mooning-moon

[mooning-moon]

Seeing this serious, battle-hardened gangster smile while holding his baby girl, being with Annie for all eternity, and finally finding peace makes my heart melt.

[mooning-moon]

there was once a time when the two princesses' meetings only consisted of wines and other questionable yet memorable substances. rules and boundaries meant little to them in the haze of smoke and fermented fruits, the title of "princess" was tossed in the wind without care. whilst happily married, helaena often reminisced of younger days shared with ariadne -- when neither of them could have imagined the future they would eventually lead.

and here they were, a liege lady and a princess who had grown into their power through vastly different paths -- one through marriage, the other through quiet defiance.

"if I’m honest, I never imagined we’d cross paths in a palace built on coin and compromise," helaena said lightly, swirling the wine but not yet drinking. "but then again, I never imagined you’d be a mother, or that I’d be a wardeness." she smiled faintly, something fond beneath the words. "the world reshapes us whether we ask for it or not."

her gaze lifted to meet Ariadne’s, steady and soft. "I came with emir because braavos is too uncertain to ignore. the iron bank controls more than just coffers now -- it has begun to pick sides, and that rarely ends in peace." a pause, deliberate. "we offered terms, counsel, perhaps a lifeline. but i’ve seen enough thrones to know when a man will not yield, even as the tide rises around him."

helaena lowered her glass, voice dipping just a little lower. "you surely know laenor won’t let go of his father and his legacy. which leaves you and your daughter…" she trailed off, letting the implication hang -- careful, measured, protective. "you’ve always had more sense than the rest of us. i only hope you'll use it now. do you have plan for when it should all fail and fall?"

closed. @mooning-moon.

business did not grind to a halt, never mind where blades were aimed, and where they punctured. omar otherys lived, and his claim to his position did with him, although ariadne feared she may have had far less faith in the man than laenor did. age, intrigue, the dizzying pace of politics, were slipping from his grasp, and for a man so defined by his ambition and achievements, there would not be much left to live for, not enough to lend him strength. a life lived, to be reduced to a statue to line the canals of the city.

she had agreed to meet with princess helaena, wardeness of the south, not that her titles were of much relevance here. ariadne held no political office, did not speak for dorne and trade as its lifeblood, was no one's wife. and yet she spoke, and her voice carried influence. ariadne did wonder, if laenor understood that this was why she had not taken his name. she held more power, was of more use to their family, as she was. a princess of dorne, with no vested interest in braavos, nor westeros. "we shan't starve here, that much is certain." a mellow smile, at the veritable spread before them. it was courtesy, to receive the lady hightower with some circumstance, even as the men had withdrawn. "would you have pictured us reunited in the dining hall of the sealord's palace, of all implausible places?" ariadne had underestimated helaena. many years ago, she had seen little more than frivolity in her -- set to wed well once she'd outgrown her youthful escapades, and simper to her lord husband's content. as it were, the martell princess rather enjoyed surprises.

"laenor tells me you and your husband came to parley with the iron bank. you worry the city will descend into uncontrolled chaos. as do i." she tilted wine to lips, savouring the taste before continuing. "depressing, is it not? strip a people of vassals and ruling houses, give them the freedom to elect their ruler in their own convoluted, arcane scheme, and throats will be cut all the same."

[mooning-moon]

laenor's time at home was split in half, between sitting beside his father's sickbed and spending time with ariadne and myriah. though his daughter had been made acquainted with her grandsire, laenor wished not for her to witness a dying man, whose breathing grew heavier each day. thus, he had often left before breakfast and only returned at supper time -- usually having been worn to the bones with exhaustion.

their daughter, therefore, could not hide her joy when she saw her father returning while the day was still long. she ran to him and he received her warmly, albeit the death-stricken worry on his face, which he was sure ariadne would not miss. pressing a kiss on his beloved's cheek, he let her turn her attention to the family's dog trailing behind him. and laenor thought it was for the best, as her innocent ears needed not hear what had happened.

he strode over to his martell viper, and slipped his hands up to grab onto her elbows. lowering himself until his lips hover over the curve of her jeweled ears, laenor did not want prying ears to overhear the piece of information. "there was an attempt," he mulled over the words as if they shuddered him still. "... on my father's life."

ariadne was too sensitive not to have noticed something amiss already. the palace was indeed quiet as he had commanded a lockdown. "i need to take you and myr somewhere safe. we--i have yet to find out a lead to a culprit. and it has become unsafe here."

closed. @mooning-moon.

she had woken with a sinking sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. motherhood was often exactly that -- inexhaustible dread, whenever she would linger on their world and its state of affairs, the days that were bound to come in which she and laenor were no more, and myriah would live without their protection. sunspear would withstand all, this she was sure of. sand and stone did not yield, not to dragons, nor to upheaval weaving through all of westeros and beyond.

braavos was not her preferred of the free cities, it was not the warmest, although a string of bright, clear days had blessed them upon arrival. the golden thunderbolt atop the sealord's palace had beckoned, upon news of omar's declining health. it had been his wish to see his granddaughter, and so they had come, leaving the safe cradle of home. myriah sand was a bold, clever, beautiful little girl of three -- and upon her mother's decision had taken no name, but what marked her as a daughter of dorne, under martell's wing regardless of circumstances of birth. it was safer, this way, be it in house otherys' interest, or not.

laenor had not been beside her, when she woke. a silence cast over marble halls, time slowing, as she ventured out to break her fast with myriah in tow. she spied laenor as myriah did, and their daughter ran towards him, to coil small arms about her father. "what is it? the palace is awfully quiet this morning."

[mooning-moon]

[mooning-moon]

niky saw the betrayal forming in her eyes in beads of tears -- diamonds of faithlessness, disbelief in him. she had expected him to claim her, to whisk her away like the knight and damsel of the nightly, bedtime tales. his face too crumbled in hurt when she peered at him with watery lilac orbs; he too was disappointed and plunged into despair by their circumstance.

but she lashed out at him before he could offer a word of comfort, an apology, or a hug. her words dripped with pain, shimmering like fire from dawn. we are  the  one  thing  that  has  ever  felt  right  to  me! how queer, he thought! he felt the same way too. but there was little space for his feelings for his beloved princess in the chess game that was her mother's reign. and then she accused him of not loving her enough to fight for her -- that triggered a sharp ledge piercing his stomach.

"i do love you," a burst of sound came from his lips in the form of love confession. but there was nothing loving in his tone, only anger. his eyes too burned with betrayal, blue flame met scorching, pained violet. but there was no tears. "i love you enough to know that your mother will never forgive you if you ever run off with me. it is my affection and my clear head that are holding me in place."

his hands left her arms as she stepped back, and he rolled his fists into white, indignant balls. "forgive me princess, but i have vulnerable father and mother... and siblings to think about as well. i am neither that righteous nor honorable, but i do have a duty to my family." he pointed at the sigil on his shield which had stayed idly by ever since he arrived back in king's landing. "your mother will punish you but she will never harm your life. she needs you as a political pawn, but she does not need a minor house of sweetport sound."

normally, nikolai would not dare speak to a royal princess with such defiance and insolence. but his princess needed to hear the truth of the matter. he might not be able to protect her from her mother's wrath, but at least he could stop himself from triggering such flame upon his tender, rosy-cheeked princess. and he would not risk the safety of his loved ones. "it is not right, but it does not change the fact that i do love you. and you can say i am a coward, but at least i can keep you, my father, my mother, and my two siblings all alive. even at the expense of our two broken hearts."

when  he  pulls  away,   the  cacophony  of  sounds  in  her  head  disappears,   if  only  for  a  moment.     it’s  not  the  sort  of  silence  that  brings  about  peace:     no,   this  is  a  cruel,   cavernous  hush  that  descends,   determined  to  swallow  the  light  whole.     the  kind  that  chokes  her  breath  in  her  throat  and  rings  in  her  ears  not  unlike  judgement.     he  looks  at  her  as  if  she  has  done  something  wrong,   and  that  stings  most  of  all.     shaera  stands,   frozen,   lips  parted  in  stunned  disbelief,   crumbling  under  the  weight  of  his  denial.     she  feels  like  a  page  torn  from  her favorite  book,   a  crumpled  parchment  lying  there,   tossed  aside.     his  rejection  hurts,   seeps  into  her  bones,   winter  cold,   right  down  to  their  marrow.     the  blush  that  floods  her  cheeks  is  almost  instantaneous,   mortification  growing  beneath  pale  skin,   searing  her  from  the  inside  out,   and  her  hands  drop  from  his  jaw,   burned.     lilac  eyes  blink  once,   twice,   three  times,   trying  to  understand  what  she  has  done,   what  he  has  said.     this  is  not  what  she  had  expected,   but  perhaps  she  had  been  stupid  to  dream  otherwise.     perhaps  she  had  refused  to  see  him  clearly.     she  stares  at  him  before  something  breaks,   before  her  heart  folds  in  on  itself.     tears  stream  down  her  face  while  irrational  anger,   fueled  by  shame,   by  desperation,   begins  to  rise.     she  doesn’t  wipe  them  away     —     let  them  fall,   let  him  see  what  he  has  caused.       

lithe arms  wrap  around  her  middle,   a  vain  attempt  to  hold  her  own  frame  together,   however  useless  it  may  be.     her  voice  is  gossamer,   fragile  and  laced  with  ache.      ❝      not  right?      ❞      the  princess  echoes.     in  all  their  years  of  friendship,   she  has  never  snapped  at  him,   has  never  shown  him  just how resentful, how bitter she can be .     now,   petrichor  rises,   crawls  upwards  and  sits  on  her  tongue,   ready  to  wound.      ❝      how can you say that? we are  the  one  thing  that  has  ever  felt  right  to  me!     ❞      a  trembling  of  the  lips,   though  she  swiftly  keeps  it  under  control.     how  is  she  supposed  to  go  along  with  this?     how  can  she  wed  another,   learn  to  breathe  without  him?     to  her,   the  mere  idea  is  repulsive,   unthinkable.      ❝      i  have  played  the  dutiful  child,   the  perfect  princess,   the  proper  sister.     i  have  withstanded  my  mother’s  derision,   ignored  my  own  heart,   over  and  over  again,   and  still     —      ❞      notes  rise,   then  turn  strangled.     nikolai  does  not  deserve  her  fury     …     or  does  he?     she  cannot  tell  what is fair from  what is wrong,   not  here,   not  anymore.      ❝      and  still,   i  dared  to  hope.     i  dared  to  believe  that  you  might  love  me  enough  to  fight  for  me!      ❞      once  it  is  out  in  the  open,   there  is  no  taking  it  back,   nor  does  she  wish  to.     her  words  are  no  longer  a  plea.     they  are  a  revelation,   an  accusation  accompanied  by  the  furious  wiping  of  her  face,   and  an  empty  laugh.      ❝      gods,   you  must  think  me  pathetic.      ❞      she  takes  a  step  back.     this  time,   it  is  her  who  retreats,   severing  the  thread  between  them  further.     ❝      do  not  pretend  this  is  about  protecting  me,   nikolai.     you  are only  shielding  yourself!     your  precious  honor,   your  righteousness     —     they  have  always  been  more  important  than  me.     otherwise,   you  would  have  asked  for  my  hand  years  ago  instead  of  waiting  like  a  coward.      ❞

[mooning-moon]

sebastian of storm's ends. megara had recognized him from her tour many a moon ago, when her father wanted to parade her and her older brother before the realm's eyes as the crowning jewels of house lannister. though lord sebastian was never a first choice in her father's long list of potential goodsons, his now deceased brother was.

and from what she had heard on the grapevine, this man had the balls to turn down a dragon princess -- a house she had been desperately tried to marry into much to her dismay. his offer of condolences elicited a bitter, choked, and unladylike laugh from her.

"lord baratheon, your condolences are much appreciated but i do not think you truly feel for me, no?" the blonde woman sat back on the edge of her tea table, her self open and raw in front of a man she was not truly acquainted with. "i was not bitten by the dragon's fire, my lord. i was never close enough."

venom dripped from her tongue like dornish snakes, but it was not for him. "but you are not wrong. our beast-riding overlords have a tendency to take and discard whatever they have or do not have the whims for."

she cocked up a brow curiously at him. "but you turned down the hand of helaena targaryen before any of us had any wits about ourselves to question the targaryens. why?"

it  is  the  sound  of  shattering  porcelain  that  draws  him  in,   like  blood  would  entice  a  shark.     the  screams  had  probably  startled  even  the  horses  in  the  stables.     the  moment  he  hears  them,   he  suspects  who  they  belong  to:     lady  megara  lannister,   twice  betrothed  to  the  crown  prince,   twice  robbed  of  the  promise  to  one  day  be  queen.     the  gossip  had  spread  through  the  keep  like  wildfire.     sebastian  could  not  say  the  news  had  surprised  him,   for  he’d  always  known  the  dragons  to  be  selfish  creatures,   uncaring  of  who  they  hurt  or  destroyed  or  stepped  upon,   if  they  got  their  wicked way.     he  arrives  at  her  chaotic  corner  of  the  gardens  just  in  time  to  sidestep  a  teapot  in  mid-flight.     it  crashes  against  the  base  of  a  fountain,   explodes  in  the  silence,   louder  than  a  cannon  blast.

still,   he  does  not  flinch.     he  stands  tall  in  dark  leathers,   blue  eyes  staring  at  the  scene  before  him     —     more  theatrical  than  he  would  have  chosen,   yet  justified  all  the  same.     she  roars  at  him  in  scarlet  and  gold,   her  fury  a  living,   snarling  thing.     that  he  could  understand,   at  least.      ❝      to  offer  my  condolences,   perhaps.      ❞      he  murmurs.     in  contrast  to  her  fire,   his  righteous  anger  has  always  been  cold,   brewing  beneath  tense  quietude  and  clenched  jaws.     a  beat  passes.     gaze  falls  to  the  splinters  on  the  grass  and  then  back  to  her  own,   glinting  with  something  unreadable.      ❝      it  may  be  of  little  comfort,   but  know  you  are  not  the  only  one  bitten  by  the  dragon’s  fire,   my  lady.      ❞      his  tone  does  not  mock.     there  is  no  smile  on  his  lips,   no  sneer.     only  that  terrible,   measured  civility  he  wears  like  armor,   grief  blunted  by  loss,   sorrow twisted  into  vengeance.      ❝      our  overlords  do  not  appear  too  concerned  with  keeping  us  on  their  side,   it  seems.      ❞

[mooning-moon]

[mooning-moon]

Anya Taylor-Joy - crédit scarlettwitch-rp.

[mooning-moon]

“you’ve seen her,” helaena repeated. “so you are avoiding me. well, you can be mad at me but you shall not avoid your unborn child as well. she has not done anything wrong.” her voice didn’t rise, but it held its ground, steady and raw with the weight of weeks they hadn’t spoken. "if you shan't care to enquire about me, ask after your child please. then at least i'd know you care about the babe."

her eyes hardened at him. though her anger from their conflict had cooled, she did not take kindly to the bite he had sunken into her words. and she hated that she saw his reasons. weeks of constant sickness, of doubling down over grey ghost's wings and emptying her meals, had proven him right. she was not a god, she was a mother and whether she liked it or not, she was vulnerable.

"i did not come here to fight, emir, so you don't have to use that tone with me." she swallowed. "i am not a child. and i surrender not to you, but to the very fact that i don't have it in me to do as i thought i could."

she looked around the room then, at the council chamber that had once been filled with laughter, bold words, a flushed proposal. now it was nothing but silence, parchment, cold firelight.

"the other day, defne asked why we cannot go into the gardens anymore. she has also asked about the dragon patrols, and the constant shouting of the guards." it was here that her voice began to grow unsteady. "we are at war--my mother's war. but she is drowning the city in more debt, more surveillance, and more bloodshed. i think we should leave, emir."

he had kept her at arm's length for everyone's sake -- or this, he had told himself, reasoning distance was best when compromise could not be reached. emir had not the mental capacity to go over the abstruse arguments helaena had provided once more, to showcase why she ought to partake in war upon grey ghost. he had not the capacity to envision her, in the skies floating above threats he fought to eliminate each day -- to picture her falling, to retrieve her amid the carnage and lay her and the unborn child within her to rest when he would be sure to never find peace again in this lifetime. thus, he had avoided her. the council had kept him busy, interrogations had rendered him sleepless, but he could have carved out time, for his family. he had done, on occasion, but only for their daughter.

"you do not have my every step recorded, lady wife." his tone was cold, far colder than usual in her presence, his gaze lingering on her briefly. only long enough to ensure she looked healthy, yet tired. sad, a voice added. "i have missed four suppers with defne. that does not mean i have not seen her." he eyed the tray placed before heaps of paperwork, was of half a mind to have it sent back, once she took her leave. "surrender." a scoff, dry, justified in its venom if she believed her safe-keeping to be an act of surrender. "so resume your patrol shifts. we must all do our part, no?" he expected no answer, at least none he would approve of.

deep brown eyes flitted to the fateful space she reminisced on. under different circumstances, he may have been inclined to jest, given all that had occurred upon said table that night. instead, he vented a sigh, one of bone-deep fatigue, and dragged the tray closer unceremoniously. "i have been eating. in my chambers." spoken mid-bite -- not necessarily a lie, but he had barely stomached more than a bite, here and there. "what do you wish to speak on?"

[mooning-moon]

laenor’s grin curled slow and knowing, like he’d just heard the start of a good joke. “the dutiful wife, huh?” he echoed, voice low, rough around the edges with a flicker of laughter. “drunk and miserable beside her overbearing husband? seven hells, if i knew marriage with you came with this much charm, i might’ve asked for your hand sooner.” he stepped in close as they walked side by side. “though i think i’ll take offense to overbearing. you wound me.”

the smile faded a touch as his gaze slipped toward the alley they’d left behind — and the girl, small and fast, had slipped back into the shadow. laenor could feel the sharp edges of the necklace she had supplied ariadne pressing up against the dornish princess' side.

he looked back at ariadne, head tilted just a little. “not gonna ask outright what that little bird of yours is doing with a necklace that’d buy a minor lord’s favor twice over. but come on. a kid walking around with something that bright?” he gave a short breath of disbelief. “you know better. it draws eyes, even with the most practiced concealing hands. what are you up to, ariadne?”

before she could respond, the sound of bootsteps cut through the dusk — sharp, deliberate. a gold cloak, rounding the corner, hand already near the pommel of his sword.

laenor didn’t miss a beat. he slid an arm around ariadne’s waist, tugging her flush against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. “and here we go,” he murmured near her ear, voice warm and amused.

the gold cloak came to a stop in front of them. “you two — out past curfew. state your business.”

laenor raised a brow, feigning offense. “my wife,” he began, dipping his chin toward ariadne, “was bored stiff in that inn we paid good coin for. said she couldn’t breathe with me hovering.” he gave a shrug. “so she went for a walk. and i followed. you know how wives are.”

he leaned in, voice dropping like a secret between men. “she’s been drinking. heavily.”

then, with a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth, he turned to ariadne. “isn’t that right, sweet wife? go on. tell the man why you dragged me out here.”

his hand pressed gently at her waist — not to guide, not to control, just a reminder. he was here. he’d follow her lead. but he wasn’t about to let her stand alone in it. not this evenfall. not ever.

the warmth of his hand coiled about hers felt natural -- not a ploy part of a larger scheme to assuage gold cloaks should they be questioned, but a comforting gesture, a token of trust. nonetheless, ariadne would have preferred him far from where she conducted her business. in all those years, in multiple cities across two contients, she had kept laenor far from her dealings. would flit in and out of his life, in and out of courtly affairs of braavos, a welcome, yet elusive guest of his father's. she did not like change she could not control -- and he had changed her, had weakened her, left her fearful of what was to become of him should he grow any more entangled in the web of treachery she was trying to navigate.

"i will play the dutiful wife should need arise." there was no harshness in her tone, even as words would suggest it. "if i must, your wife has been drinking, most likely to escape the dreary trudge that is life alongside her overbearing husband." a glimmer of amusement crossed violets, but when a demand slipped from his lips, her expression soured. "i will return to the room i paid good money for. the keep is no safer than any old rambling inn, you know this as well as i do."

despite her verbal protest, the embrace he held her in did not feel stifling -- she knew he wanted only to shield her, in a literal and figurative sense, it appeared. "must you ask questions you already seem to know the answers to?" when they last spoke, in the cramped confines of the room she had rented, ariadne had spoken of devotion. he may not see it in that very moment, but she was as devoted as ever -- to ensuring his safety, as he tried to ensure hers. "you should not have interfered. she should not have been seen by you. one onlooker is enough to attract a crowd of unwanted spectators. if you care for her safety as i do, you will not interfere again."

[mooning-moon]

#softly but with feeling #what the f

[mooning-moon]

visenya the cruel never saw anything she loved that she did not want to kick it just to see if it would still come back. when it came to her children, her youngest dragonling specifically, visenya may have withheld her claws from her tender flesh for more than two decades. but the time had come when the princess' covert obedience no longer shielded her. she was right — there was no point in playing the filial child. the dragonness spared no one.

she asked him, desperately, if he wanted her to marry the arryn lord. and his eyes almost burst into liquid flame. of course he did not, but words bundled up in a tight ball inside his throat. his hands, however, did not leave hers. "princess—" when he managed to choke out her title, there was a little shake of his head. but she had missed it as she laid her soft, rose petals for lips onto his.

the action caught him by surprise but the sunglass knight responded instinctively. his lips moved forward to catch her kiss — something nikolai was too cowardly to admit that he had dreamed of the day she smiled at him. his hands tightened around her arms, and he itched to move them the thin layer of her sleeves to feel her flesh.

but there was enough wits about him — enough for him to abruptly break off the kiss and took a step back. his eyes, wild and full of betrayal, searched for an answer from his princess' face. "no—no, princess. this is not right."

he had wanted to sound firm, but his voice was brittle like a crunchy branch in autumn. "of course, i do not want you to marry lord arryn, but i—i cannot protect you, your highness. you cannot—you cannot do this."

he  speaks,   and  his  voice,   once  her  favorite  sound  in  all  the  world,   feels  like  a  blade.     it  is  gentle  in  shape,   but  it  cuts  just  the  same.     while  his  touch  on  her  arms  should  steady  her,   it  has  her  drowning  instead,   and  the  room  spins,   dizzying.     shaera  stares  at  him,   eyes  wide,   breath  caught  within  her  ribs  like  a  bird  mid-flight.   the  concern  in  his  voice  is  unbearable.   the  way  he  stammers,   how  he  tries  to  be  brave     —     for  her.     yet  he  still  admits  defeat,   faster  than  she  would  have  guessed.      ❝      there  is  nothing  we  can  do,      ❞      she  repeats,   her  voice  strained,   vacant,   as  if  she  were  testing  the  bitter  taste  of  surrender.     her  gaze  drops  to  his  hands,   curled  around  her  elbows.      ❝      then  what  was  the  point  of  it  all,   nikolai?      ❞      the  question  is  not  sharp.     it  isn’t  cruel,   either.     it’s  a  whispered,   aching  thing,   a  confession  poured  from  the  deepest  corners  of  her  heart.     chin  lifts:     not  in  defiance,   but  because  her  tears  are  dangerously  close  to  falling.      ❝      i  used  to  think  if  i  was  obedient  enough,   if  i  played  the  game,   if  i  behaved  how  she  wanted  me  to,   if  i  smiled  on  command     …     i  would  be  able  to  choose  my  own  fate.     i  believed,   as  her  last  born  child,   that  she  would  not  deem  me  important,   that  she  would  be  content  to  ignore  me  until  the  end  of  my  days.     i  believed  so  many  things  and  i  was  wrong  and  now  everything  is  ruined.      ❞      there  is  a  pause.     tone  lowers  further,   frays  at  the  edges.      ❝      i  was  a  fool.      ❞          

unable  to  remain  calm,   the  princess  steps  back,   away  from  him,   to  pace.     she  is  aimless,   a  caged  animal  doing  her  best  not  to  scream.     fingers  twitch  at  her  sides,   helpless  with  no  knives  to  wield,   no  letters  to  burn,   no  possibility  to  rewrite  the  fate  drawn  around  her  like  a  shroud.     when  she  finally  comes  to  a  stop,   her  shoulders  lift  and  fall,   misery  written  across  her  anguished  features.      ❝      my  brother  cannot  save  me.     no one can  change  the  queen’s  mind,   you  know  this.      ❞      a  bitter  laugh  coils  at  the  base  of  her  throat.     she  does  not  let  it  escape,   however,   for  it  will  turn  into  a  stream  of  sobs,   that  much  she  is  aware  of.    

suddenly,   she  turns  back  to  him.     lilac  eyes  are  luminous  now,   somewhat  wild,   a  storm  of  emotions  she  can’t  quite  put  a  name  to.      ❝      do  you  want  me  to  marry  him?      ❞      shaera  asks  abruptly,   desperately.      ❝      do  you  want  me  to  be  his  bride,   bear  his  children,   wither  in  a  cage  far  above  the  ground?      ❞      perhaps  it  is  not  fair  to  interrogate  him  in  this  manner,   but  she  does  not  care,   cannot  care.     the  injustice  of  it  all  shatters  something  in  her  words.     it  is  not  anger,   not  yet.     it’s  despair,   wearing  rage  like  armor,   donning  another  mask  to  prevent  her  soul  from  untethering.     she  steps  close  to  him  again,   too  close.     warm  breath  brushes  against  his  skin.      ❝      say  you  would  not  care,   and  i  will  do  it.     i  will  go  quietly.     i  will  smile  when  she  makes  the  announcement,   become  her  dutiful  daughter  once  more.      ❞      a  beat  follows.      ❝      but  if  you  don’t  want  me  to  go,   you  have  to  tell  me.     please.      ❞      for  a  moment,   he  says  nothing.     it  is  unbearable.     silence  stretches  between  them  like  a  chasm,   and  she’s  poised  on  the  edge  of  it,   knowing  her  next  choice  might  devastate  them.     despite  this,   she  moves.     not  with  elegance,   or  the  practiced  grace  of  a  royal,   but  with  raw,   reckless  need.     and  she  touches  her  lips  to  his.     tremblings  hands  rise  to  cup  his  jaw,   mouth  gentle  but  insistent,   breath  almost  catching  in  a  sob.     this  is  their  first  kiss,   their  only  kiss,   and  it  tastes  of  grief,   of  longing,   of  a  future  stolen  before  it  even  had  the  chance  to  bloom.

[mooning-moon]

[mooning-moon]

—— private roleplay blog, penned by em.

• helaena hightower neé targaryen, 26, she/her. princess of the seven kingdoms, ruling lady of oldtown, wardeness of the south. anya taylor-joy. • laenor otherys, 30, he/him. lord of braavos, son of the sealord omar otherys, (unofficial) bastard son of princess rhaenys of dragonstone. michael b. jordan. • dove baratheon, 31, she/her. lady of storm’s end. tang wei • nikolai sunglass, 25, he/him. knight and lord of sweetport sound. patrick gibson. • megara lannister, 33, she/her. lady of casterly rock. elizabeth debicki.

[mooning-moon]

Elizabeth Debicki

[mooning-moon]

thread ft. ariadne martell (@fortunefooled) location: the sealord palace's ball room time: five years prior (flashback)

the page struck the young maid with his bare hand, and hurled hushed insults at her like an abusive husband 'discipling' his wife. though the pair was nestled away in the dark of the garden, the stinging slap was loud enough hurt laenor's ears. and the scene alone sent the sealord of braavos' only son from his stoned seat and onto his feet. his abrupt actions did draw a few pair of eyes or two, but none stopped him. none dared.

the dark-skinned lord came upon the page from behind and snatched the latter's wrist before he could land another strike on the poor girl's unblemished cheek. the page stumbled back into laenor's chest and glanced up to see the interceptor. even with a mask covering half of his face, laenor was recognizable and his face brought fear to the page's core. "go, both of you. ah-- ah... in different directions!"

with just a simple command, he sent the two back to their duties and hopefully in far enough of a distance away from each other that the girl would not suffer again at the existence of the page. turning around, he was met with a stream of silken black hair, honey-glazed complexion, and violet dornish eyes.

he knew exactly who she was, but the point of the masquerade was to blind them to one another's identities. "surely the sealord's ball is more entertaining than whatever it was happening out here."

[mooning-moon]

MICHAEL B. JORDAN as SMOKE

Sinners (2025) dir. Ryan Coogler