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a-killer-obsession · 17 days

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Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 3 - Shopping Date

Killer learns something surprising, and you get some much needed shopping done.

WC: ~8k

Heat made quick work of the tour, it wasn't like there was that much to see on a ship, even one as large as the Victoria Punk, and he really did have shit to do. Everyone had tasks they were assigned to, everyone pulled their weight on the ship, even if it seemed like it was the cabin boys and henchman doing most of the work. Well, I mean, it kinda was, it's not like you’d ever catch the commanders swabbing the deck, but they had important jobs none-the-less. With a resupply island so close, Heat's work was piling up and he would be no doubt busy for the rest of the day.

During the tour he also explained to you the dynamics of the crew. It was split into three main categories: the top dogs, the henchmen, and the cabin boys.

The job of the cabin boys was clear - they cleaned, they ran errands, and they trained - hoping to one day be considered strong enough to join the henchmen or top dogs. They were all young, ranging from fourteen to nineteen years old. Most were orphans, kids they'd picked up after raids who had a little fight in them and showed promise, most taken against their will (since the Kid pirates were usually the reason why they were orphans) but it worked out. Kid and Killer knew well how hard it is to be an orphan, Heat explained, so they took these boys to save them from starvation and hardship. Even if they fought it now, one day they’d come to see it as a blessing. A few more fiery cabin boys were volunteers, boys who were already street urchins looking for an out, or just boys with straight up anger issues whose parents couldn't handle them. All of the cabin boys slept in one long room on hammocks, each with a small wooden trunk provided to them where they kept their few possessions. They didn't get a share of the loot, so they couldn't afford to buy new things at will, and had to put in a request if they needed anything. Right now there were eight cabin boys on the Victoria Punk, but the room could accommodate ten. Cabin boys didn’t usually join fights, but every now and then one would inevitably be lost during fights at sea, when there was nowhere to run.

The henchmen were next up on the food chain, making the bulk of the crew. They cooked on a rotation, and helped with the harder cleaning jobs like swabbing the deck - which had to be done every single day to keep the wood impregnated with sea water, which kept it from rotting - as well as taking care of supply runs, training the cabin boys, and being expected to have the top dog's backs during fights. They also took care of the ship's maintenance and repairs, as well as hoisting sails and dealing with the anchor and helm, being that most were men who had experience as sailors, often being ex-marines or leftovers from defeated pirate crews. Kid sometimes used his fruit to reel in the anchor, but only if they were in a rush. Henchmen had an unfortunately high turnover rate, as they were usually the first to die in battle, and those that did last were usually promoted to the top dogs. Currently there were sixteen henchmen, split between three rooms that could hold six men a piece, a few beds currently being empty after the fight at the marine base. Their numbers would no doubt be replenished at the next few islands, Kid liked to have a full force of henchmen to keep up his crew’s strength.

Next were the Top Dogs. These included the commanders - Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, and two others that you hadn't formally met yet - Mohawk and Double. One had been on nightwatch, and thus asleep when you were freed from the mast, and the other on the current watch, which is why neither had been at lunch. You had seen them around the deck though, and picked up their names when they were addressed by henchmen. Heat told you they hadn't known Kid and Killer as long as Wire and himself had, but were still close, trusted advisors and fierce warriors.

Mohawk was a small man compared to the other commanders, who, as the name would suggest, sported a large, vibrantly orange mohawk, the rest of his head being decorated with zigzags neatly shaved into short, unnaturally yellow hair. Despite his height, being only barely taller than you, and a thin build, he was still one hundred percent muscle, with speed and a short blade known as a falcata being his weapons of choice. He seemed to have a short temper, and usually wore a setup of head to toe leather decorated with metal spikes, even in hot weather.

Double was his near opposite, being just as tall and broad as Kid, but he lacked visible muscle, instead it was hidden under a thick layer of fat - hence the less than kind nickname that he had come to embrace. He was a sniper, very rarely ever caught in the heat of battle. He usually stayed far from the field, or up in the crow's nest, covering the other commanders’ backs with a sharp eye and a deadly precision that could rival Yasopp of the Red Haired pirates. He had a vibrant head of green hair, almost neon, which he kept tied in a tight man bun. Like Kid, he always had a set of goggles on him, presumably to protect his vision so as not to be caught weakened by the environment during battle, though he preferred to let them hang around his neck most of the time. Like the majority of the Kid pirates his closet seemed to consist of mostly blacks, as well as some dark forest greens, and his outfit was usually made up of some sort of cropped shirt and baggy pants, tucked into tall heeled boots. Despite the nickname, it was clear he felt no shame about his size, and was just as strong as the other commanders when it came down to it.

The rest of the top dogs were made up of promoted henchmen who had proven themselves to be strong fighters and had made their way up the ranks through hard work. They were known as the officers, and were in charge of the day-to-day running of the ship, keeping the henchmen and cabin boys in line so the commanders could focus on the more important shit. When battles happened they were usually on the front line, right behind the commanders, and were all dangerous men with a heavy bloodlust.

Currently, including the four commanders and you - who was classified as a commander, as per your demands - there were eleven top dogs. Kid and Killer had their own rooms, as you had seen on the tour, with their own private bathrooms you were told. The other four commanders were split between two shared rooms with a shared bathroom between the four of them. The remaining four, sans you, shared one room, and shared a communal bathroom with the henchmen and cabin boys. Then there was yourself, who currently resided in what was formerly a storage room where Heat had ended the tour, and would be sharing a bathroom with the other commanders. It still meant sharing a bathroom with four men, but it was better than sharing with the henchmen.

Everyone on the ship pulled their weight, even if it didn't seem like it outside of battle. Obviously the henchmen and cabin boys were always hard at work, but the top dogs also held their own. The officers took care of the day-to-day work, but the commanders also had important jobs to do. The first job, shared among all of the top dogs, was the watch. There was always a man in the crow's nest, regardless of the weather, whether it be out at sea or docked. The watch was rotated three times a day, in eight hour shifts, swapping at six in the morning, two o'clock, and ten o'clock. The importance of the watch couldn't be understated, being the first line of defense against rival crews, marines and seakings, so it was only entrusted to the top dogs. As annoying as it was, they didn’t trust the henchmen to not fall asleep on the job.

Each of the commanders had specific roles on the ship as well. Heat was the commander in charge of most consumable supplies. It was his job to make sure the infirmary was well stocked, the shipwright team had everything they needed, even the toilet paper was under his domain. If a cabin boy needed something, it was him they pleaded their case to. Which was probably in their best interest - Heat was a bit of a softy and hardly ever denied a request. His job consisted mostly of running between the various teams of henchmen and officers to make lists, and making sure someone was assigned to procure all of the necessary items.

He worked closely with Wire, who was in charge of the money. He made sure everything was budgeted for and let the captain know when a raid was needed to keep up with costs. Heat and Wire spent a lot of time negotiating supplies, if a request was denied it was usually because of Wire. He also took care of the ship's records, keeping track of all supplies, loot, and money that moved on and off the ship. He was often found in the navigation room where he kept a desk and several filing cabinets full of well organized records. You’d barely seen him over the last week, but you realised after Heat’s explanation that it was probably because the crew had taken in a great deal of loot from the marine base, so he’d likely been taking all his time taking inventory of it.

Killer was in charge of food. Heat told you, much to your surprise, that Killer actually really enjoyed cooking, and often cooked for the commanders, it was somewhat of a hobby for him. Since he spent more time in the kitchen than any other commander, and had far more knowledge about cooking, he was more than happy to work out the food roster with the officer in charge of the kitchen, since he could work in his own preferences. Food was planned months in advance, since there was never a promise of when the next resupply would be. Even if the map claimed to have a town on an upcoming island, they could never be sure that it hadn't been raided or destroyed before their arrival, so it was important to be prepared, lest they starve at sea. Water was taken care of by a filtration system, stolen from the marines, and one of the other officers was in charge of its upkeep as part of his managing the maintenance of the ship.

Mohawk, despite his short temper, was actually the ship's doctor. He didn't actually have a medical degree, but he had been saved from a life as a street urchin in his youth by a kind doctor, and trained under him. He would have gone to medical school, but he unfortunately suffered from dyslexia and was unable to pass the entry exam because of it. He wanted so badly to be a doctor though, and without a medical degree even the marines also wouldn't accept him. So when the opportunity to join an upstart pirate crew as the ship doctor arose, he quickly accepted, as a means to fulfill his dreams. As the ship's doctor he was in charge of the infirmary as well, and made sure it was well stocked, being that the Kid pirates were always running face first into fights.

Double was the navigator, and thus could usually be found pouring over maps in the navigation room. When he wasn't there, he was at the helm, preferring to steer the ship himself lest some idiot henchman put them off course. He'd spent most of his teen years sailing on his own on a small boat in the South Blue, so even though helmsman was his preferred job, navigation skills had been a must have. It was for these skills that Kid had let him live when he'd found himself on the gang-ridden island where the other commanders resided, the last piece of the puzzle the Kid pirates had needed to go out to sea.

Lastly, there was Kid, who at first glance seemed like he did shit all, but it was his job to make sure everyone else was doing their jobs. He worked closely with all of the top dogs, keeping everyone on the same page and making the big decisions about where they were headed. He was also in charge of weapons, and could usually be found tinkering with new ideas for them in his workshop. His workshop was completely off limits to everyone except Killer, unless specifically invited in. And of course, it was his dream to become King of the Pirates that kept the whole crew moving forward, giving them all a common goal.

As soon as the tour was over, you had laid down for a nap, your sore body begging for the chance to lay flat after a week strapped to the mast. The crew hadn't expected to be converting a storage room for you when they landed at the marine base, so the room right now only consisted of an extra bed, hastily stolen from the marines before they left the island, and a small wooden box to act as a side table. It was more than enough for you though, after spending years in cells that had little more than a thin, dirty, sorry excuse for a mattress on the floor, if you were lucky, and a bucket or hole in the floor to piss in. Hell, this room even had a small porthole, what a luxury. A pillow and blanket had also been thrown on the bed, clearly stolen as well given the small repeating pattern of marine logos on them, but it was better than nothing.

You kicked off your shoes and flopped onto the bed, quickly getting comfortable on your back - not by choice but because of your mask limiting your ability to lay on your side or front. It’d been a long time since you had to sleep in it, you’d have to get used to it again. You wondered if Killer had the same issues. Without the mask, the overwhelming sounds around you would be too much to fall asleep. You made a mental note to find a piece of seastone to hold so you could sleep without it. Regardless, you had the best sleep she'd had in years. Heat tried to wake you for dinner, but you really did sleep like the dead, and unlike Killer he wasn't about to kick to rouse you, so he let you be.

You woke up the next morning in what was probably the best mood you had ever been in. For the first time since eating your devil fruit, you had woken up feeling truly free. You could leave whenever you wanted, but it was your choice to stay, and today, for the first time in your life, you would be allowed to choose your own clothes - the thought made you giggle to yourself with excitement. Your clothes had always either been picked out by your mother or the marines, with the exception of the jacket Atlas had given you. Your mind was racing with the possibilities and you thought about every fashionable woman you'd ever seen, though the last time you were able to walk the streets of any town was many years ago, fashion had no doubt changed since then. You would have Heat with your though, and he seemed like a fashionable guy, right? With his cool corset thingy and his tattoos. Yeah, Heat could help, definitely.

You slid out of bed and stretched, cringing as your knees audibly popped, years of cold cells and a week on the mast hadn't been kind to your joints. You straightened your mask and pulled down your borrowed shirt. The sky was green through the porthole, sunrise. Ah, your marine-built body clock was back in action apparently. You weren't at all surprised you'd slept through dinner, your body no doubt needed the reset. With your heart fluttering with excitement you left the room, making your way first to the commander's bathroom to pee and straighten your hair as best you could without a brush, then out to the deck. To be fair, you'd been using the ol’ finger comb for years, so it's not like your hair was ever that tidy to begin with.

You made your way to the front of the ship, where a large dinosaur skull was mounted. You'd seen several of the commanders sitting on it over the last week, but never anyone of a lower rank. You were, however, also technically a commander now, so you decided to climb on top to sit cross legged on the top of the skull, spotting the tiny dot on the horizon straight ahead that you assumed must be the island they were coming up on. You tuned your visor to see under the water, scanning quickly for seakings and thankfully finding none, though a large manta ray was dancing not far off the ship, and you watched its graceful movements under the water for a short while before setting your mask back to the default settings.

You turned your attention to the ship itself, stretching and exercising your devil fruit to scan it. You'd been bound in seastone for many years, you needed to practice as much as you could now that you knew you would have regular food to keep up your energy, so you could get back into your best fighting shape. Your job on this ship was as a human weapon, and you took that role seriously. You'd pull your weight, just like everyone else did, and prove you belonged here. You would protect this ship, and its crew. And kill lots of marines, of course. You made a mental note to ask someone to spar with you so you could get back in shape soon, though after the fight at the marine base you knew you were at least less rusty than you thought.

You closed your eyes, building a picture in your mind of the ship and its inhabitants, like a three dimensional schematic, sensing the different levels of vibrations from the molecules of all the things that made the Victoria Punk. It was something you found easier to do in your mind, rather than simply with your eyes and the right visor setting. It was easier to focus on the details like this, instead of just one singular view. You could see the cabin boys in their hammocks, a few were already quietly waking and sliding out of them. You could see the henchmen, all deep asleep save for one. Judging by the vibrations, you guessed a few were snoring. One was definitely jacking off in the bathroom, you watched out of curiosity for a moment but he didn't last much longer. ‘Boo, waste of a show’ you thought. The commanders and officers were all asleep as well, except for Wire, who seemed to be reading in bed.

You moved your mental image along to the front end of the ship, where Kid and Killer's rooms were, as well as the navigation room. Most of the other rooms were held towards the back of the ship, like the galley and officer's rooms, or under deck, which is where the henchmen and cabin boys slept, as well as most of the storage. Kid was sleeping soundly in his bed, notably without his metal arm, which appeared to be propped up against the bedside table. Killer's bed was empty, ‘how curious’.

Come to think of it, the officers and commanders were all in their beds, which meant Killer must be on watch. You scanned the crows nest - ‘ah, there he is’. The telltale change in vibrations that indicated his mask made it easy to identify him. He was definitely watching you, so you turned your head, looking over your shoulder up at him. You stared at each other for a moment, before he cracked at the strangely intimate staredown and looked away. He couldn't see your eyes, and you couldn't see his, but there was a weird mutual understanding in the glance. Respect, maybe? You couldn't name the feeling, and neither could he. Whatever it was, being caught staring at you made his heart beat funny, and he was deeply uncomfortable.

You let out a heavy exhale, releasing the visualization to come back to reality. You would need to practice more, definitely. It was a skill that would no doubt be useful to sharpen, but it was taking far more energy right now than it should. For now, you returned your attention to the horizon, focusing on the way the island, still just a speck on the horizon, slowly got bigger as you approached.

You stayed on the figurehead til the morning watch came to free Killer, and he found himself approaching you before he realized what his feet were doing. He leaned against the railing beside the skull and looked out to the sea where you were looking. It'd been about an hour since you woke up. He was an early riser regardless of the night watch, but he was surprised to see you up so early. A lot of the ex-marine crewmates woke early, but it'd been a long time since you were in service, he thought you would've grown out of the routine by now. Maybe it wasn't too surprising though, given you'd apparently slept for near fifteen hours. It was about fucking time you woke up, Killer didn't like people skipping meals so he wasn't at all impressed when you slept through dinner. Especially considering how emaciated you were, you needed every meal you could get if you were gonna get back in a good condition.

“Morin’ Killy,” you said, leaning back on your palms and turning your head to smile at him. His steps were near silent, but you'd felt the change in the air as he approached.

“Don't call me that,” he replied in his usual flat baritone.

“Grump,” you mumbled.

“You're up early,” he said, it was basically a question.

“I usually wake this early,” you replied, “I like sunrise. It's pretty, don't you think?”

The sun was just over the horizon now, almost directly in front of the ship, the sky now a dull orange that turned to a pale blue, the clouds painted ochre with heavy shadows. It reflected beautifully on the slightly choppy seas of the autumn island you were approaching, the air brisk and making the skin on your bare legs prickle with goosebumps. You didn't shiver though, your jacket keeping your upper half warm and the occasional use of your powers keeping your legs from freezing off.

Killer looked out at the sunrise. It was beautiful, to be frank, but he wasn't one to admit to thinking something was pretty. He just replied with a gruff grunt, before turning to leave for the galley.

“I'm gonna get started with breakfast,” he explained, then paused before speaking on a whim, “did you want to come help me?”

Your agreement with Kid was that you wouldn't be subjected to chores, but if Killer was cooking that meant he was doing it by choice, and only for the commanders. So really it wasn't a chore, it was helping with a hobby. You felt warmed to be invited to join him, and you quickly made up your mind to accept, hoping it would help you make friends here.

“Yeah okay,” you replied cheerfully, shimmying off the skull, “I don't know how to cook though”

“Really? You've never cooked? Or just shit at it?” He asked curiously as you walked towards the galley - not really together, it was more him walking at his own quick pace, and you almost jogging behind to keep up.

“You already know my past, when would I have ever learned?” you replied, a touch annoyed.

“Ah, right,” he said, feeling a little guilty, “sorry. I can teach you, if you'd like”

“Yeah, I think that'd be nice,” you replied. In truth, it was best you learned, in case you ever decided to leave the Kid pirates. It was also a good excuse to spend time with Killer. It seemed like he respected you, and was expected to show a certain level of civility considering your commander status, but that didn't mean he trusted you, or that you trusted him. But trust was important on a crew, you needed to know he'd have your back, and he needed to know you'd have his, so spending time together would help build that trust.

You followed him quietly into the galley, through to a back room past the serving counters that held the kitchen. A few henchmen and the officer in charge of the kitchen were already working on breakfast in the industrial setup, but there was a corner that was untouched. It seemed more homely, the equipment there all on a smaller, less commercial scale, more like what you'd find in a regular, domestic kitchen. It seemed to be Killer's domain, as he made a beeline for it, pulling out pans and ingredients from a fridge.

He pulled out a cookbook from a cabinet and handed it to you before returning to his rummaging. “Find me the recipe for breakfast muffins, and then get out all the ingredients it lists”

He didn't notice the way you stared blankly at the book before opening it, carefully observing the pictures on each page. He was halfway through frying his first batch of bacon before he realised you hadn't moved. “Just find it in the contents page at the front and flick to that page,” he explained. He was trying very hard to be patient.

His patience wore thin when several minutes later you still hadn't pulled out any ingredients, and he turned to yell at you, a deep pre-scorn breath already taken, before noticing the sour expression on your face and putting two-and-two together with a stark realization, the breath he'd taken let out with a heavy exhale.

“You can't read,” he stated.

“Sorry…” you whispered. You felt utterly stupid, and put the book down on the counter in defeat, trying your best not to look at him. He thought hard about what you'd said earlier - when had you had the opportunity to learn to cook? Similarly, when had you had the opportunity to learn to read? He felt wracked with guilt now, it wasn't your fault nobody had taught you to read, and you were clearly embarrassed about it. One conversation and he'd already managed to accidentally hit a sore spot with you, he felt awful about it. He wondered how many other basic skills you'd never been taught.

“It's okay,” he said, softer than he expected it to come out. He put a hand to your waist and gently pulled you in front of the hob, handing your the tongs he'd been prodding the bacon with, “Here, why don't you come cook the bacon instead, just keep shifting it and flipping them every now and then so it doesn't stick, till it looks like the ones I already cooked”

You graciously accepted the change in task while he turned his attention to the book, quickly flicking to the page he needed and scanning the ingredients, before starting to retrieve them from the fridge and cabinets. You were quiet, far quieter than he expected, it made him uneasy.

“You shouldn't feel ashamed of it,” he said as he measured out several cups of flour into a sieve, “those marine pigs should have taught you. Selfish pricks. It's not too late to learn though. We can teach you”

“You don't have to do that,” you replied, a sadness in your voice that made your sound like a kicked puppy, “that sounds like a lot of extra work for all of you, I don't need to be able to read to kill”

He paused. It dawned on him that your whole life you'd been treated like nothing but an object - whether that be as a weapon, or a warm body to fuck. Had anyone ever treated you with any ounce of kindness since being separated from your mother? Those marine cunts really did a number on you, you were somehow even worse off than he'd initially thought. He knew your life had been fucked, but it seemed like every conversation with you revealed another awful part of your backstory, and he wondered how deep the hole went.

“You're more than just a weapon,” he said, collecting some of the bacon he'd cooked earlier to dice up for the muffins, “you're a human. You're allowed to have your own wants and needs. Do you want to learn to read?”

You paused your prodding and looked at him. He returned your glance, your mouth making a tight line as you visibly tried not to cry. “Yes…” you said quietly.

“Then I'll teach you,” he said, returning to the bacon, “it's not a big deal, you'll be more useful to us anyway if you can read”

There was a long, pregnant pause while you tried to avoid the whole topic of your lack of basic skills, and while Killer swam around in his guilt. Not to mention, he had no idea how the fuck to teach someone to read. Maybe he would ask Wire, he taught Killer and Kid to read after all.

“... I think this bacon is done,” you said anxiously, trying to change the subject. He slid a little closer to look at the pan, his arm brushing against yours in the process. You flinched a little at the unexpected contact.

“Yeah, it looks good,” he said, quickly moving away before the accidental touching could register properly in his brain. You were quiet again while you removed the bacon from the pan, holding each piece over the pan for a few moments the way you'd seen him do earlier, so the excess oil could drip off.

“Hey Killer?” you almost whispered, staring at the plate of bacon, not quite sure what to do with yourself now.

“Mm?”

“Could I maybe borrow some more clothes?” you asked nervously, “just till I have a chance to buy my own today. I was hoping to have a shower before I disembark”

“Yeah that's fine,” he replied, pouring the finished muffin batter in to a greased muffin tray, “I'll grab you something after breakfast”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, before excusing yourself to go sit at the commander's table, not really in the mood to talk or help cook anymore.

Your mood picked back up once Heat woke up and joined you at the commander's table, just as excited as you about your shopping trip. The rest of the commanders joined not long after, with Kid arriving just in time for Killer to finish cooking. It was almost like Killer knew exactly when to expect him and had timed his cooking accordingly.

Kid slammed down a dagger and thigh holster on the table in front of you as he sat down, digging straight into the freshly baked breakfast muffins, scrambled eggs and bacon Killer put in front of him.

“Oh, my knife!” you exclaimed, immediately working on attaching the purple leather holster to your thigh. You picked up the dagger and inspected it, it was cleaner and sharper than it had been in years, the delicate floral engravings on the handle now completely free of tarnish. “You cleaned it for me? It looks brand new!”

“It's a well made blade,” Kid said with a mouth full of food, “real fucking shame those marine cunts didn't keep it maintained”

“Well, thank you,” you said with a genuine smile, “I appreciate it, truly”

“Consider it a welcome gift,” he said, brushing it off. He turned to Heat, who had not long finished his breakfast. “Make sure you get her a second weapon today, you know how I don't like not having back-ups. And make sure you gets some warm shit, there's some winter islands coming up, lanky bitch will freeze to death without a proper coat”

“Oi, what's wrong with my jacket?” you pouted, “I'll have you know this is Vegapunk tech, it's more insulating than anything you own. I could do with some pants though, I don't know how much longer I can survive in Killer's shirts and skivvies”

Kid spit out his food in surprise, looking with amused astonishment between you and Killer, “You're wearing Killer's underwear? That's fucking hilarious”

“You thought I was just freeballing it under here?” you laughed.

“A man can dream,” he grinned, “but Killer's undies is definitely ruining the fantasy”

“Damn, what a shame,” you smirked, “well, there goes my chances to be queen of the pirates. Killer, you need a duchess? I mean I'm assuming you'll make him a duke, right? I better invest early”

“I have a position open for you,” Heat toyed.

You and Kid only had to glance at each other before you both erupted in a fit of laughter and in perfect unison yelled “I'M SURE YOU WANT PLENTY OF POSITIONS”

Heat slammed his head on the table with a long groan while you and the captain almost died of laughter, Kid very nearly choking on a muffin. “I walked into that one,” Heat mumbled into the table. Double and Mohawk didn't quite understand the inside joke, but were losing their minds nonetheless. Wire had a shit eating grin on his face at Heat's expense and Killer's shoulders were shimmying in silent laughter.

“Fuck you're a laugh,” Kid laughed, finally catching his breath and smacking you on the shoulder playfully, that was definitely going to bruise, “spend whatever you want today, the log pose will reset tomorrow morning so make sure you get everything you need. I'll hand Heat the money before we dock”

Killer started to stand, as entertaining as this was, he needed to get some sleep before they docked, “I'll leave clothes for you in your room” he told you as he started to leave.

“Thanks Killy!” you shouted after him.

“Don't call me that,” he grumbled as he left.

The ship came into port not long after breakfast, well ahead of schedule thanks to the strong winds around the autumn island. The ship was moored at a small secluded bay, about a fifteen minute walk from the main town, where a small dock had been built on a pleasant stretch of sandy beach. It was far too cold for swimming, but the weather was set to be fine for a bonfire, and there were plenty of trees near the beach to build one. Usually they would have no problem with dropping anchor at the main dock of a small island like this, but given the plans for partying later, they wanted a more private spot.

Heat could barely keep up with you, excitedly skipping along the small worn down path that led to the town ahead of the rest of the group, which was made up of mostly those who had supplies to buy, including most of the commanders. Double wasn't keen on the fifteen minute walk each way, so he'd volunteered to stay with the ship. As soon as the town came into view you were grabbing Heat's hand and dragging him along, anxious to get started.

The first shop you went to was for furniture. Kid expected his commanders to be kept to a certain level of comfort above the other crewmates, to give the henchmen and cabin boys something to work towards, so a small stolen bed and a wooden crate wasn't going to do. They'd come to this store first so henchmen could collect the furniture once they'd rented a cart, so they could bring it all back to the ship and set it up while you were still out.

It was tricky, you'd never even considered buying furniture before and had no idea what you even liked. There weren't any options at these stores along the lines of ‘gross, moldy, incredibly thin mattress with questionable stains’. Thankfully the room was small, all you needed to choose was a bed and mattress, a bedding set, a side table, a chest of drawers, and perhaps some curtains and a few decorations. The decorations for the most part could wait though, they'd probably come more naturally as things caught your eye during the day.

The easiest thing to start with was the mattress. you took your time laying on each of the display options, ultimately picking the hardest one you could find. After years of sleeping on a thin foam pad you simply couldn't get comfortable on a soft bed, though even the hardest option was far softer than what you were used to and softer even than the worn down, stolen mattress you'd slept on last night.

Next came the furniture. If you picked a set it would save you making three individual choices for the bed, side table and dresser. The island was well known for its wood production, so the store featured many finely crafted sets of different wood types to choose from. A purpleheart set caught your eye, with floral carvings embellishing the drawer fronts and headboard. It was probably garish by normal standards and made for a little girl, but you'd never really had a chance at a childhood so who could fault you for wanting it. Heat seemed to approve of the set, saying it suited you, and you picked out a set of yellow floral bedding with a soft, downy comforter to match it.

The only thing left now were the decorations. You wandered around the entire store, followed closely by a sales associate who was noting down everything you were ordering, almost salivating at the commission fee he was going to get from this massive order. You had no idea you’d picked out some of the most expensive items, given you couldn't read, but the Kid pirates had money to spare looting the base they found you on, so Heat hadn't stopped you. With his help and suggestions you picked out a decently sized round mirror with a purple heart frame to match the other furniture, a small brass lamp that was shaped like a droopy flower, some plain cream coloured curtains on a brass rod, and a small, round, lilac rug with a faint floral pattern in slightly darker purple.

Happy with your choices, the sales associate totaled up the amount and Heat handed over a thick stack of money, the sales associate thanking him profusely and quickly setting off to yell at some other employees about getting the order ready for collection. A successful first stop all in all.

Next, Heat took you to a home goods store. You mostly just wandered around, picking up little trinkets here and there to decorate your room, but Heat made sure you picked out several spare sets of sheets, towels, hand cloths and a practical looking duffel bag for occasions when the commanders stayed at inns. He also made sure you got a laundry basket and a lockable box for valuables, in case a sticky fingered cabin boy happened to be cleaning your room.

The next store you went to was for weapons. Being trained by the marines for so long meant you were proficient with many weapons, but you preferred knives and swords since you could use your devil fruit to heat or cool the blade. The old man who worked at the store helped you pick out a katana with a beautiful wavy hamon and a handle wrapped in dark purple cord. You were disappointed that they didn't have anything in the way of fun coloured holsters, so you selected a basic tan coloured belt, which as an added bonus helped cinch Killer's baggy shirt you were wearing, and after Heat haggled for a good price you slipped the new sword in to your belt. You doubted it'd get much use but Kid was right, it was good to have a backup, and a dagger was easy to lose in the chaos of battle. You hoped to eventually find a cross body holster in a colour to match your thigh holster, but that could wait for now.

Before leaving the store a thought occurred to you, and you asked the old man if they sold any seastone. He hummed to himself in thought before disappearing into a back storage room, reappearing shortly after with a small, worn down cardboard box and placing it on the counter. Inside was a variety of seastone pieces, all raw, ranging in size and shape.

“I was going to make weapons from these, but my arthritis got the better of me,” he explained, “take whatever you want, they're not of much use to me now anyway”

You rummaged through the box and selected a small piece of seastone, chucking it in the pocket of your jacket, before thanking the man and leaving. It was small enough to hold in a closed palm, with edges that had been smoothed by time, perfect for your needs. Heat didn't know what you wanted with a piece of seastone, he didn't know a single devil fruit user who wanted seastone, but he handed the man a tip anyway to thank him for his kindness before following after you.

Heat had wisely planned to get all the most important shopping out of the way before you started on clothes, which would no doubt take the entire afternoon, so he dragged you away from a small boutique to go to a basic grocery store. There he made sure you picked out all your basics, like hygiene products. You spent a fair while standing in front of the shampoos and body washes, sniffing each of them before deciding on a matching set of mango and coconut milk scented washes, and a fluffy purple loofah puff. You also spent a fair while standing in front of the hair removal products, wondering whether that was something you should do. This whole time your legs had been out and fully forested - not that your thin, pale, lavender hairs were much of an eyesore. You'd never considered it a choice before, you’d often been forced to wax by perverted commanders but it'd never been your choice. Ultimately you grabbed a bright pink razor, deciding that maybe you enjoyed smooth, shaved skin, as well as grabbing a pack of pads. You only ever needed one or two each cycle given the way you used your devil fruit, and it'd probably be months before it was back, but it didn't hurt to have them on hand.

After begging and pleading, Heat also allowed you to also buy a serious amount of candy and chocolates. You were going to get fucked up on sugar and artifical colours tonight and nobody was going to stop you. You also picked up a hairbrush and a significant amount of hair ties and bobby pins. You had a specific way you liked to do your hair, back before your imprisonment, but you were always losing your accessories.

By now several hours had passed, and both of you were exhausted from shopping, with the hardest part still to come, so you set out to find lunch. You'd both just grabbed several takeaway containers of food from a street vendor and were looking for somewhere to sit when a snotty looking blonde girl bumped into Heat, very purposely making him drop his food.

“Oops, sorry freak!” she laughed, her boyfriend and the other couple they were with snickering behind her, “it's fine though right? I don't see any brains in the mess, so you probably weren't going to eat it anyway right?” she looked at you with a snarky smirk, “or maybe it was for your skinny little whore?”

You were about to rip her head clean off her body when Heat grabbed your arm to calm you. “It's not worth it,” he whispered, his eyes somehow looking even sadder than usual, “we've still got plenty, let's go sit and eat before my feet fall off.”

He completely ignored the group's continued slew of snide remarks as you walked away, dragging you, almost feral, behind him to a quiet bench that looked out over the water. He basically had to force you to sit, still entirely intent on going back and beating the shit out of her.

“What are we doing? We should just kill that bitch,” you growled. He opened the food container in your hand and shoved a fork in it.

“Eat,” he said plainly.

“Heaaaaaat let me go kill her! It'll be so quick I promise!” He couldn't help but think it was cute that you were begging to kill someone the same way you'd begged for candy only half an hour ago. It was sweet, in a fucked up, Kid Pirates kind of way.

“If you kill her it'll make a scene and then it'll be a whole thing and we won't get to shop anymore,” he explained, grabbing one of the unspoilt containers you'd been carrying, “it's fine, I'll just kill her tomorrow if I see her around”

“Fineee,” you pouted, shoving a forkful of fried noodles in your mouth, “but take me with you, I wanna see her bald after I fry her hair follicles. What the fuck did she mean about brains?”

“She was implying I look like a zombie,” he explained, eating his own food, entirety unbothered. You paused and took a long, hard look at him.

“I don't get it,” you said blankly, “I thought zombies were supposed to be like… all gory and ugly and shit. You're too cute to be a zombie”

“That's sweet of you to say, but I get the zombie comment a lot,” he smiled. He was more than used to it by now, but he liked the way he looked and that was all that mattered, the rude comments didn't really bother him anymore.

“Well, they're blind idiots then,” you said plainly, “and I'll fry ALL of their hair follicles”

“Can you actually do that?” he asked curiously, pointing a fork at you, “why did you buy a razor then?”

“Cos it hurts like a bitch, duh,” you laughed, “I did it once to my cooter cos I got sick of sticking my leg in the air to wax it and I swear I still feel it sometimes”

Heat laughed and tried not to think too hard about your apparently bare pussy. ‘Killer's skivvies, Killer's skivvies, Killer's skivvies’ he repeated to himself to keep his dick calm. Unfortunately he immediately remembered your comments from dinner yesterday about picking out panties, and had to basically stab himself in his leg with the fork he was holding.

“You good Heatie Baby?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yup,” he wheezed, “perfectly fine, eat your food so we can get moving”

Clothes shopping with a woman who had no idea what she liked ended up being a whole situation, who would have thought. The sales clerks clocked you the second you walked in, and you immediately fell victim to them, ending up with several expensive perfumes, a couple of lipsticks that “made your visor pop”, and a handful of nail polishes in your basket before you'd even reached the clothing section.

Picking out clothes was chaotic, and you had no idea what size you were so you had to pick out several of every item and try on everything before making choices. At Heat's suggestion though, you bought everything in a size too big, knowing that hopefully soon, with proper nutrition, you'd be able to put some weight back on. At some point a sales associate noticed Heat's massive handful of options he was carrying for you, as well as his many other shopping bags, and immediately offered to help (which was definitely absolutely nothing to do with getting a commission bonus, definitely). She ended up being extremely helpful in the end though, procuring a cart and helping you select fashionable items that suited you and worked well with your prized jacket, in your selected size so you didn't have to try on several of each item. She even helped you select several sets of shoes to match, as well as some other smaller accessories like hair barrettes and ribbons, and a few necklaces and bracelets. After spotting your marine tattoo you even helped you find a nicer belt for your weapon, in a purple leather that matched your thigh holster. Still not crossbody like you'd like, but better than the previous tan one. ‘Funny how much sway a tattoo she was forced to get has’ Heat thought to himself.

Heat was especially thankful for the woman's help when they reached the underwear section. She showed Heat the ‘boyfriend seat’ before whisking you away to find your bra size and help you pick out a good amount of sets, as well as several sports bras and some more practical panties. The last thing you needed were some pajamas, and you opted for some dainty negligees and a couple of sets of warmer pajamas for cold nights.

By the time you were done it was late afternoon, and you left the store with a truly ridiculous amount of shopping bags - most of them carried by Heat of course, ever the gentleman that he was. All round though it had been a good day, and Heat had enjoyed spending it with you, even if it meant he was too tired to go chasing whores now. He'd have to wait till the next island to get his dick wet.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 1 year

Note

Prompt: “You’ve never been too much for me.”

Song: Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls

For Tolya x Reader please!!

Saints Or High Water - Tolya x Reader

Yes. Happy to oblige.

Content Warnings: Canon Compliant Threat and Fear Related To Targeted Violence and Execution, Not Beta or Proof Read, Suggestions Of A Difficult Family Life and Upbringing, Anxiety, Self Doubt, Negative Self View And The Terrifying Fear Of Being Known Loved And Seen.

Does it count as hurt/comfort if you're just being mean to yourself until the very kind shapely man tells you you're worth something?

Just another drabble I guess.

There is good and bad in everything, the universe finds a way to create balance. The Small Science is no exception to that rule. Being Grisha is an extraordinary thing, there's deep beauty in the power The Saints give. But that doesn't mean being Grisha is always easy, and those in the parts less forgiving to Grisha, less understanding, less inclined to see gifts as blessings but as signs of witchcraft or sin, this was ever clear. But even the quieter ways, within oneself being Grisha isn't always easy. A talent is a talent for as long as you nurture it, as you learn it, keep it close and well maintained, but these kinds of talents aren't always easy to tether. They try to teach Grisha young for a reason.

You're sitting on the edge of the deck, and it's one of those days, where being so many miles from shore feels like a blessing, because distancing yourself from land makes everything feel less real. On the Volkvolny the ability to practice The Small Science is admired, under the operation of Sturmhond, on this ship with a crew he had collected, it was usually far more easy to forget the harshness that waits on land. But not today.

Today the waves are not big enough to swallow all the feelings that are raging just underneath the surface, keeping you a safe distance from anyone else on the ship. The wind rushing over the sails, and the all the crashing of water against The Wolf could not drown out the thoughts echoing so loudly within your mind, determined to be heard, demanding to be seen. Thoughts that are taking up more space than you ever would dare to take up at all.

A Heartrender like any Corporalki worth their salt as a Grisha would be able to sense the mood from this distance, and almost all would know when sadness runs this deep and this quiet, that nothing would really help, and likely that help would not be welcomed. At sea, it is generally accepted to let people be with their feelings, the ocean more forgiving than the land. More accepting too.

But Tolya Yul Bataar was not just any Heartrender, and you had long come to know that about him. Not only was the strong giant as poetic as he was stoic, which was a lot, but he was also persistent, in that quiet, gentle way that you had come to know. Never had you known a man who's honour was more evident than his strength and yet stood quite as tall and strong as Tolya.

His approach is slow, gentle, arms crossed as he leans into the post, as if he had no other reason to be there. He probably doesn't, but you don't linger on that thought.

"Come to share some poetry have you Tolya?" You ask against the wind. Maybe he won't hear you, and he will leave you to this quiet sadness once more.

"That wasn't my intention but I am happy to oblige," he smiles and for a moment you forget why you wanted to be alone. Tolya has this way with you, of making you forget even if just for small moments just how cruel the world can be.

You glance as he unfolds his arms, to reach for a small book in his pocket, and you have long forsaken asking him how he managed to keep his skin exposed in such cold conditions as you watch some of the salt spray hit his upper arm and he leans away from the waves to shield the book.

"O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering sea,

And the woman riding high above with bright hair fluttering free,

The woman whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me."

You let him read to you a while, as you watch the way the water turns white as it hits the sides of the ship, wondering if the water wants to be different, something else to what it is and that is why it endlessly tries to throw itself against whatever it passes, desiring to be changed by the impact.

"Those are new," you comment after a while and Tolya smiles and it reaches into those golden eyes and you try not to look too closely. Tolya is something else, and you wonder if you would've stayed here on this ship, with this crew for as long as you have had it not been for him. Never had you known anyone like Tolya, and you doubt you would again, and it was with such certainty of that you held onto his presence and his companionship as deeply as you could, while trying to spare him the overwhelming closeness of knowing you.

"As much as I enjoy you indulging me, I sense that maybe it's less about my passion today and more about what you wish not to say," he says.

For all the time, and all the practice, and all the attempts to keep him far enough away that your mistakes could never end up being his burden, he still sees straight through you like you were glass.

"Today I am the ocean, unreadable and entirely too much," you admit.

You feel the warmth of his presence before you notice him moving closer, his shoulder now pressed to yours as he leans forward on the edge of the gunwale.

“You’ve never been too much for me.”

"And I intend to keep it that way," you say without thinking. Tolya is honest, honest and true in a way that makes you want to be so back. Tolya stands so tall and yet does not cast a conceited shadow, his shade is nothing but comforting. A Grisha, a Heartrender, who would rather use the weapons he practiced and learned to fight with than his blessings. Probably because of his faith, but Saints you'd never stopped to ask.

"You cannot be do much for me," he says quietly. You expect a joke to follow, a comment such as 'you've met Tamar,' but in the absence of his twin, Sturmhond or any other member of crew to joke to, his sentiment is more important than the shielding of it.

You remain silent and that tells him exactly what he thought you might say: you do not know me enough to say that.

"I understand why you do this," he says quietly, "after years of being called a monster, it is easy to believe yourself to be one, and it takes much more to undo such damage than it does to create it. But you are not what those for fear you speak you to be."

His kindness always brings a warmth that no fire could ever come close to bringing. You drag your eyes from the waves and he is watching you, gentle and consistent.

/And I don't want the world to see me/

"I do not always feel that I was gifted, not when I was told I was cursed," you admit. "But it is not me that I am quiet for. I am more concerned about those who must be around me. Those who could be hurt by my monster."

"You are no monster," he says, reaching forward and placing his hand over your own. You expect his hand on yours to feel more rough, more calloused, but all you can feel is the softness of his expression and the tenderness of his words, with the grounding weight of all he means to you. /'Cause I don't think that they'd understand/

"And I know I cannot make this storm pass, but I will wait with you, until it does, we can stand here, and we can say nothing," he says. "And we will wait until it passes, and I will stay here, right beside you."

/When everything's made to be broken/

You lean into him and he wraps an arm around your shoulder and holds you close and for a short moment it all goes quiet.

/I just want you to know who I am/

"What if it doesn't pass?"

"It will, but if it doesn't, I will stay right here."

#tolya yul bataar #tolya x reader #tolya #shadow and bone #six of crows #tamar kir bataar #tolya and tamar #nikolai lantsov #no beta we die like matthias

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nyamadermont · 3 months

Text

Peak of Denial

#FFF241 Hour of Denial

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Avatar: Legend of Korra

730 words

Tenzin spiraled up the primary tower of the temple, bending the air under his feet like stairs. Eventually, he reached his spot, a tiny platform he had built at the peak of the roof. He sighed, billowed his robes, and settled into a lotus position.

From here, he could look out over the ocean from a spot where he could not be bothered by anyone. Only he had the skills safely to mount so high.

This was his place of last resort, the place where he would allow himself one solitary hour.

One hour to continue pretending. To deny to himself the reality of what had just happened.

The day Momo had died, he had been so distraught that he found himself up here by accident. It had taken an hour for his father to find him and return him to the ground.

The day he had found Bumi’s goodbye note, he had thrown himself out through the window of the dormitory and used his hands to pull himself up the side of the tower. He could still feel the tears on his father’s cheeks from where they had cried for what felt like an hour.

The day Kya had hugged him before running away, tears in her eyes, to leap onto her boat and sail away, he had spent an hour gathering wood and tools. He had climbed the steps inside and used a rope to secure himself while he prepared the little platform.

The day Lin had looked at him blankly when he mentioned children, he had pulled his glider out and floated to the roof on the mounting breezes. The cold rain of autumn drove him inside after only an hour.

The day his mother had told him his father would not recover, he fled from her, weeping silently until he returned to his spot. The hour he spent screaming at the sky ruined his voice for days.

The day his father gave him a blessing and conveyed the future of the Air Nation into his hands, he shed his clothes as he ran up the stairs until he leapt out, barely catching the parapet with his fingertips, flinging himself onto his perch. After an hour, he gave up on meditation, and gave himself over to exhaustion.

The day Su had hurt Lin and Toph had betrayed her, Lin had shut him out of her rage and grief. He had returned to the Island on Oogi’s back and pulled alongside his platform, sending Oogi to return alone. He settled in, outwardly calm and serene. For an hour, he told the winds of his own anger and hurt.

The day Pema had looked at him, and said, matter of factly, that she would be marrying him one day, he had marched quite deliberately up the staircase. Once settled, he brought his left fist (Lin) against his right (Pema), and spent an hour trying to decide where his loyalties lay.

The day Lin had accused him of cheating on her, he had retreated in confusion and no small measure of fear at her lack of control. The dust that whirled around her provided him steps that carried him out of her reach and into the hour’s peace above.

“I think if you consider what I’ve said, you’ll find you agree with me. She isn’t right for you. I am.”

Pema’s words struck him like one of Lin’s boulders.

Lin, with whom he had learned to walk and talk. Who had been his constant companion for their first ten years. With whom he had played, and studied, and trained, and sparred. Who had held him through those long nights after his father’s death. Who had stood by him when Kya had come to collect their mother. The mother who had set her face to the sea and left him.

He had whirled away from the woman who confused him. Who drew him. With whom he felt more settled and calm than he had felt since he was a child.

Who had done more to help him teach the acolytes’ children in her year on the Island than Lin had in a lifetime.

With a slow, purging breath, he let the hour go.

He could no longer deny it to himself.

He knew what he had to do.

He stood, took a step, and opened the third chapter of his life.

#flash fiction friday #FFF241 #Hour of Denial #atlok #legend of korra #tenzin #pema #lin beifong #nyama's short fics

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asa-do-your-thing · 4 months

Text

The Maiden's Voyage I

Yara Greyjoy x F!OC

18+ Minors DNI WC: 7.7k Warnings: dubious power balances, slight dubcon, lesbian sex, smut, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, religion

Meddling in mortal's affairs was never her thing.

Of course, once in a while she took pity on some star-struck lovers or a kind girl cursed with an ugly face, but that had been the furthest she'd ever gone in a long time. Sailing to Westeros from the uncharted west on a rich, gold laden ship?

It seemed ridiculous. It had been half a catastrophe the last time she'd done it, when the so-called 'Aegon the Conqueror' grabbed all Kingdoms with the help of his sister wives. After he'd spurned her, she put a great curse on his seed and watched with glee at how these petty kings and queens tore at eachother's throats.

The salty ocean air delicately tousled her hair as she sailed towards the shores, guided by the gentle breeze. She sank into a soft chaise and nibbled on some grapes. The people of this continent worshiped her under various names - 'The Seven' for the high- and lowborn, 'The Maiden' for those who couldn't fully understand the concept of one god with multiple aspects, and 'The Drowned God' for the Iron Men. For the northerners, she was one of their Old Gods.

A smile played on her lips as she observed a seagull flying over her ship with curiosity. It was amusing how most people struggled to accept a deity that was all-encompassing and omnipresent, choosing to manifest itself as a young woman.

Countless times, her offspring had inquired why she chose to venture into the Mortal realm in a tangible form. They pleaded for her to remain by their divine side. But to their chagrin, she simply stated that she was...bored. Exhausted from the endless cycle of bountiful and barren harvests, weary of reprimanding and rewarding her devout followers, and utterly unamused by the gossip of the haughty elite. She craved a bit of excitement, some exhilarating mischief to spice up her eternal existence.

After all, even a goddess needs a change of pace now and then.

As she sat in her chaise, gazing upon the endless horizon of the dark blue sea, she contemplated her next disguise. The delicate decision of her appearance in the Mortal realm was significant to her, as it would determine her perceived age, beauty, and influence over those she interacted with. To seem vulnerable, naive even, by choosing a youthful form was a tactic that never failed.

A delicate hand ran through her silken tresses as she mulled over the appropriate guise for this journey. A girl barely out of adolescence? Maybe someone with fair skin, slightly freckled, and a cascade of russet hair... or perhaps a dusky maiden with raven locks?

Each had its charm and advantages. Through her divine wisdom, she understood that appearing young would not only deceptively imply innocence but also instigate an unconscious protective instinct in the mortals' hearts, encouraging them to spill their secrets and lower their guards around her.

She knew this from past experiences: the more innocent and unassuming the form, the better to beguile, manipulate and control. The age-old adage 'never judge a book by its cover' seemed to elude these mortals persistently. It brought a wicked grin to her lips; they were such simple creatures.

Her lively eyes twinkled with a glint of devilish mischief as she decided on the form that she'd assume this time. It would be a peculiar mix, something a bit daring; petite in stature yet blessed with a voluptuous figure that could evoke both admiration and envy among mortal women. Alluring curves combined harmoniously with her small frame to concoct an irresistible charm. Her skin would be pale, almost moonlit, speckled with an explosion of tiny freckles, a stark contrast that would make one's heart flutter.

Her hair, the shade of chestnut, would cascade down her back in long, untamed waves evoking the beauty of wild nature itself. It would flow around her like a silken tapestry catching each flicker of sunlight and transforming it into a myriad of dancing glowworms. As for the eyes, they had to be something unusual. Not the typical blues or browns—those were too common amongst mortals. She decided on grey—the color of wisdom mixed with mystery. They would bewitch any onlooker with their hypnotic gaze: warm, yet chilling; inviting, yet daunting—a mirage of conflicting emotions that was as captivating as it was unnerving.

She tilted her head back and laughed; a rich, sultry sound that seemed to blend effortlessly with the rhythmic lullaby of the crashing waves. Her lips, plump and imbued with an intense shade of red, added the final touch to her mortal guise. These lips held power—they could whisper incantations that swayed kings, utter words that could ignite passion in mortal hearts or even unleash a tempestuous fury over the seven kingdoms.

Then came her name - a title to be reckoned with.

She'd been known by countless names in different ages and realms; some revered her while others feared her based on nomenclature alone. For one who held so many identities over time, finding an alias that would blend seamlessly into this land's culture was crucial. She wanted something grandiose yet enigmatic - the last few times she'd been Airis, a lonely sheperdess, Helyssa, a courtesan from Lys and Jorrit, the mighty huntress from beyond the wall. These were all mighty fine names and personas she'd built herself, yet she wanted something a bit more... powerful for this trip.

There'd be a lot more noble Ladies and Lord to seduce and manipulate this time around.

After extensive contemplation, she decided on Mariette—a name as simple as it was elegant. It had a touch of the exotic, with an air of familiarity that would allow her to blend into the society seamlessly. And she would not just be any Mariette; she'd assume the title of a princess. The notion of royalty gave her a sense of unchecked privilege and power that she so craved for in this mortal realm. It was the perfect embodiment of her wicked intentions.

As she studied herself in the reflection of the still sea water, Princess Mariette shivered in delight. The dainty figure stared back with a radiant smile, her grey eyes sparkling with an intense gleam that captivated any observer. Her form, while enchanting, held the promise of intrigue and danger—precisely what she desired.

She pondered over a suitable surname next. 'Stark', 'Targaryen', 'Lannister'—these were names that held weight in Westeros, but their legacy was too strong and could invite unwanted scrutiny. Thus, she needed a last name that was unique yet inconspicuous, something that suggested nobility without being directly linked to any existing lineage.

For hours, she toyed with various names, whispering each one softly to gauge how it sounded alongside 'Mariette.' She finally settled on 'Eldryss'—a name as mysterious as it was regal. It was an old name from an ancient tongue lost to time—a language only known by creatures like her.

And so, Princess Mariette Eldryss was born.

Her journey into this new world promised rich rewards for the subjects that bent to her will, that worshipped her and helped her, and great, unimaginable pain and ruin for those that dared to want to hurt her or to scorn her.

As she came closer to the land, a shiver ran through her and she could feel the sea within her. Grinning wickedly, she willed the wind to pick up and the waves to rumble under her ship - it seemed like her first stop would be the Iron Islands. Oh, how giddy she felt! The sight of panicked fishermen and pirates quickly trying to go back to their ports, She felt two souls leaving some poor wretches and sat back down into her chaise. "What is dead may never die," she mumbled with a grin.

With the growing thrill of anticipation, Princess Mariette Eldryss observed the turmoil her arrival had caused. Men and women like ants, scurrying in every direction, fleeing the tempest she had beckoned. From this distance, she could smell their fear, taste their panic—it was intoxicating.

She let out a soft laugh, her grey eyes dancing with merriment as they chased the scampering boats back to their safe harbours. For those sailors who dared to stay and brave her storm, she offered them an eerie serenity amidst the chaos. At some level, her wicked heart admired their foolish bravery.

In the heart of it all, her ship continued to sail undeterred, cutting through the waves like a mighty sea beast. The sailors on board were used to such conditions during their many adventures across the seas. She'd chosen each of them—a motley crew of trusted pirates and cutthroats—for their loyalty and gutsiness. Each had pledged their life to serve her faithfully, and in exchange, she promised them treasures that would surpass their wildest dreams. Rich dead men, cursed to never enjoy their riches - oh wickedly fun it had been when they started to notice their predicament.

The rugged elegance of Pyke soon loomed in front of them. Its weather-beaten towers and wind-ravaged walls held an austere beauty that only one born of the rocks and water could appreciate. Despite her ethereal origins, Princess Mariette found herself oddly drawn to this harsh landscape.

As they neared the cliffs, she stood tall at the bow of her ship, bracing herself against the salty spray that lashed against her face. Her seaweed braids clung tightly to her head while her simple yet rugged dress danced wildly in the wind—making her appear as a phantom sea goddess emerging from the briny deep.

The first to meet her gaze on the land, to which she'd swam through the mighty storm was an old, grizzled sailor, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. He fell to his knees, whispering prayers of protection to the Drowned God. She glanced at him for a moment before shifting her attention to the group of rugged men who had gathered to watch her arrival.

Their expressions ranged from suspicious to openly hostile. She took in their hardened faces, their weather-beaten leathers, their grim expressions and she knew—these were men who thrived on power, violence and respect; they wouldn’t easily fall under her enchantment. But she also knew that she had more than enough charm and guile to bend them to her will.

With each step she took down the gangway, there was a hushed silence, broken only by the crashing waves against the rocky shore. When she finally set foot on solid ground, she lifted her chin and swept her gaze over the crowd. "I am Princess Mariette Eldryss from a land far in the west," she declared, her voice ringing out loud and clear over the noise of the storm. "I wish to speak to your Lord."

It was then that the Iron Men parted before her, their steel-faced gazes never leaving her as they revealed not a Lord but a woman of formidable presence. With the same stormy grey eyes that pierced through the torrential rain, Yara Greyjoy approached Mariette. The wind whipped at her sodden coat, revealing a well-worn chest plate and an impressive cutlass hanging loosely at her side.

"When your Lord isn't present, you send his daughter," she retorted dryly, her gaze challenging. "I am Yara Greyjoy... and in my father's stead, I am your audience."

Mariette’s eyes sparkled with intrigue as she studied Yara. This woman was both fierce and intriguing - a rare combination that Mariette knew all too well. Nevertheless, she maintained her stoicism.

"I see," she replied after a tense pause, her voice carrying authority despite the raging storm around them. "Well then, Lady Greyjoy… I come bearing an offer. An offer that I believe would be of interest to your people."

Just then, as if conjured by some unseen hand, another figure emerged from the throng of ironborn. Draped in robes soaked through by sea spray and rain, with a cascade of hair as dark as the turbulent sea around them, stood Aeron Greyjoy.

The Drowned Priest's eyes flickered with latent power as he too approached the Princess. Despite his craggy features, there was an almost youthful intensity in his gaze as he extended a gnarled hand towards Mariette - a silent invitation for her to continue with her proposition. She must've intruiged him somehow.

However, Yara interjected before Mariette could speak. "We need no offers, princess. Your presence on our island is intrusion enough." Yara's words sliced through the rain-soaked air, her defiance echoing out to the volatile sea.

"Perhaps," Mariette responded calmly, her voice steady in the thunderous storm, "But I believe it is an offer you might want to consider before sending me away."

Ignoring Yara's hardened glare, she turned towards the Drowned Priest, extending a slender hand, encrusted with simple iron-engulfed emerald and sapphire rings. "Aeron Greyjoy... I've heard of you. The priest who still listens to the whispers of the drowned god. You are very devout." Her voice echoed mysteriously, barely concealing a hint of invitation.

Aeron's gaze locked onto hers, his sea-green eyes glinting with an unreadable emotion. He took her hand in his rough one in a gesture that spoke more of curiosity than acceptance. A sudden wind howled around them as if cheering for this unexpected alliance.

In that moment, Princess Mariette did something unexpected. She closed her eyes and stood stone-still amidst the rage of the storm while holding onto Aeron's hand. Following suit after an initial hesitation, Aeron closed his eyes too.

The crowd watched in utter fascination as their Drowned Priest and this foreign princess stood there, clasped hands raised slightly above their heads as if waiting for a divine sign. The rain poured harder, the waves grew wilder and yet they stood unmoving. And then something remarkable happened.

A vision appeared before Aeron Greyjoy's eyes - he saw the face of his drowned god - and saw the Princess looking back at him, naked, floating underneath the sea, barncles scattered over her pale body. He saw her hair flowing like sea-weed, eyes wide and grey, devoid of life, and a knowing smile that sent a shiver down his spine. His drowned god had never shown him such a sight before. He saw her gesturing towards him, inviting him into the depths with her, promising treasures untamed and secrets unspoken. A jolt of energy surged through him, causing Aeron's eyes to snap open. He found himself staring into Mariette's grey eyes which mirrored the vision he'd just had. In that moment, he knew that she was not ordinary.

She was of the sea, a creature as unpredictable and wild as the waves themselves.

Faling onto his knees, he hugged Mariette's legs and moved his lips in silent prayer. A rasp of uncertain murmurs rippled through the crowd as the nervously watched their most devout priest seemingly pray to this weird young Princess which had come to them in one of the harshest storms they's ever encountered. Mariette saw that Yara was still uncertain about her, but that was to be expected, for she had little belief in anything except for herself.

Mariette turned her gaze towards Yara and met the untrusting fiery eyes of the Greyjoy woman, her voice cutting sharply through the roaring wind. "It is not your trust that I need, but your acceptance." It was not a plea, but a statement forged with ironclad certainty.

A sudden clap of thunder echoed throughout Iron Island, as if the drowned god himself were responding to Mariette's bold declaration. The crowd gasped in awe, but Mariette remained unaffected. She stood tall, her gaze steady on Yara, awaiting her reaction.

Yara looked at Aeron who had just risen from his prayerful stupor. He gave a single nod, his eyes still filled with the reverent terror of his vision. She understood then what must be done.

"Fine," Yara spat out grudgingly after a moment, "you come with me then." She yanked herself free from her uncle's grip and motioned for Mariette to follow. The crowd parted silently as the two women made their way through it.

As they neared the edge of the island, a monstrous wave crashed against the stony cliff beneath them. The saltwater spray hit everyone with a chilling force and drenched them thoroughly.

Everyone except Mariette.

She stood there amidst the drenched onlookers, untouched by the wrath of the sea. Her simple, rough gown still fluttered in the undying gale and her auburn hair flowed gracefully with the seaweed in it, looking drier than the deserts in Dorne.

The crowd watched in disbelief as Mariette simply turned towards them and smiled mysteriously before following Yara towards Pyke Castle.

The castle itself was a wonder, carved entirely from the great rocks that were native to Iron Islands. Its tall towers stood like ancient sentinels against the backdrop of the storm-tossed sea, and the wind howled mournfully through its narrow corridors and arched windows. With each step, Yara seemed to sink deeper into the dread of what she had agreed to.

Yet, Mariette walked with an air of unshakeable calm, her eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as they made their way through the labyrinthine passageways. Who would she seduce here? Lord Balon or feisty Yara? Would any of them even come to appreciate what she would give them this night?

They passed through grand halls adorned with tapestries depicting battles long past, where the sound of drunken laughter and fistfights had once echoed. Now, all that was left were the echoes of silence and a lingering sense of foreboding.

Yara, feeling the weight of trepidation loom heavier with each step, suddenly halted near the entrance to a grand hall, its ancient stone walls adorned with faded murals depicting conquests of yore. Turning to Mariette with a look of defiance etched on her features, she declared in a low growl, "This is as far as I take you."

Yara wasted no time and lunged at Mariette with a fierce battle cry. Her movements were precise and swift, honed through years of brutal training under the most ruthless warriors on Iron Island. But Mariette was just as skilled, gracefully evading Yara's attack with fluid movements that seemed to defy gravity. In one fluid motion, she extended her arm and struck Yara with a powerful blow, sending her crashing to the ground with a resounding thud that shook the fortress walls. The crowd gasped in shock, but Mariette remained calm and focused, ready for whatever move her fallen opponent would make next.

She extended her hand towards Yara and offered a smirk as icy as winter winds. "Is this how you greet all your guests?" she taunted sweetly, savoring the stunned silence that her words elicited from the small crowd of warriors and thralls that had gathered to watch them.

Yara's eyes met hers defiantly. Yet, there was no rush to retaliate. No immediate cry for another battle. Instead, Yara pushed herself up from the cold stone floor slowly and stood facing Mariette once more with a small grin. The smirk didn't leave Mariette's face as she waited ever so patiently for Yara's next move.

"So I see that women are trained well in the West," Yara grumbled and patted Mariette on the shoulder. It dawned on her that this wasn't a true attack out of bad will, but rather a test, a test of strength. "Let me introduce you to my father, Lord Balon."

As they walked through the stony corridors of Pyke Castle, Yara's gaze lingered on Mariette. She couldn't deny the woman was an extraordinary creature. Her movements exuded a confident grace that was alluring, her eyes held a calm determination that was intimidating. Her whole demeanor was an enigma that piqued Yara's curiosity and begrudging respect.

The doors to Lord Balon's chambers were held together with rough iron bands, a testament to the harsh reality of life on the Iron Islands. Shielding her eyes against the dim light, Mariette followed Yara into the room. In the flickering torchlight, an old man sat hunched over an ancient map, his gnarled fingers tracing over worn lines and faded colors.

Lord Balon glanced up at their entrance, his sunken eyes reflecting surprise and suspicion as they landed on Mariette. "And what is this?" he demanded gruffly, his voice echoing through the drafty halls of the castle.

"This," Yara began, nodding towards Mariette with a smirk, "is our guest from the West, Father."

Lord Balon scrutinized Mariette then, his hawk-like eyes piercing through to her very soul before he let out a gruff laugh that echoed eerily around the room. "So," he sneered with contempt dripping from every syllable, "the West does exist and the only thing that proves it oif this girl that looks like she'd been washed up on our shores."

Ignoring Balon's jibe, Mariette took a step forward and curtsied slightly, her voice steady despite the tense silence in the room. "I am not here as a representative of anyone but myself," she declared boldly. "I have heard great tales of your bravery, Lord Greyjoy." Hm, seems like Yara would be the one to warm my bed tonight, she thought to herself while she studied Balon. He didn't have much longer to live, but oh how he mistrusted her, how he felt pain in his lifetime. "I require but a night on Pyke, then I will be gone again and I shall not bother you any more, my Lord."

Yara's eyes nervously flitted between her father and the Princess. Mariette had to refrain from grinning as she felt another surge of respect from the rugged woman - she was impressed that Mariette hadn't told him that she was a Princess, nor boasted with riches. "She fights well," Yara said stoically and looked out of the window, where the storm had calmed slightly, " Uncle Aeron approves of her as well. She worships the drowned God."

Lord Balon narrowed his eyes at his daughter, the skepticism in his gaze growing more profound. "A woman who worships the Drowned God and fights like a true Ironborn?" He chuckled bitterly, "I suppose she walks on water too."

His piercing gaze returned to Mariette, studying her face for any hint of deception. The corners of Mariette's mouth twitched upwards in a daring smile. "I cannot walk on water, Lord Greyjoy, but I have been known to hold my breath for an impressively long time," she quipped, holding his stare.

Balon’s laughter echoed around the room again, harsh and grating. He leaned back in his chair regarding Mariette with a newfound respect. She had weathered his scorn with grace and wit, a feat not many had accomplished in his presence.

Yara watched the exchange warily, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. Her father was unpredictable at best and lethal at worst. His amusement could turn to rage in a heartbeat.

"Very well," Balon finally announced after a moment of contemplation. His voice was still filled with suspicion, but his facial expression had changed slightly. “We’ll keep you for the night...but mind your manners.”

Mariette bowed her head graciously, thanking the Lord for his reluctant hospitality. Her gaze met Yara’s shortly, nodding her head towards her subtly as though acknowledging an unspoken challenge.

As they left Lord Balon's chambers together, Yara put her hand on Mariette's shoulder stopping her. "My father might be old, but he is not naive. Whatever game you play here..."

Mariette batted her eyelashes subtly and put her own hand on Yara's rough one. Oh, little warrior, she thought to herself as she felt Yara taking a quick breath, now I've trapped you. "I do not play games, or at least not yet. That I shall do once I am in King's Landing. And as I've mentioned before... If no harm comes to me on these next few hours until I can leave your Islands again, you will be rewarded richly - the West is a generous place but not a foolish one." With a small smile, she gently lifted Yara's hand off of her shoulders and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Yara stared at Mariette in silence for several moments, the low light from the hallway's torches glinting off her hardened exterior as if it were armor. The intensity in her eyes was broken only by a flutter of intrigue and, quite possibly, excitement that danced in their depths.

"So be it," she finally murmured, her grip on Mariette's hand tightening momentarily before she released it. Yara jerked her head towards the castle's main hall, indicating with silent command that they were to move along. Every step she took echoed with authority and purpose, a manifestation of the rough-and-tumble culture of the Iron Islands.

They walked through long corridors lined with ancient tapestries depicting battles and victories of the Ironborn. The worn stone underfoot felt cold against Mariette's skin, yet strangely comforting. It was a stark contrast to the grandeur and warmth of the West, but there was an undeniable charm in its harsh austerity.

After passing through several stone arches, they arrived at an opulent room draped in furs and adorned with relics from countless raids, a testament to the Greyjoy’s adventurous nature. Yara led Mariette to an enormous wooden table laden with roasted fish and goblets overflowing with ale - a spread worthy of a Greyjoy.

A burly man seated at the far end of the table rose as they approached and clapped Yara on the shoulder amicably. "Uncle Aeron," Yara greeted him with a nod. His deep-set eyes surveyed Mariette with great wonder before he offered a curt nod in return. "Our guest from the West."

Mariette dipped into a small curtsy before lowering herself onto a chair next to Yara.

The room was alive with the hum of conversations, yet when Mariette sat down, it felt as though a thick shroud of silence had been draped over them. The clatter of mugs against the table and the murmur of indistinct words seemed to fade into mere whispers. She noticed numerous curious eyes fixated on her, yet none dared speak to the foreigner among them.

After what felt like an eternity, she picked up a fork and began to daintily pick at the roasted fish before her. It was a humble meal at best but carried the touch of the Ironborn — bold and sincere in its simplicity. As she took a bite, she couldn't help but draw comparisons with the fine wine and gourmet feasts back in her realm, above the mortals. The richness of seafood flavour mingled with a smoky aftertaste — far from what she was used to, but oddly satisfying nonetheless, not that she needed any sustence, she was a godess after all - but it certainly helped her blend in better.

To fill in the looming silence, Mariette sipped from her goblet and looked out of the window. Outside, the storm began to roll in again, thunder echoing ominously against the walls of the castle. She resisted a chuckle at their startled expressions as a particularly loud clap of thunder made goblets rattle and some men jump at their seats. Ah, how fun it was to toy around with the weather, she thought glefully

Aeron shot Mariette a knowing look, an eyebrow slightly raised in question, but said nothing. His niece merely grunted into her cup while most around them muttered about rough weather and bad omens. Gradually though, conversations picked up again, albeit with more caution in their tones, cautiously navigating around superstitions related to storms.

"So, Yara, pray tell, is there a reason why such a fierce woman as yourself is without a husband or wife?", she asked curiosly, pulling some crab meat out of its shell. Willing to exude desire, she smirked as Yara blushed and hid her face in her cup again. Aww, the poor thing's blushing, how un-warriorlike of her, Mariette thought to herself with a grin and caught an eye of a young man, presumably one of the Saltcliffe boys and saw him nervously rearranging something in his pants.

She had forgotten just how potent her moods were on these mortals around her, especially adolescent ones - but tonight her treat was Yara, not some pimply boy.

Yara's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she downed her ale as if it were water. "That's a personal matter," she muttered into her goblet, glancing sideways at Mariette, her eyes momentarily revealing the hint of vulnerability she’d been trying to hide. Yet, there was a spark of curiosity in her gaze, and it was clear that her interest was piqued by the question.

"Personal matter or not," Mariette leaned closer to Yara, her voice barely above a whisper as she let the question hang in the air between them. "I am sure there'd be lots of people wishing for your strong hand."

The room filled with laughter and chatter again, but it was merely a background noise to their intimate conversation. Yara looked at Mariette for what seemed like an eternity before replying, "Perhaps there are, I wouldn't know. I'm not in the mood for marriage."

Mariette's smile widened at Yara's response. She raised her goblet for a toast. "To secrets yet unshared," she said mysteriously, leaning back in her chair. Her gaze, however, was focused on Yara, studying every reaction.

Before Yara could respond, another loud crash of thunder echoed around them. The room dimmed momentarily as if the storm was dictating the mood. Aeron grunted in irritation, his eyes narrowing in suspicion towards Mariette whose smirk only seemed to grow wider.

Yara hesitated for a moment before raising her own goblet in return. "To secrets," she agreed quietly and took another long drink from her cup.

The evening carried on in this manner; Mariette had great fun toying with Pyke's apparent heiress. So when the feast came to a close, she had been anything but surprised when Yara had offered to take her to a chamber for the night.

Yara's fingers brushed against her lightly, a gesture that was at once rough and soft. "This way," the warrior woman said, her voice gruff yet strangely tender. Mariette couldn't help but flash Yara a playful grin as she got up from her seat.

As they navigated through narrow passageways and up winding staircases, Yara remained silent. Her grip tightened around Mariette's hand every time a crack of thunder echoed through the castle walls, each tremor sent a jolt through her stoic facade.

Finally, they arrived at a chamber situated at one of the castle towers. The room was small but comfortable, filled with sturdy wooden furniture and lit by a single burning sconce. A large fur-covered bed sat in the middle, looking incredibly inviting after the evening's events.

"Make yourself comfortable," Yara said gruffly after closing the door behind them, her eyes pointedly avoiding Mariette's gaze. She moved to pour herself a drink from a decanter on a small table by the bed.

"I must say, you Greyjoys know how to entertain," Mariette remarked lightly as she watched Yara take generous swigs from her goblet. She could see the woman's shoulders relax slightly at her statement, perhaps relieved that their 'guest' was not entirely displeased with her stay thus far.

"Indeed?" Yara replied, raising an eyebrow at Mariette as she turned to face her fully. "And here I thought you were rather... bored earlier."

Mariette let out a soft chuckle before letting herself fall lasciviously onto the bed, her breasts straining against the dull fabric of the dress. "Oh no, I've been quite entertained," she purred.

"I see," Yara said, her voice unsteady but maintaining an air of nonchalance. She took another gulp from her goblet and then poured herself a second serving. "Well, then," she continued, "I suppose I can rest easier knowing our guests are happy."

"You are such a considerate hostess," Mariette responded in a teasing tone as she kicked off her boots and stretched out on the bed. It was clear to Yara that the strange Princess was indeed at ease in the Ironborn's quarters. Her eyes were closed, a slight smile lingering on her lips while she fiddled with the hem of her dress, pulling it up slightly.

The sight made Yara's heart speed up as if she'd been running up the steep stairs again. She took one last gulp of her drink to steady her nerves before setting down her empty goblet. Then, slowly, she approached the bed, her eyes never leaving Mariette.

"Don't go thinking you've seen all we have to offer just yet," Yara said, sounding more confident than she felt. The room filled with tension; it buzzed like the impending storm outside.

"Oh?" Mariette sat up slowly, letting her dress fall back down over her knees. Her gaze never left Yara's determined face. "And what else does House Greyjoy have to offer me?"

Yara simply smirked in response and walked over to her and roughly pushed her dress up, blushing as she felt the lack of smallclothes on the Princess' soft skin, before gently letting her hand wander up to Mariette's hot and moist core.

With a deep breath, Yara sank to her knees between Mariette's thighs and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her arousal. Her fingers traced the delicate lines of the Princess's pussy, parting her folds ever so slightly.

For a moment, she just admired the dark curls of hair that surrounded Mariette's sweet spot and the way her cunny glistened in the dim light of the chambers. She leaned in closer, pressing a tender kiss against her soft skin before teasingly licking her out from bottom to top and back again. Her hands slowly began to explore the rest of Mariette's body—the soft curves of her hips, ass cheeks and thighs that quivered beneath her touch.

Mariette groaned loudly at the sensation and spread her legs wider, giving Yara better access. Women always tended to do these things better, yet she was still surprised at Yara's eagerness to please, seeing as she was still full dressed between her thighs. Yara's tongue darted out to lap at her nectar again while a finger rested gently against her puckered asshole, sending waves of pleasure coursing through Mariette's veins. She felt herself getting wetter by the second underneath Yara's hungry attention. Her hips bucked up off the mattress unintentionally as she tried to get closer to that eager tongue.

The sound of heavy breathing filled the air as Yara continued to worship Mariette's body, eliciting sweet moans from the Godess-in-diguise.

In the dim light of the chamber, Yara's fingers danced over Mariette's body like shadows, tracing along every line and curve with a tenderness that only fueled her fire. She let out a low growl as she felt the Princess' hips buck against her touch, giving the Princess everything she could. Her tongue teased and toyed with Mariette's pearl, flicking it swiftly before plunging deep inside her warmth, tasting the nectar that flowed from her. The goddess moaned loudly, undulating her hips in time with Yara's movements, her fingers threading through the warrior woman's hair in ecstasy. It had been a long time since she's last felt this way - this raw hunger mixed with tenderness.

As Yara worked her magic on her clit with one hand, she expertle undressed herself, tossing her leather garb recklessly onto the floor. Mariette smiled as she panted lightly; Yara was indeed a rugged beauty underneath everything. She'd positioned herself between Mariette's legs again and resumed lapping at her folds, relishing in the salty-sweet taste that filled her mouth.

Mariette gasped as Yara pulled back slightly and came up, swiftly pulling Mariette's dress over her shoulders and giving her a rough kiss. Just as soon as she'd registered the warrior's tongue in her mouth, she'd already introduced her fingers into her mouth, grinning wickedly. "Show me how good you can suck, princess... Make them wet so I can fuck you senseless...," she muttered against her ear, sending shivers up Mariette's spine.

To that, Mariette could only open her mouth and blush up at Yara, who trembled as she watched her perfect mouth wrap itself around her rough fingers, her tongue gently coating them with saliva.

Yara grinned to herself as she licked along the seam of her pussy once more, pushing two fingers inside of her. Despite being able to take any man or woman as she pleased, Yara Greyjoy had never found someone whom she could bring so much pleasure - or someone who could entice such pleasure in such a short time. As Mariette thrust her hips forward in response to the intrusion, Yara took this as a sign to add another finger, stretching her wider than she'd ever been before.

The goddess cried out into the dimly lit room, grinding herself against Yara's hand as she set an unforgiving pace, filling the room with lewd slapping sounds as Mariette arched her back, grabbed at the furs and felt her body tensing up for release.

Yara bent her head down to continue worshipping Mariette's sex, taking the goddess deep into her mouth as her fingers thrust in and out, feeling Mariette's walls clamp down on them. She loved the way she tasted, so sweet and salty on her tongue, mixed with the tang of desire and need. Moans filled the air as Yara sucked on her clit, earning a sharp gasp from Mariette. Her tongue flicked over it rapidly, driving her wild with pleasure. She could feel Mariette's thighs shaking as she held onto her head for dear life.

As the goddess approached her release, Yara pulled back just enough to watch as her eyes rolled back into her head and her body tensed up, ready to cum any moment now. Smiling gently at her visitor, she set her lips onto Mariette's swollen bud a last time and groaned when she felt the Princess coming onto her hand. The taste was heavenly as she swallowed every drop greedily while also stroking Mariette's inner walls with her fingers, milking every last drop of pleasure from them.

This woman knew how to make love, Maritte thought with a contented sigh and gently pulled her up. "You did well, my Lady," she whispered seductively in Yara's ear, "now it is my turn to make you fell good."

Mariette pulled Yara onto her face and smiled gently as she heard her moaning as she felt the warm, wet lips envelop her sex. Her hips pressed down instinctively, seeking more contact as she felt Mariette's tongue dart out to taste her. She held on to the bed's headboard as the princess began to lap at her feminine essence, causing her to gasp and moan out loud. The sensation was overwhelmingly pleasurable and intense; it sent waves of ecstasy coursing through her body that left her trembling with anticipation.

She wasn't a godess for nothing, the least she could do was reward Yara's eagerness in her own, special way. She made sure that the woman came at least five times, before guiding her shivering form back down and holding her gently in her arms, calming her spasming muscles with sweet, gentle touches. "You did so well, I'm so proud of you...," she whispered and saw Yara blushing deeply. Gently taking off one of her rings - just a symbolic thing, nothing of great value, at least not to her - she placed it in Yara's sticky hand. "It's a specialty from... the West. Your pleasure will always feel heightened when wearing it during sex."

Yara looked down at the ring, her eyes wide with surprise. It was a beautiful piece, a band of what appeared to be finely wrought silver, set with an opal that seemed to change color in the dim light of the room. She slid it onto her finger and felt an immediate warmth spread up her arm, settling in her chest like a glowing ember.

"Thank you," she murmured, tracing the band with her fingers as she watched Mariette recline back on the bed with a satisfied smile.

The goddess's gaze was gentle but intense as she looked over Yara's form, still flushed from their earlier activities. Running a hand along the length of Yara's arm, she gently guided the woman's head onto her shoulder, pulling her close.

"I think we've had enough excitement for one day," Mariette whispered into Yara's hair. "Get some rest."

As if responding to Mariette's command, an unanticipated drowsiness washed over Yara, pulling at her eyelids and making them heavy. She nodded against Mariette's shoulder and surrendered herself to sleep.

Once certain that Yara was deeply under the spell of slumber, Mariette stretched languidly on the bed before sliding away from Yara without disturbing her sleep. She stood and surveyed their clothes strewn across the room, each garment a testament of their passionate tryst.

Gently running a hand over Yara's forehead smoothing away any lingering furrows, Mariette murmured a blessing. A soft glow hovered over Yara, casting a gentle aura that would guard her sleep and dreams. The goddess dipped her head, pressing a gentle kiss onto Yara's forehead, leaving behind a faint trace of her divine essence.

She then moved towards the far end of the room, where their discarded clothes lay in disordered piles. Mariette paused, her fingers hovering over the fabric. An idea sparked in her mind, a way to ensure Yara's safety during her dangerous sea voyages. She gathered up the garments and waved her hand over them. Intricate symbols started glowing on each piece of clothing, magical inscriptions to protect the wearer from harsh sea winds and damaging waves.

Smiling to herself at her creation, she folded it neatly and placed it on a chair next to their bed. She glanced at Yara’s sleeping form once more before bracing herself for teleportation.

Whispering an incantation under her breath, Mariette's body began to dissolve into particles of light that swirled together in a mesmerizing dance before vanishing into thin air. The room was left in serene silence except for Yara's steady breathing and the faint rustle of sheets against skin.

In an instant, Mariette found herself back on the deck of her ship, giggling with glee at the pleasure that still coursed though her skin, along with the ice-cold wind that whipped around her naked skin.

She delighted in the contrast of sensations: the remnants of Yara’s touch still warm and electrifying against her skin and the air biting with an icy freshness that nipped at her flesh. Moving away from the shelter of the captain's quarters, she allowed herself to be fully kissed by the wind. Every gust was a lover's caress, sending shivers of exhilaration down her spine.

In its own way, the sea was just as passionate a lover as Yara, wild and unpredictable. Mariette looked out into the endless expanse of undulating waves stretching out before her, glimmering in the pale moonlight. The sight took her breath away. It reminded her why she had chosen to make this vast realm her domain.

As she stood there, bare under the moon's gaze, a moment of silence passed over the ship. Even the usually boisterous crew seemed to sense their goddess's reverie and held their breaths. The only sound was the lapping of waves against the ship and the distant call of a lonely sea bird.

Then, something caught Mariette's eye - a flash of movement in the distance. Squinting her eyes against the intense night's darkness, she discerned a familiar figure perched on a rocky outcrop: Aeron, watching her faithfully.

A smile painted itself onto her lips like an artist's careful brushstroke. Lifting one hand to her lips, she pressed a kiss onto it before throwing it out towards him. Whether he saw it or not mattered little; he would feel it—her essence carried on wind and wave.

The ship sailed on through the night, guided by the gentle caresses of the wind and the moon's guiding light. Mariette stayed on deck, pacing back and forth across the wooden planks with restless energy. She felt strangely invigorated by Aeron's silent vigilance, knowing that he watched her every move.

With a flick of her wrist, she whipped up the winds once more, letting them play with her hair and cool her skin as she let herself fall onto a chaise lounge on deck. She had removed the seaweed from her hair and sighed contentedly as she watched the stars twinkle above.

It was moments like these that she cherished - being in control of nature's elements, feeling one with them. It reminded her why she chose to traverse Planetos again with mortals; it was fun.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the salty sea air and allowing herself to fully relax in this moment of tranquility. But even here, on her own ship surrounded by ghostly followers, Mariette couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness creep up on her. Despite all that she possessed, all that she could do, there was still an emptiness inside of her that nothing could fill, not even her countless children.

Aeron's presence had reminded her of this void. As much as he worshipped her and devoted himself to serving her will, he would never truly understand what it meant to be a goddess. He would never know what it was like to be truly powerful and immortal. Feeling a pang of guilt for these selfish thoughts, Mariette opened her eyes once more and sat up on the chaise. She gazed out at the vastness before her: endless sea meeting endless sky. How small she felt in comparison to this grandeur.

For a moment, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge that even a goddess could feel lost and alone. But then she straightened her shoulders and let the thunderstorm disppear from Pyke and let it follow her. The next few days would be fun, she thought and smiled to herself. Tywin Lannister had seen her often in his dreams and she'd let herself appear in his fantasies when he was not focused on his work - it would be hilarious to see his face when he recognized her for the first time.

#asas fics #yara greyjoy #asha greyjoy #game of thrones #game of thrones smut #asha greyjoy x oc #yara greyjoy x oc #asoiaf #asoiaf smut #groyjoy #house greyjoy #lesbian smut #wlw smut #balon greyjoy #aeron greyjoy

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justagirlthatlovedtoread · 30 days

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Under the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, laughter danced through the air as Tiffany and y/n shared yet another moment of uncontrollable giggles. Their friendship was a testament to the unexpected blessings life sometimes offers. Amidst the laughter, Tiffany leaned in closer, her voice a blend of eagerness and a hint of nervousness. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," she began, her words weaving the beginning of a fate-entwined narrative, "would you be up for meeting someone really special to me? I think you'd like him a lot."

Little did y/n know, the universe had its own plans, orchestrating a reunion with a familiar soul she thought she had regretfully left in the chapters of my past.

In the soft glow of the evening, the stage was set for a reunion that was as unexpected as it was inevitable. Tiffany, ever the social butterfly, had been buzzing with excitement over the small gathering she had organized, completely oblivious to the intricate web of past affections that was about to be untangled.

Y/n, with a heart cautiously mending from past hurts, had agreed to join, unaware that the evening would steer her straight into the orbit of Jonah, the embodiment of every dream she had reluctantly awakened from. The moment Jonah's eyes found her through the doorway, time seemed to fold into itself.

There she stood, a vision that had haunted the corners of his mind, never truly leaving. His mind raced with a mix of emotions, memories flooding back as he locked eyes with her. It was as if time stood still in that moment.

His heart, a faithful compass, skipped a beat, instantly navigating the tumultuous seas of love he never really sailed away from. The air thickened with a mixture of anticipation and nostalgia as Tiffany, blissfully ignorant of the depth of the connection she had just reignited, introduced them to each other with a cheerfulness that bordered on irony. The charade of first introductions hung awkwardly between Y/N and Jonah, a thin veil over the profound familiarity that pulsed silently in the space between them.

As the evening unfolded, laughter and light conversation filled the room, yet an undercurrent of words and glances charged with history flowed quietly.

Jonah, with a gentleness that has always defined him, found ways to be near Y/N, his actions speaking the volumes that his lips dared not utter. It was not until the twilight had deepened, and the room had emptied of all but lingering goodbyes, that they found themselves alone, ensconced in the quietude that finally allowed for walls to come down.

They spoke of mundane things at first, the kind of talk that bridges gaps and fills silences, but soon ventured into the tender territories of family, of his mother who still held Y/N in high regard, of the time lost and the healing it had brought.

In the vulnerability of their exchange, the love that had never truly left found its way back silently, whispering unspoken promises of new beginnings and understanding hearts.

The situation between Jonah, Y/N, and Tiffany is a complex tapestry of secrets, emotions, and unintended consequences. Jonah and Y/N's decision to keep their past hidden from Tiffany was rooted in a desire to protect their current relationships and preserve the peace within their circle. They believed that by burying their history, they could move forward without causing harm or distrust. However, the truth about human connections is that they are often more transparent than we think. The way people interact, the unspoken bonds, and the familiarity that comes with a shared history are difficult to conceal, especially from those who are observant and emotionally invested.

Tiffany, being a keen observer and deeply connected to both Jonah and Y/N, began to sense the undercurrents of something more profound than what was being presented to her.

The family gatherings, which were meant to be joyous occasions, became a tableau for Tiffany's growing suspicions. The dog's affection, the warmth of Jonah's family towards Y/N, the way his friends acted like Y/N's own, and the unmistakable chemistry between the two could not be rationalized away by mere friendship or coincidental familiarity. These were the breadcrumbs leading Tiffany to the truth, stirring a whirlpool of emotions and questions within her.

The culmination of these tensions and the inevitable revelation of Jonah and Y/N's past connection came at a moment of undeniable beauty and vulnerability.

The beach, with its vast horizon and the setting sun casting golden hues, served as the backdrop for Jonah and Y/N to finally give in to their feelings. It was hesitant at first, a dance of emotions and memories, but as the sun dipped below the horizon, they found solace and truth in each other's arms. This moment, although beautiful, marked the beginning of a new chapter, one where they would have to face the consequences of their choices, navigate Tiffany's feelings, and redefine the boundaries of their relationships. The path forward would require honesty, courage, and the willingness to face the complexities of the heart head-on.

After enduring a heart-wrenching separation from Jonah, Y/N found herself navigating a tumultuous sea of emotions. Their breakup wasn't a result of lost love or fading affection; instead, it was a sacrifice Y/N felt compelled to make to protect Jonah from an ominous threat. An external menace, a man whose intentions were far from benign, had insidiously woven himself into the fabric of their lives, casting shadows of doubt and danger. He had threatened not only to harm Jonah but also to tarnish Y/N's reputation with false accusations of infidelity. In a desperate bid to shield Jonah from potential harm and to spare him the pain of scandal, Y/N made the excruciating decision to distance herself from him, believing it was the only way to keep him safe.

The path leading Y/N back to Jonah was fraught with uncertainty and fear. However, the bond they shared, built on a foundation of deep love and mutual respect, was unbreakable. Upon reunifying, Jonah's reaction was nothing short of exemplary. He embraced Y/N with an understanding and compassion that transcended the pain of their separation. There was no room for blame or resentment in his heart; instead, he enveloped Y/N in a cocoon of warmth and security, signaling an unwavering support system. Jonah's actions spoke volumes of his character; he was not merely a partner but a sanctuary.

Eventually, Tiffany's unintentional journey of emotional turmoil and heartache finds a resolution, a peaceful closure that many stories strive to reach but seldom do. The crux of her journey centers around coming to terms with the intertwined past of Jonah and Y/N, a past that, for the longest time, cast a shadow over her present. It's a narrative familiar to many, where the remnants of old relationships linger like ghosts, haunting the corridors of one’s heart. Yet, Tiffany’s story takes a hopeful turn, illustrating a profound truth about human resilience and the capacity to heal.

As Tiffany navigates through the complexities of her feelings and the intricacies of her relationships, she discovers something transformative within herself. It's akin to the first rays of dawn after a long, dark night—the realization that within Y/N’s eyes, there lies not just the reflection of a shared history, but also the glimmer of understanding, forgiveness, and perhaps, a shared closure. This moment of epiphany is pivotal, for it marks not just the end of a chapter, but the beginning of something new, something promising.

In the wake of this newfound peace, Tiffany’s path crosses with someone unexpected, someone who resonates with her on every conceivable level. This serendipitous meeting isn't just about finding someone new; it's about finding someone who is just right for her—a person who mirrors her aspirations, complements her strengths, and understands her flaws. This relationship stands in stark contrast to her past, not because it’s devoid of challenges, but because it’s built on a foundation of mutual respect, shared values, and an unwavering support for each other. Tiffany’s story, thus, beautifully encapsulates the journey of self-discovery, of moving beyond the past, and of finding love that elevates and inspires.

#jonah hauer king #jonah hauer king fanfiction #jonah hauer king x reader #jonah hauer king smut #jonah hauer king x smut #jonah hauer king x y/n #jonah hauer king x you #fake texts #the little mermaid #jonah hauer king imagine #fanfiction #love #harry chase #world on fire #adogswayhome #the tattooist of auschwitz #prince eric x reader

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itsagirlwithglasses · 1 year

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A Shadow’s Tale - Chatper Two

Azriel x Pirate!FReader

Chapter Two

Summary: Y/N tries to bargain with the High Lord, ends up stuck 10,000 steps above ground in a house full of secrets.

Word Count: 3,000+

a/n: I was not expecting the amount of love I had on chapter one!! Thank you so much!! I hope you love this one as much!! Can’t wait to hear your thoughts? Happy Mother's Day!

Warnings: none

Of all the lessons you got growing up, swordsmanship was always something you loved. You were good at it. Too good. Your father always proud of having such a weapon tried his best to keep you hidden, safe, but your wild spirit didn’t allow you to keep it to yourself. You were eager to grow up and fight, and train with the others. Even if it displeased the great Captain Hook. You knew you had a target in your back when everyone found out about the daughter of the incomparable pirate of the seas but that never stopped you.

You quickly learned how and when to pick your fights. And that’s why your hands were tied behind your back with shadows. You knew it was work from the spymaster. A shadowsinger, a myth that turned out to be such a weird reality. Who controls lights and shadows? How?

The High Lord was walking a few steps ahead of you. You kept silent, accessing the dark walls and the dim lights on the ceilings, certainly to intimidate.

A door at the end of the corridor was open by some force and a room with a table and a few chairs was beyond it.

The three of you walked inside and Azriel signed for you to sit. You did as told and the High Lord turned around locking his gaze on you. You felt those same claws in the back of your mind and you knew it was him trying to access your thoughts or perhaps your memories. You took a shuddering breath and then you heard his voice in your head.

We can either do this the easy way or the hard one. Luckily for you, I’ll let you choose.

Daemati. You thought as you recall the lesson on magics of the mind.

You saw him smiling darkly and he came closer sitting on the table in front of you.

That’s correct. Now, tell me.

You huffed trying to adjust yourself on the chair as your hands were still restrained. You took a look at the spymaster and then looked to the High Lord. You licked your lips before starting talking.

“If you know who I am, you know why I am here.”

“Let me tell you what I know, sweetheart.” He purred venomously and you lifted your chin almost in defiance. “You and your crew sailed into my court, through my wards, uninvited.” He smiled narrowing his eyes, “How?”

“You tell me.” You spat not breaking the eye contact and you saw his smiled faltering as recognition hit him.

“It’s impossible, they’ve been lost at sea since…” He stopped himself and you cocked your head smiling. “How?”

“I know humans are the ones who write the stories about us, just like they do about you fae, what do they tell you about pirates… Rhysand?”

The room became very quiet suddenly but no one moved.

“Where is it?” He said suddenly and you could feel the darkness of his power on your skin. His emotions coming through his power. Your smile never faltered even if your heart was trashing wildly in your chest.

“That will depend… Do I and my crew have your blessing to stay and recover after Hybern’s hit?”

“You want an alliance?” His eyebrows rose and he laughed mockingly scratching his chin. “Your father was allied with Hybern, you all helped attacking the Summer Court, I had to send my Illyrians and my army to help stop the bloodshed… And now you come into my court wanting alliance?”

“Now, don’t put us all in the same bag Rhysand.” You spat his name, “My father’s choices were never my own.”

“You all crawled from the same sack, I don’t care if you had a say in it, I don’t trust you, why should I after everything?”

“Hybern does not know of the existence of these objects, or better said, that I have them in my possession… They could be the difference between winning and losing the war.”

“Who else knows about them?”

“Me, my second, now you and the creep in the corner.” You took a glance at the spymaster and winked mockingly.

“I want to see them, then I’ll make a decision.” He got up from the table and you furrowed your brows.

“You see that’s not gonna happen.” He looked at you with a death promise in his eyes and you stood face to chest to him and looked up. “You know they’re real and you know I have them, after all how could I have sailed past your wards?” You noticed Azriel stepping closer and preparing to jump on you if you did something to his High Lord. “We will do this my way, or we can forget this meeting at all and I’ll sail somewhere else… I kind of miss the spring anyways.” You raised your eyebrows defyingly and you felt him in your mind before he spoke.

Do not disrespect me in my court Ms Hook. And be careful with the game you’re playing, let’s all hope you’ve got it in your arsenal to back up all that talk.

Is my alliance such an ordeal for you that you can’t see beyond your hatred?

I’ll think on it.

What about me and my crew?

“There’s plenty of lodges and apartments in the city, your crew might visit and stay while we negotiate the terms of our… situation.” He said and nodded to the spymaster who stayed put with his gaze fixed on you. “Everyone will be closely watched, one foot out of way and I’ll know.” He came closer to your face and you swallowed, your confidence and adrenaline slowly leaving your body. “And you will be the one paying for it.”

You only nodded as he started walking out of the room.

“What about me?” You looked at his back as he walked away but he only waved his hand dismissing you and you scoffed. “Entitled prick.” You muttered and felt a cold hand on your elbow.

“You’re coming with me.” Azriel said with zero emotion crossing his face and wondered if Rhysand also had been talking to his spymaster this whole time. Suddenly you felt like a fool but quickly shut out the thought.

“Where? Back to your five star hotel?”

“No, this one has a better view.” And without another word he and threw you over his shoulder making you yelp.

—

Flying. You were flying.

You couldn’t help the giggle that left your mouth at the sight. The city underneath was so small the people looked like ants. The cold bite of the wind and the adrenaline pumping your blood made your cheeks flush. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being so far away from the ground. You took one look at Azriel’s face and you saw some sort of amusement in his face but he quickly concealed it.

His grip on you was firm and you felt him everywhere. It was intoxicating, his touch, his scent. Not once he spared you a look, his focus was ahead and you look in the same direction seeing the building you were approaching.

It was breathtaking and you couldn’t help but gape at the view.

“That’s where we are going?” You shouted over the wind in his ear and he didn’t give up any reply.

His wings kept beating at a steady pace and you observed them curiously.

After you left the dungeons, he made you promise to behave if he were to unrestrained you. You agreed and when he picked you up bridal style you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

“Flying is the easiest and fastest way to get to where we’re going.” He had told you, “I hope you don’t get flight sick.” He said before taking to the skies making you hold onto him tighter.

You reached a hand towards the base of his left wing feeling how waxy the membrane was and then you were screaming as you lost some altitude. You gripped him tighter closing your eyes preparing for a hit. But it never came, you were still in the sky as he quickly recovered.

“Don’t.” He snarled at you, “Ever touch my wings again.”

You looked in his eyes and you saw the hatred and darkness in his gaze. There it was was. The ruthless killer you always heard people talking about and fearing. And you were in his arms, hoping he didn’t decide against his High Lord and drop you and make you go splat on the city grounds.

You made no more sounds, only looked away. Finally you reached the balcony and he dropped you on the ground not so gracefully.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” You blurted getting on your feet but he had already gone inside the double doors. You took a few deep breaths trying to contain your emotions.

You were not going to cry over that idiot treating you like shit just because of an innocent touch. Not after all you’ve through with you father and Hybern. You waited a few minutes breathing the fresh air and then walked inside. The room was silent and you looked around trying to find Azriel but there was no sign of him. You frowned.

“Who are you?” A feminine voice came from behind you and you quickly turned to find a girl with golden brown hair and grey-blue eyes staring at you with her arms crossed over her chest.

She was wearing what you recognized as Illyrian fighting leathers but you frowned at the pointy ears and the lack of wings.

“Is… This place your house?” You lifted your chin and she walked closer.

“Sort of,” She frowned, “Who brought you in?”

“I did.” Azriel appeared from other room, which you guessed was the kitchen as he was holding two cups of water.

At least his anger seemed to ebbed away as he walked towards you offering you one of the glasses. You eyed it suspiciously and then looked at him, he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not poisoned, just take it.” He forced it into your hands and you took it offering him a fake smile.

“Always the gentleman,” You said and took a sip. Your throat felt immensely better afterwards.

“You’re a pirate?” The girl asked directing my attention back to her.

“Sort of,” I answered just as she had and she chuckled.

“Fair enough, are you hungry?”

“Starving.” You replied and walked towards her.

Something about his girl just attracted you and for some reason you knew you could trust her.

“I’m Nesta,” She guided you towards the dining room and plates with food appeared at the table magically. You gawked at it and you heard her laugh. And it was such a lovely sound.

You took a sit. “This is a lot of food even for me,” You joked and she simply smiled taking a seat on your left, Azriel sat on your right.

You heard it then, the commotion and the voices and laughter. Your smiled faltered and you stood there between them staring at your empty plate as the table filled up with other fae including the now familiar dark presence.

The silence settled and you felt all their eyes on you. You swallowed and then you heard him.

“This is Miss Hook, she will be joining us for a while.” The High Lord spoke amidst the silence and you finally looked up at him in confusion.

Be nice. He talked into your mind and you lifted your chin nodding slightly.

“What’s with the costume?” A red hair male asked in confusion taking in your clothes and you looked at him. He looked so out of place in this court. In your best guess you’d say he belonged to the Autumn Court.

“I’m a pirate.” You replied softly and slowly taking in his surprised reaction. Then looked around the room and frowned.

No one else seemed surprised by this, the High Lord must have warned them. But there was a female with fae features, golden brown hair and brown eyes who also seemed surprised and curious.

“A pirate? Like from the human stories?” She asked, her voice was soft and her beauty made her look so innocent like a fawn, you only nodded. “They are myths amongst mortals… Do you have a ship?” She was smiling in awe and you chuckled.

“Yes, I could show you someday if you wish.” Azriel went stiff next to you and you looked at him.

“It’s not that great, I’ve seen it.” The general, who was sitting across the table from you said and you looked at him narrowing your eyes.

“You clearly have a lack of taste then.” Nesta on your side laughed lowly into her napkin and you saw the general chuckling too as they exchanged a look.

You felt like there was some joke you were missing out on and suddenly felt like a fool. Silence fell again and everyone started eating.

“I’d love to visit it someday.” The female spoke again and you looked at her with a grateful smile.

“So you’re he daughter of Captain Hook, just like in those stories?” The female sitting next to Rhysand asked.

“In the flesh.” You answered dryly tired of being the bottom of the joke and you gained a glare from Azriel, the general and Rhysand. “What?” You swallowed your food looking at them one at a time.

“Be careful how you speak to my High Lady.” Azriel narrowed his gaze and you looked between the males and the female, Feyre Archeron.

You had heard all about her. From Under the Mountain to the High Lord of Spring, to Rhysand. You nodded in recognition.

“My bad… Your majesty.” You saw her rolling her eyes but not at you, at them.

“Ignore them, and please… don’t call me your majesty.” She snorted a laugh and you gave her a polite smile.

She would be a great ally in order to get Rhysand to accept an alliance with you and your crew and you made a mental note to try to get her alone to speak.

—

After dinner the food and plates vanished with the same magic they had appeared and you looked at the now empty table curiously.

“Are you going to take a drink with us how are you going to keep gawking at the table?” The tall blonde female appeared holding out a glass of wine for me and you took it from her mumbling a thanks.

She was about to leave the dining room to join the others but you grabbed her delicate hand stopping her. She turned to you with her eyebrows raised and a smile, “Yes?”

“What’s your name?” You gave her your best smile.

“Morrigan, but my friends call me Mor.” She gave me a bigger smile this time, “My cousin can seem all big and scary but the fact that you’re here and not stuck in the dungeons means he trusts you… Well, kinda.” She laughed and you only nodded.

“What did… What did Rhysand told you… about me?” You asked in almost a whisper and she looked at you as if she was searching your face for something.

“Rhys is… not very trusting, specially if people come through his wards and sail in unannounced.” She chuckled and you joined, “He is a good male, and I don’t know what it is but… There’s something about you... Different. Good.” You swallowed trying you best not to react at that, “And I know he sees it too.”

You only nodded and you both joined the group. You walked to the balcony appreciating the cold air the castle in the sky gave you. You closed your eyes and took a breath in thinking back to your crew, to Bonny and Sebastian who were probably worried sick about you. You had to go to the city and find them. Make sure they were alright. Make sure that the High Lord had kept his promise.

How could you trust any of these people? What if Bonny was right and this won’t be as easy as you thought? What if you just walked into a trap? How far up are you right now? How the hell do you reach the ground floor from here? You walked back inside taking in the group that was now sprawled around the living room.

Azriel was in a corner talking to the beautiful female from earlier. They were super engage in a conversation mostly whispering. The red head male was talking to Rhysand, his posture was tight, just as it had been during dinner, as if he was uncomfortable around them in a way.

Morrigan was sipping her wine and talking to Feyre in one of the couches.

Nesta and the General were cozying up on another couch and realization hit you. Mates. You could definitely smell it now that they were close together.

“I’d like to go to back my crew now.” You announced to the group and Rhysand looked at you smiling darkly while shaking his head.

“You’re free to take the stairs if you dare, but you’re staying here otherwise.” He said and you chuckled.

“I’ll take the stairs then.” You said decisively and you heard some chuckles. You’re a fool. Your brain seemed to scream at you but you shook off the thought walking towards the door that was hiding the stairs.

You opened them and inhaled loudly.

“How many?”

“Ten thousand.” It was Nesta who had replied and you closed your eyes taking a deep breath. You turned to the group.

“Can’t one of your bats take me?” You bit off annoyed.

“My bats are not mules, so no.” He replied with an irritating smile on his lips.

“Where am I supposed to stay then?”

“Nesta will show you to your rooms,” you saw the female glaring at him but getting up all the same and making you to follow her.

You asked for some alone time once you got there and she let you to explore the room that was huge. A four poster bed against the further wall in the middle, a walk-in closet and a door that gave access to the bathroom. To the right of the window there was a ceiling to floor window that opened to a balcony. Everything was decorated in Night Court style and it seemed incredibly cozy despite the dark decorations.

You turned towards the door locking it and then decided for a bath. You took your time in the bath and noticed that the water did not get cold despite how long you were under it. You smiled saying a little thanks, to who you didn’t know… Magic. You chuckled a little playing with some bubbles and then playing with the water creating water balls in between your hands and fingers. The buzz of creating magic making your heart beat a little faster.

You really liked magic, but as no one else knew about it, you could only yield it in private, where no one could see you. Despite the feeling you had of being observed at that very moment.

-------

Who is it? Are you paranoid or is someone actually watching you? What do you think is going to happen next? I can't wait to hear your thoughts and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! <3

Next Chapter

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goldkirk · 11 months

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LOTR fanfics that have rocked my socks

@krowepoison, this one's for you!

Fate & the High King's Falcon, by Baylor

Pippin recovers from his injuries following the battle at the Black Gate.

life comes breaking in!, by InfiniteCalm

Frodo, in the blessed realm, writes a book.

This generates a lot of interest (from old friends and new).

title from quote from v woolfe's diary: "I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual"

These Thirteen Days, by Barrowight

While Frodo and Sam lie unconscious after their journey to Orodruin, the remaining members of the Fellowship encounter despair, conflict and unexpected mirth as they watch over their sleeping friends.

Reunion at Cormallen, by shirebound

Frodo and Sam’s first night awake at Cormallen, and an unexpected adventure with the Fellowship at Faramir's refuge. A more gentle, lighthearted tale.

Over Sea, by amaruuk

Frodo was given the gift of healing in the Blessed Realm. What happened to him, and those he loved, after the White Ship sailed out of the Grey Havens?

Mark of a Warrior, by starryeyedknight

Those Riders who had made up the honour guard of Theoden’s body from Minas Tirith sat about the main hall, breaking their fast as they traded quiet jests about the night before. Until they were interrupted by something very small, and very angry.

“Alright, which one of you colossal bastards," Merry demanded, waving his abused arm, “is responsible for this?”

After the funeral for Theoden, Merry wakes up to a problem experienced by many a young man after a night of heavy drinking. The ink on his arm doesn't appear to be washing off…

A White Coverlet to Cool a Hobbit's Toes, by claudia603

After the quest, Frodo observes snow on the top of the mountain. He remembers Caradhras and wants to experience it under better circumstances.

Reunion in Minas Tirith, by shirebound

Faramir and the hobbits reunite in Minas Tirith after Aragorn's crowning. An upbeat, lighthearted look at some Faramir/hobbit interactions in the following days. Amazingly enough, no one is sick, guilt-ridden, or in pain. Enjoy!

The Mellon Chronicles series, by Cassia and Siobhan

YEARS BEFORE there was a fellowship, at a time when the One Ring remained quiet and unknown in the possession of an unassuming Hobbit and the gathering darkness of Mordor had not yet made itself known to the world, there was an eager young Ranger and an Elven Prince.

Mortal and Immortal, the Elven Prince and the man who would one day be King of Gondor formed an unlikely bond.

Ultimately, their very survival may depend on not only the speed and accuracy of an Elven bow, nor even the swift sword of the Dunèdain, but on the strength and loyalty of the friendship they share.

Follow me away now, oh worthy sojourners of Middle Earth to explore the untold adventures of these early years....

Anastasis, by Chthonion

"Forgive me,” Frodo says in his accented Quenya, the syllables strange in his ears. “I—I have an old wound. It troubles me still, sometimes."

"It is I who must ask your forgiveness," says the stranger. "I believe I may be the one who put it there."

In Aman, Frodo and Celebrimbor and Finrod forge a friendship, talk about trauma, and deal with the fact that Sauron's ghost is haunting Celebrimbor.

#I'll add to this down the road #I went through the Post War of the Ring tag and I'm about halfway through the Frodo Baggins tag so I certainly haven't encountered all the #fanfics yet. I'm gonna have more faves soon I'm sure #hope you like at least one or two of these!#lotr #katie answers asks #fic recs

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lightup0nlight · 3 months

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There was a video I watched, of a ship sailing in the middle of the sea amidst high, terrifying waves; and that ship — as modern as it was — seemed to almost capsize from the forces of the water.

As I watched the video, I wondered at the waves mentioned in the Qur'an:

🌺 ❛And he (i.e. Prophet Nuh 'alayhis-salaam) said: 'Embark [the ship] therein, bismillah (i.e. in the Name of Allah) will be its [moving] course and its [resting] anchorage. Surely, my Rabb is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.' So it sailed with them amidst the waves like mountains…❜ 【Surah Hud 11:41-42】

Prophet Nuh and his people had to sail amidst waves as gargantuan as the mountains. Ibn Kathir rahimahullah wrote that the water had completely covered the earth, until it encompassed above the mountain tops, and that the waves even rose over those mountain tops by a height of eighty miles. Any normal ship would have been destroyed by the sheer strength of those waves.

But what sort of ship were they in?

🌺 ❛And We (Allah) carried him on a [ship] made of planks and nails.❜ 【Surah al-Qamar 54:13】

It was a simple, humble ship — of planks and nails. Yet this ship survived. Because it wasn't the ship that saved Prophet Nuh and his people, rather the One who commanded to build it - Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala.

Allah did not abandon them, just like He did not abandon Prophet Ibrahim in the fire. Or Prophet Yunus in the belly of the fish. Or Prophet Yusuf in the well. Or Prophet Musa at the sea. Or Rasulullah ﷺ and his companion in the cave.

Stability comes from the obedience to Allah. And He will not abandon us as long as we remain firm on His Deen — on Tawheed, the Qur'an and the Sunnah. Whether we are on firm ground or in an airplane, whether we’re the driver or the navigator, the reality is we are always a passenger, always vulnerable, always in need of Allah’s Rahmah to deliver us safely — just like how the ship sailed safely.

We ask Allah for our journey towards Him to always be under His Help, His Protection, and His Blessing.

Your sister in Deen, Aida Msr ©

#qur'an reflections #salafiyyah #islamic reminders #islamic quotes #islamic page #islamic posts #islamic knowledge #islamic advice

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steelfyre · 3 months

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࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗 ⁝ greta onieogou, 30, cis woman, she / her. announcing the arrival of helaena of house zalyne, the lady of braavos. whispers among the court name them to be both alluring and devious in disposition, and those closest to them speak to their interests in singing and playing the high harp. if we bards could compose a song for them, it might tell stories of how the divine try painting women as prizes or sacrifices , but helen's divinity was her own as is yours ; a siren's melody drifting across the sea and echoing along the stony shores - why ever would you need a sword when men worship beauty and you wield it like a knife ; honeyed lies fall from her lips with ease , accompanied by the sweetest smiles , as poisonous as the thoughts that sometimes dance in her mind ; whispers of curses in the wake of marriages that never last a year. 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 house zalyne & the emperor of essos.

basic information.

full name: helaena zalyne. nickname(s): laena. title: lady of braavos. moniker: nereid / siren of braavos , the jewel of braavos , the cursed bride. age: thirty. gender & pronouns: cis woman , she / her. orientation: biromantic , bisexual. birthplace: braavos. astrological sign: libra. religion: r'hllor. martial status: unbetrothed , widowed five times. allegiance: house zalyne , the emperor of essos.

personality.

positive: alluring , jovial , sociable , charming , astute , eloquent. negative: devious , ambitious , prim , cunning , deceptive , secretive. moral alignment: lawful neutral. temperament: sanguine. mbti: esfp - the entertainer. enneagram: 3w2 , the charmer. hobbies: singing , playing the high harp & bells , dancing , swimming , sailing , needlework.

family ties.

father: lord cosimo zalyne , sealord of braavos. mother: deceased. siblings: lord utp zalyne , older brother. lady carina zalyne , younger sister. spouse: none , has been widowed five times.

history.

after being blessed with a son as his eldest, lord cosimo prayed for a daughter and his prayers were answered. while not a princess by title, helaena zalyne was raised as if she was one. the wealth of house zalyne gifted her the finest tutors, the prettiest dresses and jewels, and anything else a noble lady could wish for. she was also doted upon not only by her parents but all who resided within the sealord's palace. a very bright child, helaena was granted permission to serve as her father's cupbearer, which granted her access to all of his meetings - a set of unsuspecting eyes and ears listening for the house zalyne. mostly went unnoticed but that was the sealord's intentions and laena continued serving as his extra set of eyes and ears throughout braavos long after she ceased being his cupbearer.

helaena was a light constantly shining not only in the sealord's palace but also in the streets of braavos. with a guard constantly at her side, she traversed the city streets, lounged upon the beaches, and sailed through the channels. she also dedicated time with the people, putting a portion of zalyne wealth ( a small sum in comparison to the whole trove ) into taking care of those they governed.

with a stable future placed in her hands, helaena was free to dedicate her focus to pursuits that inspired her. music proved her first, longest, and most faithful love. her singing voice would echo through the palace halls, accompanied by the melody of a high harp, and when her father would have guests, he'd insist they listen to the enchanting voice of his second nereid. praise had once been bestowed upon laena for her courtesy, character, and beauty, but now her voice joined the ranks, second only to her looks. some said her voice would soothe even the most distressed; others that one could hear it echoing through the city streets and across the sea at night, calling sailors home; but those with darker intentions claimed that any, particularly men, who heard the neried's song would fall under her spell. neried? no, they'd whisper, siren.

she never possessed any illusions about love influencing who she wed. she'd watched her brother wed the spouse selected for him, and her father hadn't hidden that he was preparing such an arrangement for her. laena didn't even meet her intended, a son of a prominent tyroshi family with strong ties to the current archon, until the betrothal was set in stone. love didn't blossom at first sight but marriage was no matter of love, not for a zalyne. the wedding, one grand enough for royalty, occurred when she twenty but marriage life, while blissful, proved short - eight months. a sickness struck her poor husband and took his life. or so history would say. there were whispers that her husband's family had fallen out of favor with the archon, impacting their political usefulness to the sealord, but rumors weren't proof.

thus began her decade of marriages that never lasted a year. her second husband, her shortest marriage, perished in a shipwreck only four months after vows were exchanged. still many clamored for her hand and rumors were that lord cosimo favored a union that would tie the iron bank to his family, but another caught the nereid's eye. aeros was a man of great intellect, a diplomat and famed painter from myr, third son of a magister. under other circumstances, he would've been a favorable candidate, but sealord's eyes laid elsewhere, and only after many long discussions did laena convince her father to approve the match over his preference.

the happy couple were gifted eleven blissful months together before aeros' carriage was attacked on the road to braavos and he was slayed. given the many attempts of the sealord's life, it was deemed a rare, successful attack on the family and the culprits were quickly executed but laena didn't share the belief, not when the moment she was declared not with child that she was betrothed to another - the banker her father had originally selected. mind refused the prospect that the father she adored was responsible but someone must be. the character of her fourth husband who possessed a cruel personality and viewed her as a trophy he'd finally won, didn't quell her rage. time was bided, plans put in place, and six months later the siren poured poison into her husband's cup and dragged him under.

whispers had steadily spread with each husband who perished, but it was the death of her fourth that emboldened them, giving life to a curse that would follow laena as those who believed in the malediction claimed death did. for any person who helaena wed was fated to die either by natural or malicious means. how she was painted in whispers varied - a powerless victim, a true siren, a mix of both but the superstitious remained. the number of suitors gradually slowed following the rumors.

time is deemed the best cure; two years where the nereid entertained some suitors but relinquished her hand to none. when she reentered the marriage market, attention was no longer limited to the eastern continent. a husband across the narrow sea was a shining jewel in the eyes of a sealord, and after inviting many to his palace, he made his selection. within a fortnight, laena bid familiar shores farewell and set off for foreign ones. for the fifth time, the role of darling wife was played to perfection even after initial excitement was soon tempered by reality. another husband who love would not blossom with. another husband who would perish before a year passed.

laena returned to braavos shortly after, still donned in black but eyes free of tears, and in the following year, she has resumed her role at her father's and brother's side, relaying them information she gathered from her circles of gossip and unassuming nature. the talk of a sixth marriage lingered but the invitation from westeros and subsequent appointment as a lady of honor delayed any match coming to fruiition. helaena knew it was only a matter of time. until then, however, she was dedicated to serving the princess and sinking her own claws into the political game of westeros - the one element that intrigued her during her short months there.

marriage timeline.

840 a.c. | weds a tyroshi noble , laena is twenty

841 a.c. | her first husband passes from illness

842 a.c. | weds a volantis noble , he dies during a shipwreck

844 a.c. | weds aeros of myr , a diplomat

845 a.c. | aeros is killed when his carriage is attacked , laena is quickly wed to her fourth husband , a braavosi banker

846 a.c. | laena poisons her husband , believed an illness

848 a.c. | weds a westerosi lord , he passes from illness

headcanons.

there are countless of theories surrounding what truly happened to her husbands. some people believe it was a series of terrible tragedies and others think the deaths weren't accidents. but nothing can be proven without evidence. so the truth remains unknown.

helaena loves performing. she will happily sing, dance, or play the harp for anyone who requests it. whenever anyone visits the sealord's palace she would be asked by her father to play for them after the first supper to welcome them into the home. she's well versed in both essosi and westeros songs.

has served as her father's extra set of eyes and ears for as long as she can remember. her personality allows her to slip in and out of social situations with ease and due to seeming unassuming, she can garner information that others cannot. all of which she dutifully reports back to her father.

the only husbands she truly mourned were her first due to how unexpected it was and aeros.

a part of her does long for love and hopes she'll find it again.

occasionally, she does play into the idea of the curse, liking how it makes her mysterious and powerful, like a deity in human form, but if asked about it, she always laughs and declares it nothing more than cruel gossip. sometimes though she wonders if it is true . . .

absolutely adores her family. she admires her father, supports her older brother, and protects her younger sister. after their mother passed, helaena took on the role of the lady of the castle, making certain everything was running as it should and picking up other tasks that her mother had done to assist their father. she also made certain to watch out for her siblings, especially her younger sister.

has a white, long-haired cat named pearl.

she loves swimming and sailing. the beaches of braavos are her favorite location outside of the palace walls. she could listen to the waves for hours.

while she doesn't captain a ship herself, her father gave her a ship as a gift for her first wedding, which she named the dawnbreaker. she's employed a crew who report directly to her and handle the sailing and upkeep.

#i. helaena zalyne ›› intro.#westeros.intro #( no one talk to me about how long this is )

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istumpysk · 2 years

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A FEAST FOR CROWS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part II)

Crouching dragon, hidden wolf.

AFFC Part II: UNDER THE CUT

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

Squid Game

AFFC Part I: CLICK

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Bowels of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Younger and More Beautiful Cersei

AFFC PART III: CLICK

Chapter Transitions

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II

ASOS Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II / PART III / PART IV

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

DARK DAENERYS HIGHLIGHTS & LAUGHS

Talking dragons, while a Sand Snake shoots three arrows.

"Dragons," said Mollander. He snatched a withered apple off the ground and tossed it hand to hand.

"Throw the apple," urged Alleras the Sphinx. He slipped an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bowstring.

"I should like to see a dragon." Roone was the youngest of them, a chunky boy still two years shy of manhood. "I should like that very much."

[...]

Far and fast the apple flew . . .

. . . but not as fast as the arrow that whistled after it, a yard-long shaft of golden wood fletched with scarlet feathers. Pate did not see the arrow catch the apple, but he heard it. A soft chunk echoed back across the river, followed by a splash.

Mollander whistled. "You cored it. Sweet."

[...]

"There's another apple near your foot," Alleras called to Mollander, "and I still have two arrows in my quiver." - Prologue, AFFC

+.+.+

A storm is coming.

"No," said Alleras. "It was Prince Rhaegar's young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister's brave men. We speak of Rhaegar's sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys."

"The Stormborn. I recall her now." - Prologue, AFFC

+.+.+

A sword with fire shadows Oldtown.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

And beyond, where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound, rose the Hightower, its beacon fires bright against the dawn. From where it stood atop the bluffs of Battle Island, its shadow cut the city like a sword. Those born and raised in Oldtown could tell the time of day by where that shadow fell. - Prologue, AFFC

+.+.+

Does the Faceless Man want a book?

"The key?" the alchemist inquired politely.

Something made Pate hesitate. "Is it some book you want?" Some of the old Valyrian scrolls down in the locked vaults were said to be the only surviving copies in the world.

"What I want is none of your concern." - Prologue, AFFC

Ten years ago, Tyrion had read a fragment of Unnatural History that had eluded the Blessed Baelor, but he doubted that any of Barth's work had found its way across the narrow sea. And of course there was even less chance of his coming on the fragmentary, anonymous, blood-soaked tome sometimes called Blood and Fire and sometimes The Death of Dragons, the only surviving copy of which was supposedly hidden away in a locked vault beneath the Citadel. - Tyrion IV, ADWD

+.+.+

Speaking of The Death of Dragons (what a coincidence!), let's follow Samwell's book.

He had to get down on his knees to gather up the books he'd dropped. I should not have brought so many, he told himself as he brushed the dirt off Colloquo Votar's Jade Compendium, a thick volume of tales and legends from the east that Maester Aemon had commanded him to find. The book appeared undamaged. Maester Thomax's Dragonkin, Being a History of House Targaryen from Exile to Apotheosis, with a Consideration of the Life and Death of Dragons had not been so fortunate. It had come open as it fell, and a few pages had gotten muddy, including one with a rather nice picture of Balerion the Black Dread done in colored inks. Sam cursed himself for a clumsy oaf as he smoothed the pages down and brushed them off. - Samwell I, AFFC

↓

The second wayn would carry their clothing and possessions, along with a chest of rare old books that Aemon thought the Citadel might lack. Sam had spent half the night searching for them, though he'd found only one in four. And a good thing, or we'd need another wayn. - Samwell I, AFFC

↓

The only things of value that still remained to them were the books they had brought from the vaults of Castle Black. Sam parted with them glumly. "They were meant for the Citadel," he said, when Xhondo asked him what was wrong. When the mate translated those words, the captain laughed. "Quhuru Mo says the grey men will be having these books still," Xhondo told him, "only they will be buying them from Quhuru Mo. The maesters give good silver for books they are not having, and sometimes red and yellow gold." - Samwell IV, AFFC

↓

"Two days, ten days, who can say? However long it takes to empty our holds and fill them again." Kojja grinned. "My father must visit the grey maesters as well. He has books to sell." - Samwell V, AFFC

+.+.+

What do storms and dragons make? Not food.

Thank you, @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir!

"The Storm God cast him down," the priest announced. For a thousand thousand years sea and sky had been at war. From the sea had come the ironborn, and the fish that sustained them even in the depths of winter, but storms brought only woe and grief. - The Prophet, AFFC

"Grapes are real. A man can gorge himself on grapes. Their juice is sweet, and they make wine. What do dragons make?"

"Woe." The Crow's Eye sipped from his silver cup. - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

Like the Unsullied?

Thank you, @magiclovingdragon!

No proper man would choose a life of thralldom, nor forge a chain of servitude to wear about his throat. - The Prophet, AFFC

+.+.+

Death came to Dorne on black wings, with red wax.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Death had come to Dorne on raven wings, writ small and sealed with a blob of hard red wax. - The Captain of the Guards, AFFC

+.+.+

Quick reminder:

Cersei and Daenerys are intended as parallel characters --each exploring a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world. - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: above them all edition.

She dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all. - Cersei I, AFFC

Meereen had a score of lesser pyramids, but none stood even half as tall. From here she could see the whole city: the narrow twisty alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, hovels and palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains, the great red circles of the fighting pits. And beyond the walls was the pewter sea, the winding Skahazadhan, the dry brown hills, burnt orchards, and blackened fields. Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Good luck Aegon.

"My own father raised the same objections when I chose a life of service," the old man said. "It was his father who sent me to the Citadel. King Daeron had sired four sons, and three had sons of their own. Too many dragons are as dangerous as too few, I heard His Grace tell my lord father, the day they sent me off." - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

A storm of black wings couldn't buy Diet Daenerys an ally. The silence had been thunderous.

He's trying to convince himself, Sam realized, but he can't. The ravens had gone forth from Castle Black in a storm of black wings, summoning the lords of the north to declare for Stannis Baratheon and join their strength to his. Sam had sent out most of them himself. Thusfar only one bird had returned, the one they'd sent to Karhold. Elsewise the silence had been thunderous. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: just like my daddy edition.

"Lord Tywin was a great man, an extraordinary man," he declared ponderously after he had kissed both her cheeks. "We shall never see his like again, I fear."

You are looking at his like, fool, Cersei thought. It is his daughter standing here before you. - Cersei II, AFFC

She lifted her head. "And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

". . . my father's daughter?" If she was not her father's daughter, who was she? - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Dark wings high above King's Landing.

There were crows circling the seven towers and great dome of Baelor's Sept even now, Jaime suspected, their black wings beating against the night air as they searched for a way inside. - Jaime I, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Danelle and her giant bats won't stop eating children.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

She had a cheerful manner, but when Brienne showed her the shield her face went dark. "My old ma used to say that giant bats flew out from Harrenhal on moonless nights, to carry bad children to Mad Danelle for her cookpots. Sometimes I'd hear them scrabbling at the shutters." She sucked her teeth a moment, thoughtful. "What goes in its place?" - Brienne II, AFFC

He found himself remembering tales he had first heard as a child at Casterly Rock, of mad Lady Lothston who bathed in tubs of blood and presided over feasts of human flesh within these very walls. - Jaime III, AFFC

+.+.+

If history is a wheel, what does that tell us about Daenerys Targaryen?

"Archmaester Rigney once wrote that history is a wheel, for the nature of man is fundamentally unchanging. What has happened before will perforce happen again, he said. I think of that whenever I contemplate the Crow's Eye. Euron Greyjoy sounds queerly like Urron Greyiron to these old ears. I shall not go to Old Wyk. Nor should you." - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

+.+.+

A dragon eating itself.

"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?"

He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?"

"The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again. Anders Yronwood is Criston Cole reborn. He whispers in my brother's ear that he should rule after my father, that it is not right for men to kneel to women . . . that Arianne especially is unfit to rule, being the willful wanton that she is." - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

+.+.+

Doesn't sound like a happy song.

He sang of the Dance of the Dragons, of fair Jonquil and her fool, of Jenny of Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. He sang of betrayals, and murders most foul, of hanged men and bloody vengeance. He sang of grief and sadness. - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Kings are dancing, hey-nonny hey-nonny.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"Does he now?" The man took the coin and spun it, smiling. "I like to see a king dance, hey-nonny hey-nonny hey-nonny-ho. Mighten be I saw this fool of yours." - Brienne III, AFFC

+.+.+

Towers are collapsing, and flames are dancing.

The Tower of the Hand gave out a sudden groan, so loud that all the conversation stopped abruptly. Stone cracked and split, and part of the upper battlements fell away and landed with a crash that shook the hill, sending up a cloud of dust and smoke. As fresh air rushed in through the broken masonry, the fire surged upward. Green flames leapt into the sky and whirled around each other. Tommen shied away, till Margaery took his hand and said, "Look, the flames are dancing. Just as we did, my love."

"They are." His voice was filled with wonder. "Mother, look, they're dancing." - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei prays for a storm to rock the Red Keep.

"No one wants rain," said Cersei. For herself, she wanted sleet and ice, howling winds, thunder to shake the very stones of the Red Keep. She wanted a storm to match her rage. To Jocelyn she said, "Tighter. Cinch it tighter, you simpering little fool." - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Be careful what you wish for.

"Even if Tyrion were still hiding in the castle, he won't be in the Tower of the Hand. We've reduced it to a shell."

"Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle," said Cersei. - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Careful where you point that dragon.

Jaime ignored that. "If these flames spread beyond the tower, you may end up burning down the castle whether you mean to or not. Wildfire is treacherous." - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad King parallels that make us laugh: white castles edition.

"Would that we could do the same to the rest of this foul castle," said Cersei. "After the war I mean to build a new palace beyond the river." She had dreamed of it the night before last, a magnificent white castle surrounded by woods and gardens, long leagues from the stinks and noise of King's Landing. "This city is a cesspit. For half a groat I would move the court to Lannisport and rule the realm from Casterly Rock." - Cersei III, AFFC

In 265 AC, offended by "the stink of King's Landing," he spoke of building a "white city" entirely of marble on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush. - The Targaryen Kings: Aerys II, The World of Ice and Fire

+.+.+

I was thinking someone else.

"Let all of King's Landing see the flames. It will be a lesson to our enemies."

"Now you sound like Aerys." - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: pyromania edition.

"No need." Cersei felt too alive for sleep. The wildfire was cleansing her, burning away all her rage and fear, filling her with resolve. "The flames are so pretty. I want to watch them for a while." - Cersei III, AFFC

The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought.

Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. - Daenerys X, AGOT

+.+.+

Mother of beasts, mother of monsters.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

"Yet this peace is fragile . . . as fragile as your princess."

"Only a beast would harm a little girl." - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

"Pets?" screeched Reznak. "Monsters, rather. Monsters that feed on children. We cannot—"

"Silence," said Daenerys. "We will not speak of that." - Daenerys V, ADWD

+.+.+

If Randyll Tarly does it, perhaps it's time to rethink these methods of punishment.

"I know what Lord Randyll does with outlaws," Brienne said. "I know what he does with rapers too."

She had hoped the name might cow them, but the serjeant only flicked egg off his fingers and signaled to his men to spread out. Brienne found herself surrounded by steel points. "What was it you was saying, wench? What is it that Lord Tarly does to . . ."

". . . rapers," a deeper voice finished. "He gelds them or sends them to the Wall. Sometimes both. And he cuts fingers off thieves." A languid young man stepped from the gatehouse, a swordbelt buckled at his waist. - Brienne III, AFFC

Meereen had been sacked savagely, as new-fallen cities always were, but Dany was determined that should end now that the city was hers. She had decreed that murderers were to be hanged, that looters were to lose a hand, and rapists their manhood. Eight killers swung from the walls, and the Unsullied had filled a bushel basket with bloody hands and soft red worms, but Meereen was calm again. But for how long? - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

The author isn't finished making his point.

Tarly had heard enough. "Take his little finger. He can choose which hand. A nail through the palm for the other." - Brienne III, AFFC

She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

She has three, Sam.

Exhausted as they were, his rowers bent to their oars again, and the ship clawed south toward the narrow sea, till Skagos dwindled to no more than a few dark shapes in the sky that might have been thunderheads, or the tops of tall black mountains, or both. After that, they had eight days and seven nights of clear, smooth sailing.

Then came more storms, worse than before.

Was it three storms, or only one, broken up by lulls? Sam never knew, though he tried desperately to care. - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Lightning and darkness, the worst is just beginning.

"No." Sam wiped his nose, and pointed south with a fat finger, toward the gathering darkness. "There," he said. No sooner had he spoken than lightning flashed, sudden and silent and blinding bright. The distant clouds glowed for half a heartbeat, mountains heaped on mountains, purple and red and yellow, taller than the world. "The worst isn't done. The worst is just beginning, and there are no happy endings."

"Gods be good," said Dareon, laughing. "Slayer, you are such a craven." - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Thunder from the south, ice from the north.

The autumn gales had hounded them all across the narrow sea. Sometimes they came up from the south, roiling with thunder and lightning and black rains that fell for days. Sometimes they came down from the north, cold and grim, with savage winds that cut right through a man. Once it got so cold that Sam had woken to find the whole ship coated in ice, shining as white as pearl. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

When you make Tywin Lannister look good.

The funeral procession departed King's Landing through the Gate of the Gods, wider and more splendid than the Lion Gate. The choice felt wrong to Jaime. His father had been a lion, that no one could deny, but even Lord Tywin never claimed to be a god. - Jaime II, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei and Aerys aren't the only two people aroused by flames.

Jaime knew the look in his sister's eyes. He had seen it before, most recently on the night of Tommen's wedding, when she burned the Tower of the Hand. The green light of the wildfire had bathed the face of the watchers, so they looked like nothing so much as rotting corpses, a pack of gleeful ghouls, but some of the corpses were prettier than others. Even in the baleful glow, Cersei had been beautiful to look upon. She'd stood with one hand on her breast, her lips parted, her green eyes shining. She is crying, Jaime had realized, but whether it was from grief or ecstasy he could not have said.

The sight had filled him with disquiet, reminding him of Aerys Targaryen and the way a burning would arouse him. - Jaime II, AFFC

+.+.+

Good omens: the night Daenerys was conceived.

A king has no secrets from his Kingsguard. Relations between Aerys and his queen had been strained during the last years of his reign. They slept apart and did their best to avoid each other during the waking hours. But whenever Aerys gave a man to the flames, Queen Rhaella would have a visitor in the night. The day he burned his mace-and-dagger Hand, Jaime and Jon Darry had stood at guard outside her bedchamber whilst the king took his pleasure. "You're hurting me," they had heard Rhaella cry through the oaken door. "You're hurting me." In some queer way, that had been worse than Lord Chelsted's screaming. "We are sworn to protect her as well," Jaime had finally been driven to say. "We are," Darry allowed, "but not from him."

Jaime had only seen Rhaella once after that, the morning of the day she left for Dragonstone. The queen had been cloaked and hooded as she climbed inside the royal wheelhouse that would take her down Aegon's High Hill to the waiting ship, but he heard her maids whispering after she was gone. They said the queen looked as if some beast had savaged her, clawing at her thighs and chewing on her breasts. A crowned beast, Jaime knew. - Jaime II, AFFC

+.+.+

Fateful words.

Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat, Jaime remembered, studying his sister's smile. Let him be the king of ashes. - Jaime II, AFFC

"Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat," he said to a man below him. "Let him be the king of ashes." Drogon shrieked, his claws digging through silk and skin, but the king on his throne never heard, and Dany moved on. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: teats edition.

"I govern the realm."

Seven save us all, you do. His sister liked to think of herself as Lord Tywin with teats, but she was wrong. Their father had been as relentless and implacable as a glacier, where Cersei was all wildfire, especially when thwarted. - Jaime II, AFFC

"Must?" Tyrion made a tsking sound. "That is not a word queens like to hear. You are her perfect prince, agreed, bright and bold and comely as any maid could wish. Daenerys Targaryen is no maid, however. She is the widow of a Dothraki khal, a mother of dragons and sacker of cities, Aegon the Conqueror with teats. She may not prove as willing as you wish." - Tyrion VI, ADWD

+.+.+

A storm's coming for the ants.

Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha's head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of "Asha!" and "Victarion!" surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage storm was about to engulf them all. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. She ran a hand across her stubbly scalp where her hair had burned away, and felt more ants on her head, and one crawling down the back of her neck. She knocked them off and crushed them under her bare feet. There were so many … - Daenerys X, ADWD

+.+.+

Dam-phair's prophetic dream? Who is we?

The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he'd seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen . . . - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

There's no honor in using the magic sword.

Crabb thought that was hilarious. "The Perfect Knight? The Perfect Fool, he sounds like. What's the point o' having some magic sword if you don't bloody well use it?"

"Honor," she said. "The point is honor." - Brienne IV, AFFC

When your dragons were small they were a wonder. Grown, they are death and devastation, a flaming sword above the world. - Daenerys III, ADWD

+.+.+

The dragons have a target.

"I understand you've fought some mighty battles too, Your Grace," said Drey in his most cheerful voice. "It is said you show our brave Prince Trystane no mercy at the cyvasse table."

"He always sets his squares up the same way, with all the mountains in the front and his elephants in the passes," said Myrcella. "So I send my dragon through to eat his elephants." - The Queenmaker, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: the wolf girl edition.

If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons. - Cersei V, AFFC

"If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." -Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

More grief than glory, Aemon.

He was not making sense. "Remember what?"

"Dragons," Aemon whispered. "The grief and glory of my House, they were." - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

Fire consumes.

He closed his white eyes wearily, then forced them open once again. "I should not have left the Wall. Lord Snow could not have known, but I should have seen it. Fire consumes, but cold preserves. The Wall . . . but it is too late to go running back. – Samwell III, AFFC

"Fire consumes." Lord Beric stood behind them, and there was something in his voice that silenced Thoros at once. "It consumes, and when it is done there is nothing left. Nothing." - Arya VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

The dreams killed them, every one.

"The last dragon died before you were born," said Sam. "How could you remember them?"

"I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. My brothers dreamed of dragons too, and the dreams killed them, every one. Sam, we tremble on the cusp of half-remembered prophecies, of wonders and terrors that no man now living could hope to comprehend . . . or . . ." - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

A preview?

Three hundred years ago, when Aegon the Dragon landed beneath this very hill, the High Septon locked himself within the Starry Sept of Oldtown and prayed for seven days and seven nights, taking no nourishment but bread and water. When he emerged he announced that the Faith would not oppose Aegon and his sisters, for the Crone had lifted up her lamp to show him what lay ahead. If Oldtown took up arms against the Dragon, Oldtown would burn, and the Hightower and the Citadel and the Starry Sept would be cast down and destroyed. Lord Hightower was a godly man. When he heard the prophecy, he kept his strength at home and opened the city gates to Aegon when he came. And His High Holiness anointed the Conqueror with the seven oils. I must do as he did, three hundred years ago. I must pray, and fast." - Cersei VI, AFFC

+.+.+

Just because you give something a different name. . .

"Who are they?" he asked the men who helped tie up their boat.

"Widows and orphans. They're to be sold as slaves."

"Sold?" There were no slaves in the Iron Islands, only thralls. A thrall was bound to service, but he was not chattel. His children were born free, so long as they were given to the Drowned God. And thralls were never bought nor sold for gold. A man paid the iron price for thralls, or else had none. "They should be thralls, or salt wives," Victarion complained.

"It's by the king's decree," the man said.

"The strong have always taken from the weak," said Nute the Barber. "Thralls or slaves, it makes no matter. Their men could not defend them, so now they are ours, to do with as we will." - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

Are you sure they believed in the cause?

"When I died in the Battle of the Trident. I fought for Prince Rhaegar, though he never knew my name. I could not tell you why, save that the lord I served served a lord who served a lord who had decided to support the dragon rather than the stag. Had he decided elsewise, I might have been on the other side of the river. The battle was a bloody thing. The singers would have us believe it was all Rhaegar and Robert struggling in the stream for a woman both of them claimed to love, but I assure you, other men were fighting too, and I was one. - Brienne VI, AFFC

At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar's cause, or because they had been bought and paid for? - Daenerys II, ASOS

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: they're everywhere edition.

The far end of the hall was lost in darkness, and Cersei could not but feel that the shadows were closing around her too. My enemies are everywhere, and my friends are useless. - Cersei VII, AFFC

"No more than I did." Dany took a deep breath to stop her shaking. Enemies everywhere. "Take me back to my tent. Please." - Daenerys V, ASOS

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: bed slaves edition.

She twisted Taena's other nipple too, pulling until the other woman gasped. "I am the queen. I mean to claim my rights." - Cersei VII, AFFC

Dany stepped away from her. "No. Irri, you do not need to do that. What happened that night, when you woke . . . you're no bed slave, I freed you, remember? You . . ." - Daenerys II, ASOS

Later, when the time came for sleep, Dany took Irri into bed with her, for the first time since the ship. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

What fools they were! Aemon has the prophecy all figured out.

Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth in that.

On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." - Samwell IV, AFFC

As Archmaester Gyldayn notes in his fragmentary history, there is no record that Vermax ever laid so much as a single egg, suggesting the dragon was male. The belief that dragons could change sex at need is erroneous, according to Maester Anson's Truth, rooted in a misunderstanding of the esoteric metaphor that Barth preferred when discussing the higher mysteries. - TwoIaF

+.+.+

Poor Melisandre, deceived herself because she wanted to believe, unlike Aemon Targaryen. . .

"No," the old man said. "It must be you. Tell them. The prophecy . . . my brother's dream . . . Lady Melisandre has misread the signs. Stannis . . . Stannis has some of the dragon blood in him, yes. His brothers did as well. Rhaelle, Egg's little girl, she was how they came by it . . . their father's mother . . . she used to call me Uncle Maester when she was a little girl. I remembered that, so I allowed myself to hope . . . perhaps I wanted to . . . we all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that . . . light without heat . . . an empty glamor . . . the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam. Daenerys is our hope. Tell them that, at the Citadel. Make them listen. They must send her a maester. Daenerys must be counseled, taught, protected. - Samwell IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: bored to tears edition.

"May I have the honor of accompanying Your Grace to court?"

"If you can bear the tedium," said Cersei. "Robert was a fool about most things, but he was right in one regard. It is wearisome work to rule a kingdom." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

The rest was a tedium the queen knew well. She sat upon her cushions, listening, one foot jiggling with impatience. - Daenerys VII, ADWD

+.+.+

Mad Queen & Mad Queen parallels that make us laugh: bad ideas come in three edition.

The girls wandered for a long while before they found the crone's tent. By the time they did all the torches were guttering out. Cersei watched the girls huddling, whispering to one another. Go back, she tried to tell them. Turn away. There is nothing here for you.

[...]

She dreamt an old dream, of three girls in brown cloaks, a wattled crone, and a tent that smelled of death.

The crone's tent was dark, with a tall peaked roof. She did not want to go in, no more than she had wanted to at ten, but the other girls were watching her, so she could not turn away. They were three in the dream, as they had been in life.

[...]

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

"Then I must heed Pyat Pree, and go to the warlocks."

The merchant prince sat up sharply. "Pyat Pree has blue lips, and it is truly said that blue lips speak only lies. Heed the wisdom of one who loves you. Warlocks are bitter creatures who eat dust and drink of shadows. They will give you naught. They have naught to give." - Daenerys III, ACOK

. . . mother of dragons . . . child of three . . .

"Three?" She did not understand.

. . . three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love . . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt . . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . . - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Final reminder:

Cersei and Daenerys are intended as parallel characters --each exploring a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world. - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

Wait for the payoff.

Lord Hallyne of the Guild of Alchemists presented himself, to ask that his pyromancers be allowed to hatch any dragon's eggs that might turn up upon Dragonstone, now that the isle was safely back in royal hands. "If any such eggs remained, Stannis would have sold them to pay for his rebellion," the queen told him. She refrained from saying that the plan was mad. Ever since the last Targaryen dragon had died, all such attempts had ended in death, disaster, or disgrace. - Cersei VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

A Griffin King is slayed by someone flying on a falcon.

The Winged Knight was Ser Artys Arryn. Legend said that he had driven the First Men from the Vale and flown to the top of the Giant's Lance on a huge falcon to slay the Griffin King. There were a hundred tales of his adventures. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Lady Stoneheart shows no mercy.

"Judgment?" She frowned. "Podrick Payne is just a boy."

"He says he is a squire."

"You know how boys will boast."

"The Imp's squire. He has fought in battles, by his own admission. He has even killed, to hear him tell it."

"A boy," she said again. "Have pity." - Brienne VIII, AFFC

Within he found a boy of twelve laying out clothing on the bed; his squire, such that he was. - Tyrion III, ACOK

"Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see." - Daenerys III, ASOS

+.+.+

That's the thing about prophecies.

"Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy." Marwyn turned his head and spat a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. "Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is . . . and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick off every time." He chewed a bit. "Still . . ." - Samwell V, AFFC

+.+.+

LET'S DANCE: STARK vs. TARG

Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel and @agentrouka-blog!

The Moonsingers led the slaves to a place where the dragonlords couldn't find them.

"The Moonsingers led us to this place of refuge, where the dragons of Valyria could not find us," Denyo said. - Arya I, AFFC

When a shipment of slaves of the Valyrian Freehold bound for Sothoryos revolted, seized the slave ships transporting them, and fled north, a group of enslaved women from the lands of the Jogos Nhai prophesied where they would find shelter: a lagoon behind a wall of pine-clad hills and sea stones, where frequent fogs would help hide the refugees from the eyes of dragonlords passing overhead. These women were moonsingers and, according to Braavosi history, their prophecy proved true. For that reason, the Temple of the Moonsingers is the largest in Braavos. - A Wiki of Ice and Fire

In another place, his little sister lifted her head to sing to the moon, and a hundred small grey cousins broke off their hunt to sing with her. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

Arya and Daenerys come face-to-face with similar doors. Drogon's not a fan.

At the top she found a set of carved wooden doors twelve feet high. The left-hand door was made of weirwood pale as bone, the right of gleaming ebony. In their center was a carved moon face; ebony on the weirwood side, weirwood on the ebony. The look of it reminded her somehow of the heart tree in the godswood at Winterfell. The doors are watching me, she thought. - Arya I, AFFC

Finally the stair opened. To her right, a set of wide wooden doors had been thrown open. They were fashioned of ebony and weirwood, the black and white grains swirling and twisting in strange interwoven patterns. They were very beautiful, yet somehow frightening. The blood of the dragon must not be afraid. Dany said a quick prayer, begging the Warrior for courage and the Dothraki horse god for strength. She made herself walk forward.

[...]

She took a step forward. But then Drogon leapt from her shoulder. He flew to the top of the ebony-and-weirwood door, perched there, and began to bite at the carved wood. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

In the opening chapter of the book, the author appears to be using apples as a placeholder for dragons. Hard to not be reminded of Arya's big bite.

Thank you, @mozzlan!

"Fuck your quiver." Mollander scooped up the windfall. "This one's wormy," he complained, but he threw it anyway. The arrow caught the apple as it began to fall and sliced it clean in two. One half landed on a turret roof, tumbled to a lower roof, bounced, and missed Armen by a foot. "If you cut a worm in two, you make two worms," the acolyte informed them. - Prologue, AFFC

She ended it with valar morghulis, touched Jaqen's coin where it nestled under her belt, and then reached up and plucked an apple from among the dead men as she rode beneath them. It was mushy and overripe, but she ate it worms and all. - Arya I, ASOS

+.+.+

Who's hungry for some fyreworms?

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"The tale of our beginnings. If you would be one of us, you had best know who we are and how we came to be. Men may whisper of the Faceless Men of Braavos, but we are older than the Secret City. Before the Titan rose, before the Unmasking of Uthero, before the Founding, we were. We have flowered in Braavos amongst these northern fogs, but we first took root in Valyria, amongst the wretched slaves who toiled in the deep mines beneath the Fourteen Flames that lit the Freehold's nights of old. Most mines are dank and chilly places, cut from cold dead stone, but the Fourteen Flames were living mountains with veins of molten rock and hearts of fire. So the mines of old Valyria were always hot, and they grew hotter as the shafts were driven deeper, ever deeper. The slaves toiled in an oven. The rocks around them were too hot to touch. The air stank of brimstone and would sear their lungs as they breathed it. The soles of their feet would burn and blister, even through the thickest sandals. Sometimes, when they broke through a wall in search of gold, they would find steam instead, or boiling water, or molten rock. Certain shafts were cut so low that the slaves could not stand upright, but had to crawl or bend. And there were wyrms in that red darkness too."

"Earthworms?" she asked, frowning.

"Firewyrms. Some say they are akin to dragons, for wyrms breathe fire too. Instead of soaring through the sky, they bore through stone and soil. If the old tales can be believed, there were wyrms amongst the Fourteen Flames even before the dragons came. The young ones are no larger than that skinny arm of yours, but they can grow to monstrous size and have no love for men."

She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren't so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food.

[...]

"We're all hungry," said Arya.

"You're not," Lommy spat from the ground. "Worm breath." - Arya V, ACOK

Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand.

The yellow skull was melting too, and the kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her. "No one has ever tried to eat my worm before," he said. "Are you hungry, child?"

Yes, she thought, but not for food. - Arya I, AFFC

+.+.+

He should have killed the masters! Still waiting on the story of the first Faceless Man killing Valyrian masters.

"Burnt and blackened corpses were oft found in shafts where the rocks were cracked or full of holes. Yet still the mines drove deeper. Slaves perished by the score, but their masters did not care. Red gold and yellow gold and silver were reckoned to be more precious than the lives of slaves, for slaves were cheap in the old Freehold. During war, the Valyrians took them by the thousands. In times of peace they bred them, though only the worst were sent down to die in the red darkness."

"Didn't the slaves rise up and fight?"

"Some did," he said. "Revolts were common in the mines, but few accomplished much. The dragonlords of the old Freehold were strong in sorcery, and lesser men defied them at their peril. The first Faceless Man was one who did."

"Who was he?" Arya blurted, before she stopped to think.

"No one," he answered. "Some say he was a slave himself. Others insist he was a freeholder's son, born of noble stock. Some will even tell you he was an overseer who took pity on his charges. The truth is, no one knows.

[...]

Arya drew back from him. "He killed the slave?" That did not sound right. "He should have killed the masters!"

"He would bring the gift to them as well . . . but that is a tale for another day, one best shared with no one." He cocked his head. "And who are you, child?" - Arya II, AFFC

Are the Faceless Men under contract to kill Dany's dragons?

Not yet - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

Lots of sweet things smelling foul.

And then he was alone again with his lord father, amongst the candles and the crystals and the sickly sweet smell of death. – Jaime I, AFFC

All the rainbows vanished in that perfumed mist, yet the stench persisted, a sweet rotten smell that made Jaime want to gag. – Jaime I, AFFC

When the chief fool undid the drawstring on the sack and plunged his hand inside, the smell of decay filled her audience chamber like some rank rose. - Cersei IV, AFFC

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." - Daenerys II, ACOK

A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . - Daenerys IV, ACOK

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The northmen aren't fond of The Stoneborn.

The Skagosi named themselves the stoneborn, but their fellow northmen called them Skaggs and liked them little. – Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Crows are dining!

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

The smell reminded Jaime Lannister of the pass below the Golden Tooth, where he had won a glorious victory in the first days of the war. On the morning after the battle, the crows had feasted on victors and vanquished alike, as once they had feasted on Rhaegar Targaryen after the Trident. How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king? - Jaime I, AFFC

My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb. - Daenerys X, AFFC

+.+.+

Will The Perfect Fool slay a dragon?

Crabb thought that was hilarious. "The Perfect Knight? The Perfect Fool, he sounds like. What's the point o' having some magic sword if you don't bloody well use it?"

[...]

Brienne could not help but smile. "Perhaps," she allowed, "but Ser Galladon was no fool. Against a foe eight feet tall mounted on an aurochs, he might well have unsheathed the Just Maid. He used her once to slay a dragon, they say." - Brienne IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Arya's favourite words.

Winterfell is burned and fallen, Arya reminded herself. Old Nan and Maester Luwin were both dead, most like, and Sansa too. It did no good to think of them. All men must die. That was what the words meant, the words that Jaqen H'ghar had taught her when he gave her the worn iron coin. She had learned more Braavosi words since they left Saltpans, the words for please and thank you and sea and star and fire wine, but she came to them knowing that all men must die. - Arya I, AFFC

"Him of Many Faces."

"And many names," the kindly man had said. "In Qohor he is the Black Goat, in Yi Ti the Lion of Night, in Westeros the Stranger. All men must bow to him in the end, no matter if they worship the Seven or the Lord of Light, the Moon Mother or the Drowned God or the Great Shepherd. All mankind belongs to him . . . else somewhere in the world would be a folk who lived forever. Do you know of any folk who live forever?"

"No," she would answer. "All men must die." - Cat of the Canals, AFFC

+.+.+

Showdown at the Trident (link): lessons were learned after King Harren and his people burned.

Crabb gave her a sideways look. "Aegon sent his sister up to Crackclaw, that Visenya. The lords had heard o' Harren's end. Being no fools, they laid their swords at her feet. The queen took them as her own men, and said they'd owe no fealty to Maidenpool, Crab Isle, or Duskendale. - Brienne IV, AFFC

+.+.+

A RAT IN A MAZE 🐀🔪

You're going to need the original theory to make better sense of this.

If you want to read the theory in its entirety (including the new evidence below), click on the link. I strongly suggest this option.

If you're familiar with the theory and only want the AFFC additions, keep reading.

To summarize:

Arya Stark, often likened to a rat, and uniquely familiar with the secret tunnels of the Red Keep, will emerge from one of the walls to kill Daenerys with a dagger when she's alone in the throne room.

Similar to Maegor the Cruel, there will be wild speculation over who killed Daenerys. Some will say it was the Iron Throne that rejected her.

The rats are back!

Like a what?

He glanced around the bedchamber. "Whoever did this might still be lurking in the walls. It's a maze back there, and dark."

She imagined Tyrion creeping between the walls like some monstrous rat. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

What kind of rat?

And all for naught. They found only darkness, dust, and rats. And dragons, lurking down below. - Jaime I, AFFC

___

Your only friend is a rat when you're in the black cells.

If the Eyrie had been made like other castles, only rats and gaolers would have heard the dead man singing. - Sansa I, AFFC

___

Rats near the dungeons.

So it had been left to Rennifer Longwaters, the head undergaoler with the twisted back who claimed at tedious length to have a "drop of dragon" in him, to unlock the dungeon doors for Jaime and conduct him up the narrow steps inside the walls to the place where Ilyn Payne had lived for fifteen years.

The chambers stank of rotted food, and the rushes were crawling with vermin. As Jaime entered, he almost trod upon a rat. - Jaime III, AFFC

___

What about Arya?

A passage to the black cells had been found, and a stone well that seemed to have no bottom. They had found a chamber full of skulls and yellowed bones, and four sacks of tarnished silver coins from the reign of the first King Viserys. They had found a thousand rats as well . . . but neither Tyrion nor Varys had been amongst them, and Jaime had finally insisted on putting an end to the search. - Cersei III, AFFC

___

I think she already left.

"Do you still mean to go ahead and burn the Tower of the Hand?"

"After the feast." It was the only part of the day's festivities that Cersei thought she might enjoy. "Our lord father was murdered in that tower. I cannot bear to look at it. If the gods are good, the fire may smoke a few rats from the rubble." - Cersei III, AFFC

___

Mice work too!

"The queen is wise. These walls have ears."

"So they do." At night Cersei sometimes heard soft sounds, even in her own apartments. Mice in the walls, she would tell herself, no more than that. - Cersei VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Someone's in the walls.

Sounding like Aerys in more ways than one.

"Forever. See that they sleep forever, ser. I will not suffer guards to sleep on watch." He is in the walls. He killed Father as he killed Mother, as he killed Joff. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

You can never be too careful.

"Tyrion will not kill the same way twice. He is too cunning for that. He could be under the floor even now, listening to every word we say and making plans to open Tommen's throat." - Cersei III, AFFC

___

Too bad Daenerys doesn't know to be this paranoid.

She seized his arm. "Not a guardsman. You. And inside his bedchamber."

"In case Tyrion crawls out of the hearth? He won't."

"So you say. Will you tell me that you found all the hidden tunnels in these walls?" They both knew better. - Cersei III, AFFC

___

You never know who may be listening.

"Win Alla if you can, but be careful what you say. The gods may not be the only ones listening." - Cersei X, AFFC

Cersei gathered up her skirts and dignity. "This must be very frightening for you. I shall forgive those words." Here, as at court, one never knew who might be listening. - Cersei X, AFFC

Someone is listening. Even here, even now, she dare not speak freely. - Cersei I, ADWD

+.+.+

Secret tunnels, passageways, and wells - oh my!

To the sewers, Osmund.

"The guards were at their posts, Your Grace," said Osmund Kettleblack. "We found a hidden door behind the hearth. A secret passage. The Lord Commander's gone down to see where it goes." - Cersei I, AFFC

___

What about a child?

Guardsmen clustered near the hearth. The secret door that Ser Osmund had spoken of gaped open behind the ashes, no bigger than an oven. A man would need to crawl. But Tyrion is only half a man. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

With blade in hand?

There had always been talk of secret passages within the Red Keep. Maegor the Cruel was supposed to have killed the men who built the castle to keep the knowledge of them secret. How many other bedchambers have hidden doors? Cersei had a sudden vision of the dwarf crawling out from behind a tapestry in Tommen's bedchamber with blade in hand. Tommen is well guarded, she told herself. But Lord Tywin had been well guarded too. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

You can't leave from the front door, Osfryd.

Osfryd nodded and started toward the door. "No, not through the yard." She gestured toward the secret passage. "There's a shaft down to the dungeons. That way." - Cersei I, AFFC

___

Do we need keys?

Her twin's face had a haggard look. "The shaft goes down to a chamber where half a dozen tunnels meet. They're closed off by iron gates, chained and locked. I need to find keys." - Cersei I, AFFC

___

Thanks for all the information.

"If any of them were hiding in the tower, we would have found them. I've had a small army going at it with picks and hammers. We've knocked through walls and ripped up floors and uncovered half a hundred secret passages."

"And for all you know there may be half a hundred more." Some of the secret crawlways had turned out to be so small that Jaime had needed pages and stableboys to explore them. A passage to the black cells had been found, and a stone well that seemed to have no bottom. They had found a chamber full of skulls and yellowed bones, and four sacks of tarnished silver coins from the reign of the first King Viserys. They had found a thousand rats as well . . . but neither Tyrion nor Varys had been amongst them, and Jaime had finally insisted on putting an end to the search. One boy had gotten stuck in a narrow passage and had to be pulled out by his feet, shrieking. Another fell down a shaft and broke his legs. And two guardsmen vanished exploring a side tunnel. Some of the other guards swore they could hear them calling faintly through the stone, but when Jaime's men tore down the wall they found only earth and rubble on the far side. - Cersei III, AFFC

+.+.+

Who's there!?

Cersei's not alone.

His merriment still echoed in her ears when she felt a light touch on her shoulder, and woke suddenly. For half a heartbeat the hand seemed part of the nightmare, and Cersei cried out, but it was only Senelle. The maid's face was white and frightened.

We are not alone, the queen realized. Shadows loomed around her bed, tall shapes with chain mail glimmering beneath their cloaks. Armed men had no business here. Where are my guards? Her bedchamber was dark, but for the lantern one of the intruders held on high. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

Bad dreams are becoming reality.

But that was folly. Her dwarf brother was down in the black cells, condemned to die this very day. She looked down at her hands, turning them over to make certain all her fingers were still there. When she ran a hand down her arm the skin was covered with gooseprickles, but unbroken. There were no cuts on her legs, no gashes on the soles of her feet. A dream, that's all it was, a dream. - Cersei I, AFFC

Someone was in the cabin with her.

[...]

She is standing over me. "Who's there?" Dany peered into the darkness. She thought she could see a shadow, the faintest outline of a shape.

[...]

"A dream." Dany shook her head. "I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep." - Daenerys III, ASOS

___

King Renly's run-in with a deadly shadow.

That night she dreamed herself in Renly's tent again. All the candles were guttering out, and the cold was thick around her. Something was moving through green darkness, something foul and horrible was hurtling toward her king. She wanted to protect him, but her limbs felt stiff and frozen, and it took more strength than she had just to lift her hand. And when the shadow sword sliced through the green steel gorget and the blood began to flow, she saw that the dying king was not Renly after all but Jaime Lannister, and she had failed him. - Brienne II, AFFC

Lord Renly was ahead of her, her sweet smiling king. He was leading her horse through the trees. Brienne called out to tell him how much she loved him, but when he turned to scowl at her, she saw that he was not Renly after all. Renly never scowled. He always had a smile for me, she thought . . . except . . .

"Cold," her king said, puzzled, and a shadow moved without a man to cast it, and her sweet lord's blood came washing through the green steel of his gorget to drench her hands. He had been a warm man, but his blood was cold as ice. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Iron Throne or Shadow?

The Iron Throne is slicing up Cersei.

Horrified, she tried to cover herself with her hands. The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening. - Cersei I, AFFC

___

Daddy was tormented by the blades.

By the end the Mad King had become so fearful that he would allow no blade in his presence, save for the swords his Kingsguard wore. His beard was matted and unwashed, his hair a silver-gold tangle that reached his waist, his fingernails cracked yellow claws nine inches long. Yet still the blades tormented him, the ones he could never escape, the blades of the Iron Throne. His arms and legs were always covered with scabs and half-healed cuts. - Jaime II, AFFC

___

The Iron Throne's shadow.

Noho Dimittis, the Braavosi named himself. An irritating name for an irritating man. His voice was irritating too. Cersei shifted in her seat as he went on, wondering how long she must endure his hectoring. Behind her loomed the Iron Throne, its barbs and blades throwing twisted shadows across the floor. - Cersei V, AFFC

___

The shadows are closing in.

The torches on the back wall threw the long, barbed shadow of the Iron Throne halfway to the doors. The far end of the hall was lost in darkness, and Cersei could not but feel that the shadows were closing around her too. - Cersei VII, AFFC

___

A shifting shadow.

"No," said Cersei, "all is well. On the morrow Ser Loras will sail for Dragonstone, to win the castle, loose the Redwyne fleet, and prove his manhood to us all." She told the Myrish woman all that had occurred beneath the shifting shadow of the Iron Throne. - Cersei VII, AFFC

+.+.+

THE USURPER'S KNIFE

You're going to need the original theory to make better sense of this.

If you want to read the theory in its entirety (including the new evidence below), click on the link. I strongly suggest this option.

If you're familiar with the theory and only want the AFFC additions, keep reading.

To summarize:

Arya will kill Daenerys with Robert Baratheon's dagger (the usurper's knife). The same dagger the show used to kill the Night King.

With blade in hand.

+.+.+

I know one girl who would agree.

". . . to remove Jon Snow from the command," Cersei finished, delighted. I knew I was right to want him on my council. "That is just what we shall do." She laughed. If this bastard boy is truly his father's son, he will not suspect a thing. Perhaps he will even thank me, before the blade slides between his ribs.

[…]

This was how an enemy should be dealt with: with a dagger, not a declaration. - Cersei IV, AFFC

+.+.+

George casually reminds the reader the usurper's knife still travels on Littlefinger's hip.

"Your apple-eater holds a blade. Tell him to give it to you, or draw that dagger." - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

STORM x STORM 🦑🖤🐉

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: there's a storm a comin' edition.

"The Stormborn. I recall her now." - Prologue, AFFC

A storm was brewing, he could hear it in the waves, and storms brought naught but evil.

[…]

He was born a lord's son and died a king, murdered by a jealous god, Aeron thought, and now the storm is coming, a storm such as these isles have never known.

[…]

Aeron tugged his beard, and thought. I have seen the storm, and its name is Euron Crow's Eye. - The Prophet, AFFC

A smile played across Euron's blue lips. "I am the storm, my lord. The first storm, and the last. I have taken the Silence on longer voyages than this, and ones far more hazardous. Have you forgotten? I have sailed the Smoking Sea and seen Valyria." - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

Dothraki x Ironborn: the perfect complement.

Aeron shoved a bare black foot into a stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle. He was not fond of horses—they were creatures from the green lands and helped to make men weak—but necessity required that he ride. - The Prophet, AFFC

Savage beasts he did not fear, nor any man who had ever drawn breath, but the sea was a different matter. To the Dothraki, water that a horse could not drink was something foul; the heaving grey-green plains of the ocean filled them with superstitious loathing. - Daenerys VI, AGOT

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: gods? pfft edition.

"No." Aeron Damphair did not weigh his words. "Only a godly man may sit the Seastone Chair. The Crow's Eye worships naught but his own pride." - The Prophet, AFFC

I know them all. I have seen their peoples garland them with flowers, and shed the blood of goats and bulls and children in their names. And I have heard the prayers, in half a hundred tongues. Cure my withered leg, make the maiden love me, grant me a healthy son. Save me, succor me, make me wealthy . . . protect me! Protect me from mine enemies, protect me from the darkness, protect me from the crabs inside my belly, from the horselords, from the slavers, from the sellswords at my door. Protect me from the Silence." He laughed. "Godless? Why, Aeron, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! You serve one god, Damphair, but I have served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: rules & loopholes edition.

"Ironborn must not spill the blood of ironborn."

"A pious sentiment, Damphair," said Goodbrother, "but not one that your brother shares. He had Sawane Botley drowned for saying that the Seastone Chair by rights belonged to Theon."

"If he was drowned, no blood was shed," said Aeron. - The Prophet, AFFC

Ser Jorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a free man's blood. - Daenerys IV, AGOT

Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering … yet no drop of blood was spilled. - Daenerys V, AGOT

+.+.+

Deranged Greyjoys and Targaryens love the basic elements.

Aeron crept from his little shelter into the chill of the night. Naked he stood, pale and gaunt and tall, and naked he walked into the black salt sea. The water was icy cold, yet he did not flinch from his god's caress. A wave smashed against his chest, staggering him. The next broke over his head. He could taste the salt on his lips and feel the god around him, and his ears rang with the glory of his song. Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy, and I was the least of them, as weak and frightened as a girl. But no longer. That man is drowned, and the god has made me strong. The cold salt sea surrounded him, embraced him, reached down through his weak man's flesh and touched his bones. Bones, he thought. The bones of the soul. - The Prophet, AFFC

No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don't you see? Don't you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children. - Daenerys X, AGOT

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: uncles and aunts stealing birthrights edition.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Aeron tugged his beard, and thought. I have seen the storm, and its name is Euron Crow's Eye. "For now, send only silence," he told the lord. "I must pray on this."

"Pray all you wish," the maester said. "It does not change the law. Theon is the rightful heir, and Asha next." - The Prophet, AFFC

Now, how do you suppose this queen will react when you turn up with your begging bowl in hand and say, 'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?'" - Tyrion VI, ADWD

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: here we go again edition.

"Have you ever seen the arms of House Toland of Ghost Hill?"

He had to think a moment. "A dragon eating its own tail?"

"The dragon is time. It has no beginning and no ending, so all things come round again. - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

"And I am Daenerys Stormborn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon's daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Euron the dragonlord?

"I will go anywhere with you, but . . . Lord Blacktyde says this kingsmoot is a dangerous folly. He thinks your uncle will descend on them and kill them all, as Urron did."

He's mad enough. "He lacks the strength."

"You do not know his strength. He's been gathering men on Pyke.

[...]

"but if they catch you in those nets of theirs, you'll be as dead as if they had been dragonlords. And there's worse. The Crow's Eye brought back monsters from the east . . . aye, and wizards too." - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: their favourite black and red mounts edition.

And then he saw her: a single-masted galley, lean and low, with a dark red hull. Her sails, now furled, were black as a starless sky. Even at anchor Silence looked both cruel and fast. On her prow was a black iron maiden with one arm outstretched. Her waist was slender, her breasts high and proud, her legs long and shapely. A windblown mane of black iron hair streamed from her head, and her eyes were mother-of-pearl, but she had no mouth. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Above them all the dragon turned, dark against the sun. His scales were black, his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red. Ever the largest of her three, in the wild Drogon had grown larger still. His wings stretched twenty feet from tip to tip, black as jet. He flapped them once as he swept back above the sands, and the sound was like a clap of thunder. The boar raised his head, snorting … and flame engulfed him, black fire shot with red. - Daenerys IX, AFFC

+.+.+

Euron Greyjoy, you dreamboat.

He looks unchanged, Victarion thought. He looks the same as he did the day he laughed at me and left. Euron was the most comely of Lord Quellon's sons, and three years of exile had not changed that. His hair was still black as a midnight sea, with never a whitecap to be seen, and his face was still smooth and pale beneath his neat dark beard. A black leather patch covered Euron's left eye, but his right was blue as a summer sky. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

When the exile knight delivered him, she asked herself whether two men had ever been so different. The Tyroshi was fair where Ser Jorah was swarthy; lithe where the knight was brawny; graced with flowing locks where the other was balding, yet smooth-skinned where Mormont was hairy. And her knight dressed plainly while this other made a peacock look drab, though he had thrown a heavy black cloak over his bright yellow finery for this visit. He carried a heavy canvas sack slung over one shoulder. - Daenerys IV, ASOS

She thought of Daario. If ever there was a man who could rape a woman with his eyes . . .

To be sure, she was just as guilty. Dany found herself stealing looks at the Tyroshi when her captains came to council, and sometimes at night she remembered the way his gold tooth glittered when he smiled. That, and his eyes. His bright blue eyes. - Daenerys V, ASOS

+.+.+

Sounds familiar.

"Just so," said Euron, "and for that sin I kill them all. I spill their blood upon the sea and sow their screaming women with my seed. Their little gods cannot stop me, so plainly they are false gods. I am more devout than even you, Aeron. Perhaps it should be you who kneels to me for blessing." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

"I will take my khalasar west to where the world ends, and ride the wooden horses across the black salt water as no khal has done before. I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains. This I vow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo. This I swear before the Mother of Mountains, as the stars look down in witness." - Daenerys VI, AGOT

+.+.+

Those luscious blue lips.

"King Crow's Eye, brother." Euron smiled. His lips looked very dark in the lamplight, bruised and blue. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

"Not all your enemies are in the Yellow City. Beware men with cold hearts and blue lips. - Daenerys III, ADWD

+.+.+

The female sea dragon, who fed on krakens.

On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees. The sight made Aeron's heart beat faster. Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath, yet the Grey King had slain her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga's ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga's teeth. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

The ironborn are ants, and a savage storm is about to engulf them all.

+.+.+

Red comet doomsday predictions: will the Greyjoys and Daenerys sweep over the green lands with fire and sword?

+.+.+

Euron, and his red and black Valyrian toys. Will a dragon or a Targaryen queen be bound to his will?

The horn he blew was shiny black and twisted, and taller than a man as he held it with both hands. It was bound about with bands of red gold and dark steel, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that seemed to glow redly as the sound swelled.

[...]

"That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind dragons to my will." - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: conquerors edition.

"We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors. Our writ ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal north, my niece with even less . . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros." He glanced at the priest. "All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure." - The Drowned Man, AFFC

[...]

"I know as much of war as you do, Crow's Eye," Asha said. "Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons."

"And so shall we," Euron Greyjoy promised. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. - Daenerys VI, ASOS

+.+.+

No true Scotsman.

These are no ironmen, Victarion thought. They still fear drowning. - The Reaver, AFFC

He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon. - Daenerys V, AGOT

+.+.+

Will Euron fly (on a dragon)?

Euron stood by the window, drinking from a silver cup. He wore the sable cloak he took from Blacktyde, his red leather eye patch, and nothing else. "When I was a boy, I dreamt that I could fly," he announced. "When I woke, I couldn't . . . or so the maester said. But what if he lied?" [...] "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: precious collectibles edition.

"I once held a dragon's egg in this hand, brother. This Myrish wizard swore he could hatch it if I gave him a year and all the gold that he required. When I grew bored with his excuses, I slew him. As he watched his entrails sliding through his fingers he said, 'But it has not been a year.'" He laughed.

[...]

Victarion shuddered. "Show me this dragon's egg." "I threw it in the sea during one of my dark moods." Euron gave a shrug. - The Reaver, AFFC

When she opened it, she found piles of the finest velvets and damasks the Free Cities could produce … and resting on top, nestled in the soft cloth, three huge eggs. Dany gasped. - Daenerys II, AGOT

+.+.+

Storm x Storm parallels that make us laugh: Kool-aid edition.

"I mean to open your eyes." Euron drank deep from his own cup, and smiled. "Shade-of-the-evening, the wine of the warlocks. I came upon a cask of it when I captured a certain galleas out of Qarth, along with some cloves and nutmeg, forty bolts of green silk, and four warlocks who told a curious tale. One presumed to threaten me, so I killed him and fed him to the other three. They refused to eat of their friend's flesh at first, but when they grew hungry enough they had a change of heart. Men are meat." - The Reaver, AFFC

He stood no higher than her knee, his faced pinched and pointed, snoutish, but he was dressed in delicate livery of purple and blue, and his tiny pink hands held a silver tray. Upon it rested a slender crystal glass filled with a thick blue liquid: shade of the evening, the wine of warlocks. "Take and drink," urged Pyat Pree. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Euron wants his bride.

"A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver's Bay and bring my love to me?"

[...]

"So are the contents of my chamber pot. None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that's worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware."

[...]

"The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts . . . but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver's Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me." - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

Victarion's highly skilled at making deliveries.

When Balon was wed, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

Ironborn dressed like hunky Daario.

"My apologies," the captain said when his inspection was complete. "It grieves me that honest men must suffer such discourtesy, but sooner that than ironmen in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody bastards captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They killed her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color their whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port ablaze and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire. Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and not one of them had the words to hail him back." - Samwell V, AFFC

+.+.+

Euron's banner is smoke-stained.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Xhondo pointed at a half-sunken longship in the shallows. The remnants of a banner drooped from her stern, smoke-stained and ragged. The charge was one Sam had never seen before: a red eye with a black pupil, beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows. "Whose banner is that?" Sam asked. Xhondo only shrugged.

+.+.+

SQUID GAME

Join me, as we try to piece together how the story ends for Victarion and Euron Greyjoy.

What do we know about Vicky Greyjoy?

He's a fearsome warrior, loyal to a fault, and has neither the wits nor the ambition to plot betrayal (wink, wink).

"Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet, and a fearsome warrior. I have heard them sing of him in the alehouses."

"During my lord father's rebellion, he sailed into Lannisport with my uncle Euron and burned the Lannister fleet where it lay at anchor," Theon recalled. "The plan was Euron's, though. Victarion is like some great grey bullock, strong and tireless and dutiful, but not like to win any races. No doubt, he'll serve me as loyally as he has served my lord father. He has neither the wits nor the ambition to plot betrayal." - Theon II, ACOK

Nine sons had been born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy, and Victarion was the strongest of them, a bull of a man, fearless and dutiful. And therein lies our danger. A younger brother owes obedience to an elder, and Victarion was not a man to sail against tradition. He has no love for Euron, though. Not since the woman died. - The Prophet, AFFC

Obedience came naturally to Victarion Greyjoy; he had been born to it. - The Reaver, AFFC

+.+.+

He wears lots of armor. Like, a lot of armor. All the time. Heavy, steel armor. At sea. On a ship.

"Keep line," Davos shouted. A gust of wind tugged at his old green cloak. A jerkin of boiled leather and a pothelm at his feet were his only armor. At sea, heavy steel was as like to cost a man his life as to save it, he believed. - Davos III, ACOK

Beneath he wore heavy grey chainmail over boiled black leather. In Moat Cailin he had taken to wearing mail day and night. Sore shoulders and an aching back were easier to bear than bloody bowels. The poisoned arrows of the bog devils need only scratch a man, and a few hours later he would be squirting and screaming as his life ran down his legs in gouts of red and brown. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Victarion loomed above all of them save Andrik. His brother wore no helm, but elsewise he was all in armor, his kraken cloak hanging golden from his shoulders. - The Drowned Man, AFFC

"It was good of you to bring such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle," she told Victarion, "but you need not have worn so much armor. I promise not to hurt you." - The Drowned Man, AFFC

They hacked at him from front and back, but their swords might have been willow switches for all the harm they did him. No blade could cut through Victarion Greyjoy's heavy plate, nor did he give his foes the time to find the weak points at the joints, where only mail and leather warded him. Let three men assail him, or four, or five; it made no matter. He slew them one at a time, trusting in his steel to protect him from the others. - The Reaver, AFFC

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He doesn't fear drowning.

They were clutching swords and spears and axes, but nine of every ten wore no armor, and the tenth had only a shirt of sewn scales. These are no ironmen, Victarion thought. They still fear drowning. - The Reaver, AFFC

Most like the man had drowned. "May he feast as he fought, in the Drowned God's watery halls." Though the men of the Shield Islands called themselves sailors, they crossed the seas in dread and went lightly clad in battle for fear of drowning. Young Serry had been different. A brave man, thought Victarion. Almost ironborn. - The Reaver, AFFC

"Throw the dying in the sea. If any beg for mercy, cut their throats first." He had only contempt for such; better to drown on seawater than on blood. - The Reaver, AFFC

A gang of sullen survivors moved amongst them, chasing off the black birds and tossing the dead into the back of a wagon for burial. The notion filled Victarion with disgust. No true son of the sea would want to rot beneath the ground. How would he ever find the Drowned God's watery halls, to drink and feast for all eternity? - The Reaver, AFFC

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He beat his wife to death, and gave her to the crabs.

Actions like that are never met with poetic justice in this story.

Victarion knew that to mean the girl did not have a hump. Yet when he tried to picture her, he only saw the wife he'd killed. He had sobbed each time he struck her, and afterward carried her down to the rocks to give her to the crabs. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

"She was only a salt wife." He had not touched another woman since he gave her to the crabs. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

I should beat you raw and red and feed you to the crabs, the same as I did her. - The Reaver, AFFC

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And he will absolutely positively never ever kill his brother.

No man is as accursed as the kinslayer, got it?

Euron Greyjoy, King of the Isles and the North. The thought woke an old rage in his heart, but still . . .

"Words are wind," Victarion told them, "and the only good wind is that which fills our sails. Would you have me fight the Crow's Eye? Brother against brother, ironborn against ironborn?" Euron was still his elder, no matter how much bad blood might be between them. No man is as accursed as the kinslayer. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Victarion's hands closed into fists. He had beaten four men to death with those hands, and one wife as well. Though his hair was flecked with hoarfrost, he was as strong as he had ever been, with a bull's broad chest and a boy's flat belly. The kinslayer is accursed in the eyes of gods and men, Balon had reminded him on the day he sent the Crow's Eye off to sea. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Victarion would not speak of kinslaying, here in this godly place beneath the bones of Nagga and the Grey King's Hall, but many a night he dreamed of driving a mailed fist into Euron's smiling face, until the flesh split and his bad blood ran red and free. I must not. I pledged my word to Balon. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Balon had commanded them not to speak of it, but Balon was dead. "He put a baby in her belly and made me do the killing. I would have killed him too, but Balon would have no kinslaying in his hall. He sent Euron into exile, never to return . . ." - The Iron Captain, AFFC

The only blow he landed completed the ruin of Victarion's shield, but the cut the captain dealt in answer split his head in two. Would that I could deal with the Crow's Eye as simply. - The Reaver, AFFC

He drank in the darkness, brooding on his brother. If I do not strike the blow with mine own hand, am I still a kinslayer? Victarion feared no man, but the Drowned God's curse gave him pause. If another strikes him down at my command, will his blood still stain my hands? - The Reaver, AFFC

"I placed the crown upon his head," said the priest, seaweed dripping in his hair, "and gladly will I wrest it off again and crown you in his stead. Only you are strong enough to fight him."

"The Drowned God raised him up," Victarion complained. "Let the Drowned God cast him down." - The Reaver, AFFC

His oarsmen bent their backs toward Oakenshield, and the iron captain went belowdecks once again. "I could kill him," he told the dusky woman. "Though it is a great sin to kill your king, and a worse one to kill your brother." He frowned. - The Reaver, AFFC

He would give half his teeth for the chance to try his axe against the Kingslayer or the Knight of Flowers. That was the sort of battle that he understood. The kinslayer was accursed in the eyes of gods and men, but the warrior was honored and revered. - The Reaver, AFFC

One day I shall drink your wine, Crow's Eye, and take from you all that you hold dear. But was there anything Euron held dear? - The Reaver, AFFC

"A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver's Bay and bring my love to me?"

I had a love once too. Victarion's hands coiled into fists, and a drop of blood fell to patter on the floor. I should beat you raw and red and feed you to the crabs, the same as I did her. - The Reaver, AFFC

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But let's say the unthinkable happens, and Vicky does kill Euron - please understand drowning doesn't really count.

"Euron is elder," the priest said, "but Victarion is more godly."

"Will it come to war between them?" asked the maester.

"Ironborn must not spill the blood of ironborn."

"A pious sentiment, Damphair," said Goodbrother, "but not one that your brother shares. He had Sawane Botley drowned for saying that the Seastone Chair by rights belonged to Theon."

"If he was drowned, no blood was shed," said Aeron. - The Prophet, AFFC

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AFFC: PART III

Touch me.

Chapter Transitions

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

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#operation stumpy re-read #foreshadowing smorgasbord #affc summary #anti daenerys #anti jonerys #jon snow #arya stark #stark vs. targ #storm x storm #house greyjoy #asoiaf

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