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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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bronzed skin on display in her silver number, shivers of siberian - like cold running down graceful spine, or is it the intense valyrian - inherited gaze filled with raw emotion of envy that awakens her core ⸺ a sentiment amaera recognizes so clearly from her father's lilac gaze, one noble sees mirrored in her own reflection. beware of the quiet ones — oh so dangerous when left alone with their demons piercing through daylight dreams, no longer contained to the realm of dreams. lapse of judgement as her stare penetrates through his bones, heat of flames licking the flesh until only wounds are left ⸻ caught. digits toy with obsidian locks, twisting waves around finger with lovestruck gaze directed toward crown prince as rogare embodies the maiden herself, forced into yet another role of her own making : innocent, innocuous, and easy to manipulate. pale wisteria hued eyes move back to the second son, the queen's spare, as his pair meets hers. deep down, lyseni - born knows that she ought to give up the competition to maintain role of foolish girl yet she's persistent ⸺ ivy grows all over, cannot let go. his prose enough reason to walk closer, tremors all over body - cover of nervosity fluttering within and for once not even acted. " prince aehrys, what a delightful celebration have you organized for her grace. " cranium tilts upward but faux insecurity makes sight avoid him.

long may she reign, salutes the eldest brother to perhaps a crowd which has seemingly formed around the king-to-be, and the second son glowers from afar, an icy sheet laid atop his features that reflects naught and shields the veracity, tucking it deep within the younger of the two dragons. the mauve gaze remains latched on his brother, like a hound's mouth around the throat of a prey, his argent locks and violent hues not unlike aehrys' own, and the goblet of brandy that the prince's left hand nurses is abruptly emptied in a swift motion, the fizzle scorching his throat in a near consolatory manner. an arduous, toilsome chore is the event at hand, forcing him apart from the sole location he now considers home - summerhall. a bothersome sensation, like a fly in his face, then demands his attention and gaze snaps to another, only to find a pair of eyes peering at him, perhaps having scrutinized him, as he scrutinized his brother. he retorts in quietude, imitates the silent stare, before briefly lifting the empty glass. " long may she reign. " .

#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　⸻　　𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘢　　𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗲‚　　words.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌‚　　celestial　bodies.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁‚　　aehrys　targaryen.#reading this as the person who plays the brother: pokemon face indeed #this got long for no reason

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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crystalline tumbler filled with lyseni red rests in palm of her hand, nimble fingers curled around as rogare watches nobles around her. appearance of seraph stuck in daydream whilst ears are perked - hanging onto lips like gardens of mythical babylon, faint smile on heart - shaped lips toward passing aristocrat. her silhouette turns toward voice, dark eyebrow arches upward like arrow to be shot from bow. " is that a compliment for my fellow countrymen, " amaera teases, nursing her own essosi drink instead - something from her own lands, more sweeter version of dornish red ⸺ missing chunks of red fruit. " i believe the tyroshi pear brandy is an acquired taste perhaps you should try the red wine from lys. " a suggestion and if etiquette would allow it, femme would've offered own goblet.

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁 ━━ great hall , red keep .

he had only been here a handful of times , mostly on business concerning the vale . it felt . . . peculiar to be in kingslading — at the red keep even — for anything other than political concerns . he says that the capital too far or maybe the vale , detached . either way , arstan tried to at least enjoy the company of every single noble in westeros and across the narrow sea . whatever enjoying means . " tyroshi pear brandy they said this one was called , " arstan commented , taking a glance at his goblet . " it's taste . . . i haven't had anything quite like this . "

#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　⸻　　𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘢　　𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗲‚　　words.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌‚　　celestial　bodies.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁‚　　arstan　arryn.#making it canon that lyseni red is just sangria

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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long gone are the days where he felt uncomfortable with eyes following his every movement, those years vanished as quickly as his ancestors — those whose deaths brought him the crown. perhaps rhaeys should thank the seven that his grandfather was so blasphemous ⸺ dragonborn would not be able to stand a life of mere mortality as yet another targaryen, blonde feels bad for his siblings sans the one he dislikes and religious lunatics adore. the rare moments he felt normal, like every other young lord in the kingdom, was with his most trusted ally : the wolf and the dragon, more of a comedy than tragedy. " amen, " he speaks teasingly, voice low and soft so only theon would hear. " naera would have my head if i did not mention her handiwork, but speak freely, my friend, what do you truly think. " quick on his feet, the prince leads the way toward a more private corner ⸺ not a new sight for the nobles of court.

silent tension lingered in his muscles, stark heir wishing the shadows, small as they were in glowing hall, would creep closer and cloak him. sole relief found in the fact that attention remained elsewhere, on the dragons who'd crafted the event and the foreign faces filling the crowd, granting the wolf an escape from most conversations. until familiar tone reached his ears. ❝ for many years more. ❞ calloused hands accepted the chalice and mirrored the toast. ❝ you've outdone yourself with this celebration. ❞

#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　⸻　　𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘺𝘴　　𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻‚　　words.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌‚　　celestial　bodies.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁‚　　theon　stark.

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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posture cat - like and proud, suave with innate confidence — almost doltish dauntlessness if not for standing given by the gods, rhaeys knows his importance and what it means on the political scene. power is power when golden crown will match the curls on his head. cranium nods in acknowledgement at the bow — tonight is for pleasure, his early morning will be for reflection with ink flowing freely on scrolls : has to keep his head in the game. " how kind of you, my lord, it certainly has been an eventful night for our house. the faith has blessed me with such loving family, and i hope it keeps blessing yours too. a house and by extension a kingdom depends on its heirs, " his tone neutral with his semi - daring statement, to gauge the lord's reaction.

Fabian had always abhorred such grandeur. A waste, he'd often think. And yet, he found himself grinning like a cheshire cat, weaving through the do gooders and nay sayers. It'd always been that way, refined for such events, and still he'd rather be found with his head in a book. Far from conversations, he found little to no meaning in. But he endured, especially when it came to the crown. The Gods were watching. " Long may she reign, " Fabian called, tipping his golden chalice filled with crimson beverage towards the prince as he bowed his head. " I hope the evening has been of much joy for you and your family, prince. "

#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　⸻　　𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘺𝘴　　𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻‚　　words.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌‚　　celestial　bodies.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁‚　　fabian　marbrand.

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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#𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲, private account for dependent original muses : 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝗋𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇 & 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝖺𝗆𝖺𝖾𝗋𝖺 𝗋𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾. as adored by steph ( twenty4, european central tmz, she/her, non - white ), script exclusively exclusively written for westerostv — do not interact if not affiliated. this blog may contain mature content, so proceed with caution.

rhaeys targaryen: intro, pinterest, threads.

amaera rogare: intro, pinterest, threads.

#dni.#new blog is @oftroje #this is shadowbanned

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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princeling wraps nimble fingers around goblet's stem ⸺ lip quirks upward and with quick nod he allows the servant to move on to the next guest. targaryen heir weaponizes his charm as torso turns toward new conversation partner, offering the other chalice as peace offering. " long may she reign, " rhaeys toasts to his mother, aurelian cup high in the air as byzantium - hued optics twinkle.

[ 💌 open starter located near the balcony overseeing the gardens ]

#westeros.start #𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　:　　𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌‚　　celestial　bodies.#𝗈𝖿𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗷𝗲　　⸻　　𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘺𝘴　　𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗮𝗿𝘆𝗲𝗻‚　　words.

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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prince rhaeys of westeros arrives to his mother's surprise festivities in a golden ensemble embellished with sequins that shimmer with his every movement — like rays of the sun. his myrish lace cape is airy and flows along with the outdoor winds reminiscent of a summer breeze and matches his suit underneath perfectly, if only the difference in fabrics. the cut in his chemise reaches his transversus abdominis as it displays his athletic physique without being shirtless ⸺ small ode for the soon - to - be interwoven cultures of essos and westeros through marriage. the golden sun - color in his attire deepens as it goes southward, his pants contrasting against his cloak, it is almost impossible to miss the targaryen during the fête with his pop of color.

#westeros.celestial

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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the lysene - born maiden stuns at the queen's celebration festivities in a shimmering silver moonlight gown, almost as radiant as the celestial body itself. the satin slip number has rhinestone stars interwoven into its fabric with a myrish lace mesh panel to reveal her tanned flesh ⸺ accentuating so - called lyseni perverseness with nymphlike virtue in those purple blue hues framed by long unruly tresses crowned by a moon halo diadem. her ensemble makes lady amaera of house rogare particularly vulnerable for the cold but she perseveres through the imagined warmth of plenty dornish red wine, only shivers running down her spine reveal her freezing nature.

#westeros.celestial

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bew1tcheds · 5 months

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𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝘆𝗲𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗼𝘆 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗇 [ … ] 𝗐𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴.

࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ bruna marquezine, 28, cis woman, she + her. announcing the arrival of AMAERA of house ROGARE, the LADY of LYS. whispers among the court name them to be both PRISTINE and FICKLE in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in late nights reading in the library. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of embodiment of seraphic divinity, aphrodite reincarnate with honeydust lingering on tanned flesh, but oh your mind is rotten underneath that self-proclaimed halo ; nectar's in your lips with the intoxicating taste of sweet promises of heaven to come and darkened lashes kissing blush stained cheekbones, and your hips the altar of worship — bewitching infatuation with that corruptible innocence ; lithe body all dolled up in flowing silks and sheer gowns of myr's finest fabrics, unblushing and brazenly confident in sensuality of feminine silhouette ever so slowly, damned cruelty aims to claw itself out of raw skin and hollow bones, venom and ruination she has yet to discover underneath all that sweetened honey tainting her ⸺ against all the odds, you are your father's daughter as molded by his will. the seven whisper to their most devout queen as she sleeps, making her question where their loyalties truly lie. are they right to whisper? for their loyalties truly lie with THE EMPEROR OF ESSOS.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 : 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 .

official name : amaera rogare. nicknames : maera. noble title : lady amaera of house rogare, the lady of lys. date of birth : last day of the year, eight hundred twenty one after aegon's conquest . age : twenty8. birthplace : lys, essosi empire. home : lys, essosi empire. current location : king’s landing, the crownlands. nationality : essosi. gender : cis woman. pronouns : she / her. orientation : bisexual and biromantic. religion : the love goddess / money. alliance : house rogare / house dagareon / the emperor of essos. monikers : amaera the nymph, the mermaid of lys. languages : the common tongue, high valyrian, bastard valyrian. accent : charming lysene drawl with smoothly rolled words with slow enunciation letting tongue touch each syllable with luring effect as a result, a soft and sweet voice with lyrical flow.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 : 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 .

faceclaim : bruna marquezine. ethnicity : valyrian. hair : long brown - black tresses with soft defined waves reaching the beginnings of her mid - back, the color of deep chocolate with a warm fading sunset glow ⸺ touch of dark copper and burnt caramel. locks parted in the middle with long silky curtain bangs that frame face — stopping lightly under jawline, revealing marble carved bone structure. small braids and the occasional jewelry adorn hair, or half - up styles that allow bangs to frame face giving a youthful and swan - like appearance. eyes : inviting rounded almond - shaped eyes with an ever - lasting hauntingly complexion of arctic ocean purple, cut through with soft shades of glacial lavender and a silver mystical glow. the pool of luminous pastel tints is set ablaze by nightshade as the color of the universe is woven into her optics almost disturbing the serenity of fairytale - blue periwinkle. gaze cuts through the bone as its shade contrasts against all other dark features, fairydust bewitching with a single glance. height : hundred seventy centimeters or five foot seven. build : tall and sylphlike - appearing body that is naturally toned, svelte silhouette with hourglass curves contrasting against tiny waist ⸺ frequently worn corsets magnify small taille with bosom teasingly overflowing in the i don't know my beauty way. scent : the smell of orchids and saltwater tangled in ebony - hued locks, the taste of mango, coconut and rose blossoms lingering on skin. voice : smoothly rolled words with slow enunciation letting tongue touch each syllable with luring effect as a result, a soft and sweet voice with lyrical flow . dominant hand : right handed. allergies : none . scars : long - faded scars of thorn - covered roses touched out of child - like fascination and perplexion by nature's beauty. distinguishing characteristics : warm blemish - free skin kissed by the sun with pronounced bone structure framed by long shiny tresses, softened by big light green doe - sized almond eyes. clothing style : free - flowing gowns from essos, sunkissed flesh on display but that touch of sweetness and honey downplaying its lyseni freedom.

𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 : 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 .

label : the pristine, the seraph, the siren, the puppeteer. mbti : infj-a, the architect. enneagram : type three, the achiever. element : fire. natal chart : sun in capricorn, moon in scorpio, and capricorn rising. temperament : choleric. hogwarts house : ravenclaw. deadly sin : wrath. heavenly virtue : chastity. mythological parent : athena & aphrodite.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 : 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 .

with your birth, another prized gemstone joins the family collection ⸻ beautiful doll-like with hauntingly purple hues as if your stare could judge whether a person was good or bad - worthy of life or meant for great doom. you are your father's most treasured child - shielded away from all harm as if tears welling up in your eyes were enough reason for your lord father to start a war - golden girl what does it feel like to suffocate in love, how do you breathe ... how do you ignore does glares of envy thrown your way, and how do you feel as they neglect your pleads for help.

his perfect little seraph, with all that praise as you are his doting daughter - hanging onto his lips like he is the emperor of essos himself - listening to his every word and following orders to the point of exhaustion, failure is not an option to you because then the accolade would stop. and who are you without his approval ? nobody ... no one, you are his daughter, a child of house rogare - his to mold into his own trojan horse ⸻ not the heir but the beauty behind the right person. you may not be in the shadow of your siblings but you succumb yourself in the darkness of the universe, thoughts corrupted as you mirror those around you ⸺ father is not a good man as he wields his lying tongue as a weapon, and no one ever realizes that you are truly his daughter in more than name. the bitter taste of his fury, his power cannot be washed away from your skin, it is in your blood - keeps your flesh amongst the living as your mind decays further from the honey tastes you embody physically.

your appearance is soft and sweet — apotheosis of aphrodite including the wrath and hatred no one ever sees lurking behind her allure. movements graceful, behavior elegant and fitting for a woman of your stature, but still the outside world treats you like a porcelain doll ( can't break father's precious daughter ), or a prize to be won for the highest bidder — ultimately nothing more than a heavy dowry and divine goddess in human form. even as the favorite, you are still not the firstborn, nothing more than father's best student without his own knowledge ... doesn't he know that children soak everything up like a sponge. while you may be a fairy with clipped wings stuck in a cage of flesh-burning ice, it is your own refusal to leave the prison behind ⸻ abiding time until the right moment: strategy. and for now, you pretend to be sweet and innocent, at least for lyseni standards.

you are not a bad person even if your mind tries to convince you otherwise, but the one lesson that has been taught to you since birth has carved itself into your ribcage ⸺ made itself home in the location of your heart: everything for the family, never again will house rogare and its bank decay - to be remembered at all costs.

#westeros.intro #i rambled and it's not even good but i did it

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