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#dani go summoned once and just terrified them
tanglepelt · 1 year
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Dc x dp idea 13?
Danny just gaslighting the JL and JLD.
They summoned the ghost king obviously Danny shows up cause i love that for him. He’s in human form. He does that on purpose.
Must ppl assume they messed up send him back and leave it at that. Nope not these people.
Constantine is checking the summoning circle again. Just tells Danny he won’t fall for his disguise and that he knows that he’s ghost king. And says he wants to make a deal.
Danny knows this man sells his souls more then his parents claim they want to tear phantom up molecule by molecule and he has no use for a soul anyways. So Danny just says if i was a king i wouldn’t be failing high school. He wouldn’t even go to high school.
Then Danny goes on about how he has a bully so obviously he couldn’t be a king. Not to mention his human non royal parents. They were mad scientist and ghost hunters but that’s as interesting as they got. Also hello he is alive what did Constantine think he was secretly a ghost.
Danny then walks around the circle just pointing at the total correct symbols going are you sure it’s meant to be a crown. What if this king is a queen and has a tiara. Like who are you to assume it’s a king if you’ve never met them.
John isn’t falling for it at all. Now everyone else is doubting him. Batman pulled up Danny on the computer a perfectly normal human child. So Danny is gonna pull out the big guns. Looks at him and goes if i step out will that prove I’m not currently the ghost king.
It’s one of the other JLD members who says he wouldn’t be able to if he was king. It was warded to keep the king in. So Danny who is currently human just steps out.
See he’s totally not the just king. Currently.
Turns out they needed someone to deal with the box ghost. Danny just say oh i got that. He soups him and goes i did say my parents were ghost hunters
Danny failed to realize once he stepped out of the circle they couldn’t send him back that way. So now he is stuck being questioned but hey at least he is in space.
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I'm glad you agree with Dani having wind powers. I have been thinking about the other halfa's and their powers and why they have them. Vlad is fire, which is volatile and hurts others but it can also keep people warm (perhaps there is hope for him in another universe) and is something often used in human invention and Vlad is very smart. Danny is his opposite, Ice. Unlike fire, ice could be used to subdue his enemies without hurting them (1/2)
(2/2) However Ice is also be sharp and dangerous (he can be mean sometimes) and it is cold, which could maybe represent how alone he feels. It could also be tied into his love for space as space is cold. If Jazz was a ghost, I think she would have water powers, since it's like a melted version of her brothers ice (lol). She is cool and collected and prefers to talk things out and understand rather than fight. She can also be rather overbearing sometimes, like an ocean. Sorry if this is long.
~ ~ ~
it’s interesting to think what the various halfa’s elements would be. makes me think of the into the spiderverse au. i like the idea that jazz would be water. it suits her. cool and collected, even sometimes associated with healing. but equally capable of devastation if used for violence. since psychology is her thing, i’d also draw a comparison to that. it’s used to help and heal, but when used by people like spectra it can be the most damaging attack possible. it can destroy people on a level deeper than physical. i’d likewise suggest that jazz would be the one to figure out bloodbending as a concept for this world, but would proceed to avoid using it. if she ever has a dark dan version of herself, i could see Black Jasmine being far more terrifying than him. when jazz goes bad, she’d go really bad
though in terms of what would push her to that point, it think it’d probably be more difficult and less difficult than what happened to danny. she is all about control and discipline. she’d use denial and psychology to manage for as long as possible. that is if it’s something that no one could have predicted or stopped. an accident. but if say it was a failure on the school or societies part... if say a case of bullying landed danny trapped in a locker during a ghost attack, unable to escape, and he died because of an attack that she was involved in. if he died with her not even aware that he was feet from her and in danger...
well i could see her losing herself in her guilt and anger at the world. he could have been saved. if he wasn’t being bullied, if the teachers had done something, if the ghost hadn’t attacked, if she had known he was there. like i said dark jazz is scary.
that aside, i also want all potential halfas to have elements associated with them now. we’re all pretty much agreed that tucker is electric type, due to his love of technology, but also his impulsiveness. electricity can do a lot of damage when not controlled properly and we’ve seen tucker on more than one occasion struggle with control. he’s overconfident and surprisingly reckless at times. when he’s in his element he’s fantastic but he’s been known to abuse power when he has it. i think that would be his main conflict as tucker ghouly, controlling his powers and using them responsibly.
sam would be representative of the element wood. which is associated with flexibility, durability, and strong emotions. because she’s our resident plant girl. she is willful and passionate but also stubborn and demanding. she demands the most of herself but also others, she wants everyone to thrive but sometimes forgets what’s best for her isn’t what’s best for other. her conflict might end up being empathy, because while she has it in spades, she doesn’t always know how to use it, if that makes sense. she tends to take things as a personal attack on her and her veiws when people disagree with her, which can be pretty dangerous, especially when people absolutely have reasons for their own opinions. she needs to learn to listen to others, if she’s going to be a proper hero
that would leave the final element, metal to val. metal is the most stubborn and inflexible of the elements. she’s strong and disciplined, unyielding in her attacks and views. but as we know that’s for better or worse. she really difficult to convince she’s wrong. she’d probably end up being one of the strongest out of them, she’d figure out the most ways to use her powers and how to shape metal to her advantage. i’m actually struck by the fun idea of val using her metal powers to make jewelry and running a small business selling it. this val would still manage to create a body armor and probably be better at maintaining anonymity with her ghost activity. though i also see her as overworking herself. she tries to do everything and ends up failing classes, alienating her friends, and too exhausted to think straight..she became a ghost before she was friends with danny, so i like the idea of them ending up friends, probably during the flour baby episode, and danny being the one to finally convince her to chill out and manage her health better. full human danny, is still all about helping people and is probably more stable and viably smart when he has time to do his homework. he’d probably offer to help her study and manage her business when too busy, and just having someone to lean on means everything to val.
until of course, plasimius kills jack fenton, and danny goes down the path of seeking vengeance and fighting ghosts. i actually don’t thing they’d know each others hunter identities at first, so they’d initially be fighting for real. danny is almost as stubborn as val. (ice is also inflexable until given the time to melt. and cold and harsh and deadly when angry). i see the green hunter being the most dangerous thing val has faced so far because danny is unrelenting. once she figures out who she’s fighting (i see her giving fenton a necklace of a star when he’s human and hunter losing the necklace during a fight and val discovering it and initially thinking it was stolen but figuring out the truth throughout the episode) fighting someone innocent, who’s justified, but still wrong, she’d be forced to learn to be more flexible and understanding, just to convince danny to stop. because let’s be real, she agrees with danny. plasmius killed his father, if she were in his shoes, he’d do the same thing, but she needs him to understand that she’s not the bad guy. not all ghosts are bad.
she’d also need to learn to be more flexible just to fight vlad/plasmius. because he is manipulative and her straight foward way of thinking and fighting would get her in trouble with him. i could see him framing her for a lot. he’d also be hanging around danny as vlad and manipulating danny that way. she’d essentially be fighting 2 different people who turn out to be the same person. vlad, the billionaire friend of the fentons who’s inserting himself into the grieving family’s lives and encouraging danny to fight vigilante justice. and plasmiaus the op ghost who literally murders people who get in his way. vlad would absolutely do everything he can to keep up the facade of innocent human. leaving all the damage to his ghost half. and val would struggle to prove that he’s evil.
that was a bit of a tangent, anyway. all of the halfa’s having elements associated with them and eventually having an ultimate team up in a universe that brings them together to fight something or another. a team up of the elements. vlad being there and joining the team up as still a villain who the team is suspicious of, but who they need to win. perhaps pariah dark escapes again but this time the mech isn’t available. and danny isn’t strong enough to face him alone. so parallel dimension team up. actually maybe not main danny’s universe. maybe it’s one of the other universes that can’t manage pariah dark on their own. possibly val’s again? if jack’s dead they don’t have a mech. might even be able to incorporate maddie inventing parallel-dimensional summoning in her attempts to bring jack back. bonus points if it’s vlad who’s funding this, knowing full well anyone summon would be unstable and turn to goo soon after arriving.
can you tell i love the into the dannyverse au? this was fun - Hestia
@nastyburger @guardianrex @five-rivers @ibelieveinahappilyeverafter @enigmaris
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khaleesiofalicante · 2 years
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Hej! Jag minns inte om jag gjorde det här språket tidigare, så jag kommer att behålla det💙💙
I dont want to read this, and at the same time i need it more that air!! Fjfjkbf too much:
The way Tessa, Catarina and Ragnor are there for him!!! I'm soft 🥺
I just-🥺 the way they give him their magic is just so pure and beautiful and sad💙💙
"His husband would feel the pain. He would feel it all. He would let it consume him. He would use it to keep moving." Boy if you knew...
Every time he refers to Rafael as baby or love, I die a little bit...
"I’m so sorry, my love. I cannot bring you back. I cannot do it." 😭😭 even tho he is right, it hurts.
“There is our Magnus.” THAT GANG IS SUPERIOR. Jduvdod that hug!!!
Alec🥺🥺 shit, I'm worrying...
The zoo!! Love them💙 and its killing me 💔
"His baby had been terrified, and Magnus hadn’t realized it. Because Magnus had been terrified too. Rafael. Come back. Come back to Bapak. I’m sorry. Come back." I'm fine. Just sobbing in my bed...but totally fine tho...
"Cause that’s how Alec loved. Alec loved Rafael so much that he would have changed the world for him." and thats the quote number 1073639 that ended me💔💔
“I don’t know, baby. I’ll tell you when I find out.” “That’s not going to happen for a long time,” Magnus said and put his head back on Alec’s shoulder. “Okay?” Alec kissed his hand again and put it on his chest. “Okay.” (I spy with my little eye.... A liar!!!)
Jace!!! Do call him out!! This is too much 🥺
"Have you told them yet?”  Wait, what??
They are going to send them to Idris?!?! What?!?!
Look, I get Lexi's anger, but hey!!!
Oh, shit. Right. Selena has Michael's secret...
"His daughter. His sun. His angel." "His daughter. His moon. His strength." "His son. His star. His heart." THE PARALLELS GOT ME 💙💙💙
YESS. HE LOVES YOU, OKEY??
“I named you after her so I would get another chance to love her,” Jace smiled. “So, however much you think I love you, just know that I love you twice as much.” Huh. This. This hits. Well played, Dani...
"Of course, the boy who would set the world on fire for the one he loved. Alec had changed the law for Magnus, and Rafael had broken it for Anjali."  OH SHIT ANOTHER PARALLEL!! 💙💜
"He knew what he had to do – no matter the cost. He started packing." Ah, shit. Here we go again...
A new dream??? Disappointed but not surprised
"David who was stuck somewhere. David who was reaching out to her for help." FUCK
All the talk about being the child of a hero was just🥺🥺 wow, just need them to be happy and know they are enough!!
BROTHER DAVID!! JACKSON!!
Lexi being the Herondale she is, just *chef kiss*
"But it is the name I have chosen for myself, for it is the name close to my heart." BRO🥺💙
“Angel Ithuriel is besties with my mom and sends her runes in her dreams." LMAOO😂
Oh shit, oneiromancy is serious... I remember Magnus was one of the few who could do it right? Yess, I knew it!!
The Herondale™ is strong on Lexi: "I have explicit orders from Brother Enoch not to high-five you." I screamed😂😂
"The boy who stood on the other side of the door was astoundingly good-looking. For a moment, Max almost forgot why he was there." :o
"He knew it was normal for shadowhunters to be good-looking, but this was some next-level shit." Shit, now I need a pic!!
"No. Waltzed. Waltzed away. Only humans walked. This was some ethereal bullshit." 😮😂 all I can say.
Gabriel!!! Love to see them here!! 😍
They bet 50 dollars!! Lmaooo
Mmm, they are suspicious....
“You are good, and so is your magic, mon ange,” David had said gently. “So, use it for good. Only good – and you’ll be okay.” (MON ANGE!!! Ouch, you open a wound😭)
“I let this happen once, but I won’t do it again,” Kit shook his head. “So, don’t make me.” (I mean... He is right!!)
Another thunderstorm....
Shit, what??? I'm confusion...
Summon Raziel!! No no no, bad idea!!!
Gabriel is NOT who I thought!!!
I feel obligarted to quote muy fav. things here:
“Yes, I am,” Gabriel nodded. “And I ain’t doing this shit for free.”
“Your brother is dead, papacito,”
“I’m a simple person, Max,” Gabriel said, their voice sweet as honey. “If you pay me the right price, I will do anything.”
Ngl, its kinda hot tho... I mean... You cant blame me!!!
Someone took Rafael!!! WTF THIS KEEPS GETTING WORSE!!
Wow, ok ok. I'm ok. That was a lot! To much trauma, not enough therapy... Anyways, I have a lot to process
Hejdå! Ses snart. Hoppas du mår bra! 💙
I'm going to say....German?
*googles translates the text*
OKAY IT WAS SWEDISH UGGGGHH
I will get it next time!!!!!
As always, your live blogging is so smart and funny and gives me LIFE.
A reminder that ily and thank you for supporting lbaf 💙
AND SORRY ABOUT THE TRAUMA OOP-
ps - you thirsting over Gabriel is funny but relatable kdjsbfksh.
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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years
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The Longest Night (Indruck)
Prompt for the 31st was : Halloween.
Thank you so much to everyone for reading and sharing these fills! I had a great time writing them. And thank you to @thats-amnesty-babe for playing in this space with me on Discord.
Happy Halloween!
Halloween doesn’t exist on Sylvain. However, as in many places, there are rituals and celebrations to mark the end of the growing season, days to remember the departed. For Sylphs, these are marked by The Longest Night, the time when malevolent, restless spirits roam free. 
Tradition dictates gathering with friends to hunker down until darn, dimming lights to keep the spirits from knowing you are home, telling scary stories to keep everyone alert against danger, and eating to keep up energy.
In practice, this means having a giant sleepover and binging on sweets. 
Tradition also suggests that, should attendees have romantic designs on each other, they can use this night to demonstrate their willingness to protect each other. 
In practice, this means inviting a crush to the celebration in hopes of cuddling up in a dark corner. 
Exiled Sylphs continued this tradition, setting on Halloween to avoid detection. And they kept all the practices, especially the romantic ones.
----------------------------------------------------------------
“I’m so excited” Indrid, perched near the fireplace, looks up from his sketch, “I have not celebrated The Longest Night properly in a century.”
“Yeah, we’ve had to keep it kinda low-key in the past because, y’know, no one knew there were a bunch of Sylphs up here.” Barclay shoos the mothman aside so he can tend the fire, “so we’re gonna do it up a little more this time. You inviting anyone?”
“No” the reply is far too fast, “I, that is, there are people I might invite as friends, but none in the more, ah, traditional sense.”
Barclay dusts off his hands, “You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
The cook nods and flicks his gaze over Indrid’s shoulder. He turns in time to see Duck walk through the lobby doors, chatting with Ned as he helps the older man navigate on still-recovering legs. 
“I don’t know what you are implying, Barclay.”
“That spending half your nights at his house, getting invited on hikes--and then going on them--with him, and the amount of doodles on that page that are his face might be a sign you’ve got a crush on a certain human.”
“I do not,'' Indrid quickly flips to a new page.
“You can’t hide it from me, Cold. I know what I’m talking about.” He teases, standing and stretching his arms, “and the reason I know just got off work, so I’m gonna go see him.”
“Yes, yes, run along and kiss your human.” Indrid waves his hand, aware of booted footfalls getting closer. 
“Hey ‘Drid.” 
“Hello, Duck. Are you staying long?” He tries, as always, to keep his eyes on the ranger’s jacket so he won’t melt into a useless puddle at the first sign of a smile. 
“Nah, promised I’d meet Juno for dinner. Speakin of which,” Duck sits down next to him, making them face to face, “you wanna get dinner or, uh, lunch on Saturday?”
Is he smiling like that because he likes the idea of taking Indrid out? Or is it due to being excited to see his friend later? Is it just because Duck smiles easily? Regardless, Indrid should probably speak rather than stare at him. 
He glances sideways, catches Barclay mouthing something to him in Sylph. 
Fine, he will do this. If it turns to a disaster, he can blame Bigfoot.  
“Actually, Duck, I was wondering if you were coming to the party on Saturday…”
----------------------
Right before Duck arrives at the Lodge around ten at night Indrid, grooming his feathers for the fifth time in an hour, runs through his plan once more. 
Step one: Choose darkest corner for movie viewing. Arrange for optimal comfort. 
Step two: Bring Duck all his favorite foods as an offering of affection. 
Step three: Date Duck.
The first two steps go off perfectly; Duck takes the seat Indrid offers him without so much as looking at the other options and takes the plate of candy, baked goods, and other snacks Indrid offers him with a grin. 
To increase his chances of a smooth flirtation, he spreads his wings, showing off the green and blue light crackling in his usually white and grey feather speckles.
The human doesn’t notice, likely due to the presence of many candles, the fire, and string lights. But halfway through the movie, Duck adjusts so the right wing drapes over his shoulder. 
Indrid, thanks to future sight, sees all the jumpscares in the movie coming. Duck only jolts on the first few, but then a well-executed one makes him jump into Indrid’s lap. 
As the post-jumpscare giggles ripple through the room, Duck looks up at him.
“Damn, you’re real comfy all mothed out.”
“Thank you” Indrid flicks his antenna, proud, and reaches for the plate, “Snicker?”
Duck opens his mouth in reply, and Indrid feeds it to him. The human angles himself back towards the T.V, shoulder and part of his back resting against Indrid’s chest. 
“Are you comfortable?” Indrid dips his head to mumuring in Duck’s ear. 
“Yep, you’re all nice and fluffy. Pick good snacks too.” 
“I was to pick your favorites.”
Duck’s smile changes to something surprised, “Oh, uh, thanks.”
Indrid purrs, low and quiet, as they focus back on the movie. He knows Duck cannot purr in answer to show his interest, but he’s on alert for any sign that indicates the same general thing.
“Aw, knew you’d be all happy and shit tonight” Duck tips his head back so he’s looking up at Indrid, “there’s enough sugar here to keep you satisfied for months.”
Summoning all his charm, Indrid runs a claw through Duck’s hair, “There is a lot of candy present, but there is only one sweet thing I need.”
Duck arches an eyebrow, “Nog?”
His charm, and nerve, crawls back into the shadows, “sure.”
“I can go check the fridge if you want. Close enough to nog season for there to be some.”
Indrid tries again, wrapping his arms cautiously around Duck’s waist, “But I do not want you to leave,  you're so warm and pleasant to hold. Like a teddy bear.”
A chuckle, fingers stroking his cheek, “Aww, the big ol' cryptid needs a teddy bear for the scary movie. That's real cute. Be right back with that nog.” He pats Indrid’s arms and the cryptid releases him, tracking him through the room until he’s out of sight. 
“I am in hell” Indrid mutters. 
“One of your own making.” Barclay, empty tray in hand, stares down at him, “usually helps to check if a human knows Sylph customs ahead of time. I get the feeling Duck’s got no idea about this one.”
“But plenty of that was flirtation by human standards! Perhaps I am truly terrible at this. Then again, maybe if I show off my wings a bit more..”
“Oh my fucking god just tell him.” Barclay clangs his forehead into the tray in frustration. 
A drawl calls out from the kitchen, “Hey ‘Drid, can you give me a hand?”
The cook shoves the tray into Indrid’s grasp, “That’s your cue.”
The kitchen is dark save for the light from the fridge as Duck reaches into it. 
“There is some nog back here. Need you to carry the glasses, since I’m grabbin’ some refills for Mama and Ned too. Kinda wish I could turn on the lights, but I don’t wanna ruin the moo--oh damn!” The last thing Indrid sees before the refrigerator shuts is Duck smiling, “your wings are lightin up. Do they always do that?” 
“No. Do you, ah, like it?”
“Yeah.” Duck steps forward, holding out the glasses so Indrid will take them, but his eyes never leave Indrid’s wings, “can you control it, like a cuttlefish?”
Indrid inches forward, still holding his hand, “They are emotion based. See?” He traces his claw tips up Duck’s wrist and glows brighter. 
“Oh.” Duck smirks up at him, “movie scarin you that bad?”
The Sylph growls in frustration, not at Duck but at himself, at the fear that rises up and chokes the truth before it reaches his tongue. 
“Wait, are you mad about something?” Duck frowns, worried. Indrid can’t stand the sight of him even a little bit upset, but the words still won’t come. So he does the next best thing, leans down to bump their foreheads together.
“‘Drid?”
“It is nothing, shall we go back to the movie?”
The human rubs their foreheads once, “Yeah.”
As they make their way back to their viewing spot, Indrid decides he will not press the matter further; he will follow Duck’s lead, keep the evening as romantic or platonic as the human desires. More than successful flirtation, more than a kiss, what he wants is to be near Duck and for Duck to be happy. 
The movies give way to a round of scary stories by the fire, Stern and Dani proving the most consistently terrifying. In spite of their talent, Indrid is not the best audience; he responds too soon, doesn’t yelp in horror at the right moments, and sometimes laughs at reactions he sees coming. The upside of this is Duck finds it hysterical, though he tries not to break the mood for everyone else, burying the laughter in the fluff of Indrid’s chest. 
Were Indrid optimistic he’d think Duck was using each bout of laughter to cuddle closer, to leave his cheek on Indrids down and his hands toying with the feathers of his wings. They opt for another round of movies, and the human grumbles when Indrid stands up to retrieve more food, nestles right back in his arms the moment he returns.
The Masque of the Red Death is not as terrible as the other films of the night, but even it cannot distract Indrid when Duck’s hands lazily card through his wings. It occurs to him, with the kind of clarity that only comes hand in hand with fear, that there is no way Duck is familiar with mothperson anatomy and his fingers are  about to hit an extremely sensitive part of his wing.
An involuntary purr buzzes out of him. Duck grins up at him, pleased, and touches the same patch of his wing again, scritching and massaging it as Indrid becomes one with the pillows, going pliable and relaxed under the human’s touch. It’s not sexual, not yet anyway, but sweet Sylvain does it feel good. 
“Indrid, for crying out loud, you’re flashing MAGENTA! Get a room already.”
He sits up, glaring at Barclay, pointing a claw at Agent Stern cuddled up in his lap and petting his fur. Duck’s gaze ping-pongs between them, gaining more understanding with each pass. He does nothing else until Barclay and Stern face the screen once more. Then he grips Indrid’s chin, forcing him to look down. 
“You after another kind of sugar, sugar?” His playful smile transforms into one of pure, wicked delight. 
“I, ah, I” this is his chance, and also the moment his mind goes blank and his wings flutter helplessly. 
Duck presses his free hand into the sensitive patch of wing, “Explain. Now.”
He had no idea Duck could sound that way, voice a little deeper and rougher than usual. It lights up long ignored corners of his mind, and he chirrs with nervous arousal, wings flashing white and pale green.
“I’m waitin.” Duck tightens his grip with both hands.
Indrid chirps, forces it to become a sentence, “The Longest Night is, is, ah, traditionally used for flirtation.”
“So that is what you've been tryin to do.” 
“You could, ah, could tell?”
“YepWHOAHfuck.” Duck faceplants into the pillows as Indrid, glasses thrown on, scrambles to his feet and sprints down the closest hallway. He feels rather like the heroine two movies ago, running in twists and turns through the darkness. 
Reaching the farthest hall from the lobby, he slumps against the wall, panting. 
“What the fuck was that?”
“AH!” He backs into the corner, Duck holding out his hands in a gesture of calm. 
“‘Drid, the Lodge ain’t that big. Kinda easy to follow you.” He places his hand lightly on Indrid’s arm, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong a minute ago. But will you please just tell me what's going on so I don’t fuck up again?”
“You didn’t fuck up, Duck. I did. I, at first I thought I was being obvious, assumed you knew the customs associated with tonight. Then when I realized my error, I thought I was being too subtle and should just leave it be. But if you knew this whole time then I...I assumed I had been making a fool of myself and you were not interested. Hence the embarrassed flight from the room.”
Duck’s hand slides down his arm, curling around his fingers, “What’d you think all that cuddlin you was? Orthe  pettin you?”
“I…” He pulls his hand free, wrapping his arms around himself. 
Duck lets him go, takes a step back, expression gentle but puzzled “I had a hunch you were tryin to put the moves on me, but when you didn’t up the ante I figured I was wrong. I mean, you can see the future, why not just look and see what I’d do?”
“I am not always good at reading subtext, and sometimes I require explicit confirmation of things to notice them. As for my powers I, ah, I was afraid to even look.”
“Afraid? Indrid, I saw you tied up by goatmen and you looked calm. How is askin me out scarier than that?”
“Because I have not felt this attached to someone in years! And…” he stares at the patterned carpet, “and in the first scenario, only I was hurt. If I made an error here, you might be hurt too, think I had only been kind to you for selfish reasons or manipulated you. I do not enjoy that sight, even in futures that never come to pass.” Heart creeping up his throat, he meets Duck’s eyes, “now it is my turn for a question: why did you follow me just now?”
“I was worried about you. I care about you, fluffball.”
“I am only a fluffball part of the time.”
“I know, care about you when you’re a beanpole too.” Duck touches is cheek and, as it always does, the touch makes Indrid turn into the way a sunflower turns into the light, “‘Drid, if you wanna be more than friends, all you gotta do is ask.”
“Would…” Indrid squeezes his eyes shut, “would you like to go out with me, Duck Newton?” 
A kiss the lips, lighter than moth wings. 
“Yeah, sugar, I would.”
Indrid embraces him, chirping excitedly, tries to lift the ranger and spin them around before remembering he can't do so in his human form. Then his feet are off the ground as Duck picks him up, kissing him soundly. 
“Chosen strength has its pluses.”
“Indeed.”
“You want me to put you down?”
“Not just yet.”
“So tell me, mothman of mine, what does magenta mean?”
“Ah” his skin reddens, “desire. And since you are about to ask, green is comfort and blue is affection.”
“And the white?”
“....Submission.”
Duck tosses his head back with a laugh, setting Indrid down, “shoulda used that voice on you sooner I guess.”
“Yes.” Indrid purrs, slipping his hands into Duck’s back pockets
“Plenty of time for me to bust it out later. C’mon, let’s go finish the movie.”
Returning to a chorus of “about time” form their friends, they hunker down in their same spot, Duck resting against the pillows with Indrid’s head in his lap, the Sylph purring as Duck rubs his neck and pets his hair. They make it through two more movies before people start dropping off to sleep. Indrid joins them eventually, snuggling down beneath a plaid blanket with Duck’s head on his chest and his friends snoring or chatting softly all around him. 
And the morning after the Longest Night, Indrid Cold takes his new boyfriend out for breakfast.
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ladylynse · 4 years
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Explorations: [FF | AO3] The invitation to join the quest—or hunt or whatever—in the Ghost Zone was only the start of it, but with Sam and Tucker by his side, Danny figured everything would be fine—especially when the ghosts were obligated to play nice. Of course, that doesn’t mean that the Ghost Zone itself is harmless….
For @whosvladagain, for winning one of my follower giveaway prizes. They asked for some friendship between the trio hanging out and exploring the Ghost Zone. This...was not supposed to be this long, so the other prizes will not be this long, but the story got away on me a bit. A preview is found below; you can find the full fic on one of the fanfic sites I’m on (linked at the top and bottom of this post for ease of reading). 
-|-
“Dude, what’s that supposed to be? It looks official.”
Danny followed Tucker’s finger and saw the faintly glowing envelope sticking out of his backpack. The empty hallway meant they could talk freely, but he just shrugged and yanked his backpack out of his locker. “I dunno. I haven’t opened it yet. I found it this morning, but—”
“But you were already late because of the Box Ghost,” Sam interrupted. “We know. We saw. So open it now.”
Danny pulled a face and closed his locker door instead. “What if this is something that just sucks us into the Ghost Zone? I haven’t been pranked in a while. I’m kinda due.”
Sam rolled her eyes and reached for the envelope, plucking it out of his still-open backpack. “It’s Friday. School’s over. We can take that risk.” She flipped the envelope over, her eyebrows climbing when she saw the wax seal on the back. “Fancy.” She slipped a finger into the corner and slid it along the flap, breaking the seal at its centre. Nothing bad happened.
Nothing bad happened when she pulled out the parchment and unfolded it, either.
“What is it?” Danny asked, leaning over to look when Sam didn’t immediately answer.
“It’s…a challenge,” she said.
“A what? What kind of challenge?”
“This isn’t another thing like Pariah Dark, is it? Vlad did not just trick us into something major, did he?” Danny asked. He squinted at the writing—it wasn’t the easiest to read—and then looked to see if there was a signature at the bottom.
There wasn’t.
“I think this is from Dora and Aragon,” Sam said. “Listen, it….” She trailed off, glanced around to make sure the coast was still clear, and then read, “If you wish to find, you must first seek, but the path ahead isn’t for the mild or meek. Come to the castle of the dragon king—”
“Aragon’s not really the king anymore,” Tucker interrupted. “If he ever even was. Didn’t we sort that out when you got kidnapped?”
“—to receive the details for your questing.”
“Is that a challenge or a summons?” Danny asked. “It kinda sounds like a summons.”
“How should I know?” Sam said. “It’s your letter.”
Danny reached out and flipped the envelope back over. “Actually, it’s not addressed to any of us.”
Tucker snorted. “It was in your locker. Even the ghosts know which locker is yours. But I’d put my money on challenge, too. It said if you wish to find, right? As in, if you don’t wish to find, you get to ignore this.”
“Yeah, because that’s worked so well for Danny in the past,” Sam said dryly.
“It just…doesn’t sound like something I’m allowed to refuse is all, even with that,” Danny said. “Which I guess means I should get this over with, since for once I don’t actually have homework. You guys can cover for me if I’m not back by tomorrow, right? I’m usually with you for most of the weekend anyway.”
“Danny, we’re coming with you.” Sam looked at him like she expected him to argue, and even he knew the tightness in her jaw meant she’d have none of it. “If you want someone to cover for you, talk to Jazz. She does it all the time anyway.”
Danny opened his mouth.
“And if you try to say it might be dangerous, that’s why we’re not letting you go by yourself.”
He closed his mouth.
He didn’t really want to argue with that, anyway.
XXXXXX
No one in the Fenton household was home when they got there, so it was easy enough to leave a note for Jazz and steal the Spectre Speeder. Danny sometimes wondered what his parents thought when—if—they noticed its absence. Maybe Jazz always managed to come up with something if they brought it up. Or maybe they always thought the other was responsible and just never asked. He could be that lucky, right?
They took the Spectre Speeder as far as they could—Dora’s kingdom might not be as stuck in time as her brother’s, but some things hadn’t changed—and went the rest of the way on foot.
There were a surprising number of ghosts gathered in the courtyard when they finally arrived, and Danny had the distinct feeling that they were late to whatever this was.
“So you made it after all, whelp,” Skulker muttered to him. “And I see you’ve brought your teammates. You did not choose the hunter girl?”
“Uh. No?”
Skulker laughed. “You will make easy prey.”
That would have been more terrifying coming from someone other than Skulker, but Danny still exchanged glances with Sam and Tucker. Teammates. Did that mean this quest thing was a game? There hadn’t been any official time on the letter—he could have turned up at any time or not at all—so how could this be—?
“Billy Phantom,” a voice drawled behind him. “Did you remember to take a number for your team?”
Danny turned to find Amorpho standing behind him, looking as much himself as he ever had, though Danny had no idea if that was what Amorpho really looked like. “A number?” he repeated.
“I didn’t think so.” Amorpho reached into the breast pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a clipboard that, had he not been a ghost, would have never fit in there. “You and your friends will be Team 43. You get to start when your number is called.”
“Start what?” Sam asked.
“The Holiday Hunt.”
Tucker blinked. “But it’s not Christmas.”
“And the Holiday Hunt won’t coincide with your Christmas unless that happens to be the holiday chosen by the draw.”
“Is this like the truce?” Danny asked. Amorpho had no reason to lie to him, and he’d never heard of this before, so it couldn’t hurt to ask. “This isn’t an annual thing, is it?”
“Princess Dorathea is set on reviving an old tradition,” Amorpho said, and Danny frowned upon realizing Amorpho had no trouble remembering her name. Maybe he just called him Billy on purpose? “The Holiday Hunt hasn’t been held in centuries. But yes, the Truce rules apply.”
“So what holiday is today?”
“Beltane,” Amorpho said, in a tone that made Danny not want to admit he hadn’t heard of it.
“Um.” Tucker held up one finger. “What exactly are we supposed to be hunting?”
Sam looked like she intended to track Dora down and put a stop to the tradition of the Holiday Hunt again, but she contented herself with balling her hands into fists until she had more information. Danny edged slightly away, just in case she didn’t like Amorpho’s answer.
“You’ll find out when your number comes up,” Amorpho said. “If you can figure it out.” He consulted the clipboard again. “You are content with a team of three? You’ll be at a disadvantage.”
“That explains why Skulker asked about Valerie,” Tucker muttered.
“Who else would we work with?” Sam demanded. “You? Skulker? No thanks.”
“Skulker’s on his own team with Ember, Technus, and Youngblood. If you’ll notice, his team was just dispatched.” Amorpho sniffed. “I, like Dora and the Ghost Writer, do not play.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “Are you really involved in this? Or are you just trying to sow chaos? And isn’t the Ghost Writer locked up?”
“The Truce rules are in effect,” Amorpho repeated, “and helping with the Holiday Hunt has been deemed community service. Are you sure you want me to mark you down as a three-person team?”
“Yes,” Danny and Sam said, but Tucker surprised them with the opposite response.
“What?” he asked when they looked at him. “We don’t know where we’re going. We don’t even have the map. And if we get lost, I’m definitely missing supper, and Mom’s making her special meatloaf.”
“I brought the map,” Sam said. “That’s not the point.”
“Yeah, missing my mom’s meatloaf was the point.”
“That’s not—!”
“Who would you team up with us, if we said we wanted a fourth?” Danny asked. “Who’s not already in a group? Dani’s not here, is she?”
“Dani is already on a team,” Amorpho said. “Your fourth would be someone who is a little less…popular.”
“Dani’s popular?” He hadn’t even known how many of the ghosts knew about her. He wasn’t sure how strong her ties to the Ghost Zone were. To his knowledge, Vlad had never developed something to reliably create portals. Even the Fenton Bazooka just spit out unstable portals, and no ghost would voluntarily use that as a travel method. “Wait, never mind. That doesn’t matter. She’s here? I can talk to her?”
“Her team was among the first to set out. You are welcome to try to find her at the post-Hunt party if you all return.”
“If we—?” Danny broke off, glancing uneasily at the others. “You know what? Yeah, we’ll take that fourth.”
-|-
Keep reading on FF or the AO3. (I’m sorry, but this fic is really too long to be in a single tumblr post; it’s about 9.5 K.) Alternatively, see more fics.
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allons-ymrholmes · 5 years
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Justice - a GoT Fix It Fic
The ending we DESERVE! AO3 (X) FF.net (X)
The ash in the air has finally started to dissipate by the time Sansa and Bran arrive in King's Landing.
Sansa's nose twists in disgust as the acrid smell of destruction hits her.
She looks over to where Bran rides beside her, strapped into his modified saddle. He seems unfazed by the stench, keeping his eyes front.
Bran told her they had nothing to fear riding to answer the Dragon Queen's summons, and though the thought of returning south terrified her, Sansa has learned not to doubt her brother.
All her other advisors warned her against this trip, they were being summoned to face a trial for treason after all, but Bran insisted.
The Red Keep comes into view, and Sansa swallows back a satisfied smirk as she sees its half-collapsed form, smoke still rising in some places.
Jon is waiting to greet them, looking as solemn as ever.
He greets Sansa with a nod, and begins helping the guards unload Bran's chair.
When it's ready, Brienne pulls Bran from his horse and moves him to his wheelchair.
"Why did you ride south?" Jon asks quietly, leaning in so only Sansa can hear him.
"Bran insisted."
"She's waiting for you in the throne room… or, what's left of it," he tells them.
Sansa sighs and takes a step forward before Bran's voice stops her.
"Tell her to meet us in the Godswood," Bran says, and then he waves a guard forward to push him.
"Bran, now isn't the time to make demands of the queen," Jon argues, agitated.
"All will become clear."
The guard begins to push Bran away from the front of the keep, and Sansa glances back and forth between her brother and her cousin.
She chooses to follow Bran, hoping that his three-eyed raven gift holds the answer to overcoming their precarious situation.
I suppose though, she thinks, if I must be executed, I'd prefer to be defiant to the last.
Despite the destruction of the city, the Godswood seems almost untouched, much to Sansa's surprise.
The even bigger surprise, however, is the fully grown Weirwood tree in the center of the clearing. It wasn't their before, and she knows that enough time has not passed for one o sprout and grow so massive.
Bran positions himself beside the tree and waits, cryptically silent.
It takes fifteen minutes for Daenerys to join them.
She marches in, expression as dark as the storm she was born into. Jon is two steps behind her, followed by Grey Worm, several Unsullied, and Tyrion.
Sansa's eyes are drawn to her former husband, and her stomach twists uncomfortably as she sees the manacles on his wrists.
"Am I to understand you wish to pray before admitting your treason?" Daenerys demands.
"We are not here to answer for treason," Bran tells her. "We are here to give you the justice you deserve."
The Unsullied rally to their queen, weapons at the ready.
"You dare threaten me?"
Dany's eyes are all fire as she stares Bran down, her upper lip twitching.
"It was not a threat. I've come to help."
Dany laughs.
"How can you help me? I have accomplished what I came here for. The Seven Kingdoms are mine. The Iron Throne is mine."
"Did you accomplish it in the way you had hoped to?" Bran asks. "By burning women and children as they fled, looking for safety?"
Daenerys' expression shifts, and for a brief moment sadness fills her eyes.
"I… did as I had to," she says, quietly. "I took back my throne, with fire… and blood."
Sansa can hear the tremble in Dany's voice, and for a moment she sees a scared, vulnerable girl before her.
"Did you do it because you wanted to, or because you lost control over yourself?" Bran presses.
"You're implying that I'm going mad, like my father! I assure I am noth—"
"You misunderstand me. You didn't lose control because you are going mad, but because you were being influenced by darkness not of our world. Let me show you."
Bran reaches one hand out and places it flat against the side of the Weirwood tree. His eyes close, and lips start moving. He's mumbling beneath his breath, but Sansa can't make out his words.
A sound like lightening cracks loudly, emanating from the tree and the trunk splits open, orange light spilling from inside it.
Everyone stumbles backwards, away from the tree.
Sansa finds herself next to Tyrion and she glances down at him nervously.
He's looking up at her, and seeing her trepidation, reaches his bound hands up to hold her hand reassuringly.
Another loud crack blasts from the tree and two figures fall out of the hole in the trunk.
Bran removes his hand and opens his eyes. The orange light fades and the tree closes itself back up as if nothing happened.
The only evidence that something had happened is the two men now huddled at the base of the tree.
Sansa has no idea where they came from.
Surely they weren't both hiding in that tree?
They are wearing the strangest clothes she's ever seen. The material seeming to be of very high quality, but the style is something only a peasant would wear.
Slowly, the men find their way to their knees. They begin to stand, but the Unsullied move forward and keep them down, aiming spears at the newcomers throats.
They look extremely confused.
"What the hell, guys?" one of them asks. "Did someone forget to pay the extras?"
The one who spoke has dark hair, shaved almost to the scalp, and a dusting of hair on his face.
"Emilia, what's going on?" the second man asks.
This one has hair longer than the other, dark as well, at least on the top of his head, the sides are shaved closer and are starting to silver.
"Emilia?" he asks again, looking at Daenerys.
"My name is Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You should beware the way you address me."
The two men exchange looks, clearly confused.
"These are the men responsible for what was done to this city," Bran says. "They are from another world, and they are the ones who rewrote your fate."
"Isaac, what the hell is going on?" the man with the shaved head asks.
"Who are you?" Daenerys demands.
"Em, it's us. Daniel," he says pointing to himself, "and David."
He points at the other man.
"You are the reason I… I did what I did? To those people? To this city?" she asks, voice cracking.
Her face is so hopeful, wanting so badly to believe there is a reason for her barbaric actions other than madness.
"We've been over this. It had to be done. Dany going mad was the quickest way to end it," David says.
"What dark magic is this?" Jon asks, stepping closer to Dany protectively.
"Kit, man, come on. Joke's over."
"They are also responsible for Tyrion freeing his brother, and for Varys turning on you so suddenly," Bran says. "They are the ones who made Sansa decide to share Jon's secret, and have made Jon withdraw from you."
"It had to be done," Daniel says. "Just like we had to kill Missandei, Jorah, Rhaegal, Theon… we've been over this before. What is wrong with you guys. Show's over."
Daenerys' shock turns to fury.
"Bring them to the pit." Dany orders, turning on her heel and marching away.
The Unsullied force David and Daniel to their feet and urge them forward.
"Ouch! What the fuck," David complains as he's prodded with a spear.
Sansa releases Tyrion and goes to push Bran's chair.
"What is going on?" she asks, wheeling him to follow the procession.
"I am righting what needs to be righted. Our fates were shifted by those men, but now we can release ourselves. We are in control once more."
"Who are they?" Tyrion asks, falling into step beside them.
"In their world they go by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss. They make money off of writing our futures, and by making us suffer."
They walk in silence for a while, until Sansa can't help herself.
"I am sorry for your loss," she tells Tyrion. "I may not have liked your brother, but he did help save my life in a way. And I know how much he meant to you."
"He was a good man," Bran adds. "Much better than they wrote him."
"Thank you… both," Tyrion says, sounding choked up.
In front of them they can hear the men trying to talk to the Unsullied.
"What is happening? What is going on with this set?"
"Who put this together?"
"This is spectacular."
They enter the Dragon Pit and the Unsullied force David and Daniel to kneel in the middle.
Everyone else lines up around the edge of the pit.
"Can we please get these off?" Sansa asks, pointing to Tyrion's chains.
Dany looks over, thinking for a moment before nodding in agreement.
Grey Worm comes over and produces the key to release the bonds.
"Thank you," Tyrion says gratefully, looking up at Sansa.
Dany approaches the center of the pit, walking towards the kneeling men.
"You are horrid, terrible men," she says. "Despicable dark magic wielders who dare to interfere in our fate. And I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Mother of Dragons, sentence you both to death."
"Alright, Emilia, enough is enough!" David shouts. "We get you aren't happy with your new arc, but it was time to end it. This has gone too far, and I am not goin—"
Wind rushes around them, followed by the sound of great flapping wings.
Drogon appears, descending from above, landing right beside his mother.
David and Daniel shout and fall back in fear.
"What the FUCK?"
"Holy fucking shit! Oh my god!"
"Fuck… that's a fucking dragon?!"
Drogon leans in to nuzzle Dany.
"Any last words?" she asks the men cowering before her in pools of their own piss.
"Please, please, no," David begs.
"We… we just wanted to do Star Wars," Daniel sobs.
"And I said I will end all wars," Daenerys tells them coldly. "Dracarys!"
X X X
After the dark wizards were reduced to ash, it was like a cloud lifted. Everyone felt it to some extent. Like a cloud of despair that had plagued them was suddenly gone.
Despite the reassurance it wasn't her fault, Daenerys mourns for those she hurt. She doesn't have the burning drive to be queen any longer, and she and Jon decide to sail to Essos together, both just wanting a fresh start.
She surrenders her throne to Sansa before she departs, much to the Northern girl's surprise.
Bran returns to Winterfell.
Arya and Gendry decide to travel west together, looking for adventure in the unkown.
Brienne becomes captain of Sansa's Queensguard.
Sansa and Tyrion remarry and rule the Seven Kingdoms peacefully, and justly, providing their people with more prosperity than any have ever known.
THE END
(we deserve)
Author's Note: Fuck D&D... enough said <3
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totentanz · 5 years
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And Will He Not Come Again?
For Jonerys Week “The North and the South.”
Rhaegal left just after dawn.
Daenerys was already awake. She had never been one to laze in bed when there was work to be done, and there was always work to be done - petitions to hear, disputes to settle, rebuilding efforts to oversee. But even on the rare days when she could afford a bit of idleness, she never slept much later than the sunrise. Two years after she and Drogon had flown over the smoking wreckage of King’s Landing to the Red Keep and found Jaime Lannister kneeling over the body of his sister, bloody sword in hand, visions of green fire and the screams of children still stalked her dreams. Their cries of anguish - myhsa, mother, why didn’t you come sooner? Why didn’t you save us from her? - dragged into her wakefulness, her cheeks wet with tears and her heart pounding so hard it was difficult to breathe.
Jon could keep the nightmares at bay, when he was with her. But while the blood of the dragon ran through her husband’s veins, he was still a creature of ice and snow. He’d died and been resurrected in the far North, in the shadow of the ancient magic that had raised the Wall, and the North still claimed him as its child. Too long away from it and he began to fade away, going still and quiet, his eyes turned toward something only he could see. It had terrified her at first, when she touched his hand and he didn’t turn to look at her with that smile she so loved, the one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and her heart flutter. She called his name and hadn’t so much as twitched, and the image of Drogo, lost to fever and unable to respond to her pleas for him to just live a little longer, my sun and stars, please don’t leave me here flitted through her mind and stole her breath, left her cold as stone.
But Rhaegal had known what to do. Rhaegal had swept down and bathed Jon in warm, sulfur-scented breath, given him the strength to climb on to the dragon’s back and follow the summons of the North’s ancient gods away from the south, away from Daenerys. She might have wept, if Drogon hadn’t nudged her with his immense head and crooned softly, the sound rumbling through her body. Do not despair, the dragon seemed to say. All will be well.
She ran her hand over the empty sheets next to her, allowed herself one more moment to wish she were touching Jon’s sleep-warmed skin, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. There was no use in trying to sleep longer. Better to go outside and let the stiff ocean breezes clear her head.
Most of the sky was still dark, but the eastern horizon was touched with streaks of rose and orange. She walked past the slumbering heap of dragon wings and tails to the cliff’s edge, and stared out over the sea. The ceaseless pounding of the waves against the stone resonated deep in her bones, as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. She had been born on this island, drawn her first breaths here, and some primal part of her had never forgotten that. She felt grounded here, on this rocky soil, in a way she never was in Essos. She knew it was expected that she’d return the monarch’s seat to King’s Landing once the Red Keep was habitable once more, but the thought of doing so brought her no pleasure. That place was full of ghosts. She’d rather stay here, in the place of her birth, where Rhaegal and Drogon could fly freely over the ocean.
The sky grew brighter, and the curve of the sun appeared and limned the waves with gold. Sunlight raced across the waves, up the rocky cliffs, and across the windswept grass until it illuminated the dragons’ scales. Rhaegal lifted his head and shook his wings free, ignoring Drogon’s rumble of irritation, then walked to the precipice. He paused for a moment, his tongue flicking out to taste the air, then sprang aloft, his powerful wings catching the air and bearing him northward.
She shaded her eyes and watched his flight. She wasn’t sure how exactly Rhaegal knew when it was time to leave, whether it was some distant summons from Jon, far away in the lands north of North, or her own yearning to hold her husband in her arms, or if the dragon himself simply missed his rider. She liked to believe that Jon summoned Rhaegal to him, that he ached for her as much as she ached for him and wanted to return; it also brought her comfort to think that if Jon were ever in dire need, the dragon would know and rush to her husband’s aid.
“Bring him back to me,” she called, the sea breeze catching her words and bearing them aloft. She watched Rhaegal until he was nothing more than a speck in the brilliant blue sky, then turned and made her way back toward the keep, her heart lighter than it had been when she first woke up.
It wouldn’t be long now, not long at all before Jon was in her arms once more.
* * *
                            Until the Red Keep could be sufficiently restored, Daenerys chose to hold court in the ruins of the Dragonpit. Even though the Iron Throne itself had proved too cumbersome to move, the pit was large enough for Drogon to crouch behind her seat and fix his burning eyes on all who approached, and his presence a more potent symbol of queenship than any chair could hope to be.
It also meant she could arrive and depart on dragonback, a piece of pageantry that brought her no small measure of delight. She savored her daily flights from Dragonstone, when she soared high above the sparkling waters of Blackwater Bay with the wind whipping through her hair. On dragonback she felt most like herself, young and free with all the world before her, and Drogon’s answering exultation spilled into her own mind until the two of them were almost one. She’d heard that Daena the Defiant once that said she was born to ride a dragon; it was a sentiment Daenerys Breaker of Chains understood.
Seven days after Rhaegal journeyed north, she and Drogon flew out of the Dragonpit into the kind of evening that made her want to fly forever. The air was just cool enough to be pleasant, the western sky was painted in vivid shades of orange and red, and Drogon’s body was warm and strong beneath her legs. The day had gone well - the new vines planted in the Arbor were flourishing, the restoration of the Sept of Baelor was almost complete, and a fleet of trade ships from Meereen had arrived, their holds full of spices and silk. Her realm was at peace, recovering from the years of constant warfare, and she had everything she’d dreamed of as a lonely girl wandering through the Red Waste with nothing but a ragged khalasar and three newly hatched dragons barely the size of cats, everything except -
Off in the distance, a dragon roared.
Drogon’s answer split the skies, and Daenerys’ heart leaped in her chest as she spotted Rhaegal up ahead. She tightened her hold on Drogon’s spines and leaned forward, urging her mount to fly faster.
“Onward,” she whispered. “Let’s catch them.”
They met just south of Dragonstone. Drogon and Rhaegal circled around each other in greeting, drawing so close that Daenerys could see Jon’s smile in the twilight. She smiled in return, and the joy bubbling through her veins made her feel like she didn’t need a dragon’s wings to fly.
The dragons danced, and the sky faded to a deep blue speckled with silver stars. Daenerys caught a glimpse of Jon’s expression, equal parts of delighted and mischievous as he urged Rhaegal to fly higher, and she sent Drogon after him. The two dragons soaring so high that Dragonstone’s mighty Keep seemed no larger than a child’s toy; and then, just as her lungs started to burn in protest of the thin air, they plummeted downward, speeding faster than arrows shot from the great weirwood bows used by Northern archers.
Daenerys gasped in delight, and the sound was immediately snatched away by the rush of wind. She felt no fear, even as the dark waters of the bay rushed closer and closer. She had complete faith in her mount, and when the dragons pulled up at the last second and raced across the water, their wings barely skimming over the waves, she threw her head back and howled her exhilaration to the skies.
“Again,” she cried, and Drogon and Rhaegal sped skyward. “Again!”
By the time they turned toward Dragonstone, Daenerys was out of breath, her hair was tangled from the wind, and the blood burned hot in her veins. She felt gloriously, intoxicatingly alive. Drogon had scarcely touched the ground before she slid from his back and raced toward her husband, eager to touch him, kiss him, exult in feeling him beneath her hands once more.
Jon waited for her with outstretched arms, the smile she loved stretching across his face, dark eyes sparkling with warmth. She threw herself into his embrace, and their lips met in a kiss. He tasted of the North, of ice and snow and the sharp scent of pine, but when she caressed the nape of his neck, the skin was warm.
When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against her and closed his eyes. “Dany,” he murmured, and brushed his fingers gently against her cheeks. “Dany.”
And let the North have him for six moon turns in the year, if it kept Jon from fading away entirely. Let the cold mountains winds have their time with him, if that was what it took to restore his spirit and prevent him from falling back into that endless slumber. Because he might be ice, but he was also fire, and her fire called to him as surely as the Northern snow did.
“I’m here, my love,” she whispered in reply, and their lips met once, twice, three times. “I have you.”
(Yes, the idea here is that Dany and Jon have a Hades/Persephone vibe going on, where Jon needs to return to the North for a certain amount of time each year to keep his resurrection juice going. Yes, that sidelines R'hllor. No, I do not care.)
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ladyfl4me · 5 years
Note
If it's ok to ask, how do you usually draft your chapters? Do you usually write a chapter in one-go without notes or do you usually write themes?
That’s absolutely okay! (yeehaw another Long Ass Answer about my writing process, sorry about that. buckle in, i guess)
Honestly it depends on the scale of the project. With short works, I usually do sit down and write without notes, following my gut. But i still like to make a little note at the beginning, just a few bullet points, to give me an idea of where I want the story to go; and if the story ends up changing as I go, then it changes. Having an end in sight does help the words flow more. like for “twas the nog before christmas” my initial outline was really short:
leo fucks up and orders 100 boxes of eggnog on accident
leo puts out a bulletin for a massive sale when the nog comes in a few days before christmas
duck and indrid run into each other there
snowball fight
a kiss
cast - duck, indrid, leo, guest appearances from aubrey and ned
problem, rising action, climax, falling action, conclusion. skidoosh, ya got a story. and then i just slam back a fuckload of coffee, put on some tunes, and let the spirit move me.
However, if it’s part of anything longer than a chapter or two, that practically requires excruciating notes, at least for me. I usually have about eight or nine “skeleton” points to start a story. My chapter outlines fill in the flesh between those skeleton points, or are based around those points, and I create new outlines for chapters as I see fit to get from point A to point B. Those chapter outlines go into excruciating detail, which works best for me because of my busy schedule. the more i have down in a raw, bland format - no printer just fax - the easier it is to come back and flesh it out into prose. Half the work is done for me that way. 
This technique is known as “scene blocking” in the film industry, where directors make note of where their actors are, what they’re doing, what the environment is, etc., without actually paying attention to dialogue until it’s time to do the script. (I’m not a film student, so I don’t have a more precise or correct definition. It’s a relatively well-documented principle, though, if you want to do some digging.) In writing, it’s basically the same thing: what happens in the scene, but not what is said or felt. Or, to frame it in amnesty terms, scene blocking is like those times at the end of story and song or stolen century where Griffin would be monologuing: describing scenes, character interactions, some sparse dialogue, dropping a nice fat exposition dookie that might have some prose to seal the deal and be memorable. it’s relative. 
I tend not to scene block in my outlines to that extent. If I outline in too much detail and prose, to the point where I basically just wrote the story but without any dialogue, that tricks my brain into thinking i’m done, and the chapter doesn’t get done for about a century. 
for example, here’s what my outline looked for the beginning of chapter 15.
spoilers ahead for TMWCIFTC Chapter 15, if you haven’t read it yet:
first, go over the plan while standing around: summon, use stern as bait, hem it in, and try to contain it, because if they starve it to death while it’s in physical form then it’ll die
1. summon it
a. aubrey and vanessa combine their magic to summon it. technically this is Big Magic because the Ashminder isn’t a monster, per se, just a starved, unhinged, and feral Sylph.
b. they need to cast the summoning spell somewhere far away, so they can keep it out of town. if this fight gets bad, then they’d be putting the town in danger, and they’re not willing to do that. they do it on Refuge Hill, overlooking the lake and the apartments. close to leo’s and duck’s home bases, but still on the outskirts of town.
2. bait it
a. the thing knows that indrid is The Place To Go For All Your Memory Needs, but for all intents and purposes it works on visuals only, and only gets a snapshot of who you are when it’s. like. touching your soul.
b. and stern has the disguise glasses.
c. so.
d. stern sits on a lawn chair overlooking the lake and Refuge Hill, sipping from a hot coffee, while aubrey and vanessa work the summoning circle for ye old motherfucker.
3. bring it on
contrast that against the actual start of the chapter:
They made their way to Refuge Hill by foot, by car, by snowmobile. Duck and Indrid trudged through the snow to the parking lot, where sledding families would leave their cars while the kids went up and down the slopes. Mama’s truck - the bed piled high with weapons - drove past them and into a parking space. Ned’s Snowcat chugged into the space next to it a few minutes later; it was loud and slow, but it did the job, and both Ned and Barclay stepped out of it armed to the teeth. Jake blasted down the unplowed side streets on his snowmobile, a scarf wrapped around his face and his eyes hidden behind his goggles. The moon was clouded.
Stern gingerly climbed out of the back of Mama’s truck, holding onto the inside of the door with a white-knuckled grip. The wind almost slammed the truck door closed on him; he flinched, shielding his eyes from the blowing snow. His borrowed green army coat blew to one side, showing his gun holstered on his belt.
“You ready?” Mama said quietly to Stern. The man nodded once and reached back into the truck for his travel mug of hot cocoa. On the other side, Dani stood on her tiptoes and pulled a folding lawn chair out of the bed of Mama’s truck.
They had a plan. As Stern unfolded the chair in the middle of the parking lot and gingerly sat down in it, Aubrey crossed all her fingers and toes. God, she hoped this would work.
One has prose, one doesn’t. And the actual beginning of the chapter was much more fleshed out, adding sensory detail and character perspectives; if I included the entire start of the chapter, as covered in the outline, I’d practically include half of the damn thing in this post alone. The outline that I do lists the who, what, when, where, and how; the prose is the why (character motivations, emotions, sensory detail, etc), which I don’t necessarily need to add until later. 
What matters to me is that I have at least a foundation to build on, so when I have some time blocked out I can go through and take down sections of the outline. I swear by scene blocking; getting the story down and out in a non-prose format was what let me write the rough draft of the first book of my fantasy series in 4 months, a couple years ago. It gets shit done.
So yeah - I tend to outline most stuff so I’m not floundering to find the story’s direction. Writing without an outline is pretty terrifying, but it can be done; I don’t always recommend it for anything longer than 1k, but whatever works for you! Thanks for the ask!
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to-bury-the-castle · 5 years
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Political!Jon theory and the dragon-riding scene
"We could stay here for a thousand years" / "We'd be pretty old."
To me, the above exchange is very telling of the differences between Dany and Jon. Dany, who has spent eight seasons fighting to be Queen in Westeros, is finally in Westeros, with the man who made her his queen. And yet, here she betrays a desire not to get to know the North better or to marry Jon (other things she could have very easily daydreamed about instead in this scene) but to run away from the power she has just attained.
On some level, Dany wants to run away from her responsibilities. She wants to go somewhere no-one can find her, with her children and her lover. She doesn't want to face the upcoming conflict with the White Walkers or the scorn of the Northern Lords. She wants to fly away, as she did in the Pit in Meereen.
This desire is telling (and may foreshadow an eventual decision by her to fly away from the Battle with the Dead) but Jon's reaction to it is also incredibly telling. He's not remotely tempted by her idea. He scoffs at it, and calls Dany out on her magical thinking. When he tells her they'd be pretty old, he's essentially telling her her dream is a fantasy. He's punching holes in it, shooting her down.
It's one of many choices in this episode that seem weird as hell when not viewed through a Political!Jon framework. If this is supposed to be a romantic moment, why not have Jon soften at Dany's daydream? Why not have him allow himself a moment to picture it, before sighing and telling her "maybe when the war is won"? Why not have insecure Jon be touched that the beautiful dragon queen would want to spend a thousand years with him, and respond by initiating the kiss Dany orders in the show? Why instead give us yet another scene where Dany reaches out and Jon rebuffs her attempt to connect with him? Another scene where Jon's physical contact with Dany is instigated when a) she orders it as his queen, and b) Jon himself is vulnerable?
On Dragonstone he was Dany's de facto prisoner. On the ship after the wight hunt, he was weakened, weaponless, and being taken South instead of home. (Making him seem once again at Dany's mercy, however benevolent she might have chosen to be in the moment.) Here we have a similar situation. Jon is impossibly far from home. He doesn't even really know where he is, having got there from the air instead of by land. His friends and family have no idea he is out here. Dany's dragons could incinerate him in a moment if she chose.
Even if she didn't, as far as he knows their primary loyalty is still to her. If he displeased her and she flew off with them, how would he ever get home? Maybe he could trek back eventually, if he didn't freeze or starve to death, or encounter the Night King's undead hordes along the way. But he would be leaving his people undefended and leaving Dany to her own devices in Winterfell. When you look at it through a Political!Jon perspective, and set aside the supposed "romance" of the scene, Jon has in fact found himself in yet another terrifying situation he has little control over, in which his only hope is to appease Dany.
And he still, hilariously, can only just manage it!
He can't summon up any genuine tenderness or affection for her, or any true sense of wonder at her dragons. His "you've ruined horses for me", coming after a dragon ride in which he looked alternately terrified and uncomfortable the whole way through, rings about as hollow as his awkward "gorgeous beasts" line from season seven. Where is his excitement? Where is the scene where he settles into the dragon ride after a rocky start, and begins to smile and direct Rhaegal with more ease? Where he maybe even becomes playful with Dany, flirting back with her the way he used to with Ygritte? It's just not there.
Instead we get discomfort in his facial expressions, throughout the ride, followed by a blithe statement that will be just enough to appease Dany re: his appreciation of her "children". All that is followed by a scene in which he kisses her with his eyes open (ew), staring down Drogon in what feels like a pretty huge hint of his true feelings about the dragons. They unnerve him. He is afraid of them. Here, pre-parentage reveal, he even seems to feel as if he has reason to be wary of them. And if he isn't feigning his feelings for Dany, or using her and dragons to defeat the army of the dead, there is no reason on earth for him to feel like this. Why be so edgy? As far as he has ever seen, Dany has full control over her children, and Dany is falling in love with him. If things are as they appear, to Jon, then why would anything about this situation scream danger to him?
It wouldn't. That look of Drogon's is Jon feeling guilty and Drogon picking up on it.
Bet eighteen goats and eleven sheep on it.
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madaboutasoiaf · 6 years
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He sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped much. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of Pentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.
Dany really did try to reach out to Viserys.
While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.
Perhaps he would forgive her? She did nothing wrong, and yet she wants to mend things and have him be her brother.
“I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”
She says in ADWD, when he’s hallucinating, that she loved him once. He deserved that love once, but now he’s just her abuser and she can’t get back the man who was her brother, who took care of her when they had nothing. Pretty much every exchange they have has her in fear of “waking the dragon” or Viserys being violent towards her.
His fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again, quailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the first thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze medallions. She swung it with all her strength.
It caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the edge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,” Dany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now, before I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”
“for an instant Dany felt like a child again.” Dany still is a child. She’s only fourteen and pregnant.
Viserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day, slut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.
Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft cloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats.
“Your supper is ready, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui announced.
“I’m not hungry,” Dany said sadly. She was suddenly very tired. “Share the food among yourselves, and send some to Ser Jorah, if you would.” After a moment she added, “Please, bring me one of the dragon’s eggs.”
She tried so hard to reach Viserys, and couldn’t. No wonder she’s sad. All that anticipation of him liking the gifts, forgiving her, being her brother and he’s hurt her and had to be told to leave.
Irri fetched the egg with the deep green shell, bronze flecks shining amid its scales as she turned it in her small hands. Dany curled up on her side, pulling the sandsilk cloak across her and cradling the egg in the hollow between her swollen belly and small, tender breasts. She liked to hold them. They were so beautiful, and sometimes just being close to them made her feel stronger, braver, as if somehow she were drawing strength from the stone dragons locked inside.
She clings to the dragon eggs for comfort. They were the only thing to give her comfort after she first wed Drogo, the eggs and her silver. Dany uses her  identity as the blood of the dragon as another source of strength and courage, and the eggs are closely related to that, both as a representation of her sigil, and for what they will become (as signaled in her visions from the very beginning of the book).
“He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.” For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs... but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want... they’re only stones...” “The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess... and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.” Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother... and my true king.”
Viserys tries to take the eggs, and even though they are Daenerys’ source of strength and bravery, she would have given them to him, because he is her brother. Jorah doesn’t understand, and Daenerys tries to explain.
“My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.”
Viserys is her only family, and she is still trying to hang onto the boy he once was, the person she loved. He abuses her, but he’s family. He kept her safe, and looked after her, and she struggles to reconcile those memories with the man who now hurts her. Viserys and her unborn baby are Dany’s only blood ties, and Dany desperately wants a home and a family.
Viserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city... but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel. Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.
I’ll never understand why people judge Dany in this scene. Viserys threatens her unborn baby, he threatens Dany. He’s holding a sword against her belly. History has taught Dany that Viserys is capable of being very violent. She is terrified for her baby, and this terrible threat is what shows her that Viserys is no longer the brother she loved, that the boy who helped raise her isn’t there anymore.
Drogo needs the translation of what Viserys said, his threats, so Dany translates. That is all she does. She doesn’t give any order, she’s not complicit, and what happens afterwards is not anything she wished for.
“What did he say?” the man who had been her brother asked her, flinching. It had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair, chiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper shadows. Daenerys had gone cold all over. “He says you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.” Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward... the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.”
She had gone cold all over. This whole scene is trauma upon trauma for Dany. That sensation, that feeling of cold, is her knowing it’s going to end badly, and it shows that she isn’t in on it. It’s out of her hands now. It was out of her hands the moment Viserys drew the sword and broke the taboo.
When the sun of her life reached her, Dany slid an arm around his waist.
Drogo is her protector in this scene. Yes she reaches for him, but think about what just happened, not what is about to happen. Viserys held a sword on Dany and her unborn child, her child with Drogo. The point of it pressed close enough to prick at her skin, and only Drogo’s actions ended the threat. Drogo represents safety for Dany and her baby, even though he also represents doom for the man who was once her brother.
Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.” “No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively. At the last, Viserys looked at her. “Sister, please... Dany, tell them... make them... sweet sister...”
Two things here. First, Dany has her arms folded protectively over her belly, thinking of the child Viserys was going to kill. The sequence of events would have her in shock. Second, Dany would not have been able to successfully intervene, even if she overlooked the threat to kill her and her child. Dany tried to stop it, before it went too far. She offered him her dragon eggs, and begged him to put down the sword, and instead he wielded it against her, a khaleesi of the Dothraki, and the Dothraki will never overlook that.
Varys said as much earlier in AGOT.
“By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight.”
Dany had done everything she could for Viserys. She’s his victim here, and he’s no longer the brother she loved, but her abuser who hurt her again and again, and escalated it to an attempt to hurt not just her, but to harm her child. Dany has nothing to apologise for with Viserys, and she never did.
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buirbaby · 3 years
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The Wardens: Honor of a Man
Rating: M + Language, nudity, themes, and violence.
Masterlist | First
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She knew that everything wasn't going to go without a hitch. Taliya had put up too much of a stink that afternoon, spoken too brazenly to Viserys, and even openly to Daenerys. When night fell and Viserys finally wandered back into camp, she knew that Khal Drogo would hear about the turn of events and her own impudence to act in the stead of his bloodriders. They were around to protect Dany for a reason and her own sword was not necessary, especially when women were viewed as inferior and weak. She was nearly chewing on her nails when Jhogo arrived, his youthful face not as tight or unfriendly as she was accustomed to. Instead, he appeared almost guilty, if not sparing a modicum of pity as he told her that the Khal wished to see her. 
"Do you think it has to do with what happened earlier?" Ben asked, gripping her arm before she joined the young man. 
"What else would he be summoning me for?" Tali retorted hoarsely, her voice cracking and betraying the fear she had in facing the Khal. 
"You protected the Khaleesi, you will not be in trouble," Ben insisted, his own confidence in the matter shadowing over hers. 
But she had seen Jhogo's face as he called for her and she had no doubt that this would not be a simple or amicable meeting. No, there was more to it and her skin crawled as she wondered how she might be shamed that evening. There was no rebuffing or declining the Khal's invitation and so she brushed out of her partner's hold and set her jaw, nodding as Jhogo as she followed behind him. Benjen followed as far as he was allowed to, which was up until the entrance of the great tent that belonged to Drogo and Daenerys, so large that an elephant could fit inside with ease.
Two bloodriders stood outside, giving discreet jerks of their head to Jhogo as he escorted her in, but Ben was barred outside. Within was not a welcoming sight. Daenerys was there, but seated beside her husband with a tight expression. Khal Drogo's dark eyes burned a trail after Tali as she approached where he lounged. Strangely, they did not disarm her before the Khal, but Jhogo delivered her as asked and stepped aside so that she stood in front of the imposing man. She nearly locked her knees in an effort to keep them from quaking, aware she might pass out if she did so. That didn't assist her at all, the worry bobbing in her throat in the form of the inability to swallow the tacky, dry taste in her mouth.
"Taliya Sand," Khal Drogo began, her Dornish name rolling around strangely on his tongue as he spoke it aloud for the first time. "Today, you defended my wife, the Khaleesi, from her brother. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"That I would do it again if it prevented Viserys from laying a hand on her," Taliya answered in Dothraki, her speech having improved significantly over the weeks. 
"To what end?" Khal Drogo challenged. "Jhogo was hooves behind you and yet you interfere. It is not your place. You are a woman. I have tolerated you playing pretend and wearing your weapon, as my wife expresses that your people--the Dornish--allow it. We do not allow it. A woman such as yourself would better serve my own men in the manner you were born to accomplish."
"Jhogo would not have gotten to the Khaleesi in time," Taliya asserted obstinately. "If I were a man, you would be rewarding me for this service. Yet, because I am a woman, I am being questioned as if it was I who attacked the Khaleesi?" Her bitter fury was getting the better of her, barring the silence she should have bequeathed the Khal, but instead she lashed out at him. Her cheeks were burning and she was insensed by the fact that he was not appreciative of her deed.
"Watch your tongue, witch," Cohollo snarled, baring broken teeth at Taliya as she scowled.
Khal Drogo waved his bloodrider back and sat up in his seat. "If you would like to defend my wife, perhaps I should give you more of a challenge to prove your worth than the Sorefoot King. You wear a sword, but can you use it? Jhogo says you struck the boy with your arm, but did not draw a blade."
"There was no reason to draw my sword. Not immediately," Taliya remarked, her pulse tensing at the thought of having to fight any of his bloodriders or maybe even Drogo himself. She was going to die.
"Those that fear to draw their blades die cowards," Khal Drogo insisted. 
"If I must prove that I can use the sword that I carry, I will fight," Taliya conceded, already backed into a proverbial wall. She couldn't deny the Khal, not without castrating herself and her liberties. She carried a sword, she was just as challenging as any man in the camp and she had to own up to that. This didn't mean she was a stalwart wall of resolve and confidence. She had seen some of the men fight during the wedding and spar during their free time. They were dervishes, berserkers, and she did not have their years of expertise beneath her silk sash belt. "But if I win, I will be treated as an equal and I will serve the Khaleesi if she should have me."
Khal Drogo thundered with laughter, clutching his stomach at her demands, but there was an admiring glimmer within the depths. Even if he openly chuckled, she knew that his honor dictated giving her what she wanted. The only issue was surviving the fight in the first place. 
Lord of Light, please don't kill me right here. I've really come to like living again, Taliya pleaded silently, making what peace she could with the fact that she'd have a new dance partner that wasn't Ben. The Dothraki in the tent were getting worked up, excited to see how this would pan out, if not craving her blood be spilled upon the dirt so that they could chortle about how absurd it had been that a woman was pretending to be a warrior.
Ushered out into the brisk evening air, she caught Benjen standing beside Jorah. He uncrossed his arms, about to open his mouth to question what had happened within the tent when the Dothraki began to hoot and holler, calling for others to join the spectacle, for them all to witness the brutalizing about to occur. Their rallying cries were echoed and warriors poured out of the nooks and crannies like mites, clustering and muttering as Khal Drogo made his grand appearance, giving her a pious look before announcing to the crowd.
"The woman believes she can fight and do a Dothraki's job in defending the Khaleesi. So the woman shall fight and prove herself or die trying," his voice boomed, echoing above the cacophony as their voices grew louder and more spiteful. Even the female Dothraki hissed and lobbed insults in her direction, the muddling of words like whore, witch, slut, and other unsavory names becoming lost amongst the thirst of the mob. 
"Taliya!" 
Her head turned slowly to gaze over at her friend, his dark brows pushed together and his fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. He was worried, using his every fiber to not break forward and put an end to this mess, but she shook her head at him. There would be no use. He'd only get overwhelmed and killed. What good would he be then? If at least one of them survived, then they could continue on their sacred mission. She let out a low breath, praying again to the Lord of Light for guidance. Never once in her life, here or on earth, had she ever felt so helpless or without guidance. Since arriving here, the Lord of Light had only whispered a few things in the fire, but never anything directly. Was this his will? 
God was a fickle subject to her. Her family had been religious, Catholic, and thus she had been raised that way. Truthfully, she never really believed in any of it. Now? She was fervently praying to R'hllor in hopes that He wouldn't toss her aside. Gods, she was so terrified as Khal Drogo picked out a Dothraki warrior from the crowd, deciding that his own bloodriders were too much of a challenge for her. She was thankful for that spark of pity, because that might be the difference between death and life.
Another tremulous breath parted her lips, but she reminded herself that this was not the first life she had taken. Taliya--no, Tabitha, had killed before. It hadn't been intentional, she hadn't even been in a combat unit. They were ambushed after an IED went off and she had no choice but to fight back. Her rifle had been thrown aside and all she'd had was her knowledge in Krav Maga and a knife. She had walked away from that fight, but the jihad had not. He too had doubted that a woman could fight.
The Dothraki was shorter than her. Taliyah was a tall woman, but she wasn't as robust as he was. He drew his arakh, the curved blade glistening in the fire light that illuminated the camp and chased long shadows across the khalasar. He grinned and she knew that immediate death would not be in the cards should she fail to defend herself. No, they would embarrass the woman who believed she could fight. They would take everything from her before killing her. She had more to lose than her life.
Her hand went to her sword, utilizing the grip she'd become more dexterously familiar with: the icepick grasp. Fate was shorter than most longswords and the movement felt more natural. The Valyrian steel caught the moonlight and glimmered with the darkened ripples, drawing attention from those that had never seen such steel before.
"Once I mount you, I'll kill you and take that pretty sword," the man told her, pointing his arakh toward her menacingly. For all his talk, he was not as terrifying as the Other in the haunted forest.
"Once I kill you, I'll turn you into a gelding and shove your balls into that filthy mouth of yours," Taliya retorted snidely, not one for playing nice when it came to her life hanging in the balance. The brief moment she had before the collision, her eyes went over toward Daenerys, the braziers on either side of her climbing high toward the sky and that's when she saw it. He was watching.
The arakh collided with Fate, the curved blade screeching against her own steel. Taliya did not remain fast in the position that would sap her energy. Instead, the parry was glanced, as she knew that the Dothraki were quick, but went for killing blows rather than continuing playing between blades. After all, an arakh was a tool for carving, not for the finesse and elegance of a dance. That did not mean she was in any advantage, in fact, if the arakh caught Fate just right, he could rip the sword out of her hands. 
The best defense would be her offense and her speed. Her stout opponent would try to overpower her, but his confidence exuded from each swing. She ducked beneath the next, bent down and grabbed a palm full of sand with her free hand, before throwing it up into his face. The man sputtered as she darted forward, his arakh barely coming up in time to defend the jab she'd aimed for him. 
His fervor redoubled and through angry, reddened eyes, she battered her back, each clang of his crescent blade forcing her another step until she was getting too close to the crowd of onlookers. Weighing her options, she turned the next strike and drove back toward him. Her reach was longer with the longsword and her arms, she forced him two steps, and then made a grievous mistake. The curve of the arakh collided with the sword, squealing down the fuller as it locked and a devilish smile unfurled on his face. She knew what this meant.
Rather than give him the satisfaction of tearing the sword from her hand, she spat in his face and threw Fate as hard as she could before barreling into the Dothraki like a linebacker trying to defend his quarterback. They fell to the ground in a scuffle, both blades skittering away as they collided with the earth. She had not noticed the Dothraki utilizing hand to hand combat or not much of it. They were mounted warriors. They fought in the saddles more often than naught. Here, she had the advantage and the man had yet to realize it.
But she worked like a serpent, fighting for the dominant position, blocking his strikes as she straddled him and palmed his nose, the cartilage crunching beneath her hand, blood spurting in a crimson river as he groaned. He threw a punch that jerked her head back with a snap, but she did not give up her position, even as they rolled and the shouting around them reached a fever pitch. She had him in a choke, the man lifting in a futile attempt to smash her into the ground. She was winded by the effort, but he was weakening by the second. Enough that she was able to reach to her belt and retrieve her dagger.
The Dothraki were screaming now, warning him of the danger, calling him a failure for allowing himself to be wrapped up by her like prey to a cobra, but Taliya did not hear. This was the same position that she had killed the jihad in, strangling him from behind before she took her knife and dragged it deep across his throat, giving him a second smile. Blood beaded between her hands, slickening the knife as the man garbled, jerking in her grasp before going limp.
For a crowd that had been harkening her rape and death, they grew eerily quiet as she shoved his corpse to the ground and stood, her hands soaked in the blood of the Dothraki warrior and her silks stained with the life she had taken. Raising her knife in victory, she bent down, eying Khal Drogo openly as she grabbed the man's nearly decapitated head and cut off his braid. It was nowhere near as long or as impressive as Drogo's, but she threw it down in his direction, spitting a mouthful of her own blood on the ground. Her lip was busted from the punch, but at least she had all her teeth. 
Taliya retrieved her sword, shoving it back into the scabbard, before glancing at the body and feeling... nothing. Just like on deployment, she had felt no pity for the man that had tried to kill her. The only difference here was that she had understood the filthy words that had come from the Dothraki's mouth. 
"The woman has won," Khal Drogo deemed, his face unreadable. Whether or not he was impressed, she could not say. "If she is really a woman."
Tailya frowned, her adrenaline still surging through her veins as these words escaped his mouth. What did that mean? She had won! She had won with her bare hands! The Lord of Light had blessed her fight, He had been watching and deemed her worthy! "This was not part of the deal!" she snarled, glaring at Cohollo and Haggo as they erred closer to her. 
"I will keep my end of the bargain," Khal Drogo insisted. "But my khalasar will not believe this fight was won by a woman unless they see for themselves. Even I doubt it."
Taliya reached for her sword, but knew she would not beat the both of them. Khal Drogo was still keeping his oath, but he was still taking something precious from her. No. She would not allow it. "You wish to see that I am a woman?" Taliya snarled, throwing her dagger into the dirt in front of her. "Fine. But I will show you myself," she snapped, fumbling the silks and leathers that she wore. She would not be stripped by the bloodriders, she would not be embarrassed by their hands. 
Working piece by piece, she glared openly at them all, each layer that came off causing her fingers to shake even more. Finally, when she'd reached the blouse that hit her breasts, she swallowed hard and yanked it off. Taliya was not big breasted, she was athletic, thus she knew that given her stature, she would have to do more than remove her top. She kicked her harem trousers off and then the thin string for underwear she'd donned until she was standing as naked as the day she'd been born. 
She hated it. The roaming eyes, the gesticulating, and the faces of those who would prefer to put hands on the honed, muscular woman who stood openly before them. But if this were to happen anywhere, the Dothraki was the best scenario. How could she face anyone in Westeros if she'd been forced to stand in front of them all like this? Just as Cersei would have to march through King's Landing? 
"She is a woman," Khal Drogo agreed, his eyes lingering on her mound, before he waved his bloodriders back. "This woman has proven she can fight. There is a first for everything." He turned his back and receded into his tent, sweeping Daenerys along with him. 
Taliya's eyes burned, but she knew that she would not cry, she could not. She had proven that she was strong and that would all be lost if she started blubbering. Crouching down, as to protect the last shreds of her modesty as she grabbed her shirt and thrust it back over her head with shaking hands, she drew a shuddering breath on the cusp of breaking down. How many erections had she noticed pressed within the leathers? How many men imagining fucking her out in the open despite the throat she'd just opened? 
"Taliya-" The last voice she wanted to hear because of how mortified she was. Ben knelt beside her, his cloak falling around her shoulders as she fumbled her belongings on the ground, her fingers still stained red from the blood she had spilled. 
"I hope you enjoyed the show," she hissed through her clenched teeth, managing to get her pants on before bundling the rest up in her arms and gripping her sword scabbard tight in her fist. 
"Tali, I..." but he was at a loss for words as she got to her feet and started to storm away toward the outskirts of the khalasar where they'd pitched their tents. She drew in his cloak, her resolve crumbling with each step, carrying herself further than the tent and out into the brush with only the stars for company. Well, at least she'd thought that until she heard him pursuing her. Crouching back down amongst the tall grass, Taliya drew in toward herself, shuddering as she lost control of her tightly reigned emotions. "Tali!"
"Go away, do I look like I want to be bothered right now?" she asked hoarsely, unable to stop the tears from falling out of her eyes. "I came out here to be alone!"
But he did not leave her alone, much to her disdain. She felt Balerion probing, the griffin not too far, but at a great enough length that it would take him a few minutes to reach them. She denied his request, feeling bad for keeping him at a distance for so long, but they were safer this way. She pressed her face into her knees, sitting in the dirt, crying like a child. She was deserving of a good cry and this one had rushed up to meet her all at once. 
A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked it away. What repulsive thoughts did he have of her now? In Westeros, a lady would never bear herself like that. The Dothraki would have done it for her, turned her into a victim, but she had refused to let herself be belittled. If they wanted to see her vagina, she was going to show it herself and not have the choice taken from her. Still, it didn't make her feel much better. She was disgusted with herself and even if she knew their harsh words weren't true, they still bit into her skin as if they were.
"Shh, shh," Benjen knelt beside her, smoothing her hair back as she wept, the motion astonishingly soothing for a man who'd spent little time occupying it with the opposite gender. She supposed he had nieces to look after once in a while, but was still affronted with her own lewd display. 
"I thought I told you to go away," she sniffled indignantly.
"And miss you shedding tears? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I thought you did not have the ability to for the longest time," Benjen remarked glibly, deserving of a subconscious thwap of the back of her knuckles to his knee. "I should have done something-"
"You couldn't. There was no way that it would have turned out well for either of us had you stepped up to defend me," Taliya reminded him, clearing her throat as she tried to stop the watershow. "It's not like I'm some dainty lady with honor to defend anyways."
"Is that what you really believe?" Ben inquired quietly.
"I'm no one, Ben. I have no noble name to protect me."
"That's not true. You are a Warden. The First Warden. There's only two of us. That makes you more important than the majority of nobility in Westeros... in the world. What makes you think otherwise?"
"Because it will always come down to titles and blood. Even if I help fix the world, save those marked for slaughter, it will always come back to the fact that I'm no one," she rebuffed, brushing the hand on her shoulder away. "I shouldn't be crying over this. I won, I'm alive, and I proved that a woman can have enough skill to best a man. I just-" she lifted her face, her voice cracking under the strain as she tried to piece her shattered resolve back together.
"You are human, Tali. I think I would be more worried if you had not reacted at all to what just happened," Ben reminded her. 
"I could've handled it better. Now I'm a mess, I've got blood all over me and it's mixed with tears. I'm going to need new clothes."
"That's what you are worried about?" Ben muttered in disbelief.
She was deflecting, but it seemed easier to do that than to face that fact that he'd watched her strip in front of hundreds of people until she was naked. "I liked these silks," she complained. 
Managing a glance up at him, she saw the shadowed countenance of her companion. Despite his warm words to her, she knew that he was bothered by the situation and how out of hand it had gotten in a matter of moments. It had been out of his control and the lack thereof perturbed him. It was admirable that he worried for her, but Taliya tried not too much too much worth into it, lest to save them both from eventual heartbreak.
She moved to stand up, drawing in the cloak once again, when a hand steadied her. Even in the darkness, the golden warmth of his eyes blazed like a beacon--like the sun itself. "You are not alone in this, Tali. You are never alone. We... are all we have. Even when we return to Westeros, I am not certain what my family will think of what has become of me. I am not certain I can return, as Starks take oaths very seriously. To the grave."
"You took yours to the grave, Ben," she reminded him.
"They might not understand, but you do. It's not as if I can explain it to them, you know how we are prohibited from talking to outsiders about our gifts," Ben sighed, having time to contemplate how fathomable resuming a normal life in Westeros would be once they did return. Taliya's gaze softened, not the whip sharp glare, the resting bitch face she typically wore, and she stifled a deep breath as she felt herself calming down. It still hurt, like a knife in her belly, twisting her entrails and causing pain, but he was right. At least she was not alone. Even Daenerys had not put in a word for her or tried to stop her husband, bringing color to her tanned cheeks as she thought in shame of how she'd overstepped her boundaries. But she was the First Warden, just as Benjen insisted. She was more important than any of them, wielding the knowledge to shape the world. One day her work would pay off and they'd all see it, that a woman could pull strings behind the scenes and achieve spectacular things. This was her origin and she had to combat the fact that she was no one. At least, she did not have to do it alone. Between Balerion, Torrhen, and Benjen-she knew she had people she could put her trust in, if only she could let them in.
Tabitha, her real name not the alias she'd taken, had always been reclusive. Since leaving the Army, finding new friends had been hard and she was often seen as standoffish, bossy, and a bit of a bitch. Assimilation into civilian life had been difficult, especially working in customer service where she had to slap a smile on despite not wanting to roll out of bed some days. War had been tough on her and the day to day environment of carefree civilian life had grated on her, weathering down her patience. Perhaps she should have never left the military and she wouldn't have spiralled, but her family had needed her as her contract had ended. The promising track she had been set on, especially after getting her degree, started to evaporate as she put her dreams on hold. Now, they'd never come to fruition, her dreams of being a blackhawk pilot dashed. Ironically, she was a different kind of pilot now, her skillset between her hobbies and what the military had taught her becoming pivotal in helping her in this new world.
"Last time I had people I could trust, I watched a handful of them get blown up," Taliya told him, finally breaking the silence as she snapped out of her daze. "Should have been a routine patrol. Road had been swept in the morning. Turns out we had a mole... someone who fed information to the other side, a traitor. Two of the soldiers were kids, just out of training, thrown onto a deployment in the desert. Hell of a first time getaway from home. Two 19 year olds with their whole lives ahead of them. Explosion killed Gabini immediately, concussed me, and maimed Brown. By the time I came to, they were finishing Brown off with a rusted knife, sawing it-" she swallowed hard, blinking back the repulsive memories. "They thought I was dead or were finishing the others to save me for last... Unfortunate for them. Shot the first, slit the throat of the other. When I got back home they gave me a shiny medal like that could make up for what was lost. If I could, I would have given my life in exchange for theirs.
"Then I get here and it's like everything I was, everything I worked for... It means nothing because I'm a woman or I'm common born. I'm not trying to sound arrogant, but I've better wits than the majority of the population and yet in an instant, I can be degraded without a choice. I was a sergeant, Ben. I was important, I had soldiers beneath me. I-" she shook her head. She had never talked about any of this. Always holding it in, repressing the fact that these deaths burned a hole in her heart. It was why she'd preferred the solitude with Balerion. Balerion would never hurt her.
"Losing men is never easy," Ben admitted, undoubtedly losing many of his brothers to the cold or wildlings. She felt a bit stupid mentioning it to him, someone who had probably seen many come and go over his years on the Wall. "I always did suspect you were prior military. Some of your mannerisms... and behavior."
"Never really goes away," she snorted. "Look, I didn't mean to be... emotional. Today has been absolute dog shit."
"Understandably," Ben agreed as they turned toward the khalasar, beginning to walk back to their camp. "I like to think we are friends, despite the circumstances that brought us together."
She was thankful for the cover of darkness as the corners of her mouth turned up. "Me, friends with a noble? Lord up above, I really must be something special to have impressed you, wolf-boy."
"You had me at 'chuckle-fuck' beyond the Wall," Ben informed her.
Taliya chortled, bringing her hand to her mouth to prevent the ugly noise from escaping her lips. "I do... have a colorful way of describing things."
"Especially under pressure. What was it again that you threatened that Dothraki with? Something about castrating him and then-"
"I'm no lady," Taliya broke in before he could finish.
"Perhaps not, but you're still a woman. At least I'm certain of that now."
Taliya glared at him, but the brightness in the Stark's eyes were not as mirthfilled as the Dothraki. Had it been anyone else, she might've punched them... Actually, she was still fully contemplating it. "Hope you got a good look. It's the only one you're ever going to get."
*
It was difficult to fall asleep at first, still restless from the evening that had battered her around like meat being tenderized. Once she did, she tumbled within a dream, so vivid that Tali remembered every fine detail. Darkness pooled around her, tendrils reaching out like hands, pulling at the sunset silks she was adorned in. While there seemed to be no ground, each step brought her forward in the shadow realm which she tread. Where was she going? She wandered aimlessly for a long time until her hip grew hot, Fate humming at her belt, growing red. Logic dictated that when she touched it, she should have been burned.
However, as her palm grazed the pommel, she only felt the warmth blistering metal, but was not injured as she ought to be. Taking the sword from the scabbard, the Valyrian steel burst into flames, just as some priests of R'hllor could manage. She wondered if Valyrian steel could take the heat of the magic over and over again, holding the sword in front of her face as it illuminated the abyss surrounding her. When she finally looked around, her skin crawled as the shadows took silhouettes and shape, just like the one that Melisandre would birth from Stannis. They pawed at the light, but did not approach.
Taliya continued down the trail with Fate as her beacon. Another light, wreathed in golden flame attracting her attention. Finally, when she reached it, she realized it was not an 'it' so much as it was a person. A statue of Ben stood before her, wielding a glorious longsword, a halo of sunlight blooming around his crown as if he were a saint. Weapon raised toward the sky, she saw the finer details of a full suit of armor and thought he looked rather akin to a paladin, a holy knight. Inscribed on the plinth below: Ser Benjen Stark, Champion of R'hllor, Warden of Light, Savior of Westeros.
Was this the future? Even if it was not her, she couldn't help but admire the beauty of the marble and how it captured her friend's features. If anyone deserved to be commemorated, Benjen certainly had her vote. But as she glanced around, she wondered why there was nothing about her. Taliya didn't need to be remembered, but she supposed that if Ben had gotten a statue, why wouldn't she? He was the sword, but she was the brains.
The shadows had lifted half of their shade and she was walking in a city... King's Landing? It was difficult to tell by the unnatural darkness that coated the city in an effervescent haze. No people milled around, but she saw the long shadows of the dark beings from her path. They stayed away from the light which she held, but followed her as she ascended up stairs toward a temple. The Sept of Baelor? No, the towers were missing, the beautiful stained glass removed. This was where the sept should have been, but in its place blazed a Red Temple with a great brazier and fire.
There cannot be light without shadow.
She tilted her head, looking for where the deep voice came. A shiver raked down her spine, the queer sound of the leagues deep voice echoing with the voices of many. The voice was masculine, but those that echoed it were legion. Continuing her path toward the Temple, Taliya leveled her eyes. Thus far, the Lord of Light had not made His intentions clear. She and Ben knew that it was He that had raised them, given them their fiery eyes, and tasked them with altering the future. Why he had done this, despite the fact that the Great Other would likely be defeated, Taliya could not say. Did He wish for different people to survive? Did He wish for dragons to live or Daenerys not to perish as a result of her descent into madness? There were no answers. They were champions without the word of their God telling them what to do.
There is no shadow without light to cast it.
Fate's light flickered and the shadows crept closer. They wouldn't attack her, would they? They were servants to the Lord, just as she was. But when she glanced at them, their black faces, she had a feeling they did not care who she was. Quickening her step, she hurried toward the Temple, Fate's brilliance continuing to fate. Her strides lengthened until she was running, banging up against the door to the temple as she tried to force it open. It was no use, the doors were locked.
Fate guttered out and Taliya turned, her heart in her throat as the shadow figures stood up. The only light she could see was the halo of Ben's statue, which was too far for salvation. Even the Red Temple seemed to forsake her, as if to cast her from her divine position and relinquish her to the abyss. She swiped her sword, the blade passing through the shadows without harming them... because they were shadows. A scream never parted her lips or if it did, there was no one to hear it. They fell on top of her, smothering her, ripping her away from King's Landing and tearing at her every fiber.
Shadow and light. They are both tools of the Lord. Two sides to the same coin.
Shadow. You are shadow.
Taliya awoke with a start, her fingers gripping her throat where she'd felt shadowy hands snared and pushing down into belly to eviscerate her insides, to tear away the light in her heart and replace it with shadow. The Lord of Light had yet to speak openly to her, but she wondered if that dream was His first attempt to press upon His will. They were Wardens, gifted with partners and flight, but was that all? Melisandre could conjure flame, she would raise Jon Snow, she could consume poison and live, and birth monstrosities. Could the Wardens do things?
She thought of the statue, how Ben had looked the part of the holy warrior, but she had been missing entirely. Would that be her future? Hidden in the shadows and forgotten for everything she'd forged? Tali was not jealous of Ben, it was a man's world, but it still stung to think that the Lord of Light would prefer him over her: The First Warden. What had He said... That had been the Lord, hadn't it? The deep, echoing of many voices in the shadow city, telling her that shadow and light were but two sides of the same coin... She was shadow.
Was Ben light?
Taliya dressed, her attire still blood stained, and her face still raw from where she'd been punched. Her split lip was crusty and she knew she had an ugly bruise radiating from mouth to the left side of her jaw. Fortunately, nothing was broken, but it still hurt like a bitch. Brushing her fingers through her hair, she noticed it was getting longer, but didn't take a knife to it just yet as she dragged herself out of bed.
The sun was bright, forcing her to shield her eyes as she stepped out and rolled her shoulders. What she wouldn't do for a bath or a shower. Pentos had been the last place such had been afforded and it hadn't even been a bath, it'd just been a basin filled with clean water and a rag. She was about to start making breakfast when a slender figure approached her anxiously, twisting her fingers into her skirts, long blonde hair glistening in the morning light.
Doreah finally found the courage to speak. "Khaleesi requests your company."
Great. That's just who she wanted to see after the girl had let her husband embarrass her before the Khalasar. Even if she wasn't to be petulant about it, she knew that it wasn't a request and a demand. Grumbling to herself, she pushed up to her feet, leaving behind the embers she had started to stoke. What did the child want? To apologize? To tell Taliya that she shouldn't have been such a brash fool? No, maybe Daenerys would agree with her husband and see nothing wrong with what had happened.
Rubbing her aching face, Taliya followed the Lyseni handmaiden across the camp. Oddly enough, she had expected the Dothraki to point and laugh at her, to continue to insult her further after the fiasco last night. However, she was astonished to see their gazes were not impish, but full of regard, as if they were seeing her for the first time. Nudity to the Dothraki was not as taboo as it was to Westerosi and other cultures. She had taken her fate into her own hands. Did they respect her?
That was wishful thinking. Maybe they were just afraid that she'd wrestle them to the ground and slit their throat like a goat as she'd done to one of their warriors.
The behavior change in the Dothraki was not the only thing that she noticed. In fact, there was a strange hum in her bones each time she glanced towards shade, where the sunlight did not strike. The shadows seemed to lengthen, to beckon toward her like a lurid lover. Perhaps she was dehydrated or had a concussion, because the shadows had never played around as they did now. She brushed away the words of R'hllor that buzzed in her ears like gnats: You are shadow.
Khal Drogo was not in the tent. It was only Daenerys and her handmaidens, to include Irri and Jhiqui. A hand rested gently on the girl's abdomen, which made Taliya wonder if the girl had discovered she was pregnant. The thought of someone so little, so young, being with child made her want to yak up a breakfast she hadn't had the chance to eat.
"Taliya," Daenerys entreated, but remained where she was sitting as she spoke her name.
"Khaleesi," she returned indifferently.
"My husband was impressed with your skill. He wonders where you learned to fight with your hands like that," Daenerys remarked.
"I told you that I served as a sellsword. I learned in Yi Ti," she lied simply.
Daenerys sighed, dropping her hand from her stomach, her eyes softening. "No woman should be shamed like that."
"Do the Dothraki see it as shame?" Taliya glanced toward Irri and Jhiqui, trying to gauge their reactions. They balked under her fiery gaze, averting their eyes as if they'd be burned if they stared for too long.
"They needed proof," Daenerys replied.
"You're becoming quite good with politics, Khaleesi. Answering, but still avoiding the original question. Tell me, is it you who feels shame or the Dothraki? Because on my walk here, they did not jeer, point, or laugh. Yet, I stand before you and I see pity in your eyes," Taliya countered sternly, daring to overstep the boundary between ranks as she bared her disdain over the girl's lack of reaction the evening before.
Daenerys' cheeks flushed at the insinuation. "Nothing I said could have changed what happened."
"No, I doubt it could, but you also have more power than you believe you do. I don't need an apology or your pity. I made my decision last night and I stand by it. I am not a dainty lady from Westeros, I am a warrior. It may not have been easy to do what I did, but don't assume that I feel sullied because of it. I could care less who saw me naked," Taliya rebuffed.
Silence hung between them, the girl contemplating her words at Taliya stood erect like a soldier at attention, her spine rigid and her jaw level. She didn't need the child throwing her a pity parade, coddling her because she'd neglected to do anything. Daenerys needed to know what a strong woman looked like. One who didn't let the opinions of others drown her. Even if it had hurt, Taliya would not show it.
"Drogo intends to keep his promise. If you wish to serve beneath me still," Daenerys told her.
Taliya had the royal flush, the cards were stacked against Daenerys, the guilt weighing on the girl's conscience. Drawing in a deep breath, she released her sigh and relaxed her imposing posture. She was a head taller than any of the women in there, even if she was slouching. "Is that what you want? Do you still feel comfortable with me around after everything that happened?"
"I feel comfortable around you, but I-" she paused, her brows snaring together in irritation. "You have been a good companion and I did nothing but watch. What if I do it again? What if you die because of it?"
"People die, Khaleesi. The world is a cruel place. We all learn from our mistakes and you're still growing up. Your brother... that was not the first time he's raised a hand to you, is it?" She knew the answer, but she wanted the girl to give it to her.
Daenerys shook her head. "Viserys has always been... stern. I just thought it was the way things were, but when after hearing you tell me otherwise during our conversations... It made me think about how I'm treated here, my people he sees as barbarians, when they treat me better than he ever has and he's my blood."
"There is a quote I know: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. It means that the blood shed in battle, bonds people together more than the familial bonds. Of course, family is important, but there becomes a point when you must question if that family has the best intentions in mind for you. Do you think that Viserys does?"
Daenerys contemplated before speaking, "He is still my brother and I do love him."
"I am not saying to forsake him, only that sometimes family shouldn't be the most important thing in your life, especially if they've done little to prove their care for you is not materialistic and a means to an end. Khal Drogo cares deeply for you, the weight of his love should rival that of your brother. If Viserys truly loved you, he would not hit you," Taliya explained carefully. "Only a coward strikes those that cannot fight back. Punish me if you must for speaking out of turn, but your brother is a coward."
"I know," Daenerys agreed miserably. "I do want you here, Tali. Your wisdom has helped me immensely and I appreciate your honesty. The Dothraki are often honest, but it's not the same. Because you're-"
"Dornish? Westerosi? Too wry for my own good?" Taliya filled in mischievously.
"I can relate to you more... And you are a piece of the home I have never known."
"Home isn't an exact place, Khaleesi. It is often a person. I would say that your home is with Khal Drogo, no matter where in Essos he takes you," Taliya informed her, feeling the tension in her shoulders beginning to evaporate as the walls between them fell.
"Then... perhaps until now, I have not known a home."
"Khaleesi, if you would have me still, the offer stands. However, after last night, I think the terms in which I stand by have shifted. As you probably noticed, I have a certain set of skills and I have more I can offer depending on what your intentions are for the future. I have connections in Westeros, eyes and ears that report to me. If your intentions are to go there eventually, an army is not the only thing you will need."
"Taliya, you have always spoken openly before. What is it that you want?"
"I want the position as Mistress of Whisperers. I will also promise you my sword, but I am no knight. I am a hidden blade. Give me time and I have no doubt I'll be able to acquire information in more methods than just the contacts I have in Westeros."
Daenerys leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees as she contemplated the offer. "If we go to Westeros, these connections would be paramount. Are you asking for titles as well?"
"No, I do not care for titles other than the position I've requested. I don't need land, nor castles. I am asking for this as a commoner with the interest of the common folk in my heart."
"You are aware that if we go, the common folk will get caught in between regardless. The Dothraki will wish to loot as they do here," Daenerys reminded her.
"Which is why I'll continue to be that pesky fly in your ear, reminding you when I see injustices, but it will be up to you to change the way in which the Dothraki think. So far, it seems they've come to acknowledge that a woman can fight. Perhaps they can give up their pillaging."
Since the dream, the shadows always beckoned, especially when the night came and they deepened into an abyss that Taliya felt she could step into and vanish. It had taken the fight with the Dothraki warrior for her to come to realize that she had talents in another form of fighting. Hand to hand combat and knives. Both times she had killed, it had been with a knife in her hand. Fate had served her well, but it had never been quite right. Once she found a proper forge, she intended on having the steel split into two daggers to better serve her skills. But amongst the Dothraki Sea, the opportunity to find a smith was slim to none. They would need to get to a city and she had high hopes that Vaes Dothrak might have a vendor who had the skill.
Daenerys had granted her request, though the position of Mistress of Whisperers wasn't official. It banked on Drogo deciding they'd go to Westeros, in which advisors would be necessary for the assault. Still, the seed was planted and Taliya had already hewn the niche that she would fill. Queen's Guard was not where she would be suited best, it would be pulling strings and working alongside Varys. With the passing evenings, she worked heavily on her close combat skills, sparring with Ben and relying upon her knowledge in Krav Maga and knife combat to marry her experience with a sword. At first, it was difficult to get past the guard of an expert swordsman, but with each hour devoted, Taliya improved.
She took to throwing knives, collecting more and more blades by the day, and studied the plants of the Sea. The Dothraki were more willing to talk to her, even the women who had once called her a whore would impart their wisdom of what certain herbs would do. She kept her notes in a book and also recorded what she knew of poisons. While there weren't any readily available poisons for her to harvest, there were plenty of venomous snakes which she could take glands from and coat blades in. They would not be as instant as Tears of Lys or the strangler, but it would kill eventually, as few people knew how to create antivenoms.
The question of what the Lord of Light had meant by the dream He had imparted, left her interpreting His will as she was a shadow. She already tugged strings behind the scenes and given the vision, she suspected that she was not destined to be the face of the Wardens. As a woman and without a noble birth to draw upon, her talents were best utilized from anonymity. Any idle dreams of being a lady-knight were dashed from her mind and she acknowledged that perhaps that was the best. After all, she wouldn't have liked the limelight or attention. She preferred to do her work and remain unbothered by the intricacies of posturing and sniveling nobility.
Their weeks of travel finally resulted in the anticipated destination of Vaes Dothrak, guarded by the Horse Gate, a pair of rearing stallions whose hooves reached a hundred feet. The sacred city had no walls, but who would be foolish enough to attack it? Unless they wanted the wrath of all the Dothraki khalasar in the Sea to fold upon them, the hallowed ground remained unscathed, filled to the brim with the monuments that the Dothraki had sacked over the long years.
Taliya gazed amongst the throng that she traveled with and then to those that filed behind them. When she had begun this journey, she was a woman who carried a sword, but still a woman. Though it had been earned in exchange for her modesty, the Dothraki gazed at her through different eyes. Still, there were many who were wary, but she had asserted her dominance in the field of combat and there were some of the younger warriors that were more keen to talk to her, to learn. Jhogo had been one of those who decided to speak first. He did not apologize, as it is not custom for Dothraki to do so, but she suspected the young man still felt a bit guilty that all that had transpired had to do with him reporting it to Khal Drogo. There were others who were more interested in occupying her time in other manners, liking what they saw when she'd been bare, but they did not attempt to take her lest they wanted their hands gone as she'd threatened before.
Taliya was no Khaleesi, but she was a servant to their queen and she had earned their respect. Many had even given her a name since that day: Geshah Gezri--The Sand Cobra. It had become an affectionate term, if not a title, a way to describe what fate another man might meet if they crossed her, wrapped up in her constricting embrace before fangs would end their life. She preened in what they had given her.
What she found most amusing was Viserys' stupidity. For as long as they had been amongst the Dothraki, the young man had made no effort to learn their language. Why he'd neglected to do so bespoke of his own arrogance and expectations that he was safe, which was quite a misplaced idea. Now, he rode in a cart after Khal Drogo had offered it, deep in the belief that the Khal was now treating him as he was supposed to when it was actually the opposite.
"How dense do you have to be to be so ignorant to the fact that your goodbrother is insulting you right to your face?" Ben speculated, though the prince had now been given his horse back after being confined to the cart for some weeks.
"Well, when you believe the entire world bends a knee to you and that you're the most clever creature there is, it's impossible to think that barbarians might be intelligent enough to slight you," Taliya answered, shaking her head in disdain. "You ought to think knowing their language would be the best way to know they're not making fun at your expense."
"Why would you do that when there's so many translators available?" Ben scoffed. "Who most certainly will not lie to you?"
"Ah, you're right. I obviously was not thinking," Taliya remarked.
"Careful, speak any louder and he might grow suspicious," Jorah canted his horse closer, his voice deadpanned as he flanked them.
Taliya threw a glance back to where Viserys was riding beside his sister. Why Daenerys still let him occupy her time, she could not say, but the girl had become shrewder with her brother after his actions. She didn't dart as carefully around his emotions and often spared glances at Tali when she dared raise her voice. Even if he wasn't the brightest, Viserys wasn't stupid enough to attack Daenerys in front of the Dothraki. Still, watching from the shadows, she knew that he hadn't mustered the courage to do what he'd done again. Instead, he filled his time with lounging, calling Doreah into his tent, and gossiping to the servant as if she'd not repeat his disgusting words to Taliya in full. Doreah feared the woman she'd seen strangle a man to the princeling who couldn't lift the sword he carried.
"Mm, he seems a bit preoccupied," she commented, steering her gelding a little closer to try and overhear what he was talking about. By the animated expressions and maddened glimmer in his eyes, she knew he was ranting on about Vaes Dothrak.
"They cannot speak the language of civilized men," Viserys decided, rolling his eyes in the direction of the nearest Dothraki as if they could not comprehend him. The number that could speak Common had been increasing with Ben's assistance, not that the prince had cared to take notice. These were not people who were intelligent enough to learn. Not to him. "I grow tired of waiting for my army. He should give me what is rightfully mine. What I paid for."
Paid for. Taliya wrinkled her nose at his ignorance, the way he bartered Daenerys' hand as if she were a gift cow. "The Khal will honor his promise in his own time," Taliya spoke up, drawing closer and watching as a sneer unfolded on his lips. The young man had heard of the fight, though he'd not been given the luxury of watching her strip. She was thankful for that. Just as she was amused that he'd watched her throw knives for practice with increasing precision. The boy feared her and for good reason. For all the ilk in his body, he was biding his time with the belief he'd get to repay her for the bruise she'd given him for attempting to touch Daenerys.
Still, he didn't like to be around her and she acted as a natural deterrent for the brat. He reined his horse and turned away, leaving Taliya with the Khaleesi and her handmaidens. Her gaze swept to Jhogo, who comprehended the pointed words and insults that the Targaryen had lobbed at his people.
"He grows more impatient with each passing day," Daenerys sighed.
"Let him," Tali shrugged, waving her hand dismissively. "He is not in charge here, which he often seems to forget. You would think he'd have picked up on some Dothraki customs by now. Your hand was not considered a trade, but a gift. Eventually, your husband will give a gift in return, but rushing him is not wise."
"When has Viserys ever been wise?" Daenerys inquired. "He was just telling me that he believes that he can sweep the Seven Kingdoms with 10,000 Dothraki."
"You sound unconvinced, Khaleesi."
"I have started to take everything that comes from his mouth with a grain of salt. There are many things he does not consider and he sees only numbers. Ben was telling me of the numbers that different houses possess and if they were to take the field against us, they'd outnumber 10,000 easily. Not to mention the lack of a home field advantage, possibility of siege which the Dothraki are not trained in, and other tacticians who have more years of experience than I have been alive," Daenerys considered carefully, surprising Tali. She seemed to have thought this through, weighing the strength of her new people against what she had learned of Westeros.
"Sounds as if Ben has been giving you some good lessons," Taliya remarked, impressed by her understanding. If the Dothraki were going to commit to warfare against a foreign country, it was reasonable that Daenerys take their wellbeing into consideration and what difficulties they might face. She was not as fanciful as Viserys in the fact that sheer numbers would be enough to win, which made her realize that Daenerys was changing. Was this better? The girl was becoming more well versed with the chess board she'd need to play, advisors subconsciously slipping into place and filling her ears with the knowledge she needed to be a successful conqueror.
"You each give me many things to contemplate. The world is certainly more complex than I originally thought," Daenerys smiled faintly, but it was clear the girl was exhausted from her progressing pregnancy.
"Better to be aware of the complexities than to be surprised by them," Tali quipped. "Westeros will not be won by a fatal sweep across the entire Seven Kingdoms. Acquiring allies to make up for where the Dothraki lack will be necessary. The biggest players in each region are where you need to start looking, but also consider those that will never bow to you. The Baratheons and Lannisters hold the Crown, they will fight for it. However, Dorne still remembers the injustice of Elia Targaryen and could make a good ally."
"And what do you think of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms? Ben believes we can sway House Stark and Tully, but I believed that Lord Eddard Stark was good friends with the Usurper."
"There's also House Tyrell to consider as well. The Reach has one of the biggest cavalries and army's and flanks the Westerlands. With how much time we have between now and when we might embark for Westeros, things can change. Already there is disquiet in King's Landing. The Crown is in severe debt to the Iron Bank," Taliya informed the girl, letting her soak in the information like a sponge.
"What do you think they would want in exchange for fealty?"
There was no way to reveal that dragons would be rather convincing in swaying them to join forces, but Taliya simply smiled. "The threat of a foreign army can be quite convincing, but it is likely that a promise of marriage to your unborn child will be your biggest bargaining tool."
Daenerys caressed her stomach gently, but nodded in comprehension. This was the price of royalty, just as they'd discussed before, was the lack of freedom or love. In order to receive the assistance they needed, it would come at a hefty price and it wouldn't be in coin. Not when a house like Tyrell had plenty of income.
"But take things a day at a time, Khaleesi. You are here at Vaes Dothrak with an important quest to accomplish. Focus your mind on the present," Tali urged, aware that the task of eating the horse heart was not going to be easy on her nauseous, pregnant stomach. She knew some days it made it difficult for the child to eat.
Their conversation tapered off as they arrived within the city. Buildings of various makes made up the center and while it was a buzzing hive of activity, nearly all of the folks there now were not permanent residents. Only the dosh khaleen, the widows of khals, lived there continuously. The merchants and their slaves would pick up and depart when it was quiet. However, with a khalasar as large as Khal Drogo's approaching, they were abuzz with activity, leaving her to hope that she might be able to acquire what was on her list while within the confines of the sacred city.
Upon approaching the eastern market, the riders started to dismount, unbuckling belts and passing their weapons to slaves that were waiting. She almost groaned, but knew that it was not allowed for any man to carry steel or spill blood. Throwing an impish look over at Jhogo, she asked him, "Tat yer shillolat rek anha zin ven jin mahrazh?" (Do you think I count as a man?)
"Yer iffi rek chomokh," (You won that honor) Jhogo rebuffed lightly, handing his arakh and whip over to a slave.
"Anha zhorre ale san vov," (I have too many weapons) she complained, stepping up and handing Fate off before going through her entire ensemble, removing more than a dozen knives that she had hidden over her body from tit to boot.
"Geshah Gezri et sanekhi ki gomma," (The Sand Cobra has many fangs) he mused.
The slaves would look after their steel, keeping it in their charge as they were not considered men by the Dothraki. Upon their entrance, she spared Ben a long look before turning back to the market. Civilization felt a long while off and her clothing was still bloodstained. She had been eager to get here and to finally acquire more supplies to replace those that had been weathered through the Dothraki Sea. Khal Drogo was to go up to the Mother Of Mountains that evening, leaving the khalasar to get rest and enjoy the afternoon before tomorrow's main event.
Within Vaes Dothrak, there was no fear of being attacked, lest any of the merchants wished to tempt the rage of the Dothraki who would make examples of any who spat on their traditions.
Tali would be lying if she wasn't vibrating with excitement to finally have a shopping day, to get the opportunity to trade in her dirty, travel worn silks for something new. Whether or not Ben felt the same, she intended on dragging him up and down the market until she was pleased with her purchases.
"Sometimes you astound me. For someone who claims to be the least feminine woman in existence, you do get rather excited to shop for clothes," Ben poked as they continued through the eastern market.
"I never claimed to be not feminine!" she scoffed indignantly. "I said that I'm no lady. And who wouldn't be excited to get fresh clothing? You would have me believe that you are comfortable in your sweat stained attire?"
"I could use a second set so that I might have the chance to clean these," Ben admitted with a grin. "You know, your hair is getting quite long."
"Ooh, perhaps I'll chop it all off so I can look less feminine and more like a man," Taliya proposed impishly, glancing over at the man to see his reaction. Just as she expected, he was unphased and had his stupid, wildling wolf-boy grin. Where Ned was described as being cold and aloof, Ben had all the markers of the Stark wildness.
"You'll have to wait until we leave Vaes Dothrak. Or do you think there are barbers in the city?"
"What use would Vaes Dothrak have for a barber? If I were a barber, I'd stay as far away as I could from Vaes Dothrak. Imagine accidentally cutting a little too much off the end? Taking the whole braid by accident?" she drew a line across her throat, making a silly face at the speculation of why there weren't any barbers in the city.
"Are you really thinking of cutting it?" Ben asked as she stopped in front of a silk vendor.
"Why, jealous that I can have long hair and it'll look too suspicious on you?" she prodded, pulling some of the teal fabric between her fingertips.
"It suits you."
"Mm, careful there or I might think you're giving me a compliment," she retorted, nodding to the vendor who spooled the silk back.
"You make it sound as if you're undeserving of the occasional compliment," he chuckled, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving a friendly squeeze. "You have been doing quite well with daggers. They suit you more than the sword."
"Lord of Light," she sighed, turning around and leaning against the table. "What has gotten into you? Are you fishing, hoping I'll compliment you in return?"
"I know it's a vain hope," he smiled, removing his hand. "A friend can give a compliment, can they not?"
Taliya gave him a begrudging look, hoping that he wasn't playing at more than a friendly exchange. They were close, afterall, but sometimes she felt as if his gestures and the grazes of his hands were more than just a friend reassuring her. Not that she didn't enjoy the attention, since aside from Ben she was basically starved for human affection, even before her death on earth. She didn't want to get her hopes up and ruin what they had, which made these tart words fall from her lips in an effort to continue their companionship. Yet, it was moments like this that she questioned if Ben had the same ambitions as her or if he wanted more.
Turning her attention back to what she had been doing, she gave her measurements to the merchant and paid the deposit for the new attire. Milling between stalls, she picked out a few other items, even sparing a moment to eye a few baubles and the exorbitant amount of gold that seemed to be more common than spices amongst the stalls. If there was anywhere she wished to acquire desert rarities, here would probably be the cheapest. She did not need it, but she had not given herself anything since arriving, devoting herself solely to her mission. Maybe just this once she'd indulge in her whims when she could afford it.
While she was able to afford a few delicate chains, new sandals, and golden bands for her biceps she had to turn her head to the golden feather pins that would have made her growing hair easier to manage. She couldn't spend all the coin she had on her.
A crimson glint caught her eye, her head lifting as she noticed a young boy in blood red robes peeking out from behind a merchant stall. He tilted his head, staring at her, before darting into a narrow alley.
"I'll... be right back. Return to the khalasar, I will meet you there," she told Ben, her feet dragging her toward the curious sight.
Within the confines of a dusty causeway, she saw the boy, who had tucked his arm into his robes and eyed her. "I have something for you," the boy spoke in Common, trotting forward to reveal a roll of parchment small enough to fit in his palm.
"You must be a little mouse," Taliya realized, impressed that Varys had managed to get word out to her here. "Will I be able to find you in a day or two?"
The boy nodded, passing the parchment over before giving an expectant look. Taliya removed a few Braavosi coins from her pocket and gave them to him, the child scampering off down the alley before vanishing from few entirely. Unfurling the note, her eyes raked over the cordial letter that would have seemed depressingly boring to those who didn't know how to crack the complex code that they communicated in. Given her lack of communication over the months, a lot had been developing in Westeros in the meanwhile.
Her eyes widened at the news. An investigation into the death of Jon Arryn had been opened and Lysa Arryn's fleeing to the Eyrie was being scrutinized by a handful of heads of houses. It was no secret that she had not been fond of her late husband, despite the shrieking all the way back to the Vale that her husband had been murdered by Lannisters. Even armed with the knowledge that the Baratheon children were bastards, the Lannisters had too much sway with the Crown's debt for the secret to truly harm them. The Head Wolf seemed to comprehend this as well, which was news to her.
Robert Baratheon was growing fatter and demanding the head of a little girl and her brother after learning that she had married Khal Drogo. A warning to be wary of wine merchants in Vaes Dothrak had been issued, which made her smile, because it meant that Varys trusted her.
With everything shifting, she knew that Varys had to keep putting pressure on Baelish in order for the investigation to pull into the right hemisphere. Lysa would be nearly impossible to reach or siege. She would not answer to any royal summons. On the other hand, keeping Catelyn Stark from acting on Baelish's words and kidnapping Tyrion would be another thing she hoped to avoid as it would spur on Ned's arrest. Catelyn has to be suspicious of anything that came out of that man's mouth, especially with her sister facing scrutiny. They were unaware of why the assassin had attacked Bran or that he had witnessed the Lannister twins together.
However, this was all up to Varys to orchestrate. Distracting Baelish would be his best bet and threatening his influx of coin would most certainly vex the Master of Coin. During her last letter she had already begun expressing business opportunities that would put strain on the man while attracting his own workers to quit and move to a new location. Now, would be the time to put it into effect, to open the gambling dens and brothels under the management of the Dark Lady. Varys would manage it in her stead for now, but both establishments would be perfect spots to acquire more information from travelers and those that needed a soft pillow to rest their head on and the company of a woman to ease away their pains. She knew that Varys wasn't fond of the idea, but she insisted that the workers would be paid fair wages, treated well, and protected-which cost good coin and would mean the profit margin was smaller for the owner. A cost she didn't mind, since she'd be paying off debt to Varys for a while for the loan on the locations.
She needed a letter to reach him as soon as possible, her legs already churning so that she could return to the khalasar and begin coding her own response to her penpal.
What took her aback was that Doreah found her, smiling gently as she spoke. "This way, the hollow hills make for better arrangements while we are in Vaes Dothrak. One has been spared for you and your companion." The young woman led her to what Tali would describe as a permanent yurt. There were ones much larger, the sizes of enormous houses, but this was a huge improvement compared to her triangular, one person tent.
"Thank you, Doreah. Tell the Khaleesi that we appreciate her thoughtfulness," Tali insisted, giving a tight smile to the handmaiden before entering. With enough room to walk and not have to stoop, she let out a thankful sigh and glanced over at the set of cots which were a nice upgrade to her bed roll. A glint caught her eye on one of the cots, causing her to pause as she approached the wooden table to begin working on her letter.
When she approached the cot she noticed that a small bundle had been left, the glimmering gold attracting her eye like a crow to something shiny. Unfurling the parcel, sitting in front of her was the set of feather clips that she had been eying in the market. She licked her lips, pursing them as she drew a deep breath and wondered if Ben had really purchased these for her or if one of the Dothraki had noticed her staring. While she was thrilled to have them, she also worried that it was her friend that had given them to her.
"Lord, you idiot," she muttered, mostly to herself, because she knew that she couldn't return them because she really did love them.
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godsofterror · 6 years
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The Long Night and Starry Wisdom
The Bloodstone Emperor
The Bloodstone Emperor is remembered in Yi-Ti myth as causing the Long Night because of his betrayal (and usurpation of her throne) of his sister, the Amythest Empress. This evil emperor, who married a tiger woman, ate human flesh, performed necromancy, and worshiped a black stone that fell from the sky, was the founder and first High Priest of the Church of Starry Wisdom.
The Church of Starry Wisdom is still present in the main story- Arya hears their priests singing in Braavos, for instance.This “church” comes from an H.P. Lovecraft story, the Haunter of the Dark, where the Church cultists worshipped a black stone that fell from the sky (sent by the Mi-gos, aliens from Pluto). The black stone is known as the Shining Trapezohedron.
In the Lovecraft story, the cultists call Nyarlathotep in his terrifying form of The Haunter of the Dark. To do so, they perform blood sacrifice rituals to the Shining Trapezohedron, in exchange for limitless knowledge about the universe. Also, the Haunter, once called, can only wander 'abroad' in darkness - its evil is contained by light.
“1846—3 disappearances—first mention of Shining Trapezohedron.” “7 disappearances 1848—stories of blood sacrifice begin.” “Investigation 1853 comes to nothing—stories of sounds.” “Fr. O’Malley tells of devil-worship with box found in great Egyptian ruins—says they call up something that can’t exist in light. Flees a little light, and banished by strong light. Then has to be summoned again. Probably got this from deathbed confession of Francis X. Feeney, who had joined Starry Wisdom in ’49. These people say the Shining Trapezohedron shews them heaven & other worlds, & that the Haunter of the Dark tells them secrets in some way.”
When the Bloodstone Emperor is said to have worshipped a black stone and was the first High Priest of the Church of Starry Wisdom -and that he caused the Long Night with this worship- it has implications for the background and for the main story. Most importantly, because of the connection between the Church and the Shining Trapezohedron, the black stone he was worshipping was not just a meteor: it is the evil Shining Trapezohedron.
Many-Faced God, Faceless God
Whether the Bloodstone Emperor creates the Long Night, or unleashes it, is hard to tell. But the darkness directly benefits the Haunter of the Dark (Nyarlathotep), who is free to roam abroad, bringing evil and death. This is probably the root of the stories of the Lion of Night in The World of Ice and Fire, whom The Faceless Men believe is another name of the Many-Faced God.
Nyarlathotep differs from the other deities in the Mythos in a number of ways. Most of the Outer Gods are exiled to the stars, like Yog-Sothoth and Azathoth, and most of the Great Old Ones are sleeping and dreaming like Cthulhu; Nyarlathotep, however, is active and frequently walks the Earth in the guise of a human being, usually a tall, slim, joyous man. He has "a thousand" other forms and manifestations, most reputed to be quite horrific and sanity-blasting.
God of Many Names
Much like the Many-Faced God, Nyarlathotep is known by many names:
The Crawling Chaos, Ahtu, The Black Man, The Black Pharaoh, The Black Wind, The Bloated Woman, the Crawling Mist, The Dark Demon, The Black Demon, The Dark One, The Dweller in Darkness, The Faceless God, The Floating Horror, The Haunter of the Dark, Face Eater, Father of All Bats, Dark Wing, Sand Bat, Fly-The-Light, the Howler in the Dark, the God of the Bloody Tongue, or the Bloody Tongue, L'rog'g (also Lrogg), the Bat God of L'gy'hx, Messenger of the Old Ones (also Messenger of the Great Old Ones), Mr. Skin, Randall Flagg, Shugoran, Thing in the Yellow Mask, The White Man, The Skinless One, The Masked Messenger, The Moon Presence
Conclusion
ASOIAF has lots of Lovecraft allusions, of course, as GRRM is a big fan. But the incorporation of the Shining Trapezehedron and the Church of Starry Wisdom is different. The worship of the stone by the Church is the cause of the greatest evil known in the story - the Long Night.
While the Others may benefit from the Long Night, as Old Nan's tales spell out, it doesn't mean that they cause the Long Night. Perhaps it is created some other way, that ties into the worship of the Shining Trapezohedron, using blood sacrifice. It could be that the killing of the Amethyst Empress was a blood sacrifice, performed to call the Haunter of the Dark/Lion of Night, in exchange for ultimate power and knowledge.
If the myth is correct, and the Bloodstone Emperor caused the Long Night by killing his sister and worshiping the Shining Trapazohedron, using blood magic, than will a current character repeat this betrayal? Perhaps if the now-returned Aegon is able to kill Dany, it will be the realization of a prophecy, causing a new Long Night.
Or perhaps Euron's desire to reduce the world to ashes will be the spark - maybe he finds the Shining Trapazohedron in Oldtown, and performs a blood sacrifice to gain ultimate power and knowledge. Maybe the dragon horn will be used to capture and sacrifice a dragon (or Dragon?) to the black stone. Remembering that Battle Isle is incredibly old, and at its base is a fortress built of black stone that is very old and dark, there may be a tie to the eponymous battle that happened on that isle in the Dawn Ages.
It will be interesting to find out.
Questions:
Where could the Shining Trapezohedron be now?
What role will it play in the next Long Night?
What role will the Church of Starry Wisdom play?
Will the new Bloodstone Emperor (Euron? Aegon?) make blood sacrifices & call the Lion of Night (Haunter of the Dark)?
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aion-rsa · 3 years
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Best Horror TV Shows on Netflix
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So you want to be terrifed. Well, you’ve come to the right place, my friend. Everybody already knows that Netflix is a splendid place for viewers coming in search of all their bingeworthy content. But less appreciated is how satisfyingly scary some of their horror offerings are.
From originals like The Haunting of Hill House to foreign classics like The Returned, Netflix can be a go-to spot for the scariest horror TV shows available to stream. Here is a sampling of the kinds of series that horror thrill-seekers may appreciate.
Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page to see what the best horror shows on Netflix are at your convenience.
The Haunting of Hill House
Shirley Jackson’s novel The Haunting of Hill House is considered one of the most important texts in the horror literature canon. It’s only fitting then that it’s Hill House that Netflix turned to when the time came to make its first big original horror series. It’s also fitting that they turned to Hush director Mike Flanagan to make it happen.
Flanagan’s version of The Haunting of Hill House is quite different from the novel from which it takes its name. This Haunting is a modern story that follows the Crain family as they try to recover from the trauma they sustained as kids living in the terrifying Hill House. Of course, Hill House is still out there just dying to call them all back home. Netflix is going to keep “The Haunting” going with The Haunting of Bly Manor and presumably more to come after that.
The Haunting of Bly Manor
The consensus is that The Haunting of Bly Manor is significantly less scary than Mike Flanagan’s original Netflix series The Haunting of Hill House…and that consensus is correct. But there are still plenty of scares to be had in this worthy followup.
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Bly Manor borrows elements from the works of Henry James, including The Turn of the Screw, to craft another affecting ghost story. Hill House‘s Victoria Pedretti returns as Dani, a young American woman who takes on a job as a governess to two young children at the titular Bly Manor. Soon Dani and all involved will come to find that Bly Manor holds some serious (weirdly romantic) secrets.
The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina
After the Archie comic universe got a gritty reboot in The CW’s Riverdale, it was only a matter of time before Archie cousin comic Sabrina the Teenage Witch got her turn. Thankfully Netflix stepped up to the plate with the Kiernan Shipka starring Chilling Adventures of Sabrina and even more thankfully…it’s gritty as all hell.
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The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina brings witchcraft back to its absolutely metal satanic origins. Sabrina Spellman (Shipka) is like any teenager at Baxter High. She’s concerned about her grades, her social status, and her impending 16th birthday in which she must undergo a dark ritual in which she’ll have to grant her loyalty to the Dark Lord Satan. Such is life for a half-mortal/half-witch.
Ash vs Evil Dead
Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead series (consisting of Evil Dead, Evil Dead II, and Army of Darkness) are some of the most deliriously bloody and fun slasher films ever committed to celluloid. Surely, however, a TV series made decades later couldn’t possibly bring the same level of thrill, could it?
Wrong! Starz’s Ash vs Evil Dead is another installment of fantastic comedy horror. Bruce Campbell returns as Evil Dead hero Ash Williams, who has done seemingly little with his life since battling the forces of evil (and dead) 30 years ago. That all changes when the dead walk once again and Ash, and some new friends must pick up the chainsaw once again.
Black Summer
In a zombie television landscape largely dominated by AMC’s The Walking Dead, Syfy’s Z Nation found a nice with a more playful, tongue-in-cheek presentation of the zombie apocalypse. In this spinoff, Black Summer, things get a touch darker.
Jamie King stars as Rose, a mother who is separated from her daughter during the height of a zombie apocalypse. Rose sets out on a mission to recover her and in the process builds a group of like-minded individuals looking for something they’ve lost.
Stranger Things
It seems so obvious now but in hindsight there was little buzz about this nostalgic tweenage horror project on Netflix from the relatively unknown Duffer Brothers. Little did we know that the Stev(ph)ens Spielberg and King inspired Stranger Things would be one of Netflix’s biggest hits.
Stranger Things takes place in the fictional Hawkins, Indiana in the mid-’80s. Hawkins is your typical smal ltown American city. The kids like to ride bikes, play Dungeons and Dragons, and tease one another. Little does everyone know that the mysterious government building on the outskirts of town may have opened a portal to another world – a portal that will usher in multiple seasons worth of monster fighting mayhem.
Castlevania
Netflix has beefed up its anime offerings in recent years and one of the first IPs they mined to do so was atmospheric Konami videogame series Castlevania. Originally planned as a film, Castlevania makes good use of its serialized format to pick up the horror story from where it begins with 1989 game Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse
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And what a story it is. Wallachian lord (and vampire, obvs.) Vlad Dracula Tepes (Graham McTavish) falls into a mighty rage after his wife is wrongly accused of witchcraft and burned at the stake. Vlad summons an army of the dead to declare war on the living of Wallachia. The only people who stand in his path are a ragged band of heroes led by Trevor Belmont (Richard Armitage).
Haunted
Haunted is a bit of an odd duck among Netflix’s horror offerings. It was introduced for the 2018 Halloween season, just a week before the juggernaut Haunting of Hill House. As such, it got lost in the spooky shuffle. Still, this is a surprisingly effective take on your classic “tell a scary story” style TV series.
In Haunted, people tell their real life scary stories. That’s it. This is well-trodden ground on long running cable series like Ghost Stories and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Where Haunted differentiates itself is in its shockingly high production values, as witnessed in the ethereal screengrab above. Also, these stories are like…really scary.
Chambers
Chambers only survived one season at Netflix, proving once again that it’s tough out there for horror television shows. But the one season legacy the show leaves behind is a decently spooky one.
Chambers tells a story that contains a pretty familiar, yet effective horror trope. Sasha Yazzie (Sivan Alyra Rose) receives a much-needed heart transplant from a girl named Becky Lafevre. Soon, Sasha begins to experience troubling visions and begins to unravel a conspiracy that brings her into contact with Becky’s parents (Uma Thurman and Tony Goldwyn).
Devilman Crybaby
Anime has always been ahead of the game when it comes to horror and there’s no better evidence of this than Devilman Crybaby. This Netflix anime is based on a manga Devilman and creates a lushly realized gothic world. 
In Devilman Crybaby, an ancient race of demons has returned to take back the world from humanity. Akira Fudo, a sensitive young lad, decides to save the world the only way he knows how: by fusing with a demon. The resulting freakshow, called Devilman, possesses the powers of a demon but the soul of a human. Now hopefully that’s enough to defeat the forces of evil.
American Horror Story
Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story is revolutionary in quite a few ways. Not only did it help usher in a renewed era of anthology storytelling on television, it also was arguably the first successful network television horror show since The X-Files.
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Like all anthologies, American Horror Story has its better seasons (season 1 a.k.a. Murder House, season 2 a.k.a. Asylum, season 6 a.k.a. Roanoke) and its worse (season 3 a.k.a. Coven and season 8 a.k.a. Apocalypse). Still, for nine years and counting, American Horror Story has been one of the go-to options for TV horror fans.
Scare Tactics
Scare Tactics is what happens when someone looks at the prank camera show format and thinks “What if this but also dangerous and terrifying?” The concept of Scare Tactics is simple: take normal people, put them in elaborate horror movie situations, and film what happens. Awful? Yes. Entertaining? Absolutley!
Shannen Doherty hosted the first incarnation of the show that premiered on Syfy in 2003. Stephen Baldwin took her place in the middle of the show’s second season. Then after a three-year hiatus, Scare Tactics returned with Tracy Morgan at the helm and lasted three more seasons of hilariously cruel pranking.
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Unsolved Mysteries
Any reboot of continuation of the classic ’80s/’90s true crime series Unsolved Mysteries just needs one element to be considered authentic: that music. Thankfully, this modern iteration on Netflix maintains a version of the original’s haunting theme. Beyond that crucial aspect, Unsolved Mysteries honors the original by continuing the formula to great success.
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Unsolved Mysteries remains largely a true crime enterprise. The show covers unexplained disappearances, murders, and crimes. But it also spends plenty of time with the truly unexplained: the paranormal. This reboot has covered UFOs and some tsunami ghosts. That, combined with the atmospheric music, makes this a suitably spooky watch.
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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years
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Personal Demon (Indruck)
@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck.  “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW
A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home. 
A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home. 
Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.
Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while. 
“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”
He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.” 
“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”
“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips. 
Thwump
“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him. 
“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat. 
“You dare to order me-”
Thwump
“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches. 
“Have you been crying?” 
Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew. 
“How many of those blasted things do you have?” 
Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.
“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”
He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring. 
Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room. 
“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on. 
“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”
“But you seem upset.”
“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.
“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”
“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?” 
“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”
Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment. 
What he gets is misted with holy water.
He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice. 
“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing. 
“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door. 
Perhaps a new plan is in order. 
----------------------------
“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing. 
“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.
“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”
Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.
For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does. 
“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”
“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit. 
Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.
Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed. 
The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.
“ ‘wat ‘ow?”
“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror. 
“Why-”
“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”
Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”
“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”
The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”
“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”
“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”
Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.
----------------------------
Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?
Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.
God that soup smells good. 
He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous. 
Fuck it.
Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld. 
When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on . 
“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.” 
“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses. 
“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”
“Then you are prepared to fight?”
“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”
“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”
“Nope. Busy.”
“Well I am not!”
“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””
“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”
“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”
There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground. 
“That ain’t changin my mind.”
A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger. 
“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”
The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table. 
“Erase that this instant.”
“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”
The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”
“Don’t expect you to understand.”
“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”
“That’s cheatin’.”
“That is what has upset you so?”
“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were. 
The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.
“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room. 
As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”
Duck shoots him an incredulous look. 
“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”
“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?” 
The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”
It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold. 
The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. 
“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”
“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it.  Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”
Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”
“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place. 
“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”
The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark. 
“Will you show me more of your ships?”
“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”
“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea. 
Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
-----------------------------------------------
Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car. 
He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied. 
“Venturing forth at last, I see.”
“I ventured forth plenty.”
“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror. 
“Have not. And it was mutual.”
“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”
“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”
Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.
A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”
They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.
As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”
“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”
-------------------------------------------------------------
Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.
“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”
He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck. 
“Shit, what happened?”
“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”
“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.
“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”
Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly. 
“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”
------------------------------------------------
Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot. 
Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”
“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”
Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”
Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily. 
“Uhhhhh”
“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”
“That a good thing?”
“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again. 
The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”
“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here.  One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.
He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more. 
“Is this-”
“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn. 
“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos. 
“Yes.” Indrid whimpers. 
“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”
“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.
“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”
Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.
“Indrid, please, call me that.”
“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.”  The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany. 
Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant
He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible. 
“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”
Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin. 
“What did you do?”
“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”
“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”
“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”
“What?”
“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”
“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”
“Yes.” 
“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”
“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”
Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”
“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”
The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.
“Ah, Duck?”
A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”
Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers. 
“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”
Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”
Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again. 
A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.
“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”
“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.
Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face. 
“Goodnight, Duck.”
A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”
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shiftingdani · 6 years
Text
Enchanted Needles // Danchel
Who: Dani Harper and Rachel Berry ( @alyricalberry )
When: 1/25/2018, afternoon
Where: NYADA, Divine Designs
What: Rachel and Dani stop by Kurt´s old work place to see if 
General Notes: Just Dani and Rachel doing their duties, and it might be a little gay at the end. Because everyone was talking about how pretty Rachel was and Dani couldn´t agree more.
Dani hadn´t really spent any time with Rachel lately. Things had been strange and there had been too many things happening, but she was glad the other woman was alright, physically at least. It was clear that they had to do something about Kurt, so when Rachel had texted her and asked about whether or not she wanted to come along to talk to Kurt´s employer Dani had been quick to agree. She was waiting outside Rachel´s building, hair a light blonde with pink tips, coat pulled tightly around her. It was freezing outside and the sky was hanging above like a grey mass, it fit Dani´s mood just right.
Rachel pulled on a sweater and a large coat. It was cold today, but she was determined to find something, anything, that would help them find Kurt, so she knew she needed to be prepared to endure the cold weather. She could always summon a little bit of fire if she needed, though. She was happy to be going out with Dani. It was nice to have a friend around in this kind of situation. Plus, Dani knew Kurt probably better than anyone on campus, so having her input was incredibly helpful. Rachel tried not to think about the fact that wherever Kurt was, he was probably alone and terrified. She went out to meet Dani and gave her a small smile. "Hey you. How are you doing?" she asked.
Dani wondered if Rachel really cared how she was doing or if it was just the thing you said once you´ve met up with someone. She pushed the thought away and offered the other woman a smile. "I´m as alright as one can be," she then answered diplomatically. "I´m glad you texted me though. I´ve been meaning to go to Kurt´s work place, but I didn´t want to go alone." Truth be told: She could have gone alone, but she´d rather have someone there, someone who knew more about magic than she did and Rachel seemed to be the right person for that. "Shall we?"
Rachel nodded. "I have to. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner," she said. "Let's go," she said as she let Dani towards Divine Designs. "You knew Kurt before he came here, right? Did he have enemies? Anyone who would want to kidnap him?" she asked, keeping her voice low to not be overheard
Dani shrugged her shoulders as they walked. "We only met a couple of times," She then told Rachel. "And you know Kurt, he´s not someone who holds back with what he has to say or thinks, but I don´t think he had enemies. Not people who could do this to him." Besides, this had been happening to more people on Campus, they had disappeared and now they were declared dead. Dani had a bad feeling about this, something was off and even though she couldn´t put her finger on it, it rubbed her the wrong way.
Rachel nodded. "You're right. This has to be something else entirely. I kust wish we could figure out what it is," she sighed. She opened the door to Divine Designs and followed her in. She looked around for a second and then asked the girl at the register if Remy LeBeau was in. She nodded and disappeared to go get him. "So, do we just ask him if he's heard from Kurt? Or if he knows anything about why he disappeared?"
Dani stepped into the shop. It was so very Kurt like to work here and for a moment she had to stop and force herself to take a deep breath. She missed him. He was her only connection to her old life, the only person who understood what it felt like to just be thrown in here. "Yeah...let´s ask if he´s heard of him. I know people keep saying Kurt has run off, but he´d never just leave a job he likes without formally quitting. So unless he´s done that we know he hasn´t run away,"
Rachel unzipped her coat and nodded. "That's a good point," she said. Just then, Remy LeBeau stepped out and looked at the girls. "Hello! I hear you were looking for me. Are you here for a new wardrobe?" He asked, looking Rachel up and down. Rachel shifted uncomfortably, vut she was mostly used to Kurt's snips about her wardrobe that it didn't even affect her anymore. It did make her miss Kurt though. "Um, no. We're here to ask about one of your employees. Kurt Hummel? We think he's missing and we were wondering if you'd maybe heard from him?" She asked.
Dani the man´s expression darkened at Rachel´s question. "So I´ve heard." He then nodded. Dani had assumed he´d notice that Kurt was gone, but seeing his expression she assumed Kurt hadn´t just quit. Not that she hadn´t known that, but it made everything painfully more real. "Yes. We´ve been wondering if there´s anything you can tell us, really, anything could be helpful." She then added with a nod.
Rachel Remy LeBeau shook his head. "Well, I haven't seen him," he told the girls. "And he hasn't contacted me. He hasn't shown up for a couple of shifts so I just figured he was sick," he told them. "It's too bad, really. He's such a talented designer. He doesn't use magic either, believe it or not," he praised. Rachel nodded. "He is very talented. We're trying to find him. Will you let us know if you hear from him? I can leave you my phone number," Rachel said.
Dani held back a sigh at the man´s words. She knew it had been unlikely that he´d known anything about Kurt´s whereabouts, but she had still hoped to get anything useful out of him. "We will. He´s told me just how much he likes working here," Dani commented, offering the man a smile. She felt her stomach drop as she bit her lip then, glancing over at Rachel. "You don´t have a different way to contact him, do you?" She then tried. "I just know that he would often ignore calls from us, but he´d never miss a day of work."
Dani Remy looked at both the girls, nodding. "I highly doubt I´d be the first person he´d contact, but I might just be able to help you," He nodded, seeming t think some things over in his head. "I once gifted him a set of sewing needles. He was polite about them, though he didn´t like the fact that they were enchanted. They´s automatically point towards their owner." He smiled at the memory, his face brightening all of a sudden. "You know...I could make you another pair, if you have Kurt´s DNA, that is."
Rachel 's eyebrows shot up when Remy said he could make some sort of tracking needle that would point them to Kurt. "Oh my gosh, really?" she said. She looked to Dani. "I don't really have anything of his. Do you?" she asked.
Dani could feel her heart missing a beat at the new found information. The man had told them about it so casually, but for them it could have been the one piece of information that would help in finding Kurt. "No...but I know Marley took a hairbrush, we should text her!" Dani pulled out her phone. "How about I text her and you go and get it? That way we´ll be quicker!"
Rachel nodded at Dani's suggestion. "Yes, that sounds perfect," she said. "Thank you so much, Professor LeBeau. I'll be right back with something with Kurt's DNA on it. We really appreciate it," she said before taking off to Marley's dorm.
Rachel returned about twenty minutes later, Kurt's hairbrush clutched tightly in her hand. "Will this do?" she asked Remy.
Dani nodded as she watched Rachel take off. She could feel her skin tingling slightly, as if they were finally getting closer to where they needed to be to save Kurt. The man nodded as he went to go back about his business while Dani went to check out the store. Everything here seemed to remind her of Kurt and while she felt a tug on her stomach at that, she knew they were doing the right thing. When she saw Rachel approaching them through the window she went back to Mr. LeBeau. "She´s back!" Dani called and the man moved back out front, nodding as he took the brush from Rachel. "Yes, very good." He then muttered. "Just give me a minute." And with that he was gone. Dani turned back to Rachel, her lips curving into a smile. "This is it. I can feel it!" she told her. Dani took a deep breath as she leaned against the counter. "So...how have you been? We haven´t really talked,"
Rachel allowed herself a giddy grin when Remy went back to do his thing. She grinned at Dani. "Let's hope so, anyways. I do have a good feeling about it, though," she said. She leaned against the counter and bit her lip at Dani's question. She wasn't sure how to answer. She didn't really want to talk to anyone about the Asterismos thing going on. It was too complicated, and she didn't even know what to make of it. She just smiled. "I've been alright. Mostly just worried about Kurt," she said. "How about you? I like your hair today, by the way. It's really nice."
Dani offered Rachel a smile. "I´ve been...pretty awful." She then answered honestly. It probably wasn´t what Rachel wanted to hear, but if she had learned one thing with Kurt going missing it was that life was too short to bottle it all up. "But...it´s been getting better. Hey, you know what? I´ve got a familiar now." She had already taken off her coat, but now she peeled up her shirt to reveal the tattoo on her ribs. At Rachel´s compliment she smiled again. "Thank you. I usually like to put a touch of color in it. Brightens those awfully dark days."
Rachel reached over to squeeze Dani's arm. "I do understand that," she said. She smiled when she saw the tattoo on Dani's ribs. "Dani! No way! Congratulations! Have you named them yet?" she asked. "I can't wait to get my familiar. I'm sad it's taken me so long. I wonder what it'll be..."
Dani glanced down at where Rachel was squeezing her arm and she smiled. It felt good to open up to her, even if it was just a little bit. "Well he´s a sassy orange cat, so I´ve naturally named him Fiyero," She replied with a laugh. "I´m sure you´ll get something really cool. And graceful. Marley said hers in a bird, which I find really fitting." It only took another moment for Mr. LeBeau to return with two sewing needles, which he had placed in a small box. "Here you go, girls." He nodded. "Normally I´d have to charge you for these," He then added, "But since this is to find Kurt I´ll make an exception."
Rachel gave a bright smile when Dani told her her familiar's name. "Fiyero! I love that! Wicked is one of my favourite shows!" she said "Poppy is so cute. I'd be lucky to get a lovely familiar like Marley's," she told her. She took the box from Professor LeBeau and ran a hand over it. "Thank you. We really appreciate this. Kurt will be back with us in no time, I know it."
Dani smiled, glad that someone had recognized her Wicked reference. She hadn't doubted that Rachel would though. “I love it too. Maybe we could go see it some time?” She suggested, watching as Rachel took the box. Dani felt a twinge of excitement, they were definitely on the right track! “Alright, come on,” she turned to the Professor, thanking him, before slipping her coat back on and offering her arm to Rachel.
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Jealousy
Chapter 3:
I know I had some drabbles from this story on here previously. But I was consumed by it and am adding in extended scenes and plot to the ao3:
Check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11938533/chapters/27053271
Leave me some love if you like it. I’m sure I’ll update soon.
Daenerys stirs softly just before dawn, the soft blue light giving everything a soft hue. She reaches out for her husband only to find a cold bed. She hears him chuckle softly though and cracks her eyes open. He is standing at the window, his cloth pants low on his hips.
"You slept well I take it?' He asks as he crosses to the bed.
She hums contently and nods as she watches him approach. He climbs across the sheets to her and presses his lips to her forehead. She smiles and reaches her hand up to brush the scruff of his beard, stretching to fight the stiffness in her body at their feverish love making the night before.
Jon's body settles next to hers and he pulls her onto his chest, her fingers tracing the scars that she's come to memorize.
"What time is it?" She asks softly.
"Early enough for the rooster to still be sleeping." He whispers as his hands mindlessly stroke her soft silver hair.
"What woke you?" Daenerys looks up at him.
"The nightmare." He sighs closing his eyes trying to forget the horrible images.
"The same one?" She asks searching his face and he nods, his jaw clenches and his body tenses.
Jon has been having this recurring nightmare for the last ten years. His greatest fear haunting him even as he has worked to make sure it never happens. The image of his wife's broken body, her lifeless amethyst eyes staring at nothing, her beautiful braids cut and discarded in the pool of blood that surrounded her body.
It terrified him and he would wake with tears streaming down his cheeks, heart racing and a scream stuck in his throat. Those mornings he would stare upon Daenerys' sleeping form for what felt like hours, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed, studying her form, memorizing every curve, freckle and scar until he was convinced it was a dream.
Dany sees he's struggling, that he needs to feel her warm and moving against him. She climbs up onto his lap, wrapping her hands around his neck and kisses him, pressing as much of her naked chest to his. He responds immediately, his arms locking around her waist, hands digging at the flesh where her back curves to her ass. Their kisses are long and deep, just enjoying the nearness, driving away all bad thoughts until it's just the two of them.
She feels his cock pressed to her thigh and shifts her hips just slightly for him to react. His fingers squeeze and he groans softly.
"I'm right here." She breaks from his lips as she kisses his ear and down to his throat. "I'm not going anywhere Jon, and you're not going to lose me." He gasps as the emotion he was trying to tamp down is released and he turns his head, hungrily kissing her as he did that first night they made love on the ship to White Harbor.
His hands roam over her body, caressing her every curve and peak. She takes a gasping air of breath but his lips stay attached to her, licking and nipping down the column of her throat to the full breasts that nourished his children. He ravishes them with attention. Her hands are ploughing through his hair and she's moving her hips softly.
His endless kisses are beginning to stir the heat between her legs and she grabs him roughly by the hair pulling his head back and summoning a hiss from his mouth. "No man or woman in the world will take me from you or you from me. I will burn anybody alive who tries to separate us." A promise scorched behind her eyes and he gazes at her in wondrous desire and eternal devotion.
With that she shifts her hips towards his knees and begins kissing his chest, tracing the angry marks, worshipping the evidence that he could have been ripped from this world before they even began. His eyes stay locked to her, his hands cupping the back of her head as she continues downward.
She drags her nose along the line of hair leading from his navel to his groin before looking up at him. Her hand caresses his hard shaft through the thin material before tugging softly at the waist of his pants, slowly inching down to finally release his swollen cock.
Dany peeks back up at him to see that his eyes are locked to her and his breathing has intensified. She smiles before enclosing his length in her hand. His stomach clenches slightly as her hand slowly begins to pump up and down.
When she bends down to softly lick the moistened tip he gasps and clenches his fists in the sheets. She smiles and lets her mouth wrap around him further, sucking up as her hand moves down, alternating in an all consuming way.
"Aaaahhh... fuck," he groans as he brings his hand to her hair, burying it in her soft locks. She hums around him and his head lolls back as he groans her name "Daaa-nnnyyyy..." A shiver runs down her spine and pools fire in her belly. It motivates her to increase the fervor of her mouth and tongue.
Jon's hips buck and he begins to quake under her ministrations. Jon is the only man she has pleasured this way and she loves having him come undone beneath her touch. The power she feels performing this act on him is intoxicating and she understands why he likes to bury his face between her thighs so often.
He continues to groan and his hips move more urgently until the point where he's gasping. "Dany... please... I'm going to..." She nods and quicken her efforts, wanting to finish him. Jon however grits his teeth and fights his instincts, "Dany... I need to be inside you... baby... remember?" He groans and slams his head against the headboard.
She begrudgingly releases him from the warm chasm of her mouth with a soft 'pop' and looks up at him, slightly disappointed but impressed that he managed to contain himself. He immediately relaxes and works to calm his breath.
Jon looks at his vixen wife and grins at her cheekily. "When you're already with child, I'll let you have me any way you please." She smiles and goes to kiss him, but he grabs her ankle and flips her onto her back, spreading her legs he quickly sheathes himself within her. The cry that pierces the early morning stillness due to the sudden invasion by her Northerner is muffled as his lips crash down upon hers. 
Jon bites at her lip as her silken walls relax around his stiff cock. He breathes heavily knowing that he’s going to have a very short window until he succumbs to the pleasure of being between her legs again. As her body adjusts to the new position her hands bury into his hair and she pushes her hips up.
“Seven hells,” She sighs. “Jon, you are truly exhibiting quite the apology for last night.” 
“Anything for the love of my Queen.” He jokes back as he once again begins to playfully nip at her throat, collar bone and breasts, his hips moving slowly but firmly against hers. “I want your breasts to grow heavy with milk once more. I want  your belly to swell at the presence of our child. I want your happiness above all else, and if you are happiest with our son in your bellly, well then Gods I will try with every ounce of my strength to make that happen.”
He drags himself out slowly only to push hard and fast once more. She moans loudly and bites his lip in return. Her hands glide up his back, tensing and relaxing with each thrust of his hips. 
Their bodies move together as only they know how. Their love making perfected over a decade of trial and error. He knows that when he lifts her leg just as he does now, she will snap her eyes closed. She knows that when she digs her hand into his ass he will growl softly and pump just a little harder. Jon knows that once her breathing becomes erratic and her kisses become less intense that he’s gotten her close. His body is on the precipice and he knows he needs to push her over the edge.
“I love you Daenerys Stormborn.” He whispers in her ear before he bites at the soft lobe. It’s all she needs and she moans against his shoulder as her toes curl and hips buck into him. His sudden gasping and quick pumps tell her he’s reached his climax as well and it lengthens the waves of pleasure that travel through her body. He spills himself into her, rolling his hips as both of them come down from the indescribable bliss. 
A few moments of calming breaths and languid kisses pass before he pulls himself from her depths, both of them groaning from the separation. He pulls the furs back up and over them, both succumbing to sleep once more, their bodies laced together.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Across the city, in a brothel in Flea Bottom, a sellsword sits in a window staring up at the Red Keep before he glances back to the silver haired imposter sprawled naked and asleep on the bed. This woman is no Queen, but it’s the closest thing he could find in a short amount of time. He walks over to her, pumping his hands over his length to work himself up again. 
“You will be mine again,” He whispers into the ear of the fraudulent whore as he positions her. She rouses slightly, a smirk spreading across her face before it’s replaced with a moan as he slides into the fit of a well ridden woman. It’s nothing compared to a Khaleesi, but it’s all he has right now. 
Just for right now.
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