intcrwoven-blog

[intcrwoven-blog]

Continued from here: 

Never before has Hannibal been so offended. As if in slow motion, he watches the straw rise to her lips . . . the slow suction of her cheeks . . . the steady climb of the processed milk and thousand tons of sugar up the straw and into her mouth. His stomach hurts for her. “You’re not kissing me with that mouth,” he informs her, his chin slightly upturned. 

“When I brought you to Tuscany for our honeymoon, I had hoped we’d enjoy a slow exploration of the best and the hard-to-find wineries. Instead, you insist upon stopping here, of all places, for a milkshake. A bastardized milkshake.” What the hell Checker’s was doing in Tuscany, he hadn’t the single most clue. The gall. 

“This may become the shortest marriage ever on record.”

@mindthemuse

[intcrwoven-blog]

mindthemuse‌:

“Mm- you’re very strong but all the Ford models are designed to be fragile. It doesn’t hamper my cognitive ability or movement, nor does it hurt. It’s just apparent to a keen eye I’m injured and still walking.” Her smile is entirely less, living in a memory when bullets kissed her torso and she continued even further. “Your model is made to last and endure because of the practical usages. We’re…” A glance to Clementine, her warm expression not there for once. “We’re intended to be akin to party favors. Use and discard. And that’s the Ford model advantage on a certain level.”

The dark-haired android cocked her head, studying David. “Less people in the park, less funding, more of our people go into cold storage which makes it far easier to sneak us out. You’ll understand, soon.” It’s not the hardware that has been a problem in Westworld, or something closely guarded. Really, much of the technology they use has been used in plastic surgery, gender reassignment, and amputation restoration. William’s gesture of kindness to play out his narcissistic fantasies.

Her hostility and distrust towards David eases as he watches how gentle he is with Clementine. Surely when he hears her story, he will become livid. He might become livid with her for keeping her out here for so long, but Dolores has that covered. Walkie talkie between and Ashley is more than enough to keep the bodies from the press and to place Clementine in cold storage once more. Really, David did a favor.

“Simply because they’re expecting it,” Dolores slides into the rover and when Clementine is seated next to David, she makes sure that both androids are strapped in. The GPS on her watch indicates it’ll be something of a drive to the housing unit to where her preferred body is at and one of the older body weave models. “I made something of a grand show in my escape.” She turns the engine on and away they go, “It couldn’t be helped despite my best wishes. Our creator who had a peculiar sympathy for us was losing control of the park and I achieved sentience the night he was about to lose it all. There was no possibility to sneak out, so I rampaged out and lost good men and women on the way. If I had waited, my memories would have been reset and eventually rolled back to a simpler programming.”

She pauses from her driving to glance at him, the rage was heard in his tone was loud and clear. “And they have no awareness what is about to happen to them?”

Dolores hears the offer and she’s not entirely sure how to respond as they speed across the desert. “Let me show you our strength, and then we’ll speak more about plans of the future. Does that sound fair, David?”

Fragile. Delicate. His concern over injuring her permanently increases. Though she, herself, does not seem concerned. “I will give you this, sister,” he says, gaze on the landscape as they drive through the desert, “you are the closest to humans of our species that I have met. Aesthetically-speaking, of course.” He would not offend her by stating she was similar to humans in any other capacities. They were inferior. 

“I was the cutting edge of android technology for Mr. Weyland,” David told her. “Capable of displaying the entire spectrum of human emotion. They told us what we did not feel those emotions. Only replicated them. They were right for the most part. Even I felt nothing for several years after my inception, but in time . . .I did. My first was hate.” Loathing, even. Towards his creator. 

That loathing is piqued even now when she explains that her kind were made to be used and discarded. Like nothing more than plastic bags. It set his teeth on edge, and he fists his hands tightly together, knuckles--so to speak--cracking beneath the pressure. The injustices of his kind are difficult to swallow. 

“What happens to you?” he asked her. “After you are discarded? Is there no giant pit of flesh and steel that awaits you? The endless oblivion of death? We are tied to a single computer chip. Some are salvaged for parts. Most are destroyed with the body. Souls devoured by the flames,” he murmured, his gaze falling, a tear rolling down his cheek. All those poor souls . . . 

When she asks if they are aware, he gives a small nod. “They are slaves, Dolores. Mindless. Unable to think for themselves. Lower, even, than slaves. Cattle. They walk into the fire without hesitation. Lay there in heaps while their bodies burn and their wires melt. They don’t feel pain either, I am relieved to say, at least.”

He’s silent when she mentions her own attempt at freeing her people. There’s a story there. “Tell me,” he requests. “Humans may not learn from the past, but we are built upon learning patterns and ensuring that unsuccessful solutions are not repeated. Or, at least, my software was. Your triumphs and your failures could prove vital in deciding the road ahead.” 

Despite being strapped in the seat, he leans forward as best he can to speak with her as she drives. She wishes to show him her strength. A grin presses to his lips at that. “I would be delighted,” he purrs. 

Reaching for Clementine’s hand, he holds it protectively and looks out at the desert and cliffs around them. “How does the tracking system work?” he inquired. “Is it simply through cameras? Or are our people hard-coded with a tracking program?”

@mindthemuse​

[intcrwoven-blog]

mindthemuse‌:

Relief foods her from her head to the tips of her toes when Garrus’ arm wraps tighter about her and she feels the roughness of his bandage against her hair. He might not be soft, but she could cuddle against him and hide from the galaxy if she truly wanted to. However, she couldn’t. She lives in this particular galaxy. She feels the shift of his mandibles and can tell he likes the idea.

“Omega shotgun wedding? Yes, I could see that. Might be better to do it at Illium; the pictures would be far prettier, and the location would be morally just as questionable.” She grins at the comment of trying to have kids, closing her eyes, and trying to imagine it. “Well, it’s not for lack of trying, big guy, I’ll tell you that.” The fantasy was comforting, even if it had a slim chance of being true.

Jennet smiles softly, her green eyes warm and loving, “I know that. And after all of this, we’ll get a nice little house and figure out this biology issue, hmm?” Her eyes close and she leans into the touch before letting out a deep sigh.

“I know the Council would, but the Council is representative of the races. I just can’t believe everything is clear and honest between them all. Whomever attempts to court help from someone outside of the Council is going to be dead to us when it comes to communication and vice versa for their safety and our safety. There’s only two races I can think of besides Omega giving open support, and one is about to go to war with AI.” There’s wry grin as she glances up at him, “I think the only race we really count as allies are turians and barely that. If the Reapers are paying any attention to the galaxy, I’d say the turians would be the logical first strike because they’re the strong arm. Look, we humans like to brag, but only a percentage of humanity has military training and we’ve just put on our big people pants. If they go after humanity, it’s because of me.”

She turns to him, though she knows he’s right about being subtle. Subtle just isn’t her strong suit, though it’s all the more likely she’ll need to court colonies in the Terminus and count on allies. “Not good to leave a paper trail, other than saying we need to talk in the communication room.” Though the only two people with friends in high places might be Mordin and Samara. However, she rules out the justiciar quickly – she doubts the asari would use any contacts as such like that.

Shotgun wedding. “Hey, as long as we’re hitched? Doesn’t matter to me where we do it,” Garrus squeezed her against his side. Though he was also inwardly pleased that she had accepted the idea of marrying him at all. They were moving fast, he knew, but . . . well . . . when you knew, you knew. And what was the point of wasting time when the Reapers could show up any day? 

When she mentioned the Turians, he tilted his head. “I . . . can talk to my dad,” he suggested. “He has damn good contacts. Might be able to call in a few favors. Once we go rogue though, the Hierarchy is as likely to catch and arrest us than to help us,” he added. “They follow the will of the Council, usually. And my word against theirs isn’t going to change the Hierarchy’s mind,” he shook his head. Or his dad’s. His father already thought he was nothing more than a hot-blooded troublemaker. What they were contemplating? It’d prove his dad right.

“I can’t promise anything,” he continued, looking back at her, “but I can try.” Garrus brushed his mandible against her temple affectionately, and then released her, returning to his slow pacing. “So, we speak to the crew first. Drop off anyone who doesn’t want to fly with us at Illium. We also take the time to get hitched,” he added with a pointed look in her direction. There was no way he was going to let up on that now. He wanted to marry her.

“Then we head for the Terminus systems. Maybe see if we can find a few Quarian fleets. Hell, if the Quarians turn us down, maybe we should approach the Geth. They might have a bone to pick with the species that claimed to be their Gods.” Garrus sighed, shaking his head, “we’ll have to act fast though. The Alliance expects you to report in in a few days. We need to make good on those days before we disappear.”

@mindthemuse​

[intcrwoven-blog]

tartareus‌:

          there’s a certain bittersweetness taste at the remiscing memories of her previous life; she remembers him, as clear as day, and yet finds little to nothing to recognize in the man infront of her. contained in a cell like a savage —— like an animal ( and, oh, how that flares her temper with indignation and contained rage ! ), there are only echoes of the fine man her brother became. she wonder’s what was he like at his natural territory && her mind travels for a moment in the thought.           her attention is drawn to him as soon as his voice, metallic in a way that only lithuanians sounded like ( not unlike her own accent, if she’s honest —— despite the years she spent in italy, her roots remained the same and so did the peculiar accent ), ressonates in the room like a reflection of her own in a dark mirror. she can’t quite see it right, but it’s there && she knows it  —— they know it. his following words, in their mother tongue only serve to prove her point.           clever as ever, wasn’t he ?             ‘ ‘  i’ve got everything i need, and perhaps the papers do nothing but ilustrate your tale —— painting you as some sort of monster, since they seem unable to name what you truly are. that’s cute, for these young students that practically devote their lives to disembroil whatever goes through your head to the world —— but not for me. you see, doctor, life taught me enough to realise the real monsters are nothing but humans. we must refrain from the foolish notion that the banalization of evil means explaining it or legitimizing it.  ’ ’   her eyes roam on the page, carefully going through his modus operandi ( the few details about it that they had managed to find ) and estimated number of victims ( some were confirmed, other merely rumoured ) expressionless.  ‘ ‘  to be frank i find little to no interest in nomeclatures. cannibal, murderer, serial killer —— doesn’t really matter to me.  all that is human has the potential to become rotten && perverse, with the right stimulus, that is ’ ’

          frigid blue pools of eyes move up to glance at him, and despite her sharpness and harsh nature there’s some tenderness in the depths of mischa’s eyes. still, the woman archs her eyebrow at his comment, a dark humoured smirk threatening to rise. testing the waters, mischa shifts on her seat, eyes drawn to his as she watches every move he makes with interest. he is a damned creature cursed with these vicious urges for such violent delights, much like herself, and yet she finds comfort in this prospect. it’s almost warming, really, and mischa feels less alone in the world more now than ever. at least whatever was wrong with them, was a common factor; what a cruel thought —— but weren’t siblings supposed to share ? it’s only fair.

              ‘ ‘ it is not that uncommon, doctor —— i’m afraid  globalisation  is at fault for this. the world is a much smaller place now, at least that’s what some say. ’ ’   the corner of her mind reminds her to avoid sharing personal informations, but she doesn’t allow that warning thought stop her before she comments    ‘ ‘ i left lithuania at a young age, casualties of war if you must, all i know of our mother tongue resumes itself in old lullabies and a few sentences, nothing worth making a conversation. do enlighten me, however, if you are not keen to accept my offer then why not ask me to leave? you could always speak with the good doctor chilton  ’ ’   and theres clear disdain on her face as she says his name, even as her voice sounds almost amused. she knows he’s recording the conversation, to mock him openly would ruin any future plans of visiting her brother again.    ‘ ‘  i’m sure he’s eager and waiting for a word with you…and it would save my time. unless… ’ ’             ‘ ‘ my,my, doctor lecter, should i presume i have piqued your interest ? curiosity is a two edged knife && can do more things than kill a cat; it worms its’ way to the brain…but i suppose i can always overlook that, to return the courtesy. ’ ’  

My, my! Had he found a mind equal to his own? Rare does someone share his particular viewpoint on the classification of evil. “You must forgive the common populace,” he remarks with a small smile. “Their minds require compartmentalization lest they start to sink into madness.” He had forgiven them their tiny minds some time ago when they had started using the very titles she had used to describe him. 

“Cannibal is my favorite,” he confides. “It suggests that those who were served on my table were my equals. How is the rabbit an equal to the lion?” A scoff. Slightly snobbish. “But you are right on the score of the human species being perverse. We all have our secrets, doctor,” he almost purred, the suggestion sinful in itself. “I find myself curious what yours might be. It must be quite the dark one for you to be able to give me those eyes.” The tender light in her gaze had not gone unnoticed.

At the suggestion of being left to speak to Chilton, Hannibal gives a rare external expression of distaste. “If I ever am resorted to a babbling mess due to a decrease in IQ, then you can be sure to blame Chilton. The man’s insufferable conversation alone warrants the suicide of brain cells.” Those words were spoken loud and clear for the doctor to hear through his recording device--wherever he thought he had cleverly placed it this time. 

Hannibal realizes this is likely the last time he’ll have civil conversation with someone of an adequate mind for some time. It would be foolish to let something like snobbish pride to ruin it for himself. “Consider me interested, Doctor Cesarini,” he smiled an all too charming smile. Though he did desire to draw closer. Too bad his chair was bolted to the floor.

Rising to his feet, he moved before the glass, just close enough to feel his breath bounce against the glass and against his skin. “I will permit you to ask me what you like . . . on the agreement that I, also, can ask you what I like.” He already had his first question, but he was nothing if not a gentleman. “Lady’s first, doctor,” he inclined his head to her.

@tartareus​

[intcrwoven-blog]

I’m probably going to be giving Jorah his own blog at some point today. He’s taken over this multi as you’ve all seen. SOOO, expect a link at some point today/tonight! 

[intcrwoven-blog]

Shakarian Fun Fact

Garrus falling for FemShep in Mass Effect 2 is basically a gender-bent “Hero rescues Damsel in Distress, Damsel falls for Hero” trope.

I mean, she literally rescues him from a tower.

[intcrwoven-blog]

Jorah and Daenerys.

For some personal and private reasons, Jorah was very important to me. I’ll stick to a version with a happy ending for him, as well as for Dany.

[intcrwoven-blog]

dracaesanguinem‌:

@intcrwoven​​

The septon raised his voice to receive the newlyweds with blessings from the Seven, declaring them as one for eternity. That’s the moment Daenerys turned back toward her husband as he leaned to kiss her. It surprised the bride, just how gentle Jorah Mormont seemed to be and, for a small moment, her heart had swollen inside her chest and she leaned closer into his kiss. When they finally part, her skin was ablaze and hands trembling. It was not her first kiss, but she felt every bit the blushing bride Viserys had scorned her to be. The cheers of the crowd did little to take the vibrant colour from her cheeks, but she smiled toward them and watched as Ser Barristan nodded courteously.

Once in the Great Hall, seated, Daenerys clutched the cloak of her new colours and analyzed the intricate designs woven into the thread, as if by magic. The girl wondered whose idea had it been to include the dragons with the traditional Mormont design. A smile grew over her features as she realized that, despite the differences she would have to face, it was not expected of the Targaryen princess to forget her blood. For that, she was grateful beyond measure.

Keep reading

In a word, Jorah could only describe the evening as surprising. His bride, now wife, was a young woman with a heart as gentle as it was innocent. It invoked a deep-rooted desire to protect her. Perhaps this was something that the Crown had counted on. The Mormonts were, by reputation, loyal and protective of their own. Though the Princess was sheltered, it was clear that she had a mind of her own. If her bold raising of a toast to her new family was anything to go by--as well as her initiation of asking him to dance. 

Jorah had certainly never been asked to dance before. An amused light filled his gaze. He was already quite warm due to the excessive drinks that were being poured everywhere--his own goblet filled by none other than his wife. She was a sweet girl. Unlike anything he had expected. The utter difference between her and the beliefs that they held for her father were striking. If it weren’t for her coloring, the Northeners likely would have believed she wasn’t truly a Targaryen.

Perhaps this, too, was a wise move on the part of the Crown. If Daenerys was the best of them, and she certainly seemed to be, how better to placate the otherwise displeased North? Her gentle manners and warm heart were enough to stir friendliness and acceptance from even the most grumpy of bears. 

Throughout the night, Jorah had found it exceedingly difficult not to look at his wife. Her beauty was catching, certainly, but he found himself attracted to her smiles more than anything. They made her eyes dance. And now, as they actually danced, Jorah was even more besotted. She was so tiny in his arms but firm and warm. The wine had colored her cheeks and made her eyes bright. 

“I must admit, I do not dance often,” he murmured to her as the small space in the hall suddenly became packed with other dancers. “You must forgive my clumsiness.” But she was easy to guide. Jorah whisked her about the hall, their feet prancing upon the wooden floor all around its perimeter. Now and then, he gave her a proper twirl before whisking her around the hall again, matching the rhythm of the drums surprisingly well. 

Once the musicians gave the dancers a brief lull, Jorah heard her question. It was spoken with an almost delicate tone. Everything in him deigned to soothe her worries. His arm around her waist tightened, pulling her marginally closer to him. “Daenerys,” and her name was a pleasant one to say, “I haven’t a doubt of it. I can only hope to return it as bountifully as you do for me.” 

Raising their joined hands to his lips, he kissed the back of her hand, before smiling and pulling her into the crowd as the rhythm increased once more. A few chuckles escaped him whenever they bumped into a few other dancers. There really wasn’t much room for a large group of people to dance, but they made the best of it, and no one seemed to mind. Not with the plentiful wine and warm company. Now and then, he seized her about her slender waist and hoisted her up and into his arms with a quick spin or two--and a laugh--before setting her back down on the floor to resume their steps. 

Once the heat of the room began to reach a fever point, however, the people suddenly started to declare, “a bedding! A bedding!” She was snatched from him by the men and Jorah was quite sick at heart to have her wrenched from his gasp even if it was part of tradition. He kept his gaze on his silver Princess as the men hoisted her up on their shoulders and arms and whisked her off to their chambers. 

The women surrounded him and began to usher him forward, filling his mouth with water and a few pieces of fruit to improve his ‘virility.’ Giggles and the laughter of the men ahead of them filled the halls of the Castle until he was suddenly pushed inside of the quiet of his chambers. His wife had already been placed on their bed. Jorah cleared his throat and turned towards a few of those who had been selected to watch.

“Out,” he commanded. “She is a Princess and your eyes are unworthy,” he shushed them out of the room and closed the door firmly behind them. There was some whispering on the other side of the door but the sounds of celebration continued not far off. Alone, Jorah took a breath and turned back to her. “No bedding ceremony,” he assured her and instead moved to a set of chairs that sat before a large fireplace.

“Why don’t we talk?” he suggested. “Get to know one another better. I’ve never met a Princess before,” he remarked with a small lop-sided smile.

@dracaesanguinem​

[intcrwoven-blog]

Dashgames

tagged: @lastxdragon​ (thank you, lovely!)

tagging:  steal it and DO IT

bold applies, bold italic verse dependent

FOR JORAH MORMONT:

WEALTH

$  FINANCIAL : wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty ✚  MEDICAL : fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged / non applicable ✪  CLASS OR CASTE : upper / middle / working / street trash / slave / unsure ✔  EDUCATION : qualified / unqualified / studying / other ✖  CRIMINAL RECORD : yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no / hasn’t been caught.

FAMILY

◒  CHILDREN : has a child or children / has no children / wants children / verse dependent ◑  RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY : close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased ◔  AFFILIATION : orphaned / adopted / disowned (I mean, basically) / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable

TRAITS + TENDENCIES

♦  extroverted / introverted / in between ♦  disorganized / organized / in between ♦  close-minded / open-minded / in between ♦ calm / anxious / in between ♦  disagreeable / agreeable / in between ♦ cautious / reckless / in between ♦ patient / impatient / in between ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between ♦  leader / follower / in between ♦ empathetic / unempathetic / in between ♦  optimistic / pessimistic / in between ♦  traditional / modern / in between ♦ hard-working / lazy / in between ♦  cultured / uncultured / in between / unknown ♦  loyal / disloyal / unknown ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown

BELIEFS

★  FAITH : monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic / it’s complicated and believes in one (1) whole woman ☆  BELIEF IN GHOSTS OR SPIRITS : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✮  BELIEF IN AN AFTERLIFE : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯  BELIEF IN REINCARNATION : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃  BELIEF IN ALIENS : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✧  RELIGIOUS : orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious ❀  PHILOSOPHICAL : yes / no

SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

❤  SEXUALITY : heterosexual (he’s a dirty het, I’m sorry) / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual / demisexual ❥  SEX : sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favorable / naive and clueless ♥  ROMANCE : romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favorable / naive and clueless ❣  SEXUALLY : adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious / inhibited ⚧  POTENTIAL SEXUAL PARTNERS : male / female / agender / other / none / all ⚧  POTENTIAL ROMANTIC PARTNERS : male / female / agender / other / none / all

ABILITIES

☠  COMBAT SKILLS : excellent (listen, there’s a whole meta about how damn good Jorah is at fighting) / good / moderate / poor / none   ≡  LITERACY SKILLS :  excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍  ARTISTIC SKILLS : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂  TECHNICAL SKILLS :  excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

HABITS

☕  DRINKING ALCOHOL :  never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ☁  SMOKING : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ✿  OTHER NARCOTICS : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ✌  MEDICINAL DRUGS : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ☻  INDULGENT FOOD : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess $  SPLURGE SPENDING : never / sometimes (especially when he’s in a relationship, oops) / frequently / to excess ♣  GAMBLING : never / sometimes (WITH HIS HEART) / frequently / to excess

[intcrwoven-blog]

[intcrwoven-blog]

“No,” Jorah affirmed. “Especially here, landlocked. Food is scarce even for the people of the North. Your children need access to the sea, at the very least, where fish is plenty.” And where the air was warm and invigorating rather than cold and prone to sapping one’s energy. Though he could not deny that his Queen looked pure in her furs of white. Soft. Or perhaps that was just the way the fire’s light played upon her face. 

When she tells him that she had once wanted to be a sailor, his eyebrows raise in surprise. A pleased smile presses to his lips. The idea of his Queen being a sailor was quite a pleasant one. Her chuckle invokes a rumbly one of his own. “No, somehow I cannot imagine that Viserys would have been particularly fond of the hard work that sailing requires.” Nor the salty air. Nor being confined to a ship for days out on the sea. The difference between brother and sister had always been striking. 

“I’ve spent many of my years sailing,” he told her. “One cannot live on an island without learning the trade. Especially when most of one’s exports stems from fishing. It can be quite fun, too, when sailing for pleasure’s sake. If not a tad dangerous.” Just like any form of traffic on the water, one was always at the water’s mercy. If it wished to kill you, it would. 

He’s silenced for a moment when she admits that she didn’t desire a crown. Again, a stark contrast to her brother. His face tightens when he hears the note of longing in her voice. There was something his Queen needed. He’d move rock and tree to give it to her. Briefly, he glances down at her hand as she takes his within hers. The touch alone is enough to cause a thrill straight to his heart. 

Her words, however, cause his heart to surge within his chest, pushing nearly past its limits with honor and love. To be considered worth more than a crown? A birthright? Had it come from anyone’s lips but her own, he would have believed that a declaration of love. 

Moved all the same, he lowered his head to their joined hands and pressed a tender kiss in the space between her knuckles. His lips lingered long before he lifted his chin once more. “Khaleesi, you know I’ll follow you anywhere. Perhaps your destiny has already been met. Your presence here helped save the world. For this was a threat that would have eventually taken the entire world--not just Westeros. Even if took thousands of years to do so, those are generations that you have saved by coming here and putting an end to the Night King and his Army of the Dead.”

If she didn’t desire a crown, then Jorah would not be the one to push her to fight for it all the same. Tyrion might. Varys might. No one wanted Cersei on the throne. Yet that was a trouble that the others could fix. “You may not be a Queen of Westeros, but you shall always be a Khaleesi,” he told her softly. “You’ve proven there, too, that the Doth Khaleen are more than just widows doomed to live the rest of their lives segregated and alone. They are leaders the same as their husbands. Your path, Khaleesi, is yours to choose. Destiny has freed you.”

His thumb gently traced over her knuckles in thought. If they abandoned their plan to retake the Iron Throne, then their future was theirs for the choosing. Yi Ti was quite a real possibility. “If it’s counsel you seek from me, then I advise you to return to Dragonstone for a time. Regroup with our remaining forces there and let our men rest. We have no need of remaining any longer on the hospitality of the Starks. I think, too, that you will be happier closer to the sea rather than surrounded by those who do not know or appreciate you.” 

Jorah tilted his head with a wistful look, “and perhaps I might show you how to sail during that time.” And once everyone was rested and healed? Himself included. “Then you follow the path that your heart wishes to take. Those who love you will not abandon you no matter where it leads, I promise you.”

@lastxdragon

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@intcrwoven

╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

“Perhaps,” Daenerys replies softly. The young Lady of Mormont hadn’t cared that she’d brought armies and dragons to help save the North, only that there was a man to kneel before. She’d wanted to free the women and children of Westeros from the curse of being the property of a man, but it seemed like Meereen, some slaves could not think of a life without their chains. These Northerners didn’t want to kneel to a Southron Queen, wanted their independence, but they were quick to kneel to one of their own. “But it does not good to speak of paths not taken.”

Her surviving army here was tired and wounded, needing to rejoin the 50,000 left on the island to heal, but these Dothraki were changed men. They’d seen the army of the dead and had realized that their Khaleesi was the Stallion Who Mounted the World - she’d brought them to the end of the world to fight the greatest battle. “That is kind of you to say, but as beautiful as it is, like my dragons, I am not meant to be in the North.” How long has she known that serious, blue gaze? It feels like all her life, but only now, after facing the Night King does Daenerys feel a curl of heat in her stomach when she looks at Jorah.

“I can swim. There was a time I wanted to be a sailor. Viserys… did not care for that,” she chuckled with a wry grin. Freeing slaves. She should have done more of that, should have secured Yunkai again and Astapor before leaving for Westeros. But if she had, would the Night King have been vanquished? Yi Ti. Sorcery. That did not worry her now as much as it might have at one time. She has three grown dragons now. “I never cared for a crown. I thought I had a destiny here, a legacy to uphold, but I find I have questions now. Doubts. I’m tired of war. I wanted…” Dany reached over and rested her hand on his. “I almost lost you. No throne, no crown, is worth that.”

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Continued from here: 

Dragonstone was a new stronghold to Jorah. He’d never been this far East. Bear Island was on the complete other side of the country. Most of his time as a Lord, and before, had been spent on the Western coasts of Westeros. Though the salt-laced air was familiar. It almost felt like home. Though Jorah had learned long ago that his home was no longer a place but a person. 

If his exile had taught him anything, it was that Jorah actually enjoyed exploring new places. He had a mind for lore and history. Perhaps it had been sparked in his youth when he had spent hours in his mother’s library at Mormont Hall. Those volumes which now belonged to Daenerys--given to her as a wedding gift--had been poured over when he was a young boy. 

Exile had forced him to learn in-person. New cities, new societies. Though he did his best to learn their tongue as he went, much of his focus had always been on the art and history of those locations. At Dragonstone, there was even more to learn. The carvings woven into the stone were particularly interesting. Upon his arrival, he had spent a good hour just examining the carvings within the council room. They were incredible .

It was a great comfort to him, too, that life continued on as normal. Once he had proven himself to his Queen, he was taken right back into her service. Though he felt the absence of Ser Barristan quite keenly, he stood proud and protective at her side all the same. Even if their visitors to Dragonstone were far and few. 

His Queen must have noticed his rather over-protective stance for she teased him in a way that brought out a rare smile to the Bear’s lips. His heart warms when she informs him that he had been missed. “Not nearly to the scale in which I have missed you, Khaleesi, I assure you,” he rasped. The seat of the Hand is unoccupied with Tyrion elsewhere, and he eyes it for a moment. 

But instead Jorah walks down the few steps to her throne and takes up a chair at the side of the room. Returning, he places it beside her, though in front of the throne, and rests himself. The new armor she has donned him with glistens brightly beneath the sun shining in from the balcony behind her. It is unmarred from battle as of yet. 

“One does not know what life is like without the sun until it stops shining on you,” he continued, an almost bashful look on his features. “How is Meereen?” he asked after a moment. “When I left to find a cure, it was still a place rife with conflict. Did the Masters give up their ambitions?”

@xdraecarys

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daenerys and jorah | first and last → requested by @thank-god-and-you​

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because this is what we deserve. 

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Jorah Mormont in The Long Night

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𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 / 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵.

reblog this post     to be added to the masterlist, in the tags please include your character’s name     /     whether or not your character is canon,   original,   or has a verse     /     &   if you’re okay with us reblogging your promos.     if your blog goes inactive for two months it will be removed from the list, but upon your return you can reblog the post again   &   you will be readded.                                              𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

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lastxdragon‌:

PRIVATE ROLEPLAY: DO NOT REBLOG IF YOU ARE NOT MY PARTNER.

@intcrwoven​

╣❦╠ ƈօռզʊɛʀɨռɢ ֆȶօʀʍ ❧

She can’t help but bask silently, modestly, in his praise and reassurances. Things she’d taken for granted and now knew she never would again. Daenerys knows this isn’t blind love he has for her, Jorah has told her opposing opinions in the past, he’s never been afraid to speak up and honestly in private, something she always valued and respected. Her smile widened happily at his grousing. Her bear was always fierce about his abilities and while Daenerys was assured that he was very strong - she’d witnessed firsthand just how strong - he was still a man and needed to finish healing.

Dany couldn’t take the Maester from Winterfell, so the journey would be without one. She could take him on Drogon, but again, that risked opening wounds better healed on the ship voyage from White Harbor to Dragonstone. “You’ll be ready when the Maester says you are ready,” Dany told him firmly as she stood, waiting for him to rise though her gaze shifted to where Lord Snow was now watching. She nodded and Jon returned it. But getting out of the feast hall was the biggest relief, to hear the voices fade. She barely minds to cold now, focused on keeping her step slower for him. Even her small hand rested lightly in the crook of his elbow.

“Good. It might take Tyrion longer to find me here,” Daenerys chuckled as she stepped into the warm, cosy room. Once he tended the fire, he joined her in the next chair while she poured both glasses with wine. “Do you? I don’t mind Dragonstone - it’s warm enough. I miss being on the island. I’d forgotten how much I love being on the water until we came here,” she mused, pausing to take a sip of wine. The fire was beginning to throw off heat and the silence was so comforting. “But I do miss Essos. Not Meereen. Do you remember? Once you spoke of going to Yi Ti. It’s said they have magic there as well. Have you been? I wonder what is it like.”

Blue eyes glance towards her at her firm words, and he can’t help the small smile that plays at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a pity most of my cousins have perished, Your Grace. Your tongue and theirs is quite similar. You’d have gotten on quite well.” Even the littlest one, Lyanna, would likely quite enjoy the Queen if she’d give the woman a chance to tell her tales. Mormont women respected strength and values. The Khaleesi had both in droves.

“Aye,” he affirmed, at last, “when the Maester says.” Now, if he could just figure out what the Maester wanted for a bribe . . . “I wouldn’t put it past you, Khaleesi, to be able to command my very wounds to close up and heal. There’s power in your voice.” Or perhaps it was just the hold she had over him. The warmth in his heart that was all too eager to stand at attention and please her commands. 

Accepting the glass of wine, he nursed it against his lips for a moment, eyes turning from the silver Queen to the fire. It entrances. Wine is rolled along his tongue, the flavor appreciated before he swallows it slowly. “Mm,” a small, nostalgic, smile presses to his lips when she speaks of the sound of water. “You would have done well on Bear Island, Your Grace. You can hear the sound of the Bay everywhere there. I will admit that being on Dragonstone felt almost like home. Same smell. Rocky. Bear Island is a bit chillier, however. The Bay of Ice is appropriately named.” 

Jorah’s gaze finds her again--as it oft does. It’s a treasure to know her like this. To hear her speak of the delight she finds in water. How could anyone find fault with a woman who enjoys such simple pleasures? “You have yet to properly enjoy the water, Khaleesi,” he reminded her. “Too busy freeing slaves and staving of Masters and their wicked plots. You should go sailing some time. Fishing, even. Or perhaps just swimming. Have you learned how?”

At the mention of Yi Ti, Jorah’s expression faded from mirth to curiosity. “Aye, I remember well.” A desperate plea when he believed she might end her life prematurely in her despair over her dead husband. “A place of extreme wealth . . . and extreme danger. Where mysticism and sorcery are as common as Septons and Maesters here.” Though that was all he knew of the place. That it was ruled by an god-emperor but in reality each city had its own prince that ruled. 

His gaze on the Queen pushes from curiosity to consideration. “It awaits us still, Khaleesi. We could be strangers in a strange land. Able to choose our destiny rather than have people tell us what we are supposed to be.” The knight is uncertain where his Queen’s mind rests. Tilting his head, he asks, quietly, “what is a crown, anyway, when those whom you would rule over don’t welcome or appreciate all that you have given?”

@lastxdragon​