#verse . [ fire and blood ]

[localechoes]

and before she died, she remembered who she was

[wild0moon]

they are 14 and unmedicated

[unbloodiedmartyr]

never dreamt of such sterile hands. you keep 'em folded in your lap and raise them up to beg for scraps. you know he's holding you down with the tips of his fingers, just the same.

[murmel-malt]

Daera and Viserys presenting baby Rhaenyra to their father Baelon.

a doodle to accompany this Hedaera snippet

[yakny]

"Please forgive the blood on my hands. Most of it is mine."

[zobriezalarys]

things daemon has managed in his green verse: security for baela and rhaena, not sending them away to another continent. a possible velaryon/targaryen marriage to turn corlys to their side, another marriage proposal for the other daughter with either a lysani prince or prince of pentos. and will suggest a marriage of jaehaera to aegon iii.

[azmenka]

also small list of reasons why Maron is forever more likely to be Team Green, aside from the fact that he seems to think the kids are puppies that need saving for some reason . . .

he is more likely to be made Master of Ships without having to compete with Corlys. which, lbr, is something he really doesn't wanna do. he respects no man or god, but the Sea Snake is someone he genuinely admires in a slightly antagonistic way so he wouldn't wanna get in his way. queue later conflict of interests ofc but tbh that's the crown's problem, not his.

although his HOTD verse is based on him replacing Dalton, he's not as insane and bloodthirsty as Dalton is in canon and thus cannot be lured in with a simple promise of bloodshed. he's not basic like that, sorry.

the simple idea of beheading a small child. a toddler. in front of his mother. is so horrifying even to him that he absolutely doesn't wanna associate with anyone doing that. like, his morals are as wonky as Viserys' teeth a week pre-death but this is going too far, even for him.

he has better chances of gaining Aegon's favor, as compared to Rhaenyra's, because one look suffices and he knows Aegon has no fucking clue what he's doing.

speaking of looks: he took one of those at Daemon and immediately went "ahahaha yeah no, that one's a cunt and I'm not dealing with that".

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

After all- life is interesting when you’re furious! 

("Fury" by Yevgeny Yevtushenko. Inspired by @birdgeon)

[perfectmetaphore]

Plotted starter for @cxptainflint

"There he is! Get him!" He is running for his life, sprinting through the forest, fighting through the thick snow as he hears the howling of dogs approaching from behind. This is it. His story ending before it even has the time to begin.

Next thing, he is falling. Falling into the abyss where nothing else awaits him but a certain death

It's so fucking cold. This is the first pinch of reality. The moistness of the pillow which his head rests upon. Then the damn brightness around, even despite the rainy clouds, the world is far too bright. He curls and uncurls his fingers, clawing at the wet dirt under his fingernails. ( what a familiar feeling )

The sound falling from his lips is more towards a whimper than anything, like a wounded animal trying its damndest to will the body into movement. ( you have to move )

He pushes himself up, eyes squinting at the world, then collapses back onto the ground. ' fuck ' is uttered under his breath. Good God, but his head hurt, as if someone decided to send up firework behind his eyes. A sob follows, then a deep breath, once more he makes an attempt to push himself up. Slowly but surely. ( get up )

It takes some time, but several trials and errors later, and he is almost on his feet. Eyes squinting at the world around him, grasping at a tree branch with an iron grip. Victory is short lived, however, for his legs give up under him, and a new sharp pain shoots from his side, as he collapses back to the ground on his knees so hard his teeth clatter. ( pathetic )

Bile rises in his throat, the nausea so strong he has to truly fight against the need to spill his guts all over the ground. "Shitshitshitshit..." He touches his forehead and through his blurry vision, he can see his fingers slick with blood. ( that explains a lot )

He sits for a moment. Tears staining his grime-covered face. Arms hanging uselessly at his sides, as his head tilts back to stare at the falling rain. This pain... he's felt it before... funny how the brain makes you forget such trauma. ( breathe, john )

"This is just perfect..."

[truly-quirkless]

Yagi wheezed, his fist dragging on the ground. He'd managed to trip- over nothing, no less- and land front-first on the pavement. It wouldn't be quite so bad, if it weren't for the fact that the startle of the fall had triggered a cough...and he'd hit the ground pretty hard...so now there was a massive pool of red in front of him as he struggled to stand.

"...damnit..."

[onigiram]

TAGS. i didn't like the other ones asjbfjbsdjgb

[phoenixduelist]

An almost top secret level headcanon: Rozália has a twin brother called András Farkas.

Only four people knew of the twins' existence: Gemma who shortly died from blood loss after birth, Bulcsú the father whose decision was to separate them to ensure the bloodline's survival, Marcell who hid the child and his sister Julianna who watched over him.

Bulcsú picked Rozália despite the gender because she was a large, healthy baby and her cry reminded him of a lion. While András was...peaceful, quiet. Small compared to his sister. He only trusted Marcell with his secret, the boy should not know his origin unless absolutely necessary.

András also has green eyes, although with much more blue undertones than Rozália's almost otherworldly emerald green spiked with golden. Due to the massive difference of life and mental state, his features, his face is more gentle, his gaze is brimming with kindness, so does his heart. András knows Julianna as his mother, he was told his father died in a late Ottoman attack. He was raised to be a good man, and Julianna definitely succeeded even with the guilt slowly eating her. Now he is married to a golden hearted lady of his dreams, not of status but the daughter of the village's tailor. His family grew with five children, three daughters and two sons.

With how Rozália has turned out, changed for the worse after the dungeon, Marcell is content with taking this secret to the grave. As much as he loves Rozália like she was his own, he isn't blind to her ruthless ambition and demonic cruelty. He knows if she ever finds out, blood will flow, lives will be snuffed out without mercy and no second thoughts.

And Marcell is right. Especially if she learns this in her Queen verse, a brief interlude of madness spiked breakdown. Because this for Rozália would mean:

Two men, one her actual, the other her sworn father lied to her in their entire lives

If her father picked András instead of her, none of her suffering would've happened. She could've lived a happy, quiet life. Could've had a family she doesn't have to protect with all of wit, strength, rage, skill.

His existence is a threat to everything she's achieved. The knowledge of him could erase all of her hard work even if he wants to stay away from politics and continue being a happy farmer. He's threat no matter what because he's a man and inexperienced regarding ruling, not the cunning chess player she is. And she is both smart and ruthless enough to know that.

Therefore he must be gone as if he never existed, no matter how good the cover is. She's been found multiple times on the seas, the chance increases significantly in a relatively small kingdom. Along with everyone who knew him. She is incapable of killing Marcell; the morning shift would find the captain of the guards in his room with a blade in his heart and his own hand still tight around the grip.

The Devil would visit her brother when he's returning from the market a little later than usual, searching for his wife's favorite flowers. András would learn his true ancestry and no matter how he swears he has no intentions of going near her throne, Rozália's mind is long made up. He would try to reason he has a family. The last thing he'd hear is not to worry, they will join him soon. And they will, the wife, the children; all corpses found after the fire of their house had died down. Julianna? Poor old thing's heart probably gave up when she learned. As a broken windpipe isn't too noticeable.

[murmel-malt]

a few concepts for Hedaera's wardrobe, including a maternity and travel/outdoors-y fit

[stormbcrn]

HE WAS A GHOST, SILHOUETTED IN THE OPEN DOOR, silver hair illuminated against dark features. But it was Viserys' image she saw as her heart quickened, its pulse growing louder in her ears as lilac eyes widened. How cruel of the gods to haunt her so, to shame her for what became of him – but he wore no crown of gold – and dressed in simple silks as was common in Qarth. He was no dragon, and now, her brother lived only in her memory.

A plume of smoke rose from Viserion's throat as he chirped, curiouser and curiouser, all wings as the hatchling scurried from her lap. Only then did Daenerys see Ser Jorah at the stranger's side. Her knight stepped past him in the doorway, the hand against the hilt of his sword relaxed as she stood to greet him, pulling the red silk robe tighter against her skin. But her eyes stayed fixed on the Valyrian shadow he brought to her, the shadowbinder's warning a whisper in her mind . . .

beware of all . . . when they see, they shall lust . . . fire is power.

Daenerys had seen the pyromancers on the streets of Qarth grow more powerful just by their proximity to her dragons – her children's magic making flames burn hotter, brighter, longer. She had seen the awe in their covetous gaze, so she believed it and heeded the warning fairly. The dragons needed her protection – her power was theirs and their magic was hers. Daenerys must understand it if she would keep them from harm; her magic must too grow stronger.

Drogon climbed from her arms to her shoulder, his eyes, like hers, watching the stranger's every move. "@vaedar Valarys, my queen." Dany's eyes flickered to Jorah's face as he made the introduction, before falling to the purple hues that mirrored her own, "– of old Valyria. He claims to know of the higher mysteries."

[azmenka]

@sunfyred says ❛ glad to see you’re protecting the throne. ❜

HE APPEARS LOST IN THOUGHT ; ocean blue eyes drifting across the spikes and jagged curves of the iron forged beast beside him . blade upon blade , pressed into a horrifying mess that meshes the lives of those who had once wielded them together . a small " hm " escapes him , a smile tugging at his lips . quite the disrespect , if one truly thought about it . now Maron wouldn't think about sitting upon the damned thing , but settling on the steps before the monstrosity , a cup of wine in hands , now that seems agreeable . and when he had reached out to run a thumb across one of the blades , the subtle bloom of red on his finger promised that this throne was still as lethal as it looked .

what is it with Targaryens and that innate need to always make everything so difficult for everyone ?

Aegon's voice coaxes him from his thoughts ; causes him to look up , the smile on his lips growing but a little . " your grace . " a brief bow of the head that may or may not be subtly mocking - not even Maron is sure . if it was , it wouldn't be personal . life at court does not agree with him , and he has little issue to let that be known after all . small wonder that he doesn't bother to get up . instead , he looks back over his shoulder at the throne again .

" fucking ugly thing , isn't it ? to think that anyone would willingly fight a war over it - " he glances back at Aegon , amusement shining in his eyes . a touch of truth , hidden well underneath layers of clever sympathy and humor .

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

it's that time again!

...this is what we we're celebrating, right?