with just a bare hint of sugar to cut the full bitterness) when he gestured for you to come closer a bit. I complied, glancing at the files that he needed a bit of help with, some french files that needed translation. Being the linguistics expert, you immediately moved to his side.

You were looking down on the papers to try to read it when his hand landed on your waist, making you sit on the armrest of his chair as you translate the papers for him. That's how you worked that night, sitting on the armrest with his arm around your waist on the last one hour you two are there, his thumb drawing circles on your waist as you diligently translate the papers on his tablet there.

This became a routine until one night he just straight up pulled you into his lap when he was extremely tired, using your back and shoulder as his pillow and his arms are wrapped around your waist tightly. You let the poor Captain be, your heart unable to say no, not when he asked oh so nicely to use you as a pillow for a bit. So he snoozed as you sat on his lap, trying not to think too much of it as you worked on the tablet. You did suggest him sleeping in the couch on his office but he didn't want that because that meant not being close to you. He doubted that you'd want to let him cuddle you at that stage anyway, so he was fine with this.

Thus the new addition to your routine. He'd get you on his lap at wee hours at night, both of you working, sometimes him napping, and that's basically it... For now anyways. It got a few eyebrows raised, especially to Gaz who's curious on how slow can a slow burn be. And you never get up from his lap either unless he had to actively talk with the other person on the room. You just stay on his lap, perched like a pretty little cat as you type and whoever was delivering some paperwork to Price would see it and you just... Don't seem to care, especially when Price tightens his hold whenever anyone arrive.

Then came a time when YOU were the one exhausted and against better judgement, fell asleep on his lap, curled up on him upon his insistence. This one really takes the cake because some Taskforce members, Gaz, Soap and Ghost had to be there for a small discussion and had to awkwardly talk in hushed voices because Price refused to wake you up and maybe convince you to go to bed. No, no, that would mean you'd be far away from him and he wants you to get used to being with him all the time. Gaz fought a snicker halfway into the discussion when you nuzzled closer to Price and he blushed. The man himself blushed and you had no clue it was happening.

Lowkey, it was entertaining and kind of weird to see, the three members choosing to face each other instead so they wouldn't have to get caught up in trying to stare at you and him and wonder if you're even aware of the Captain's feelings or if you're just going with the flow with him.

Things did suddenly change when the team got back from a hard mission and Price immediately looked for you after getting rid of his gear. He found you in his office, doing some filing. After locking the door, he just pulled you into his arms and laid down on the couch with you with a soft gruff "Come here please". You looked at him as he held onto you, his head on your chest, before slowly hugging him back, running your fingers through his hair as his ragged breaths changed slowly and he relaxed, the tension leaving him as you gently played with his hair.

It felt intimate and reassuring to him, and he just stayed there, using you as a pillow as he tried to forget and let go whatever it was that happened on the field. For the first time, you two actually cuddled and fell asleep together, the exhaustion claiming Price fast while you slowly dozed off after watching him sleep for some time.

After a few hours, he stirred awake. Price knew that this is wrong. That he is your superior and that he shouldn't even be looking at you like this but how can he not when you looked so sweet sleeping underneath him? He couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but plant a soft kiss on your cheek before going back to sleep again and hope you wouldn't mind the surprisingly high amount of comfort that he's getting just from holding you close like this.

This man has me on a chokehold and I've watched too many shows and movies with him in it. #shameless

[notjustjavierpena]

The Making of Ellie - Part I: Baby-Making

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This DILF!Joel piece has rotted my brain for 24 hours straight. I have had absolutely no break from thinking about this, and it’s never been easier to write something.

Summary: A look into how you and Joel’s relationship is going two years in. Joel’s POV on his never-ending love for you and his extreme baby fever.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel’s POV, domesticated Joel Miller, Sarah makes an appearance!!!, tooth-rotting love and fluff, they’re crazy about each other, talk about birth control and ovulation, pussy eating (joel is a cunning linguist), fingering, bit of praise kink, dirty talk, bit of body worship, breeding kink, daddy kink (if you squint real hard), slow and sensual piv sex, intense orgasms, creampie, God they are in love

Word count: 4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051

Song inspiration(!!!): Too Lost In You by Sugababes

Baby-Making

Joel comes home from work around the same time each day now — and it’s never after dinner time. He has made it his mission to make time for Sarah and you, cut down work since you moved in, because two working adults living in the house means that he can slow things down. 

His health has improved, his mood too, his fatigue has practically gone and Sarah has had more time to just be a kid, started playing soccer again, and has even taken up coaching the little league team now that she’s 16. It’s good for him. You are good for him. For both of them. 

He loves it. He takes the afternoon post-work ritual very seriously. Always texts if he should pick something up from the grocery store. Sometimes brings you flowers too, remembering that one time you’d said that you didn’t actually mind the cheap cellophane-wrapped bouquets. 

It’s interesting to him how natural it feels for him to slip right into domestic bliss with you because he never thought that he would get there again after Sarah’s mother. On top of it, he never considered himself a gentle thing, but after you, it’s like you kiss the calluses of him away. He is nothing but gentle now, even in his roughness. 

He throws the keys onto the side table by the front door after arriving home, shrugs off his jacket, and bends down to take off his boots. The sound makes you appear in the doorway. Joel notices that you’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a tank top with a strawberry on it since arriving home, basically removed anything from you that is professional and uncomfortable. Joel loves you like this because he is the only one who gets to enjoy you like this; relaxed and beautiful, hair in a messy bun on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your always-cold feet. He smiles at your radiance, then pads across the floor to kiss you hello. 

There’s something in your eyes; a flicker of mischief as you grab his wrist to look at his watch. With a grin that nearly sets his heart into overdrive, you hold his hand up so he can look at the time too. 

“It’s five minutes past,” you tut.

“Right, but I got ya something,” he says, reluctantly turning away from you to rummage through his jacket pocket. He fishes out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and you immediately snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest.

“Gremlin,” he teases and you stick out your tongue at him, “No needa hide it. ‘S too sweet for me anyway.” 

“I shall save it for later then,” you walk to the kitchen and open the top cabinet that holds the mugs. You stand on your toes to reach into the very back, shirt riding up just a little, and stash the chocolate cup for later consumption.  

“Hidden from Sa-rah, the candy thief,” you purposely pronounce her name wrong for dramatic purposes. Then you lower yourself onto the soles of your feet again, not bothering to pull your top down again. Joel watches the slight reveal of the dimples on your back.

“Right,” he chuckles. 

Dear Lord, he loves you so much that it is ridiculous. In a way that makes the future look better than it ever has because it’s no longer filled with uncertainty. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll build a house for the three of you, he’ll marry you in the Texan spring and he’ll give you as many babies as you want. He’d do it all today if he could. 

“How was work?” You interrupt his thoughts by wrapping your soft hands around the nape of his neck, resting them there. You have rosy cheeks, feel warm against his skin, with love radiating from your fingertips. 

“Good, told Tommy to handle the next few clients. Some hotshot guy comin’ into the office tomorrow,” Joel tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He thinks that you don’t actually care about any of this, but there’s no indication of boredom on your face.

“He building a castle or something?” You ask. 

“Somethin’ like that. Guy’s filthy rich but not from his own doin’, looking at blueprints at the end of the week. Should be interesting,” he continues, “Not that you care about that.”

“I do actually like hearing about your job,” you kiss him on the lips, peck them repeatedly until he cannot help himself and lifts you up to hug you tight. His arms rest along your back and his hands on your sides, fingers sprawled out underneath where your bra had been in the morning. You must’ve taken it off too. He loves you comfortable. 

“You just love my hands,” he retorts, nose against your cheek, “Don’t deny it. I see right through ya.”

“It’s definitely not completely wrong,” you admit when he sets you down again.

You walk back to the kitchen, too tempted by the knowledge of what is in your kitchen cabinet. You only take half, proclaiming some bullshit that you have to watch out for your blood sugar since one can never know when it’s going to get you.

Joel rolls his eyes, following you, “I can give ya some sugar.”

“Joel Miller!” You pretend to look shocked. He tastes the peanut butter in your mouth, pushes you against the counter. 

“Gross,” a teenage girl’s voice says.

“Oh right, Sarah’s home,” you announce sheepishly.

Joel pulls away to look at his daughter, “Hey kiddo. How was school?”

“You don’t care about that,” she smirks, “But if you must know, it was fine. No homework.” 

“That don’t sound like Mrs. uhhh…”

“Green, it’s Ms. Green, Dad,” Sarah says dramatically as she moves across the floor to put on shoes. Her tone turns taunting, “Go ahead and make out with your girlfriend. I’m going to soccer practice.”

“Have fun, Sarah! We’ll have dinner ready,” you chime in. 

“See ya, honey.”

The door closes behind her. The house grows quiet for a moment, but then the mischief is back in your eyes, “She’s seeing a boy.”

Joel nearly gets whiplash, not sure why his pulse spikes. He trusts his daughter to make good decisions and has taught her how since she was just a baby, “Nah, she ain’t. Just said she’s going to soccer practice.”

“Joel,” you sigh loudly, “It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“She has practice on Thursdays.” 

“Christ,” he runs a hand over his stubble, tries to keep his composure, and ignores the urge to send her a text. 

“But you know what?” You’re back in his personal space, tugging at his arms to make him hold you close again, “Such a fun coincidence. I’m also seeing a boy.”

Joel can feel the tension seeping out of him in an instant.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m seein’ a girl. She’s real pretty,” he wishes that he could show his past self how tooth-rottingly sweet he is being with you because he’d hate it. Though if past-Joel found out who he was treating like this, he’d instantly become a goner just like present-Joel is now. 

“‘S her sweet tooth, unhinged behavior that I love the most though,” he continues. 

You whine in his arms, lean your head back and it earns you a kiss on your neck, “Don’t be like that. Not when I’m ovulating. I’ll climb you like a tree.”

Oh.

Oh.

It may seem innocent but Joel knows this is how you play dirty. It suddenly explains a lot. The sweatpants, the rosy cheeks, the way you glow, no bra, the cravings, why Joel wants you so bad.

Joel wouldn’t say that he is controlled by biology, and he hates the men trying to argue their way out of acting like cavemen. But looking at you right now in your stupid strawberry tank top, knowing that you’re horny and ready because your body wants to make him a daddy... Joel’s head swims. 

Something shifts in the air. You can see it on him, but Joel assumes that you wait for him to act on whatever is bubbling up in his chest and below his belt.

And act, he does. He distracts you with deep, long kisses until he can snatch you up from the ground and carry you upstairs. You squeak out a giggle but don’t fight back, enjoying the freedom of being alone with him.

“That’s why you’re so fucking sexy,” Joel says after placing you on your shared bed. He is already shedding himself of his shirt, undressing hurriedly to get close to your skin with his own as quickly as possible.

You crawl back on the bed, untying the strings of your sweatpants and yanking them down your legs. You match his urgency, but still decide to tease him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut your mouth,” he yanks the rest of your pants off as soon as he is naked in front of you. He throws them in the pile of his own clothes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, dirty girl.”

You’re just about to take your top off before Joel stops you with a hand curled around the hem. He knows you’re sensitive at this point in your cycle, but it’s not why he wants to keep it on, “I love how cute you are in this shirt. Keep it on like this.” 

He crawls properly onto the bed to demonstrate and tugs the shirt up over your tits so he can still see the stupid animated fruit on the front. Afterward, he tugs your panties down your legs and off your feet. He will swear to a higher power that he can even smell it on you, sweet like strawberries and honey between your legs and it makes him feel like an animal. 

He has had baby fever for a while now, even told you his plans on giving you a whole bunch of babies and you’ve merely giggled at him, especially when he told you that twins don’t run in his family, but he is sure that nature will give him a whole litter with you. 

“Want me to eat you out?” He asks to which you whimper and nod. He doesn’t give you what you want right then and there, instead climbs up to cradle your head in his hands and gives you a long, slow kiss. He sucks on your tongue, hums into your mouth, and gets you worked up and wet before he’ll treat you right. 

“Tell me,” he says when he breaks the kiss, nosing along the bunched-up fabric of his new favorite top of yours. He sucks at the skin between your breasts, places open-mouthed kisses along the swell of the left whilst cupping the right. 

“I want you to eat my pussy,” you moan softly, running a hand over his hair as he licks a nipple. You slide your fingers into it, but you don’t tug at it unless you feel like you need to hold onto it for dear life. 

“God, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls before going further down your body, his spit leaving a shine where his mouth has been, “Can’t believe I own these tits.”

He goes further down, lets out a satisfied noise when he can see between your legs, “—and this pussy.” 

“Yes, it’s yours, fuck, baby,” you sound delirious already, happy and eager to be touched, on the verge of a giggle even, “Joel, need your mou—“

You gasp loudly into the quiet bedroom. Joel has covered you with his mouth, eyes almost rolling back into his skull at the taste of your ripe cunt. He is too lost in you, a complete idiot with how head over heels he is for you, and he shows it by devouring you like he is starved. 

“Baby!” You cry out, sensitive, “Fuuuck— just like that!”

He watches your thighs twitch in his peripheral, holds you down by placing a strong hand just below your belly button, and uses his thumb on said hand to pull the hood of your clit back. He sucks the little now-hard nub into his mouth, sending you into a state where he is unsure if you can even sense the sheets underneath you. If you had superpowers, he surely would’ve made you lift off the bed as if you were possessed. 

He bobs his head a little, probably looking obscene as he hums against your clit and wiggles his head too. He looks up at you through his lashes, sees the red flush on your chest, and knows that you are close. Christ, he hasn’t been this into someone before. 

“I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ you say like always, announcing your departure from reality. He keeps going, feeling your stomach jump in a stuttering manner underneath his palm with how uneven your breathing has become. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” You sob with a yank of Joel’s hair and suddenly your thighs are shaking violently without your control. Joel can feel you coming before you announce it, your cunt clenching rapidly against his lips and your clit pulsing in his mouth as he sucks your folds into his mouth. You taste so good as a gush on slick smears his lips and chin even more. He laps it up.

You push him away when he gets too much, and he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh. You finally release the giggle that you’ve been suppressing, drunk on dopamine and Joel falls in love with you a bit more. 

“You’re fucking incredible,” you say. The hand in his hair slides down so you can affectionately run your knuckles over his cheek. He responds by gently rubbing your thighs, soothing you on top of putting such strain on your heart and your breath. You hum, “I love you so much.”

Without warning, he smacks your thigh and you sit up straight. He grins, “Love ya too, sweetheart. Think you can give me one more before I fuck ya?”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” You ask genuinely as you lower onto your back again. 

“Wanna fuck a baby into you,” he replies, voice an octave lower than normal. He senses your shiver without having to look at your face, “Please. Wanna get her red and puffy so it fucking sticks.” 

You let out an involuntary moan at the idea. You want this as much as him, he hopes, and he slides two fingers into your neglected pussy whilst he waits for the green light to fill you up. He crooks them upwards, fingers the spongy spot that only seems to have been discovered by him, “Lemme in. Lemme come in you.”

You’ve been off the pill for a while with the reasoning that it wasn’t doing any good for your body. Joel had stocked up on condoms since then, actually filled the top drawer of his nightstand to the brim because honey, we’re young and healthy, red-blooded Americans. But it had planted the idea in his mind that he could potentially knock you up, and suddenly the stash of condoms was being used rapidly. 

“Okay,” you say with a half-moan, “Fuck, okay.”

Joel immediately sits up on his knees, still fucking you open on his hand. You squirm underneath his touch, trying to get a hold of your breathing this time, holding eye contact with him as he drags another orgasm from you. 

It is much less hurried and a lot more intense, muscles clamping down on his digits rhythmically as you bite your lip and close your eyes with a soft gasp. He can’t decide if he finds this more sexy. 

“Did you mean it?” He asks as he trails kisses up your belly. He kneels between your legs and places an elbow on either side of your chest so he can hold both your breasts in his hands. He squeezes them together, sucks on a nipple until you sigh deeply, and then watches them bounce back into place. 

“Yes,” you say and your voice doesn’t sound unsure at all, “Fuck yes, I want your babies. Wanted them since I saw you. Want you to make me a mommy.”

“The prettiest momma out there,” he says, euphoria evident on his face. He slides his arms underneath you, rests his head on your breasts, and hugs you close to his chest, “Wanna fuck ya.”

“Please,” you say softly, spreading your legs open for him but he has other plans. He releases you from his arms to sit up again, spreading his knees a little. His hands wrap around your ankles to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your feet behind his ears. He leans over you afterward and bends your flexible legs backward until the front of his thighs are against the back of yours. He can go deep like this, fill you up with his come how he has wanted to for months.

He takes hold of his cock, eases it inside of your spent and warm cunt inch by inch. You feel incredible around his dick without a piece of rubber separating the two of you. He can feel the head of his dick nudge at your cervix, moaning quietly as he is engulfed by your wet, pulsating heat. 

“How are you still so fucking tight?” He groans, resting his forehead against your calf as he gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch. He knows he is big, gets a thrill out of how well you take him each time as if you were made specifically for him. There had been one time where he’d called you a trooper, and you had laughed so hard with his dick inside you that it had made him come. 

“You feel so big like this,” you say as you look down between the two of you, already sounding out of breath. Joel kisses your calf repeatedly and softly, trying to soothe your overwhelmed body. 

“Goddamn. You’re so sexy,” he praises, placing both hands on the sides of your head so he is hovering above you. He finds your hazy eyes, “Look at you.” 

He gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes you whimper, both hands reaching for the backs of his knees. You hold onto him, staring up into his eyes with that siren-like look in them, and then you moan softly.

Joel starts fucking you desperately at that. He doesn’t hurry though, keeps his hips’ movements slow and sensual to have you moaning and gasping ever so slightly at the intensity. He knows he could just give in and fuck you rough and fast, but the heavy-lidded gaze that you are giving him with your mouth hanging open is too good to spoil. 

“Joel,” you cry but it’s barely audible compared to what he sometimes drags from you. He can feel your nails dig into the flexing muscles of his thighs, creating half-moon shapes in the flesh. He switches to a rocking motion, and it sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You moan with your bottom lip between your teeth, “Mhm—“

“I know, baby, let it out,” he can see your pulse jumping wildly underneath the sensitive skin of your neck, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool at the base of his spine. He needs to be closer to you. 

“Lift your legs down to the sides,” he tells you gently, thrusts coming to a halt and him realizing that you’ve heard absolutely nothing. He repeats himself, waits for you to follow his instructions, and then hooks his arms underneath your knees. 

Joel gets closer to you by resting his weight on his elbows, his own body on top of your slightly contorted one. You reach for him, grabby hands in the air until he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. You cradle his face, make him feel safe in your arms. 

“I love you, baby,” he breathes deeply. The new position gives him an opportunity to reach deeper inside of you, and it’s accompanied by each upward snap of his pelvis causing his cockhead to push into your g-spot. It makes it difficult for you to continue kissing him, eventually simply breathing into his mouth as he has you speared on his dick. Never once do you let go of his face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and tip of your nose against his. 

“I love you,” you whisper, unable to catch your breath. Joel can feel your walls flutter around his dick, threatening to pull his own climax from him too soon. You pant, eyes burning, “You— baby, shit… you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” He speeds up a little, carding a hand through your hair and gently tugging on the bun. He coaxes you, “Gonna milk my cock into you? Make me a daddy?”

“Yeah,” you whimper wantonly, tightening your legs into his sides as you try moving with him, “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you a daddy! Fuckfuckfuck. Ah— I’m, I—“

Joel doesn’t know if he’s ever made you come like this; without all the muscle and rough touches, without the fast-paced snaps of his hips and the foul taunting from his mouth of how dirty you are. But come you do, with your brows furrowed, gaze on his and a controlled breathing that suddenly becomes erratic and uneven after you let out a high-pitched cry. 

“That’s it,” he admires you, “So good f’me.”

You clamp down on his cock so hard that he sees stars, fucks you through each convulsion of your cunt. His mouth drips with filth as he works himself toward his own pleasure, “You make me so fucking horny, baby. Wanna knock— ngh, wanna knock this pretty pussy up all the time. Give ya a whole fuckin’ litter.”

He tips over the edge not long after, heart pounding in his chest and the sensation in his balls tightening. He releases with a groan, settles deep inside of you to make sure he doesn’t waste a single drop. His orgasm pulses through his cock, swirls in his belly, and warms the small of his back. 

“Fuuuck,” he pants. He carefully removes his arms from underneath your legs before he collapses, allowing you to stretch out underneath him. You look completely fucked out, gasping feebly as he teasingly gives you another thrust before pulling out. 

You wrap your arms around him as he falls onto you, nose against the shell of his ear. He can barely lift his head when you speak, humming into your neck that vibrates as you talk, “You think other people have sex this good?”

“Nah, ‘s why everyone is so fuckin’ miserable, why they gotta build mansions with their parents’ money,” he murmurs. 

“Stop thinking about the hotshot client in bed,” you tease as you cradle his head in your arms, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. It seems you cannot get close enough, “You should only think about sticky, sweaty me.”

Joel finds that he doesn’t care about sticky, sweaty skin and you feeling like a furnace after three orgasms. He lays with you like this for a while, sure that you’ve drifted off to sleep at one point, until you push at his shoulder, voice back to your normal pitch as the post-orgasmic bliss has faded slowly, “Gotta pee.” 

“Sure,” he rolls off of you. The sight of your waddle to the bathroom makes him smile, eyes following the way the fleshiest part of your ass and thighs jiggle with each step. 

When you’ve closed the door behind you, Joel finds the strength to rid the bed of the dirty sheets and start dressing again. He’ll have a shower before bed, he decides, ignoring the sensitivity of sliding on boxers and jeans again. 

Hurriedly, he bounces down the stairs to the kitchen. He gets the rest of your peanut butter cup, places it on the nightstand with your clothes right beside it. 

He checks the time. There’s no point in trying to cook something up for dinner if Sarah is home from ‘practice’ soon, so he goes down into the kitchen to order pizza, heart thrumming in his chest as he hears you shout a thank you from upstairs at the discovery of the other half of your favorite snack. He is happy. So so happy.

Especially as he writes ‘pregnancy test’ into his Notes app shopping list.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[cherryredlove]

☆ Gods Bless Alicent ☆

Modern!au Gwayne Hightower x Reader

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• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

Your best friend Alicent invites you to her 24th birthday party. Despite being friends with her for so long, you finally meet her older brother Gwayne at one of the hottest parties of the year.

Word count: 1.8k

Themes: fluffy, content warning of alcohol and cigars/cigarettes, the SMALLEST drop of spiciness

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The invitation came two weeks ago, a luxurious cream-colored card with a gold-embossed crest. It was unmistakably Alicent Hightower’s style: elegant, formal, and a touch extravagant. Alicent always had a flair for the dramatics.

Alicent was your best friend since your university days. You'd lived together in student halls first year and stuck by each other ever since, suffering through hangovers and linguistics classes together. Godsdamn Valyrian was hard to learn.

When she mentioned that her 24th birthday party would be *the* event of the year, you expected nothing less than a grand affair. She was planning a celebration at her family’s mansion, complete with a guest list full of the coolest who’s who in Westeros and enough booze to get everyone thoroughly inebriated.

You decided to dress the part, slipping into a sleek black dress that hugged your curves just right. You paired it with silver heels and a clutch that matched. Your hair was done in the way Rhaenyra said was very fetching, and you had those diamond earrings Mysaria gave you for Christmas last year on. After checking yourself in the mirror one last time, you headed to the Hightower mansion, excitement tingling in your veins.

As you approached the grand entrance, you were greeted by the soft glow of string lights that draped over the sprawling garden and the subtle hum of music seeping from the house. The scene was already buzzing with energy; laughter and conversation mingled with the scent of barbecue (wagyu meat, of course) and the faint aroma of expensive cigars.

Alicent spotted you the moment you walked through the door. She looked stunning in an emerald green dress that made her eyes pop like bright jewels against her porcelain skin. Her auburn hair was styled in loose waves, framing her face perfectly.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, weaving through the crowd to wrap you in a tight hug. “You made it!”

“Of course I did,” you laughed, hugging her back. “I wouldn’t miss your party for anything.”

Alicent pulled back, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Come on, let me introduce you to everyone.”

The mansion was a sprawling labyrinth of luxury. Guests gathered in the expansive living room, on the patio, and around the pool in the backyard. As Alicent guided you through the throng, you recognized several faces from university and others from various social gatherings. Laena waved at you as she chatted to and shared a cig with Criston, who gave you a big smile and a wink as he sipped a fruity-looking cocktail.

The Targaryens were there in force—Rhaenyra, with her striking platinum hair, was animatedly chatting with her husband, Laenor Velaryon. Alicent had informed you of their 'arrangement' that suited them and their law firm just fine. In fact, you were pretty sure Nyra and Alicent had dallied around in the past (and present) together. Daemon Targaryen, the notorious bad boy, was lounging by the pool, an amused smirk playing on his lips as he puffed a Cubana cigar. However, there was only one man who Alicent wanted you to talk to that night.

“Y/N, meet my brother Gwayne,” Alicent said, pulling you towards a tall, striking man with broad shoulders and an easy smile. He had the same auburn hair as Alicent, though his was cut shorter and a bit unruly. His hazel eyes were warm and inviting, carrying a hint of mischief that was instantly captivating. He wore a crisp white shirt and grey slacks, the undone collar buttons making your heart race a little. You spy a chain with a ring around his neck and a swanky wristwatch.

“Hey,” Gwayne greeted, offering his hand. His voice was smooth, with a playful lilt that sent a shiver down your spine. “Alicent’s told me a lot about you.”

You shook his hand, trying to ignore the tingling sensation his touch left on your skin. “All good things, I hope.”

“All good, I promise,” he replied, his smile widening.

Alicent grinned knowingly. “I can't believe you haven't met before! I’ll leave you two to chat,” she said with a wink before disappearing into the crowd, clearly intent on matchmaking.

“So, how are you enjoying the party?” Gwayne asked, leaning against the bar with an effortless charm.

“It’s amazing,” you admitted, glancing around at the lively atmosphere. “Alicent really knows how to throw a party.” You remember the simple days of pre-drinks at the flat, trying to down as much cheap wine as possible before hitting your favoured club, the Dragon Pit.

“She does,” Gwayne agreed, nodding towards the expansive patio. “Have you tried the drinks yet? We’ve got a special cocktail menu for the occasion.”

You shook your head, and he offered you his arm. “Come on, let’s get you something.”

You followed him to the bar, where he ordered two drinks, an Iron Islands ice tea and a Stormlands sangria, explaining the mix of flavours and how they were inspired by the Seven Kingdoms. It was evident he knew his way around a party just as much as his sister did. As you sipped on the concoction—a mix of sweet, tangy, and a hint of spice—you found yourself relaxing, drawn in by Gwayne’s easy conversation and the comfortable vibe he exuded.

He asked about your work and your interests and seemed genuinely interested in your answers. As the night wore on, the initial nervousness you felt in his presence melted away, replaced by a growing sense of comfort and attraction.

You noticed the way Gwayne’s eyes lingered on you, the subtle brush of his hand against yours as you stood close, and the warmth of his gaze when you laughed at his jokes. The chemistry between you was undeniable, an electric current that thrummed beneath the surface of every exchanged glance and shared smile. The way you easily laughed and joked after a couple of shared kamikaze shots with only the finest of Vale vodka made your heart soar.

“Come on!”Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the crowd, pulling your attention to the pool area, where the jacuzzi was bubbling invitingly. She beckoned the large group you were stood with over, waving her hand dramatically. “Time for some real fun!” she wiggled her eyebrows at you, and you snorted loudly.

Gwayne arched an eyebrow at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “What do you say? Fancy a dip?”

The idea of the jacuzzi sounded appealing, and the thought of being closer to Gwayne was even more tempting. “Why not?” You agreed, feeling a thrill of excitement.

Alicent had thought of everything, including a changing area near the pool with an array of swimwear for guests to choose from. After picking out a green metallic bikini, you changed quickly and stepped out into the warm night air.

Gwayne was already waiting, having swapped his party clothes for swim trunks. His toned physique was impossible to ignore, and as you approached, he flashed you a grin that made your heart race. You melted at the sight of his muscled arms. If you swooned publicly over your bestie's brother, Gods knows you'd never hear the end of it.

The jacuzzi was an oasis of warmth, and as you sank into the bubbling water beside Gwayne, you felt the party energy really start to flow. You were surrounded by laughter and chatter, the air thick with the smell of camaraderie that was both intoxicating and freeing. Or maybe that was the smell of Daemon offering you a cigarette.

As the conversation flowed, Gwayne moved closer, his knee brushing against yours beneath the water. “So, what do you think?” he asked, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"About the jacuzzi or the company?" you teased, meeting his gaze.

“Both.”

You laughed softly, feeling bold and buoyed by the evening’s energy and copious booze. “The jacuzzi is great, but the company is definitely the highlight.”

His eyes darkened slightly, a pleased smile playing on his lips. “I’m glad to hear that.” Godsdammit, he was hot when he was smug.

For a moment, you forgot about the rest of the party, lost in the connection you felt with Gwayne. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble.

Alicent appeared at the edge of the jacuzzi, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. “Are you two enjoying yourselves?” she asked, a knowing look in her eyes.

Gwayne shot her an exasperated look, rolling his eyes. “Yes, Alicent, we’re enjoying ourselves.” You giggled at his sass, and he laughed easily.

She laughed, too, glancing between you two. “Good. I'm just making sure.” With a wink, she left, leaving you and Gwayne in your bubbly little corner.

“Your sister seems intent on playing matchmaker,” you observed, leaning back against the side of the jacuzzi.

Gwayne shrugged, his gaze steady on yours. “She means well. But I’m not complaining.”

The admission sent a pleasant flutter through your chest. The more time you spent with him, the more you realized how much you enjoyed his presence—the way he made you laugh, the way he listened, and the way he made you feel as if you were the only person that mattered.

As the night deepened, the party’s energy shifted to a more relaxed, intimate vibe. The music softened, and the crowd thinned, leaving a more personal vibe.

Gwayne shifted closer, his expression serious but gentle. “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you tonight, Y/N.”

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the jacuzzi. “I’ve enjoyed it too, Gwayne.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “Would you be interested in going out sometime? Just the two of us?”

The question sent a thrill of anticipation through you, and you nodded, unable to suppress a smile. “I’d like that very much.”

His answering smile was a bright, genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “Great. It’s a date, then.

As the stars twinkled above and the sounds of the party faded into the background, Gwayne leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours. The world seemed to hold its breath as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss.

The kiss was everything you hoped it would be—gentle yet filled with a promise of more to come. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours for any hesitation, but all he found was an echo of his own eagerness. He leaned in again and kissed you, more fervent this time, and you whimpered lightly as his teeth grazed your bottom lip.

“I’ll call you,” he promised, his voice a low murmur that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your mind a whirlwind of possibilities. “I’ll be waiting.”

As the night wound down and you lingered in the warmth of the jacuzzi, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment and excitement for what lay ahead. Alicent’s party had indeed been one to remember, and she would be bragging for the rest of time about how it was her that set up the cutest couple in Westeros.

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AN: look the whole cast basically smokes, might as well be true to canon material lol. anyways i luv gwayne and i luv modern aus so expect lots more like this. as always send in requests plz i luv writing for people!

[synchodai]

Let's talk adaptation theory, because I've been seeing a lot of accusations that criticism of HotD is just "wanting it to be exactly like the books" and "book purists" not knowing what an adaptation is. So okay, let's talk about what an adaptation is, then.

I'll mostly be quoting from Linda Hutcheon's A Theory of Adaptation, because this is the first book most everyone reads when going into adaptation studies. Let's look at several ways we can approach and critique adaptation.

ADAPTATION AS INTERPRETATION

The adapted text, therefore, is not something to be reproduced, but something to be interpreted and recreated [...]

No one expects HotD to be a 1:1 reproduction of F&B. Hutcheon often compares adaptation to the process of linguistic translation, in that there will always be an inevitable loss of fidelity when translating from one language to another. However, the translator is still expected to provide an accurate representation of the source text — hence, adaptation as interpretation and recreation. Some may call this approach "fidelity criticism," an evaluation of quality based on how much the adaptation aligns with the source text.

("Fidelity criticism" is not what GRRM did. He didn't criticize the show simply because it differed from the books, and often even praises changes from the source material if it "strengthens" the impact of the work. His priority was never fidelity.)

This approach has its detractors, but there is merit to pointing out that HotD and its audience will have a difficult time interpreting and conveying F&B's message (story) if the showrunners actively take out key words (characters) and terminology (plot events). If we view adaptation as translation (from one medium to another), then the role of the adapter is to convey the intention and meaning of the source text as accurately as possible. And people do have a right to criticize "accuracy" of meaning if we see adaptation as a process of translation and remediation — which you are free not to, but some people DO come from this angle and are often dismissed as "book purists."

If you see adaptation as interpretation, are you a book purist? Perhaps, depending on what the definition of "book purist" is, but to make it clear, the people who are coming from this viewpoint clearly do not expect a blow-by-blow reproduction, and to argue that they do is dismissing a whole school of thought when it comes to adaptation.

ADAPTATION AS SUBSTITUTION

Another way to look at adaptation is through a "process of substitution." Pretty simple to understand, right? Prose that says "red dress" is substituted for an image of a white gown but with ruby embellishments, two characters are merged into one for the show, and Aemond and Aegon working together in Rook's Rest is substituted for the former betraying the latter. Your mileage may vary on whether you find these acceptable substitutions.

I believe this is the camp GRRM falls into. He brings up fidelity only insofar that he's concerned a lack of it will lead to poor and unacceptable substitutions.

How does one know if a substitution is "acceptable?" Well, I'd like to use the analogy Hutcheon brings up about surgery:

Usually adaptations, especially from long novels, mean that the adapter's job is one of subtraction or contraction; this is called "surgical art."

Good adaptations are like good surgeries: the body remains holistically intact and ideally functions better with the replacements and removals. Bad adaptations are like bad surgeries — hence the oft lobbied critique of an adaptation "butchering" the source material. The body of the adapted text cannot function on its own, being maimed or crippled by the adaptation process.

For example, the adaptational change of making Rhaenyra and Alicent the "heart" of the story has been discussed a lot by fans and critics. It was praised in the first season because it gave the story an intimate and personal "face." But it was lambasted in the second season because it actively deterred the plot progression, "crippling" the pace and stakes of the show.

In GRRM's case, his argument was that while Maelor was an unimportant part by himself, his presence was necessary for the continued function of other more vital organs. He goes on to suggest possible replacements and reprecussions upon the text as a whole. While he expresses disapproval that Maelor was removed in the first place and mentions other potentially "toxic" changes, there's also the (albeit wary) admission that Condal and his team could very still find acceptable substitutes that may stave off the damage he foresees being done to the body.

Again, this is valid criticism and a legitimate approach to HotD as an adaptation.

ADAPTATION AS AUTONOMOUS

Perhaps one way to think about unsuccessful adaptations is not in terms of infidelity to a prior text, but in terms of lack of creativity and skill to make the text one's own and autonomous.

Basically, this approach to adaptation asks, "Is the show still good by itself? Or does it fall apart without its source text and paratext (interviews, podcasts, press releases, etc.)?" This mode argues that adaptations cannot be simply sequels, prequels, or any sort of expansion of the source text. They must be separate retellings that actively evolve and mutate into a species that can survive on its own — mainly, that it adapts to a new context and audience so to speak.

A critique lobbied at the season two HotD finale was that its impact relied solely on the legacy of the prior show and the A Song of Ice and Fire mystery of who truly is The Prince That Was Promised. If the audience had no connection to Daenerys, no investment in the question of who truly was TPTWP, and never watched Game of Thrones, would Daemon's decision to finally devote himself to Rhaenyra make sense? Or does its emotional resonance rely solely on the audience's investment to another story that is not this one? Is it an adaptation of F&B or a prequel to GoT?

There's nothing wrong with it being a prequel, but if it was billed as an adaptation, then the audience has the right to feel misled because both conventional wisdom and esoteric theory agree that prequels are not adaptations. I think this is the school of thought most people subscribe to when they say HotD feels like "fanfiction" — because while fanfics CAN be written as adaptation (like modern AUs, video game novelizations, etc.), a vast majority of them are not. Most fanfics are grafted on expansions reliant on the source text for context.

This is all to say that a lot of criticism levied against the show, including GRRM's, can't be chalked up to "people not knowing what an adaptation is." There are several different ways to approach adaptation — the question is does HotD succeed in any of them?

[gummysharklover]

GUARDED HEARTS !

summary: ᯓ˚࿔ you get assigned a bodyguard; schlatt's not thrilled about who he's going to be working for

notes: ᯓ˚࿔ heres the fluff i promised! ᯓ˚࿔ bodyguard!schlatt x fem!pop star!reader (she/her prns) ᯓ˚࿔ some hurt/comfort ᯓ˚࿔ angst for one microsecond if you squint ᯓ˚࿔ pls lmk if youd like mini fics from this au! ᯓ˚࿔ SEPARATE FROM THE POP PRINCESS AU ᯓ˚࿔ not proofread!

wc: ᯓ˚࿔ 1.5k

Schlatt walks into his boss's office, "You needed me?" He grunts.

In amusement, his boss shakes his head, "I always love your sunny disposition."

Schlatt deadpans, "Get on with it, John."

"I have a new assignment for you. Have a seat," John gestures to the seat in front of his desk, "We have a lot to go over."

Schlatt takes the folder from John's outstretched hand. Flipping it open, he sees your face. He looks up at John with a scowl, "Really? Her? You want me to babysit a spoiled pop star?"

John sighs, "She's high profile, Schlatt. We need our best for this job, and that's you."

Schlatt rolls his eyes, lolling his head, "Fine."

John smiles, "Great! Let's go over the contract."

Schlatt internally groans. You're the last person he wants to spend time with.

You anxiously bounce your leg as you wait to meet your new bodyguard.

"Calm down," Your manager chides, sensing your fear, "I've heard amazing things about him. He's top of the line, apparently." She shrugs.

A gruff, tall man comes brooding into the room. He lumbers over to the chair across you, looking uninterested as he sits.

"Let's get this over with," He mutters.

You extend your arm, "Hi, I'm Y/n."

He rolls his eyes, ignoring your handshake, "Oh, I know. You're the most famous person right now, and I know that probably makes you think you're entitled to anything you want, but that's not how the world works, doll."

You reluctantly pull your hand back, "I— I don't think I'm entitled to anything," You stutter out.

He crosses his arms, scanning you up and down, trying to tell if you're being truthful, "You can call me Schlatt."

"Schlatt," You try the name, rolling the syllables on your tongue, "What is that? German?"

Schlatt scoffs, "Looks like Princess knows her linguistics."

"It's nice to meet you, Schlatt."

You try to ignore the sting as he turns to your manager, ignoring you completely.

"What do we have going on today?" He asks.

Your manager hands him the itinerary, "A lot. We have a meet and greet in an hour."

Schlatt scowls when he sees you, despising how nice you look in your pink frilly outfit.

"Well, aren't you a bundle of joy," You murmur as you walk by him.

"I'm supposed to be in front of you," He says as you begin walking.

"What if somebody attacks me from behind? I don't have eyes in the back of my head, Schlatt." You spit out at him.

"What about parting crowds?" He counters.

You roll your eyes, looking back at him, "You're not Moses. I'm capable of doing that myself."

"Okay." He scoffs.

Schlatt slowly loses his dignity as he trails behind you like a lost puppy. But he remembers he's at his job and stands up straight, taking confident strides. He's scanning your surroundings as you walk, ensuring you're not in danger. There are numerous fans that come up to you, more that call your name and wave to you from across the street. He takes note of every face, and that's when he notices the cameras. He attempts to cover his face to shield his identity. Still, there are cameras all around—from paparazzi to fans, people are taking pictures and videos of him, and he's not used to it. He's never been so exposed to the public, and he hates it.

Too caught up in his own head, he doesn't realize somebody has come up to you. The man asks for your autograph, and when you politely decline, his tone becomes aggressive.

"I have a pen," He states.

You nervously laugh, "I have somewhere to be."

The man scoffs, "You can't take one second out of your day to give me an autograph?"

"I believe she said no," Schlatt cuts into the conversation, "Like she said, we have somewhere to be and don't have time for autographs." He sternly looks at the man who scurries away.

You turn to look at Schlatt, "Thank you."

"It's my job."

The next day, the media is flooded with pictures of him. He's all he sees, and it's a weird, uncomfortable feeling he's never dealt with.

"How do you deal with the whole..." Schlatt pauses, trying to articulate his thoughts, "How did you get over the weird feeling of seeing your face everywhere?"

"The paps get you spooked?" You laugh.

He's taken aback, "Don't laugh at me."

"It takes a bit of getting used to, but my best advice is to not look at it. Don't look at the pictures or videos of yourself. You'll just end up hating yourself and the way you look. You'll get self-conscious, and then you're constantly worried about something other than your career. The job always comes first, Schlatt."

Schlatt rolls his eyes, "You don't even care for me as a person. Just as your bodyguard."

You scoff, "That's not true. When I say the job comes first, I'm not just talking about you—I'm talking about myself, too."

And over time, Schlatt starts to take notice of the sheer amount of effort you put into your career. You had little time for yourself between rehearsals for your upcoming show, interviews, and meet and greets. When you were alone, away from the pressures of the outside world, he saw the exhaustion in your eyes, and gradually, he began to soften.

After a particularly grueling day, you sit in your dressing room. As usual, Schlatt stands at the door, but something compels him to enter the room.

"You okay?" He asks genuine concern in his voice.  

You look up at him, and he sees you put on that mask, "Yeah," You smile, "I'm fine."

He gives you a stern look, "I asked if you were okay. Tell me the truth."

Your shoulders slump as you sigh, "I'm tired," You sound the part, "Sometimes it feels like there's no end to it, y'know?"

He nods, "You work hard. It's impressive."

A small smile tugs at your lips, "Thanks, Schlatt. You make things a lot easier. With you here, I have one less thing to worry about."

He shrugs, "It's my job."

Over time, you felt yourself lean on Schlatt's presence. He was an unmoving, unchanging variable in your chaotic life. And despite his grumpy exterior, you grew fond of him. You admired his work ethic, and you adored the parts of the real him you got to see. His smile and laugh when you told a stupid joke or how he nodded his head along to the songs on the radio.

One night after a concert, you sit on the balcony of your hotel room. Schlatt, ever vigilant, stands beside you.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" You murmur.

"Sometimes, but knowing you're safe makes it all worth it."

You feel your heart warm as you turn to look at him, absorbing how he looks with the city lights reflecting onto his face.

"Really?"

"Yeah," He looks at you, locking eyes, "Your safety is my top priority."

"Thank you for everything you do, Schlatt." You say, despite knowing what his answer will be.

"It's my job."

You prepare for your meet and greet, talking to your manager quickly as a line of fans cascades behind the backdrop.

Schlatt stands off to the side, watching each interaction.

When an incident with a fan happens, Schlatt intervenes swiftly, but it leaves you shaken. You call off the rest of the meet and greet, having your manager announce that the rest of the fans can come back tomorrow, but you're not feeling well and have to cut it short today.

You sit in your dressing room crying. Schlatt's never been good with crying, so he awkwardly sits beside you.

"It's okay," He pats your shoulder, "You're safe now."

You look at him with puffy eyes, "I wish I was normal sometimes. I wish I didn't have to deal with all of this."

"I know," He lets his guard down, "And I'm sorry you have to go through this, but I'll always be here to protect you, no matter what."

"Thank you, Schlatt," You whisper as he hugs you.

"Any time, doll. And, call me Jay."

And in that moment, something shifts between the two of you. You see the person behind the bodyguard, and he sees the person behind the pop star.

You found yourself feeling something deeper for Schlatt as time went on. He began opening up, sharing bits and pieces of his life, and you did the same. You started to feel a sense of companionship that extended past the line of professional.

You sit on your hotel room's balcony, as you so often do. And Schlatt, as he always does, stands beside you. The city lights twinkle, and there's a sense of calm in the air.

"Hey, Jay?" You ask, still looking out at the city skyline.

He also gazes into the night, "What's up, doll?"

You smile at the pet name, heart pounding as you work up the courage to tell him, "I have something to tell you."

"What's that?"

"I think I'm falling for you." You don't look at him, scared for his reaction.

He stares at you for a moment, "You think, or you know?"

You look back at him, "I know."

He smiles, "I'm falling for you, too."

ty for reading bookies!!!!

pls reblog if you enjoyed!

[amirasainz]

can you do more of baby!sainz crushing on lando and lando really likes it and flirt with her any time ++ carlos’s reaction

Of coure I can. This is a Part 2 story, so I would recommend reading the first part. My stories are usually seperate stories, however it was quiet fitting in this case. Btw, Carlos ec gf is mentioned, Isa I love writing requests for you guys and hope you enjoy reading my work. Let me know if you have any whishes! -XoXo

Three times when....Part 2

4. The Quadrant video

Ah, the delicate dance of family dynamics and romantic getaways—the kind that unfolds against the backdrop of sun-kissed beaches and whispered secrets. Carlos Sainz, the Ferrari sensation, had planned a romantic vacation with his girlfriend, seeking moments of stolen kisses and moonlit walks. And what better place than Bali to weave their love story?

But life, ever the mischievous storyteller, had other plans. A new Quadrant video emerged, casting its spotlight on the youngest Sainz sister. There stood Amira, flanked by Lando’s friends, Max and Keegan, her eyes fixed on Lando as he explained the rules of their karting challenge. Karting—a miniature ballet of speed and precision—would be their canvas.

Lando, the showman, draped his arm over Amira’s shoulder. His friend Keegan would take the wheel, aiming to beat Lando’s time. But first, Lando had to set the benchmark. As he zipped around the track, Amira’s gaze never wavered. Her words flowed like a river of admiration: “He is an amazing driver. It won’t take long before he takes his first win. Look how easy he makes it look.” Her grin was infectious, like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds.

And then, in a hushed whisper, she added, “Como un profesional.” Keegan and Max exchanged puzzled glances, their linguistic compass spinning in confusion. But Amira knew. She’d witnessed her friends’s journey—the sweat, the sacrifice, the hunger for victory. In that quiet moment, she held a secret: Lando Norris, the boy who’d captured her heart, was destined for greatness.

When Lando finally finished his run, he sprinted toward her. “And, what do you think, darling?" he teased. “Maybe I’ll be able to take you on a ride one day.” His flirtatious tone hung in the air, and apparently, it was working—because Amira was giggling.

Throughout the video, Lando would sweetly explain things to her while she had her whole attention on him. At the end, Max had to do the outro, because Lando was sitting in a kart with Amira on his lap. He clearly showed her things on the wheel, so he moved her hair aside and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"What the fuck did I just watch" thought Carlos to himself

5. The Spa crash

Carlos Sainz found himself in the midst of an interview when his eyes caught sight of his friend sliding across the treacherous Spa track. The Belgian circuit had claimed its share of lives over the years, and the rain only intensified its danger.

In that heart-stopping moment, Carlos’s mind painted worst-case scenarios. But then, relief flooded through him as Lando Norris responded to Sebastian Vettel’s thumbs-up signal and was soon escorted back to the safety of the team garages. Carlos wasted no time, ending the interview abruptly to ensure Lando’s well-being.

Yet, what awaited him upon his arrival was unexpected—a scene that tugged at his heartstrings. Lando stood in the rain, his little sister, Amira, by his side. Tears streamed down her face, and Carlos heard Lando’s soothing words: “I’m fine, darling. Nothing happened. It was just a little jump-scare. I promise, I’ll always come back to you.”

But Amira’s worry persisted. “How can you be so sure about that, Lando? What if—” she began, her voice trembling. Lando cut her off, determination in his eyes. “Hey, none of that, okay? It will take a thousand armies to keep me away from you, okay?” He waited for her nod, their bond unbreakable.

Carlos watched the scene unfold, touched by the depth of their friendship. He approached them, pulling them into a group hug, seeking solace in their shared connection. Together, they retreated into the warmth of the Ferrari garage, a sanctuary against the rain-soaked night.

Later, as Carlos settled into bed with his girlfriend, Isa, he recounted the events. “I didn’t know the two of them were such good friends,”he mused. Isa sighed, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You truly know nothing, Carlos Sainz.”

6. DJ Lando

Ah, the nightlife—the pulsing heartbeat of music, neon lights, and secrets whispered in the dark. Lando Norris, the McLaren sensation, was no stranger to the DJ booth, spinning beats that made the crowd sway and lose themselves. Clubs welcomed him like an old friend, and this weekend was no exception.

But amidst the thumping bass and swirling lights, something shifted. A new presence graced the scene: Amira, Carlos little sister. Her usual decline to join club outings had become a predictable pattern, making Carlos’s job as the protective older brother straightforward. Yet this time, she stood there, defying expectations.

And what a sight she was—dressed in a short dress, high heels elongating her legs. Lando kept her close, his arm around her waist or fingers tucked under her hairtie. Carlos’s attention zeroed in on them—the way Lando leaned in, whispering things in Amira’s ear. Her cheeks flushed crimson, embarrassment or amusement dancing across her face. What secrets did they share? Carlos couldn’t fathom, and it gnawed at him.

Lando’s proximity to his sister grated on Carlos’s nerves. Why was he so close? What did he want from Amira? The frustration simmered, and Carlos’s annoyance grew. Why hadn’t anyone clued him in? The club’s rhythm pulsed around them, but Carlos’s mind spun with questions. Perhaps it was time to confront Lando, to unravel the mystery that danced between them.

[dr3amfyr-e]

modern!jace thoughts ( wc. 600-ish )

i have a jace parasite living in my brain <3 i’m cooking up a part two ( i cooked it up )

jacaerys who studies literature and linguistics at university — on the pre-law track. he’s such a diligent student, a frequenter of libraries and study rooms. ( but he doesn’t really have to try that hard, it comes easy, it’s aggravating )

he lives in the nicest dorm on campus, probably private housing.

jacaerys who wears glasses :3 but only when he must, makes an effort to put contacts in every day. but some days are just glasses days. ( they’re the sliver squoval wire framed ones )

jacaerys who prioritizes hygiene, he’s so clean. (i’m a jon girl at heart, i can acknowledge that he is not squeaky clean. jace is squeaky clean) jace has a skincare routine and a haircare routine. he’s using olaplex and cerave and that super expensive moisturizer. he knows how to defuse and gel cast his curls, he’ll happily do yours too! i firmly believe he uses an electric toothbrush AND HE TAKES CARE OF HIS NAILS

jacaerys who attended a private school until university, and started playing competitive football ( ⚽️ ) at age 10. he plays in college too, but he’s not as serious about it.

lucerys attends the same private school and plays for the same team, so jace practices with him ( it usually ends with a physical altercation, think the sword fight scene ‘what. was. THAT?’ )

jacaerys who likes animals, and LOVES his dog. vermax lives at home while he is off at school, but when jace gets a place of his own the dog will come with. he walks him every morning and evening and takes him for runs most days over the summer. vermax sleeps in jace’s bed, and he takes up a good portion.

jacaerys who is SO oldest daughter coded. he’s driving his siblings around. taking joffrey to pediatrician appointments and picking him up from school. going to all of luke’s football games and rhaena’s violin concerts.

chronic over achiever, he has to be his mothers favorite daughter- what, who said that?

mama’s boy jacaerys who looks up to her more than anyone. he’s bragging her up to anyone who will listen: in his gender and women’s studies class like, “my mom is a ceo! 🙋” “my mom is married to a woman! 🙋”

he would defend his mother’s name with his life. he’s getting into fist fights at social events, ryan atwood style. ( no he’s not, but he really wants to )

jacaerys who can be mean. he doesn’t mean to be, he doesn’t want to be — he hates it. but the world he grew up in was exclusive, and cliquey, and competitive.

he’s good at controlling it, thinking before he speaks. because he’s not a mean person. he’s good, and kind, and gentle. but, it comes to the surface when he goes into defense mode.

he made luke cry once, and started journaling to channel his emotions.

english/history person jacaerys. he’s hopeless at helping his brothers with their math homework.

when his mother married his late grandfather’s former wife he started reading lesbian theory to cope. and he liked it! he borrows baela’s feminist theory books, they bookclub.

jacaerys who, unfortunately, does participate in performative reading. omg nooo don’t come talk to me while i’m reading didion and wearing pearls and mewing 🧏

jacaerys who has a really expensive digital camera and also a really expensive film camera. he likes to post his pictures on his instagram ( no one cares )

all of his social media accounts are private because he doesn’t want to be the internet’s next eligible bachelor.

jacaerys who cries when he’s frustrated.

jacaerys who tolerates his step-brothers, but not very well or with much enjoyment. he has way more in common with alicent than he’d like to admit ( quintessential horrifying step-child experience of being mistaken for your step-parents biological child ) he likes helaena, though! they’re kind of bestie

he separates puzzle pieces by colour for her and looks at all of her art and knows all of her favorite bugs. ( he’s always wanted a sister )

jacaerys who is a fantastic boyfriend ( i’ll get into this later ) (( i got into this ))