puff your chest out like you&#x27;d never lost a war

september 26 // when i offer you survival // rhaenys & aerys

Aerys frowns. Somehow he can’t put his finger on the girl sitting before him: too much fakeness in the way she acts and talks, some evident mask that makes him wonder what she is hiding, what her true motive is. If she thinks to fool him, she’s been mislead: Aerys is smart and knows beter than that. He’s dealt with sycophants his whole life, and each one of them was always after a piece of him. His money, his glory. They wanted to take everything from him, and some of them even managed. Tywin Lannister managed.

Still Aerys’ lips quiver at his grand-daughter’s lack of filter: perhaps it’s because he knows Rhaegar turned out to be less than what he might have expected him to become; or perhaps it’s the bitterness of that awareness. His son, Aerys hoped, should follow in his footsteps. He did not. He chose something different, a weakness that reminded Aerys of his late wife. 'The boy has nothing of me,' he remembers scolding Rhaella when Rhaegar had insisted for piano lessons. ‘Disgraceful,’ again, when his older son showed no interest in the ambition Aerys had tried hard to thrust upon him.

"Watch your language," he quips, folding the newspaper and casting it aside on the far end of the table. His tea has gone cold, and when he tries to sip it it’s lost its taste: Aerys grimaces and pushes the cup away as well. Nothing is as it should be, no one does their job the way they should. Not even Rhaenys. He places a dilemma before him, and it makes him uneasy. It doesn’t feel safe, to have her in his house: blood is only a warranty for as long as it’s kept under surveillance. His grand-daughter has spent way too much time away from the fold, prey of rumors and whispers that might have corrupted her. Blood, in this case, is not enough to trust her.

"Well, you have visited," he concludes, less than amiable. "Whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find here."

#wow sorry for this taking so long #aerys #when i offer you survival #now

Rhaenys looked about, agitated. Aerys Targaryen was of a different breed, a different race than she, and she was something foreign and unwelcome to him. She'd spent years searching for something in her that would let her identify as a Targaryen, a Martell -- an anything, really -- and had always looked towards what little memory of her parents she had, and had based her midset around representing those qualities deemed one family's or the other's. Perhaps that wasn't her best idea. Her Targaryen family, at least from the impression she had already of Aerys, wasn't something she would ever have found in Rhaegar.

She'd visited to see if there was some part of her that had come from her family, since she didn't see any of herself in either of her parents The cold, calculating Rhaenys that she had become might have skipped a generation. But she needed something; in case things went sour like they did in St. Petersburg, the backing of a powerful family like the Martells or the Targaryens would come in quite handy. And the Martells might be just the smallest bit too nice for her taste.

"I can leave," she announced hotly, growing more uneasy, more on edge, by the second. "It's completely fine. Maybe I shouldn't have come." And then, adding it in just for good measure: "You'll be dead soon, after all. Really no use in it."

ttracks

Visit Original Link

Happiness Is A Warm Gun // Joe Anderson

#yehaw #other

symffoni

Visit Original Link

Natalia Kills || Kill My Boyfriend

i'll do the time you're my sweetest crime

#other #this was my alternate fc for rhae

stella-arthritis

#other

september 26 // when i offer you survival // rhaenys & aerys

The Martells’ family tree is a blur to Aerys, mainly because he never cared enough to inquire. The day he had allowed his son to marry Elia Martell it had not been because of some high cause: the Martells were new money, but well known enough to make a good match. His son liked to think he had married for love, but Aerys knew better than that: Rhaegar had married because he, Aerys, had allowed it to happen. He remembers Doran Martell, but more importantly he remembers his death at that silly birthday party in London. Aerys supposed he had gotten what was coming to him, venturing on such events with such little security, mingling with things that he had no business mingling with. Parties. Events. Distractions. Dangers.

There were other people too, names rather than faces, but eventually Aerys could agree: he was the only person worthy of a visit, the only member of a disrupted family who could piece it back together (granted he got what he wanted in the end) and it did make sense that the girl would come to him.

Perhaps she had seen in Rhaegar the same thing Aerys saw: wasted potential, weakness after weakness and the slow vanishing of any ambition. His son had been buried with Elia Martell a long time ago, and what remained was a shell that caused more trouble than Aerys was ready to admit.

The point remained of the motive behind his grand-daughter’s return. What she offered were snappy retorts of make-believe, and lines heard in movies. Rekindle, Aerys repeated in his head. What was there to rekindle if there had never been anything to begin with? he could scarcely remember, and surely the same went for her: how old had she been the day Rhaegar had sent them all away, for their safety?

Still he would not stand to be questioned in his own house. He ignored her inquiries then.

"Do you need money?"

#aerys #now #when i offer you survival

It took a moment or two to dawn on her that Aerys wasn't taking any of her shit. After being in his house for this long, she was starting to wonder how she ever could have suspected him to be some old, senile idiot. She did have his genes, after all. And she could see some of that; his posture, the intonations of his voice, his suspicious gaze. He mimiced her -- or, rather, she mimiced him. Rhaenys still hadn't decided whether it was reassuring or disconcerting. For now, both would have to do. She did, however, narrow her eyes at his words, pursing her lips a bit.

"I'm not here for money," she said sharply, trying her best to stare him straight in the eye. Up until now her replies, just like all of her interactions, had been almost rehearsed, like watching herself in a movie. Now that Aerys was going off-script, she had to be quick on her feet, willing herself to maintain confidence. Did she want money from him? She was, she acknowledged, too proud to ask, too proud to even accept. And she had enough of her own. Did she want a job from him? That's what she'd contacted the Martells for. She wouldn't be caught up in some Targaryen conspiracy theory. Gods knew they had them, and she had enough to deal with to be a part of that. So why had she come?

"I can just visit, can't I?" She retorted. It wasn't the whole truth, but she needed a moment to collect her thoughts (the improv course she'd taken in high school was less effective at the moment than she'd hoped). After a moment of brow-furrowed concentration, she finally came up with a truthful answer. "I don't want Rhaegar to be the only view of a Targaryen I have. I'm sure you're not all so deficient. Needed to see for myself."

only as young as the minute is || closed to rhaenys targaryen (october 1st)

There was no feeling of unease that came from being in a room with a stranger who would not even give her true name, something that surprised Shireen, who always thought of herself as a worrier. Perhaps that worry only extended over her family, and not herself. The woman didn’t seem to recognize Shireen’s face or even her first name, and though she was still unsure of Rhae was a nickname or a false name altogether, she wasn’t too worried about it.

"It has been getting colder recently. Been gloomy all day as well, but hopefully it won’t start pouring until later." Going home in the rain would be a hassle, she knew. Clasping her hands together in front of her stomach, she followed Rhae as the woman walked around, observing the works of art with an assessing eye. "Thank you. I’ve been painting since I was a child, really, but this is my first time displaying them publicly." It had started off as a childish game, but art was the only thing that made sense nowadays and that was too precious to let go.

She had been expecting the question. A few people that had walked in earlier had sounded questions regarding her age and how young she was, subtly trying to move the conversation towards discussions of how she came by the money to fund this display, but none were so bold as Rhae. It was…refreshing, and a little bit of a shock, throwing Shireen off her calm, indifferent display. “I…Well, my father signed the check.” She never meant to come off as a spoiled, rich girl, but it was difficult to come by her own means of paying when her mother refused to even discuss job possibilities. “But my mother was the one I needed to convince. This is the closest open space we could find, that was nearer to home.”

#shireen #only as young as the minute is #now #sorry for the lateness!

Rhaenys let Shireen's words (the name rang a distant bell she had yet to unpack) settle in the empty gallery, echoing off the whitewashed walls, before thinking to respond. All the while, she drew closer and closer to the back of the room; though the pieces towards the window had been enticing enough to keep her interested and draw in eyes from the street, she found something drawing her to the less-lit corners, the works hidden from view.

"You're good," she admitted, never once taking her eyes off the art itself. "Real good." Fuck. "Really good, that is. Bet you'll be able to pay for yourself in a few years, or get picked up by --" What was the gallery she was looking for? Fuck, fuck fu -- "By Pumphouse or something. I don't know. You've got talent though."

Rhaenys chuckled at the girl's response. "I know the feeling," she replied, almost speaking to herself, though the words sounded harsh and strange reflected back from the space that surrounded them. "Rich Daddy Syndrome. Never feeling like you've proven yourself but always needing support to do so. Ever read Catch-22?" She moved further towards the back, letting herself be drawn further and further into the gallery, taking in her new surroundings.

ooc; i have been real shitty about replies and for that i'm sorry! it's been a long week but i belatedly hope everyone had a gr9 thanksgiving and i'm working on replies atm :) ~bills

phone call → rhaenys (september 19th)

ababyviper-blog

[ Had he just imagined the tone of her voice? It lacked excitement, almost as though she was battling herself to agree. He wasn’t sure what had come up when she searched his name, but Trystane was sure it couldn’t possibly be as bad as what he had read about her. Still, even if his smile looked a little too false as he chanced a glance at his reflection, it was enough to push what little courage he had out, before it was swallowed by nerves. ]

Great! [ How could something he had been planning, practicing over, turn out to be so awkward so quickly? Most things did go tits up when it came to Trystane, and only a chosen few stuck around long enough to realize that underneath the stammering, unsure young man, was something interesting enough to be friends with.

Just friends.

He was too shy to actually approach a girl, and the last time he had tried, it ended up too embarrassing to even bring to mind. ] One o’clock sounds about right. Just ring me up if there’s any trouble, I’ll wait by the front desk.

[ A pause, followed by a brief gnaw on his bottom lip before he pushes the words out. ] See you later then, coz.

#trystane #phone call #now #trystane september 19 #i'll start the meeting para?

[Rhaenys paused for a moment as her cousin — a word not as enticing as brother or friend, but leas intimidating than father or, she shuddered, Targaryen — spoke. She cocked her head to the side at his words , his hesitant tone, before pounding the keys for a final time into the search engine. Rhaenys Targaryen. She was sure he’d done a search on her, as well as the rest of her estranged family must’ve when news of her return had inevitably reached them. What came up made her cringe. Why had Trystane ever called, if dthis was all he knew of her?

She shook her head at herself when she realized that her cousin had stopped speaking.] Right. One. See you then. [She let the line go dead with huff, looking at the number in her recent calls. Her contact list was empty — she let all the digits indicate who was calling instead of their names, misnomers that helped her envision a person as something inanimate. Coz, he’d called her. Should she add him into her list? Did she even know how to spell his name?

Silently, she powered her phone off with a grunt.]

ever-so-plucky

Visit Original Link

Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine- The Killers x x _

I know my rights, I’ve been here all day and it’s time For me to go, so let me know if it’s alright I just can’t take this, I swear I told you the truth She couldn’t scream while I held her close I swore I’d never let her go

#other

september 26 // when i offer you survival // rhaenys & aerys

The girl who entered only minutes later was not at all what Aerys expected, and yet he wondered how he could ever have expected anything different: Rhaenys walked like Elia, and looked like her as well. Just as she did when she was a baby, in Aerys’ faded memories of a time long gone. It was when she talked, however, that the resemblance faded. Rhaenys had a sharper tongue, and a temper Aerys could not remember ever seeing in Elia. Nor had he ever seen it in Rhaegar. Overall, Rhaenys seemed different. Whether that was a good thing or a bad one, he still had to decide on.

He eyed her carefully, his hands on the newspaper, brushing mindlessly over the words, dragging some of the fresh ink along. Those headlines spoke of people he barely knew but still he was more familiar with the names of famous strangers than he was with the young woman sitting in his dining room. What did he truly know about his son’s daughter?

Aerys glanced at the door where the housemaid had just disappeared with a small grin; then back at his grand-daughter. There was something to be said about the way she carried herself: there was confidence and assertion oozing off every inch of her. It was refreshing, compared to the snivelling Aerys was used to. Did he like it? Not necessarily. But he noticed.

For quite a while, Aerys stared the woman down. In a way he felt like he was looking at an old photograph, one of those Rhaegar kept stashed away and thought no one would know. One of those photographs with torn corners and worn out edges, those photographs made yellowish by time and the sweat on the beholder’s fingertips.

"Why come back now?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Are you after something?"

Aerys had pondered on how to deal with this child, barging into his house because of some blood right and misguided romantic idea of family. In the end he had resorted to what his guts has suggested him: caution.

#aerys #when i offer you survival #now

Rhaenys contemplated the man who she was to suppose was her grandfather. She didn't see any recognition of herself in him, nor Aegon, nor from any long-ago memories of her parents. Could she truly be related to this man? The man who needed an artillery of a security force for his fortress of a mansion, when she left the door not only unlocked, but even sometimes ajar, in her studio apartment in a bad neighborhood? She glanced quickly around the room, trying to find any connection to the man, but found no photographs she could recognize, no books she'd ever heard of, nothing.

Which brought back his question. What was she doing here? Sure, she'd had to leave St. Petersburg, but that didn't mean she'd had to come back to London. She'd had an education, and she had the right name, and good connections, anything she needed to have a stable life; she could have gone to the Americas, or Asia, Australia -- anywhere. It wasn't as if she had a fierce urge to reconnect with her family. She was sure Aerys had already figured that out himself.

"I'm not after anything," she grumbled, fighting the urge of politeness telling her not to roll her eyes and doing so anyway. "What, I can't attempt to rekindle my love for my favorite Grandaddy?" After a moment, she chuckled at her own sarcasm. It was only then that she came up with a response suitable for both the man in front of her and herself. "Now that I'm back, I've got to find someone that doesn't make me want to claw their eyes out every time I look at them. I figure trial and error is the best way to go about it. Find someone to keep me sane." She paused for a moment, cocking her head to the side, chewing gingerly on her nails. "How come you let me in, then, if you're going to be so suspicious?"

april 6th, 1992 // big bird learns about death // rhaenys & rhaegar

She had learned what it meant to die two months ago when Mr. Hooper did so on Sesame Street. So she felt herself relatively informed while eavesdropping on her father in his study -- though, for a moment, she did forget for a moment that Elia was Mommy's name. "Dead" meant that Mommy wasn't coming back. The word didn't stir any emotion in her, though; she'd never known anyone to die before (an impressive feat, considering all the old guys daddy knew) and didn't know what it meant. It wasn't as if she had been close to her mother -- she was closer to her father, though that wasn't saying much -- yet she felt an absence of some type of emotion she was sure she should be feeling.

She looked down at the red, plastic monkeys grasped in her small hands -- she'd taken two handfuls out of their blue barrel, let the rest spill onto the carpet -- and tried in vain to hook their hooked arms together with her hands full. Instead, She ended up spilling half of them on the floor, slipping through her fingers, scratching her skin but leaving no mark. Too frustrated to think, she threw the rest on the floor and shoved her miniature shoulder into the door of Daddy's study, barging in and staring up at him. Before he even noticed she was there, she called out. "When Mr. Hooper died on Sesame Street, Big Bird was all sad." Rhaenys stared up at her father, eyes too big for her face, rubbing her hands together and kicking the plastic monkeys out from under the door so he wouldn't see her mess. "How come I'm not?"

#praying y'all have sesame street and barrel of monkeys in england #sorry this took forever #blood and glory threads #rhaegar #flashback #big bird learns about death

only as young as the minute is || closed to rhaenys targaryen (october 1st)

There was something familiar about the girl that sparked Shireen’s curiosity, and she wasn’t sure if it was the blatant usage of a nickname or even an alias or if it was just because amidst all frantic news watching for anything involving her father, the face had appeared every so often. Still, Shireen hardly payed attention to the news unless it had something to do with her father, so she passed it off as just recognizing a few familiar features in her and perhaps mistaking her for one of the Martells.

Shireen carried herself with a certain pride, evident by the tilt of her chin and easy smile on her face. If the woman was part of an important family, Shireen would have recognized her. Instead she carried herself with slight hesitation and after a moments while, Shireen realized that perhaps that was because of her foreign accent. A newcomer to London would definitely be intimidated by the surroundings. Even Shireen still found herself getting lost every now and then.

"Well, Rhae…" The smile on her face did not dim, though there is a glint of curiosity in her eyes that perhaps speaks volumes to one who knows where to look. I know you’re lying, she wanted to say, but common courtesy stills her tongue. “Curious passerby or not, would you like to take a look around? There aren’t that many people here, obviously.” She allowed a bit of disappoint to color her voice before her head perked up again. She had to keep up the professional act. Even a curious passerby could be a secret art geek. “But that just gives us more time to explore, wouldn’t you say?”

There is a brief worry, that perhaps she was coming off too much like someone trying to sell something, so she took a deep inhale, smile coming out a little bit softer now, more genuine than practiced. “Sorry, this is my first art display, I’m not entirely sure what to do.” Her shoulders slouch slightly, giving a hint to her nervousness. “What drew you in?”

#headcanon: i imagine shireen's artwork to be like mark flood's you should look him up he's great #shireen #only as young as the minute is #now

Rhaenys eyed the girl with curiosity, walking further inside. She was a natural observer, and knew how to project herself as confident, even when she wasn't -- walk with your chin up, shoulders back, heels clomping down before the balls of her feet. It certainly didn't boost her stamina, but she held onto the silent belief that Shireen, the gallerist -- artist as well, she was fairly certain now -- would hopefully buy it.

"The lights drew me in," Rhaenys said, assured in her half-lie. "And the cold drove me in, I suppose." She hadn't been desperate to escape the bitter fall, but the warmth of the gallery was welcome all the same. Shireen's smile held warmth in it, too, something that had been missing when Rhaenys had walked in. "Your first display?" She paced around the room, devoid of anything but the art itself, set up for the sole purpose of admiration. "Impressive, Shireen. These are ... magnificent, really," Rhaenys told her in earnest, paying particularly close attention to a brightly colored work in the back. Then she turned back to the artist herself, cocking her head to the sight, striding back (heels first, chin up). "If this is your first show -- and it looks like this is your own gallery space as well -- where on Earth did you get the funding?"

bloodandglory-rp

#this makes me grin #other

character: rhaenys targaryen (bio) affiliations: targaryens, martels leila bekhti

ababyviper-blog

phone call → rhaenys (september 19th)

ababyviper-blog

[ Perhaps it was the volume level on his phone, but Trystane is almost certain that he heard the tapping of a keyboard. It was a sound that he heard very often, working for Martell Inc. and being one of their best computer engineers available, so perhaps it was just his ears playing tricks on him. Or maybe, Rhaenys was doing a search on him.

Whatever it was, she would be sorely disappointed. Compared to his siblings and cousins, Trystane has lead a rather quiet life, only ever seen at his father’s funeral, though even then, he stayed in the back, escaping during the memorial to hide in the kitchens. He had left Arianne to do the talking, representing both Quentyn and himself, since she was the best. The strongest. She could handle it.

Cowardly, but he never liked dealing with his emotions.

Still, he couldn’t let such thoughts sour his attitude regarding Rhaenys, especially since he was excited to have her back. ]

Well, it’s still a bit early. [ What was it? Ten in the morning? And he had only just showered and brushed his teeth. ] If you’re feeling up for it today, I could take you around after lunch? In three hours or so.

#trystane #phone call #trystane september 19 #now

[Rhaenys bit her lip and stilled. She wasn't exactly the spontaneous type, and she hadn't prepared herself for a visit to the company's headquarters today of all days. The rational part of her mind told her it wasn't a big deal -- just say yes, meet the family, get it over with, have a nice day. But it was fairly obvious that the dominant part of her mind wasn't rational, which only meant she had to work harder to keep herself reasoned.]

Sounds grand. [It sounds forced even to her, and she's barely listening to her own voice. She'd had to spit it out before she could change her mind, which was already happening. She considered an "Oh, actually, I can't today ..." but knew it wasn't going to happen. What was the worst that could happen? She ends up severing ties with her family? It wasn't as if she wasn't used to that.]

One o'clock then? [Pounding on the keys yet again, something she was sucre Trystane could hear due to the trepidation in his voice, she quickly searched the address of Martell Steel Inc., narrowing her eyes at the faces that came up in correlation.] I'll meet you there?

september 26 // when i offer you survival // rhaenys & aerys

The announcement came from a small woman whose name Aerys didn’t know — he didn’t know the servants’ names, there were few of them allowed inside the house and they went by the colour of their hair or other physical traits. The blonde one. The one with a mole on her nose. The man who couldn’t fit through doors. Aerys was sitting down in the large dining room when the one with small breasts and smaller wits announced his grand-daughter’s arrival. She’d been searched, and awaited at the door. Aerys frowned, as he tried to remember: a bundle of wool and winter clothings, that was all that came to mind. Eyes as dark as Elia’s, and nothing of Rhaegar. Had he ever held his granddaughter? Did she expect him to? How old would she be?

"And how do you know it’s truly her?" was the simple question that followed. Anyone could slap on a sharp smile and pride themselves in his last name, the lowest of citizens could walk up to his door and his staff would drink their lies like sweet draught. He made a mental note to heighten secutiry at the main entrance.

The woman mumbled about documents, and a previous phone call Aerys had not been informed about. She’s legitimate, she was saying. She’s your grand-daughter.

Should he be glad? She was by all means a stranger. Did they expect him to smile and hug her, give her candy and tell her a story about mighty dragons burning down valiant but misguided knights? He would not. He would not be what his grand-daughter expected him to be, and Aerys knew enough of Rhaegar to know better than to expect anything but disappointment: the girl would be weak, like her mother.

He put on his reading glasses, unfolding the newspaper and flattening it against the table. “Let her in,” he barked. It was a nuisance, not some grand return. A nuisance he could do without.