CLUTCHOFMUSES. highly selective, indie, and private multimuse blog. muses are primarily from A Song of Ice and Fire/Fire & Blood, including
Helaena Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Margaery Tyrell, Sara Norrey/Snow, Jaehaera Targaryen, Alicent Hightower, Alys Karstark, Queen Guinevere, and original characters.
mutuals only. crossover and oc friendly. adult themes.
So I stepped away from the RP community in both due to the increasingly toxic elements and the fact that my RP partners bailed in the off season. I've been trying to find the wherewithall to come back in some capacity, but partners just haven't responded to messages. And that's totally fine.
I had tried moving RP to discord - and that's a place I'm still interested in writing at, but I've come to really considering officially "shutting down" this blog. For me, RP has been about creating plots and stories, and to do that, people need to respond, they can't just leave you on read for weeks or months. Yes, this is a hobby, but there comes a certain level of collaboration. It's incredibly, incredibly difficult to maintain plot when it was often months between replies.
IDK if anyone is around anymore, if people are really interested in writing. If you are, you can hmu up on Discord because i'm easier to get a hold of on there, and in the meantime, I'll think about what I'm doing with this blog.
I've made some truly wonderful friends on here (loml @sunfyred is the only one who I still talk to, I'm not sure where everyone else went) but yeah. IDK. I'm happy working on fic. I miss roleplaying, but it just is what it is.
If you wanna write, plot, and actually do things, hmu, and we can chat about it. I'm happy to do so. But either I've gotta pull the plug and stop holding out, checkin in to see if people are all that interested or not. IDK.
So I stepped away from the RP community in both due to the increasingly toxic elements and the fact that my RP partners bailed in the off season. I've been trying to find the wherewithall to come back in some capacity, but partners just haven't responded to messages. And that's totally fine.
I had tried moving RP to discord - and that's a place I'm still interested in writing at, but I've come to really considering officially "shutting down" this blog. For me, RP has been about creating plots and stories, and to do that, people need to respond, they can't just leave you on read for weeks or months. Yes, this is a hobby, but there comes a certain level of collaboration. It's incredibly, incredibly difficult to maintain plot when it was often months between replies.
IDK if anyone is around anymore, if people are really interested in writing. If you are, you can hmu up on Discord because i'm easier to get a hold of on there, and in the meantime, I'll think about what I'm doing with this blog.
I've made some truly wonderful friends on here (loml @sunfyred is the only one who I still talk to, I'm not sure where everyone else went) but yeah. IDK. I'm happy working on fic. I miss roleplaying, but it just is what it is.
If you wanna write, plot, and actually do things, hmu, and we can chat about it. I'm happy to do so. But either I've gotta pull the plug and stop holding out, checkin in to see if people are all that interested or not. IDK.
So I stepped away from the RP community in both due to the increasingly toxic elements and the fact that my RP partners bailed in the off season. I've been trying to find the wherewithall to come back in some capacity, but partners just haven't responded to messages. And that's totally fine.
I had tried moving RP to discord - and that's a place I'm still interested in writing at, but I've come to really considering officially "shutting down" this blog. For me, RP has been about creating plots and stories, and to do that, people need to respond, they can't just leave you on read for weeks or months. Yes, this is a hobby, but there comes a certain level of collaboration. It's incredibly, incredibly difficult to maintain plot when it was often months between replies.
IDK if anyone is around anymore, if people are really interested in writing. If you are, you can hmu up on Discord because i'm easier to get a hold of on there, and in the meantime, I'll think about what I'm doing with this blog.
I've made some truly wonderful friends on here (loml @sunfyred is the only one who I still talk to, I'm not sure where everyone else went) but yeah. IDK. I'm happy working on fic. I miss roleplaying, but it just is what it is.
If you wanna write, plot, and actually do things, hmu, and we can chat about it. I'm happy to do so. But either I've gotta pull the plug and stop holding out, checkin in to see if people are all that interested or not. IDK.
【 @clutchofmuses sent a raven】: "your father would take you flying," abby said, palming her hand over lyonel's pale gold curls as she shifted alisanne in her arms. "but he would not do so in that terrible storm outside. perhaps, if you ask nicely, he would play dragon for you." the twin blue eyes of both son and wife turn to aegon, their son's hopeful expression incandescent on his little face, while his mother looks equally pleased with herself. she bites her tongue to say the remainder of her statement, for it is not meant for little ears, but the implication of how good a dragon aegon could be dances in her playful look.
. . . i would ? the look on his face subtly asked, brows rising. for as far as he remembered his lady wife had given him quite the tongue lashing the last time he attempted to take their toddlers along for a ride .. the utter spoilsport.
when he turned to meet her gaze from where he was sprawled before the fireplace, aegon had to swallow back his own comeback regarding his wife's riding skills — though he couldn't help the knowing smile spreading across his face.
"you'll have to ask very, very nicely indeed .. in fact, you and your mother both !! since it was her brilliant idea to interrupt my drowse."
Abby's teeth scraped along her lower lip as their son gasped, and took off towards his lounging, languid father.
"Please please please, kepa, please," he babbled, breathless and the lilac-blue of his eyes so vibrantly purple with excitement. Little hands grasped at him as he tried to climb into his father's lap. Little Alisanne tried to mimic, little mouth struggling around the words and letting out a stream of garbled sounds. She kissed her daughter's soft hair, passing the child to the maid before joining her son. Soft skirts as thin as moth wings, swirled in green and gold around her.
"I am full of brilliant ideas," she sighed, as if it was a burden to always be right and settled herself along the high back of the chaise, long red curls draping over her husband. Her hand came down to stroke down his arm as Lyonel squirmed and shifted, little arms and legs poking and prodding into his father with nary a care. "Would you, my dearest lord, pretty pretty please play dragon with our son? You are a fierce and handsome and magnificent dragon and none will ever compare to your prowess."
Her lips met her husband's ear, words for him and not for little ones. "And if you do, then I would be very happy to give the hungry, hungry dragon anything he wishes."
Abrogail did not care if Alyssa Targaryen took her newborn sons riding. Aegon had pouted about it for days, but she stood firm. Not before Lyonel's fourth nameday. It was perhaps a silly fear, with dragonriding in their children's blood, but it was a fear all the same. Not that she thought Aegon would let anything happen, but it frightened her, and she could not explain why.
"I'll be good!" Lyonel chimed in, taking Aegon's face in his little hands, face as serious as his mother's, brow furrowed so his father would understand exactly how serious he was. "Please." Little Lyonel who followed his father around like a puppy, mimicking the way he walked and held himself when addressing the staff. Little Lyonel who adored his father with every little bone in his body.
Jaehaera watched her husband from his chair, stiff and stoic beside the fireplace, her hands folded tightly across her belly in the way her grandmother so often held herself. Poised and ramrod straight, a taut bowstring vibrating and aching for release.
The scrape of uncertainty and vulnerability drew back behind her carefully constructed walls and she looked at him, blankly.
Lilac eyes dispassionate. Blank.
"Yes. Of course." Voice devoid of emotion, of any affect. Jaehaera's eyes drifted to the flame. This is what they meant when they said one would find purpose in being a mother. No wonder her grandmother had started a war for the love of them. Fire coats her mouth, burns at her throat, fangs aching to bare them and burn him. Burn him as he does his heretics.
"Thank you, lord husband, for making it clear what truly matters to you."
She ached. She'd ached since they brought him broken and screaming from Rook's Rest. She'd tended at his bedside, comforted him as Sunfyre's presence waned, as his legs struggled to heal, exhausting him. As the war tore through her own heart, chipping away at all she loved and held dear. All the more, she knew, to hold tighter to Aegon, to what they still had.
"To ask me not to look at you is to have me blinded," she told him softly, her hand gentle, pressed against his heart beat as if she could reach in and soothe the ache. Abrogail shook her head, her molten curls a mess about her head, falling from the braid that held them back. Her skin was pale, her eyes circled from her own pains, her own injuries laying beneath the skin and only with Aegon did they ease at all. "Do not take yourself away from me too, not after all of this. I know you did not lose all your sense." There is a gentle bite to her tone, a look of warning that she would not be pushed away to leave him in his misery, but that he was not the only one to feel such pain.
yes I'm alive. yes I'm doing okay. Just working on my own things and going through my own stuff. hit me up via discord or asks and I'm happy to check in. Tentatively rp'ing but looking for plots and things to continue, not just... answer memes and never get answers back and stuff.
There were passages that ran the whole of Maegor's Holdfast, and over time they had discovered many of them. The one Abrogail Strong used that night to creep into Prince Aegon's bedroom was the one that went behind the statue outside of Aemond's bedroom.
She shivered with anticipation, with nervous energy, with the arousal that coursed through her with each hammering thud of her heart and every footstep closer to Aegon's bedroom.
It had been weeks of them dancing around one another. It had been weeks of lingering glances and touches, weeks... weeks...
It had been years of wanting. Years of yearning. Years of restlessly tossing in her little bed wishing that things had been different.
Her hair was a glow of molten copper down her back, the soft waves of her hair falling to her waist. The nightgown was thin in the way southern gowns were, and she'd left behind her dressing gown. She was a girl on a mission, and the less between her and her quarry, the better.
The door to Aegon's bedroom was behind a tapestry of Sunfyre and quietly she undid the door, wincing as the hinges whined in the quiet. The fire was the sole illumination in the Prince's chambers, the bed a haphazard wreck as the rest of the room was. Goblets littered the surfaces, parchment scattered about, other things that Abby didn't know what they were. None of them mattered. Aegon was sprawled across his bed facing the fireplace and she could only make out the line of his back.
She exhaled, setting her little candle on the side table and approached the bed.
He was so good with her. He was patient, and kind, and refused to take more even when she thought she made clear that he could take what she was giving him. And instead, Aegon pulled away, an agony in his red rimmed, lilac eyes.
Tonight, she would show him exactly what she meant. She knew that he wanted this too, and it was something she wanted to give him.
Her nipples ached from the cold, from arousal, from want and need, the linen of her nightgown as light as moth wings leaving little to the imagination. It was so exposed, so indecent, but she was beyond caring. She had no experience in seduction, but she knew Aegon, and she knew what she wanted.
"Aegon," she said, her voice low, the slightest tremble of nerves in the lilt of her Riverlands accent. She crawled up on the bed, bracing a hand down as she climbed up. Her hair glowed like Sunfyre's flame in the firelight, her eyes, blue as the sky, shone at him, pupils blown, heart shaped mouth plump and red from how she'd bitten it on her way to the room. Abby sat back on her heels, the gown gathered around her thighs, and with a more bossy tone, said, "Aegon, I want you. Desperately. And I'm going mad with it and I would like you to make it better. Please."
no, silence was worse. at least hers was— he disliked the uncertainty. not being able to tell what she was thinking, how she was feeling. she had been painfully silent on the first few weeks of their union, and it didn't make things any easier between them because the lord himself had never been the loudest. silence would only meet more silence until their chambers felt more like a crypt. no, he surely did not prefer her to be silent.
but these words leaving her lips were .. almost blasphemous.
exceptionalism. he was aware of the statement declaring targaryens higher than the rest of the mankind, free to follow their own traditions && even immune to common afflictions. but does that really make them gods ? would it also be an exception if he allowed himself to be consumed by his desire for her ? a part of him hoped so. he too wished to feel more like a husband and not some tormented septon, he too wished to be free of the bloodcurdling GUILT he felt whenever he let his gaze linger on her.
like he did just now.
oh but how could he not ? she did look every inch a goddess, her own gaze a promise of absolution. before he knew it he was already up on his feet, slowly crossing the room to her like a moth to the flame. and what a flame that was— his hands shook with the desire to warm its icy fingers in it.
pale tresses were brushed aside oh so gently, his touch unsure yet reverent like the rest of him as he revealed her right shoulder blade.
".. is that so ?" voice barely above a whisper before he leaned down to brush his lips against the unblemished skin, then pressed a barely-there kiss upon it. "then i am your humble servant."
How strange that the way to her husband's heart was to lead him down this road of blasphemy? To entice him in a way that he so denied, and yet would willingly go down when she offered it. When Loreon looked at her as he did now, as her husband and not the cold, angry boy that she had met before the High Septon on their wedding day, Jaehaera thought that maybe something good could come from all the pain and loss.
"Would you truly like that?" she whispered, head tilting, silver hair falling like mercury from his touch. His fingers were cool against his heated skin. She didn't touch him, didn't reach for him as if afraid that if she did, he would startle like one of the cats in the Red Keep and scamper from her. "Would you like to be my humble servant and let me guide you? You are so tired, husband." Her voice was very gentle, like a song. "Would that I relieve some of your burden, it would bring me joy."
She let her gown fall a little more, loosening the ties on her own so it revealed more milk-pale skin, tiny freckles dotting along the expanse of it. A flush crept up from beneath, pink as rose blossoms in the gardens she had claimed for her own.
"my lord, is this really necessary ?"
"there's been enough bloodshed—"
"seven have mercy ..."
"... and let this be the retribution of heresy, for darkness shall reign over our lands no more—"
"my lord !"
blurry voices. barely audible over the anguished screams. barely audible over the frantic prayers. he could taste blood in his mouth, he knew not if it was his own or the enemy's. had there been enough bloodshed .. ? a thousand deaths would still be insufficient, their blood tainting the hallowed land they had come to usurp. the hallowed land upon which they perished on this glorious day.
gods were merciful, gods were gracious ... the lord of casterly rock, was not.
"LOREON !"
septon hedwin's voice pierced through the veil of religious ecstasy he had been trapped in like valyrian steel, his eyes opening slowly. the lord was found in his tent, knelt before a makeshift altar of the father, listening to the carnage that continued outside as he prayed in gratitude for the victory he was granted today. he was still in his armor, golden steel with roaring lion pauldrons, stained in ironborn filth from head to boot but the white cloak draped over him was pristine— he could not bear to step into the father's presence with godless blood in display.
"what business do you have here ?" he asked calmly without rising, back still turned to the older man. as if he did not know what he had come to say.
"what in gods name are you doing here, child ? we have won, you can put an end to this now ... torturing the survivors will not appease the seven, we must show them that we are better than them. that our gods do not teach us cruelty like theirs does ... please, come and tell your men to get the bodies down, have them imprisoned instead. you have made your point, no need to continue this .. barbarism."
loreon rose slowly, turning to look at his septon. a few droplets of blood dripped down his darkened curls and stained his white cloak. nothing could remain pure forever. he was a child no more. "is that what you called it when mother crushed them the first time and had rodrik greyjoy gelded ? i assume she too thought she'd made a point with that ... yet the filth attacked us again all the same. it appears we must be making stronger points to keep them off our shores for good. they had come to rob me of my lands, in return i robbed them off their dignity— if they ever had some to begin with .. is this not divine justice ?"
before the septon could continue his lecture, they heard an earth-shattering ROAR. he knew what this meant .. apparently hedwin wasn't the only uninvited guest here.
both men walked out in haste, but it was too late. loreon's eyes widened when he saw the seven pointed starts upon which some of the surviving ironborn had been crucified were in flames. death by fire might be far from being merciful, but it surely was quicker than bleeding out slowly and rotting alive as the onlookers jeered and threw stones. a thousand deaths would still be insufficient ...
dragon flame, was insufficient.
they had deserved worse, much, much WORSE but his own lady wife had robbed him of his justice.
"what is the meaning of this— what do you think you're doing on the battlefield ?!" the lord demanded furiously while approaching the princess, probably having raised his voice at her for the first time in public. her beast reeled, glaring at him pointedly in defense of its rider but loreon was unfazed. it could have been a valuable asset in battle, but he wasn't comfortable with jaehaera being anywhere near the fight and without her there to control it the dragon would have caused more harm than good so it simply served as a silent warning for the enemy for now.
Jaehaera paid her husband no mind, focusing on the feeling of leather against her skin, the cramping in her belly, the way Morghul wanted to rend Loreon for raising his voice to her. She was blank faced when lilac eyes fell upon his reddened features, the glow of a hundred flames catching on his lion mane. There was a vein throbbing in his temple, all of his righteous fury and anger on full display.
Her silver hair was braided back, more Valyrian than she'd ever looked, and as diminuitive as she was, Jaehaera did not cower and step back from her husband's fury. She merely tilted her head back, cool eyed and blank.
"You were taking too long," she said, as if she hadn't just commanded Morghul to put to death the sea of wailing ironborn. "Your inefficiency is embarrassing, not to mention cruel. Is that what you wish to be? Not just the righteous wrath against the Ironborn, but your own people to fear you when you turn on them? They'll rip you apart if I let them get their hands on you."
She was trembling. Looking at her hands, they were shaking from the adrenaline, from the screams, from the smell. She squeezed her eyes shut, another wave of nausea overcoming her. "Hedwin, where is the Lord's tent? I fear I am not well." She gave the man a wan smile, her frown then turned on Loreon. "Should I lose our child for the stress your cruelty has caused me, I shall never forgive you."
Morghul growled again, her black and violet wings stretching out, vivid green eyes boring into her husband. She could feel her precious dragon ache to extend her fury. the fury of a short life of pain and anguish and loss. Her lower lip trembled and she would not acknowledge it. "You need to help me to the tent."
