𝒗𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏, 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔
( intro , visage , musings )

Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@reqalis
𝒗𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒚𝒋𝒐𝒚 𝒏𝒆𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒚𝒆𝒏, 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔
( intro , visage , musings )

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* ── [ natalie dormer , cis fem , she / her . ] : in the frays of king aerys iii's reign , therein remains vaessa greyjoy nee targaryen, the forty two year old high queen of the iron islands . rumor has it that their loyalties lie with house targaryen and they are for the targaryen reign . they're so observant + patient that it makes sense , but most seem to look past their reserved + duplicitous nature . when they come up in conversation , i'm always reminded of dragon scales embroidered like a secret, a rebellion, onto evening gowns, the call of the siren song whispering your fate to you, ice blue eyes that carry a dragon’s fire within them .
✵ Margaery Tyrell in Game of Thrones 4.04 - Oathkeeper
murdcrs:
open starter location: anywhere in the keep
victarion could barely contain the growl rising from his throat as he stood, throwing a nearby object off the table in frustration and anger. “i want out of this gods forsaken keep.” it was a behaviour he knew might incriminate him, but he was at his wits end. this was supposed to be a short trip for the coronation, and now he was stuck even longer in the sweltering heat of king’s landing that would only get hotter as winter ebbed away.
“patience.” was the best counsel vaessa could offer, though she doubted victarion would heed her suggestion. vaessa took a second to compose herself, to remind herself she was a queen, not some frightened little princess, ni matter how much shaken she felt inside. “whoever was behind those attacks will soon be caught, and this will all be over in a few days.” her words were firm, refusing to entertain any alternative.
penniesaprice:
Open starter: In the gardens, in the aftermath of the assassinations
Liliyana roamed the gardens in the Red Keep, her eyes clearly a thousand miles away. Any attempts to stop her slow, wandering pace were seemingly ignored, as a heavy mix of pain, grief, and numbness reigned over her senses. The heavy singing of her dress, the smoot on her cheek, the pain in her ankle with every step she took - it all seemed so insignificant. Especially as the death of her father hit her. She had no right to mourn, since she cannot claim she ever truly knew her father, and she was little more than his bastard to boot. But the grief at the loss of a parent still remained. And so, she wandered, waiting for an end.
vaessa’s mind was only half there, her feet navigating the gardens through leftover childhood instinct. she tries to focus on the feel of the breeze tangling up her air, the smell of the freshly blooming flowers, but her mind keeps snagging on the memory of those heads fixed upon spikes. why, why why, the question plagues her, until her eyes find the figure of the baratheon bastard, and she feels a selfish wave of relief that her family had come out relatively unharmed.
vaessa’s instincts are to head in the opposite direction. her mind is still too scattered to be offer the condolences the girl needs, and she is sure she’s heard people offering their sympathies enough times to make her sick. “can i offer you anything?” vaessa hopes the smile she offers conveys her understanding. “i could call for a glass of wine? i’ve found it’s the best thing to soothe my mind.”

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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