the blind leads the weak

captain artem targaryen. 53. malevolent dowager lady una baratheon. 59. ambitious. prince robert stark. 32. vengeful.

[rulcrs]

MUSES

ARTEM TARGARYEN. 53. Captain of The Blackfyre / Exiled Lord. Godspite.

UNA BARATHEON. 59. Dowager Lady of Storm’s End. Puppeteer. 

ROBERT STARK. 32. Prince in the North & Lord Commander. Guard Wolf.  (This character has been officially RIP’d)

[weusedtobegiants]

I don’t know where to hide my rage.

Henry Miller, from A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller, 1932-1953

[fionagoddess]

Angela Bassett | American Horror Story: Coven

[rulcrs]

nothrones​:

⸻

It won’t be the ground that greets her when name is called.     No moss growing thick and heavy over her bones.      No hair and teeth left behind while the rest has rotted into the earth.     She supposes there will be many centuries of burning,      pyre only made out of her choices and manipulations.     Like dry wood to a flame,     she had always been conscious of scraping the wound.     She’d let the world burn down to ash if it meant justice for her own funeral during childhood.      Death and more death.   This man across from her is the reaper himself,    cloaked in soot and hunger,   carved out from the flesh to reveal a mouth that devours and fists that break jaws.   If his outburst bothers her,   she doesn’t show it.   Expression mildly neutral,   if not for the twitch in her upper lip.   Men had the ability to demand attention from the room,   yet offered nothing but a boorish attitude in return.   She’d have better luck speaking to a wall.   His reputation,   however,   precedes him.    She is crafty in her need for survival,   a smile stretching along her lips like a balmy breeze to meet his angry hurricane.  ‘   Yes,   you are an omen to some before they travel to the afterlife.    I need no feathers and rabbit bones to tell you that.  ‘  Voice lilting at the end as though she were speaking to a petulant child,    one who misbehaved and got himself expelled from his own bloodline.   Fingertips trail along the edge of the rickety table out of habit,  the wood underneath her touch is coarse.  Aranya almost wishes for the sudden plucking of a splinter.   Something to cure this unbearable tension.  ‘   My visions aren’t my own to control.    They’re not like an army,   or a ship’s crew.    You must wait another day or two.    Ask a specific question if you must.   ‘

-

GODS HAVE NO TONGUES. The light dims to grey, blue, and orange; flames lights dancing upon small window of the bereft. Flea Bottom is Flea Bottom for a reason, and the reason can be smelled five miles out from the city itself. It attracts all kinds of mad - the hungry, the empty, the liars. This sort of cunt-worship would fare better in Essos, he knows; he has seen it. Women, men, and children - all with tongues that speak for the Gods sit next to those where power reside. Yet there is no power in sheep that needs must the grace and vision of gods. It must be claimed; it must be conquered; it must be quiet. “You are mistaken once again - “ his palm closes quick, his face lax and without tension “ - I give no omen. When I want you to see me, you will; and often it will be the last you see.” 

Out in the distance, his sail of black and red flutter with the winds. They are anchored here and within sight. There is no pretense, there is no rouse. Their flag means what it means - skull pierced with a rapier, out through the jaws of death. They are here for deliverance. 

“Do not fret. I do not have questions for you; but a friend does.” Artem’s lips lift with mirthless humour; his hand grabbing from his leatherskin sack shallow and quick. On the table drops a hand. It greens and blues; it would shiver if it could. The cut is clean; the nails are too. Had they been attached to a person, they would almost look soft.  The Narrow Sea does wonders to the skin and bone when they are left there to salt in the water.  “This is my friend. Read this palm, too.

“He would like to ask you where the rest of himself is.”

[fionagoddess]

[new/old] Angela Bassett as Ramona Royale.

[rulcrs]

sweetmcsks​:

it had been so long since she had heard of her mother. perhaps it was because their death was appropriately mourned for in the North, and Dara hadn’t been around anybody who knew her mother during her time in the Reach though it was heart-warming that her mother seemed to garner such an endearing reaction from a woman who oozed power and respect. even such a woman who was a baratheon. dara smiled softly as the woman spoke, nodding her respect with a small cursty before she let Una continue speaking. 

❝ It’s a pleasure, Lady Una. ❞ she remarked, though suddenly Dara felt self-conscious of her bandaged hand.  ❝ Im not sure my mother would have forgotten she was holding a glass of wine but i’m glad to not be alone in such regards. ❞ she spoke, her embarrassment obvious as she tried to hide her hand in the flows of fabric from her dress.  ❝ yes, I do have a brother. he’s somewhere around her, probably with my uncle. did you want me to go get them? ❞ she asked, unsure how much Una wanted to interact with the Karstarks. she wondered what was the impression the karstarks and the north left on those from the reach, or perhaps in the stormlands. was it good? bad? both?  

-

THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH DRINK FOR THE THIRSTY. The sun is setting and it looks fire upon the gentle green leaves. Sentiment is what one makes of it - and though her heart is full of many, many sentiments, Una knows, that this here, right now, as Aranya’s daughter speaks of her mother, would be another ripple in her heart. It is both heavy and both light. Memories of those departed demand it to be so. “I will find him in due time,” pacifies her with gentleness. There is no need to rush: they have time yet. This Aranya - who is not Aranya - stands before her and Una knows there is more to this tale, as all tales are

A teacup shattered will always leak and cut. She smiles at Dara Karstark with no limited fondness; her hand gesturing for a seat. “Please,” says she as she leads the lady to where on of her own ladies-in-waiting had been earlier. Like this, in the heat of the Southron afternoon, the memories flood the teacup, and suddenly it is full. “From how you greet me, I imagine your mother rarely mentioned who I am; yet she and I do -did - share more days in the sun than I can count. - Please, tell me, how are you and how is your life in the North? Your brothers?” - and then she remembers that who shatters the teacup “ - your uncle?” 

[aridante]

Aeschylus (trans. Anne Carson), from An Oresteia; “Agamemnon”

[kuutamosonaatti]

Hannibal 2.03 Hassun

[antigonick]

there is still somewhere deep within you a beast shouting that the earth is exactly what it wanted—

Mary Oliver, excerpt of “Morning Poem”, in Dreamwork (via antigonick)

[rulcrs]

warbcunds​:

she’s been thrumming with anticipation since she’d received his message, hidden easily the way it always was whenever they passed notes back and forth through ravens. months had passed, months where she’d been stuck in this hell hole of a castle. the very place made her skin crawl, the halls dancing with her brothers ghost and she wanted nothing more than to be free of it, even if being here only pushed her closer to what she wanted. even still, she knew it wouldn’t take lng at all for all her anxiousness to dissipate. wandering through the gardens, she likes the symbolism of waiting by the rose bush, and it truly is waiting for how long she stands there. though the second she sees his figure cut through her vision, her heart starts thumping and her lips pull into a smile. “you’re in quite the hurry there. looking for someone?”

-

THE PRETTIEST OF FLOWERS ALWAYS GET PLUCKED. It happened to him first - he saw her once, and then she was all he ever wanted to see. The ground is smooth and stable here, the hills are covered by great towers his ancestors supposedly built. The Red Keep would sooner burn than have its walls see him return. Yet here he is with an inaudible gasp and his heart on his hands. “Even when you think I do not - “ his steps are sure, his stride lofty; there is no need for distance here, and so he closes it, “- I always do. I make the winds howl towards you.” Her hair on his fingers catch the rough-trimmed nails and callouses of his hands, but it matters not. 

Here, where pretty flowers bloom, he will take his and pluck it. Soon his arms snake through her and his has his chin over her head, resting in near-contentment yet still not enough. It happened to him first - and keeps happening to him over and over and over again each and every single time he has her in his arms. He falls in love. “I have missed you. - tell me you have missed me too.”

[rulcrs]

nothrones​:

 open starter﹕ featuring lady aranya pretending to read your muse’s fortune !

‘  I see a great victory in the coming months.   It’ll be summer,   fruits will ripen,   as will your glory.  ‘   The words are laced with a particular venom that can only be found in the most cunning of liars.   Those who prefer the skills of intelligence and fickleness over that of violence and outright cruelty.   She is between snake and skin here,   a shedding of the previous girl that inhabited this vessel now replaced with that of a seeress.   One who tells fortunes,    who deals in premonitions and raven feathers.   The other’s hand is warm in hers and she turns it over to reveal a palm,   index finger light and gentle as she traces a line that the years have engraved on the surface.    ‘   Ah,   but with glory comes suffering.  ‘ 

IT IS ALWAYS NIGHT IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST. The stench of filth and waste is a brand King’s Landing so love that it sticks to even the most flowered of hair. It envelopes the night - makes the candlelight sway in disgusting gusts of wretched squalor. Once he had lived in a castle lorded by a great dragon that breathed more fire than air; now he spends his hours in the shadows of Flea Bottom - amusing himself by wasting coin on the useless. The woman speaks of fruits and victory in a promise, and Artem scoffs. What good is a seer that sees not what lays before her? He’s had fruit, he’s had victory - he tires of them. The dirt deep in the lines of hand dampen her touch, yet her words almost makes him laugh. What entertaining nonsense. “The shit and grime in my hands tell you this?” Booming is the sharpness of his tone, quick and drowned as the waves carry the Narrow Sea bashing into the rocks. “Well, let me tell you this: I am the suffering. I gift it to many before their glory even dawns. Read your feathers again, little girl.”

[cor-ardens-archive]

… the tempestuous loveliness of terror.

Percy Shelley, On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci (via cor-ardens)

[rulcrs]

@warbcunds​ // AMBROSIA ARRYN HOW PRECIOUS THE THINGS THAT LOOK PRETTY YET HURT. Artem has never forgotten how small and noisy the Westerosi are. They celebrate with the most frivolous of spirits that which are the most mundane. Some Martell is marrying some Fowler, and on with the ale and wines and rich spices they go. Everyone’s belly is full and sated, and hell raises undisturbed in the company of sheep. He knows his way around these walls and paths and hedges - he’s grown up here, fucked and drank by the very fountain young lovers play coy. Once he was a Lord or Prince of a Great House. Now Artem is but a shadow of his making - cares little for the these fools. He passes through bodies and laughter of the easily entertained and found himself entering the fort of the gardens. Here, too, he has fucked and drank - but he is sober now. The former can wait as he does. “She will be here,” he whispers to the small, pale flowers at bloom. “Pretty things attract pretty things.”

[rulcrs]

ferrumanes​:

.

Before this evening Eldar had been occupied as he usually was maintaining daily operations within the reach by raven. It was a tedious way of doing things but his birds were trained and the information from trusted sources. Hearing Una speak his head naturally bowed. A reach woman first but a force no matter where she was  and in some distant way family in many ways. “All reports do lead to a good outcome for the coming harvest, stores are full and reserves are intact. The reach can always provide for the next few weddings  but even with the best reports I would still be ready - hedge out bets so the whole of westeros doesn’t starve. My dearest Lady Baratheon, Una you do look divine as always. Meri will be happy to see you here ”

- 

FLOWERS BLOOM WHERE THEY ARE WATERED. Her hand beckons and soon the cup before fills of Arbor wine. They are steeped in plenty, but it means not that do not know loss. They burned The Reach once - The Field of Fire - and now they are fed by the very same lands. “The whole of Westeros will see itself starve -” comments Una with a light tone, yet her words lay heavy between sips, “if my sons do no get their merriments and due. After all, all weddings incite happiness, don’t they? Just look at you and Merianne. - I will be happy to see her, and I hope she speaks more frankly to me with less flowery words, Lord Tyrell.” Yet still she tips her head with a graceful smile full of warmth and recognition. "Do you know what would please me, though, Eldar? - Another child. A little you and a little her: Aemma and  Eammon would love it.” Una raises her glass for a toast across the table and asks, “have you been trying for another one?”

[cinematv]

MADS MIKKELSEN as COMTE DE ROCHEFORT in THE THREE MUSKETEERS (2011)

[rulcrs]

fcrgcttenrider​:

-

Before he washed up on the soils of Westeros, the only grace Zirq knew was that of riding with his grandfather’s khalasar. Though his father nearly gave up on him, the woman before him never even broke a sweat as she taught him how to be a lord with dignity. It’s through her support, as well as the support of his siblings, that Zirq has even managed his new position as ruling lord so far.

He casts his eyes at the orchestra, though Tavion is not among them. She’s never steered him wrong before and what she speaks of Tavion is true - he is honorable and he is kind. He most certainly could have had it worse. As the music slows, he nods his head. “I will happily give him a chance.” He shakes his head then, a smile on his lips. “Have you always been so sure of everything? I can’t imagine there was ever a time where you didn’t know what to do.” She created a family for Zirq, one that has lasted longer than any other he has ever known, and gave him something he never knew he craved - stability.

-

THE SONGS ARE SUNG, THE DANCE IS SLOWED. Every marriage starts with a promise, and though Una understand that she has made it for her son, she will not break the oath she has told him as a child: she will take care of Zirqoyi - against the Gods, against the grain. She will not throw him into the Lion’s Den - not unarmed and not with uncertainty. “Oh,” choruses her cooing at his praise, “I have made mistakes, my sweet, but I make them knowingly and afford myself of them. - We don’t need to do wrong to know that they are wrong.” There is a muted light that passes through their hairs, and for a moment, her son looks but a mere child. The Dothraki make them so well, but Zirq is Una’s child now, and she will not want anything less than the very best for him. 

“When Lord Payne becomes you husband, you must afford him his mistakes as well. Marriage is no flower or summer’s eve.” As the new song wraps itself to a close, Una beckons Zirq to walk back to their seats. She finds no Tavion Payne on the floor, but she knows she will find him. Though her choice for her son stands firm, knowing how Zirq would have been elated to be with a fellow warrior still gnaws her - but never the mind, there is no need to worry about a fire before it is lit. Yet - “Tell me, are you unsure of Lord Payne, sweetling? Do you have anyone else in mind?” Not waiting for a response that she might not even want to here, Una cuts through with: “House Payne is a good house. A sweet man will make a good father. You must choose to give your children that much.”

[rulcrs]

ARTEM TARGARYEN.  53. Captain of The Blackfyre/Exiled Lord Targaryen. Godspite.

INTERACTIONS | MUSINGS 

im gonna speed run this bio LETS GO SUMMARY: Artem is a Bad Man - an Evil Man. He killed his own wife and her lover after he caught them together in bed. Instead of being executed or sent to the Black, he was exiled because he is still a Targaryen, and Targaryen were so few in those days. He became a proficient sellsword, and later an even more proficient pirate. He has travelled as far as east of Qarth and is the captain of a fleet known as The Blackfyre (named aptly to spite his own family and those who wish him dead). He has been in exile for more than three decades now, and has been a pirate for the most of those years. His fleet raids the lands/islands along the Narrow Sea - very frequently Dorne, and most recently the North. Since Aerys and Lucaerys are dead now, he is hoping to come back from exile and appeal to the good nature of the new Queen Regent. He doesn’t care for the throne - he would sooner see it melted and turned to chamber pots than have anything else to do with it. He simply has unfinished business in the realm - matters close to his heart, you may say. BLACKFYRE ARC: Pentos, Tyrosh, Lys, and Volantis - the Free Cities are not free when they see The Blackfyre flag.  Artem has been a pirate for close to three decades now. He is one of the oldest and most respected men in the trade. Many fear The Blackfyre fleet for its brutal arduousness. They reach waters only mentioned in passing legends. The crew of The Blackfire are explorers first; pity how they have a fondness of exploring towns and cities with swords and violence at hand.

RAIDING ARC: Mouths need to be fed, and the Captain feeds them well. First they hit the Free Cities and take their exotics. When they’ve taken enough of such to no longer find them that exotic at all, Artem hits Westeros. Dorne is his favourite. They claim to be descendants of Queen Nymeria, a seafaring warrior, yet oft they let his sails hit them in the night. They have little trinkets that the rest of Westeros does not have, and what the other Great Houses lack, they always seek to claim. Much of Artem and The Blackfyre’s “operations” were raiding the seaside and riverside towns of Dorne. They are bold enough to oft drive inland and hit roads. Artem knows he has killed a noble here and there during such raids - those are always the most exciting (hehe, hi mors!!! @conqueredcrowns) . Though he has made enemies, he has also made acquaintances. Being friends with pirates is always lucrative business. 

WINTER FAMINE ARC: He’s never had much love for the North. It is ugly and barren and sparse. When the harsh winter hit them, he may have even felt sorry for them. A good man would sooner see trading opportunities to sell the North cheap grain. Artem is not a good man, and he has made himself rich by staying that way. He has an informant - a pretty little bird - that tells him when and where food and aid comes to the North. He raids those routes, take the bounty, and sell them back cheaper elsewhere. Artem may not be a good man, but he is a great man at what he does. (side note: Artem has his fleet doing the raiding in the North. He’s mainly been chilling and exploring shit idk)

CURRENT ARC: When cousin Aerys III exiled him, he was 21. His nephews and nieces were children and the Realm cowered at the Seat of the Dragon. When Aerys died, his nephew Lucaerys became king. Artem would have never known had Lucaerys  not wrote him that he is still exiled and is not welcome to return Westeros under his reign. Well, now, both are dead - and he is not. Artem has been back in Westeros just recently in hopes of being pardoned and removed from exile. He has great hate for his own house and wants nothing to do with them, such is his relief that the Queen Regent is no Targaryen but a Stag. 

BACKGROUND

INSPIRATIONS: euron greyjoy, a lil edward blackbeard from our flag means death, nigel from the necessary death of charlie countryman

artem is a cousin of king aerys from a minor targaryen family members, had a childhood fit for a targaryen. im pretty sure he was given a valyrian dagger or some shit for his 8th birthday - v age appropriate ofc

jousting? hell yeah!! fucking the blooming ladies of the realm?? fuck yEAH!! who wouldn’t wanna be with a targaryen lbr here. he was being seen as one of the great warriors at his prime, but no way in hell would he take the oath of the kingsguard. thats boring af

he ALMOST got that dragon sickness sexiness to him, but he aint really with a dragon so i suppose that just means he is sick

to get rid of him from the red keep, the was promised to marry the only child of the former ruling lord of rykker. he was supposed to tie them even more closer to the targaryens while his wife ruled and managed the house and its lands. great idea, 100% inspired - forcing artem to do smth he does want, what could possibly go wrong??

WELL, AS IT TURNS OUT, A LOT.  artem didn’t necessarily loved lady rykker, but they were MARRIED and they were supposed to br each others’. he learned how to love her and be loyal to her. artem is a scorpio: when he loves, its dangerous. so guess what happens when he comes to their bedroom to find his then-wife of 2 years in bed with another man.

MURDER TW / VIOLENCE TW artem killed them with his own hands. they soiled his bed, they soiled his name. he killed his wife first because he, at the very least, trusted her to be his wife. he made her lover watch - and then he killed half of her lover’s family and made him watch still. he killed his wife’s lover last: stake a valyrian steel rapier through the top his skull and then out through his throat. 

some more sensible men would say “ah, my mind just went blank and rage filled by sights” - oh, but not this man. he remembers it all. he remembers it so well that as soon as he was exiled by the king (ofc aerys wouldn’t actually punish him - there were so few targaryens in the world at the time. they couldn’t possibly risk executing artem or sending him to the wall) he had a skulled pierced with a sword tattooed on his left arm. he wears it with pride. (btw shoutout to akhil, his absolute bestie, for the design xoxo)

sooo there he was, just generally Bing Chilling in the free cities as a sellsword. i mean, he grew up in the red keep and was trained by westeros’ AND essos’ best - he made for a fine warrior. once he started earning more than he can spend on whores and drink, he bought himself a ship - THE BLACKFYRE

how mental is this man to actually name a pirate ship after targaryen bastards exiled to essos and was the general cause of MANY deaths and rebellions back home? pretty mental AND METAL. see, artem, he’s not a good man. he’s petty and he is exacting. first thing he did once he got his ship? asked his bestie akhil to make them a flag that had the skull logo, sailed just by the coast of the crownlands in midday, and made sure that House Rykker sees him. man’s unhinged.

anywaaaay, thats his BG. now lets get to the juicy stuff

PERSONALITY: He’s a Scorpio, sorry.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

FUN FACT:

His two biggest crimes in Westeros are, of course, the murder charges AND the violation of Guest Right. Since he was under House Rykker’s lands and roof, having murdered a member of their family during his stay, he become known as god-spited. The Gods supposedly h8 him, who knows.  

He wears an eye patch over one eye after it was injured in a fight. He can still through both of his eyes, but his left eye has gotten very sensitive to light that it hurts him.

He has very dark purple eyes that almost look like black

His flag/sigil looks like this ( X ) - hot, we know (thank u akhil @crwyn​ <3)

He has about 5 ships in his fleet

His KD ratio is really good - seeing has he’s still alive and most ppl he’s fought have been RIP’d. 

CONNECTIONS: 

Someone who hates him, preferably related to House Rykker or a maritime House his fleet has invaded

Baddie Buddies - we’re bad and we’re good at it yay!

Former Lovers - he’s kind of a h0e, non-gender specific; he loves all

Essosi Connections (h0t & sexc)

“““Trading”““ Associates - your muse needs smth from the literal ends of the word? Aight,  Artem’s gotchu