she wanted darkness;

she wanted darknes jord. aest. 1x1 blog everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink, how your hands felt in my hair, if we were high on amphetamines. and everybody wants to hear how we chainsmoked until three, and how you laughed when you said my name and how you gripped my hips so mean. we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no. we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time.

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TYRON.

trapped in something unwanted. lonely despite not being alone. bonded to someone that you have no true attachment to. and he understands that, perfectly, doesn’t he? he hadn’t wanted to marry when his father began discussing the plans for his bride, going from the exquisite stark girl in front of him to the beautiful marg from highgarden. he had been naught but a boy in his own mind — told he was a man, handsome and ready for a wife, ready to bear heirs for house arryn. he was used and traded, held like a peice of meat before rabid direwolves, seeing who would offer the best deal, the most coin, the prettiest wife. he hadn’t wanted to marry but he had, because it was duty, because that was what they did. and now, look at the state of his life — alone, lonely, even with a wife at home. bound and attached to someone he cared little for. ( he didn’t wish death or harm upon marg, not in the slightest. she was a friend and someone he cared for. but he didn’t love her — maybe he never even has, even in the happy, early days of their marriage. ) 

his mouth parts to offer something to her — though he isn’t sure what, exactly. words of reassurance, of understanding. to tell her she isn’t alone, because she has him, because he understands what it is like, to be trapped, to be lonely, to be bonded to someone of whom could very well be a stranger. he means only to be a friend to her, in this time of need — not for her lips to press against his own.

for a moment, tyron does nothing, moves little, merely feels the pressure of her lips against his own. ( he can remember wanting this back in winterfell however many months ago. can remember sitting by that fire and thinking how lovely she was, how smart she sounded, thinking how it might be like to kiss her for the sake of kissing. he was used to taking and having, to sex and fucking: always having one goal in mind. and yes, it was true, without a doubt: he wanted nyka in his bed, he wanted her in all the ways there was to want a person, naked and bare and slick with want, but to merely kiss her too, to feel lips against his skin, to know what it was like to have this part of her. he can remember imagining this moment: and it is nothing like he expected. no, it is better. ) the thought snaps something inside tyron and a groan falls from his mouth, hands shifting to grip her hips and pull her into his lap: legs bracketing around his own as hands tangle in her hair, lips sliding against her own. his tongue traces along the seam of her mouth, a silent request for more, for a taste, to have this to selfishly live on for the days to come. it is a cautious and ruinous picture they paint: the two of them on the window sill, her in his lap, lips locked and being utterly selfish.

his lips break from her own, lungs burning and ragged breaths falling from his lips. his forehead presses against her own, and god, it takes near every inch of his willpower, in this moment — not to continue, not to tug at the fabric of her dress, to be a good man. “nyka.” he murmurs, her name sounding heavenly on his tongue, low enough for only her to hear. “my gorgeous girl…” a humoured exhale falls from his lips, and he pulls back to look her in the eyes, one hand coming up and grazing peices of hair around her ear. “there is nothing i would want more… than to kiss these lips of yours till the sun sets behind the clouds…” his hand shifts, thumb trailing over plump bottom lip. a frown blooms on his face: reminded, acutely, of why they are here, of what happened not even hours before, of how she isn’t his to have and most likely never will be. dominkya stark wasn’t a woman you took as your whore — but rather a woman you married. “but… you are upset. you are hurting. it has been an eventful day. you… you need to think this through. you need, perhaps, even rest.”

she’s thought about this a million times since they’d met back in winterfell. there have been moments, pauses in conversation where she’s found her gaze dropping to his lips and thinking of how tempting it was to lean over and press her mouth to his. she wondered if he’d taste sweet, if his lips would be soft and his teeth would tug against the flesh of her bottom lip. she wondered if he’d moan against her mouth and part his lips to allow her more --- but none of the thoughts that had passed through her mind compared to now.

she lets out a small noise of surprise when he pulls her into his lap, though she makes no indication for him to stop. instead, her hands move to rest against his jaw, gripping slightly as her mouth parts to allow him further access. she’s kissed boys before in her past, had some reckless moments in private and shared chaste kisses with men that courted her, but it is nothing like this. she’s never straddled a man before, in public no less, and she feels a thrill run through her, lighting every part of her on fire before settling between her thighs. she gasps desperately against his mouth, lips closing around his bottom lip before sucking gently, and she’s a selfish woman because she wants more. more of his lips against hers, more of his hands in her hair, and her chest pressed against his. nyka wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything in her life, more than she’s ever wanted another person. she doesn’t have much knowledge of things like this, does not exactly know what more entails, but she knows she wants it. perhaps she had from the day that they met, perhaps it was since they reunited here in the capital and she’s simply been doing her best to try and deny it to herself. but her resolve has been crumbling for weeks now and she can’t deny that being here with him like this has her feeling more alive than she ever has.

her eyes remain closed for a long moment when the kiss breaks, her breaths heavy and ragged as her chest rises and falls. my gorgeous girl. her brows furrow then, though her eyes remain tightly shut as she tries to form any coherent thought --- something other than the fact that her thighs were wrapped around him, her hands were still caressing his jaw and that she now knew the taste of his tongue. brown eyes blink open as hair is pushed behind her ear and a thumb is dragged across her lip, sending a flash of heat straight down between her thighs. it takes her several moments to process his words, to comprehend anything other than the fact that he had kissed her back, seemingly thinks about her the same way she has guiltily been thinking about him for months. part of her thinks that it will be worse now, knowing how he thinks of her, knowing that he wants her, and knowing that he is married. he is married and she is likely to be in another betrothal before the month is out, used as a pawn in her brother’s game, even if it had always been willingly. she’d never had qualms with it before, but now? here, with his face in her hands and his body pressed against her own, she had something she wants more than to make her family proud.

nyka shakes her head slowly then, meeting his eyes as heat makes her cheeks flush with colour. “yes, i...i shouldn’t have done that.” she doesn’t quite believe her words, or his for that matter, but she forces them out anyway. in truth, she wants to waste the afternoon by pressing her lips against his own, by mapping out the curves of his body with her hands. she would much prefer spending indecent moments with him over facing the crushing weight of her humiliation at nikolai’s choice, and now the ridiculous hurt in her chest at tyron’s words. it’s as though she’d suddenly been plunged into cold water, reminded of the reality of their situation and location. he was not hers, and she couldn’t be his either. brushing her thumbs across his jaw one last time, she slid her hands to his shoulders and used them as leverage as she slide one leg back,foot meeting the floor before the other followed suit. her hands reached down to smooth over her skirts, eyes darting around and breathing a small sigh of relief at the fact that no one had seen them. her jaw clenches before her gaze locks on his own and she lets out a long breath, her traitorous heart aching all the more, making her long to be in his arms once again. “you’re wrong, though. i have...thought about this more times than i care to admit. the events of today...they haven’t changed my perception of you.”

[frcnciscasarchive]

DANISCA MOODBOARDS | @pcrscphcnes      —> the canon verse

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TYRON.

“it appears you have other interests too.” he drawls, eyes catching on how her own gaze flickers to his groin. he can’t help the smirk that blooms on his face at noticing — because she cannot resist, isn’t as indifferent as she might like to project. her nipples beg for his mouth, his touch, and her eyes linger, intrigued and wanting. he knows what she wants — even if she doesn’t, if she is intent to deny till she is naught more than blue in the face.

she steps back against, pressed against the door and he could almost chuckle at her futile attempts — finding it amusing and soft and innocent, in a way that shouldn’t thrill him as much as it does. ( because he’s aware, that they’re crossing lines with what is happening here. he’s aware, that they’ve started something now, that what was once an innocent flirting between two easy friends has blossomed into something more. he tries to spare a thought for his wife, home in the vale, how she wanders about the halls, lonely and desolate. how all they do is fight, how it seems all they’ve ever done is fight. how he should be a better man and settle down to the task at hand — providing an heir for house arryn. he should commit himself to his marriage, to marg, to try and be better. but whether it’s that he can’t or that he doesn’t want too: is up for debate. what isn’t is how nyka makes him feel, blood warming and want stirring in his gut, a deep, sick, possessive need to be her first, in all things — to see that beautiful innocent sheen be corrupted in the best possible ways: to show her how good he can make her feel, if only she’d merely let him. ) — he doesn’t, of course, spare thought for how he’s never persued a woman like he has nyka. ever. that she’s a first for him, too, in so many ways.

“do you really wish to walk in the gardens?” tyron murmured, gaze darting from her eyes to her lips. the taste he’d had however many days before hadn’t been enough, and hadn’t been how he wanted to taste her. ( between her legs, on her tongue, her breasts, the smooth, soft flesh of her hip as he worked marks into her skin. ) but more than that, too: it hadn’t been tainted by the loss of a betrothal, a body blow of betrayal and a robbing of the desire for one to do their duty. he refused to have their moments be ruined such feelings — and he’d made it clear to her then. but then isn’t now, is it?

without thought or hesitation, his hands come up, pressing against the door and caging her in. ( if she wants to leave, he’ll let her. he’s many things — unfaithful, a bastard, rude and callous, knowingly full of shit and prone to childish antics. but he isn’t a brute. he isn’t a forceful man. if she wants to leave, she can: the door staying unlocked in spite of their position enough proof of that. ) his tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. and from this angle, glancing down at her, his gaze raking over her in an unabashed manner, imagining her naked and bare and wanting, he wonders if there is slick want between her thighs at the thought of them, of him. he wonders just how far he can push the boundaries of this, of them: and words form on his tongue, unable to be stopped, even if he wanted to, and surely, he doesn’t. “let me see you, nyka.” tyron murmured. “i want to see you.”

she blushes furiously when he catches her staring, tucks her hair behind her ear as she glances to the side and away from him entirely. never in her life has a man been able to get her as worked up as he does, nor have they had the effect on her that he does. there have certainly been men that she’s had attraction to, those that she’s flirted with and shared chaste kisses with. they’d all been suitors or betrothed, men that she may had had a future with if things had gone well between their fathers. there had never been a spark with them, nothing between them that was real. she’d never felt overwhelmed by them, never felt an overwhelming need to do anything with them. with tyron it is wholly different. every time they were together, he made her feel alive. made her blood thrum faster through her veins, made her face light up like christmas morning, made her feel wanted and seen in ways she never had been before. beyond that, he draws out a part of her she hadn’t known existed. a recklessness, the desire to be selfish, to covet something she shouldn’t want. he awoke a darkness inside of her, a desperate want to have him and claim him as her own. she wants to know what it’s like to touch him, have him, taste him again and know what it’s like when it’s not tainted by loss.

“i...” nyka’s gaze moves back to his face again, catching his gaze on her mouth and her words get caught in her throat. the last thing that she wants is to leave this room, to be out in public where she has to stifle what she feels and act the proper lady. they’ve already crossed the line when she’d kissed him, when he’d pulled her into his lap and kissed her back. she was left unable to forget the taste of him, what it felt like to tangle her fingers in his hair and have him between her thighs. she knew that now more than ever she should be staying away from him, resisting the pull she feels toward him given that he is a married man. what she feels for him is not allowed, isn’t something that can go anywhere beyond something secret and sinful when he is not hers to have. yet she doesn’t move from her spot against the door, doesn’t voice thoughts of moving to the gardens instead. the mere though of doing anything to break the tension between them flies out the window entirely when his arms bracket her, trapping her in his space and causing her breaths to come ragged and quick.

let me see you, nyka.

she knows exactly what it is that he’s implying, what he’s asking her to do and she suddenly becomes all too away of how flimsy this dress is, that she could simply tug and the knot at the base of her neck and she would be bare to him like he wants. lust courses through her and her eyes roam over his bare chest once more, down to his hardening length before dragging her gaze back up to his face. there is a large part of her that wants to give into his want, to expose herself to him in the same way that he is currently exposed to her.  she wants him to touch her, to see the look in his eyes when he does and know that he wants her just as much as she wants him. but there is something else she wants, first. her hands are slightly shaky as they raise to press against his chest, feeling firm muscles beneath her palms as she slides them up --- over broad shoulders, across his clavicle, before finally coming to rest on each side of his neck. her gaze having previously been watching her hands, now rests upon his face, darting from his lips before meeting his eyes. “i want you to kiss me.”

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TYRON.

promised to another. he tries to fight the somewhat sunken feeling in the pit of his stomach at such revelations — and he tries and he fails. could the stark brother really be blamed, though, for securing a match for his younger sister? she was smart, witty, clever and wise beyond her years. all of that wasn’t accounting for the… beauty she held, in those warm brown, chocolate coloured eyes, the silky hair and the smooth skin. any man with a pulse and blood in his veins should have — and most likely did — wanted her as his wife. and yet… yet he doesn’t know what he feels all the same, at her confirmation of another. ( jealously? possessiveness? frustration? resignation? sadness? a mix of all five? he couldn’t expect her to be unattainable and free to flirt with for the rest of their days — no matter how much he may have… wished for the opposite. ) “a betrothal has never stopped men from being foolish, lady stark. especially when the heart of a young maiden is at stake.” he offered with a wry grin and a shrug of his shoulders. it was the best he could manage — given the complex state of his emotions.

he glances down at her as she looks up at him, shrugging ever so slightly. “we have begun fostering orphaned children, once more, in the eyrie. the winter months are never easy and sickness is rampant in the low-lying villages along the mountain bases.” he had mentioned it in passing, during the time he had spent in winterfell some months ago — only a thought, an idea, something he had wanted to do, yet no idea how to do so, no idea if it was even something worth pursing… it had taken her, talking it through that fateful night, for him to finally see reason and implement the plan. “thus far, they seem to be enjoying staying there. it is… nice, too. in a way. to feel, see and hear life in the halls of the eyrie again. while i am fond of silence… that high up, the wind begins to scream. it grows tiresome, before long.”

it’s not even that it bothers her to be engaged. there had been certain things she knew was expected of her as a woman of her standing and her mother had made them all too clear to her from an early age. she was told how to look, dress, act in whatever situation she found herself in. she knew how to present herself in a crowd, the right things to say when her family hosted guests of a certain importance. beyond that she knew that she had other duties once she became a woman. the importance of strengthening their house was to come before anything else and securing a good match for her was a sure way to do so. it was then her duty to court with who they chose, go through with the wedding and bear her husband sons. she knew that, respected the process, had a dedication towards it that her sister certainly didn’t. it was simply not what she truly wanted, even if she allowed everyone to believe otherwise. “our hearts are not so easily won, lord arryn.” a fact that dominyka was all too aware of. in all her years of life and throughout all the betrothals she had been party in, she had never once met a man she was willing to give her heart to.

brown eyes widen and warm at such words, the smile on her face pulling wide. “that is wonderful, tyron.” she remembers months ago when he was sat in front of the fire voicing such ideas, how good an idea she thought it was for him to open his home. there were too many less fortunate than they were and the north was much the same. there was one particular village in the north that offered an orphanage and nyka had been taking interest in it for years, making sure that it was well funded and helping when she could. the mere idea of standing by and watching while others were in need had never been something that sat well with her, and it warmed her to know that he seemed to share the same thought. “i’m sure they would love it there from what you have told me of the eyrie. to have so much company and such a lovely place to stay, they must be enjoying the time you have given them there. it’s a wonderful thing, what you have chosen to do.”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

TYRON.

summer at the vale is always brutal. the winds are hot and the air is thin, the trees and forests grow thick and green. he had always found such a time of year beautiful and fresh, adoring it as much as any one man could. but he knew for nyka it wasn’t the same. she was a stark, born in the depths of winter, used to the cold, to the snow, where summer for her was still cold, still brutal. ( it hasn’t slipped his notice that she struggles with the heat where the rest of them don’t — that even her lightest dresses to little to help her in these months, that she often sat by windows hoping for the slightest inch of a cool breeze. )

he calls mutiny one fateful afternoon, sneaking the two of them out the back gardens and gates of the eyrie, down into the mountains below, only to round them and head straight for alyssa’s tears — the waterfall located some short distance away and perhaps, the only cool place in the vale, least till the heat broke and cool winds returned.

“it isn’t much further now.” he smiled warmly, glancing over his shoulder at her. he squeezes their joined hands, smile morphing into a slight frown. “be careful, too, my love. the rocks grow more slippery this close to the falls.” he slips into silence once more, turning to lead them up the path, before the hill flattens out into a small lake, waterfall pouring above it. “alyssa’s tears.” tyron murmured, and his hand let go of nyka’s, arm instead wrapping around her shoulders and tucking her into his side. “she was an ancestor of our house, you know. saw her whole family murdered, yet refused to shed a tear. the gods said she wouldn’t know peace till her tears reached the vale, but she never cried. she’s a symbol of strength to her descendants.” he ducks down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “swim?”

she loves the vale. it’s quieter here than it is back in winterfell, more peaceful and opportune for them to spend time alone than it had been in both her former home and the capital. she loves the mountain view, how clear the air is and the way the winds howl at night. but the damn heat would be the death of her. it has her more than happy to follow him blind when he asks her to come with him, hoping that perhaps somewhere lower than the eyrie will be cooler than it was in the tower.

humming at such words, she squeezes his hand gently in return and her smile widens slightly at the mere sight of his own. “i’m sure it will be well worth all the walking if you have taken us this far, darling.” she quips, tone teasing and a little excited to see whatever it is he has to show her. he nods at the warning, eyes falling to watch where she steps carefully --- an unwelcome deviation from the lovely view she’s had of his backside mere seconds ago. from here though she can hear the waterfall, the steady flow of the water flowing and meeting the small lake below it by the sounds of things and she’s more than a little excited to arrive. she had been sweltering all day, cursing the damned heat and the discomfort that came with it. her hair was piled high on top of her head in an intricate bun just to keep it off her neck and her dress was one of the thinnest she owned, so light that in the sunlight her form could be seen beneath it.

she goes into his side easily when they come to a stop, both her arms wrapping around his waist as she takes in the sight before her. given she was a northerner, she had never seen a moving waterfall before. they’d had frozen ones, beautiful ice crystals that she loved to visit and was astounded that they never seemed to thaw. this one was just as magnificent as the story behind it and she looks up in wonder with a soft smile on her face before she turns her gaze upon tyron instead. the fact that he had brought her here because he knew how much she despised the heat had her heart warming, swelling --- filling entirely with him in that moment. one hand going to the side of his face, she rises up on her toes and presses a long kiss to his mouth. “absolutely. it’s stunning here, i think it would rather be a shame if we didn’t appreciate it fully.” she disentangles from him then, bending down to begin unlacing the sandals she wore. “how come you’ve never brought me here before?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

FRANCISCA.

her eyes tighten as she gazes at him — wondering just what it is that he’s thinking and plotting and planning: for as well as he can read her, she can read him just the same. ( it was something that had become increasingly clear to her over the past few months, — just how the two of them were two sides of the same coin, sun and moon: always living so another could die, could shine and light up the skies. ) but she doesn’t hold such gazes long: and, careful to keep her frame flush with his own, she turns ever so slightly in his arms, glancing back to the gathered lords, ladies, handmaids and companions — some of them friends, some of them allies and some mere leeches and bottom feeders — before her chin jerked at the man in question.

“him.” when they were younger, roberto had been handsome, she supposed. but then again, in all their dalliances, she’d never seen really seen his face — never taken notice of the green eyes and soft brown hair, the soft nose and sharp jawline. he’d merely been a body, a man, someone to warm her bed while she got used to the fact it would now be cold, with the loss of her first husband. but she wasn’t the girl she was then — was now queen of portugal, a mother, a wife, married to a man who understood her on levels she never thought possible. she wanted and desired, had unlocked facets of herself never once thought to even exist. she was different now: and better. cisca turned back to dani, arching a brow. “what is going on in that head of yours, husband?” she murmured, head quirking slightly. “hmm? tell me.”

his gaze follows her own as she juts her chin out, searches until he finds the man in question. danilo remembers meeting him earlier in the evening, of him introducing himself as roberto and saying that he was honoured to be in the king’s court. he was handsome, he supposed. a comely man, well dressed and well presented. he had the sicking urge to ruin such a pretty face, to bloody his own knuckles in order to do so. he wanted to stain his clothes with blood, have him fleeing court the next day because he was now ugly and mottled, all because he had francisca first. and perhaps such thoughts should frighten him, should leave him unsettled, but it doesn’t. he’d come to terms a long time ago that he was greedy and selfish, protective and possessive of what was his. and aside from nilo, there was nothing more important to him than cisca.

turning his gaze back towards his wife, he smirked down at her. a hand raised to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheekbone as the other slid slightly down to rest heavy on her derriere. “i am thinking that in the morning i shall have a chat with good lord roberto and have him removed from our court.” his hands moved then, thumb sliding across her jaw to rest upon her lower lip. “but at present...my thoughts are entirely consumed with you.” his length twitches at the mere thought of his plans, his smirk growing slightly wider as he envisions the scenario he so desires. “so here is what i would like you to do: discretely slip away from this gathering and go to the throne room. make sure that you are not seen,and that there are no staff left in the room. then i want you to take off this lovely dress that has been taunting me all evening and wait for me.” he drags her lower lip down with his thumb, his other hand slightly gripping her flesh. “i will be there a few moments later. can you do that for me, pretty bird?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

FRANCISCA.

she sighs as they reach the alcove — feeling something loosen and release at the moderate privacy they were afforded. her arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers intertwining and allowing her to hold him close. and there’s a part of her that doesn’t even want to tell him: to merely offer up some excuse and move on with their night. but… but they had made a promise, hadn’t they? they would be better. try. it was different with them now and he had said so much himself. ( she knows as well, that he won’t judge her — neither of them have pristine pasts, and the only reason they even came to together in the first place was for sex and sex alone. she knows he won’t judge her… and yet why does she fear telling him, all the same? is it the forced vulnerability? the admittance that she needs him, that he makes her strong and brave and gives her the strength to do this, be a queen and a mother when she hadn’t wanted either of those in the first place? or is it something of which she has no name for, doesn’t understand and its that, the not knowing — which scares her? )

francisca pressed her lips together, shaking her head ever so slightly. “one of the lords… here. he and i knew each other for a time, in spain.” she averts her gaze and there’s the temptation to speak in spanish, her native tongue still offering her some level of comfort despite the years in portugal. “we… were involved. it was… after my first husband. i was a widow and i was free to do as i pleased. no one bothered me, i had an allowance as afforded by his estate. i could come and go at court and i was always treated with respect when i was there.” she glances back to him. “for myself… it was never more than… the physical. i wanted but i did not love. for him… i rather think it was the opposite.” she frowns heavily. “he was minor nobility in spain and he barely has any sway in court, so his being here… it isn’t for the reasons we think. but rather… myself.”

he waits somewhat patiently for a rather impatient man, his hands on the small of her back pulling her a little tighter against him as he brushes his thumbs over the material of her dress. the look on her face...he can’t quite figure it out, doesn’t really know what to make of it given he’s never seen her this uncomfortable before. it has him more worried than he’d like to admit, even to her. as she begins to speak though, his brow quirks momentarily. of all the things he expected her to tell him, tales of an ex-lover was not one of them. he feels heart rush in his veins, jealousy curling and twining itself though him deep in his chest at the mere thought that another man in his court had her  once before in a way that he had. had stripped her down, made her tremble and the thought of it...he despises it. he’s always been a possessive man, took whatever he wanted and made it his. she was different though. she was his wife, the mother of his child. she was his in a way she never would be anyone else’s.

“he wishes to covet you.” he concludes as his lips purse and god, does the thought anger him. he is under no illusion that other men don’t want her. with the way she looks, her wit and her charm, she is enticing to all that set eyes on her. but most know better than to dare to pursue such wants when they know she is his wife. she is entirely his the same way he is hers, and he feels an intense desire to show this lord exactly that. “point him out to me.” he demands quietly, instinctively, his palms flattening out against her back and presses her closer against him, tight as she can get. he cares not for whether people see them, the court all too used to their displays of affection and the poor staff that have walked in on them more than once. he wants the whole world to know that she belongs to him alone and a faint smirk of amusement tugs at his mouth at the fact that anyone thinks they could take her from him. “and do not forget who you are, pretty bird: the queen of portugal. untouchable to everyone but me.”

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FRANCISCA.

it comes back to her in shards and snippets, fragments of memories that don’t make sense to her, not in the deep, dark depths she finds herself in. ( for she remembers there being an attack, on the castle. remembers men taking her, remembers the fear and the worry and the panic she felt — not only for herself, but for nilo and for dani, for their people, their staff who already dealt with so much — they didn’t need to deal with this, too. she remembers struggling, trying to break free — remembers pain and blood, bleeding and unable to stop it, remembers… remembers being saved, by dani, maybe, or someone else, a king’s guard, perhaps — remembers a kiss placed to her forehead and a prayer said: though maybe the latter was from her own lips, than that of anyone else. )

cisca remembered little of the events that transpired, yet somehow — remembers all of it, too.

“oh dios mío,” she groans, voice hoarse and coated with pain. her face contorts as she tries to sit up in bed, only to feel sharp, shotting stabbing pain erupt all through her frame at such an action: a whimper leaving her lips as a result. a tear curls out her down, her cheek, her lips pressing together to hold back a sob. “dani?”

when she finally stirs, he lets out a long and relieved breath that he’d been holding from the moment he found her. can can still so clearly see her, limp and bleeding on the ground and remembers fearing that she was lost to him. he recalls allowing rage to fuel him as he cut through the invaders to get to his wife. he remembers cradling her close to him, demanding death to leave her be and bring her back to him rather than selfishly taking her. he’s spent hours since sitting by her side, nilo now asleep in his crib in the corner after dani had finally calmed him. those hours had been filled with hoping, wishing, even praying to a god he was hardly on good terms with anymore just to see those beautiful eyes of hers once more.

his hand moves to brush her hair back gently, brows marring in concern when she tries to sit up and he gently pushes at her shoulder, shushing her. “i’m right here, cisca. it’s alright.” he grimaces at the expression on her face, how pale she looks in comparison to her usual vibrant self. one of his hands shifts to take hold of her own, squeezing gently as the other goes to her hair, thumb stroking gently across her forehead. “you are safe now, do not worry. it is alright.” there is the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, the fact that she is awake and talking is a balm to the worry he has been harboring ever since finding her. he had screamed at the physicians to make sure she would live, that she would see another day. and he knows afterwards that they’d all told him that she should be fine as long as she woke up, that she was young and healthy, but nothing was as reassuring as hearing her voice. “how do you feel?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

FRANCISCA.

she should have known, of course — that her past would catch up with her eventually. nothing in her life ever stayed good, no matter how much she may have wished the opposite, no matter how much she needed it. ( they had returned from spain different people, different rulers, different lovers and a different couple. she knew now, she loved him — that two husbands and a handful of lovers had lead her to him, to this moment. even if they hadn’t started how one might expect, how one… should have began any marriage: it was theirs. nilo was a bright and beautiful boy, who brought joy to her life and to the court in portugal. she looked forward to more children, hopefully this time, a little girl with her father’s eyes and nose. )

swallowing roughly, francisca turned her gaze away from the familiar face at the edge of the crowd, instead, seeking out her husband. ( roberto had been a mistake. a mistake she owned, of course, but she’d hadn’t loved him like she knew he thought. wanted him yes, desired him to warm her bed and have pleasure curl in her veins, of course. but never love. cisca had only ever loved three people in her life — and only one of them could claim to have her heart. ) catching sight of danilo, she excuses herself from the conversation she found herself in, instead, flitting to him and tucking herself into his side. she cared little for what people thought of their public displays — most of their court knowing well enough how they could tend to be. “husband.” she murmured, low enough for him to only here. “if you have a moment to spare for your wife, i would be most grateful.”

he’s undeniably bored. the gathering was necessary to greet some new lords visiting his court, powerful ones that would be helpful allies in the near future if he was able to sway them all to support the crown fully. needless to say, the festivities had been rather tame in order to gain their approval. though danilo contemplated playing them with wine, of overindulging as well. he pondered the thought of breaking out his powders and enjoying the intoxicating high they provided before disappearing with his wife to enjoy her instead. but he was trying to do better, be better. he cared for his country even if his actions may not always show it, and he wanted to do right by his people. though perhaps he could steal francisca away for a few moments, surely that would not hurt his chances at wooing these nobles.

danilo begins scanning the crowds for her face, thankful for his height and the fact that his line of sight was above most, but he had no need for it. he feels warmth at his side, hands on his frame and he looks down only to find the woman he had been searching for. “wife.” he murmurs in return as his arm wraps around her, holding her closer. “it’s awfully inconvenient given how thrilling this gathering is, but i do suppose i can give you a few moments.” he teased as he began steering them toward a darkened alcove. as he down though, he examines the features on her face and a frown begins to tug at the corners of his lips. he had spent enough time with her to know what she was feeling by glancing at her expression, by looking into her eyes. he knew when she was her happiest, and when she was upset. he knew her better perhaps than he knows himself. reaching the alcove, her turns to face her and reaches around to interlace his fingers at the small of her back. “are you going to inform me of why your face looks as it does or must i probe for answers?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

TYRON.

her name from his lips his like a balm to the soul — and something wound tight eases within him at the sound. ( there was no mistaking how he didn’t wish to be here, through both words and actions. he longed for simpler things: like nights spent in front of the fires at winterfell, like springtime in the vale, when the waterfalls warmed and rough winds were a light breeze. but her, — her voice, her dark curls tumbling across shoulders, the sparkle in her eye and the warm smile on her lips: she is a balm to his aching soul, a reminder of good times had: a reminder that moments of reprieve can be found, even in places he least expects them. )

“aye, you never know what the future holds.” he tutted slightly, offering a shrug. “king’s landing has always been a place of change. before you and i know it, i will be abandoned to lonesome nights by the fire, while young men lance their way through each other for a chance glimpse of your pretty smile.” ( his flirting and charm aside — king’s landing was a place of change. kings and princes and good men had been murdered in these walls, through the corridors they roam: and tyron had little trust or faith in the fact that it wouldn’t happen again. already, a kingsguard had been murdered, blame laid at the feet of the starks — how long was it before it was a lord, a prince, before the king himself? tyron didn’t wish to find out. like his ancestors before him, house arryn was isolationist at heart. they sought solitude and quiet, the rough winds of the vale and privacy afforded by the mountains surrounding their home. none of which king’s landing seemed to be offering, the longer they all stayed here. )

he flashed a charming grin at her. “though, if anyone is up for a challenge of making my person an honest man, i rather think you shall rise to the occasion.” the chuckle that breaks past his lips shatters any last remnants of tension — and instead, he shuffles, arm gesturing towards the stables she mentions. “it would be my honor. after you, lady stark.”

nyka hummed quietly in disbelief at his words, head ducking as she tucked her hair behind her ear and flicked her eyes up to meet her own, shaking her head. “oh, i sincerely doubt it. most of king’s landing have heard by now that i’ve been promised to another.” a lump settles in her throat at admitting such a fact to him, somehow nervous about telling him such a thing and she can not quite understand why. they barely know each other, and she would easily consider him a friend. yet she feels discomfort in informing him of her betrothal, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. it was ridiculous, really.he knew better than most that marriage was not made for love, but for politics. they were to bring houses together, to bring them power and glory and to further their family names. even still, it feels as though she’s ruined something in telling him. like she has washed away some sort of glamour surrounding them. “but i can absolutely assure you that i will always make time to keep you company by the fire. it is not as though there is any better company in such a place as this.”

her head tilts at such words, a rather mischievous look curves her features, has her tilting her head and raising her brows at him. “oh, is that so? well...my siblings would say i am not one to turn down a challenge, though i do believe you may already be a lost cause.” she quips as she begins to walk, heading in the direction of the stables after hiding an amused smile.  dominyka had not realized how much she had missed this. bantering back and forth with someone. but not just any random person, but him specifically. she could banter with others, but she held no fondness for them the way she tends to for him. she can so clearly remember talking by the fire, remembers discussing art and bickering about interpretations of poetry. while she was under no illusions about how handsome he was, it was their conversations that she’d most enjoyed. the fact that he’d agreed on some of her views, would give his points when he disagreed. he allowed her to speak of what she loved most about poetry, and she had listened when he had told her stories of his past. she’d felt connected to him, and it had come back in full force since seeing him again. slowing her pace so she was walking along side of him, she turns her head to look up at him. “do you have any news to tell me since your return to the vale?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

( @frcnciscas )

there were many things that could be said about danilo aviz. he was a skilled fighter without doubt, good with swords and his fists, had brought glory to his father and his country in the few times he had gone to war. he could charm his way out of any situation, could talk the wool off a sheep if need be and it had come in very useful in meetings with foreign diplomats. he could throw the best of parties, could make sure all those around him were having a good time. his shortcomings, however, came in his personality. his greed, his selfishness, his lack of ability to take responsibility. he shirked them whenever he could, favoured recklessness over his duties most days. and while that hadn’t exactly changed with the birth of his son, it had become different. his duty to his marriage had obviously been fulfilled given they had produced an heir and were in no danger of never having another one. his duty as king...well, his small council was well equipped to deal with whatever problems the country encountered and he felt it easy to rely on them given there was no imminent threat at present. his son though...he would only ever have one father. and while danilo hardly knows where to start, how to be one, he still felt the pull to spend some time with his son. his future heir.

entering francisca’s chambers, he peered in curiously for a moment before he approaches. he’d only seen his son once thus far, just after he’d been born and cisca had very nearly ripped his head off after he had announced his name. “he is looking less...scrunched.” when he’d visited just after the birth, he’d seemed wrinkly and red and loud. now though, he was quiet, looked more normal in colouring and it has danilo coming closer for a better look. a soft smile dons his features as he stills at her bedside, looking down at the boy in her arms. “i do believe he has your nose.”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

( @frcnciscas )

he’s furious. absolutely fuming as he makes his way through the halls, a scowl on his features. his day had not started in such a way. in fact, it had been quite the opposite. he’d had a rather lovely blonde in his arms earlier, had her moaning and groaning in all the most delicious ways. and then she’d told him she’d had a surprise, had him turn onto his stomach and keep his eyes closed. he’d thought it was going to be something far more enjoyable than the scorching burn he’d felt on his back which had him jumping from the bed and screaming for an explanation. all of it had become quite clear the moment she had uttered the words ‘but her majesty said’. truthfully, he should of predicted such a thing from her. they had always played games with each other, pushing back and forth to see who would buckle first. befriending the lovers that he took was a new move of his wife’s, one that amused him far less than it amused her.

with his shirt still open and very little regard for who saw him, he barged inside of her chambers, eyes flaring. “what in seven hells, francisca?” he yelled, staring at his wife in disbelief. he was glad at least for the fact that nilo was not in here. the last thing they needed at this moment was a screaming child, spooked by his father’s rage. “hot coals?” he exclaimed as he walked toward her, annoyance plain as day on his face. he understood the nature of their games, heavily encouraged them even, but bodily harm and playing with temperatures was not something he was fond of, even if she was. his fingers clench and unclench at his side and his back still burns, the skin red and angry from what he had seen in the in the mirror of the blondes chambers. “really?”

[greyingshepherd]

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

TYRON.

his head quirks curiously as he gazes at her, watches as amusement blooms on her face and fades again — almost as quickly as he managed to make it appear. “silence is largely underestimated. especially by many here in the capital.” tyron replied, slow and careful, almost as if he was speaking with a frightened animal: and not a woman of twenty-four years, who, prior to this moment: had displayed mass amounts of courage in her convictions. “i do not mind.”

but he goes quiet as she speaks: words washing over his frame, filling him with a sense of… guilt, perhaps? or maybe annoyance? something he hasn’t felt in a long time, an emotion he had, thus far, happily strayed away from. ( his youth was filled to the brim with such emotions — his adult years would be a direct opposite. it was why his fostered lustful, greedy habits, why he allowed himself to break marriage vows with little care, disconnect himself from the politics and brewing troubles here in the captial, hauling up in the eyrie where no one could bother him. he had felt badly for his life once before — doing so again wasn’t something tyron wished for. ) still, he clears his throat, glancing out across the sea: feels his palms itch the desire to hold her hand — largely one of his more innocent thoughts when it comes to dominkya — feels his feet grow heavy with the need to flee from this entire situation. “as… someone… who has spent… more than a fair share of time in pleasure houses…” lips purse, trying to grapple for the right words, words that will help, rather than hinder. “a whore can be found on any street, in any corner of this land. gods, every second woman in essos is one, for the right price.” he arched a brow. “but you, dominyka? you with your smarts and your wit, your eye for art and mind for poetry? that sense of duty and loyalty, faith to your family?” he shook his head. “no common whore has that.” he glanced away from the sea and towards her once more. there’s a marked seriousness about his person, in that moment — done away with the childlish antics, the lustful, hungry gaze, the overly confident personality. he is less the boy he desires to be, and more the man he knows he is. "they wish for it. hope for it. for if they have it, the lords that warm their beds might stay a while longer, might… make honest women out of them.” ( he certainly knew his own far share of such woman: more than once, favorites of his had considered themselves more, had believed a ring and a babe was well on the way. tyron had married once and he didn’t believe there to be a woman on this earth that would make him want it a second time. ) “but they never have it.” his hand reached forward, lightly tapping at her bent knee. “there is only ever one of you. and you deserve… a husband who will see that. appreciate it. cultivate it and protect it. he is a fool, for choosing what is on every street corner instead of what is most rare, beautiful and exquisite… nyka.”

despite his kind words, she shakes her head and stretches her legs out until they’re hanging over the side of the windowsill. the white skirt of her dress flows down over her legs and dark eyes flick up to meet his. “i’d rather stay here for the time being. but you are welcome to stay as well.” she is not quite ready to pull herself together yet. for once in her life, she wants a selfish moment just for herself. she wants to be upset, wants to be angry, wants to be hurt. but she doesn’t want people to see it. not when there is so much at stake and she despises anyone seeing her weak.

she fidgets with the fabric of her dress, a nervous habit that she’s had ever since she was a little girl. her mother had tried and tried to scold her out of it, had punished her for it even, but she still does it aimlessly when she is upset and her mind is busy. her eyes fall to her dress as he speaks, watching her fingers slip and slide over the fabric. then he continues, conversation turning from whores to the subject of her and it’s enough to have her grow still. surprise likely shows on her face and a feeling settles in her chest that she’s not quite familiar with. it’s overwhelming almost, the way that he compliments her. she’s received countless compliments before about her appearance, how comely she was. she’s received them about the way she presents herself, that she was a credit to her parents and her upbringing. no one ever complimented her. who she was, the way she looked at the world and the things she spoke passionately about. she wanted to be complimented not for her beauty and mannerisms for once, but her intelligence. how she was smarter than all the members in her family, how her brother would not be able to come up with tactics and strategy without her. no one had ever even acknowledged such parts of her. until now.

dominyka stares at the hand on her knee, feels the warmth of his touch despite the fact that goose flesh appears on her leg beneath her dress. “the worst part...” she swallows thickly, head shaking slowly. “a part of me can understand why he has done this. to feel...trapped in something unwanted, to spend days lonely despite not being alone. to know that you will be bonded to someone that you have no true attachment to. it is duty, something expected and necessary, yes, but it is still a heavy cross to bear.” she felt it every day. she walked through the motions, did what was asked of her, behaved as she was expected to while constantly wanting to do the opposite. she wanted to prove men wrong instead of smiling and nodding her head. she wanted to tell people to leave her be instead of entertaining them. but she wanted to bring her family pride more. she wanted their approval, wanted to do the right thing and live up to the expectations that had been set for her. now though, things had changed. she had changed. from that night by the fire to all the conversations, glances, touches they’d shared since they’d both been in the capital. she has since started to want something more than her duty. “then to find someone who...makes your days seem much brighter than they once were. makes you smile, laugh...feel like you’re worth something. and then to want them so much that you could forsake duty in the name of passion...” brown eyes flick up to finally meet his own, her heartbeat quickening as nerves suddenly settle in and she finds herself inching closer to him; his words of her being beautiful, exquisite, and rare making her head spin. “i know such a feeling all too well.” she’s overwhelmed, thoughts swirling with him and his words as they battle in equal measure with feelings of hurt and it does not leave room for clear thinking. instead, she allows her emotions to rule her, and she gives into the need that consumes her as she leans in and presses her mouth against his.

[redcorset]

I’m yours & you’re mine moodboard  

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

TYRON.

his brows arched, and a warm, amused smile was on his lips — no doubt the most at ease he’d looked since arriving in the capital. ( he was no fool: able to reading the signs in the wind, the words whispered under breaths. the targaryen’s were restless, the starks maybe more so: no one wanted or wished to return to the days of the war of the five kings, or that of queen daenerys’ invasion of westeros: yet it seemed, beyond all shadow of a doubt, where they were all headed. it’s times like these he longs for the vale and the eyrie, the howl of the winds and its isolated location, longs to be left alone to his own devices, happily ruling his people, lovingly fighting with his siblings and avoiding his wife at all costs. ) but, she, lady stark, dominyka — proves a most comely and divine distraction: easing the tension along his shoulders, allowing smiles and laughs to slip past carefully constructed defences. “you mean to say i was not flattering in winterfell, those months ago?” a hand presses to his heart. “you wound me so, lady stark.”

tyron grows somewhat serious a moment later, clearing his throat and glancing away from her. “aye, it… was not a journey i had intended to make. the roads out of the vale at this stage in the year are… not the most pleasant. or the safest.” he hadn’t wanted to bear witness to what would no doubt take place: dragon versus direwolf was a battle he would happily sit out of, even if there were ties between their houses, harking back to catelyn stark and lysa arryn. he turned his gaze back to her, offering another smile: warmer and more indulgent than those before. “as am i.” he nodded slightly. “hopefully our talks by the fire become something of a regular occurrence while here in the capital. it would please me greatly, dominkya, to be able to keep fine company such as yours. it might even make an honest man out of me, yet.”

she hums in amusement, head ducking slightly as dark curls tumble across her shoulders. she’d been feeling rather ill at ease before she’d stumbled across him. she was not used to roaming without her direwolf by her side, but she could not do so without thought in times like this. it could too easily be seen as a threat for her and all of her siblings to roam around with their direwolves at their sides despite the fact that they were no match for the dragons the targaryens keep. even still, she had to watch her step here. it’s strange that even being in his presence for a moment had her shoulders relaxing, her smile softening and becoming something genuine. it makes her feel somewhat safer, being near him. “somehow i trust the wound is not too deep. i think you shall live, tyron.” her voice is teasing, light as the banter flows easily and her fingers interlace in front of her dress, a light pastel pink as opposed to grey and white.

dominyka nods her head at such words, reading between the lines of what he says. most can feel the change in the air that came with the gathering here. the murder of a member of the kingsguard had everyone on edge, nervous for what was to come. the blame was placed upon her family, though she knew none of their would be quite so foolish. not when they gathered secretly in the night, discussing rebellion and strategy. her brother spoke and she remained by his side, giving council, offering her vast range of knowledge. violence was not in her nature, but she would do absolutely anything for her family and her house, and such had been proved when she joined her brother’s mission. “i do so hope so, i don’t think i will have too many busy evenings that it would cause me not to have time for you.” not given the way she avoided people at all costs. “that is an awfully high standard to hold me too. making an honest man out of you is quite the task.” her smile pulls wider, head tilting to the side slightly. “i was just on the path towards the stables for a walk, would you care to accompany me?”

[pcrscphcnes-blog]

TYRON.

we once could have ended up wed. and he wonders how to feel about such realities, wonders what it would have been like, if she were lady of the vale and eyrie, as opposed to that of margaery. ( dangerous and complicated, messy thoughts, no doubt: but he can’t help but wonder, all the same. would he still be the man he is today, prone to affairs and women not his wife in his bed, believing the concept of fidelity wasn’t for him? would he see more worth in himself, beyond that of which his father told him? would he have a confidence in his actions, a pride in his step, a path forward to bring house arryn out of the darkness and into the light once more? — he can’t be sure. he’s never… sure about anything, really, feeling as if he is naught more than a boy, forced to play at being lord, hoping to god no one brands him as an imposter. )

pushing thoughts of what if out of his mind, he focuses instead of what else she says, offering a nod and a quick smile. the door shuts behind them fairly quickly, cold wind being shut out along side it. even so, he can still hear the hiss and howl of rough winds, thankfully used to such sounds, given how high up the eyrie was, on the best of days. “aye, a fire does sound most pleasent. was near impossible to get one going on the trip down through the vale.” he frowns, ever so slightly. “the weather hasn’t been kind to us, as of late, in the mountains. friend not even to her old protectors.” he waves his hand once more, offering her a smile as he removes his heavy fur coat. “while marriage negotiations are surely an important topic, i do believe they can be held off for a night or two.” he arched his brows. “would you, however, do me the pleasure of your company, lady stark? it would be most welcoming to be able to talk to someone other than my lord’s guard for a night.”

she pushes her hood off as the door closes behind them both, unclasping it at the front to shrug off and drape over her arms, but she keeps it close to her frame as they pass a fire. winterfell is built to keep in as much heat as possible, but in the coldest of winters there is still a chill in the air no matter how many fires they burn to chase it away. “the winds have been awful here, i can only imagine how awful they would have been at such heights.” as she approaches his chambers, natari pads gently towards her and a smile blooms on nyka’s face as she reaches out to pat the direwolf behind the years. taking her cloak, she drapes it over the wolfs back before straightening again. “to my room, natari.” dutiful as ever, the wolf follows her instruction and pads off towards nyka’s own chambers and she stops in front of the rooms that had been made up for the lord of the vale. 

both her brows raise slightly at his proposition, surprise surely clear on her features. most that visited in order to speak with her brother didn’t take much interest in her, and if they did it was for reasons she did not care to entertain. she’s not particularly fond of people either, tends to keep to the edges of rooms and talk only when she needed to, so she didn’t often offer her company. but the arryns were their allies, maintaining a good relationship was vital and after all, she was friendly with margaery. it would do her well surely if she were to befriend her husbands, too. “most certainly, lord arryn. it would be my pleasure to keep your company.” she gives a smile and a nod, hands clasping in front of her before she inclines her head to the door to her left. “we’ve prepared these chambers for you to stay in, i do so hope you will find them comfortable. if you’d like i can escort you to the kitchen, or if you would prefer to take your meal in your room and settle in then i can arrange for a handmaiden bring it to you. the common room is also rather lovely to take meals in this time of year. sitting by the fire is much warmer than our dining room.”