Ilyn Payne

How interested they are in having sex with them: like maybe a two out of ten, I mean you’re above like… Ramsay and my grandfather, so that’s something. How much they would pay (or have to be paid) to have sex with them:  Enough to buy my sister like ten cute boy whores because she’s be really upset tbh. If they would rather bottom or top them:  Can I bottom? And close my eyes? And try not to pass out in fear?How good they think they would be: Well they say men with small cocks are good with their tongues, so maybe he’s got a huge cock to make up for lacking other things…If they’d prefer kitchen counter, wall, or shower sex with them: Listen I’m a big girl, I am not easily lifatable for wall sex, and showers are cramped, so kitchen counter i guess. If they’d fuck, have sex, or make love: Fuck. If they were going to make it a threesome, the third person they’d pick: Meryll I mean ROOSE COME SAVE ME. If they think there’s ever a possibility that it would happen: Ehhhhhh nooo…..

@ilynxpayne

The crowd was uncomfortably silent as The King’s Justice was proclaimed the tourney victor. Ilyn Payne just wasn’t the type of knight that inspired adoration. In fact, it was a tiny bit horrific how he had systematically dispatched every knight on the list. Not a shred of mercy.

Ser Payne pulled off his helmet, revealing a bald head, grim face, and pale, icy eyes .. focused on Meryll. She turned around to see who was behind her, because surely he was looking at someone else. And then the soft rustle of leaves and a slight weight upon her head.

Meryll gingerly reached up to feel the crown of roses upon her head, pricking her finger on a thorn as she pulled it off. The roses were as red as the blood that dripped from her hand.

Uncle Danwell was starting to stand and making noises of protest, but Meryll reached over and tugged his arm hard until he was seated again.

She woke up from her nap on the couch when a flash of lightning lit up the dark room. Sitting up, she saw Ilyn’s coat on the rack. He was home. Did he still have the same job? she wondered. Just how much was different?

Meryll crept down the hallway to the bedroom she had woken up in that morning. The light was on, streaming out into the dark hallway. She leaned against the doorway and watched her .. husband? .. pull off his boots. He was soaked to the bone from the rain, water dripping down his smooth head and over his face, shirt wet and clinging to his leanly muscled form.

Was it hot in here?

Her breath caught in her throat as Ilyn reached over his head and pulled the shirt off. He had never let her see him like that. In fact, it had been the cause of many (one-sided) arguments.

Gods, how long had she wanted to feel all that skin against hers?

And then, she took a step into the room, unable to stay away. She had a better view of his body then .. and the marks, and scars, spidering over his torso.

She gasped. Was this why he had never allowed her to see him naked?

She slid onto the bed behind him, sitting cross-legged.

“Tell me about them,” she said simply, tracing a finger down a particularly nasty looking scar, and hoping that she hadn’t already made this particular demand before.

The house already felt cool, a natural occurrence with any storm, and there was a hint of bitterness to the air. Everything was dreary, quiet... That was till Meryll happened into the room. Ilyn could hear the distinct patter of her feet across the floorboards, his pale, colorless eyes catching sight of her out of the corner of his vision. He sucked his teeth, acutely aware of her scrutiny, though... She had not stared that long or hard in a very long time. He was about to stand, quit the room, and take a shower - it had been a long day after all.

Without fail, however, it didn't matter if he wore gloves, or how meticulously he scrubbed along the edges of his fingernails, only the hot steam of a shower could truly wipe away the filth. Blood was not so difficult, it was the feces, the piss, and everything else that set his teeth on edge. None of it ever touched his form, but the mere idea of a drop it landing on him was enough to make his stomach roil. Not to mention the implication should even a scrap of physical evidence be found on him.

But he stopped, pausing when such low sung syllables left her mouth. It was a question she had asked before, and one he had answered briefly. Meryll was... far more delicate than she liked to think she was. Ilyn sighed, a long, exasperated sound out his nose, and put his elbows upon his knees.

Fond. That was what he recalled thinking of Meryll. He was... fond of her. Enough that he wanted her to bare his children, to continue his line of service to the Lannisters, and Lord Tywin had agreed. Though his nose had wrinkled in slight disgust at the mention of 'Frey', but she had passed all expectation, at the very least. A small ceremony, involving her favored sister, and his Lord had been gracious enough to stand in as his best man. Simple, plain, and efficient. Quiet too, as was another part of his inner workings.

Whether or not his wife knew what lay in store for their children, he had not asked, but there were already things falling into place. Their eldest son would start to learn martial arts when he turned five, be groomed in the finer ways of language, and history of the household he would one day serve. Zachery would have his own place in the hierarchy, should his Lord have use for him, and he would make sure that both of them were loyal. As much so as himself.

However... There was something about the very idea that set his teeth on edge, not with himself, but something uncontrollable. The world was chaos, fashioned from the ideal of consuming the strongest in an ever present, but unspoken wheel. Trample or be crushed beneath the heel of someone stronger. He knew, one day, his own flesh and blood would learn that lesson, but... It did not sit well with him. Ilyn sighed, rolling his jaw loudly to several pops in the still gloom of the empty warehouse. The noise echoed, becoming the crack of thunder, joining the chorus of rumbles from far above as rain descended in sheets upon the city.

He looked up, over his shoulder, in time for a flash of white to dance upon the panes above. It was already 6:45 in the evening, winding down from a day of grueling business, and he polished off the edge of a steel blade with the precision of a true artist. He hated to leave them dull - cutting through flesh, digging into the fine tendons between bone, but - well, there was nothing for it now. He would have to take care of them when he returned tomorrow, to prepare for a trip to Braavos...

Ilyn felt as if he could not breathe. Still of use. How could he be? His Lord was far from a daft man, but, was he blind to the ruin of his hands? Had they not told him what had become of his tongue, and the irreparable damage done to his nerves? His lips quivered, something collecting on the bottom of his eyes that burned its way down, but a ragged cough rumbled forth from his ravaged innards. Iron welled forth, blood that dripped from the corners of his mouth, and he spat it upon the ground.

"I have to work." His tone was clipped, and flat, nearly hiding all traces of where he had come from. However, there was the distinct 'to', which came out more as 'ta', proving some form of accent, if his two words before had not. He stood up straight, placing his hands upon her shoulders to remove her gently, and stalked back into the bedroom. Straight edge it was.

He knew better than to keep anything in the home - between Meryll's obvious insistent curiosity at the beginning of their relationship, and the children's need to follow her... Well, it was best not to take chances. His job, his very level of ethics revolved around precision. Extra precautions had even been taken after the boys were born, such as locking his side of the bedside tables to ensure neither of them could get to his gun. It had a mechanism on it, designed to inform him via his phone if it was opened by force.

He collected his jacket, a fresh pair of gloves, and his keys mechanically before heading out. He paused in the entry way, however, and cast a glance back to Meryll.

He'd need his good knives. The scum responsible for his Lord's ire deserved rust, so that the grime would rub its way in like salt, and eat through his wounds - so that they might never close. Alas, that meant he'd bleed out faster, and that was something he couldn't tolerate for this particular nuisance. No, serrated? He rolled his jaw, having cleaned the kitchen to spotless, and sighed heavily. Sadly, too messy, but... There was always the option of straight edge, an old favorite, and still highly viable.

Ilyn turned back to her, folding the dish towel, and looped it over the bar of the oven. Everything seemed to be in order, Meryll would go out, and have lunch with her sister. The children would have an evening at The Rock, in the company of a nanny, and then the evening would be theirs. A welcome change, it would do them some good to have a night of peace. Neither of their sons were particularly demanding, or noisy, though they did warrant their own time.

He leaned back, crossing his arms, brow furrowed.

If i’m following you… it means that I like/love your blog 

If you are following me… it means youre curious about me 

FEEL FREE TO BOTHER ME!!! 

I’m not that scary… as a matter of fact i’m quite tame. Come send me asks, startersi Fan mail to talk OOCLY – please, just feel FREE TO BOTHER ME. 

Ilyn paused, looking at her over his shoulder as their son continued to coo at her. She looked shocked, confused, a little scared even. He tilted his head, but shook it and turned back around. Meryll wasn't a quiet creature by nature, he knew that. If she wanted to speak with him about whatever had caused her distress, she would, more than likely a nightmare by her behavior last night... However, she had been a little down the other day after going out with her sister. Had someone bothered them? He sucked his teeth, it wouldn't hurt to do a little digging after he got done cleaning up for Lord Tywin.

Which, reminded him, he would have to leave soon...

@ilynxpayne

She woke up to the smell of baking bread. And in a strange bed. As in, one she had never seen before. In a strange bedroom. With her clothes strewn all over the floor.

She tried to recall if she had been at The Blackfish the night before.

No… she had been back at the rental she shared with her sisters. She had packed a suitcase and left after a fight with Ilyn (meaning she yelled at him while he stood silently).

Meryll walked out of the bedroom and down a hallway toward the delicious scent. Into the kitchen.

Ilyn was wiping the counters with one hand. Because his other hand was clasping a small bundle to his shoulder.

He turned and wordlessly handed her the bundle.

She had acted strangely, last night. Meryll had actually kicked him in his sleep, though, he was half awake, and had caught her ankle. As relieved as he was to see his reflexes were not failing him, he was less pleased that she had reverted to that old habit, and cast her a weary glance. 6:25 written in crimson across the black face of the clock, fuzzy outlined and bright to his sleep filmed orbs. He rubbed away the fatigue, rising, and slowly slid into position onto the floor.

Fifty push-ups later and he was ready to shower. He paused upon the threshold, casting Meryll a glance, his brow furrowed. Still no change. Ilyn moved on with his routine, showering, and quickly made his way out. Their eldest son was already awake, staring at the strange collection of ornaments above his crib, but instantly perked up when he saw his father.

He reached, two year old, chubby fingers surprisingly firm against his neck. He kissed the lad’s forehead, rubbing his back, and listened to him breathe for a moment. Safe. Of course he was, Ilyn had the best security system in the city, and the most solid of secondary plans in the form of the Revolver locked in the bedside table. Breakfast was already finished: bacon, eggs, hash, and pancakes before Meryll had risen. He was already cleaning up, in fact, and immediately turned to hand him their boy.