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The first Targaryen queen and the amethyst empress

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Cregan: the winter is coming my prince

Jace: cuming? What cuming? Are we going to fuck right here?

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Country girl Lucy and Joff

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The mothers- the conquerors

“Mother, Maegor bites me!”

“Oh Aenys, that’s means your brother loves you, right sister?”

“Just like what you did when we were young?”

“Of course! You know that I always love you 🥰 “

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Baby love to dance in the dark

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Finally, the true queen arrived

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On the dance floor

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Professor Aemma T and her favourite student

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“Rhaegar, Viserys, Look! I’ve got you flowers.”

In an alternative world, she lives happily and safely.

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Pearl brooch

Tom, a common sailor worked for the Velaryon fleet, he was searching for a piece of jewellery for his wife, who recently gave birth to their first born son. The dark-hair omega had pale skin tone with a hint of pink on his cheek, indeed pearl suits him well.

Captain Alyn gave him a pearl brooch out of the appreciation for Tom’s loyalty. They fought side by side in the journey on the narrow sea.

The brooch once belonged to another omega. The former heir to the Driftwood throne.

“What happened to the owner?” The omega wears the brooch and sit in front of the mirror.

“Died.” Tom answered absentmindedly.

“that’s sad.”

“Don’t bother with some dead lord, have you decided a name for our son yet?”

The omega smiled, running back to the cradle “Yes, I would like to name him Laenor.”

“After the lord? Why?”

“I don’t know. it just feely right. Do you like it?”

“I like whatever you picked.” Tom kissed him on his lip. “Luke.”

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Auction item no.35

Estimate: $1,600,000

Oil painting of Prince Laenor Targaryen, the 6th lord of Driftmark, son of prince Lucerys and Aemond, painter unknown but believed to be his consort, prince Viserys as documented

Good condition

From a private seller

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Auction item no.16

Estimate: $50000

Prince Lucerys’ portrait miniature on ivory, signed by prince Aemond at 1870

Good condition

From a private seller

[stuckyhahaha]

Twisted -4-

Daeron was woken up by a commotion out of his window. The pills he had taken last night put him under a deep and dreamless slumber. He slept like a dead man, lost in the land of nothingness until a string of bells woke him up.

It took him a few seconds to realize it was not a dream. He had come to Arcadia yesterday, to revisit the memory he wished he could forget and hopefully, catch the bogeyman under his childhood bed. Daeron kept staring at the ceiling, listening to the conversation outside.

“What a lovely morning, Miss K! Did you sleep well?” A cheerful voice came. A little high-pitched, but no doubt from a young man. Daeron knew this voice as he pictured a handsome face in his mind, smooth skin, full cheeks, slight pouty lips and flirty eyes. No, not handsome. Pretty would be a better word.

“You know I sleep like a corpse.” Miss K said in an even more cheerful voice. Daeron wondered if cheerfulness was the only social etiquette acceptable in a small town like this.

“And your guest?” Joffrey asked, a subtle curiosity in his tone.

“You mean Mr. Targaryen? I think He’s still sleeping.” Miss K replied, “You met him yesterday, didn’t you? Why do your cheeky pretties always meet hot man before good old Miss K?”

“I think you are one of the cheeky pretties too, Miss.” Joffrey chuckled. There was a small pause, and Daeron heard some rustling sound before the tavern owner shrieked like a little girl.

“Joffrey!” She laughed, “Don’t think you can charm your way through everything with a kiss!”

A kiss. Did Joffrey kiss her? On the cheeks or somewhere else? Daeron felt his heartbeat began to race, his stomach clenching with curiosity, regret and anticipation.

“I can’t help it. I am just too charming.” Joffrey said, “Here, today’s newspaper. I have to deliver the rest before 6. I haven’t feed the chickens yet.”

“Thank you. Off you go then. Say hello to Gwayne for me. Tell him we miss him down here.”

“I will.” Joffrey’s voice softened, the previous cheerfulness turning into something tender, “Good bye, Miss K. Have a nice day.”

Daeron didn’t get off bed until the sound of bells on Joffrey’s bike had completely died down. He laid there, thinking about Joffrey’s cheerful smile and imagining how it would feel to have those soft, pink lips pressed against his skin. Daeron had never felt such a pull toward anyone in his whole life. He was handsome and well sought after by beautiful girls, but none of these curvy bodies and sweet perfumes could make him ache with desire so much.

Daeron slowly sat up in his bed, his pajama pants tightening around his crotch. He was hard. His erection had already made an embarrassing wet patch on the cotton, fighting to break free of the prison that was his pajamas. Shame drowned him like high tides, but did nothing to ease his unholy desire. His cock twitched uncomfortably in the pants.

He was hard thinking about Joffrey’s lips. How twisted must he be to see Joffrey in this light?

Daeron swallowed as he slowly pulled out his cock, tugging at the tender skin once, twice, three times until he brushed it down, releasing the leaking head. His cock was hard and scorching in his palm, wet with pre-cum, and pulsing with desire. Daeron closed his eyes, gave his cock a few stroke and began to pump. He worked quickly and desperately, imagining Joffrey’s lips around his cock, the brunette’s dark eyes looking at him with teasing flirtation, his curls bouncing as he bobbed his head to suck Daeron off.

He came not long after. Hot liquid ejected from his cock to his bare stomach, thick and sticky. Daeron held his breath as the orgasm hit him, squeezing his hand around his cock, pretending it was Joffrey’s mouth that enveloped his dirty desire. Masturbation in the morning was nothing new to him, but Daeron was embarrassed to admit that he masturbated to the image of Joffrey, a young man he had only met yesterday, who he knew nothing of except that Joffrey was Gwayne’s boy.

Daeron shivered after the orgasm had calmed down, the chill of late spring putting goose bumps all over his exposed skin, drying the semen on his stomach and making him shiver with cold. Daeron let out a long sigh and wiped his stomach clean with his discarded pajama pants before collecting his toilettes and went for a shower.

****************************************************

Daeron met Gwayne Hightower at the town square that afternoon. He spent the whole morning going through his investigation notes, flipping through the newspaper that was delivered by Joffrey today, and resisting the urge not to bury his nose into the pages and try to pick up Joffrey’s smell over the stinking ink. Still nothing in the papers. This village seemed to be ignorant of the bodies that were being excavated, as if no evil could possibly come to this place.

Daeron begged to differ.

He saw a small crowd in the square, mostly idle famers who had already finished the day’s work. Daeron spotted Gwayne almost immediately even though Gwayne’s outfit didn’t stand out among his peers, khaki pants and loose-fit blue shirt paired, as normal as a farmer could get. However, there was something about the man that set him apart, his nicely combed hair and pale complexion, the way he carried himself as if he was a cold observer of the world, his thinly pursed lips and dull eyes. Daeron didn't need to be a genius to notice him.

“I haven’t seen you around, lad. New here?” Someone offered his hand for Daeron to shake, “Are you the visitor staying at K’s tavern?”

“I am.” Daeron replied as he gave the stranger a firm handshake, “It seems like everyone has already known me.”

“Gwayne was just telling us about you.” The man laughed, “It’s not like we will have a visitor every day, especially not a young man like you. I think you and Joff have lowered the average age of this village for at least five years.”

The joke wasn’t the cleverest one, but Daeron laughed along nonetheless. The name Gwayne intrigued him to no end, and Daeron was surprised to find the other man so casual and so normal. But then again, what did he expect a man who lived in a farm house to be, if not normal?

Everyone seemed to know Joff. Daeron wondered if Joffrey was just another safe topic to start a conversation with, like the weather.

“What are you coming here for, Daeron?” Gwayne asked, his voice soft and gentle, a sharp contrast to his indifferent eyes.

“I am a journalist.” Daeron replied, realizing belatedly that Gwayne had called him by name, “I write for magazines sometimes. I am here to write about small town life.”

“There is not much to write about.” Gwayne shrugged, “We do our work and gossip for entertainment.”

Daeron wanted to ask where Gwayne knew his name from, but he wasn’t sure if he would like the answer. Gwayne probably heard it from Joffrey, which made Daeron wonder just how much Joffrey shared his daily life with this man. Gwayne looked like he was in his mid-thirties, while Joffrey was barely twenty, and Daeron had never known a young adult who would share his life completely with his custodian.

“We spit at the shitty performance of our local football team too!” Someone shouted from the crowd, making every one laugh at the same moment.

Gwayne didn't laugh; he only smiled. Just as Daeron was about to ask if anyone had heard of the gruesome news of excavated bodies, a string of bells interrupted his thoughts and made his breath stop for a second. It was the same sound he had heard out of his window this morning.

“What are you old men chatting about?” Joffrey asked in his usual cheerfulness. He stopped his bike and jumped off it in one smooth move and walked straight to Gwayne, “I couldn’t find you in the farm.”

There was a subtle desperation in Joffrey’s tone, so subtle that Daeron feared he was imagining it.

“I went down to hang out with the lads.” Gwayne replied, brushing a patch of dirt off the sleeve of Joffrey’s grey hoodie like a caring father, “Have you checked the potato field?”

“Of course I have.” Joffrey offered his other sleeve for Gwayne to check, “The chickens have laid some eggs this morning. I am thinking omelet for tea.”

Gwayne finished checking Joffrey’s hoodie for dirt and let his palm slide down Joffrey’s back, resting just above the boy’s hip. The gesture was intimate, too intimate for a custodian and his ward, but the crowd made no comment.

Daeron’s mouth went dry while his palm began to sweat. He couldn't help but remember Miss K’s words. Joff is Gwayne’s boy.

Could she mean it literally?

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What a real mother should be

Fk up mother

Nyra: what? Luke is been poisoned and almost die?! Ok he will be fine I don’t need to see him.he can drink some tea and whatever.

Real mother

Nyra: MY SON IS BEEN POISONED!? I need to feed that man to my dragon! The man who dare to give him poison and the stupid husband who couldn’t even provide safety to my boy!!! Don’t stop me Jacaerys!!!! Syrax!! Come to me I will fly to my boy right now!!!! Don’t you dare stop me!!!!!

******

Fk up sons

Lcmd child: oh ok mama is been poisoned…but how dare you ignore me! I am so unloved I need attention!!!

Real sons

Lcmd child: who dare to poison my mama I need to kill that man! ( waving his tiny little dagger) father if you want to stop me I will avenge my mother by myself (at the age of five)😤

******

Fk up husband

Aemond: oh Luke is need poison, and I couldn’t find out who did that……ok let’s pretend it didn’t happen if someone dare to mention it, I will kick him out of my house.

Real husband

Aemond:I will chase that man till the end of the world and I will never forgive myself for that. It’s all my fault not Luke’s.

******

Fk up Luke

Luke: I’ve been poisoned and it’s all my fault, how dare my family blaming my husband…..

Real Luke

Luke: I am the one who has been poisoned because someone else want Aemond’s cock and it’s me to take the blame? Uncle have you prepared to lose another eye?

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Omg omg omg it’s getting excited 🥹🥹I am dying to find out what Daeron is up to

Twisted -3-

Daeron retired to his room at precisely 8pm. Miss K was kind enough to offer him some night tea, but Daeron refused politely. Instead, he asked for two bottled water and a copy of today’s local newspaper before entering his room and locking the door.

There were only two rooms in this small tavern, one tucked in the back, spacious with a view of the garden, the other small and facing the streets. Daeron opted for the small one, not because he couldn’t afford the spacious one, but he needed the convenience of observing the streets and the villagers passing by.

Daeron wiped away the thin layer of dust on the desk, carefully took the notebook out of his pocket, put down two water bottles, fished out his pills from the backpack, and sat down. He took some time to align the pill bottle and two water bottles perfectly before opening this notebook and began to write.

Daeron had developed the habit of writing his thoughts down since he was ten. His therapist suggested that he used this as an outlet of his emotions, to let your thoughts out, not keeping them in, sweetie. Daeron couldn’t even remember what the kind therapist looked like, but he took her advice. Over the years, his notebook served more than just a dairy, but an anchor to keep him in the reality.

Daeron flipped through the newspaper, its headline reading Expect a hot summer this year and mind your crops! The local issue contained mostly information of weather, farming, back yard sale, farmer’s market or interesting convention a few towns over, advertisements, and so on. The most dubious thing Daeron found in this newspaper was someone called Y asking for a companion to share his large house and look after his cow. No mention of the three bodies flooded out of the swamp just outside of the village.

Daeron was suspended from duty due to his violent behavior towards a murder suspect, so he had lost his privilege of accessing the police database. Still, he followed crime news as best as he could, especially cases involving pre-teen girls. The three bodies that had been flooded out were all skeletons, their flesh gone, but from the height of the skeletons, it was clear that they were all children. Daeron had a hunch that there was more to this cold case than it appeared. That was why he came to Arcadia.

After reading the newspaper for three times and found nothing useful, Daeron sighed and folded the paper back to its original state. He placed the neatly folded paper on the desk and took two pills with water before lying down on his bed.

He stared at the ceiling; the nicely carved mahogany spoke to the history of this place. Not only this tavern, but the whole village seemed to be frozen in the past, in a time when everyone trusted everyone. This place was an ideal image of country life, quiet and friendly, the beauty of nature bringing out the best of humanity.

Or the worst.

Daeron felt his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He fell asleep with a white farm house and a pair of flirty dark eyes in mind.

May 29th

The village is quieter than I expected. I haven’t met many people yet, but the tavern owner, Miss K, told me that the town square is the place to go to meet new people. I might test my luck there tomorrow.

There was no news about the burial site before my phone died. I will have to use the classic approach and consult the newspaper for further updates. I still think there are more victims than the three bodies flooded out of the mud. My instinct is rarely wrong.

I met a young man Joffrey is He has dark hair He is chatty flirty beautiful

A young man showed me around the village. He lived in the white farm house on the hill. His name is Joffrey.

================================================

Joffrey took another shower after he finished washing the dishes and feeding the dog at the backyard. He changed into a set of cheeky lingerie paired with a silk robe. He switched off all lights in the house and went to the master bedroom.

Master was already in bed, a book in hand with his reading glasses on. He was relaxed and casual, his neat hair brushed back to reveal his unimpressed face. He wore a simple navy-blue T-shirt, rimmed reading glassed hanging dangerously on his nose as he flipped the pages. He looked ordinary at best. An ordinary farmer who lived in the village all his life.

But to Joffrey, Master was nothing but ordinary. Joffrey learned to admire the neatly combed hair, the small crease between his brows, thin lips, grey blue eyes, the narrow jaw, well defined chest and arms, large calloused hands, the hairs on his navel, strong legs, and warm cock. Joffrey shifted at the door way as his panties grew uncomfortably tight. Just imagining Master naked under the sheets was enough to make him whine for attention.

“Come here, good boy.” Master put down the book and smiled at Joffrey, “Don’t ruin the carpet with your slutty juice.”

Joffrey didn’t need to be told twice. He strode to the bed and threw himself at his Master, nuzzling the man’s chest like a clingy cat.

“Did you feed the dog?” Master asked him, parting Joffrey’s robe and brushing against the boy’s pink nipple under the sheer lingerie.

“Yes, Master.” Joffrey shifted on the sheets to give the man more access, “He liked the leftover chicken.”

“Because it is stained with your blood, dear Joffrey.” Master chuckled, grabbing Joffrey’s leaking cock over his panties, “You know my dog shares my taste. I like your blood too.”

Joffrey had cut his finger while preparing for the herbed chicken, and Master forbid him to wash the blood stain away, so they had chicken seasoned with Joffrey’s blood tonight.

“I am all yours, Master.” Joffrey murmured with all the honesty in the world, “My blood, flesh, bones, and soul. You made me, Master. I am your creation.”

The man’s breath caught in his throat. For a fleeting moment, his mask cracked, all his confidence and grace gone, leaving only his core, raw and vulnerable. He kissed Joffrey’s murmuring lips, their breath tangled together like their limbs.

“Can I have your cock tonight, Master?” Joffrey asked, sneaking his hand down to grab the man’s throbbing length, “Please. I haven’t felt you inside of me for so long.”

“It’s only two days.” Master chuckled.

“It’s an eternity.” Joffrey insisted, fluttering his thick lashes seductively, “Please, I need you, Master.”

The man caved in at last. How could he reject his boy, his most precious treasure, his masterpiece?

They made love well into the night, until both of them were so exhausted that they could no longer lift a finger.

“I met someone today.” Joffrey whispered as he began to doze off, his tone relaxed as if he was talking about a stray animal he found in the streets, “A visitor.”

The man hummed, unimpressed as usual.

Joffrey rolled to his side and clung to his Master’s strong arm. He took a deep inhale, letting the man’s distinctive smell invade his nostrils.

“I wonder how long can he hold on?”

“We will see, Joffrey.” Master kissed Joffrey’s forehead, “We will see.”

[stuckyhahaha]

I cried literally 🥲

🚬💿💭💤❤️‍🔥.

“We’re sleeping on our problems like we’ll solve them in our dreams, we wake up early morning and they’re still under the sheets.”

Or

Daeron and Joffrey wonder if there's still love between them.