#hos

[ninoochat]

the way mickey sways in ian's arms 🥹

[jmdbjk]

Happy June 13th! HOS D-1

All 7 were there tonight. This was shown on the big screen.

Jin and Jungkook performed Jamais Vu with Hobi.

Jungkook performed I Wonder with Hobi and then he performed Seven with dancers and Hobi rapped Latto's part. Jin performed Spring Day with Hobi and then Don't Say You Love Me.

When all the members were in the VIP box in the audience, they performed the choreography to Mic Drop.

WE MADE IT TO 2025 Y'ALL!!!!

[bts-trans]

250318 Big Hit’s Tweet

[#오늘의방탄] ARMY's energy was truly on another level✨ 행복한 시간 함께해줘서 고마워요! 자랑스러운 우리 아미 최고!💜 #오늘의제이홉 #제이홉 #jhope #BTS #방탄소년단 #HOPE_ON_THE_STAGE_TOUR_Chicago #HOS_TOUR_Chicago #BTSARMY

[#Today'sBangtan] ARMY's energy was truly on another level✨ Thank you for such a happy time together! So proud of our ARMY, you’re the best!💜

#Today'sJhope #jhope #BTS #HOPE_ON_THE_STAGE_TOUR_Chicago #HOS_TOUR_Chicago #BTSARMY

Trans cr; Aditi @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

[princessblackstar]

House of Silk

Story pairing: Duncan/FemaleOC, Aerion Targaryen/FemaleOC, Daeron Targaryen/FemaleOC, Baelor Targaryen/FemaleOC, Lyonel Baratheon/FemaleOC

Summary: The Courtesan’s of Ashford Tourney know the tastes of heroes and the weaknesses of villains. They know which knight trembles before battle, which lord misses his wife, which prince confuses cruelty for control.

Word Count: 48.6k

Read on AO3

Read chapter 3: The Dragon Tamer

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

A plain wool cloak hid Tansy’s silks as she was ushered from the edge of the tourney grounds toward Ashford Manor under cover of deepening night. The page boy walked two paces ahead, stiff-backed and silent now, the earlier bravado drained from him.

They did not approach the grand doors. Instead, he led her down the servants corridor, past kitchens and servants hauling empty casks and platters. A narrow side entrance waited half-concealed behind stacked crates.

He knocked twice. A servant opened without a word and gestured them through. The servants’ passage was narrow and dimly lit, stone walls cool and damp against the heat of her skin. Her slippers made no sound against the worn floor. The page stopped before the room at the corridor’s end.

“My prince awaits,” he said, voice pitched low.

Of course he does. He knocked hard and stepped back immediately, retracing their steps as if the proximity itself might scorch him. Tansy adjusted her cloak only slightly before pushing the door open. The chamber beyond was lit by a scattering of candles and a roaring hearth. Shadows climbed the walls in restless shapes. 

“My Prince,” she greeted, voice smooth as poured cream. She closed the door behind her softly. 

Aerion stood near the hearth, restless from the anticipation of her arrival. He looked like a creature caged too long, and only Tansy could set him free. He turned toward her, shoulders tense. “Take it off,” he ordered. 

She knew this version of him, demanding and impatient to silence the storm that roared inside his head. He paid generously to unleash it on her. So she obliged, letting the cloak slip from her shoulders, revealing the revealing dress beneath. 

His gaze raked over her slowly, his eyes dark with hunger. Like a rabbit into a snare, she stepped forward with the faintest hint of a smile touching her lips. “Do I please you, Aerion?” she asked sweetly. He loved when she used his name. 

Aerion reached for her, his hands claiming the bare skin of her waist so he could pull her close against his chest. So tight the air pressed from her lungs. “Very much.” he purred, pressing his fingers hard into her flesh. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The first time Aerion met Tansy was in the gardens of the rear palace. Moonlight spilled silver across the courtyard, but it was the fire that ruled the night. Tall iron pylons driven into the earth, their flames roaring high and steady, warming the air around them. String music and the hum of nobility intermingled, setting the tone of the evening. 

Aerion stood apart from the easy laughter and drifting silks, one hand wrapped loosely around a goblet he had not touched. He was thoroughly bored, tired of the endless dance of politeness. It pressed against his skin like a cage too tight. 

There was a subtle shift first, the music dipping, a hush rippling through the gathered crowd. Heads turned toward the centre of the garden where a circle had been cleared, the pylons arranged like sentinels around it. The girl stepped into the centre, wrapped in silks the colour of flame. Her hair, that striking shade of white blonde, as if touched by the moon. Tansy. He didn’t know her name yet. 

She moved like a serpent, a baton spinning in her hand, its ends aflame, the fire trailing in bright arcs as she turned it faster and faster until it blurred into a ring of light. The first flicker of interest stirred in him. 

The girl's face was set hard in concentration as her hands moved deftly, a second baton joining the first. Twin flames weaving in impossible patterns around her body. She stepped between them, through them, the fire bending to her will. 

Around him, lords and ladies murmured, impressed and delighted. Aerion leaned forward, something pulling him toward her. She dipped low, one baton sweeping close enough to kiss her hip, the flame licking the silk. Then she turned, sharp and sudden, bringing it to her mouth. 

A collective gasp rose from the crowd, as she pressed the fire to her lips and seemed to swallow it whole. Just like that, extinguished. For a moment, she basked in the stunned silence of the audience. 

Then she lifted the still lit baton to her mouth, and exhaled. Flames burst forward from her lips in a brilliant, violent bloom, catching the baton alight once more as if she had breathed life into it herself. Like a dragon. 

Aerion was enraptured by the trick, in that moment it was him and her in an empty courtyard. And the image of her, face lit from within, fire bursting from her mouth, unharmed. He had spent his life being told what he was. A dragon, fire made flesh. The weight of expectation that had dogged him since birth, burned inside restless and consuming. 

And then there was her. The girl danced with the fire. Took it into herself and gave it back brighter. He wanted to see it again. 

The performance ended in a sweep of flame and applause, the court breaking into delighted noise. Coins would follow. Invitations to further parties. The usual currency of admiration.

Aerion watched her closely as she stepped back from the circle. The crowd began to close in around her like moths to light. Already, they wanted to touch, praise her, claim some piece of her. 

His jaw tightened. No, not them, he thought to himself. Aerion set the goblet aside and moved in. They parted for him, laughter dimming at the edges as his presence cut through it. 

“My prince,” she greeted, bowing her head deeply. 

He stopped a pace from her, studying her openly now. Up close, she looked more ordinary but the illusion of fire still clung to her. A sheen of sweat at her throat, catching the light. Heat shimmered faintly in the air between them. 

“You swallowed it,” he said.

Her lips curved slightly. “It’s a trick, Your Grace.”

“Is it?” His gaze flicked briefly to the baton still smouldering in her hand, then back to her face. “It didn’t look like one.”

“It’s meant not to.” She smiled wryly, a twinkle in her eye. 

Something in him sharpened, interest coiling tighter, darker. “Do you ever get burned?” 

“No, just a little singed,” She laughed awkwardly, casting her gaze down to the prop in her hand. It was still warm. 

His gaze dropped briefly to her throat again, as if imagining it. The fire passing over skin, the scorching burn it might leave. But there was none, not a single scar. When his eyes lifted again, something had shifted in them. Hunger, yes but not the easy, careless kind he directed at courtiers and passing amusement. 

“Will you perform again,” he asked.

Her face was puzzled. “If you’d like…” A faint pause, then quickly she added, “My prince.” 

His mouth curved, he would forgive her small transgression, it was charming. “I would like that.” 

And already, even as he turned away, the image of her burned behind his eyes. Her open mouth, filled with flame. She had wielded it like magic. He became obsessed with it. He had found, at last, someone worth his attention.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

If he wanted a pretty wench, there were a thousand girls in King’s Landing who’d lay down for him gladly. But it wasn’t her body Aerion paid for, it was her performance. She had rules he rarely broke; he didn’t strike her face, draw blood or break bones. Three small assurances, and an obscene sum of coins was all she needed to play his leading lady. Their game wasn’t about harm for harm’s sake, though bruises deepened purple and green on her skin. Aerion desired the heat of her body struggling beneath his hands. It made him feel closer to the beast he imagined himself to be. 

His gaze raked over her slowly, his eyes dark with hunger. Like a rabbit into a snare, she stepped forward with the faintest hint of a smile touching her lips. “Do I please you, Aerion?” she asked sweetly. He loved when she used his name. 

“Very much.” he purred. He wanted to reach for her, but his favourite part came next. The moment just before the contact, Tansy took a sharp breath before she lunged at him. He was ready, catching her wrist and pulling her against his chest firmly. Her palm struck his shoulder and she twisted against his hold just enough to make him work for it. 

He loosened his hold slightly so she could break free. When she shoved him hard he was taken off guard, stumbling back into the desk. He let out a delighted laugh and lurched forward. His fingers fisted in her hair, dragging her back to him with a strangled cry. Aerion pressed into the back of her knee, her legs buckled and she landed on the floor with a sickening thud.

Tansy rolled onto her back, trying to scramble away but Aerion pressed her down into the floor, caging her hips with his thighs. She seethed in pain as he knotted his hand back into her hair, pulling harshly at the scalp. The sight of her grimace as she tried to wrench free filled him with glee. “Fight like you mean it,” he taunted. 

She strained against him, bucking her hips hard enough to nearly unseat him but he pushed down firmly. He leant down, pressing his lips to her shoulder, soft and warm. She let out a soft gasp, a warm flutter spreading low in her stomach. Then he latched onto the soft flesh, biting down hard. Tansy let out a sharp cry, hitting her fist hard against his ribs until he let go. 

He grabbed her wrist, pinning it above her head in his bruising grip. Her free hand fisted into the front of his linen shirt, bringing his lips crashing against hers but when his tongue slipped into her mouth she bit down on it, taking a moment to savour the taste of his blood in her mouth. 

He reeled back, his hand coming up to his mouth in disbelief. “You bitch,” he said, looking at the blood on his fingers. He’d forgive her for it. 

“Get off me,” she spat, her body twisting beneath him, hands clawing at his chest. He craved that look of fear in her eyes and loved her hands on him like this, desperate and grunting from her exertion. He wanted to kiss her again, bit her tongue and draw blood. 

She landed a glancing blow against his jaw and he was stunned momentarily, long enough for her to squirm free. Tansy played her part flawlessly. She resisted, retaliated and succumbed when he needed her to. Their dance was about conquest enacted and re-enacted until she was tamed beneath his touch. 

At the end of it, when the fire had burned low and the storm in him had quieted, Aerion liked the ritual of aftermath. Tansy stood before the mirror, stripped naked, hair loosened and tangled from his grip. Candlelight softened everything, gilded the edges of bruises just beginning to bloom. Aerion pressed up behind her wordlessly, one hand spanned the delicate column of her neck as if to keep her still. The other traced the long line of her ribs, testing which spots flared with pain when pressed. 

He rested his head against her shoulder. “Look what you made me do,” he murmured, hands tracing the outline of his work. Tansy met his eye in the mirror, exhausted but still buzzing from adrenaline. Her hands moved up to finger the wet indent of his teeth at her shoulder. He smiled fondly. The conquest of his fire eater, bringing her to heel, made him feel like the Dragonlord he was. 

When the candles burned low and he dismissed her with coins heavy in her palm, she would gather her cloak, step back through the servants' passageway. Tansy returned to the pavilion with shadows beneath her eyes and a faint ache of exertion in her limbs, the other girls would watch her with sympathy. By morning she would inspect the marks left on her body. But Aerion paid well, more than what she was owed. Enough that she could refuse lesser men, refuse anyone. Tansy was marked, yes, but she would never be owned again.

[bigbutter]

tfw you have an awful nightmare but the Beautiful Horse is there for you when you wake

[mickeygifs]

[bettercallcohen]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 (2025)