#the things I would give up to have whatever Egon has going on | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years ago

Text

Meeting and Dating Ray Stantz

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You first met Ray when you were both still working at the University. You worked down the hall from him and would run into him frequently.

- In the mornings, the two of you would arrive at the same time and he’d open the door for you. You’d make small talk whenever you ended up in the same room or walking in the same direction and he was always willing to lend you something; or a hand, if you needed it. You didn’t know him incredibly well but you did know that he was a sweet guy.

- Ray had a major crush on you. He pretty much fell for you the moment he saw you but his own insecurities kept him from trying to do anything about it. You were smart, gorgeous, and had an amazing personality. What would you want with him?

- It takes him a while to actually ask you out. He keeps going back and forth on whether or not he should, wondering if he’s willing to make a fool of himself just for the off chance that you’ll agree. Peter has a field day with him when he’s in this state, constantly teasing and prodding, urging him to just get it over with and see what you say.

- There was definitely a few instances of him approaching you and/or opening his mouth to say something to you, then quickly shutting it and excusing himself with an apology. It takes him nearly a year to actually go through with it.

- You were just leaving the building and preparing for your walk home when he caught up with you and somewhat shyly asked if you would like to have dinner with him sometime. To his utter shock, you smiled and agreed, and the two of you made plans to meet.

- The two of you went out to a not so fancy restaurant which was perfect for the occasion. He felt like he was walking on clouds the entire night; here he was, with you, and you actually seemed to like him. What were the odds that you would actually like him?

- But regardless of his disbelief over how lucky he was, the two of you had a really great time together and you were happy to see him again the next day at the university.

- The two of you shared your first kiss on your third date. He was walking you home and you were both stood in front of your door, saying goodbye. You were just about to walk inside when you paused, turning around and placing a gentle kiss on his lips before saying goodnight again and closing your door.

- He was frozen in shock for a good minute and a half but you should have seen the smile on his face.

- It wasn’t long before the two of you considered yourselves a couple, and he couldn’t have been happier.

- Ray is a big sweetheart and you can’t convince me otherwise, though I doubt you would even try. You’ll never meet another man who treats you so right.

- He loves Pda, especially when people recognize him in public. He feels particularly cool with you hanging on his arm.

- Quick giddy kisses.

- He keeps his hand on your lower back whenever you’re standing together, it’s just a habit of his.

- He likes using nicknames; he thinks they’re cute. He usually just calls you things like honey, sweetheart, and beautiful; he’s somewhat old fashioned in that regard. He wouldn’t even mind you calling him pet names. In fact, he’d probably love it.

- He’s a strong boy and proud of it! Ask him to hold something! Ask him to open a pickle jar! Ask him to carry you! He’s got it covered! …Although, occasionally he wont be able to open the pickle jar and you might actually show him up when trying it again for yourself.

- Cheek kisses. He wraps an arm around your neck and pulls you in, pressing his lips to your cheek enthusiastically and smiling down at you.

- Stealing his sweaters. They’re big and cozy and he melts every time he sees you wearing them.

- Takeout meals. You order in or pick something up at least once a week.

- He’s not afraid to make a fool out of himself so the two of you always have a great time together, filled with jokes and stupid/ridiculous behavior. He loves being able to make you laugh.

- Cuddling? Sign him the fuck up! No matter what you’re doing, he’ll find a way to squeeze himself beside you and wrap himself around you in some way. Whenever you’re going to bed, you’ll rest your head on his chest with his arms wrapped around you; …or you’ll just be laying almost completely on top of him.

- A lot of your dates are going to be interrupted, it just sort of comes with the territory. When something strange is in the neighborhood, he’s the one being called so you just have to be patient and understanding. He always makes it up to you anyway.

- Occasionally, he’ll stop and pick up flowers or a movie you’ve been wanting to see from the rental place on his way home. He likes surprising you with something nice, especially if he was called away when you were supposed to spend time together.

- Becoming close with Egon, Winston and Peter. You see them constantly so it’s sort of hard not to.

- Sticking by his side and cheering him up when the Ghostbusters aren’t too popular anymore.

- You may or may not be a partial owner of the bookshop. As much as he loves being a Ghostbuster, he can’t deny that he likes running the place with you.

- He’s always there if you need someone to get you something or somewhere. He’s particularly good at pushing through crowds and coming up with things to say that will make it easier for you to do what you have to do. He also just doesn’t take no for an answer so, ya know.

- He’s a total pushover when it comes to you. You can always convince him to do something for you.

- Ray looks like he knows how to fix things. He looks and acts like a man I could trust with my things. If my car broke down, his smiling face would be the one I would ask to help me. So, if you need anything fixed around your house, all you have to do is ask.

- Little traditions. Things like watching a specific show after dinner, going to a certain place every weekend or eating certain things on certain days.

- He loves hugs, they’re pretty much his favorite thing in the entire world.

- Random playful harassment. He kind of likes to tease you, jokingly making fun of and tickling you. He thinks the way you react is cute and it’s usually after you do or say something to him so technically it’s revenge.

- Now, I’m not saying that Ray owns action figures or other toys of that nature, but Ray would definitely be the type to own them.... You may or may not have a little shelf full of figures when you move in together.

- He’s a big fan of going to zoos. You practically know the animals at your local zoo by name from how many times you go to see them.

- Carnival and amusement park dates.

- He gets this dopey smile on his face whenever you try to give him a massage or dote on him in anyway. He’s just so overjoyed that you actually like him and care about his wellbeing. He also just loves the feeling of your hands.

- Ray sort of craves domesticity. Seeing you wearing one of his shirts and cooking breakfast or being there to welcome him home after work or surprising him by doing some chores would literally make him melt. He’s a centimeter away from proposing to you on the spot.

- The two of you are pretty much the epitome of two best friends dating. You have the time of your lives together and are always completely comfortable and happy in each others presences.

- Walking around New York together. You wind up just wandering around the city a lot, occasionally stopping for food or drinks or whatever comes to mind when you pass a store.

- He isn’t the most sensitive person to talk to when you’re upset or scared about something but he apologizes when he goes off on a tangent or says the wrong thing. Don’t blame him too much, he’s got a skewed view of what’s considered a problem rather than a good scientific discovery.

- Ray gets easily excited about a lot of things, he’s sort of like a puppy at times so even though you might not be so amused with a situation, he’ll be incredibly happy. Whenever he notices that you aren’t thrilled, he’ll usually just give you a sheepish smile and a “sorry honey”.

- Having him randomly show up and borderline embarrass you when something big is found out. Just picture the restaurant scene from the second movie.

- Visiting him at the office.

- Letting him gush to you about the paranormal and supernatural.

- Helping him with his research, experiments, and invention. He loves having you around and hearing your input.

- He’s definitely named something after you, whether it be a theory, project or machine he’s created. It’s cute, in a geeky sort of way.

- Be prepared to get scared and not just by ghosts. Sometimes Ray will just pop into view out of nowhere, excitedly talking about something he just saw and scaring the living daylights out of you. He doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like that, did he do something wrong?

- He works with all things supernatural and paranormal; he’s seen a lot over the years and because of that, he’s gradually gotten more and more protective of you over time. Wouldn’t you if you knew that evil slime once ran wild underneath your girlfriends apartment?

- He gets particularly miffed when jealous, not livid or angry just …miffed. You know he’s not upset with you but you can tell that something is bothering him. Occasionally, you won’t even have to figure out what because he’ll insult whoever he’s jealous of like he’s talking about the weather.

- The two of you don’t really fight all too often, you rarely have a reason too, even though your lives are incredibly hectic most of the time. He doesn’t really have one certain way of responding when he’s angry, everything depend on the situation. One day, you’ll bicker, the next, you’ll yell.

- He always feels bad whenever he snaps at you. Almost immediately after he storms out, he’ll get this pang of guilt in his chest and debate on whether or not he should just walk back in and apologize. He usually doesn’t right then; wanting to give you time to yourself, but does come back not very long after and apologizes, admitting he was wrong if he was and asking if things are alright between the two of you.

- He’s always happy to say he loves you, and gosh does he love hearing you say it.

- Your family probably loves him. He’s a guy that’s easy to get along with …and he’s a ghostbuster so he’s got that going for him.

- Ray is sooo ready to have kids and settle down with you, he’s just waiting until he’s in a more stable work environment. He doesn’t need any ghosties lurking in your kids nursery, even if he’s the most equipped to get rid of them.

#ghostbusters imagine #ghostbusters headcanon #ghostbusters headcanons #ghostbusters imagines #80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanon #80s movie imagines #80s movie headcanons #ray stantz imagine #ray stantz headcanons #ray stantz headcanon

293 notes · View notes

heyyyharry · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 9: To The Grave

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry remembers something.

Word count: 5.3k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

Jo lit a lantern in the corner, shut the window, and started changing out of her heavy dress into her nightgown. She could feel Mary's intrusive gaze burning holes on her naked back. She tried to ignore it. She tried to ignore Mary. She didn't know how long she'd have to share a room with this witch. Probably until Y/N returned.

If Y/N returned.

Unfortunately, she couldn't even worry about that in peace with the witch stalking her like her own shadow.

"Don't you have better things to do than watch me change?" she asked, wrapping a thin coat around herself as she padded straight to her bed. She wasn't looking at Mary, yet she could feel a smile in the witch's voice.

"You're very pretty."

Jo thought about saying thanks. But she didn't. Mary didn't deserve her thanks. "Go to sleep," she said. "There's a lot to do tomorrow."

As Jo lay down on her back, pulled the covers up to her chest and placed her hands on her stomach, Mary was still sitting crossed-legged on the bed beside her, watching.

"I'm serious. Go to sleep."

"I can't."

"Lie down and close your eyes."

There was only silence. Mary still wasn't moving. Jo let out a harsh sigh then turned over, facing away from the witch. "Stay up then. I don't care."

"Thank you for today."

Jo hadn't expected that, so she was speechless for a moment. "What do you mean?"

Mary giggled softly. "I thought you hated me after what I'd said the other day."

Jo scoffed and shook her head. "All I did today was let you help the maids. It didn't change how I felt about you."

"Oh," Mary replied quietly. She sounded so sad that Jo almost apologised. But then Jo remembered that the whole reason Y/N was out there on her own on this cold winter night was because of Mary, and she immediately stopped feeling guilty.

"Thank you anyway," Mary whispered as Jo didn't speak. Jo heard the sound of sheets ruffling, and the candle beside Mary's bed was blown out. Darkness engulfed the room. Jo shut her eyes and listened to the crackling sound of wood logs burning in the fireplace. The Northwind was whistling outside her window. She let her mind wander, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now, if Harry was still alive, if Lance was still awake.

Those thoughts turned to worry, and worry kept her alert. She ended up lying there, staring at the window. Moonlight left a white square on the carpet. She could see the snowflakes twirling slowly as they fell. Her heartbeats slowed and her breathing became in sync with Mary's. She suddenly wondered if Mary had already nodded off. Why would she care, though? It didn't matter if Mary was awake or not.

"You can't sleep, either?"

The voice startled her even though it was the softest she'd ever heard. She looked over her shoulder to see Mary with her eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling. Mary turned slowly, and their eyes locked in the semi-darkness. A smile messed up her already scarred face as she spoke, "You know what my sisters and I used to do when we couldn't sleep?"

Jo hated herself for wanting to continue this conversation. "What?" she asked with a sigh.

Mary excitedly sat up on the bed like a happy child. "We braid each other's hair! Distraction and concentration will get us sleepy."

"I'm not braiding your hair, witch."

"Oh, I'd do yours. You don't have to do mine. You have really pretty hair."

Jo squeezed her eyes shut as she exhaled sharply. "Fine."

"Yes!"

Jo pushed herself up. Mary got out of her bed. Instead of sitting down, she stood there, waiting for permission. Jo was probably too exhausted to think straight because, for a second, she thought it was so nice of her.

She scooted over and patted down on the mattress. Mary sat down crossed-legged as Jo turned her back to the witch, letting her luscious blonde hair fall to her lower back. She and Y/N used to do this all the time. Y/N wasn't good at lady-like things. Mary, on the other hand, was rather skilful.

"You were telling the truth. You've done this a lot," Jo remarked.

"What do you mean?" Mary giggled. "Why would I lie about braiding my sisters' hair?"

"I'm sorry. Trust issues," Jo said, making Mary giggle again. It was then that Jo realized that she liked the sound of it.

"I used to braid Y/N's hair. Not since she was crowned Queen, though."

"Because the King was always here?"

"Yeah," Jo said, trying not to sound sad or disappointed. She waited for Mary's intrusive questions, knowing she had plenty of those piling on her tongue. But there was only silence. "Go on. Say it."

"What?"

"I know you want to say something."

"Oh." Mary let out a snort, her fingers frozen in Jo's hair. "I just wanted to say that...the Queen is so lucky to be adored by so many people."

Jo curved her lips. "Well, I wouldn't say 'lucky'. Too much of something is never a good thing. Even if it's love."

"I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never been loved. Never would be," Mary said, sounding more amused than upset and resumed working on the braid. "I was beautiful, you know."

"Yes. Y/N told me."

"Harry thought I looked like her."

"I could imagine."

"And I used to think that looks were all that mattered, but that's not true."

Jo swallowed as her shoulders slumped. She had thought beauty was a weapon, too. Using it so freely had been the biggest mistake she'd ever made. Sometimes she thought if it hadn't been for her, maybe Harry and Y/N never would have met. It wouldn't mean Y/N would love her, but maybe they would have run away together and have a new life in a cottage somewhere in the forest, far away from here, safe. Even so, she knew this was Y/N's destiny, and she was just a boring side character in it.

"Done," Mary said. Her cold fingers rested on Jo's bare shoulders, making her flinch. Jo thought about pulling away, but Mary gave her shoulders a squeeze and it was so comforting that Jo didn't even want to move.

"You're right," she said, staring at the moonlight on the floor. "I'm getting quite sleepy now."

"So am I," Mary said, yawning. Her fingers slipped right off Jo's skin, and Jo could finally let go of the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Good night, Josephine," Mary said.

"Good night," Jo said, lying back down with her back facing Mary.

"Your Majesty! The emissary from Theros is waiting for you in the throne room."

All eyes skipped to Lance, who was sitting at the end of the meeting table. The announcement had struck him like lightning. He wasn't expecting any emissary, especially one from Theros.

"What's his name?" Lance asked, leaning back in his high chair.

"Lord Wallace, Your Grace."

George Wallace. Lance had met him once at one of Lance's father's annual balls. If Lance remembered correctly, Wallace was a short fat man with a kind face. He used to be King Edgar's most trusted advisor. The fact that he'd travelled all the way here on Calanthe's command was rather suspicious, yet it was unbelievable that he could be a part of Calanthe's evil scheme.

"Would you like to see him now or should I–"

"I'll see him now," Lance said, rising from his chair. The ministers all rose and bowed their heads as Lance made his way to the door and followed the guard into the corridor.

Did George Wallace know that Y/N was absent? Would he still speak to Lance without the Queen's presence? Should Lance be concerned already? There hadn't been any news on what Calanthe was up to, so this could be as bad as he feared.

Lance told the guards to make sure the gates leading in and out of the castle were secure, then he entered the throne room with only two escorts, not wanting to alert the emissary.

As expected, George Wallace didn't look shocked to see Lance instead of the Queen. His nonchalance made Lance's stomach shrivel. It seemed like Wallace already knew that the Queen wouldn't be here. But how could he know that when nothing from Isolde could cross the border to Theros?

"Sir Wallace," Lance said from the high throne. "What a pleasure to meet you again."

"It's my pleasure, Your Majesty," said Wallace with a hand on his chest. "I travelled all the way here to see Her Majesty. Is she not here?"

Even with that question, the look on his face revealed that he already knew the answer.

"No, my Queen is away for two weeks," Lance said, "but whatever you're here to discuss, you could discuss with me."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Wallace said with a scornful smirk.

Lance gathered his fingers into fists. If he could lock this man up for giving an attitude, he would do it without a second thought.

"Queen Calanthe of the high and low courts of Theros sent me here to discuss the matter of war and peace between the two kingdoms."

"War and peace?" Lance tried his best not to scoff as he rested his chin on his knuckles, drumming the fingers of his other hand on the armrest of the throne. "So your Queen admitted to wanting to start a war with Isolde."

"Well, Your Majesty, my Queen has always loved peace–"

"Surely," Lance muttered. If Wallace had heard him, it didn't show.

"But there has been some tension between the two kingdoms since King Egon sent an assassin to murder his own uncle, our beloved King Edgar."

"Has there been a trial?"

"Pardon, Your Majesty?"

"A trial for King Egon," Lance said breezily. "You called my betrothed's late brother a murderer in front of my face in her court, so I'm just wondering if I missed a trial or anything that proved that King Egon had been behind the murder."

Wallace worked his jaw for a second and soon managed to regain his composure. "No, Your Majesty."

"Then I advise you to watch your words, Sir Wallace."

"My apology, Your Majesty. May I say it again? There has been some tension between the North and the South since King Egon supposedly sent an assassin to murder King Edgar."

The corner's of Lance's lips arched in contempt as he chuckled. "Let's just get straight to the point, my lord. What does your Queen propose?"

"Our Queen has enough power to win this war if it's to happen, so she wants to give Queen Y/N a chance to keep Isolde. She wants to have power over twenty low courts in the North."

"You're joking."

"I'm afraid not, Your Majesty."

Lance narrowed his eyes as he sucked in a breath. "Bold of you to come in here and say these words to my face," he said slowly yet angrily.

Wallace, on the other hand, looked as calm as ever. "Those aren't my words, Your Majesty," he said. "I'm only the Queen's messenger."

Lance held the man's gaze for a long moment. He knew Wallace wasn't forced to be here. He was proud to be here and to witness Lance's reaction to this insulting offer to report back to his Queen.

"I'll have to wait for my Queen to return to discuss with her," Lance said coldly. Of course, he knew Y/N would never agree. He would never agree. Calanthe probably already knew it and had only sent Wallace here to taunt him. Whatever her motives were, it was better to have Wallace here and keep an eye on him than let him go back to that snake.

Wallace didn't look at all disappointed in Lance's response as he happily said, "I'd also love to stay to meet the Queen, Your Grace."

"Good," Lance breathed and waved for one of his guards. "I assume you must be tired after that long journey, Lord Wallace. You'll be escorted to your room and treated as our guest."

Wallace gave a bow before he followed the guards to the door where he stopped and turned around. "What a beautiful ring you have, Your Majesty."

Lance tried his best to look unbothered as he peered at the red stone on his finger. "It's one of a kind."

"It must be," Wallace said. "It's...glowing."

Lance mustered a single smile as he tightened his fists. With caution, he watched the guard escort the emissary out of the room.

Y/N knew Harry felt bad about what had happened because he would keep initiating conversations with her. She wanted to laugh and smile and act like nothing was wrong so he'd know she wasn't mad at him. Sadly, she hadn't felt good since she put the knife into that man's throat. It wasn't easy to kill someone and walk away like nothing had happened. She'd thrown up as soon as she'd woken up. Thankfully, Harry wasn't there to see it.

The old Harry wouldn't have judged her without knowing the reasons behind her actions. What was worse than the feeling of guilt she had to carry after killing that man, was the way Harry had looked at her before and after. He didn't trust her, so how could he expect her to trust him?

If she told him that her marriage with Lance was fake, and that she and Lance had been putting on a show and acting like they were in love to win the people's sympathy – the star-crossed lovers who could not live happily ever after because Calanthe was out for their blood – what could guarantee that he wouldn't run around spreading the words? He didn't have to tell every single soul he knew. Just one and the rest would hear it the next day. She could not risk that.

However, she should have told him about the deer, the moon lady, and the shadow man. She hadn't thought that she should, because it wouldn't have made any difference. She was the only one who could see the lady and the man, and only she could hear the deer talk. He wouldn't be able to help. Still, she'd need to tell him everything from now on. They were stuck in these woods together, and the only way for them to survive was to not keep secrets like that. She guessed she'd been at fault, too. They both had been wrong.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

She nodded even though she was holding onto the reins for her dear life. Harry stopped his horse, hopped onto the ground and helped her dismount Thunder. She felt like fainting, probably because she hadn't eaten since yesterday's afternoon. He gave her some water and bread and they sat by a tree, eating and watching the clouds roll by as if this was completely normal.

"We don't know where we're going," she said, hating the silence. "We could be walking in circles this whole time."

Harry blew out his cheeks as he rested both arms on his knees. "Well, if we can't find the lake, at least we could hope that we'd be able to find our way back."

Y/N said nothing. She could not tell him that the kind of magic that had erased his memory had taken away many years of his life. For all she knew, he could die tomorrow. If she told him that, would he be more determined to find the lake? Or would he want to give up for her own sake? Knowing Harry, she believed it would be the latter. He'd tell her that he didn't have anything to lose while she had too much to lose.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" he asked, quietly.

When she looked up, he was giving her a speculative kind of look.

"No," she said flatly.

"Are you telling the truth?"

"See? You still don't trust me."

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "See?" he mimicked her tone, shaking his head. "You're still mad at me."

She didn't reply, only sneered at him.

"Ask me anything," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

"Ask me anything and I'll answer honestly. To prove that I trust you."

"I know a lot about you, you know."

"I know." He grinned. "You could ask me something you don't know or something you already know to test me."

Y/N wetted her lips as she glanced skyward. She took a moment to sort out her thoughts. "Tell me...the most memorable day of your childhood."

Harry pursed his lips, thinking. "Well, I was seven or so. Kenny and I chased after this rabbit into the forest and found a rabbit family. We brought two little ones back home and were very excited to take care of them. The next day, they both ended up being cooked for dinner. Kenny and I cried so hard. I probably cried more than she did because I really loved my bunny."

He buried his face into his palms and burst out laughing as he finished his story. Meanwhile, Y/N sat there, gawking at him with a stone-cold expression. As soon as Harry saw it, his laughter died down at once.

"I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "I should not have laughed. Poor bunnies."

Y/N shook her head as she mustered a smile. "No...it's just..."

"Just what?"

It's not the right answer, she wanted to say. She'd ask him this question before, and every single time, his answer would be the night he was working in the kitchen at her uncle's dinner party. Maybe that night didn't exist in his mind anymore. Because all the memories relating to her had been erased.

"Have I told you that story before?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied.

He groaned in disappointment but was quick to smile again. "See? I trust you."

"I suppose," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "All right. Now you get to ask me a question."

"Really?"

"Yes. I just gave you permission."

Harry rubbed his palms together mischievously, making Y/N laugh.

"Oh, I was going to ask you something embarrassing," he said, "but I have a more important question that I've been wanting to ask."

"And that would be?"

Harry looked oddly reluctant, so Y/N was slightly worried about what he wanted to know. "I...um..." he began to stutter. "Well...the night in the cave...um...after I'd saved you from the river."

The fact that his face reddened as soon as he brought it up was too hilarious. Y/N was trying her best not to crack up and interrupt him.

"I tried to keep you conscious by asking you a question," he said. "I asked you to tell me your most precious memory. And you said...sunset. That was it."

"Oh."

"What does it mean?"

Y/N knew exactly what it meant. She could picture the scene in her head. Wind in his hair. Tears in her eyes. And she could still hear his voice telling her, "I fell in love with you at sunset."

"I don't know," she lied again, peeling her eyes off his in fear that he might notice her dishonesty. "I forgot. Maybe I just...didn't know what you were asking."

"Oh, that makes sense," he said, sounding unbothered.

And so she told herself that he believed her only so she could stop thinking about it. "We should get going. It gets dark quickly."

"We really should," Harry agreed, stood up and gave her a hand. Y/N got back to her feet then released him as fast as she could. And as she got onto Thunder's back, she could feel that his eyes were still watching her.

They kept on moving. It wasn't too long until the last daylight had faded and darkness took over the forest. Having spent over a week on this mountain, the dark shapes of trees had become familiar yet unusually comforting to Y/N. She still missed the palace, her soft warm bed, and sleeping in somebody's arms and not having to wake up crying over a nightmare.

But it didn't matter anymore, because she was now familiar with the cold and darkness; she was no longer afraid. Loneliness, however, was something she could never get used to. And the fact that Harry was with her this whole time, yet it felt like she was on her own, made her think that things could never go back to the way they'd been before she'd lost him. Sometimes, like earlier, he would look at her like the part that loved her was still fighting for its freedom. Sadly, most of the time, he felt like a stranger.

Maybe she should just give up, let him go like she'd said she would. One would always be happier without the burden of the past. It was easier for her to say otherwise because she had never been in his shoes. But it was human nature to choose the easy way out. So if the same thing had happened to her, she might have also chosen to forget.

It didn't have to hurt. They could still be happy. Just not together. She already had someone who loved her back home, someone she would marry, someone that would be by her side as she ruled a kingdom, someone whom her people would accept. And she knew she loved Lance; she just wasn't sure if it was the same way that she loved Harry, but feelings could grow, given time. As for Harry, he could travel the world, be whoever he wanted to be, or he could go back to his family, and he'd meet new people, fall in love and have children. She would get over him eventually. She'd lost so many people and moved on. She could do it again...

"Your Majesty."

Y/N blinked fast and caught Harry staring at her with an unreadable expression.

"You seemed distracted."

"Sorry." She cleared her throat, hurrying around the trees to catch up with him and the horses. The moon was bright tonight and the air was cold, so they'd decided to get off their horses and walk to keep themselves warm. "You were saying?"

Harry thinned his lips. "I said I remembered something."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"No...I mean...I had this vision just now...I remember something."

Y/N felt a hard quick pulse in her throat as shock froze her to the spot. She gaped at him as he looked skyward as if trying to keep that memory from slipping away. Her heart beat faster, pounding against her ribcage so hard it hurt.

"We were setting off on a journey," he started, his eyes pinched shut as he kneaded his temple. "You, me, the King and many others."

"And?" she prompted, impatiently.

"You...you told me to stay alive."

"It was the day of the attack," Y/N said quickly, her voice quavering. "What-what else do you remember?"

He swallowed, the look in his eyes softened as they met hers. "I-I wanted to hug you, but I think I wasn't allowed to. That...that was also the last thing on my mind before I lost consciousness...I wished I'd held you one last time."

Y/N could not utter a single word. She threw both arms around his neck and together they ended up in a heap on the snow-covered ground. She was laughing uncontrollably and he was, too, even though she could tell how confused he was.

"You remember..." she whispered, arms tightened around his neck.

Carefully, he placed his hands on her back and pressed her closer against him. "Well, not a lot, but–" she sensed a smile in his voice, "you do give great hugs."

She pulled back and cupped his face. "This is good. This is very good. Believe me. You will remember everything."

Was it the cold or had his cheeks turned a bit red? Well, it didn't matter. She was already too happy. The first memory of her that had returned had been the last one he'd had of her. Maybe he'd start remembering backwards. If so, it wouldn't be too long until he remembered how much he'd loved her.

It took Y/N a moment to realize that she was still on top of him, so she hurriedly apologized and pushed herself up off the ground.

He chuckled as she adjusted her clothes and asked him if he was all right.

"Your hugs are as violent as I expected," he teased, head tilted to the side. "But it's all right. I liked that." There was a quiet moment before he went on, "I think some of the things in my dreams were real memories, too."

"Yeah?" She hated how elated she sounded even though he didn't seem to notice as he gave a nod.

"I just can't tell them apart. I think I need more time."

Y/N swallowed, keeping her voice calm and steady. "I understand."

She hated it, though. Time. But she didn't mind waiting as long as Harry wasn't giving up.

"Please be patient with me."

At first, Y/N thought that those words were her own. When she realized they were his, she looked at him with her eyes wide and mouth open, wondering if he'd hit his head when she'd knocked him to the ground.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He suddenly seemed reluctant and shy. "I thought about what you said, and...also...that memory of you made me think...you meant a lot to me in the past." He looked up and their eyes met. "So I want to remember."

She pressed her lips together, trying to compose herself before saying, "Good," with a single nod. Her heart blossomed as she watched dimples appear on his pink cheeks. There was a look of wonder in his eyes as he cocked his head to the side and said, "There's something in your hair."

She froze as he outstretched his arm, and his fingers brushed gently over a strand of her hair. A tiny bit of light dashed up over her head, startling them both.

"A firefly!" Y/N exclaimed.

There wasn't just one.

All around them, fireflies, thousands of them, appeared from the trees and the grass. It felt like they were walking through stars.

"I've never seen so many fireflies before," Y/N said.

"Maybe they're not really fireflies. Maybe they're the spirits of the forest trying to tell us something."

"I hope they won't kill us."

"What are you talking about?" Harry scoffed, waving away a swarm of light by his head. "They're harmless."

Y/N let out a nervous laugh as the fireflies danced around her feet. "This reminds me of the ballroom on my tenth birthday," she said. "They put up decorations that looked like a thousand fireflies!" Then she threw her arms over her head, got on her tiptoes and did a twirl. Harry chuckled as she offered him a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

He shook his head fast, hands clasped together behind him. "Oh no, I don't dance."

"Yes, you do," she said, giggling. "You're just not good at it."

"I'd rather not embarrass myself in front of you, Your Majesty," he made a face and glanced around, "or our new friends."

Y/N scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, come on. Don't kill the joy. I'll guide you." Without waiting for him to say yes, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in. He let out a surprised gasp. The startled look on his face was soon replaced by a nervous grin. "Put this hand on my waist. Now hold my other hand. That's right. Don't think. Just follow my lead."

And so they started to dance without music in a sea of fireflies. Harry was careless and kept stepping on her foot and apologising for it only to do it again. It took him a moment to finally relax and realize that she wasn't going to murder him for not being able to dance. Then it didn't matter who was taking the lead anymore; they were just dancing like they were the only two living creatures in these woods, like time had stood still, and this moment was all that they had.

If they died in the morning and this was the last memory they shared, Y/N would be happy to take it with her to the grave.

"There you are. What took you so long?"

"I had to wait for the Lady-in-waiting to sleep."

The tiny figure pulled the hood over his head, revealing his round face under the dim firelight from the lantern Mary was holding. They were in the courtyard. Mary had been in the castle long enough to know that the guard, who was supposed to be watching this area, would always give himself a long break at this hour.

"She killed one of our men," George Wallace said, glancing nervously around to make sure no one was here but the two of them.

"What?"

"That bitch," he hissed. "Soon Queen Calanthe will rule over one hundred kingdoms and I cannot wait to see what she'd do to the brat."

Mary wanted to say that Calanthe was around the same age as Queen Y/N, but she wasn't going to have a debate with Wallace right here right now.

"The Queen wants me to check on you."

"I'm fine," she said, putting an arm around herself guardedly. "They treat me well." Too well. Sometimes she allowed herself to forget that she was here as a spy, not a guest.

"The Queen doesn't care how they treat you, idiot," Wallace said coldly. "She wants to make sure that you didn't lie to her about the lake. It seemed like Y/N didn't know where she was going."

"The lake does exist," Mary said. "Believe me. Y/N is the only way for us to find it. Blood calls to blood."

She wasn't sure if her words had pacified Wallace. It was hard to tell as he always seemed harmless yet he was one of the most calculated men in the Theros court.

"I must go now," he said, securing his robe. But instead of leaving right away, he eyed her up and down and lowered his voice. "They have been treating you well, haven't they?"

"Yes."

"Mmmm." He lifted his non-existent chin. "If you betray the Queen, the Monks will know about it." Mary swallowed at the thoughts. "They'll make sure to put up your ugly head at the gate after we've won the war."

Just like that, he turned and walked away. Mary clenched her teeth and her fists as she waited until his tiny figure was out of sight to return to her room. She had wanted nothing more than to break Wallace's neck, but it didn't mean what he'd said wasn't true.

No matter how well these people had been treating her, it was either her or them. And she didn't survive this long to continue putting other people's lives above her own.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #tctm series

66 notes · View notes

inventors-fair · 4 years ago

Text

Kald’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve (and Finally Did) Commentary

No no, of course I didn’t forget, you forgot. And I couldn’t blame you if you did, it’s been some time coming. Commentary may be a special action, but it obviously still uses the stack - and as it gets stacked under more and more things, it can take a while to see it resolved. While I can’t promise the next one is going to have split second timing, I’m definitely going to be adjusting my schedule to make getting things out on time more manageable.

This challenge revisited what I started with the release of Zendikar Rising, albeit with a slightly looser approach, and I definitely enjoyed the increased diversity that I saw in submissions because of it. I think it’ll take a couple more of these before I'm able to mould my prompt to hit exactly the kind of results I’m looking for, so I doubly appreciate everyone participating in my little mad science design experiments in the meantime.

That said, let’s not keep you waiting...

@bread-into-toast - Halvar, God of Battle // Sword of the Realms

Flavour: This was a direct cleanup of a card that was already in the set, so there wasn’t a lot of flavour to credit you with specifically. There is new flavour text on the front face (which wasn’t an option on the printed version thanks to the MDFC frame treatment) that I suppose gives us slightly more insight into Halvar’s personality.

Mechanics: The front face has one minor change to the timing of the combat ability that does succeed in making it objectively more powerful, but probably does not make for more interesting gameplay overall - it pushes more of the combat math onto your opponents, essentially reducing the decisions you make to “what punishes these blocks the most.” The back face has a more significant change, trading out the original’s recursion ability for an ability that I assume is supposed to better represent the Omenpaths flavourfully, since it’s certainly not a core white effect. In practice I have to imagine the recursion ability plays more nicely with the equipment theme than a ramp effect does.

Nitpicks/Templating: The front face trigger would read “At the beginning of the declare blockers step each combat,” which is admittedly confusing because “beginning” implies that it’s before blockers even though it wouldn’t be - the awkwardness of the template is probably a reason we don’t see it more often. The ability on the rear face would want to specify where you’re casting the spell from like Sram’s Expertise does, otherwise you’re leaving it up to players to guess which spells it’s allowing them to play, and they’ll often guess wrong.

Overall: Shop the art all you want, I still think he’s as handsome as ever.

Charmera - Imyir, God of Tracking // Bow of Freedom

Flavour: I feel like I might be a little sketchy on the flavour for this one, but I believe the idea is that Imyir was fated to track “the Wolf” but never catch it, and had to break free of that fate in order to finally succeed. That definitely sounds like a neat concept, and I think you could’ve been even a little more explicit in delivering on it to really drive that story home - though I suppose this does already have more space devoted to flavour text than any of the Gods that did see print.

Mechanics: The ability on the front face is very powerful, I suspect the fact that the draws are temporary is a relatively small downside compared to the ability to chain card draw by hitting creatures one after another. The back face is... Well, I’ll be honest that I don’t know what you intended it to do. Indeed, both sides are exiling cards from your library face down, meaning you have no idea what they are, but allowing you to cast them. Is it supposed to be casting one at random? Did you forget to include the part where you look at the cards? That confusion aside, the 7-mana legendary artifact that mills you for 10 every turn (but explicitly hoses any graveyard synergies) doesn’t sound particularly exciting, though I guess if the effect isn’t intended to be random the free cast would be quite powerful. But just imagine casting this in multiplayer and milling yourself for 50 cards just to get to cast one for free - the ratio doesn’t seem appealing.

Nitpicks/Templating: If you want players to know what’s under their face down exiled cards, you’ve got to include a “look at” line. If a player was able to look at it once they’ll be able to look at it as often as they like for as long as it remains exiled, but that first look has to happen explicitly. Also: 8 lines of text does not have room for flavour text.

Overall: I just hope the Wolf made it out okay.

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion - Scythed Whirlwind

Flavour: Embittered with time is definitely right up Egon’s alley, though the card name and the other aspects of the flavour don’t feel like they resonate particularly strongly with me. If there’s a way the flavour is supposed to lend itself to the mechanics, I’m not immediately seeing it.

Mechanics: You mentioned in your submission that you intended this to be a “skill-testing” board wipe, but I’m struggling to imagine what skill this would be testing. This is obviously just a board wipe in the vast majority of board states, though obviously it does - somewhat - encourage you to play creatures with equipments, but in practice this is still just going into (near-)creatureless decks.

Nitpicks/Templating: Targets are chosen as part of casting a spell, so they can’t be conditional like this. You’d want the spell to be modal, as you won’t be obligated to select targets for the mode you didn’t choose.

Overall: Maybe it’s just me, but the name conjures images of kamaitachi more than anything out of Norse mythology. But I’m also not an expert.

@corporalotherbear - Explore the Realms

Flavour: You acknowledged that flavour was your focus with this one, with the flavour text here hinting at an upcoming Phyrexian corruption of the ten realms. That makes some sense in the context of Vorinclex’s unexplained appearance, and indeed may wind up being something Kaldheim has to deal with in the future.

Mechanics: An Explore variant that lets you drop two lands instead of one, albeit for one extra mana. Ramping by two is a lot more powerful than ramping by one, but the requirement of having two lands available makes this a little less consistent. Generally speaking, cards with high power level and high variance tend to lead to unsatisfying play patterns, so I’d be nervous about the games where this does succeed in ramping from 3 to 6, even if it does so unreliably.

Nitpicks/Templating: Most quotations in flavour text are credited to someone, and while it’s not strictly necessary in a case like this, I think it would go a ways to helping deliver on the flavour.

Overall: Ten realms is an upgrade over nine hells, I guess.

---

@deg99 - Nith, Root Gnawer

Flavour: Your goal was to deliver on more dragons, and this kinda does that. I’ll admit that I’m lost on why it’s also a Troll, as those are completely separate species and it doesn’t appear to be an obvious crossbreed of the two. It’s not immediately obvious what the lands in graveyard clause is supposed to represent flavourfully, but if Gadrak is any indication that isn’t really necessary.

Mechanics: What stands out most here is - obviously - the repeatable land destruction. Against anything but the rampiest of decks, if you have this on the battlefield by turn six it is very unlikely for any opponent to recover from blowing up a land and creating a large token every turn. The fact that it’s unable to attack early really doesn’t feel relevant, because it’ll rarely be attacking late either - the upside of denying your opponent resources while expanding your board is almost always just much better than 5 damage.

Nitpicks/Templating: Templating favours common contractions, so it’s “can’t attack,” and (for whatever reason) only subtypes are ever capitalised: “4/4 green Troll Warrior creature token with trample.”

Overall: Repeatable land destruction is certainly a trollish thing to do, I’ll give you that.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Huatli, Guiding Hand

Flavour: Huatli on Kaldheim is a curious inclusion, feeling even more out-of-place than the existing non-native planeswalkers - of course this isn’t exactly a bad thing, as planeswalkers aren’t really supposed to blend in anyway.

Mechanics: The interplay between the three abilities here seems reasonable enough, the downtick creating tokens that trigger the first ability, and the uptick allowing them to trigger it on both attacks and blocks. It’s a little unexpected that both ways of triggering the ability are inherently aggressive (the block trigger only succeeds in tapping down blockers for the next turn), and cute that the otherwise unique tribal effect works with changelings in the set. It’s a little hard to gauge the overall power of three-mana planeswalkers as there’s often a thin line between unimpressive and broken so I won’t pretend to know how powerful this is just by looking, though I imagine the difficulty of blocking against it would give creature decks lots of trouble.

Nitpicks/Templating: You likely know the creature type in the first ability should be capitalised, and abilities with multiple targets read “each get” for the sake of clarity.

Overall: Is it the dinos that her hand is guiding, or something else?

@dimestoretajic - Calix, the Hidden

Flavour: This is an unexpected take on Calix, taking on a rather different appearance presumably as a disguise. It’s not immediately clear to me what he’d be hiding from, but the reference to Kratos is cute even if it’s ultimately confusing.

Mechanics: Always hard to evaluate planeswalkers without the benefit of iteration, but the abilities seem roughly in Calix’s wheelhouse. The first ability is a scry that upgrades to a draw if it hits an enchantment, probably reasonable enough at three mana; the downtick lets you trade him in immediately for a Stasis Snare effect; and the ultimate gives you a bunch of free Sagas. I think the idea of Calix interacting with Sagas is a little cute, though he definitely had that opportunity on Theros and didn’t so it might have been best to do it a little more subtly.

Nitpicks/Templating: The first ability feels like it has a lot of decision points for digital; I’d consider just revealing in the first place to save some clicks. The second ability is probably much wordier than it should be; I don’t think you gain much by naming the token (or by making it green), and the exile effect should probably just look closer to original Calix’s downtick. Be careful with so many wordy abilities on one planeswalker; I understand the desire to be clever, but ironically being elegant is even cleverer than being clever.

Overall: I’m down for Calix with a beard.

@driftingthruthecosmos - Immortal Triumph

Flavour: This appears to be playing into the trope space of Valhalla, letting your permanents ascend to the beyond only to return for a prophetic final battle. I think the art is an actual depiction of Valhalla, and the name generally signals toward the same concepts without actually embracing Kaldheim’s application of the same trope space, “the Worthy.”

Mechanics: This card definitely doesn’t work as written, but I prefer to judge design on the design’s merit’s, so I’ll do my best to work out how you expected it to work. The fact that this hits any nonland permanent makes it quite versatile, allowing it to return the same permanent turn after turn which can be difficult to overcome - even something as innocuous as Omen of the Sun can be pretty overbearing being recurred turn after turn with relatively little room for counterplay.

Nitpicks/Templating: The first ability leaves a few unintuitive holes where permanents can be lost despite the replacement effect. The second one appears to grant foretell (and a foretell cost) to a card it just put in your hand, which isn’t logistically feasible since your hand is a hidden zone. I’m not sure why the ability didn’t just turn the chosen card face down and make it foretold a la Ethereal Valkyrie.

Overall: I think my biggest wish for this one would be that the ‘glory’ was actually something you had to earn, rather than being totally universal.

@evscfa1 - Mistlebranche, Cosmic Prank

Flavour: The core idea of a weapon based on mistletoe deriving from the story of Baldr is really sweet, though some of the aspects of this design seem to stray a bit from that core concept. Most significantly the decision to make it a snow permanent with a snow equip cost seems rather unexpected.

Mechanics: Not to sound like a broken record, but the snow equip cost is what catches my eye the most: it makes the design very narrow, being completely useless without two snow sources plus a creature to put it on. Once it’s equipped, deathtouch and menace means that any creature this goes on will immediately be trading 2-for-1, making it really difficult to keep up with in any deck that’s able to produce tokens. Exiling planeswalkers too is a cute addition, and particularly powerful alongside making your creatures highly unprofitable to block.

Nitpicks/Templating: If you’re gonna make a weapon based explicitly on a plant, how did it end up anything but green? I imagine you designed the abilities first and chose the color to fit, but in this case I think the color was probably an important aspect of delivering on the concept and wasn’t a good place for compromise.

Overall: The name Mistlebranche sounds so elegant, though.

@fractured-infinity - Firja, First of the Valkyrie

Flavour: Reusing the Firja character with a new title. There’s enough about Firja elsewhere in the set to inform her character a bit, but that also means the title change can only do so much to change my perception of her.

Mechanics: The four life as a cost is pretty close to free here, but it does at least force you to adjust your play patterns to preserve your life total as you work up to it. In practice this is the kind of card you generally hold onto until you can guarantee some value from, and since we don’t see many Angels below three mana, this would often be waiting until eight to get played. That’s probably reasonable though, as once it does get going it tends to end games very, very quickly. This has the interesting upside of being less bad in multiples than most legendary creatures, as the second copy of this can still be cast to generate a token off the first.

Nitpicks/Templating: “First” in the name and each instance of “Angel” in the text ought to be capitalised, and life is always expressed with numerals: “4 life.”

Overall: Nice to see her growing out of that awkward Judge of Valor phase.

@hypexion - Kaya’s Gambit

Flavour: A play on the existing Divine Gambit design, with a couple minor tweaks. Interestingly, the flavour text comes very close to standing on its own - I didn’t remember the original’s, and yet it made some sense on its own (though perhaps it would’ve made less if I wasn’t aware of Divine Gambit already). The biggest miss is that the “gambit” part of the name makes virtually no sense with this design, as there’s no risk involved in using it.

Mechanics: Flexible if conditional removal. At worst it’s Disperse, at its best it’s just an exile effect. The biggest differences between this and the original are the open information and the (virtual) lack of a failure rate: with open information you’ll never be surprised by what your opponent gets back from this, and only returning the card to hand means that it’s rarely just not worth doing at all. This is clearly a more powerful version of the effect, but I’m not convinced it’s either more interesting nor a more appropriate power level.

Nitpicks/Templating: You probably want to use “with that permanent” instead of “with it”, as the text refers to multiple objects and they like to be as unambiguous as possible. I looked for examples that used “it,” but I didn’t immediately find any.

Overall: There are white cards, and then there are good cards.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Winter Travels

Flavour: The name definitely conveys both the concept and the mechanics reasonably well, and the flavour text itself is really evocative and has great imagery to it.

Mechanics: A mistake designers tend to make when designing for a known format is throwing multiple elements of that format onto the same card: when not done carefully, the result is a card that only works in a narrow intersection rather than being interesting in each archetype it makes use of. In this case, Snow archetypes make much better use of this than foretell archetypes, meaning this probably should’ve just accepted it was a Snow card and dropped foretell altogether.

Nitpicks/Templating: The template is unclear about whether the second condition - all snow mana - applies only when the spell is foretold or not, which is always going to be a problem with double-conditional cards. Also: this card had 9 lines of text before you put flavour text, it’s important to know when to make cuts.

Overall: Maybe I’ve read too much Robert Frost, but I really appreciate how poetic the concept here feels.

@ignorantturtlegaming - Elendriel, Twisted Prophet

Flavour: It’s not super clear to me who or what this is supposed to represent. The name and typing is enough to hint at a broad identity, but there’s a lot going on and not enough string to really tie it all together.

Mechanics: Like I mentioned for the submission above, throwing lots of a sets themes/mechanics onto a single card generally makes that card narrower and less exciting, rather than more exciting. In this case you’ve got a card relying heavily on foretell outside of the foretell archetype colors, unable to meaningfully contribute to its own colors’ archetype (Elves) without foretell, plus a boast ability that feels out of place both mechanically and conceptually...and also depends entirely on foretell.

Nitpicks/Templating: Flavour text was pretty important for the boast cards. While there were a couple rares that didn’t have room for it, notably the legendary ones both did because the flavour text was instrumental in selling the mechanic.

Overall: Elves > Foretell > Boast > ??? > Prophet!

@kavinika - Tjalfi, the Godly Messenger // Fjara, Doomskar Lookout

Flavour: Your submission took some time to explain the top-down basis for these two - a servant of Thor (Tjalfi) and one of the roosters of Ragnarok (Gullinkambi) - though obviously you’ve taken some slight liberties. The biggest issue with the flavour here is that it diverges from what the set establishes the Gods to look like - double-faced creatures with elements closely related to their divine duties on the reverse. With the set having only limited space to create and deliver on expectations, there probably just isn’t space to also subvert those expectations.

Mechanics: Mechanically, it’s awkward to have a red card that generates longterm card advantage, even if the condition for doing so is essentially a red thing. The two sides sort of push you in the same direction - lots of nontoken creatures - and the trigger on Fjara theoretically helps to reclaim Boast creatures that were lost trying to trigger the opposite side. The mana costs seem hard to pull off in the same deck, but I can at least see the play pattern it’s trying to encourage - though I can’t help but wish Fjara’s ability was a Boast ability, just to really help the card enable itself as most of the Gods do.

Nitpicks/Templating: Tjalfi’s triggered ability runs on a bit, it probably wants to be separated into two sentences: “ [...] of your library. You may reveal [...]” I’ll also a nitpick that if you’re going to base a character on something as unique as a rooster that crows at the end of the world, you probably want to make the connection as clear as possible - I don’t think anyone is going to make that connection here.

Overall: Maybe I’m just salty that I didn’t get the chicken version.

@kytheon4-4 - Gunnar the Breathless

Flavour: You made sure to include flavour text, which I think was really important to selling the Boast ability as it appeared on cards in the set. The specific flavour text you chose comes off as wordy, the story it tells is hard for me to parse (one can only imagine where they’d tucked the troll’s club away whilst hitching a ride), and doesn’t feel like it connects in any obvious way to the ability on the card. One of the fun aspects of Boast was how well they focused on creating stories to explain the specific ability on the card, but apart from maybe interpreting the troll’s lunch as life gain, I’m just not seeing that on this one.

Mechanics: You’re right that it would’ve been nice to have one of the Boast enablers show up at a lower rarity, though I’m suspecting that it probably didn’t for power level reasons - Boast is actually pretty powerful, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the rare enablers had started out at uncommon and gotten pushed to rare for being too impactful. I think it’s nice of you to try to make the ability broad enough to work outside of just Boast - there are a few things this breaks in older formats, but in Standard the scariest thing it can do is enable Kargan Intimidator or Subira, both of which are probably safe enough even with free abilities.

Nitpicks/Templating: All the templating stuff looks fine.

Overall: The irony of “the Breathless” holding a horn is not lost on me.

@masternexeon - Aggravated Berserker

Flavour: This card is a little light on flavour, which I’m normally just fine with, but in the context of Boast the flavour does a lot to bring the mechanic to life. It’s clever that the name is a throwback to Aggravated Assault, but I think a little more attention to detail could’ve helped it really pop.

Mechanics: Obviously this was really close to one of the winners, with the big difference being the Dwarf tribal element. Obviously I favoured the version that had a slightly broader appeal, but since Dwarf tribal was one of the themes of the set, there’s probably a version of this design that does both (extra combat for everyone plus a bonus for Dwarves) that I would’ve liked better than either.

Nitpicks/Templating: You’ll want to make sure to capitalise “Dwarves” in your rules text.

Overall: No spoilers, but this one almost seems designed with my next challenge in mind.

@misterstingyjack - Toralf and Valki Deceive the Giant King

Flavour: Boy howdy, that’s a name - I’m impressed that your renderer got it to fit. This is a top-down story about Thor disguising himself as his own mother in order to trick a giant that wishes to marry her into returning his hammer. The chapters of the Saga follow that pattern pretty precisely, letting you disguise one of your creatures and - over a couple turns - steal an artifact from an opponent. You might have considered swapping chapters 1 and 2, so that the destruction effect could represent the hammer going missing which prompted the whole endeavour. Indeed, then you could even move the mill effect into that ability, to represent the hammer being buried after it’s stolen.

Mechanics: Similarly, I think putting the destruction effect up front would’ve done this card some good. The copy effect is cute, but it’s not the most powerful effect on the card, and as written this is pretty easy to blank with a removal spell. I do really like the way the abilities intersect the colors - destroying an artifact or creature requires both colors, temporary copy effects from a graveyard feels both red and black, and recurring an artifact is something red can do that still feels pretty black.

Nitpicks/Templating: As much as I respect how ambitious the name was, I’m confident you had shorter options available.

Overall: It’s always lovely to see a top-down story that you enjoy getting represented as a card, nice choice.

@mtg-ds - Koll, Breath of the Bellows

Flavour: I definitely understand your frustration that there aren’t more smiths that do actual smithing in Magic, instead just encouraging you to build a deck that simulates their doing so. This correction for that is pretty straightforward, making axes and shields to equip to your army.

Mechanics: The low costs on this are going to lead to a lot of Equipment tokens on the battlefield at any given time - any time you have unspent mana you’re going to pour it into making tokens, especially since you can do so at instant speed. Combining that with the first ability reducing the Equip cost to zero, you’re going to have a mass of equipments shifting constantly from creature to creature, which just seems logistically difficult to keep track of.

Nitpicks/Templating: Everything looks right to me.

Overall: I have to assume stumpy Dwarven limbs are to blame for why they’re wearing shields on their shoulders rather than strapping them to their arms like the rest of us.

@naban-dean-of-irritation - Niko, the Defiant

Flavour: Niko was immediately a beloved character for a lot of us, so I can definitely understand wanting to reimagine that character more in line with your perception of them. It’s hard replacing the first iteration of a planeswalker because all the lore we have available is the card that exists and stories based on that card - so it’s just inherently difficult for me to see how these abilities relate to the character, since it’s essentially establishing a different character with the same name.

Mechanics: The most glaring issue is the fact that the first ability essentially gives haste on a WU card, which qualifies as either a very strange design choice or a pretty significant oversight. The third ability also feels like it’s skirting the color pie, presumably attempting an Omniscience impression that just feels out of place for this pair. The uptick and downtick feel like they’re designed to do pretty similar things, both primarily saving creatures from unfortunate blocks. I suspect the reason is that the ‘instant speed on your turn’ effect pushed the design into rather narrow space, where two abilities came out very similar while the third simply doesn’t really benefit from the instant speed.

Nitpicks/Templating: No obvious templating woes.

Overall: As much as I respect their defiance, defying the color pie is where I draw the line.

@nine-effing-hells - Fraenir, the Greed-Cursed

Flavour: I always enjoy top-down designs especially, and this story of a Dwarf hoarding treasures until they transform into a Dragon is such an excellent place to mine for those designs - and really, what set wouldn’t want more Dragons? The abilities themselves tell a story of murser and greed, even without needing flavour text to help it along.

Mechanics: I think my biggest issue with this design is that rather than the transformation being something you work towards or work to avoid, it is awkwardly positioned between the two - there are times the Dwarf Berserker will be larger by virtue of controlling lots of non-Treasure artifacts, making it unclear what the play pattern of the card actually is. It does have the benefit of being easy to avoid transforming when you don’t want to, but I think it would suit the design better to arrange the abilities to make the comparisons between the two states clearer (for example, giving the Dwarf non-combat abilities and saving the combat abilities for the Dragon half).

Nitpicks/Templating: Easy mistake, you missed the word “token” in the sacrifice trigger.

Overall: I’m really curious what the art for a card like this would look like.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff - Pagan Chamberlain

Flavour: I have to assume the whole design was for a chance to use that flavour text, as the other aspects of the card don’t seem to align with Kaldheim as a setting - the world has no actual vampires, and the concept of a non-believer makes a lot less sense in a world where gods are as tangible as this one.

Mechanics: Similarly, this isn’t playing into any of the mechanical themes of the set; there isn’t even a strong monocolor theme to run counter to. I suspect the rationale is that each of the gods in the set are monocolor creatures, but seeing as there’s already a card in the set with protection from Gods, it seems strange to try to be subtler about it than that one.

Nitpicks/Templating: Nothing much to nitpick over.

Overall: In this set, the answer to that question is usually “an artifact.”

@real-aspen-hours - Ill Omen

Flavour: The name aligns well with the foretell mechanic, and the flavour text helps connect an important story beat to a broader narrative and to the flavour of the card itself. I’d be a little reticent about including such a significant spoiler in flavour text, but perhaps there’s a way to phrase it so that it reads like a prophecy until you find out it’s already happened.

Mechanics: This is effectively three-for-one removal, which is a lot of value for a single uncommon. Locking it to sorcery speed gives at least some incentive not to foretell it, as that delays it for a full turn - it won’t be often you cast it straight, but that I can at least imagine the situations is a plus. It’s especially powerful in that when it isn’t useful as a removal spell, it allows you redraws for something more useful.

Nitpicks/Templating: Foretell shows up after the spell effect, even for those cards that care whether they were foretold. While we’re here, good catch on including a target in the card draw effect - while it would be easy to exclude one, ensuring that the spell has two targets keeps the whole thing from fizzling if the targeted creature disappears before it resolves.

Overall: This feels like it’s only a slight push away from being constructed playable, and I’d be interested to explore what more it takes to get it there.

@snugz - Surtland Rimereader

Flavour: I rather like the flavour here, a Giant that’s able to see the future with the help of the snow allowing you a Future Sight effect specifically for snow cards is pretty satisfying. It’s not immediately obvious what the last ability represents, but the rest of the card feels like it sells it well enough anyway.

Mechanics: I’m not entirely sure that blue is still able to play lands off of this type of effect; the original obviously did, but none of the blue variations since then have, and I’m not sure ‘snow’ is a blue identity to bend for it. The triggered ability feels a little bit awkward with the overall design since you specifically don’t have much control over the first spell you cast when you’re doing so from the top of your deck.

Nitpicks/Templating: Good catch on the updated template for Future Sight, as I don’t think they’ve actually printed any cards with that wording yet. It was updated some time after Bolas’s Citadel was printed, and we’ve yet to have another card in that style see print.

Overall: Would’ve loved a rime-rhyme pun somewhere in the set, and this feels like an opportune place for it.

@stormtide-leviathan - Kvasha, God of Magic // Kvasha’s Birth

Flavour: In this setting, the connection between enchantments and Spirits and flash doesn’t feel immediately obvious. Now naturally this is trying to create a connection where one didn’t exist previously, but it does feel like it muddles the flavour slightly to do so.

Mechanics: This is large and evasive enough to serve as a finisher even without making extra tokens, though the tokens can serve as some resiliency against removal. I’m not entirely sure how the flash ability relates to the rest of the card, except to change the template of the Saga’s first ability. If that were so important I’d have looked for a first chapter ability that could take advantage of being cast at instant speed, but then more likely I would’ve just cut the flash bit entirely.

Nitpicks/Templating: I’m not sure what it was intending, but there’s no way for a chapter ability to see the object it’s on entering the battlefield - that ability won’t resolve until well after the permanent has entered, and if it somehow re-entered the battlefield it would do so as an entirely new object. The last chapter ability will want to specify whose controller the object returns under (usually its owner’s), and you’ll want to move the ‘face-up’ bit into reminder text - you don’t need rules text to make it work that way, but it’s definitely worth clarifying for players who might not realise.

Overall: My favourite god designs in this set were the ones that let you use both sides with just one copy.

@thedirtside - Ragnarock

Flavour: The setting for Kaldheim reworked the concept of Ragnarok into what they called a Doomskar, leaving the original name feeling out of place within the setting. The color combinations used for the spell also aren’t represented in the setting, making it difficult to imagine what part of the world this is supposed to be representing in practice.

Mechanics: The most obvious point here is that the foretell cost and the casting cost don’t overlap, making it almost impossible that any given deck will actually have the option of casting it both ways - since the options it provides are the only thing that makes foretell interesting, intentionally designing to hamper that doesn’t seem like a good use of the mechanic. The foretell cost is also much easier to pay than the casting cost, making the added bonus for foretelling the spell feel really counterintuitive.

Nitpicks/Templating: It’ll take a slightly wordier template to achieve the second part of this effect, something like: “For each permanent destroyed this way, CARDNAME deals damage to that permanent’s controller equal to that permanent’s mana value.”

Overall: That must be a really big rock.

@theobligatorysql - The Sagas of Worlds

Flavour: One of the fascinating things about Sagas is the way they use art to represent the stories for them - this set uses carvings, reliefs, even tattoos as a form of storytelling. So while the idea of compiling them all into a single tome is cute, it feels to me like it isn’t exactly fitting for the world itself. I could definitely see it as the work of an outsider - Tamiyo, for example - but it feels like it makes less sense as something native to the plane.

Mechanics: I’m a sucker for designs in the vein of Treasure Map and Mazemind Tome, so an artifact with a cheap scry effect is right up my alley - though admittedly, I’m not sure why this inventivises scrying to the bottom as that complicates the calculus and will cause players to make bad scrying decisions for perceived value a nonzero amount of the time. I’m never a big fan of tutoring as it tends to lead to repetitive gameplay, and the fact that it takes at least 4 full turns to set this up to draw even a second card means that it’s nearly always going to be fetching up a cheap Saga instead of a random draw.

Nitpicks/Templating: I’d probably just use “scried” in the first ability, though admittedly that templated hasn’t been used yet.

Overall: This would be a great opportunity to finally get the word “edda” on a Magic card.

@wolkemesser - Bard of the Fallen Meek

Flavour: This was actually far and away my favourite submission to this challenge in terms of flavour, as I love the way it draws attention to the difference between Istfell and Starnheim, and shows regular individuals within the setting reacting to the concept of the Worthy. The flavour text itself could probably stand to be pared down to be a little punchier about the point it’s making, but I absolutely love what it’s trying to do.

Mechanics: That said, the implementation is a little messier. The skulk mechanic was used in one block five years ago, so certainly doesn’t qualify as evergreen. I like that the creature itself has stats that make it easy to safely get its Boast ability going, though the ability itself feels rather unexciting. I’m not sure what about the card demands the double white in the mana cost, or even what makes this a rare over an uncommon.

Nitpicks/Templating: You missed capitalising “Spirit” in the Boast ability.

Overall: I would’ve loved to pick this as a winner, next time try an extra pass or two to make sure you’re hitting all the aspects of the challenge.

#inventors fair #commentary #kalda woulda shoulda #3smuth

14 notes · View notes

fpinterviews · 18 years ago

Text

Alex Prager

FP: Your career began at a very early age, and you’ve achieved much success in such a short time. How did you get involved in photography?

AP: Actually, I didn't get my first camera until I was 20. Before that, the thought of photography hadn't even crossed my mind past taking below-average snapshots on trips I took. I came back to Los Angeles after living in Florida and Switzerland off and on for 4 years, and when I finally settled in with a job and an apartment, I realized that I had no idea what I was doing with my future, and that kind of excited me. I was at a point where I had to make up my mind about what I was going to focus on as an adult. It was exciting because I was starting from nothing, therefore every career in the world was an option. All I had to do was get the education for whatever I decided I wanted to be. I started going to a lot of art shows. I already knew I wanted to be some kind of an artist, I just didn't know what medium I wanted to work in. I went to these shows alone because I didn't want anyone around swaying my opinion. Anyway, a couple weeks went by of going to museum and gallery shows, and then one day I ended up at the Getty where William Eggleston happened to have a show up. The moment I saw his work I knew that I wanted to be a photographer. I looked at every picture over and over for hours and when I was finished I bought his book. A week later, I had everything I needed to become a professional photographer. After that, I read every book I could find that had anything to do with photography. I made a little darkroom in my bathroom and I was in there every night till 3 in the morning processing my film and enlarging the pictures I had taken. After I got home from work, I used to go around my apartment building photographing still objects like a washing machine or a door, and then I'd go right into my darkroom and make an enlargement of the picture. When it was dry I'd go back to the thing I had taken a picture of and I'd tape my picture right on top of it. It would look kind of surreal. I guess those were my first art shows. Sometimes, when I'd go back to look at it, the picture would be gone and I'd imagine that someone had seen it taped up there and liked it enough to take it home with them.

FP: You’ve published an amazing book called "The Book Of Disquiet: The Seven Deadly Sins,” a collaborative piece with artist Mercedes Helenwein. In it, your work has a surreal through-the-looking-glass quality, reflecting both the glamorous and the perverse. How did the book come to be?

AP: Well, Mercedes and I had just finished a show called 'America Motel' that involved us taking 2 trips across the country. She wrote, I took pictures and our friend Beth Riesgraf documented the trips with her Super 8. The show was great. With the help of our friend, Jason Lee, we rented out an entire motel in downtown Los Angeles and basically turned it into an installation. My photographs were hung on the walls of each room like motel art, Mercedes' book was on the night stands in place of the Bible, and Beth's film was being played on each television. It was awesome. After this, Mercedes and I decided we wanted to do another project together, but this time she was going to do drawings. We had both been really affected by the people we met while driving through Middle America, and coming back to Los Angeles was such a dramatic shift in culture that we both, in our own ways, came to conclusion that our next show should be based on The Seven Deadly Sins. It just seemed like the obvious choice. I thought it would be really cool to do a book of our pictures in the style of a cardboard children's book because The Seven Deadly Sins theme was already really dark I thought it would lighten things up a little by adding some humor.

FP: Diane Arbus once remarked that “a photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.” That seems to be fitting for your work. Do you have an intention in mind before you shoot and then stage things or is it more of an organic process once you start?

AP: I guess it's a little bit of both. Although I don't entirely agree with Diane Arbus. On their own photographs are more like incomplete stories, and the missing chapters are filled in differently by each person who looks at it. In other words, a piece of art is only done once it has an audience to communicate to. Everyone has their own experiences, their own story, and when they look at a picture, they're probably going to somehow relate it to something they've already seen or experienced. Since we all have different pasts, I like to think that no two people can see a picture the same way. As far as how I make the photograph, I always have some kind of idea of what I'm going to shoot beforehand. How general or specific it is doesn't really matter because once I start, I try not to think at all.

FP: Who are your primary influences?

AP: William Eggleston, Stephen Shore, Loretta Lux, Philip-Lorca Dicorcia, Diane Arbus, Helmut Newton, Brassai, Annie Leibovitz, Guy Bourdin. Painters are John Currin, Egon Schiele, Toulouse-Lautrec, Bruegel, Gustav Klimt, Lucian Freud, Balthus. Filmmakers include Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch, Peter Greenaway, Federico Fellini, Victor Fleming. Musicians include Bob Dylan, Joy Division, The Beatles, The Pixies, Spoon, The Kinks, Bjork, David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Elliott Smith, The Smiths, etc.

FP: Can you talk a bit about your technique and how you use high-gloss plexiglass?

AP: I like the saturation that you get by face-mounting color photographs to plexi-glas, but I don't always use this process. For my next series, I'm mounting the pictures to Sintra Board from behind so nothing will touch the front of them.

FP: Where do you find your models? Are they friends?

AP: It depends. Sometimes a friend will work out perfectly for a shot I had in mind, other times I'll see someone on the street or in a magazine and I'll get in touch with them and ask if they'll pose for me. Another place that can be good for finding models is modeling agencies! What!? I know, weird...

FP: Since your sister is featured in this issue as well (painter Vanessa Prager), I assume you come from a very creative family…

AP: Hmm.. 'Creative family' implies that they we grew up in a family of artists, which we did not, but our parents, and grandmother (who helped raise us), are definitely the opposite of Middle Class in the way of thinking. They're creative in the sense of the freedom they gave us. They always left it up to us to decide what our goals were going to be, and no matter how far-fetched they were they'd back us up 100%. One day when I was 15, I told my parents I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, and literally the next day they had bought me a guitar and had lessons lined up for me whenever I was ready to start taking them. When I was 14 I had the opportunity to work at a knife shop in Switzerland for 4 months with my best friend who was also 14, and they let me go not only that year, but every year after that until I didn't feel like going anymore. I don't think many parents would let their kids have this much self-determinism at such a young age. I'm sure this influenced my sister and I to becoming artists.

FP: What advice would you give for anyone young trying to break into the business?

AP: Some of the best advice I ever got when I first started was from a painter friend of mine, Bryten Goss, he told me not to talk to any photographers for 1 full year and during that year to always have my camera on me, take as many pictures as possible and find other photographers and artists I like and study their work. That first year is really important because you're so new at it that you can be misguided and influenced really easily, so trusting yourself to be able to learn what you need to know on your own enough to start getting pictures you can be proud of is important.

FP: In what direction do you see your work heading currently? And where can we next see your work?

AP: For the past year or so, I've been working on a series of pictures called 'POLYESTER' and I'll be exhibiting these in my first ever solo show in April at the Robert Berman Gallery at Bergamot Station in Santa Monica. With this show, I wanted there to be a staged, retro quality to the images while keeping them modern. Almost like the people in my pictures are kind of bad actors dressed up and playing roles from movies in the 60's.

#Alex Prager

10 notes · View notes

tomeandflickcorner · 4 years ago

Text

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: The Ghostbusters in Paris

So, I had mixed feeling about this episode. It had a suitable plot with some rather creepy moments thrown in. But the resolution seemed a bit head scratching to me.

The episode actually begins in Paris, France. If seeing the Eiffel Tower didn’t tip you off, then the over-the-top French accents coming out of the three workmen will. One of the workmen starts complaining that it’s too hot to continue working and, since it’s now 2 o’clock, he’s thinking about taking a nap. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t France operate on a 24-hour clock? So they’d actually say 14 hours instead of 2 o’clock. Anyway, one of the other workmen points out that there isn’t any place on that level of the Eiffel Tower for them to sleep. The tired workman announces that he plans to go into the Pavilion in order to take his nap, despite his coworkers reminding him that the room in question was the former workshop of Gustave Eiffel (whom the episode refers to as Monsieur Eiffel) and that entry was forbidden. Regardless, the tired workman forces his way inside the Pavilion to take his nap, and his two coworkers follow close behind. To their surprise, the workshop is filled with strange looking machines that appear to still be operating, despite the fact that years and years have gone by. (Keep in mind that Gustave Eiffel died in 1923 and this episode takes place in the mid-1980s.) The tired workman, however, basically shrugs his shoulders and walks further into the workshop, intending to get some rest on one of the cushy-looking armchairs. But then, for whatever reason, he reaches up to the mantle place, which results in him accidently knocking over a mantel clock. The mantel clock falls directly onto a control panel box that was lying on a nearby table, resulting in the glowing light bulbs affixed to it shattering. Immediately, the entire Eiffel Tower starts to shake, which greatly concerns the other two workmen. The tired workman, on the other hand, seems to brush the whole thing off. Instead, he announces that he’ll simply replace the broken light bulbs tomorrow and nobody will ever know. He then suggests that they head home for the day. (So, these workmen can just clock out whenever they want?)

Of course, strange things start to happen right away. On a lower level of the Eiffel Tower, some American tourists, who were apparently supposed to be ‘the 1986 version of Lucy and Ricky Ricardo’ spot a man in period clothing (Belle Epoque-style, for the historical fashion nerds out there) and approach him to ask if he’d mind posing for a photo. The man turns to them and reveals himself to be a ghost when his face melts off (which is where the episode gets creepy.) Elsewhere, another tourist is spouting off some historical facts when he is scared by a skeletal ghost in a French Revolution uniform. And the three workmen, upon boarding the elevator, discover that the usual elevator operator has also been replaced by a ghost with very large teeth. (Disturbingly, we briefly see the usual elevator operator has been shrunk down and is inside this ghost’s mouth. Are we supposed to assume that poor guy ended up getting eaten?)

It then cuts back to the Firehouse. There, the Ghostbusters are being visited by a man named Lucien, who is a Parisian government official. He apparently flew all the way from France to ask for their help in regards to the Eiffel Tower being haunted. (One has to ask why he didn’t simply call them. Were international phone calls more expensive than transatlantic flights in the 80s?) At first, Ray seemed hesitant to take the time to travel to Paris, stating he still had to install their new satellite dish. Because Ray seemed to think there was nothing more important than television. A bit out of character for him considering he’s usually the most eager to help people in need. Still, Peter and Egon are able to talk him into agreeing. (Egon thought it could be beneficial to study ghosts from another country and Peter was all about the potential monetary profit of having a foreign country in their debt.) Soon after, the Ghostbusters fly out to Paris, with Lucien announcing that, as guests to their country, they will be placed in the finest hotel in Paris.

When the Ghostbusters’ plane lands in Paris, we get a brief montage of the Ghostbusters taking the time to do some sightseeing, as well as dine at some French cafes and restaurants. After two days of this, Lucien finally questions the Ghostbusters about why they haven’t even bothered to head over to the Eiffel Tower yet. In response, Peter tells him that they had simply been doing some reconnaissance. Personally, I’m not sure how I feel about this. Sure, I understand why the Ghostbusters would want to make the most of this impromptu trip to Paris, one of the most famous cities in the world. Especially since they might not get another chance like this. At the same time, they are pretty much taking advantage of the generosity of Lucien and the Parisian government. They do eventually make it to the Eiffel Tower, though. Shortly after their arrival, Lucien tells them that, because of the situation, the power to the Eiffel Tower had been shut off, so they won’t be able to use the elevator. Which means they’ll have to use the stairs. Peter doesn’t seem to be happy about this, particularly when Ray announces that the guide book states the Eiffel Tower has 1710 steps. So the Ghostbusters have a long climb ahead of them. But first, they get treated to an entire band playing the French national anthem. I guess the people of Paris did this to wish them luck or something.

When that’s over, the Ghostbusters begin their trek to the top of the Eiffel Tower. And Peter begins complaining over the matter, wondering why they couldn’t just switch on the power long enough for them to use the elevator. Egon reminds him that it’s basic emergency procedure to avoid elevators when there are ectoplasmic emanations. He then states he’s concerned over how the PKE Meter isn’t picking up anything, which is unusual. Unnoticed by everyone, footprints suddenly appear on the steps behind them. The footprints quickly begin releasing this weird purple foam which shifts into a horde of ghostly creatures. Eventually, Peter does notice them. But it turns out there’s another small army of ghosts waiting for the Ghostbusters ahead of them as well. So their path is blocked both ways. Their only chance of eluding the ghosts is by taking the elevator, which is nearby. So Egon pulls out a walkie-talkie to radio Lucian in order to get the people below to switch the power back on. (Well, so much for the basic emergency procedure.)

Still, to get to the elevator, they have to force their way through the line of ghosts. Winston and Peter start firing at the ghosts ahead of them while Egon and Ray aim for the ghosts coming up behind. As they continue firing, Egon and Ray notice their Proton Streams were seemingly being absorbed by the Eiffel Tower’s girders. This leads to them developing a theory, but they don’t have time to discuss it at the moment as they have to hurry to join Peter and Winston in the elevator. However, even though they all make it safely into the elevator and begin the assent to the upper floors, they’re not quite in the clear. Because even more ghosts are attacking the elevator’s switchboard. Winston announces that someone will have to go up and stop the ghosts from disabling the elevator, and it briefly looks as if Peter will be forced to volunteer. Fortunately for the visibly nervous Peter, Winston ends up volunteering. And in the same breath, he reveals that, before applying and joining the Ghostbusters, he’d worked as a construction worker. Which is an interesting bit of backstory for him, especially since we get so little of Winston’s personal history. So Winston climbs up to the top of the elevator to ward off the ghosts attacking the switchboard. As the elevator continued to make its way to the top floor, Egon announces he has an idea. He suggests reversing the polarity on their Proton Packs and firing at the tower itself. Ray voiced his approval of this idea, but stated that if they’re wrong, something bad would happen. Although, he doesn’t clarify what this meant.

Thankfully, it doesn’t matter as Egon’s plan works. And when they fire at the Eiffel Tower’s girders, all the ghosts are suddenly absorbed into the tower. Of course, Ray announces that this is only a temporary measure and it’ll only give them enough time to reach the top of the Eiffel Tower. There, they enter the Pavilion to look around Gustave Eiffel’s workshop. Egon quickly locates Gustave Eiffel’s journal inside a drawer. After looking at it, as well as the damaged control panel box, Egon concludes his earlier theory was correct. He tells the other Ghostbusters, who are busy holding the door closed while the ghosts try to break in, that Gustave Eiffel must have developed the principles of modern ectoplasmic entrapment back in the 1880s. And that the Eiffel Tower is actually a primitive Containment Unit. But when the control panel box was damaged, the Eiffel Tower became psionically porous, allowing the more aggressive ghosts to escape. And of course, they have a time limit to repair the damage. Because in 12 hours, the molecular degeneration would be irreversible, and millions more ghosts would escape their containment. But first thing is first. Before they can get to work in fixing the control panel box, they have to find a way to get rid of the ghosts that have them essentially trapped in Gustave Eiffel’s workshop. So Egon affixes his Proton Pack to the broken panel box, in order to draw all the loose ghosts back into the tower. Although, he makes it clear that this is only a temporary solution, as the Proton Pack’s power cells won’t last forever.

The Ghostbusters reconvene with Lucien, telling him that, in order to properly fix the control panel box, they’ll need to see more of Gustave Eiffel’s notes. Lucien states that they already have all of his notes, but an older Parisian government official basically says ‘that’s not entirely accurate.’ There are actually two other locations in Paris where Gustave Eiffel’s papers were stored. In the hopes that they’ll find something useful in those additional papers, the Ghostbusters split up to locate them while Egon stays behind to try and make sense of how the control box works.

So Ray heads out to the Louvre. By the time he arrives, though, it’s past nightfall. And he briefly bemoans how he wishes he had time to see the Mona Lisa. (Eh, you’re not missing much, Ray. I hear the Mona Lisa is overrated.) Some museum security guards meet him at the door and escort him inside. But as they make their way to where the second Eiffel Journal is being kept, they pass by the wing that holds the museum’s Egyptian artifacts. And Ray and the security guards are suddenly attacked by possessed statues of Anubis and Horus. Because three of the escaped ghosts must have followed Ray with the intent to stop him. Two of the ghosts possessed the statures of the Egyptian gods while the third ghost took control of a mummy, which also attacks. Ray, while he takes a few seconds to relish in how exciting he’s finding this, makes quick work of the possessed statues by firing his Proton Pack at them, which results in the statues and the mummy blowing up. (Well, so much for the priceless artifacts!) Meanwhile, Winston makes his way to Notre Dame, because it seems that the third Eiffel journal was among the valuable papers that were donated to the church. Like Ray, Winston also has to deal with an obstacle, as two more escaped ghosts have possessed a pair of Notre Dame Gargoyles. One of the possessed gargoyles manages to snatch up the Eiffel Journal and tries to make off with it, but Winston gives chase by following it onto the roof of the cathedral. For a moment, this almost ends in tragedy as the gargoyle catches Winston by surprise and nearly throws him off the roof. But Winston narrowly escapes death by blasting the gargoyle holding him and grabbing hold of something before he fell. (And they didn’t make one Hunchback of Notre Dame joke. Can’t decide if that’s disappointing or impressive.)

You might have noticed that Peter wasn’t involved in the search. Don’t ask me where he got to while Ray and Winston were off on their individual side quests, because it’s never explained. Although, there was apparently a scene that was left out of the final draft. This scene would have had Peter locating a fourth Eiffel Journal in Montmartre, a district north of Paris. (Yes, this is where the Moulin Rouge was located). There, Peter would encounter a shapeshifting ghost woman and an animated garbage can. As to why they left this scene out, I cannot say. Maybe they would have gone over their allotted time if they’d included that additional scene.

So, with all the Eiffel journals collected, Egon is able to figure out how to recreate the original control panel box. But by the time workmen were finishing up connecting auxiliary power lines from the Eiffel Tower’s generator to the new electronic console, the sun was coming up, meaning they were running out of time. But this is where it gets weird. Just as Egon was about to connect the new control panel box to the console, the ghosts manage to conjure up a ghostly guillotine, which destroys the device. And there’s clearly no time for them to make a new one. Just as Lucien and the over government officials who were watching are starting to panic, Ray suddenly gets a stroke of inspiration. After confirming with Lucian that the Eiffel Tower has one of the most powerful broadcasting antennas in France and making a phone call to Janie at the Firehouse to confirm if the men he’d hired to install his new satellite dish were finished, Ray manages to beam all the ghosts inside the Eiffel Tower over to the Firehourse’s satellite dish, where they were instantly transported into the Containment Unit back home.

Yeah, this is where the episode lost me. That solution seemed to be a bit deus ex machina in nature, and was completely out of left field. Admittedly, I don’t know much in terms of things like physics, energy conversion and the like, but can someone please explain the science of this to me?

Anyway, the ghosts are all put away in the Ghostbusters’ Containment Unit, thereby alleviating the danger of the Eiffel Tower exploding and releasing hordes of ghosts onto the streets of Paris. But there are still some consequences. Because of the transfer, a whole bunch of people in New York had their programs being interrupted by broadcasts of angry French ghosts for five hours. And the Ghostbusters had to turn over all the money they got from the Parisian government to the cable company in order to pay off the irate customers. Peter reluctantly accepts this and decides to test out the new satellite dish, hoping that he’ll find a Bogart movie or something equally as good to watch with all the new channels they got. But even that leads to disappointment as they only ended up with a whole mess of sports channels.

The strange solution to the problem at hand aside, I did enjoy this episode. It was nice to see the Ghostbusters in a different location. And the idea of giving that purpose to the Eiffel Tower was interesting. At the same time, I am somewhat curious how this episode was received by actual French audiences. While I didn’t notice anything particularly insulting towards France and their culture, I’m not from there myself, so I can’t properly judge how they would view this.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#the real ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

2 notes · View notes

bostoniangirl85 · 4 years ago

Text

Untitled ‘Ghostbusters’ (1984) fic preview - pre movie events

Summary: PhD student Peter Venkman has never fitted in with the blue-blooded, upper-class academic world of Colombia University. Between beating some knowledge into his undergrad students’ thick heads, piles of grading, and just trying to make it to Christmas break, the last thing Venkman is concerned about is ghosts and monsters.

But when he, Ray, and Egon are at an academic conference in Princeton, New Jersey, they find out that three of Venkman’s undergrad students have disappeared in the infamous Pine Barrens. With no help or information coming from the local authorities and the local townsfolk reluctant to give any information, Venkman at first balks at getting involved. He’s no hero and he sure as hell isn’t risking his neck for what he thinks is just a case of three kids getting drunk and lost in the woods.

That is, until he comes face to face with what just might be the Jersey Devil itself.

Ray pulled him aside. “Pete, I think she’s telling the truth.�� Venkman rolled his eyes. “Ray, you say that about every pretty face that looks at you.”

“Look at her, Pete! She’s in shock - you can’t fake that sort of physical reaction. You took classes in medical biochemistry, you know that.”

Venkman looked from Ray to the girl (Ana, he finally remembered) and then to Egon. The older man was kneeling in front of the girl, calmly talking to her as he checked her over for any injuries.

Egon looked up over the girl’s head and nodded to Venkman.

Oh, what the hell.

Sighing dramatically, Venkman walked towards their rental car and popped the truck. He grabbed his backpack and pulled it on, snapping the belt securely around his waist.

“Peter?” said Egon.

“Professor Venkman?” said Ana, blinking red-rimmed eyes.

“Pete, what are you doing?” asked Ray, confused at the quiet, intense look on his friend’s face.

Venkman didn’t answer. He was eyeing the large bundle in the back of the trunk. While he didn’t believe for a moment in the Jersey Devil, there were still wild animals out there.

‘This is crazy,’ he thought to himself. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts or monsters!’

At least, not in the supernatural sense. Venkman had grown up on the worse side of Brooklyn and was a psychologist - he knew monsters were real and walked around every day wearing human faces.

Decision made, Venkman grabbed the prototype Ray had been working on. He had no idea if it would even work - more than likely it would blow him to bits than actually take out whatever the hell was in those woods - but it was better than nothing.

“What are you doing?” said Ray, coming up to join him.

”What’s it look like?” said Venkman as he strapped the waist holster on. The long, gun-like weapon felt heavy and yet reassuring at the same time. “I’m gonna find my students.” Egon, Ray, and Ana all stared at him. Venkman scowled. “What? Their final papers are late!” he snapped.

”The sheriff said to let them handle this!” Egon called after him, standing as he watched Venkman grab the map from the driver’s seat and stuff it into his jacket.

“I don’t answer to the sheriff,” said Venkman coolly. He leaned back on his heels, giving his two friends his familiar, trademark smirk. “Egon, take Ana back to town. Ray, go with them.” “No way,” said Ray, grabbing his own pack and the first aid kit. “I’m going with you.” “Alright, but I better not hear any bitching from you about poison ivy,” quipped Venkman as he turned to study the trail that lead into the heart of the Pine Barrens.

“Be careful,” said Egon quietly.

“We’ll leave trail marks,” said Ray, seeing the worry in his friend’s face. “Let the sheriff know where we are, just...just in case.”

Egon nodded. “I’ll come find you as soon as I can,” he said.

“Right, let’s get this show on the road,” said Venkman, turning towards the woods. It was early morning but the tall trees looked dark and forbidding against the weak autumn sun.

Ray trotted up to join him and they walked into the woods, neither turning to look back as the sound of the truck carrying Egon and Ana faded into the distance.

“Pete?” said Ray after they had walked for a while.

“Yeah?”

“Look, I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff,” said Ray. “But what if...what if the Jersey Devil is real?”

Venkman stopped and turned towards his friend. He stared at Ray for a moment before smirking.

“I ain’t afraid of no Jersey Devil,” he said. He grinned at his friend before turning and marching further into the woods.

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters fanfic #ghostbusters 1984 #peter venkman #raymond stantz #egon spengler #the jersey devil

6 notes · View notes

mi5014ellawatson · 4 years ago

Photo

PDF - Pipes

1 - Marks Upbringing

When I first read the story Pipes I really resonated with and liked the main character. I felt he was someone who had been overlooked and underestimated for being slightly different. He had a life that others viewed as simple but that didn't at all make it any less meaningful or important. He didn't see the bad in people or see what was ‘wrong’ with them like others did. Others also saw what was, in their opinion, wrong with him. He was born and grew in in Dudley, and was from a woking class family. He is close with his mam but his relationship with his dad is difficult, he see’s him as not independent or ‘man’ enough. His mam is quite protective of him and he still lives at home. He doesn't have many friends, his mam being his closest friend but he does talk with the other guys at work in the pipe factory (though they do pick on him a little, not exactly great friends). He is nostalgic of his childhood when things were simpler, people didn't view him as behind or different.

2-3 - Mark

I struggled coming up with a name but Mark for some reason just stuck with me. Mark likely has Aspergers Syndrome (though not diagnosed) He likes plain and safe food choices that remind him of being younger, going to the seaside and paddling/swimming in the sea and he dislikes uncomfortable and itchy clothes and maths. He finds the seaside calming, its open and vast. He works in the Pipes factory near his house and takes pride in his work, he likes being good at specific things and perfecting what he is passionate about. He also likes the shapes of pipes, you can look inside them and see cool dots of lights at the end, they make an interesting noise and you can shape them however you want if you have the skills to do so.

4-5 - Modelling and Colour Palette

I really enjoyed modelling Mark, I was actually surprised by it because I thought I would find 3D modelling incredibly difficult and tedious. It wasn't at all easy, but I was surprised that I managed to do it. Its definitely not perfect, the hands and feet are pretty bad and we won't talk about his underwear (please just ignore it as best you can) but overall I actually like his face and torso. I did use Egon Schiele as inspiration, I love the body shapes Schiele uses in his work, the angular somewhat unwell looking elongated and almost awkward looking figures. This is how I imagine Mark, plus he doesn't eat that well. As for the colour palette I found it got slightly brighter the further through the project I got. Maybe its because I got some new crayola pencils for Christmas (100 colours not to brag) but I think mainly is because I started taking photographs on my dads old film camera and liked the bright and bold and solid colours that it captured once we had the photos developed. It made me think of when I was little and the bright colours I relate with nostalgia. I also liked that Mark didn't see the issue of a boy with no ears, this lead me onto looking into imperfections and the textures and hyperpigmented colours that imperfect skin has. I love seeing the yellow and purple under peoples eyes, the red around spots and the purples on the end of old mens noses, I think its really beautiful so I tried to capture this in my colour palette and UV map.

6-7 - UV Mapping and Rigging

I started to UV map my model once it was completed and did find it pretty tricky, I had some issues with unfolding where the computer would crash upon using the tool. I talked to Gary a little about this and it seems it was due to the model having some 3 sides shapes. I tried to fix these but in the end it just kept happening on the head even when I couldn't find any more 3 sided shapes. After this I just unfolded and mapped whatever I could and just didn't unfold the head map. This has led to some stretching on the top of his head but at least it isn't an area with more detail where it'd be very noticeable. I used the charcoal brushes on procreatre to create a mottled skin look and selected colours from my colour palette, I really like the charcoal brush as they blend nicely together. Rigging the character seemed really easily but then again it clearly did not work so maybe I just did it wrong. I used Garys tutorial and the ultimate skeleton rig and it actually fit my character pretty well already. I didn't need to move it too much. I found creating the skin cage a little tricky as his fingers are very skinny meaning it was tricky to hide the cage completely but I did get there in the end. I also then learned that you can hide the cage afterwards as it initially was showing up on my renders.

8 - Posing and Liminal Space

Upon posing my character I knew I wanted him to be falling from the pipe to the space below - somewhere safer and comforting that he was longing for. It wasn't exactly a scary or painful fall, of course it hurt but it seemed better than the alternative. There was not masses of examples of people falling in the way that I imagined so I mainly just freely posed it and held my arms in the pose I was imaging but I did find some okay examples on pinterest. I also had this idea of liminal space in my head that I couldn't shake. I liked the familiarity involved in the idea of liminal space - somewhere we all slightly recognise and feel comfortable with, adding to the feeling of nostalgia and longing for comfort, safety and childhood.

9-10 - Second Character

I know less about my second character but I feel like she ended up in this space for similar reasons. Loneliness, a longing for the past and additionally a feeling of being out of time. Growing up she was what everyone longed to be, young to find a partner and marry, young to have children, a bit of a beauty queen, smart and charismatic too. But thats the past, her husband drinks and doesn't treat her very well anymore. Her children are grown up and she has grandchildren but they don't get to see each other anymore. She didn't work and feels empty now, longing for a time that has now passed.

11 - Self Directed Model Making

I knew that over christmas I wanted to work on my own model making because I feel that I may want to go into character design or stop motion model. I thought this was a perfect opportunity to do both. I decided to use polymer clay because even though it isn't typically used in stop motion due to it not being flexible I thought it was my best option as it'd give me a good solid base to paint ontop of. I used wool, brushed out with a cat brushed and curled for the hair and acrylic paint and pencil for the skin and colour. I tried to capture similar colours to my 3D model so that they look like they could come from the same story/world. I really enjoyed making it and plan on doing more after hand in.

2 notes · View notes

oncexinxmyxdreams · 4 years ago

Text

A Christmas Memory

This was a different Christmas Eve from all the past ones. Most of them had been without his father and it got worse after his mother passed away. Last year had been a new direction; learning to appreciate what he did have even if those bitter feelings tried to sneak upon him. Indeed, Peter wouldn’t forget Christmas of 1984 with it being the first one as a Ghostbuster. This one had gone unexpected. If someone had told Peter that’d his guilty conscience would convince him to fly over to Kokomo, Indiana and spend it with the illegitimate child he’d never known of until three months ago, he’d thought that person was insane. He’d even give a snarky comment to boot.

That was running through Peter’s mind as he leaned back on the couch in the cozy living room. After Ruth had encouraged him to not be formal and kick his shoes off, he’d finally hunkered down. He partially dug his socked feet between the cushions and stared out the window. Snowflakes dusted the pane, but he could see the warm glow of lights outside. He was trying to think over things, maybe face the emotions he’d shoved far back when meeting Ruth and Laurie. One of them about Claire and knowing she was sadly gone. Every time he remembered it, he felt a horrible and sickening chill in his heart.

“You alright dear?” asked Ruth. She was putting another log into the fireplace.

“I’m okay,” Peter answered with a small head turn and polite smile.

“Ruth!” came the barking demand of Arnold from upstairs. “Ruth! Where’s my damn bottle opener?”

“You left it on the TV tray!” Ruth called up.

“Then bring it up woman! Do I have to do everything around this old shack?!”

With a sigh, Ruth picked up the bottle opener which had been left on an old TV tray in front of a rugged chair. It seemed like she wanted to converse with Peter, but her husband’s demands had to distract her. Arnold apparently had a tradition to have a couple of beers while watching the TV and would stumble off to his room with the newspaper. Not long after he settled down, he’d be demanding for another beer or like this time for the bottle opener. Peter wasn’t against having a beer himself, but he was disgusted by how Arnold behaved. There was no way he’d ever speak to a woman like that and he knew his limit before he got tipsy. Arnold didn’t seem to have any nice words to his wife. He didn’t even have a nice word to say about his grandchild! It wasn’t long before Peter could hear Arnold and Ruth debating over something. Thankfully, the radio was a bit louder and played classic carols.

“Sorry that man has to be your dad Claire,” Peter thought. “No wonder you had a hard time finding kind words about him.” Peter couldn’t forget when he and Claire were just friends and they opened about their lives. Revealing how she quit dance because of how hard he pushed her with little regard of her wellbeing had been shocking to hear. It was quite another to witness how Arnold was in person. Peter was right three years before telling Claire that they both got the short end of the stick when it came to families.

Now that he thought about, what happened for that Christmas? Peter remembered that he didn’t really spend Christmas with Claire that one year. She’d gone back to Kokomo for a week. She’d asked Peter to come with her, but he kept turning it down. It wasn’t only because of this negativity to the holiday, but it was his last year at Columbia University. It’d been exhausting from strenuous finals and tedious term papers. Peter spent half of Christmas catching up on sleep.

Not that he and Claire didn’t do something for the holidays. The day before she left, they went on a sweet date and exchanged gifts. She’d gotten him a new bomber jacket. Peter found her a pretty nightgown. He would’ve gotten her something more extravagant if it hadn’t been for Claire reminding him, she didn’t want anything. It’d taken Peter weeks to get an answer, but Claire finally admitted a new pair of pajamas was fine. She told him that with a little eyeroll and playful grin. Then again, that was Claire. She didn’t ask for things and was easily happy with what she already owned.

They didn’t see each other again until Peter came to meet her at the airport as planned on December 27th…at 1:00 a.m. because of Claire’s overly delayed flight. Despite the icy weather and painfully early morning, neither of them felt fatigued. They overwhelmed each other with a strong hug-where Peter practically lifted her off the ground- and deep kissing. It went on with Claire “insisting” it was too late for him to go back to his dorm and Peter “insisting” she wasn’t going back to her apartment alone. What happened then? If Peter told anyone he would’ve left out the details, but he would’ve hinted that whatever happened was more than twice. “Another round” as Claire suggested for the term. It'd been weeks since their last round together so there was pent up energy for each other. Combining that along with the late prescription update on Claire’s birth control pill for her polycystic ovary syndrome, maybe it wasn’t a surprise Laurie existed.

“Figures,” sighed Peter. He was back to his core struggle: he was now a dad and he didn’t want to be.

It wasn’t that he hated Laurie. Of course not! That was the issue: Peter didn’t know how to feel about her. He was told that when a parent first sees their child, they instantly love them. He didn’t feel that at all! She was a stranger to him. Peter hated imagining what Ray, Winston, Janine or Egon would say if he was honest about it. He’d have to keep that secret to himself. He’d have to keep digging through the graveyard of emotions.

He’d never really desired to get married or have a family of his own. He’d loved Claire and had serious relationships before, but even then, he couldn’t imagine anything further down the road. Besides, even though babies and kids were cute, they were a chore. Kids whined and threw tantrums. Babies cried, needed diapers changed and were always spitting up. He wouldn’t say he was the best with kids in general either. He still felt a pinch of guilt with what happened to Kenny Fenderman back in late spring. Yet whether he liked it or not, he was a dad.

“Ruth said I don’t have to be involved unless I want to,” he reminded himself. “Even Claire wrote in her journals she wouldn’t force me.” It was true. Even Arnold didn’t want Peter around, but that was due to his crass comments about Claire having slept with Peter. “So why am I here?” Peter asked himself again.

There was an answer to all this; there had to be. Somewhere buried deep down was the reason he reluctantly came out to Indiana. Even with being a psychologist, Peter sometimes had to deeply analyze himself.

Right on cue, he felt one of the cushions move and was distracted. It was Laurie. She dropped a thick book on the couch and then crawled up. She was still dressed pretty in her little red velvet dress; black mary jane’s and white tights. Seemed like it was staple to her wardrobe along with her still having a pacifier. She crawled upon the couch and wobbled over to Peter. Reflexively he held a hand up to balance her as she nearly stumbled, but she caught hold of his drawn-up knees. Her deep cornflower blue eyes sparkled, and he could see the creases of her smile behind her pacifier.

“You trying to get away from the noise?” he said half-heartedly to her. When she looked puzzled, Peter gestured up to the ceiling where he could still hear faint arguing. She only copied him and grinned. Then she pointed at the window where the snow was falling at a quicker pace.

“Sho,” she said with her muffled voice. “Sho.”

“You’ve got a mouthful there Ankle Biter,” Peter snickered. “Take that out of your mouth.” He gently pried the pacifier from her lips. Cleary not bothered; Laurie spoke again. “Sho. Pwetty.” She looked past him and pointed to the side table behind him. “Mama pwetty,” she added.

Peter glanced over his shoulder to the picture frame sitting on the edge. It was hard for him to see that beautiful face. Laurie tried crawling around him to reach for the frame, but nearly squished herself between Peter and the cushions. Hesitating, he twisted around to get it.

“You want this?” he said kindly as he handed it to her. Laurie still stood up and held the frame. She looked almost sad. It was a picture of Claire from last Christmas. She was sitting in front of the tree with Laurie in her lap. From what anyone could guess, the little girl knew Claire wasn’t coming back, but she didn’t understand why.

“Mama,” Laurie repeated. Her tiny hand patted the picture. “Mama go.”

“Yeah, she’s gone,” Peter empathized. “My mama’s gone too.”

Laurie looked at him in such an odd way that Peter second guessed if she understood him. What she did next left him stunned. She crawled onto Peter’s lap and buried her face into his neck. Her little arms wrapped around him the best she could. Her hair was strong of her shampoo which smelled like cherry soda. After a pause, Peter gingerly wrapped one arm around her little figure. Laurie twisted around so she could look out the window but nuzzled her head under Peter’s chin.

“Sto-ee?” she asked.

“Story? Okay. What’s the book you brought?” Peter sensed if he flat out refused, Laurie may throw a fit. “You’ve got a real sense of humor,” he sighed when he realized what she brought. Of course, Laurie had brought up her copy of Peter Rabbit. (Laurie's book was a treasury of Beatrix Potter's stories.) He probably could’ve just recited the story since his mother used to read it to him when he was Laurie’s age. He read the familiar beginning:

“Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were-Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Peter.”

The story continued exactly from what Peter could recall. Mrs. Rabbit told her children to not enter Mr. McGregor’s garden, but Peter Rabbit disobeyed, and he ate some vegetables in the garden: Mr. McGregor tried to catch him, and Peter Rabbit got lost in the garden: Peter Rabbit finally got out and was put to bed while his siblings had bread, milk and blackberries for supper.

“What a shock its still the same after twenty years,” Peter said cynically.

“Mice,” said Laurie. “Sto-ee of mice. Pwease!”

Peter bit his lip. Those pleading blue eyes gazed up to him and Laurie pouted. Cute kid, but she was clever enough to pull on heartstrings. Even her conflicted father couldn’t say no to her face.

“What story of the mice?” Peter quickly flipped a couple of pages to find the story. He couldn’t remember any Beatrix Potter works that were only about mice. Much to his surprise, he found a page with a mouse wearing glasses and sitting on a spool of thread while reading a newspaper. The story? The Tailor of Gloucester.

“That one,” Laurie announced.

Despite feeling a little tired, Peter continued reading. He found that he kind of liked reading to Laurie. Not to mention, he liked the new tale. It was centered around Christmas and a poor tailor was trying to finish a coat for a mayor’s wedding day. What fascinated Peter most was when the tailor’s cat went outside at night: there was something about the atmosphere that was so magical it almost seemed believable. At least, believable after being a ghostbuster for almost two years. According to Beatrix Potter, between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, all the beasts could talk though very few could understand them. Birds, rats, dogs, mice and even the cat spoke.

While Peter was reading, Laurie’s eyelids drooped, and her eyelashes fluttered when she tried to stay awake. She was warm, comfy and best of all, safe while snuggled against Peter. The moment the last sentence was read, Laurie was asleep. Her breathing was gentle, and her tiny fingers unclenched. She looked so peaceful and sweet that Peter didn’t want to move. Instead, he glanced back out the window and tried analyzing his thoughts again.

“I used to sit with Mom like this,” Peter recalled to himself. “I know Mom couldn’t afford a lot, but I know she tried.” The very few Christmas memories he had included his mother, Lydia Venkman, sitting on the sofa with him while the TV blared the cheerful specials or when they watched the stars. She’d bake gingersnaps with maple icing and got a small tree for them. Best of all, she’d play in the snow with Peter, even start a snowball fight. At that young age, Peter didn’t know any other mother that played in the snow with her kids like his mom. All memories reminded him how much he missed her.

“Of all the times I could use your advice Mom, it’d be right now,” he sadly thought.

Despite how tough his childhood had been, his mom had been the warmest and brightest light in his dark world. When she passed from pneumonia, the light was extinguished. It wasn’t until the friendship of Egon and Ray that helped brighten things again. Claire, being one of his most steady girlfriends, brought more. Then Winston and Janine helped shape the rest. There wasn’t any need to add a daughter into the mix. No, that wasn’t fair. Laurie was in a similar position having lost her mom and now, she’d have to grow up with her dad far away…

Peter eyed the little girl again. He swallowed.

“No. I can’t let that happen.”

He wouldn’t see her every day, but she didn’t need to have a darkened world like he did. She could have those warm lights from Ruth, the neighbors, the ghosbusters and from him. Peter didn’t know and there was still plenty to evaluate, but at least he could commit to that.

The next thing Peter knew was that he’d awake that next morning, Christmas day, still on the couch. Laurie would still be cuddled against him. He didn’t know yet it’d be one of Laurie’s favorite memories when she got older, let alone the first memory she remembered was when she first met her dad.

#the real ghostbusters #peter venkman #laurie venkman #fanfic #fanfiction #Peter's got a long way to go but he's starting somewhere with being a dad #RGB: A Christmas Memory #rgb fic

2 notes · View notes

cptsadist · 2 years ago

Note

Hmmm to balance out the smut, how about some fluff? What scenarios could you imagine that would trigger the boys to comfort their S/O (I know this is a tough ask for Egon and Haur lol XD)? What would comfort from them look like? And how would they react to a S/O that tries comforting them? -Yandear

Okay, so this is gonna be LONG and I apologize for that!!

The Boys and Comfort:

TRANCE

🎤 If MC needs comfort: Trance will catch on pretty quickly that you're upset about something or you need some sort of comfort. He'll instantly grow concerned and try to find out what's wrong, but he'll accept if you just can't talk right now. He'll tell you he'll be right back, and he'll make you some hot tea and grab some comfy blankets. He'll put on a show or movie you like and he'll hold you close in his bed, comforting you and telling you that you're strong and that he's there for you. He'll offer you anything to make you feel better.

🎤 If Trance needs comfort: It is pretty common that Trance is put into a negative headspace, and having someone there for him helps him from falling into unhealthy habits and coping mechanisms. He might be a bit hard to understand because sometimes he has a hard time figuring out what is reality and what's just his paranoia or traumatic memories. He'll tear himself down, say he's not worthy of love, that he doesn't deserve you. But just approach him calmly and comfort him, reassure him, and he'll calm down. He'll want to just curl up under his blankets and he'll probably want a drink (he's an alcoholic), but maybe try to steer him towards something like tea to calm his nerves. Pet his head and tell him it's okay, and he'll calm down.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

EGON

📷 If MC needs comfort: If he is attached to you, then he'll notice something is up pretty quickly. He will give you space since comfort isn't his strong suit, and even if it's obvious that you want his attention and comfort, you probably won't get it right away. He'll finish whatever he's doing, then if you still seem upset, he'll be blunt and ask you to tell him what's going on. Then, he'll sigh, but he'll pick you up and take you to his bed and just quietly hold you, pushing his face into your hair and staying quiet. He doesn't use words, so he hopes his presence will be enough.

📷 If Egon needs comfort: Egon isn't really the type to need comfort. He has a pretty good handle on his emotions, but it can be pretty easy to tell when something is bothering him. He'll be even quieter and won't really acknowledge you at all. His whole aura will just seem off. If you try to comfort him, he's probably gonna shrug you off at first, but if you take your time and are persistent (just not too pushy), he'll tell you what's bugging him and he'll want to hold onto you, just touch you in any way to calm himself down.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

SEIREN

🌌 If MC needs comfort: Seiren might take a bit longer to notice, but once he does, he'll just ask that you tell him whatever he can do to help. He isn't the best at consoling but he wants to help however he can, so you might to walk him through it. He'll hug you with his tail.

🌌 If Seiren needs comfort: It's gonna be pretty obvious he's upset because he'll be pretty on edge. Honestly if you just came up and gave him a hug, he would be shocked at first since he hadn't really received any comfort or anything like that? But then he'll quickly accept it and hug you back and he'll kindly demand cuddles.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

WRAITH

💀 If MC needs comfort: At first, he's gonna make fun of you. He's gonna tease you and mock you for feeling so upset, but if he's grown a bit attached to you, he'll probably start to feel a little bad. He'll say he was just fucking around when he sees his actions are only making things worse, and then he'll try to cheer you up. He'll suggest ordering food and playing video games to get your mind off things.

💀 If Wraith needs comfort: Again, not really the type to really need comfort. But it does happen. He'll act like he's fine at first if you try to approach him about whatever is bothering him, he'll laugh it off and joke and say you're being paranoid. But then he just might let you know how he's feeling, then wanna spend time with you and not talk about how he feels again after that. He's not one for showing weakness.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

JET

🖱 If MC needs comfort: Jet will instantly wanna try to help you feel better. He'll let you vent, he'll offer to order your favorite food, he'll get a nice hot bath going, he'll try to make you giggle, he'll give you cuddles. If you're up for it, he'll offer to take you to a rave so you both can just go wild for a night and have fun, but he also would be okay having a peaceful night in.

🖱 If Jet needs comfort: Jet will try to act like he's okay because he hates being a burden to you. He feels like he doesn't have the right to be upset, but when you assure him that it's okay, he's gonna break down into tears and hug you and just tell you how much you mean to him and how you're the only one who has ever stuck around and treated him like a person.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

HAUER

💉 If MC needs comfort: He will actively try to ignore you at first. But after a while of you being upset, you're really making it hard to concentrate! He'll finally give in and demand you tell him what's bothering you, mainly out of annoyance. With how his brain is wired, he has difficulty with any sort of empathy, so if you want comfort or reassuring words, you're not gonna get it from him. He'll tell you things plainly; "It is something so small, there is no need to waste energy on such stupid little things!", "Mein gott, that is why you're upset? No need. Focus on other things." He night actually be helping you in the long run because he won't sugar coat anything and he'll tell you the harsh truth. He'll then offer to make dinner, "if it'll get you to hush your blubbering".

💉 If Hauer needs comfort: He will not say it, and he will probably snap at you for implying anything gets to him. Give him some space and ask again, and he might actually tell you. Since English isn't his first language and he struggles with emotions and expressing them, he will talk very slowly and take many pauses as he figures out his words. Do not rush him or he'll go right back to his usual cruel self. And don't tell him how to feel. He honestly just wants you to listen, and when he feels like he's gotten everything off his chest, he'll already be feeling better.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

RALPH

🖤 If MC needs comfort: Ralph will pick up on it quickly, and he'll quietly and carefully approach you. He'll nuzzle lightly against you, then curl his body around you. He'll listen to you vent if you need to, and he'll hold you close and might even give you sweet little licks. He'll be really protective, so if anyone hurt you, emotionally or physically, he'll want them to stay far away from you.

🖤 If Ralph needs comfort: He'll fall quiet and just sit somewhere out of the way or lay down. He'll probably flinch when you come near, and he'll probably not want to talk about it, but you being there and petting him and praising him will help him feel so much better.

6 notes · View notes

tiffgeorgina · 5 years ago

Note

do you have any favourites parts of season 2? (I agree that the plot has been.... Thin? Non-existent?) But what are the things about this season that you've enjoyed?

hello anon! a few things i’ve enjoyed are:

-the new guest stars. watkins, hill, and raphael are knocking it out of the park. we waited longer than i wanted to to see june and dulé but hey, at least they’re here now! im already kinda attached to their characters and im pretty sure all of them are gonna get fucked over so im scared fjgkjhfdg

-just seeing all these mf characters again. ive missed them so much kjhgkdfjh i could watch them watch paint dry and i’d be okay with that bc i just MISSED THEM

-CONNIE. RESURGENCE. OMFG. i saw xosha roquemore (the actress who plays her) credited for 2x05 a couple weeks back and i FREAKED. OUT. god why do i love this narc. acab except for connie because i like her and she’s pretty (seeing her in full color and 80s style was a REVELATION)

-mo coming back ugh i missed him at the jammer group. seeing him complacent and beaten down HURT. im ready to see him fuck blair up i love blair but he’s walking away in handcuffs this season if mo has anything to say about it

-blair/harris. ok they’re cute i said it (plus they’re easily getting the most screentime out of all the couples this season which is nice bc their relationship is so much less established than the others)

-mo/dawn flashbacks mo/dawn flashbacks mo/dawn flashbacks mo/dawn flashbacks mo/dawn flashbacks!!! i knew we would be seeing their backstory but i didn’t expect it to be the first thing we saw all season!!! i love mo/dawn and i love getting backstory since i was waiting to know more about their past for so long and!! it’s here!! now we know everybody at the jammer group used to work for leighman and that’s why they hate them and we know mo and dawn go back a decade and!! it’s just so satisfying to KNOW i love to see it

-the entirety of Fore! (2x04) yassir. fucking. killed. that. shit. he was the sole writing credit for that episode, and when i saw that on the imdb page i simply knew it would be god tier. and it was! admittedly a little plotless, but that’s par for the course this season, plus it was early enough in the season to get away with it i think. the twist at the end. corky’s entrance. blair/harris. blair being an idiot. blair being a high idiot. yassir x being the king of feminism. yassir lester writing andrew’s emmy reel like that. we haven’t seen season 2B yet but 2A peaked with fore!. period. try to disagree with me. you can’t.

-ofc the 80s aesthetic that we all know and love. i saw somebody describe black monday as a period piece once and it seemed kind of ill-fitting bc it’s not set in victorian era england but yk what? it’s totally fitting. this is a period piece. the 80s slap.

-blair being the villain that we know he is. i wish they would quit stalling on this because it’s making all the characters seem monotonous and non-distinct, but i like those moments where blair snaps (“WE ARE DOING THIS” and “i am the only family you need now. just me”) andrew’s such an excellent actor and it’s fun to see this side of his range since he’s usually played really nice and wholesome (or at least not downright villainous) characters. he’s sending chills down my spine with some of the shit he’s doing and saying this season. andrew. emmy. nomination. now. GIVE IT TO ME NOW.

-momentary mo&blair resurgence (even if it’s fake). i miss mo&blair as father-son so fucking much anon you don’t even know. finding out that they were the ones clicking their heels in 2x06? i could’ve CRIED

-being right. ok this has a bit of lore but i have been STALKING the imdb page for black monday for MONTHS. bc they’ll add episode titles, or screencaps, or cast members all the time without telling anybody, and everything’s been accurate so far (so it’s not some troll lying on imdb we know that lol). specifically, in 2x09, there’s a character credited as dr. gabe egon. the tl already had suspicions that he had smth to do with conversion therapy bc there’s this one picture that sho released where you can see all this shit mo’s written on this board, and it DEFINITELY SAID CONVERSION THERAPY. and this episode comes around and roger is walking out this door that says “dr. gabe egon ~ therapy for the religiously erect” or whatever and i was like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and then roger blurts out that it’s literally CT and i !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this shit is in different areas for better or for worse and even if im confused and bored at the same time being pulled along for the ride is fun as hell

-the naming scheme for the episodes. i literally had no idea what they would do for the episode titles this season since there’s no countdown to black monday, but i like how it’s shit that the characters say/write. bc then a character says the episode name and you’re like !!!!!!!!!!! jfhgdfjk. plus it kinda tells you what’s going on--i knew 2x06 would be about a ponzi scheme before blair even proposed the idea in 2x05 bc the ep is titled Arthur Ponzarelli. and i knew fore! would be the episode where blair and the harrises are golfing and blair gets hit by a golf cart since “fore” is a golf term. and i know that 2x07, “who are you supposed to be?” is the weird halloween party ep where everybody looks ridiculous and ppl are def gonna be getting into it. 2x10 is titled “i don’t like mondays” and idk what that means but i bet mo says that line in the show. and 2x09 is titled “at that time” and im so scared bc that episode has a blair flashback and WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHAT DOES IT ALL MEANNNN

-more women and more women being relevant to the plot. good. it was getting a little obnoxiously man-influenced here. cmon the majority of the cast AND the majority of the directors AND the majority of the producers AND a majority of the writers AND both the creators can’t ALL be men. like pick a struggle.

whew that list was longer than i expected it to be! thanks for the ask anon! what are y’all’s favorite parts so far?

#black monday #anonymous #open mic night #slander

15 notes · View notes

aboveallarescuer · 5 years ago

Text

Dany's actions in ACOK and AGOT and the advice she receives

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious). Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not putting examples here because I feel like this part of her storyline doesn't tend to receive as much backlash as her ASOS and ADWD arcs do, probably because she isn't wielding as much power as she later will. Yes, she's still unjustly blamed for Viserys's death and her burning of Mirri is often pointed out as a sign of madness (when her reasoning for doing so is right there in the text), but I still think it's less worse than thinking she never cared about slavery and only wanted an army, for if you do so, you end up misunderstanding every single thing she does in those books.

Anyway, while she doesn't have the same influence here as she does in later books, her leadership arc already begins in the first book. I collected all passages I could find to showcase it.

Her actions in ACOK and AGOT

ACOK Daenerys V

But where am I to go? Ser Jorah proposed that they journey farther east, away from her enemies in the Seven Kingdoms. Her bloodriders would sooner have returned to their great grass sea, even if it meant braving the red waste again. Dany herself had toyed with the idea of settling in Vaes Tolorro until her dragons grew great and strong. But her heart was full of doubts. Each of these felt wrong, somehow ... and even when she decided where to go, the question of how she would get there remained troublesome.

It was good to hear men speaking Valyrian once more, and even the Common Tongue, Dany thought as they approached the first ship. Sailors, dockworkers, and merchants alike gave way before her, not knowing what to make of this slim young girl with silver-gold hair who dressed in the Dothraki fashion and walked with a knight at her side. Despite the heat of the day, Ser Jorah wore his green wool surcoat over chain-mail, the black bear of Mormont sewn on his chest.

But neither her beauty nor his size and strength would serve with the men whose ships they needed.

“You require passage for a hundred Dothraki, all their horses, yourself and this knight, and three dragons?” said the captain of the great cog Ardent Friend before he walked away laughing. When she told a Lyseni on the Trumpeteer that she was Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he gave her a deadface look and said, “Aye, and I’m Lord Tywin Lannister and shit gold every night.” The cargomaster of the Myrish galley Silken Spirit opined that dragons were too dangerous at sea, where any stray breath of flame might set the rigging afire. The owner of Lord Faro’s Belly would risk dragons, but not Dothraki. “I’ll have no such godless savages in my Belly, I’ll not.” The two brothers who captained the sister ships Quicksilver and Greyhound seemed sympathetic and invited them into the cabin for a glass of Arbor red. They were so courteous that Dany was hopeful for a time, but in the end the price they asked was far beyond her means, and might have been beyond Xaro’s. Pinchbottom Petto and Sloe-Eyed Maid were too small for her needs, Bravo was bound for the Jade Sea, and Magister Manolo scarce looked seaworthy.

As they made their way toward the next quay, Ser Jorah laid a hand against the small of her back.

“Now tell me, what would Magister Illyrio have of me, that he would send you all the way from Pentos?”

“He would have dragons,” said Belwas gruffly, “and the girl who makes them. He would have you.”

“Belwas has the truth of us, Your Grace,” said Arstan. “We were told to find you and bring you back to Pentos. The Seven Kingdoms have need of you. Robert the Usurper is dead, and the realm bleeds. When we set sail from Pentos there were four kings in the land, and no justice to be had.”

Joy bloomed in her heart, but Dany kept it from her face. “I have three dragons,” she said, “and more than a hundred in my khalasar, with all their goods and horses.”

“It is no matter,” boomed Belwas. “We take all. The fat man hires three ships for his little silverhair queen.”

“It is so, Your Grace,” Arstan Whitebeard said. “The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

ACOK Daenerys III

Descendants of the ancient kings and queens of Qarth, the Pureborn commanded the Civic Guard and the fleet of ornate galleys that ruled the straits between the seas. Daenerys Targaryen had wanted that fleet, or part of it, and some of their soldiers as well. She made the traditional sacrifice in the Temple of Memory, offered the traditional bribe to the Keeper of the Long List, sent the traditional persimmon to the Opener of the Door, and finally received the traditional blue silk slippers summoning her to the Hall of a Thousand Thrones.

“Weep, weep, for the treachery of men.”

Dany would sooner have wept for her gold. The bribes she’d tendered to Mathos Mallarawan, Wendello Qar Deeth, and Egon Emeros the Exquisite might have bought her a ship, or hired a score of sellswords.

She would have been lost without Xaro. The gold that she had squandered to open the doors of the Hall of a Thousand Thrones was largely a product of the merchant’s generosity and quick wits. As the rumor of living dragons had spread through the east, ever more seekers had come to learn if the tale was true—and Xaro Xhoan Daxos saw to it that the great and the humble alike offered some token to the Mother of Dragons.

The trickle he started soon swelled to a flood. Trader captains brought lace from Myr, chests of saffron from Yi Ti, amber and dragonglass out of Asshai. Merchants offered bags of coin, silversmiths rings and chains. Pipers piped for her, tumblers tumbled, and jugglers juggled, while dyers draped her in colors she had never known existed. A pair of Jogos Nhai presented her with one of their striped zorses, black and white and fierce. A widow brought the dried corpse of her husband, covered with a crust of silvered leaves; such remnants were believed to have great power, especially if the deceased had been a sorcerer, as this one had. And the Tourmaline Brotherhood pressed on her a crown wrought in the shape of a three- headed dragon; the coils were yellow gold, the wings silver, the heads carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.

The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn.

“...Why should my sailors care who sits upon the throne of some kingdom at the edge of the world?”

“I will pay them to care.”

“With what coin, sweet star of my heaven?”

“With the gold the seekers bring.”

“That you may do,” Xaro acknowledged, “but so much caring will cost dear. You will need to pay them far more than I do, and all of Qarth laughs at my ruinous generosity.”

“If the Thirteen will not aid me, perhaps I should ask the Guild of Spicers or the Tourmaline Brotherhood?”

Xaro gave a languid shrug. “They will give you nothing but flattery and lies. The Spicers are dissemblers and braggarts and the Brotherhood is full of pirates.”

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

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

“I would not need to seek sorcerous help if my friend Xaro Xhoan Daxos would give me what I ask.”

Ser Jorah Mormont came to her as the sun was going down. “The Pureborn refused you?”

“As you said they would. Come, sit, give me your counsel.” Dany drew him down to the cushions beside her, and Jhiqui brought them a bowl of purple olives and onions drowned in wine.

“You will get no help in this city, Khaleesi.” Ser Jorah took an onion between thumb and forefinger. “Each day I am more convinced of that than the day before. The Pureborn see no farther than the walls of Qarth, and Xaro ...”

“He asked me to marry him again.”

“Yes, and I know why.” When the knight frowned, his heavy black brows joined together above his deep-set eyes.

“He dreams of me, day and night.” She laughed. “Forgive me, my queen, but it is your dragons he dreams of.”

“Xaro assures me that in Qarth, man and woman each retain their own property after they are wed. The dragons are mine.” She smiled as Drogon came hopping and flapping across the marble floor to crawl up on the cushion beside her.

“He tells it true as far as it goes, but there’s one thing he failed to mention. The Qartheen have a curious wedding custom, my queen. On the day of their union, a wife may ask a token of love from her husband. Whatsoever she desires of his worldly goods, he must grant. And he may ask the same of her. One thing only may be asked, but whatever is named may not be denied.”

“One thing,” she repeated. “And it may not be denied?”

“With one dragon, Xaro Xhoan Daxos would rule this city, but one ship will further our cause but little.”

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. “We passed through the bazaar on our way back from the Hall of a Thousand Thrones,” she told Ser Jorah. “Quaithe was there.” She told him of the firemage and the fiery ladder, and what the woman in the red mask had told her.

“I would be glad to leave this city, if truth be told,” the knight said when she was done. “But not for Asshai.”

“Where, then?”

“East,” he said.

“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.”

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

“If you mean Illyrio Mopatis, I wonder. For sufficient gold, Illyrio would sell you as quickly as he would a slave.”

“My brother and I were guests in Illyrio’s manse for half a year. If he meant to sell us, he could have done it then.”

“He did sell you,” Ser Jorah said. “To Khal Drogo.”

Dany flushed. He had the truth of it, but she did not like the sharpness with which he put it. “Illyrio protected us from the Usurper’s knives, and he believed in my brother’s cause.”

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”

“Even if Illyrio is the friend you think him,” the knight said stubbornly, “he is not powerful enough to enthrone you by himself, no more than he could your brother.”

“He is rich,” she said. “Not so rich as Xaro, perhaps, but rich enough to hire ships for me, and men as well.”

“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

“And how am I to do that, if I go east as you counsel?”

He ate an olive and spit out the pit into his palm. “I do not know, Your Grace,” he admitted, “but I do know that the longer you remain in one place, the easier it will be for your enemies to find you. The name Targaryen still frightens them, so much so that they sent a man to murder you when they heard you were with child. What will they do when they learn of your dragons?”

Drogon was curled up beneath her arm, as hot as a stone that has soaked all day in the blazing sun. Rhaegal and Viserion were fighting over a scrap of meat, buffeting each other with their wings as smoke hissed from their nostrils. My furious children, she thought. They must not come to harm. “The comet led me to Qarth for a reason. I had hoped to find my army here, but it seems that will not be. What else remains, I ask myself?” I am afraid, she realized, but I must be brave. “Come the morrow, you must go to Pyat Pree.”

ACOK Daenerys II

Xaro Xhoan Daxos had offered Dany the hospitality of his home while she was in the city. She had expected something grand. She had not expected a palace larger than many a market town. It makes Magister Illyrio’s manse in Pentos look like a swineherd’s hovel, she thought. Xaro swore that his home could comfortably house all of her people and their horses besides; indeed, it swallowed them. An entire wing was given over to her. She would have her own gardens, a marble bathing pool, a scrying tower and warlock’s maze. Slaves would tend her every need. In her private chambers, the floors were green marble, the walls draped with colorful silk hangings that shimmered with every breath of air. “You are too generous,” she told Xaro Xhoan Daxos.

“For the Mother of Dragons, no gift is too great.” Xaro was a languid, elegant man with a bald head and a great beak of a nose crusted with rubies, opals, and flakes of jade. “On the morrow, you shall feast upon peacock and lark’s tongue, and hear music worthy of the most beautiful of women. The Thirteen will come to do you homage, and all the great of Qarth.”

All the great of Qarth will come to see my dragons, Dany thought, yet she thanked Xaro for his kindness before she sent him on his way. Pyat Pree took his leave as well, vowing to petition the Undying Ones for an audience. “An honor rare as summer snows.” Before he left he kissed her bare feet with his pale blue lips and pressed on her a gift, a jar of ointment that he swore would let her see the spirits of the air. Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning. “Beware,” the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

“Of whom?”

“Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

She turned to her bloodriders. “We will keep our own watch so long as we are here. See that no one enters this wing of the palace without my leave, and take care that the dragons are always well guarded.”

“It shall be done, Khaleesi,” Aggo said.

“We have seen only the parts of Qarth that Pyat Pree wished us to see,” she went on. “Rakharo, go forth and look on the rest, and tell me what you find. Take good men with you—and women, to go places where men are forbidden.”

“As you say, I do, blood of my blood,” said Rakharo.

“Ser Jorah, find the docks and see what manner of ships lay at anchor. It has been half a year since I last heard tidings from the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps the gods will have blown some good captain here from Westeros with a ship to carry us home.”

The knight frowned. “That would be no kindness. The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise.” Mormont hooked his thumbs through his swordbelt. “My place is here at your side.”

“Jhogo can guard me as well. You have more languages than my bloodriders, and the Dothraki mistrust the sea and those who sail her. Only you can serve me in this. Go among the ships and speak to the crews, learn where they are from and where they are bound and what manner of men command them.”

Reluctantly, the exile nodded. “As you say, my queen.”

It was near evenfall and Dany was feeding her dragons when Irri stepped through the silken curtains to tell her that Ser Jorah had returned from the docks ... and not alone. “Send him in, with whomever he has brought,” she said, curious.

When they entered, she was seated on a mound of cushions, her dragons all about her. The man he brought with him wore a cloak of green and yellow feathers and had skin as black as polished jet. “Your Grace,” the knight said, “I bring you Quhuru Mo, captain of the Cinnamon Wind out of Tall Trees Town.”

The black man knelt. “I am greatly honored, my queen,” he said; not in the tongue of the Summer Isles, which Dany did not know, but in the liquid Valyrian of the Nine Free Cities.

“The honor is mine, Quhuru Mo,” said Dany in the same language. “Have you come from the Summer Isles?”

“This is so, Your Grace, but before, not half a year past, we called at Oldtown. From there I bring you a wondrous gift.”

“A gift?”

“A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany’s heart. “Dead?” she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. “You are certain? The Usurper is dead?”

“So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called.”

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. “What was the manner of his death?” On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

“Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave.”

Dany had never looked upon the Usurper’s face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth, when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.

“The boy sits the Iron Throne now,” Ser Jorah said.

“King Joffrey reigns,” Quhuru Mo agreed, “but the Lannisters rule. Robert’s brothers have fled King’s Landing. The talk is, they mean to claim the crown. And the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend. He has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark a traitor?” Ser Jorah snorted. “Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor.”

“What honor could he have?” Dany said. “He was a traitor to his true king, as were these Lannisters.” It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised. The same thing happened when her Drogo died, and his great khalasar tore itself to pieces. “My brother is dead as well, Viserys who was the true king,” she told the Summer Islander. “Khal Drogo my lord husband killed him with a crown of molten gold.” Would her brother have been any wiser, had he known that the vengeance he had prayed for was so close at hand?

“Then I grieve for you, Dragonmother, and for bleeding Westeros, bereft of its rightful king.”

Beneath Dany’s gentle fingers, green Rhaegal stared at the stranger with eyes of molten gold. When his mouth opened, his teeth gleamed like black needles. “When does your ship return to Westeros, Captain?”

“Not for a year or more, I fear. From here the Cinnamon Wind sails east, to make the trader’s circle round the Jade Sea.”

“I see,” said Dany, disappointed. “I wish you fair winds and good trading, then. You have brought me a precious gift.”

“I have been amply repaid, great queen.”

She puzzled at that. “How so?” 

His eyes gleamed. “I have seen dragons.”

Dany laughed. “And will see more of them one day, I hope. Come to me in King’s Landing when I am on my father’s throne, and you shall have a great reward.”

The Summer Islander promised he would do so, and kissed her lightly on the fingers as he took his leave. Jhiqui showed him out, while Ser Jorah Mormont remained.

ACOK Daenerys I

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. “That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say.”

“The way the comet points is the way we must go,” Dany insisted ... though in truth, it was the only way open to her.

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay. “Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you. He was the first to abandon Drogo. Ten thousand warriors went with him. You have a hundred.”

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided. “I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

Dany had named him the first of her Queensguard ... and when Mormont’s gruff counsel and the omens agreed, her course was clear. She called her people together and mounted her silver mare. Her hair had burned away in Drogo’s pyre, so her handmaids garbed her in the skin of the hrakkar Drogo had slain, the white lion of the Dothraki sea. Its fearsome head made a hood to cover her naked scalp, its pelt a cloak that flowed across her shoulders and down her back. The cream-colored dragon sunk sharp black claws into the lion’s mane and coiled its tail around her arm, while Ser Jorah took his accustomed place by her side.

“We follow the comet,” Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo’s people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They rode by night, and by day took refuge from the sun beneath their tents. Soon enough Dany learned the truth of Doreah’s words. This was no kindly country. They left a trail of dead and dying horses behind them as they went, for Pono, Jhaqo, and the others had seized the best of Drogo’s herds, leaving to Dany the old and the scrawny, the sickly and the lame, the broken animals and the ill-tempered. It was the same with the people. They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. Blood flies swarmed about his corpse and carried his ill luck to the living. “His time was past,” her handmaid Irri declared. “No man should live longer than his teeth.” The others agreed. Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother’s anguished wailing lasted all day, but there was nothing to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

There was little forage in the red waste, and less water. It was a sere and desolate land of low hills and barren windswept plains. The rivers they crossed were dry as dead men’s bones. Their mounts subsisted on the tough brown devilgrass that grew in clumps at the base of rocks and dead trees. Dany sent outriders ranging ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun. The deeper they rode into the waste, the smaller the pools became, while the distance between them grew. If there were gods in this trackless wilderness of stone and sand and red clay, they were hard dry gods, deaf to prayers for rain.

Wine gave out first, and soon thereafter the clotted mare’s milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. Weak children, wrinkled old women, the sick and the stupid and the heedless, the cruel land claimed them all. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for.

Yet even as her dragons prospered, her khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot. Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

They saw no sign of other travelers. The Dothraki began to mutter fearfully that the comet had led them to some hell. Dany went to Ser Jorah one morning as they made camp amidst a jumble of black wind-scoured stones. “Are we lost?” she asked him. “Does this waste have no end to it?”

“It has an end,” he answered wearily. “I have seen the maps the traders draw, my queen. Few caravans come this way, that is so, yet there are great kingdoms to the east, and cities full of wonders. Yi Ti, Qarth, Asshai by the Shadow ...”

“Will we live to see them?”

“I will not lie to you. The way is harder than I dared think.” [...] “Perhaps we are doomed if we press on ... but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back.”

[...] The next pool they found was scalding-hot and stinking of brimstone, but their skins were almost empty. The Dothraki cooled the water in jars and pots and drank it tepid. The taste was no less foul, but water was water, and all of them thirsted. Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless. The comet mocks my hopes, she thought, lifting her eyes to where it scored the sky. Have I crossed half the world and seen the birth of dragons only to die with them in this hard hot desert? She would not believe it.

The next day, dawn broke as they were crossing a cracked and fissured plain of hard red earth. Dany was about to command them to make camp when her outriders came racing back at a gallop. “A city, Khaleesi,” they cried. “A city pale as the moon and lovely as a maid. An hour’s ride, no more.”

“Show me,” she said.

When the city appeared before her, its walls and towers shimmering white behind a veil of heat, it looked so beautiful that Dany was certain it must be a mirage. “Do you know what place this might be?” she asked Ser Jorah.

The exile knight gave a weary shake of the head. “No, my queen. I have never traveled this far east.”

The distant white walls promised rest and safety, a chance to heal and grow strong, and Dany wanted nothing so much as to rush toward them. Instead she turned to her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood, go ahead of us and learn the name of this city, and what manner of welcome we should expect.”

“Ai, Khaleesi,” said Aggo.

Her riders were not long in returning. Rakharo swung down from his saddle. From his medallion belt hung the great curving arakh that Dany had bestowed on him when she named him bloodrider. “This city is dead, Khaleesi. Nameless and godless we found it, the gates broken, only wind and flies moving through the streets.”

Jhiqui shuddered. “When the gods are gone, the evil ghosts feast by night. Such places are best shunned. It is known.”

“It is known,” Irri agreed.

“Not to me.” Dany put her heels into her horse and showed them the way, trotting beneath the shattered arch of an ancient gate and down a silent street. Ser Jorah and her bloodriders followed, and then, more slowly, the rest of the Dothraki.

How long the city had been deserted she could not know, but the white walls, so beautiful from afar, were cracked and crumbling when seen up close. Inside was a maze of narrow crooked alleys. The buildings pressed close, their facades blank, chalky, windowless. Everything was white, as if the people who lived here had known nothing of color. They rode past heaps of sun-washed rubble where houses had fallen in, and elsewhere saw the faded scars of fire. At a place where six alleys came together, Dany passed an empty marble plinth. Dothraki had visited this place before, it would seem. Perhaps even now the missing statue stood among the other stolen gods in Vaes Dothrak. She might have ridden past it a hundred times, never knowing. On her shoulder, Viserion hissed.

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devilgrass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went ... and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. They were small, withered things, yet her people grabbed for them greedily, jostling and pushing at each other, stuffing the fruit into their cheeks and chewing blissfully.

Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. “Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important. “Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk.”

In the coolness of her tent, Dany blackened horsemeat over a brazier and reflected on her choices. There was food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength. How pleasant it would be to wake every day in the same place, to linger among shady gardens, eat figs, and drink cool water, as much as she might desire.

When Irri and Jhiqui returned with pots of white sand, Dany stripped and let them scrub her clean.

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me. Aggo shall strike southwest, Rakharo due south. Jhogo, you are to follow shierak qiya on southeast.”

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

And so they went, the bells in their hair ringing softly, while Dany settled down with her small band of survivors in the place they named Vaes Tolorro, the city of bones. Day followed night followed day. Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh. Dany tended Ser Jorah’s wound herself, and it began to heal.

Rakharo was the first to return. Due south the red waste stretched on and on, he reported, until it ended on a bleak shore beside the poison water. Between here and there lay only swirling sand, wind-scoured rocks, and plants bristly with sharp thorns. He had passed the bones of a dragon, he swore, so immense that he had ridden his horse through its great black jaws. Other than that, he had seen nothing.

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Aggo was back next. The southwest was barren and burnt, he swore. He had found the ruins of two more cities, smaller than Vaes Tolorro but otherwise the same. One was warded by a ring of skulls mounted on rusted iron spears, so he dared not enter, but he had explored the second for as long as he could. He showed Dany an iron bracelet he had found, set with a uncut fire opal the size of her thumb. There were scrolls as well, but they were dry and crumbling and Aggo had left them where they lay.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

Jhogo was gone so long that Dany feared him lost, but finally when they had all but ceased to look for him, he came riding up from the southeast. One of the guards that Aggo had posted saw him first and gave a shout, and Dany rushed to the walls to see for herself. It was true. Jhogo came, yet not alone. Behind him rode three queerly garbed strangers atop ugly humped creatures that dwarfed any horse.

They drew rein before the city gates, and looked up to see Dany on the wall above them. “Blood of my blood,” Jhogo called, “I have been to the great city Qarth, and returned with three who would look on you with their own eyes.”

Dany stared down at the strangers. “Here I stand. Look, if that is your pleasure ... but first tell me your names.”

The pale man with the blue lips replied in guttural Dothraki, “I am Pyat Pree, the great warlock.”

The bald man with the jewels in his nose answered in the Valyrian of the Free Cities, “I am Xaro Xhoan Daxos of the Thirteen, a merchant prince of Qarth.”

The woman in the lacquered wooden mask said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms, “I am Quaithe of the Shadow. We come seeking dragons.”

“Seek no more,” Daenerys Targaryen told them. “You have found them.”

AGOT Daenerys X

On the platform they piled Khal Drogo’s treasures: his great tent, his painted vests, his saddles and harness, the whip his father had given him when he came to manhood, the arakh he had used to slay Khal Ogo and his son, a mighty dragonbone bow. Aggo would have added the weapons Drogo’s bloodriders had given Dany for bride gifts as well, but she forbade it. “Those are mine,” she told him, “and I mean to keep them.”

“Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voice made them run.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

“We have ridden far enough today. We will camp here.”

“Here?” Haggo looked around them. The land was brown and sere, inhospitable. “This is no camping ground.”

“It is not for a woman to bid us halt,” said Qotho, “not even a khaleesi.”

“We camp here,” Dany repeated. “Haggo, tell them Khal Drogo commanded the halt. If any ask why, say to them that my time is near and I could not continue. Cohollo, bring up the slaves, they must put up the khal’s tent at once. Qotho—”

“You do not command me, Khaleesi,” Qotho said.

“Find Mirri Maz Duur,” she told him. The godswife would be walking among the other Lamb Men, in the long column of slaves. “Bring her to me, with her chest.”

Qotho glared down at her, his eyes hard as flint. “The maegi.” He spat. “This I will not do.”

“You will,” Dany said, “or when Drogo wakes, he will hear why you defied me.”

Trembling, her eyes full of sudden tears, Dany turned away from them. He fell from his horse! It was so, she had seen it, and the bloodriders, and no doubt her handmaids and the men of her khas as well. And how many more? They could not keep it secret, and Dany knew what that meant. A khal who could not ride could not rule, and Drogo had fallen from his horse.

“We must bathe him,” she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair.

“Is there no other way?”

“No other.”

Khal Drogo gave a shuddering gasp.

“Do it,” Dany blurted. She must not be afraid; she was the blood of the dragon. “Save him.”

“There is a price,” the godswife warned her.

“You’ll have gold, horses, whatever you like.”

“It is not a matter of gold or horses. This is bloodmagic, lady. Only death may pay for life.”

“Death?” Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on her heels. “My death?” She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

“Khaleesi,” he pleaded, “you must not do this thing. Let me kill this maegi.”

“Kill her and you kill your khal,” Dany said.

“This is bloodmagic,” he said. “It is forbidden.”

“I am khaleesi, and I say it is not forbidden. In Vaes Dothrak, Khal Drogo slew a stallion and I ate his heart, to give our son strength and courage. This is the same. The same.”

“This must not be,” Qotho thundered.

She had not seen the bloodrider return. Haggo and Cohollo were with him. They had brought the hairless men, the eunuchs who healed with knife and needle and fire.

“This will be,” Dany replied.

AGOT Daenerys VII

“You cannot claim them all, child,” Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped, while the warriors of her khas herded her new slaves behind her.

“I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “It is not for you to tell me what I cannot do.” Across the city, a building collapsed in a great gout of fire and smoke, and she heard distant screams and the wailing of frightened children.

“If your warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for wives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.”

Qotho was ever the cruelest of the bloodriders. It was he who laughed. “Does the horse breed with the sheep?”

Something in his tone reminded her of Viserys. Dany turned on him angrily. “The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.”

AGOT Daenerys III

“Wait here,” Dany told Ser Jorah. “Tell them all to stay. Tell them I command it.”

The knight smiled. Ser Jorah was not a handsome man. He had a neck and shoulders like a bull, and coarse black hair covered his arms and chest so thickly that there was none left for his head. Yet his smiles gave Dany comfort. “You are learning to talk like a queen, Daenerys.”

“Not a queen,” said Dany. “A khaleesi.” She wheeled her horse about and galloped down the ridge alone.

The advice she received in ACOK

ACOK Daenerys V

ACOK Daenerys III

[“]Why should my sailors care who sits upon the throne of some kingdom at the edge of the world?”

“I will pay them to care.”

“With what coin, sweet star of my heaven?”

“With the gold the seekers bring.”

“That you may do,” Xaro acknowledged, “but so much caring will cost dear. You will need to pay them far more than I do, and all of Qarth laughs at my ruinous generosity.”

“If the Thirteen will not aid me, perhaps I should ask the Guild of Spicers or the Tourmaline Brotherhood?”

Xaro gave a languid shrug. “They will give you nothing but flattery and lies. The Spicers are dissemblers and braggarts and the Brotherhood is full of pirates.”

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

“I would not need to seek sorcerous help if my friend Xaro Xhoan Daxos would give me what I ask.”

“He asked me to marry him again.”

“Yes, and I know why.” When the knight frowned, his heavy black brows joined together above his deep-set eyes.

“He dreams of me, day and night.” She laughed. “Forgive me, my queen, but it is your dragons he dreams of.”

“One thing,” she repeated. “And it may not be denied?”

“With one dragon, Xaro Xhoan Daxos would rule this city, but one ship will further our cause but little.”

“I would be glad to leave this city, if truth be told,” the knight said when she was done. “But not for Asshai.”

“Where, then?”

“East,” he said.

“I am half a world away from my kingdom even here. If I go any farther east I may never find my way home to Westeros.”

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

“If you mean Illyrio Mopatis, I wonder. For sufficient gold, Illyrio would sell you as quickly as he would a slave.”

“My brother and I were guests in Illyrio’s manse for half a year. If he meant to sell us, he could have done it then.”

“He did sell you,” Ser Jorah said. “To Khal Drogo.”

Dany flushed. He had the truth of it, but she did not like the sharpness with which he put it. “Illyrio protected us from the Usurper’s knives, and he believed in my brother’s cause.”

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

“Even if Illyrio is the friend you think him,” the knight said stubbornly, “he is not powerful enough to enthrone you by himself, no more than he could your brother.”

“He is rich,” she said. “Not so rich as Xaro, perhaps, but rich enough to hire ships for me, and men as well.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“And how am I to do that, if I go east as you counsel?”

ACOK Daenerys II

“Then why do men lower their voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth? All across the east, their power and wisdom are revered.”

“Once they were mighty,” Xaro agreed, “but now they are as ludicrous as those feeble old soldiers who boast of their prowess long after strength and skill have left them. They read their crumbling scrolls, drink shade-of-the-evening until their lips turn blue, and hint of dread powers, but they are hollow husks compared to those who went before. Pyat Pree’s gifts will turn to dust in your hands, I warn you.” He gave his camel a lick of his whip and sped away.

“The crow calls the raven black,” muttered Ser Jorah in the Common Tongue of Westeros. The exile knight rode at her right hand, as ever. For their entrance into Qarth, he had put away his Dothraki garb and donned again the plate and mail and wool of the Seven Kingdoms half a world away. “You would do well to avoid both those men, Your Grace.”

“Those men will help me to my crown,” she said. “Xaro has vast wealth, and Pyat Pree— ”

“—pretends to power,” the knight said brusquely. On his dark green surcoat, the bear of House Mormont stood on its hind legs, black and fierce. Jorah looked no less ferocious as he scowled at the crowd that filled the bazaar. “I would not linger here long, my queen. I mislike the very smell of this place.”

Dany smiled. “Perhaps it’s the camels you’re smelling. The Qartheen themselves seem sweet enough to my nose.”

“Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones.”

My great bear, Dany thought. I am his queen, but I will always be his cub as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, but sad as well. She wished she could love him better than she did.

ACOK Daenerys I

“That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say.”

Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay. “Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you. He was the first to abandon Drogo. Ten thousand warriors went with him. You have a hundred.”

[...] “I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

“Hatchlings,” Ser Jorah said. “One swipe from an arakh would put an end to them, though Pono is more like to seize them for himself. Your dragon eggs were more precious than rubies. A living dragon is beyond price. In all the world, there are only three. Every man who sees them will want them, my queen.”

“You will not live long should you meet Khal Pono. Nor Khal Jhaqo, nor any of the others. You must go where they do not.”

#daenerys targaryen #valyrianscrolls #a clash of kings #a game of thrones #dany passages

13 notes · View notes