vis3rys

[vis3rys]

@rosecrowned asked: ❝ Am I what you expected? ❞ (viserys iii in our seven kingdoms au 👀)

She   stood   there   —   fragrant   as   summerwine   and   just   as   dangerous.   The   Reach   had   sent   him   a   rose,   yes,   but   one   with   thorns   cleverly   hidden   beneath   silken   petals.   Her   voice   held   no   tremble   when   she   asked   it.   Viserys   tilted   his   head   slightly,   studying   her   not   as   a   man   studies   a   bride,   but   as   a   dragon   studies   the   field   before   flame.

“Expected?”   he   echoed,   the   word   curling   on   his   tongue   like   smoke.   “I   expected   a   bride   bred   on   chivalric   tales   and   gilded   gardens.   A   girl   schooled   in   courtesy,   smiling   prettily   behind   lace   veils,   with   little   mind   but   much   ambition.   The   Reach   is   fertile   ground   for   both.”

He   stepped   closer,   slowly,   as   if   approaching   a   creature   whose   nature   he   could   not   yet   name.   “But   you—”   he   said,   voice   lower   now,   as   if   confessing   to   a   mirror,   ringed   finger   held   to   her,   before   it   reach   a   loose   curl   over   her   shoulder,   and   pushing   it   aside,   lilac   eyes   staring   back   at   exposed   skin   and   later   to   her   own   eyes.   “You   watch.   You   weigh   your   words   like   a   maester   with   coin.   And   you   ask   me   such   a   question   not   for   praise...   but   for   power.”

His   mouth   curved,   not   into   a   smile,   but   something   sharper.   “No,   Margaery   Tyrell.   You   are   not   what   I   expected.”   A   pause.   “You   are   far   more   dangerous   than   that.   That   is   a   good   thing.”

[vis3rys]

he hates barristan. that's all.

[vis3rys]

Viserys had always believed himself destined to be worshipped. But not like this. Not in the way Irri whispered his name as if it alone might unravel her. Not in the way her body curved toward him, sought him, needed him with a desperation that unmade her poise and set her soul aflame. Her plea—"Please"—was not born of fear, but hunger. She wanted him, and more than that, she saw him. Every fire he lit, she matched. Every hunger he revealed, she devoured. And in her eyes—gods, in those dark, smoldering eyes—he saw not just a reflection of his own desire, but a promise that she would never flinch from the man he truly was.

Dangerous. Demanding. Devouring. Her words curled around his pride like silk. She could lose herself in him, she said. Good, he thought. Let her. Let her drown in the storm he became when her voice trembled against his mouth, when her fingers clutched his silver hair and her thighs parted for his hunger. There was power in her worship, power in her begging, and Viserys drank it like the finest wine. He had always longed for dragons, thrones, crowns—yes. But this?

This was devotion that writhed and moaned and begged beneath him, her thighs slick with proof of her surrender. When she moaned his name—Viserys—like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth, he almost laughed. Almost. But it wasn't amusement that burned through him. It was something darker. Wilder. He pulled back only so he could see her face. So he could watch her fall apart when she kissed him, when she whined her truth into his ear and demanded the ruin he promised. “You can feel it, can’t you? How much I need you?” He did. Every inch of him felt it. Every pulse of blood, every ache of his cock, every greedy breath he took of her scent. She licked herself from his lips, and he let her—no, he invited it. She tasted of sin and surrender, and when she whispered darkly, he knew she meant every word.

She wanted the whole khalasar to know to whom she belonged. Whose mouth had made her cry. Whose name she would scream into the furs. She laid back first, the gold of her nipple piercing catching the lamplight, then turned over, spine arching, hips rising like a prayer. Like this? Or like this? Viserys’s jaw clenched. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he stepped forward into the cradle of her invitation. A man could lose himself here, too. ❝I shall give you both. The dull ache of pleasure will last for a week.❞ He leaned forward, bending to murmur into the shell of her ear, voice low and hot with promised thunder, his hips rubbing in teasing grinds against her entrance as he position himself into the sweet slick of hers, his fingers fist into her hair and pull her head against his own, lips against her cheek. ❝You think you’ve lost yourself in me, sweet thing?❞ he whispered. ❝You haven’t even begun to understand what it means to be taken by a dragon.❞

And then he gave her what she asked for. Let the world hear them. Let her remember forever what it felt like to beg for him, letting himself thrust inside him and not stopping until he was seethed to the hilt inside her and gods, the growl that esscape him was barely human. "Gevie. Iksā bāne."

▐║  ☽  ┊  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐌,  how  he  matches  every  escalation  with  all  the  heat  of  a  dragon's  fire,  the  way  her  eyes  recognize  what  they  see  in  his  own  and  find  it  reflected  in  herself.  What  a  dangerous  tease  he  has  proven  to  be,  but  one  that  keeps  his  word  nonetheless.  His  cock  throbs  against  the  fuller  flesh  of  her  thigh,  and  she  knows  that  is  a  promise,  too.  That  he  wants  her.  That  he  will  take  her.  Irri  moans  softly  against  Viserys's  lips,  approving,  her  digits  brushing  through  the  silver  strands  of  hair  that  fall  around  his  features  as  she  savors  this  kiss.

But  his  mouth  is  not  sweet  to  her  lips  alone,  for  as  he  kneels  between  her  legs,  he  proves  to  be  just  as  deft  below.  It's  what  he  had  asked  for  ──  a  taste  ──  yet  Irri's  anticipation  cannot  match  how  pleasant  it  feels  once  his  mouth  is  at  last  upon  her.  Maybe  she had  forgotten  how  good  this  could  feel,  too,  as  it  seems  she  has  for  many  things.  Or  maybe  she  had  underestimated  how  attentive  Viserys  could  be.  He  looks  even  more  dangerous  there,  she  thinks,  peering  up  at  her  from  between  her  thighs  with  all  the  hunger  in  his  eyes  of  an  unfed  dragon.  She's  not  sure  which  is  more  devastating,  his  tongue  or  his  fingers.  They  work  together  so  deliciously,  leaving  the  last  bits  of  her  usual  composure  as  nothing  but  tatters,  stripped  away  piece  by  piece  to  reveal  a  woman  in  desperate  need,  writhing  upon  the  furs  as  her  moans  fill  the  tent.

❝ Viserys  ─  ❞  his  name  rolls  from  her  lips  like  confession,  a  prayer,  something  too  raw  to  play  into  the  fantasy  of  their  escapism.  Gone  are  any  preconceptions  that  this  is  a  mere  distraction,  and  no  longer  is  it  a  mere  fantasy.  No,  she  needs  him  now,  for  all  he  has  incited  within  her;  she  needs  him  badly,  so  much  so  that  she  does  not  have  to  think  twice  when  he  demands  that  she  beg.  ❝ Please,  ❞  Irri  whispers,  a  strained,  pitiful  word  that  cannot  decide  if  it  wishes  to  be  a  whimper  or  a  growl  as  it  leaves  her.  His  withdrawal  is  immediately  noticed,  and  she  finds  herself  following  him  as  he  pulls  away,  capturing  Viserys's  face  between  her  hands  to  bring  her  lips  to  his  own  once  more.

❝ You  can  feel  it,  can't  you?  How  much  I  need  you?  ❞  she  whines,  licking  the  taste  of  herself  from  his  lips  as  she  kisses  him  again,  then  presses  her  mouth  to  his  ear  to  whisper  darkly,  ❝ Fuck  me,  Viserys.  Qafi  shakfa.  Let  them  hear  us,  ❞  Irri  breaks  away  then,  looking  into  Viserys's  lilac  eyes  as  she  lays  back  upon  her  elbows,  one  hand  curving  over  her  own  breast  to  toy  with  its  golden  piercing,  the  other  arm  outstretched  as  if  to  beckon  him.  ❝ Like  this?  Or  .  .  .  ❞  Irri  turns  onto her stomach beneath  Viserys,  letting  her  hips  arch  upward  as  she  looks  back  at  him  from  over  her  shoulder,  her  reaching  arm  brushing  fingertips  over  his  torso.  ❝ .  .  .  like  this?  ❞

[vis3rys]

HEAVY IS THE HEAD: all these sentences had been taken from goodreads quotes source with the key word of : crown. change pronouns, titles, locations and names as you see fit.

“Truth is beauty”

“Do not wait for a coronation; the greatest emperors crown themselves.”

“A King and Queen cannot support a crown with eyes looking down. Their universe expands as far as you can see.”

“Rise, Luthiel, in the name of love you came and in the name of love I crown you!”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown”

“He will be the destruction of the crown and the ruination of the throne.”

“A crown doesn't really do much of anything. Just sits on one's head, quite useless. Oh, I suppose it sparkles.'

“As long as you want the belt, don’t run away from the fight. Do what it takes to win the battles you face.”

“Just because a moth flies close to a flame and lives, doesn't mean the next time it won't catch fire”

“But what good is a crown when your head can't hold it? What good is a throne when it is a wheelchair? And what good is a king with no kingdom?”

“I wore my crown long before the king came.”

“I mean, power hungry has to be genetic. I mean, how he got that crown on his head so young? Fifteen is the youngest ever to ascend.”

“There are fireflies winking around his head, landing in his hair. A crown. His dive is infuriatingly graceful.”

“But men are shortsighted. Especially when a heavy crown is blocking their eyes.”

“The day you remove the crown from your head is the day you will become the real queen.”

“Illusion is the crown of the herd - kings that remain sheep.”

“A crown of feathers amidst the rugged terrain, an eagle's kingdom takes its reign.”

“Use your imagination. Wear your crown on the inside.”

“A queen is not made by a crown but by the fire in her soul. The Lioness of Bharat is a tribute to the fearless spirit that shapes legends.”

“A king is not his throne nor his crown.”

“On the night when the moons are under the veil of a storm, a daughter to the crown shall be born.”

“There is no crown without guilt.”

“Fear not the dead, fear the living...”

“. . . golden brilliance splitting through the clouds like the crown of a princess on her coronation day.”

“There's always something left to lose”

“A crown is both a great gift and an onerous burden.”

“Perhaps in another time, I would have considered what it meant to meet inside a broken crown. Today, I was too intent on who waited for us there.”

“Lucid dreams are the dreamer’s treasure.”

“It is spiritually wise to protect your crown. Do not allow everyone to put their hands in your hair.”

“Even when she's dethroned by hardship, she still wears the sun as a crown.”

“A crown of kisses to the queen of dreams.”

“A smart woman fixes her own crown and does not dethrone other women from their own glory. For she knows on her own, she is strong.”

“Does that mean you won’t be building me a castle in our new kingdom?”

“Because, your grandmother said I could be prince of the Enchanted Forest.  She’s going to steal me a crown and everything.  We have it all planned.”

“A crown of thrones and stars to show the world that we are as much of dreamers as they are but we are merciless and restless in achieving our goals”

“I think you underestimate the stubbornness a crown can press into a man or woman's mind.”

“A prudent woman wears her crown with pride. She believes in the power of love and she knows the value of her life.”

“If you don't take your eyes off the crowd, you may miss the crown.”

“Do not wear spiritualism as a crown to inflate your EGO....be mindful”

“She got an empty crown filled with lies and deception”

“Admit it, peasants… Could the usurper wearing my crown have pulled that off?”

“God will be attractive both in the cross and in the crown”

“That’s because the true power of magic is not to send random objects careening off across the room. The true power of magic is to make ordinary people bow.”

“I hold an old-fashioned notion that a happy marriage is the crown of a woman’s life.”

“As a king can wear a crown, a crown can also weary a king.”

“If you want to miss your crown, follow the crowd. If you want to wear the crown, go alone and be yourself.”

“Ah, Princess, a crown is more discomfort than adornment. If you have learned that, you have already learned much.”

“Cursed the crown that brought such grief to me”

“The greatest warriors fight not for crowns and splendor, but for love.”

“What you express in your character is what your lifestyle crowns”

“Who ever heard of a king without ears? Why, his crown would fall straight down to his neck!”

“A girl in a crown of stars was coming toward him, but before she could see who he was he slipped through his curtains of flesh.”

“Who in the universe halts when the enemy tells them to?”

“God has ordained you for your own assignment in the Kingdom”

“It's you, our queen with your crown, going into some body of water where we cannot follow you.”

“It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown...it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe... and mine again as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown?”

“I want something good to die for. . . to make it beautiful to live.”

[vis3rys]

Viserys   watched   as   Irri,   his   eyes   locked   on   hers.   Her   body   language   spoke   volumes,   and   he   could   see   the   desire   in   her   eyes,   mirroring   his   own.   She   was   willing,   eager   even,   and   it   filled   him   with   a   sense   of   power   he   hadn't   felt   in   a   long   time.   After   all,   he   was   the   Prince   of   Dragons,   and   she   was   about   to   feel   the   full   force   of   his   passion.

Irri's   lips   parted   slightly   as   he   stared   down   at   her,   and   Viserys   couldn't   resist   any   longer.   He   lowered   his   head   and   claimed   her   mouth   once   more,   his   tongue   dancing   with   hers   in   a   sensual   tango   that   left   them   both   breathless.   The   heat   between   them   intensified,   and   he   could   feel   it   coursing   through   his   veins   like   liquid   fire.   As   their   kiss   deepened,   he   shifted   his   hips,   positioning   himself   at   her   side,   where   his   hard   cock   could   grind   against   her   thigh.

He   knelt   between   her   legs,   his   eyes   never   leaving   hers,   and   leaned   forward,   taking   her   folds   into   his   mouth.   Viserys   lapped   at   her   entrance,   tasting   her   sweetness,   and   then   started   to   work   his   tongue   in   circles   around   her   sensitive   spots.   He   pushed   two   fingers   inside   her,   feeling   her   walls   clench   around   them,   and   started   a   rhythm   that   had   her   moaning   his   name.

Viserys's   other   hand   found   its   way   to   her   clit,   teasing   it   gently   at   first,   then   more   forcefully   as   she   grew   more   aroused.   He   increased   the   pace,   driving   his   fingers   deeper   and   sucking   harder   on   her   clit.   Finally,   he   pulled   away,   his   cock   aching   for   release.   "Beg   for   it,"   he   growled,   his   voice   rough   with   desire.   "Beg   for   my   cock   and   my   seed,   ñuha   byka   riña."  

▐║  ☽  ┊  𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐒  𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇,  𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍  𝐀  𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐋  𝐌𝐀𝐍.  The  blood  of  the  dragon,  Irri  reminds  herself,  suddenly  seeing  there  must  be  some  truth  to  the  stories  about  these  Targaryens  and  their  sacred  blood.  She  had  felt  it  earlier  in  his  touches;  warm,  not  a  fever,  but  heat  beneath  the  skin  nonetheless.  And  she  welcomes  it  all,  the  way  his  hot  blood  simmers  for  her,  heating  her  mouth,  her  throat,  her  lips.  Irri  had  asked  to  taste  a  dragon,  and  now  she's  gotten  her  wish.  She  can  feel  Viserys  losing  himself  in  the  pleasure  of  her  mouth,  his  cock  responding  to  every  flick  of  her  tongue,  the  perfect  pressure  of  her  lips  wrapped  around  him.  The  cradle  of  his  hands  fits  so  wonderfully  around  her  cheeks,  her  jaw,  so  eager  to  touch  that  they  can  hardly  be  mistaken  for  anything  but  claiming.  Her  eyes  remain  upon  his  own,  unwilling  to  pull  away,  for  she  finds  her  own  pleasure  in  watching  this  prince  come  undone  at  her  will.  Slowly,  surely,  fully  intent  to  drive  him  mad  with  what  he  feels.  Irri  dares  not  stop  at  his  declaration.  No,  she  moans  in  answer,  letting  it  echo  through  her  mouth  and  surround  him  with  the  soft  vibrations  of  her  voice.

The  languid  blink  she  gives  is  deliberate,  delicate,  filling  her  eyes  with  a  thousand  unspoken  answers  in  approval.  She  wonders  if  Viserys  could  truly  keep  to  his  word,  but  she  knows  better  than  to  be  idealistic.  Maybe  Drogo  allow  it  for a while to  appease  his  khaleesi's  brother,  but  she  doubts  Qotho  and  the  others  would  let  it  last.  They  do  not  like  it  when  others  take  what  they  believe  to  be  theirs,  especially  not  this  silver-haired  outsider.  But  the  words  are  not  empty,  and  she  is  grateful  enough  that  they  have  been  said.  Finally,  she  finds  it  within  herself  to  release  him  from  her  mouth,  licking  away  the  fluids  left  upon  her  lips  as  she  stares  up  into  his  lilac  eyes.  ❝ Keep  me  with  you,  and  they  won't,  ❞  she  lies,  though  she  wishes  it  were  true.  But  tonight  they  are  pretending,  and  so,  Irri  pretends  that  he  can  keep  her  here  with  him  and  keep  her  safe  for  as  long  as  he  remains  with  the  khalasar.

The  handmaid  leans  forward,  resting  her  chin  against  the  bottom  of  his  torso,  her  eyes  still  locked  with  his.  ❝ They  are  foolish  men,  but  they  should  know  better  than  to  try  and  steal  from  a  dragon.  ❞  And  gods,  he  sets  her  entire  body  alight,  and  she  wants  to  bring  him  back  into  her  mouth  and  taste  him  once  again,  to  work  him  until  his  seed  floods  her  tongue  and  pours over her  lips,  but  then  he  does  something  she  had  not  anticipated.  How  easily  he  lifts  her,  pinning  her  to  the  furs  of  his  bed,  stealing  the  breath  from  her  when  he  pulls  her  hips  right  where  he  wants  them.  His  fingers  are  a  relief  to  her  empty  mouth,  taken  readily  to  wet  them  as  he  wishes.  Even  she  did  not  expect  the amount of  slickness  Viserys  finds  between  her  folds,  surprised  by  her  body's  own  ample  arousal.  Has  it  truly  been  so  long  since  she  has  wanted  someone  like  this,  that  she  has  forgotten  how  it  is  supposed  to  feel?

One  might  think  it  has  been  an  eternity  for  her,  the  way  she  moans  at  the  first  touch  of  his  thumb  upon  that  sensitive  pearl  that  hides  atop  her  crest.  As  her  upper  body  finally  settles  beneath  her,  every  muscle  in  Irri's  lower  half  pulls  taut  with  the  tension  of  desire,  beckoned  by  every  deft  movement  of  Viserys's  digits.  Her  own  close  around  the  furs  beneath  her,  the  opposite  hand  grasping  at  the  back  of  his  neck  as  his  mouth  toys  with  her  nipples,  the  sensation  heightened  by  the  small,  golden  bars  that  pierce  through  them.  The  harder  he  sucks,  the  more  pain  mixes  with  the  pleasure,  but  she  does  not  shy  away  from  the  feeling,  her  chest  arching  against  his  mouth  as  if  asking  for  more.  Irri's  hips  grow  restless,  pushing  forth,  grinding  against  the  motion  of  his  fingers  from  below.  ❝ Gēlenka  dārys,  ❞  she  moans  in  approval  with  what  little  Valyrian  she  can  recall  in  her  present  state.  ❝ Your  mouth.  Have  the  taste  you  wished  for.  ❞

[vis3rys]

‪‪❤︎‬ ˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 & 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 !    (  a  collection  of  75+ kisses.   feel free to specify the initiating muse.   potentially mature content within.  UPDATED 02/25 !  )

finally kissing the person you’ve been pining for.

pulling them in for a kiss while showering together.

a kiss shared during a game  ( truth or dare,  spin the bottle,  etc ).

kissing your lover to show you forgive them.

a coy, chaste kiss meant to say thank you.

an intimate kiss full of relief the second you're finally alone.

wiping away your lover’s tears as you kiss them.

a kiss muffled by laughter in a library, hidden away among the shelves.

lazy kisses on the sofa while the television runs.

kisses while wrapping your legs around your lover.

a quick peck on the cheek as one party rushes off.

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them.

a kiss to convince them not to leave bed in the morning.

a kiss to distract them from stitching a wound.

a parting kiss before one party goes away for a long time.

biting their lip amidst a kiss, drawing blood.

heated kisses while tugging on their hair.

abruptly kissing a stranger to scare off the people following you.

an emotional kiss bringing one party to tears.

a bruising kiss full of desperation and urgency.

distracting your lover from a task by kissing their neck.

standing on your tiptoes to kiss their forehead.

kissing down the column of your lover's neck, leaving marks.

a kiss while being reunited after a long time.

kissing your lover in a moment of sheer joy.

a dutiful kiss with no true feeling behind it.

kissing your lover to take away their pain.

colliding with a wall, then each other's lips.

a kiss placed over their freshly bandaged wound.

a kiss while slow dancing close and intimately.

sharing a spontaneous kiss with a stranger.

an abrupt ,  heated kiss during the middle of a fight.

a kiss motivated by a dare from a third party.

an adrenaline-fueled kiss while standing on the ledge of a rooftop.

kissing them to shut them up.

urgent, messy kisses as both parties scramble to undress.

a kiss to wake your lover up in the morning.

sharing a kiss in a heavy downpour of rain.

kissing your lover just above their waistband.

kissing your partner to seal a marriage.

pushing your love down onto the bed to worship their body with kisses.

a possessive kiss to stake a claim.

a kiss to resolve suppressed ( romantic / sexual ) tension.

a kiss attempting to convince the other party to stay.

kissing the top of their head as you hold them.

a risky kiss between forbidden lovers.

a kiss while hiding away from flashing cameras.

a kiss that means absolutely nothing.

kissing the swell of your lover's breast.

a kiss that leaves lipstick stains.

a kiss shared on a rooftop while the sun ( sets / rises ).

a flirtatious kiss on the back of the hand.

sensual kisses down the length of their back.

kissing them to confess your true feelings.

sneaking off to a public bathroom to make out.

a kiss to forgive one another after a fight.

a kiss on the forehead as the other sleeps.

an  ( accidental / mutually )  drunken kiss.

an unexpected kiss during a fake dating scheme.

kissing your partner after they've given you head.

caging your lover against a wall with your arms to kiss them.

a kiss after receiving good news.

an emotional kiss, relieved to find your lover alive.

crowded, heated kisses in the backseat of a car.

a tentative ,  exploratory kiss between friends.

a kiss shared between enemies during combat.

a kiss that smears blood everywhere.

kissing them even though you know you shouldn't.

kissing your lover after believing you’d lost them.

a kiss after a devastating event ,  meant to comfort.

a possessive kiss in front of a jealous third party.

kisses while pulling them into your lap.

a heated kiss while holding them by the throat.

kissing your lover under the night sky while stargazing.

a kiss to seal a promise that you just made.

kissing your lover lazily first thing in the morning.

holding your lover by the jaw to kiss them.

holding their face, kissing the tears from their cheeks.

a kiss to your lover’s stomach as you travel down their body.

an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation.

sleepy ,  domestic morning kisses in the kitchen while making breakfast.

a rushed kiss before one party leaves for work.

a final kiss shared while holding your dying lover.

[vis3rys]

This  collection  features  thrilling  lines  inspired  by  Ruth  Ware’s  works,  including  The  Woman  in  Cabin  10,  The  Turn  of  the  Key,  and  The  Death  of  Mrs.  Westaway.  These  starters  are  perfect  for  sparking  scenes  in  genres  such  as  psychological  thrillers,  gothic  tales,  or  crime  dramas.  Adjust  them  as  needed  to  craft  your  perfect  scene!

From  The  Woman  in  Cabin  10

“I  saw  someone  go  overboard.  I  know  what  I  saw.”

“The  guest  list  says  we’re  all  here,  but  I’m  not  so  sure.”

“You  can  hear  everything  on  this  boat—every  secret,  every  lie.”

“This  place  is  too  perfect.  It’s  hiding  something.”

“Why  won’t  anyone  believe  me?  There  was  someone  in  that  cabin.”

“The  water  is  silent,  but  it’s  full  of  stories.”

“Sometimes,  the  worst  prisons  don’t  have  bars;  they  have  expectations.”

“If  I  don’t  figure  this  out,  I  won’t  make  it  off  this  boat  alive.”

“The  waves  drown  the  truth,  but  I  won’t  let  it  sink.”

 From  The  Turn  of  the  Key

“I’m  the  nanny,  not  the  intruder,  but  this  house  doesn’t  seem  to  care.”

“There’s  something  wrong  with  this  place—it  watches  you.”

“The  letters  I  wrote  are  the  only  thing  left  of  my  innocence.”

“They  said  the  house  was  smart,  but  no  one  mentioned  it  was  malevolent.”

“At  night,  the  silence  here  feels  alive.”

“They  told  me  to  keep  the  lights  on,  but  they  didn’t  tell  me  why.”

“You  can  hear  footsteps  where  there  should  be  none.”

“They  made  me  feel  like  family…  until  they  didn’t.”

“The  locks  are  on  the  inside,  but  I’m  still  trapped.”

 From  The  Death  of  Mrs.  Westaway

“I  don’t  belong  here,  but  I  can’t  leave  either.”

“The  inheritance  was  supposed  to  save  me,  not  curse  me.”

“It’s  hard  to  tell  who’s  lying  when  everyone  has  something  to  hide.”

“The  tarot  cards  didn’t  tell  me  everything,  but  they  told  me  enough.”

“When  they  gave  themselves  over  to  superstition,  they  were  giving  up  on  shaping  their  own  destiny.”

“Sometimes,  family  secrets  are  buried  so  deep  they  claw  their  way  out.”

“The  truth  wasn’t  left  in  the  will,  but  it’s  written  in  the  walls.”

“The  attic  is  locked  for  a  reason,  but  I  need  to  know  what’s  inside.”

“They  welcomed  me  with  smiles,  but  their  eyes  told  a  different  story.”

“The  letter  said  I  was  chosen,  but  chosen  for  what?”

“How  could  it  be  right  that  some  people  had  so  much,  while  others  had  so  little?”

“You  can’t  influence  fate,  or  change  what’s  out  of  your  control.  But  you  can  choose  what  you  yourself  do  with  the  cards  you’re  dealt.”

[vis3rys]

i tell mari and skye all the time but i need a pov of viserys like, his brain, what is it like.

[vis3rys]

HARRY LLOYD as VISERYS III TARGARYEN in GAME OF THRONES (2011-2019) S01E01, "Winter Is Coming"

[vis3rys]

Viserys   couldn't   help   but   feel   the   heat   building   within   him   as   Irri's   warm,   wet   mouth   engulfed   his   cock.   Her   eyes   met   his,   filled   with   a   mixture   of   desire   and   need   that   mirrored   his   own.   He   groaned,   his   hips   thrusting   forward   involuntarily   into   her   mouth.   The   sensation   was   intense,   more   so   than   anything   he'd   experienced   in   recent   memory.   It   was   as   if   she   were   drawing   out   every   last   bit   of   his   pent-up   frustration   and   anger,   replacing   it   with   a   burning   desire   that   consumed   him.

As   she   continued   to   work   him   with   her   tongue   and   nimble   fingers,   Viserys   reached   down   to   cup   her   face,   tracing   the   lines   of   her   cheeks   and   jaw   with   his   thumbs.   He'd   never   thought   he   would   find   pleasure   in   the   rough,   untamed   hands   of   a   Dothraki   handmaiden,   but   here   he   was,   losing   himself   in   her   touch.   He   could   feel   his   control   slipping   away,   his   mind   fogging   with   lust.   He   could   see   the   want   in   her   eyes,   the   same   want   he   felt   for   her,   and   it   only   fueled   his   passion   further.   "No   bloodrider   should   ever   touch   you   again   after   tonight."   He   announces,   plain   and   clear,   as   she   boost   on   his   ego,   his   cock   twitching   at   the   attention   delivered.

Viserys   couldn't   tear   his   eyes   away   from   her,   his   cock   twitching   in   anticipation.   With   a   growl,   he   lifted   her   up,   positioning   her   against   the   furs   of   the   makeshift   bed.   Viserys   gripped   her   hips,   pulling   her   closer.   He   wasn't   going   to   spend   himself   so   early,   or   in   her   mouth.   Letting   his   fingers   slip   again   into   her   mouth,   they   travel   down   the   shape   of   her   body   and   between   her   legs,   spreading   them   apart   and   sinking   into   the   heat   of   her   leg.   "iksā   sīr   lōz."   He   speaks   in   his   mother   tongue,   approving   growl   as   he   explores   her,   searching   in   her   features   the   moment   he   finds   the   perfect   little   spot   with   his   thumb.

"There   we   go."   And   as   he   leans   to   her   collarbone,   kissing   the   line   there,   his   tongue   toys   around   her   nipples,   sucking   gently,   and   then   a   little   harder,   letting   the   trail   of   his   tongue   soothe   the   quiet   pain.  

▐║  ☽  ┊  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒  𝐈𝐒  𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏  𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇  𝐓𝐎  𝐂𝐔𝐓,  shearing  through  every  pretense  left  between  them,  leaving  only  something  raw  and  real.  Every  touch  of  his  is  commanding,  even  the  softest  traces  of  his  fingertips,  and  she  basks  in  it  all.  There  is  so  much  within  her  that  burns  wildly,  untamed,  yet  is  lost  within  its  own  inferno;  he  offers  her  direction,  a  use  for  all  of  this  starving  hunger,  and  she  welcomes  his  control,  even  as  she  enjoys  challenging  him.  Irri  cannot  help  but  pause  at  his  words,  her  eyes  resting  upon  his  own  wordlessly.  Daughter  of  a  Khal.  It  feels  so  strange  now  to  be  acknowledged  as  such  after  so  long  of  only  being  a  handmaid  at  best  and  a  slave  at  worst.  No  titles,  nothing  worthy  of  a  second  glance.  But  these  are  not  empty  words  to  her,  whether  he  truly  knows  or  not.  Perhaps  he  is  the  only  one  who  does  know,  who  understands  what  it  is  like  to  long  for  what  has  been  taken.

Irri  hadn't  realized  how  much  she'd  missed  something  as  simple  as  a  kiss  until  her  lips  met  his,  and  the  moment  they  break  apart,  she  longs  to  feel  it  again.  As  he  takes  her  hands  from  his  belt,  all  she  can  do  is  follow  the  demand  of  his  finger,  her  eyes  drawn  to  his  own  again.  He  warns  her,  and  warns  her,  yet  she  notices  how  he  still  keeps  her  close,  never  truly  denying  her.  And  so,  she  meets  his  eyes  with  a  certainty  in  her  own.  ❝ I  told  you,  did  I  not?  ❞  This  time,  she  does  not  push,  nor  does  she  pull  away;  she  merely  stays  as  she  is,  steady  in  his  grip  as  she  speaks,  ❝ I  want  to  burn.  ❞

She  finds  her  patience  as  Viserys  reaches  for  her  clothes.  The  layers  of  leather  and  woven  cloth  that  make  up  her  vest  and  skirt  fall  away  piece  by  piece,  revealing  the  golden  jewelry  that  adorns  her  nipples  and  her  navel  and  a  few  old  bruises  along  her  frame.  She  doesn't  care  to  bring  any  attention  to  the  latter,  and  hopes  that  his  eyes  will  be  drawn  elsewhere  instead.  She  follows  every  moment,  every  demanding  guidance  of  his  hand,  waiting  to  hear  him  relent  and  grant  her  what  she  has  asked  for,  her  grin  curving  devilishly  once  he  does.  When  his  lips  meet  hers  once  more,  Irri  moans  softly,  the  sound  leaving  her  before  she  can  quell  it.  No,  this  is  not  love,  and  she  is  not  foolish  enough  to  deceive  herself  into  believing  it  is  anything  other  than  what  it  is.  But  the  contact  alone  feels  too  damn  good  to  suppress  what  he  stirs  inside.

At  his  urging,  she  cups  her  hand  over  the  bulge  beneath  his  half-opened  trousers,  then  slips  inside,  wrapping  her  digits  around  his  cock  to  feel  him  stiffen.  ❝ Anha  frakholat  shafka,  ❞  Irri  purrs  against  his  lips,  her  voice  turned  coarse  by  desire.  Knowing  he  cannot  understand,  she  translates,  ❝ I  feel  you.  ❞  The  Dothraki  claims  one  more  kiss  from  his  lips,  then  turns  her  attention  below,  her  lips  kissing  a  trail  from  his  neck  down  his  chest  and  stomach  until  she  rests  upon  her  knees.  She  finishes  untying  the  last  few  laces  of  his  trousers,  pulling  the  fabric  down  his  legs  until  he  stands  bare  before  her,  all  of  him  on  display.  ❝ You  should  have  warned  me,  ❞  she  teases,  wrapping  her  hand  around  him  again.  ❝ You  certainly  put  Drogo's  bloodriders  to  shame.  ❞

But  he  told  her  to  prove  her  hunger,  and  that  she  will.  Plump  lips  capture  the  head  of  his  cock  between  them  as  her  hand  pumps  along  his  length,  coaxing  him  until  he  is  fully  erect.  Slowly,  she  take  more  of  him,  guiding  him  into  her  mouth  to  be  greeted  by  the  attentive  strokes  of  her  tongue.  And  gods,  she  loves  this ;  she  loves  the  salty  taste,  the  way  he  throbs  between  her  lips,  that  look  in  his  eye  every  time  hers  lift  to  watch  his  expression.  Knowing  she  holds  Viserys's  pleasure  in  her  hands  makes  Irri  feel  powerful  in  a  way  she  hasn't  in  a  long,  long  time.  And  so,  she  guides  him  deeper,  and  deeper,  her  head  bobbing,  moaning  as  she  takes  him  whole.

[vis3rys]

Viserys   grip   tightened   just   enough   to   remind   her   who   held   the   reins   here,   before   fingertips   traced,   soft   like,   almost   gently,   over   the   gentle   mark   left   behind.   His   lips   parted,   a   quiet   breath   escaping   as   he   studied   the   girl   before   him—head   lifted   in   challenge,   gaze   dark   with   something   dangerously   close   to   hunger.   It   amused   him,   this   sudden   fire   in   her.   He   had   seen   her   as   one   of   Daenerys’s   silent   shadows,   always   at   her   queen’s   side,   an   extension   of   her   will.   And   yet   here   she   stood,   daring   to   want.   Daring   to   take.

A   slow   smirk   curled   his   mouth,   but   his   violet   eyes   remained   sharp,   calculating.   “Is   that   so?”   he   mused,   letting   his   fingers   trace   the   delicate   imprint   at   her   throat.   “We   shall   be   free   tonight   then.   And   in   here,   you   can   pretend   that   that   brute   is   dead   and   true   freedom   is   outside.   Daughter   of   a   Khal.”   Robbed   of   her   life   too.   He   seeks   comfort   as   much   as   she   does,   doesn't   she?

He   let   her   pull   him   closer,   let   her   hands   roam,   let   her   lips   find   his—eager,   almost   too   eager   that   he   breathes   through   his   nose   as   his   tongue   breaks   the   barrier   of   her   mouth,   hand   that   lingered   on   her   neck   moving   to   the   edge   of   her   jawline,   desperate   for   the   flame   she   claimed   to   crave.   He   allowed   it,   indulged   in   it,   but   never   surrendered   to   it.   Viserys   was   no   fool.   This   was   not   love,   not   devotion—it   was   hunger,   and   he   knew   the   taste   of   it   well.

His   hands   caught   hers   as   she   fumbled   at   his   belt,   halting   her.   “Careful,”   he   murmured,   tilting   her   chin   up   with   a   single   finger.   “A   dragon’s   fire   is   not   so   easily   tamed.   Play   with   it   too   eagerly,   and   you   may   find   yourself   burned.”   And   yet,   he   did   not   push   her   away.   No,   there   was   something   intoxicating   in   this—her   defiance,   her   boldness,   her   desire   to   feel   something   real.   Perhaps   he   would   grant   her   that,   for   a   time.   Perhaps   he   would   teach   her   what   it   meant   to   be   consumed.   His   hands   first   undid   the   intricate   Dothraki   garment   she   had   over   her   body   before   letting   her   continue   with   his   breeches.

His   fingers   slid   beneath   her   jaw,   tilting   her   head   just   so.   “If   you   wish   to   know   what   a   dragon   tastes   like,”   he   whispered   against   her   lips,   “then   prove   it.   On   your   knees.   I   shall   like   to   taste   you   after,   before   we   let   them   know   we   are   not   toys   to   be   played   with.”   And   he   caught   her   lips   again,   his   hand   moving   down   to   hers   to   let   her   feel   the   growing   hardness   under   the   breeches.

▐║  ☽  ┊  𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄,  not  even  as  she  feels  his  grip  tighten  around  her  wrist  in  an  unsubtle  warning.  She'd  meant  what  she'd  said;  she'd  much  rather  burn  than  feel  nothing  at  all,  so  tired  of  the  endless  days  and  nights  of  being  invisible,  of  being  a  thing  to  those  around  her,  not  a  person.  There  is  a  deep  longing  within  her  just  to  feel  human  again.  She  takes  what  crumbs  she  may,  the  kindness  of  her  khaleesi  and  the  camaraderie  of  her  fellow  handmaids,  but  this  is  different.  More  than  anything,  she  wants  to  feel  something.  She  longs  to  be  touched  by  welcomed  hands,  to  be  kissed  as  a  woman  worth  kissing,  not  a  toy  to  be  used  and  discarded at will.  Maybe  he  cannot  give  her  that,  but  she  will  take  what  she  can.  She  does  not  need  him  to  be  gentle,  or  to  pretend  that  he  loves  her.  All  she  needs  is  something  real  to  cling  to.  All  she  needs  is  this  mutual  desire.

A  quiet  exhale  falls  through  her  parted  lips  as  Viserys's  fingers  brush  over  the  imprint  upon  her  neck,  a  warmth  so  foreign  to  her,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  how  any  touch  there  would  feel  altogether.  ❝ I  suppose  that  is  up  to  you,  isn't  it?  If  I  may  find  any  freedom,  ❞  her  chin  lefts  at  the  press  of  his  digits,  and  she  dares  to  answer  his  coaxing  with  her  own.  ❝ If  I  truly  took  what  I  wanted,  your  grace ──  ❞  Irri  lets  his  title  roll  sensuously  from  her  tongue,  leaning  close  enough  to  feel  their  breaths  mingle  as  she  whispers,  ❝  ── then  I  would  already  be  in  your  bed,  crying  your  name  to  the  stars  above.  ❞  The  corners  of  her  mouth  twist,  curving  into  a  faint  grin  when  he  brings  her  hands  to  his  clothes.  She  is  no  dragon,  but  she  is  a  fierce  creature  in  her  own  right,  looking  upon  him  with  all  of  the  dark  glee  of  a  tigress  freed  from  her  chains.

❝ As  you  wish,  ❞  Irri  purrs,  her  eyes  drifting  downward,  flickering  across  the  shape  of  his  form  before  turning  all  attention  to  the  fastenings  of  his  vestment.  She  is  hasty  in  removing  it,  but  careful,  knowing  that  there  is  some  sentimental  value  within  his  clothing,  or  so  her  khaleesi  had  said.  But  her  care  does  little  to  hide  her  eagerness  to  strip  it  from  his  frame,  freeing  him  from  the  sleeves  and  tossing  it  aside,  leaving  only  him  left  beneath.  Irri  presses  her  hands  to  his  torso,  feeling  every  lean  line  as  her  limbs  move  upwards,  palming  his  chest  as  her  bottom  lip  catches  between  her  teeth  in  anticipation.  ❝ Are  all  dragons  this  warm?  ❞  Irri  asks  once  her  eyes  find  his  again.  Her  palms  continue  their  ascent,  brushing  over  his  collarbone  and  finding  purchase  beneath  the  sides  of  his  jaw.

She  pulls  him  slightly,  bridging  the  distance  between  their  lips  to  claim  what  she  seeks.  Her  legs  do  the  most  work to  bring  them  together,  pushing  up on  her  toes  so  at  last  their  mouths  can  meet,  and  her  body  relies  upon  the  strength  of  his  own  to  keep  them  both  upright.  It  is  a  clumsy  kiss  at  first,  given  by  one  who  had  forgotten  how,  but  the  taste  of  his  lips  ignites  the  fire  she  had  prayed  to  feel,  setting  it  free  to  burn  them  both  as  her  mouth  claims  his  more  fervently.  When  next  her  feet  are  flat  upon  the  ground,  Irri  is  left  breathless.  Digits  fumble  as  they  next  reach  for  Viserys's  belt,  then  to  the  laces  of  his  trousers,  pulling  them  apart  until  the  last  of  his  clothes  hang  loose  around  his  hips,  and  she  declares,  almost  growling,  ❝ I  want  to  know  what  a  dragon  tastes  like.  ❞

[vis3rys]

no for real it's crazy barristan looked at a little seven year old and said, nah thats aerys 2.0.

[vis3rys]

when i get you barristan.

[vis3rys]

@sigilsongs asked: there are others like you ? asks ESRYIA OF LYS (about targaryens / 'the blood of the dragon'?)

Viserys’s   mouth   pressed   into   a   thin   line   at   her   question.   His   first   instinct   was   to   scoff—to   remind   her   that   he   was   the   last   dragon,   the   only   rightful   heir   to   the   throne   that   had   been   stolen   from   his   family.   But   the   words   tasted   bitter   before   they   even   left   his   tongue.

His   fingers   traced   absent   patterns   against   the   rim   of   his   cup,   though   he   had   not   tasted   its   contents.   Others.   The   word   felt   like   an   accusation,   though   he   could   not   decide   whether   it   was   aimed   at   himself   or   the   ghosts   of   his   ancestors.

“There   was   once,”   he   admitted,   his   voice   quieter   than   he   intended.   “A   sister.”   The   admission   felt   strange   in   his   mouth,   foreign   after   so   long   without   speaking   of   her.   “Daenerys.”   He   let   her   name   settle   between   them,   as   if   saying   it   aloud   might   summon   her   across   the   sea.   “She   has   the   blood,   yes.   But   I   wonder   if   she   is   better   off   without   it.   Or   perhaps   she   has   more   of   it   than   I   do.”   Dragons   had   been   hatched.   He   heard   it,   woke   up   in   a   sweat   the   night   it   happened.   And   dream   of   fire   and   ice   since   then.   He   dream   of   flying   one.   But   that   could   never   be.

His   gaze   flickered   to   Esrya,   watching   her   reaction,   though   he   could   not   guess   what   she   expected   from   him.   Pity?   Longing?   A   confession   that   his   sister   had   been   his   shadow,   his   burden,   his   only   claim   to   power   until   she   was   old   enough   to   be   more?   He   exhaled   sharply,   shaking   his   head.   “She   might   have   been   better   off   without   me.”   His   laugh   was   empty,   the   ghost   of   something   too   worn   to   be   bitter.   “Perhaps   she   already   is.”

[vis3rys]

100% into the conspiracy that jorah had a hand in viserys death.

[vis3rys]

@sigilsongs asked: “I don't force women to my bed, Viserys. They come willingly, and begging." says ESRYIA OF LYS

Viserys’s   lips   curled   at   the   remark,   though   whether   in   amusement   or   offense,   even   he   was   not   sure.   The   Lyseni   woman   before   him   was   unlike   the   silk-veiled   courtesans   of   her   city,   all   mystery   and   whispered   promises.   Esrya   of   Lys   did   not   hide   behind   veils.   Her   beauty   was   undeniable,   her   presence   commanding,   but   there   was   no   softness   in   her   words.

She   spoke   as   a   woman   who   had   carved   her   place   in   the   world   with   her   own   hands,   rather   than   relying   on   the   favor   of   powerful   men.   Viserys   exhaled   sharply   through   his   nose,   fingers   flexing   at   his   sides.   It   was   not   the   words   that   pricked   at   him,   but   the   implication.   He   had   been   many   things   in   his   exile—beggar,   claimant,   a   king   without   a   throne—but   he   was   no   brute.

“I   do   not   take   unwilling   either,”   he   replied,   his   voice   measured,   though   his   violet   eyes   gleamed   with   something   sharper.   He   took   a   step   closer,   studying   her,   as   if   she   might   press   him   further.   “Despite   what   others   whisper.”   The   weight   of   Lys   hung   between   them,   of   all   that   city   had   given   him—and   all   it   had   taken.   He   had   known   a   Lyseni   woman   once,   long   ago,   her   laughter   lilting   like   a   song   he   could   no   longer   recall.   "Doreah   was   her   name.   She   shared   my   bed   and   perhaps   soothed   a   part   of   me   I   was   afraid   to   speak   of."

She   had   been   eager   for   a   dragon’s   touch,   for   the   promise   of   lost   crowns   and   the   heat   of   his   temper.   But   Esrya   was   different.   She   had   no   need   for   grand   dreams   or   dragon   princes.   And   that,   perhaps,   was   why   she   fascinated   him   now.

[vis3rys]

Viserys   watched   her,   the   flickering   lamplight   casting   shadows   across   his   sharp   features,   the   ghost   of   a   smirk   curling   at   his   lips.   Dangerous,   she   had   called   it.   Bold.   She   was   not   wrong.   And   yet,   Irri   still   spoke,   still   pushed,   as   if   daring   him   to   snap.   His   grip   on   her   wrist   tightened—just   enough   to   remind,   not   to   hurt.   He   traced   the   pulse   beneath   his   thumb,   slow,   deliberate,   eyes   never   leaving   hers.   There   was   heat   in   her   defiance,   a   kind   of   reckless   hunger   that   did   not   plead   but   demanded.   It   stirred   something   in   him.

"Love   is   not   meant   to   serve   or   shield,"   she   had   said.   What   nonsense.   Love   was   a   chain,   an   illusion   that   fools   clung   to   when   they   had   nothing   else.   It   did   not   build   thrones—it   shattered   them.   It   had   burned   his   house   to   ruin,   left   him   a   beggar   in   foreign   lands.   Yet   she   spoke   of   fire,   of   the   choice   to   burn   rather   than   feel   nothing   at   all.   And   he   could   not   help   but   wonder—had   he   ever   had   such   a   choice?

A   low   chuckle   escaped   him,   bitter   and   knowing.   His   free   hand   lifted,   fingers   brushing   against   the   impression   the   torque   had   left   on   her   skin.   A   collar,   even   when   removed,   still   leaves   its   mark.   "Is   that   what   you   seek,   then?"   His   voice   was   quiet,   coaxing,   the   serpent   poised   before   the   strike.   "Freedom?   And   you   think   to   find   it   here,   in   me?"

His   lips   curved,   though   it   did   not   reach   his   eyes.   "Dragons   take   what   they   want,   you   say."   His   fingers   slid   upward,   tipping   her   chin   up,   his   touch   light   but   possessive.   "But   you   are   not   a   dragon   and   yet   you   sitll   take   what   you   want."   For   all   her   defiance,   for   all   her   games,   he   saw   it—that   same   hunger,   that   same   need   to   reclaim   something   that   had   been   taken.   It   was   not   so   different   from   his   own.

His   thumb   traced   the   hollow   of   her   throat,   where   the   weight   of   her   collar   had   been   moments   before.   "Very   well,   Irri.   For   this   night,   let   us   both   pretend   we   are   free."   A   short   pause   as   he   guides   her   hands   to   the   Targaryen   sigil   upon   his   chest,   faded   and   thorn,   his   own   shackles   to   the   past   and   the   man   he   would   never   be.   "Undress   me."

▐║  ☽  ┊  𝐈𝐓'𝐒  𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒  𝐓𝐎  𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊  𝐒𝐎  𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐋𝐘  𝐈𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄.  She's  seen  him  react  poorly  before  to  lesser  words  at  his  distaste,  but  there  has  been  too  much  honesty  between  them  tonight  for  her  to  suddenly  choose  to  placate  him  with  a  lie  instead.  And  so,  when  the  risk  taken  is  not  met  with  more  than  a  verbal  rebuke,  she  persists,  softly,  careful  in  her  choice  of  words.  ❝ Love  is  not  meant  to  serve  or  shield.  It  simply  is  what  it  is.  It  has  been  the  cause  of  great  travesties  in  this  world,  but  it  is  also  the  force  behind  much  of  the  goodness  within  it.  It  can  warm  you  or  burn  you  all  the  same,  but  what  is  life  without  it?  Only  cold  and  empty.  ❞  Sometimes  it  persists  only  in  memories,  in  grief  and  heartache  everlasting,  but  the  ache  is  proof  that  it  was  there,  that  it  was  real.  Her  brother  and  father  now  exist  only  in  the  love  she  still  bears  for  them  beyond  the  grave.  Without  that  persistent  love,  what  is  left  of  them?  The  rest  was  taken  from  her.  ❝ Everyone  makes  their  choices.  But  I  would  rather  burn  than  feel  nothing  at  all.  ❞

It  feels  as  if  she  is  dancing  with  a  serpent;  such  a  beautiful  creature,  but  oh so dangerous  should  it  choose  to  strike.  One  wrong  move,  and  it  could  all  be  ruined.  Viserys  bears  no  venomous  fangs,  but  he  has  a  snake's  poise,  always  a  sense  of  danger  about  his  person.  And  she  must  question  herself,  why  she  insists  on  playing  this  game,  this  push  and  pull  of  testing  each  other,  seeing  what  happens  when  they  both  inevitably  break.  Irri's  breath  catches  in  her  throat  when  he  seizes  her  wrist,  but  her  limb  holds  no  resistance,  her  eyes  still  following  his  as  he  turns  it  over.

❝ You  certainly  seemed  to  think  I  was  clever  when  I  told  you  how  I  would  kill  the  khal,  ❞  she  whispers  a  playful  taunt,  recalling  the  effect  that  seemed  to  have  on  him.  Her  other  hand  rises,  pressing  against  the  faded  emblem  of  the  three-headed  dragon  upon  his  vest.  ❝ If  you  enjoy  it,  then  I  wonder  what  keeps  you  restrained.  Dragons  take  what  they  want,  do  they  not?  ❞  And  there  is  a  freedom  in  this,  in  choosing  to  follow  him  into  his  tent  and  continue  this  odd  dance  of  theirs.  She  relishes  that,  knowing  that  she  is  here  by  her  own  decision,  her  own  interest,  and  just  as  he  seems  to  want  her,  she  wants  him  as  well.  It's  something  she  has  not  felt  in  the  longest  time,  not  since  before  she  was  taken  by  Drogo's  khalasar,  but  gods,  how  sweet  it  is  to  feel  desire  once  again.

His  grip  remains,  and  something  within  her  prays  that  it  stays,  that  she  needn't  be  deprived  of  those  touches  upon  her  wrist.  It's  in  that  moment  she  becomes  suddenly  too  aware  of  the  golden  collar  that  circles  around  her  neck,  a  reminder  of  what  has  been  made  of  her.  But  she  was  not  always  a  slave.  She  was  a  khalakka,  the  daughter  of  a  khal.  And  she'll  be  damned  if  she  lets  Drogo  and  his  men  control  her  like  cattle.  ❝ We  all  seek  an  escape  in  this  fucking  place,  do  we  not?  ❞  Her  spite  is  evident  as  she  speaks,  motivating  her  to  pull  herself  nearer,  letting  her  body  fully  press  into  his  own.  ❝ I  will  not  tell  her  if  she  does  not  ask.  There  is  no  need  for  her  to  know.  ❞  She  takes  hold  of  the  golden  torque,  pulling  until  the  shape  flexes  beneath  her  fingers,  loose  enough  to  slip  from  her  slender  neck  and  fall  to  the  floor  with  only  the  impression  of  it  left  behind  on  her  skin.  ❝ Let  me  be  free,  if  only  for  this  night.  ❞