targaryeneil



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  1. Public Bookmark 30

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    When Jacaerys Velaryon lands at Winterfell, he carries the weight of war on his shoulders. The realm is fractured. His mother needs allies. He has no time for distractions.

    Then he meets Cregan Stark, and the North does not feel so cold anymore.

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    06 Jul 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 25

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    She cannot find it in herself to tell the ladies of Winterfell that even with the children they give her brother: none could quite compete with the ghost of the Dragon Prince.

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    05 Jul 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 13

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    The gods had never been kind to Cregan. Not when they took his father. Not when his uncle tried to force him out of his home. Not when they took his sweet Arra. There were only two blessings the gods had ever bestowed upon him.

    Rickon, his sweet son.

    And Jacaerys, his sweet prince.

    But then, the gods hadn't really blessed him, had they? No, because Jacaerys was dead. The fiery little dragon princeling was nothing more than a cold corpse now, his flesh riddled with bloody holes and his lungs filled with the dredges of the Gullet.

    In which, Cregan pleads with Old Gods to return Jace to him, but he doesn't come back quite right.

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    3,018
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    24 Jun 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    macabro mas a escrita é babadeira

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    The phone vibrated for the hundredth time that night, but Duncan Pennytree resolutely ignored it. The bar’s loud music made that easy enough.

    He exhaled slowly. He didn’t have to look up to know someone was watching him. The feeling had the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on end for most of the night.

    He made the mistake of turning around the first time he felt it.

    As if preordained, Dunk’s blue eyes instantly landed on Aerion Targaryen’s lilac. And the hand Dunk had foolishly forgotten was constantly around his throat started to squeeze.

    Or,

    Dunk calls it a breakup. Aerion calls it unfinished.

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    16 Jun 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Dunk says nothing.
    The not-saying costs him. He can feel the words crowding up behind his teeth, the foolish desperate words, and what of this, what of me, what of the dead candle and the unbarred door, and he holds them, because he knows what they are worth, which is nothing, less than nothing, they are the kind of words that end a thing like this, and Dunk has discovered in himself a cowardice he did not know he owned, which is that he would rather have the fire on these terms than not have it at all.

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    35,569
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    4/4
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    15 Jun 2026