pyrinas

[pyrinas]

new muse added: scott shelby, the origami killer

[pyrinas]

which vampire: the masquerade clan are you in ?? stolen from: @worthyheir >:3c tagging: @librarywent and anyone else who wants to do this <3

iren, you are salubri !!

most of their kind lost to undead usurpers, the highly desirable blood of the hunted, three-eyed salubri is a prize to other vampires. this, and their reluctance to embrace, makes them rare in the modern nights. they often recruit those on the edge of death, believing their curse can provide the worthy a second chance, and they count some of the most humane vampires among their ranks.

lenora, you are ventrue !!

the ventrue are not called the clan of kings for nothing. carefully choosing their progeny from mortals familiar with power, wealth, and influence, the ventrue style themselves the aristocrats of the vampire world. their members are expected to assume command wherever possible, and they’re willing to endure storms for the sake of leading from the front.

ramona, you belong with the hecata !!

a motley collection of necromantic vampire bloodlines, the hecata clan are united in the pursuit of a single subject: death. they are students of the afterlife and resurrectionists of the dead — or worse. selling their services to the highest bidder, or acting in their own interests, there are few who can hide from the surveillance of those who can summon and command the very spirits of the deceased.

lisbeth, you are toreador !!

known for their seductive nature, enthralling demeanor, and eloquent grace to the point of obsession, toreador vampires embrace artists and lovers into their ranks, forever trying to stir their own deadened hearts. supernaturally graceful and charming, the divas are always looking for the next thrill, leaving a detritus of discarded lovers and victims in their wake.

esmae, you are gangrel !!

often closer to beasts than other vampires, the gangrel style themselves apex predators. these ferals prowl the wilds as easily as the urban jungle, and no clan of vampires can match their ability to endure, survive, and thrive in any environment. often fiercely territorial, their shapeshifting abilities even give the undead pause.

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: ❝ fuck dignity. i want revenge. ❞

"You are quite dramatic," she sighed, slinging an arm over her eyes, hypocrisy dripping from her voice. This was coming from the same woman who had thrown a fit a mere few evenings ago. She had screamed and stomped, trying to break everything in her path. She was akin to a child on a warpath. Truthfully, she could not even recall what she had been so upset about.

Arm still shielding her eyes, she shifted beneath the furs, and a leg slipped free. Chilled toes found the warmth of his bare back and gave a quiet jab. "You are thinking too much," she murmured, her voice muffled. "Killing your father now only makes things harder for us."

She stretched, almost cat-like, finally removing her arm from her eyes. As she rose, her blonde hair tumbled and spilled over her shoulder messily. "Let him do all the hard work for now," she continued, creeping across the bed towards him. Her chin came to rest on Ramsay's shoulder, her breath warm against his flesh. "We should be thinking about our future. Let him set the foundation for that... Besides, he is far too distracted with that wretched aunt of yours and her half-witted son stumbling back from the Last Hearth to notice anything we do."

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

"No," she said, knowing that she ought not lie. He knew her too well now and could sniff out a fib from her before it left her lips. Still, it disappointed her that word did not reach him of the attack that night. The maester must have decided that the fighting in the North weighed heavier on Jaime's shoulders than she. "It is nothing. Let us talk in the morning about it," she added, offering him a soft smile as her hand reached down to cup his face in an attempt to reassure him. His beard tickled her palm. "Everything is okay, I promise."

She found herself irritated, but it was not aimed at Jaime. Instead, it was turned inward. She knew the discomfort that would blossom the moment she referenced that night. And still, she had nudged at it, her timing reckless. She cursed herself for not holding her tongue and not waiting until they ate in the morning.

"Come," she urged, rising from her own seat to look down at him. The babe in her arms gurgled happily again, her fat hand clinging to a strand of Iren's hair. "Let us go to bed. I believe you are clean enough to make a good impression with Genna now."

@pyrinas

Lips part to respond to her choice of name, a thousand thoughts rushing through his tired mind. But he does not voice any of them, instead leaning up and kissing her. Filled with gratitude and adoration. Iren had recalled his closeness to his late aunt, the woman who had been as close to a mother as he could have dreamed. And now, they would continue her legacy with their daughter.

At her next question, he frowns. He knew Iren well enough now to know when she was hiding something. The way she glanced away from him, the way her cheeks darkened just enough that he would notice.

“No…simply that you were safely delivered of a daughter. Ought I have heard anything else?”

[pyrinas]

She could hardly hear him speaking because of how fast her thoughts were rushing through her mind, each one tumbling like a wave crashing against the hull of a ship during a storm. She had always been behind the scenes, watching others take the spotlight. She preferred it that way. It was more peaceful. But now, that comfort was disappearing as anticipation of being thrusted into the spotlight of an award ceremony loomed over. The mere thought of bright lights and burning gazes was enough to make her feel sick. This may have been something Jaime was used to, but this was entirely foreign to Iren.

She gave a faint shake of her head in hopes that the motion would scatter the anxious thoughts. His clumsy compliment floated into her ears. Though awkward, there was no denying the sincerity and how endearing it was. On any other night, it would have coaxed a soft smile to her lips, but anxiety's grip on her was too tight.

"Oh," she breathed, the word airy and her mind still not fully present. Her fingers drifted to rest against the bodice of her gown. It felt like it was clinging to her chest like a heavy weight, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if the tailor had made a mistake with the sizing. No, she eventually told herself. Jaime had fussed over every detail, ensuring that she would look the part for the night, even if on the inside she felt the opposite. She would not look stupid or make him look stupid, she told herself.

Her gaze drifted from the window, the lights and approaching crowd fading from her focus as she registered that he was perhaps still waiting for a response. "Thank you," she finally answered, pairing the words with a small smile. Her lips parted and then closed again, hesitating with her next words. "I'm sorry... I'm just nervous."

@pyrinas (as discussed 87 years ago sorry)

The tie feels too tight about his neck and Jaime Lannister fears he might make a public spectacle of himself by slowly suffocating in front of a live audience of millions. Iren had urged him countless times to stop fidgeting, so he had forcefully stuffed his hands in his pockets, a scowl on his face as he stares out the window at the passing city streets.

He’d never been nominated for anything in his career, until now. And not only that, his name was in the running for the most prestigious of awards. If he won this, he would be booked for the remainder of his days.

And yet, all he desires is the woman who sits beside him in the back of the car. He had harboured feelings for her for longer than he would care to admit, and in the past few months, things had shifted between them. It had begun the day after she had slept alone in his bed, when he had broken down and told her of the hells his sister had put him through. Instead of fleeing, Iren had stayed. No one ever had before.

After several long minutes of silence, he tears his gaze from the window, instead glancing towards Iren. Perhaps tonight was the night things would change for certain.

“You��you look…nice tonight, Iren,” he fumbles. “I mean, you do all…all the time. But especially tonight.”

[pyrinas]

Ramona dismissed the apology with a flick of her hand as if she were swatting at flies. Her face showed no hint of interest. Ronnell, despite the irritation he could inspire, was truthfully an easy child. She had no need to watch his every mood or fret that he would be too much for the castle staff to handle. She imagined that bastard of her brother caused quite a ruckus once he was brought to the Dreadfort. Thankfully, Ronnell moved through the day like a ghost --- sleeping often and sitting silently at meals, as though he was just a shadow in the corner. The only main fault she could think of with the boy was his staring. It was not innocent, wide-eye curiosity. It was a hard gaze like he was peering into someone's soul and seeing all their secrets.

"I am not surprised," she confessed, her tone light and unbothered by the admission. Why should she be upset? She never spoke of Roose while married to her lumbering oaf of a husband. She doubted the Umber man would have known of his existence if Roose had not been the one to pack her off to the Last Hearth in the first place.

"Unfortunately," she continued, "there is not much to tell. What you know about your father is all there is to know about me." She paused and perhaps, if she was a more sentimental woman, she would have smiled. "Though, I doubt he would ever admit that I was born first." Her words were meant to be a jest, but her tone was flat and bland. What was meant to be humor was spoken with a shark edge that could be mistaken for irritation.

"i did not think of your son, my apologies." she should have realized ramona might be otherwise occupied throughout the day before asking. it was good that she had not embarrassed herself much bu being shut down. she did not speak of her husband, or marriage as ruby assumed someone grieving might, but she didn't ask.

she ate like a bird, lady dustin had said when she first came from the dreadfort to stay with her. now, she imagined hearing it again. she missed barrowton so much, missed lively meals and civilized conversation. at least her aunt seemed to be more civilized. "i do look forward to learning more about you, my father did not speak of his family much."

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: "don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love."

Lenora's gaze flickered up to meet Joe's, a skeptical scowl etched across her features. Love was a risk, something that could make her weak and be used against her. Whatever she and Ramsay shared between each other most likely defied the love stories she imagined Joe admired. It was not love. They were fire and ice, always teetering between suffocating adoration and a chasm of loathing.

She took a slow breath in, before exhaling with an annoyed huff. "In all honesty," she answered, eyes rolling in irritation as she spoke. She leaned back in her chair, her movements relaxed and deliberate. She draped one leg over another, surveying him like he was a sheep and she the wolf. "Falling in love is your little fantasy, not mine."

lost the prompt but I know it was ethel cain

[pyrinas]

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, a fragile thing near breaking. She had never felt so weak, so pitiful. They were loosing time. It slipped through her fingers like sand in the wind. With every shallow breath he took, she felt like he was fading from her life. Ramona did not think she could ever let him go. He was her brother, her twin. Her other half. They were one soul split into two. Without him, she was not whole.

"Don't," she begged, her voice faltering, strangled by the weight of unshed tears that were welling up in her eyes. She was unsure if she had ever cried before in her life, even as a babe. She cradled his face in her trembling hands, but they felt useless. Unsteady and unable to fully bring comfort.

They had entered this world as one, their fates woven together from the very beginning. She had been the first to arrive, the first to breathe the air of life. She had always thought that as the eldest, she would be the first to die, or at least they would pass together, as they had come into the world. It was a bond she had never question, one of the only certain things in life.

It should have been me, she wanted to tell him. "Roose," she whispered, needing to hear him speak again, to confirm he was still with her. "Who did this? Please."

Gelid hands grab at her shoulders, he stumbles; as his strength gives out, his weight falls on her. He grimaced, his left palm moving to press against the split skin of the stab wound. He had never been able to depend on anyone. Not even his parents. Not even as a babe. But she had always been there for him. At his side. They had entered the cruel world together, but it was foolish to think they would die together. They both fall to buckled knees, her hands cupped his cheeks. "Mona," He murmured, simply speaking taking a great toll on his sapping strength. "I'm . . . sorry." He faltered, it wasn't a word he knew well in his own mouth. "Please," He whispered, an apology just as foreign. His heavy head lolled, leaning against her shoulder, into her beating, breathing chest. "Forgive me."

@pyrinas

[pyrinas]

She noticed him the moment he stepped into the store, but she chose not to truly acknowledge him. Her attention was more on the jingling bell, rather than the person who accompanied it. A fleeting glance before her attention returned back to the shelves before her, like a hawk catching sight of a sneaking mouse in the grass far below.

She continued to pretended to scrutinize the labels. Was she particular about wine? Not really. Instead, she was particular about appearances. It was never about the taste or the vintage. It was about the price tag. An expensive bottle of wine was just not wine to her. It was a statement, a flaunt of wealth. She wanted to rub it in people's faces that she could afford something they could not, but she also loved the lead up. Leisurely picking up bottles, giving the illusion that she was truly mulling over choices and if she could afford any of it.

It was all a performance, especially when she finally brought the selection up to the cashier. Bottles clinked together in the metal basket and were set down on the counter with a soft thud, as if the weight was too heavy for her. Hundred of dollars worth of luxury drink were calculated with each scan from the cashier. She could have even sworn that when their eyes flickered to the total, surprise flashed across their features. She felt triumph, like she had won a battle. Yes, she thought, I can afford this and you can't.

The store's bell jingled as she stepped outside, its chime a subtle announcement of her exit. Red bottoms clicked softly against the pavement, the crowd swallowing her up, though she heard the liquor store's bell ring again right behind her. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder revealed nothing out of the ordinary, just the door swinging shut behind her.

Her head was held high, the weight of her purchase swinging rhythmically with each step. Though she had paid little mind to the bell behind her, she felt a tingling at the back of her neck urging her to pay attention. As she passed the mouth of an alleyway, she slowed, caught between the decision of whether or not to take her usual route or stay in the light. Eventually, she decided to step into the darkness of the alley. She would not let someone, real or imagine, scare her.

The darkness of the alleyway consumed her, making her near invisible to those who stayed on the street and in the light. Her body tensed, but she kept her pace. She would not give anyone the satisfaction of knowing she knew they were there or made her unease. She could hear footsteps faintly behind her, matching her pace. Her hand slipped into the plastic bag, the clanking of bottles disguising the rustling of plastic. She waited until they were further into the alley, before moving again.

She could feel them now, closer, almost breathing down her neck. She wasted no time turning sharply and smashing the bottle against the side of the nearby dumpster. The crack of glass sounded like thunder crackling through the sky. She cared not that hundred of dollars were just wasted.

"Get the fuck away from me," she hissed, patchy pink knuckles gripping the neck of the now shattered bottle like it were a knife. "Fucking freak."

I — we had to get out of California. Moving from the city to the suburb wasn't enough. They cut their ties and burned their bridges. Crossed their T's and dotted their I's. And they got on a plane. I don't know what Love did, but it worked. Henry slept the whole six hours. Coast to coast, the baby slept soundly. Joe doubted it was Love's motherly touch that lured him into a peaceful slumber. Knowing her, it was chemical. A drug. Likely one her own mother used on the twins in their infancy to pacify their cries. Joe was relieved that he — Will Bettelheim — and Love Quinn were now dead to the world, (him a nobody, and her a feminist icon), and he would no longer have to interact with Love's family. He was Love's family now. He was all she needed, he was all they needed. But were they were all he needed? It was nerve wracking, living a mere train ride away from his hometown. Hop the Hudson River and stroll to the Upper East Side and he could've popped by Mooney's. He wondered if Ethan had changed much since bestowing responsibility to him, he wondered if Beck's novels would still line the display window. Or if her story had lost steam, and her words were now collecting dust in the shelves. Joe's stomach flipped when the taxi pulled up to the brownstone building that resembled his long lost childhood home. Joe was able to get a job at the Gotham City Library despite never having been to college. His years of bookstore management and attention to detail when repairing and binding books was enough to land him a position, wherein he passed the time poking through their piles and piles of archives. He worked in the basement, behind the scenes, where he was less seen. Less likely to get distracted. Less likely to find someone new to fixate on. But stories don't always go as planned, and Joe had just started a new chapter in his life — anything could happen. 'Stand clear of the closing doors please,' echoed the inside of the station as Joe sluggishly scaled the steps leading to the streets, evading eye contact with the ever increasing homeless population desperate for anything, yet barely scrounging a glance let alone a cent. He walked home at a leisurely pace, eager delay coming home to Love sitting in the living room with a frown, waiting for him to get home. His hands were shoved into his pockets, both to keep them warm and to keep himself guarded. New York was hardly a haven, but Gotham was worse. And the madness only seemed to spread with each passing day. Joe jerked his arm just enough to catch a glimpse of the leather watch that peeked out from his righthand pocket. Shit, she's already put Henry to bed. He didn't dare check his phone. About three blocks from his apartment he ducked into the door of a small liquor shop. His gaze scanned the various labels, noting the alcohol percentage and then the price. Jesus, his brows furrowed. Joe sighed before finally grabbing a bottle. He was hopeful that the wine would placate his wife. That instead of an argument or off-handed comment they could spend the night warmed by each other's arms and the buzz of the alcohol. A part of him felt guilty about his twisted incentive. He loved Love, truly. And the ways in which they mirrored each other made it seem as if they were made for each other. Once upon a time, Joe wanted nothing more than someone who understood him, but in seeing just how broken Love was, his own reflection grew grim. With their matching gold bands, his lover had trapped him, cornered him, and he was antsy to escape. And then — a chance encounter fit for a fairytale — there you were.

𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃. / @pyrinas

[pyrinas]

Her gaze often shifted between Jaime and Genna, her heart swelling with happiness. With Jamie's homecoming, they could finally be a family. After so many long months of uncertainty, with only whispers and rumors reaching the Rock about the North, their family was finally whole again. Fear gnawed at her constantly in those months. The dread of possibly having to raise the babe alone, of Genna never knowing her father's face, ate her up inside. Now, she could rest easy. The Gods had smiled upon him and she still could scarcely believe it. They had been so cruel before, but now they were benevolent.

"Genna," she whispered proudly, the baby stirring slightly in her arms as if she could hear her parents talking about her. They had no time to discuss names before Jaime's departure that night. Once the blood had been wiped from Iren and Genna, the Maester asked what she would name the child. Hardly awake, she remembered how fondly he spoke of his aunt and wanted to carry some part of him through their daughter.

A part of her was thankful that the raven had kept the truth hidden, and had spared him the knowledge of what actually happened that night. Desperate cries filed the chambers, her voice breaking and cracking as she struggled to bring their child into the world. She screamed out for him, as though her wails could somehow summon him to her side and ease her through the pain. Yet, she wanted him to know how badly she needed him in the moment, even if he could not be here.

"Did you... Did you receive any other ravens?" she asked, her voice hesitant, as if she were testing the waters with the question. She had promised herself only moments ago that she would wait until the sun had risen before broaching the subject. She did not want to spoil such a happy reunion, but she felt anxious to know how much they kept him privy to happenings around the Rock in his absence. Iren promised herself that she would not discuss it beyond that question. She would just tell him they would need to talk about something in the morning.

@pyrinas

A smile graces his lips as he kisses her, hand coming to rest at the base of her back to draw her ever closer against him.

“I missed you too…more than I could ever say…”

It is not long before he is settled in the heated water, hand clinging to Iren’s as she sits beside the tub, their sleeping babe nestled in her arms. He longs to hold the girl, hold his wife, yet he knows he must cleanse himself of the weeks of travel that clung to his skin.

As he works away at scrubbing his flesh, he turns his attention to his lady.

“The raven only spoke of her birth…that you were both well,” he says softly. “What did…what did you name her?”

[pyrinas]

There was a flash of annoyance that crossed her features at the proposition. The question of why would she ever want to spend the day with Ruby was on the tip of her tongue, yet she managed to hold it and quickly erase her irritation. Ramona reminded herself that things had changed at the Dreadfort since her youth and perhaps she could learn something useful from the girl.

"That's fine." Her eyes remained on the food before her, still not making an effort to touch it or the wine. Not out of fear or caution, but merely disinterest. The old cook must have died. "My son sleeps the day away. He will not be asking for me."

@amongthevipers

her aunt was near a stranger to her and yet, the relief she felt having her here with her was great. ruby noticed how little she ate, but said nothing. she would never judge someone for how she ate in ramsay's presence. ruby herself had returned to being careful where she took her food from. ramsay had poisoned her once and she did not intend to be poisoned again.

"i am glad to hear it." ruby picked through her plate, eying each piece of meat and stew before beginning to eat. she washed it down with a swig of wine. it did not compare to the food or wine at barrowton. there she did not have to worry. "if you have nothing planned, would you like to spend the day with me? i would like the company." she would relish the opportunity to get to know her without ramsay's watchful eyes and jeering tone.

[pyrinas]

Her cheek rested against his upper arm, the pull of sleep already creeping in. She had always found safety in his presence. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched with a quiet smile as the first tender moments between father and daughter unfolded before her. Iren had only allowed no one but a select few wetnurses to touch Genna, especially after the attack weeks ago. The memory sparked an ache in her forearm, the still-healing wound reminding her of its presence and the incident. She could not help but wonder if any raven had reached Jaime about the incident, but she did not want to spoil the mood with such details. That would be something to discuss once the sun had risen again.

"She already adores you," Iren promised, arms snaking around Jamie again, still fearful he would disappear into the night. Her nose grazed his softly, dark eyes looking into his light ones, before stealing another kiss. Though it would only be a little bit, she could hardly stand the idea of being away from him again. It was unbearable. "I missed you."

@pyrinas

He clings to her as though his life depended on it and he supposed, in a sense, it did. He would have nothing without her…more likely than not, he would have fallen with the countless others that night at Winterfell.

Burying his face in her neck, he savours the familiar scent of her, only drawing back when her lips seek his. In that moment, she is all he thinks of. Forgotten are the horrors he had faced, the fears of what is still to come. However, a noise brings them both back to the present and he feels his heart jolt when he realises.

“I…” he searches her gaze, as though seeking her permission. Then, slowly, he rises, taking her hand in his and making his way over to the cradle with Iren at his side.

In that moment, he is certain he has adored nothing as much as he adores the babe before him. A plump little thing with the hair of her mother, but with the eyes of a Lannister. She stops cooing then, gazing curiously up at Jaime.

“Hello, little one…” he whispers, voice wavering somewhat as he releases Iren’s hand, instead reaching down to stroke his daughter’s cheek. After a few moments, the girl drifts off again, soothed by her father’s touches. With that, he turns to Iren, drawing her closer and pressing his forehead to hers.

“I’d like to bathe…” he murmurs. “I would hate for my daughter’s first impression of me to be such a poor one…”

[pyrinas]

She had barely sleep when she felt the ghosting of fingertips against her skin. Rest had become evasive these last few weeks. The faintest creak from the Rock and the softest murmur from the courtyard often jerked her awake when they once had been sounds she paid no mind to. In a way, Iren felt like she was back in her bed at her family's Keep. Instinctively, her eyes snapped open, her hand swatting at the fingers brushing her cheek, and her other hand scrambled in the dark for anything on the bedside table to defend herself with. Yet, she froze. The figure seated before her had not moved. The candlestick holder was gripped with such force that her knuckles were nearly snow white. She stayed quiet, prepared to swing the candlestick, desperately trying to determine who sat before her in the shadows.

"Jamie," she breathed upon the realization, tears choking her up. Arms flung around him, quickly abandoning her weapon. She held him tightly as if he were merely an illusion and would disappear into the night. Tears of joy spilled out from the corners of her eyes and wetted his clothing. She did not care that he stank of horses, dirt, and sweet. She had missed him too much to care. Her Jamie had returned. She began peppering his face and lips with kisses, trying to make up for the ones they had missed out on in their time away from one another.

From the nearby cradle came soft coos and gurgles of a baby, as if the baby Genna could sense the surge of excitement in the chambers. "Go see her," Iren urged, her voice trembling as she finally released Jamie from her embrace. She quickly wiped the streaks of tears from her cheeks, the evidence glistening in the candelight.

@pyrinas [as discussed]

Remaining hand hesitates atop the doorknob, emerald eyes fixed upon the oak before him. He can hear her breathing beyond it, the slow, deep breaths that tell him she is sleeping.

A part of him wishes to turn, seek somewhere else to rest so he does not startle her. It has been a year since he’d ridden his horse from the gates of Casterly Rock, since he had made his way north to join the forces against the dead. By some miracle, they had prevailed. And, whilst the rest of the army had made for King’s Landing, he had been discharged to return home to his wife…and to their babe.

The girl would be four moons old now, born a mere month before the dead had reached Winterfell. He’s certain knowing he now had a daughter was one of the few things that had kept him alive.

Eventually, he quietly opens the door, remaining in the doorway for several moments gazing upon Iren. The sight of her is enough to bring a tear to his eye…he had never anticipated seeing her again. Slowly, he makes his way to the bed, seats himself upon the edge of it. Living fingers coming to brush an errant strand of hair from her cheek.

“My lady…”

[pyrinas]

@librarywent sent: i find i have to be the sad clown: laughing on the outside, crying on the inside.

Victor has aged her. There were lines on her face that did not exist before their paths had crossed. She could have sworn gray hairs were starting to appear, speckling dark curls. She felt sick constantly, as though her anxiety was eating away at her stomach and insides together. The fear and genuine possibility of prison loomed over her, yet he dared to whine to her about how sad he was. Boohoo. She would have more sympathy for him if he too was strong-armed into his position, as he had done to her.

"Do you think... that some of your pain is your own doing?" she asked cautiously, knowing she was toeing the line of being too bold. Her eyes glanced down at his boots, knowing the point was mute to beg him to take them off. He was contaminating her home, an intruder into her life.

PROMPT.

[pyrinas]

She was a girl of few words, preferring to listen rather than participate in conversation. It was safer that way. That had been instilled in her from her birth into the world. Yet with the woman before her, it felt safe to speak. Perhaps not freely, but never did Esmae feel as though she was scared into her silence like with so many others.

"They are...," she began, agreeing with the words. "They are to be... for their people." She had faint memories of the previous kings and queens. They had never paid mind to people like her, despite the fact they were allowed to live comfortably and dine on the fanciest feasts because of the labor and efforts of the small folk. Daenarys realized this it seemed and Esmae found it refreshing.

♛ ⊱ @pyrinas ⊱ s.c. ⊱ 𝐄𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬

ㅤㅤㅤ❝  A  queen  belongs  not  to  herself,  but  to  the  realm.  ❞

[pyrinas]

She decided she would stay, though the phone call made her uneasy. She wished to leave the room, grant him privacy, but she soon felt a hand tethering her into place. Iren could not hear the conversation very well, just the faint, banshee-like shrieking of a woman’s voice on the other end of the call. Hearing the name Cersei made her realize it was his sister, a person she didn’t know much about besides a name. This did nothing to ease her discomfort. If anything, it added to it as she now realized she was present for a family quarrel.

Iren wondered who this "she" Jaime spoke of. Was it here? She felt arrogant at the idea, but the words he spoke earlier about wanting to know her outside of work still echoed in her mind. Why would his sister be so angry about her? Iren felt like a nobody, a person who should not threaten someone merely by existing.

Her hand fell to her side limp, when he fled, confused and unsure if she should follow or leave him be. She stood frozen until she heard heaving sounds. She hurried to the kitchen, running into the sofa in her rush and stumbling in the process. She braced herself against an end table briefly, letting out a quiet curse when the lamp rattled under her hand before continuing her way to the kitchen.

“You’re okay,” she whispered once she arrived, her hand gently rubbing his back. Her other hand carefully reached up to tuck any stray hairs behind his ears as he vomited. Any confusion or questions about the conversation faded from her mind, deeming them no longer important “I’ll get you some water.”

@pyrinas

Lips part to speak, but he is quick to close them again. There are countless things he wishes to say, but somehow, choosing the right words seems an impossible task. As he tries to place them in some kind of order that would not have her quitting her job on the spot, he takes a deep breath, emerald eyes cast to the ground for several long moments.

“Stay…” he says eventually, meeting her gaze once more. “If…if you wish to. I won’t force you to…”

It is then that his phone buzzes again and he gives in, grabbing it and answering it.

In the past, he would simply take his sister’s yelling, but somehow, having Iren at his side gave him a slight boost of confidence, allowing him to speak.

“Whatever issue you have is not mine to bear, Cersei,” he says steadily, though his hands are trembling as he speaks. “I won’t allow you to take from me now, not again…”

His sister launches into yet another tirade and it is a battle not to submit to her words and insults. Without realising it, he has reached over to take Iren’s hand in his, seeking strength.

“She’s a good person, Cersei,” he says when there is a lull in her rant. “That’s your issue, isn’t it? Because she would never treat me in the way you think I deserve.”

Another tirade ensues, but Jaime raises his voice over her.

“I can tell the world what you did. Just remember that.”

With that, he hangs up, staring down at the phone in his hand for several long moments. Then, he quickly darts from where he stands, just making it to the kitchen sink before he vomits.

[pyrinas]

"No." Her plate resembled that of a child's, as though it had been made for her son instead of herself. There were small portions, seperated carefully from each other. Before Ruby had joined her, she picked at the meat gingerly and decided two bites was enough for her and pushed the dish away.

Ramona had little memories of the girl before her, save for that she was ill like Domeric at one point, and her own twin had scarcely mentioned her in letters and conversations. Being sent so far north to the Last Hearth made her feel like a stranger to the dynamics of the Dreadfort now. She was pleased in a way to be back home, despite the bastard's presence in the halls making it feel more foreign now. She wondered what her and Roose's father would think.

"I do not enjoy hunting or your brother's company."

ruby had dreaded her return to the dreadfort after being in barrowton for so long. her first return for her father's wedding had been one thing, she had no doubts that she could return to lady dustin's care afterwards. now, though, ruby had been in winterfell long enough to know she was not going to be return home to barrowton again. her father was little comfort. she was surprised to see her aunt there though. she'd been so relieved not to be alone with ramsay.

she made her way through the world now, looking over her shoulder at every turn so that at least she may know when the next attempted poisoning from her half brother might come. she sat across from her aunt, setting down her meal. "i hear my brother will be going on a hunt today, will you be joining the hunting party?" ruby hoped truly that she wouldn't be. she wished for company in the brief time when they did not have to worry.

STARTER CALL | starter for @pyrinas / ramona bolton *