@turpitudae Did Not Ask For This But Is Getting It Anyways
@turpitudae did not ask for this but is getting it anyways
she lingers like smoke in the air – heavy, staining every surface with her until there is no escape; it was what he'd deserved, after all, to not know peace unless it was given by her hands. to not know the comfort of silence in his head unless she was offering it. what was affection if not akin to a parasite? eating you whole and leaving you littered with holes in the wake.
her hand coasts around his wrist, lithe fingers curling around muscle to pull him to a stop – to pull him into darkened corridor, dimly lit only by the faintest glow from a cracked door.
“ where's the fire, handsome? ” asked as if she didn't already know, as if she hadn't been the one to light it and step away just as innocent as the rest. liv had always been so, claimed innocent to the world around her while pulling strings behind a curtain – anything to get her way. damian was no different; no change in action to specifically seek him out, only a continuation of her descent into taking – always taking, any and everything that belonged to rhea, at any means necessary.
delicate blue hues shifted up his features, lingering on his lips – momentary, but poignant, an action meant to be noticed, before they land upon his eyes proper. “ how about a good luck kiss, hm? ”
More Posts from Petitmortes and Others
Send "What if they kissed?"
and I'll write a scene where our muses kiss, even if they aren't shipped together. it is it's own thing and doesn't have to lead to an official ship. a "what if scenario"
beeps in, reverse meme call — do you want memes in your inbox? like this post and you’ll get ‘em.
mutuals may rb / interact with this post.
having brain thoughts on switching my alysanne fc to em.ily ba.der
a plotted starter for @foulrests
trouble had never been shy about finding her, about weaving its way into her life through one avenue or another. more often than not, the trouble came from her own doing – a consequence of her own actions, consequence of the brash, reckless behavior that she was known for. perhaps a better mannered lady would not have taken his words as an invitation, would not have considered them part slight – part question, a subtlety of whether she would take the bait. alysanne had never known when to back down from a challenge, even one that . . . was not so readily spoken, one that had come from so high up the ranks of royalty. but royal blood mattered little to her; royalty mattered for politics, for family names. neither of which alysanne would ever find herself bringing to the table.
it had begun simply enough. an unanswered letter, an indignation to check in on the blackwoods of raventree hall by the dragonlord of harrenhal, a supsicious look held in a color of purple aly couldn't find the right name for. pretty would merely have to suffice. but when benji had grown tired of playing little lord, stifled and too hot – she'd not condemned him to staying, had keenly motioned for the maester to take him to the kitchens for a snack whilst she herself had taken daemon to tour the grounds. that was how they had found themselves here, alysanne with her back braced against a sturdy wooden fence, watching with keen archer's eyes as he'd made commentary about this and that. willing to allow him to continue blowing smoke from his lips until she'd heard what'd sounded like reason enough to prove him wrong. to prove otherwise. an offhanded comment about how she must only know how to handle a bow and arrow.
black curls billow down into her face in the half second it takes her to cross the distance between them and sweep his legs out from underneath him, sending him flat to his back – with aly quick to press him further to the ground, knees settled to either side of him in the dirt, a dagger pulled from within her boots to press to his neck. “ i can manage a blade well enough too. ”
.
But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, "I'll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She'd go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She's gone back north, she has. That's where her gods are."
Brienne II, A Feast for Crows
temp going iconless bc i am in a #mood but i have some stuff in my queue <3
──── WAR MAKES MONSTERS OF US ALL
FEAT. JAIME LANNISTER. VARYS. LUCERYS VELARYON. BERIC DONDARRION. HARWIN STRONG. SAMWELL TARLY. TYRION LANNISTER. RHAEGAR TARGARYEN. GENDRY. GWAYNE HIGHTOWER. EURON GREYJOY. GRENN. HARRION KARSTARK. GARLAN TYRELL. CORLYS VELARYON. STANNIS BARATHEON. OLENNA TYRELL. ARTHUR DAYNE. SARELLA SAND. BRANDON STARK. AND MORE.
a private , selective , low - activitiy ' a song of ice & fire ' &&. ' fire & blood ' multimuse account . largely book - based with mild show && headcanon influences . trigger heavy incl. murder , age gaps , incest , && physical && psychological abuse . WARNING: some of the muses depicted are unapologetically horrible and will be portrayed as such . lovingly penned by hannah.
continued from here , @eyeofvengeance
there was nothing more terrifying than the sound of dragon wings on the wind. of that sansa had become certain. she had not wanted this position, had not wanted to be the one left behind in the wake of a war that was not hers, nor cregan's, to fight. but duty had called the way it so often did for men, and stark - bound honor meant the lord of the castle had gone to do his part – left behind in his stead the only family who had not turned her back . . . or died. it had meant that when the wind had howled with something more than winter, it was no man who crossed the threshold into the courtyard to meet aemond targaryen, but sansa in her quiet rage.
sansa who had sent her cousin's son into the crypts with the maester and the master - at - arms, and every maid they'd been able to find. had insisted she would do this alone. whatever it was that he wanted, she would handle – and none else would suffer for it.
but as he speaks, she cannot get a hold on him. cannot track the train of thought, cannot understand what it is he's asking for in between the pretty words and complimentary syllables. she knows it is something, to hear a man of his infamy speak of forging something stronger than oaths and service – it is always something.
“ forgive me, prince aemond, i fear i don't . . . quite follow what it is you are asking of me. ” her gloved hands interlace together in front of her, a careful flicker of grey - blue eyes across his features, studying the careful twitch of muscles, each consideration even as his voice softens. “ if you have not come here to kill me, or my kin, then perhaps the northern air has done you well in the fraction of time you have drawn breath within it. ”
red curls billow in the wind, cold encompassing the courtyard, but sansa dares not to allow herself even so much as a hint of a tremble now. not when she must be the voice of those who needed her. nor would she dare allow him inside the walls of winterfell proper, not without a better promise of his intentions. “ your dragon will not like it here. ” she says softly, boots shifting upon the stone path. “ even visenya did not fly so far north with her. i cannot decide whether that makes you courageous or full of folly. " or both. those words go unspoken, though the implication remains as sansa shifts her gaze from aemond to beyond the walls of the courtyard, beyond to where she fears for the worst in seeing large wings of a dragon come to life again.
“ speak plainly of your wishes, and i will allow you both warmth for the evening. else i am just as keen to stand here with you all night, it will not be i who freezes first. ”
.
SYDNEY SWEENEY In her Jessica Rabbit era, I guess?
