Trick or Treat!
Borrowed from the lovely just_a_dram
In honor of All Hallow's Eve, I'm inviting trick-or-treaters to my 'door.' Comment "trick-or-treat" to this post and...well, you know the drill. Treats can be anything that strikes my fancy (pics of fave actors or pairings, one sentence fics, graphics, a few words why I'm glad to have you on my flist, etc. etc.). The more " ( Read more... )
Comments 23
Stealing down the street,
Knock on every door way,
Trick or treat!
When your door is opened,
This is what you meet,
Scary creatures shouting,
Trick or treat!
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The dream is a familiar one, and it begins as usual.
He feels the blood rushing down his right arm, from the shoulder to the elbow to the wrist- the dead nerves at the end spark with energy, with feeling...the golden fingers, usually so inflexible and inert, bend at his will, become a part of him, one with his skin, one with his bones...
A fierce joy seizes his heart, and he feels drunk, delirious. Fire licks its way through his veins, delight combining with righteous rage until he’s sure he’ll combust- it’s all too much, it overwhelms every sense. But still he reaches down; a red miasma dances before his eyes, obscuring his view, but he cries out when he feels the fingers of the golden hand closing around a long, soft neck. He feels it all- the skin is smooth and delicate as rose petals, and it gives easily under the pressure he applies ( ... )
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The dream is so very creepy, so perfect for the season, that this ficlet based on the dream alone is a home run. Dreams are like that, one person morphing into another and being unable to really control your own actions in the dream though you're desperate to do so.
I really like how his initial reaction to having his golden hand removed is indignation, but in the aftermath of the dream, he can't do anything but hold her close. This is so lovely. Thank you, my dear!
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I've been in a real mood for creepy fic- that's what Halloween (and hurricane-induced cabin fever) does to me! I'm kind of obsessed with the idea of Jaime having nightmares about his golden hand developing a mind of its own...there's lots of macabre potential there.
I'm so glad you liked!! <3
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A laugh fills the tent, nearly surprising Dany with its brightness; it’s the truest laugh she can remember uttering in a long, long time. The smile lingers on her face when she hears Ser Jorah echo the laugh. It’s a surprisingly-chilly night on the Dothraki Sea- her husband, still little more than a stranger to her, keeps company with his blood-riders now. She hasn’t seen Viserys in hours; a part of her worries that he’s getting up to mischief or otherwise alienating the khal, but she shrugs her concerns aside. Viserys can take care of himself- he reminds me of that all the time.Ser Jorah chuckles before tossing another piece of dry wood into the small fire-pit. Not for the first time, Dany feels a swell of gratitude for the Westerosi knight’s benevolent presence. She has her handmaidens for companionship, but they can offer nothing so diverting as Ser Jorah’s tales of his homeland, the stories of the midnight sun and long moons of darkness, of freezing air and packs of wolves and, most of ( ... )
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The dim light of his candle flickers in the arches of the catacombs, casting eerie shadows along each wall. He can hear the dripping of dirty water falling on the stone passages-
"The dead bodies are leaking...they swell and stink and then they drip with a foul green liquid that sinks into the stones and lets their spirits enter the house..." Jaime whispers, and he rolls his eyes when Lysa gasps in reply.
He's just spent a tedious afternoon walking his new wife around the grounds of Casterly Rock (at his father's demand, of course). She gaped with wonderment at the elaborate furnishings, the gold and obsidian and onyx and marble. When they reached the Hall of Heroes, she started in with her strange, insipid questions, the ones that she asks in that queer, high tone, the ones that have no clear answer...
The catacombs came to him in a flash of inspiration- may as well let Lady Lannister see everything there is to see at the RockHer bony fingers sink deep into his bicep, and he thinks for a moment to ( ... )
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And ohhhh I love screwed-up hypothetical Jaime/Lysa scenarios tooooo! WHY DO WE LOVE TO TORTURE LYSA SO MUCH? Because ugh, you know that seventeen-year-old Jaime WOULD be a total dick to any girl he had to marry. Honestly, he'd probably be a dick in that situation at ANY age...but you know what I mean. ;P
I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT, MY LOVE!
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