slow poison.

[ indie daario naharis rp blog that draws influence from both the books & ed skrein's portrayal. ]

[musingsofmyhexrt]

                          And I believed the stars were wishes,                               I believed the world was good.                              I believed things hid in the dark,                     and that all would turn out just how it should;                                 I believed in all your stories,                            I  b e l i e v e d  you’d  n e v e r  l i e .               I believed if I could climb the trees behind the house,                                          I’d touch the sky.

[awolfmaid-archive-blog]

 「 •❄• 」;; naharix noonelefttobeloyalto arundinem lorasoftheroses rhaenystxrgaryen

[naharix]

awolfmaid:

                                              ❝ I do not think that edible.                                                       However, you are welcome to attempt. ❞

                 "I am fond of  d a r e s ,  but not so foolish.                                    Men have often gifted me with false gold      I only seek                                    to know that this is real."

[hellahighh]

[docorwho]

[unculturedmag]

[naharix]

seasxng:

                          ❝ I do not have friends. ❞              Ariel chooses to focus on his second statement, rather               than the first. There is no such thing as happiness for a               loveless mermaid. Every night, her tearless wails come               in the form of song, bruised throat pushing out the most               beautiful melodies heard to the ears of man. Oh, her              sorrow brings such sweetness, no one wishes her happy              again. She sits on the rocks, human feet still there even as              she dips her legs into the water, and sings her heartbreak.              At least when she was nothing but the foam on the sea,             S H E                                      H A D                                                            H E R                                                                               H O M E  .

             However, she can respect his careful, quiet, avoidance of a              name. It only makes her all the more curious, but she stays              silent. He may call her whatever he chooses too, then. She              almost wants to elaborate, tell him that once upon a time, she              had a best friend in the form of a fish, one who lessened her              sorrow, shared her burden. She had sisters, she had happiness              in her smile, in her eyes. There were no scars. She was              beautifully unmarred, a porcelain figurine with strings of red for              hair, marbles of the sea for eyes. She was a sight, a doll turned              into a marionette by a witch, greedy and dead. 

                          ❝ I’m afraid to inform you that there                               is nothing treasured about my smile.                               You might be wasting your time. ❞

             That is not his story, however—-he is not in her story. Ariel will              not add anymore people; her chapters are finished, lesson               learned, fable explained. He does not belong in her world of               bubbles and sad songs, even if he is the first to speak to her              as if she were a friend. She has not had one in so long. 

             Ariel does not take his hand. Aches to, perhaps; touch is exactly              how she remembered. Solid. Warm. She is not air, anymore.               But she does offer him another smile, kinder, even, in its nature.              Perhaps, with the way he offers touch, he is used to it, used to              skin on skin. Perhaps he enjoys it, indulges as much as he can.              Perhaps, even, her refusal will confuse him. The man before her              is attractive. Long ago, she believes Arista, had she come to the              surface as much as Ariel did, would have swooned. 

             Ariel does not. She has learned. 

             Follows after him with soft steps, though, pressed up onto toes              to get a better look at the children, at their apparent glee, but               the music is enough for her, still. Eyes slide closed, and without              thinking, a soft hum falls from her throat. Nothing lavish, nothing              like the songs she sobs during the night; this, perhaps, is more              sweet, less bitter. The little child does not deserve sadness. 

                          ❝ You have a good ear. For something                               such as this, I would make time out of                               my day to listen, as well. It’s both a                                shame and a gift not many people                               visit. Beauty, I’ve found, does not                                want to be shared. ❞

                             He does not have friends, either.  Not truly.  He has men whom                              he commands, and those he shares drink with      but he has n-                              ot known  f r i e n d  since the age of a little boy, and he cannot s-                              ay this absence has left him crippled.  The heart he bears is va-                              st and wild.  The pain which comes forth from  a f f e c t i o n  ca-                              n be . . . devastating.  He suffers interest for starlight in human                              form, but his warmth is jaded at its core.  Rotten, perhaps.  It s-                              mells like  b l o o d ,  often enough.

                             With head still cocked, blue eyes wander o'er her face like ghos-                              ting fingertips, warm light like sapphires, but cool on the surface.                              His smiling lips twitch      deepen at the well-wrought corners of                              his mouth, and elegantly dent the skin of his cheeks.  "Then I fe-                              ar I must likewise inform you, you are wrong.  I treasure all smil-                              es."  And so he does not begrudge her this ignorance of his han-                              d, for it comes too with gentled smile.  It seems a sweeter thing                              offered than any hand clasped.  He savours it like wine.

                                           Pleasurable in its flavour also is her melody, more so th-                                            an the shell.  The sellsword does not look to the children                                            anymore, for he finds her now the most interesting spec-                                            tacle by this riverside.  If his ear be good, then it is bless-                                            ed again by her grace of  s o n g ,  and he is happy to bas-                                            k in it for these few long instances.  He is only average of                                            tone, and for that he mourns himself      he would be prou-                                            d indeed to share in her  t a l e n t .

                                                            "And yet you share beauty with me," he says, an-                                                             d a smile creases his mouth once more.  "You                                                             speak of such sad things, but prove yourself wr-                                                             ong in your  a c t i o n s .   That is a fair curse to                                                             bear."

                                           He listens placidly to this music surrounding him      take-                                            s the red maid in through his blue, blue eyes      and then                                            he states with great warmth, "Do you feel it?  Beauty is all                                            around us.  We need only  l i s t e n ,  and it will guide us                                            to its  h e a r t ."

[grief-and-dust-blog]

[naharix]

                                                             formerly ialwayshaveachoice.                                               8+ years roleplaying experience.

                                                                                                  info  |  rules

[herroyaldarkness]

                  ◢ her majesty          ◢ beseech            ◢ royal decrees                         ◢ open verses         ◢ my icons           ◢ open threads

[soccermomx-deactivated20151119]

+ naharix

[naharix]

soccermomx:

                '  How { tacky } is it to have                                 tequila on a Tuesday? ‘

             "A day without tequila is a day mourned.                                    D  r  i  n  k  ."

[lovelyprisoner-deactivated20180]

[naharix]

seasxng:

Once upon a time, a sea witch made her appear to be                the most beautiful of all maidens, to all who saw her.                Those days were, mournfully, over. Even still—-even               still, when she was supposed to be perceived as beautiful,               HE fell instead for locks of onyx, eyes the color of earth.                For all the beauty she was supposed to have, it could not                capture HIM. She was not beautiful, she was as airy as                the foam that rests atop waves. His flattery does nothing               but make a smile, as empty as his, touch her lips. 

                            ❝ Your kindness is appreciated,                                 stranger. But I have to tell you,                                 there is nothing you can do.                                 I am as happy as I can be. ❞

              Lets him close her fingers around the pebble, the gesture               enough to make a human cry, perhaps, but not a mermaid.               Tears do not touch her eyes. Pools of jade barely glass over.               Touch is almost unfamiliar to her-—she has not been touched               in over three hundred years. The simple press of fingers is                startling. Opens her palm to look at it—-beautiful, like her home.               She will keep it dear. Ariel did not own many possessions. 

                            ❝ I look for something                                 unable to be found, it                                 seems. Such is life, no? ❞

              Lets her smile turn a little more genuine; she is broken but                capable. Has a soul, after all. Feels emotions, possibly much               more strongly than even imaginable. Her curse, her curse.                Smiles, though, and it looks like being underwater and staring               up, staring at the bright, warm sun through the ripples. 

              She is unused to such kindness and conversation.                Does not give him a chance to answer her first                question before presenting another. 

                            ❝ Who  a r e  you? ❞

                           There is a queen with silver hair and lilac eyes who sits uneasy                            on pyramid throne, and the sellsword has found an old rotten d-                            oor into her heart that he must leave open as he departs, lest h-                            e never find his way back.  She is not the first he has looked up-                            on in such a way, but he does not look to the future.  Does not w-                            onder if some goddess incarnate may walk by with obsidian he-                            art to lure him away.  Beauty comes in various  f o r m s  and he                            finds it too in unpredictability.

                                                    This one seems rather . . . unpredictable.

                                        "Perhaps you are.  But how can we ever know these thin-                                         gs with a certainty?  You may be surprised."

                           Would he act differently, if he knew the significance of his touch?                            He could not go three hundred minutes without some physical c-                            ontact, and only a little more without any form of intimacy.  What                            better way to confirm the body's presence, than to indulge in suc-                            h?  But he cannot read her mind, hidden in the marble of her sku-                            ll.  He does not measure the weight of his fingers; fails to calcula-                            te their effect.

                                                            He may have held on longer, otherwise.

                           Do his blue eyes soften in something genuine, perhaps?  A slig-                            ht slant of his head to acknowledge her pain, for he suffers it sile-                            ntly.  It is all he can offer her, before she requests his name.  He                            has been called  m a n y  things      he must pause to smile secr-                            etively at these lists of bastardised titles given him, before he ris-                            es to her baited words.

                                              "A friend," he suggests      after all, should she know                                               his name, it will not take her long to find him in the city                                               as Captain of the Stormcrows, close to the controversial                                               q u e e n .  "One who is fond of whittling his time away w-                                               ith sorrowful women, if only to see their treasured smile-                                               s."

                                                                  He turns sudden to the river, and then reac-                                                                   hes for her hand once more      still so carel-                                                                   ess in his touch.  "Here," he says.  "I have w-                                                                   aited for them."

                                             A gaggle of children have come to play by river's edge,                                              some distance from them.  One girl bears something b-                                              right and wholesome in her hand, that she brings to her                                              lips in enthused breath.  A great trumpeting melody com-                                              es forth, and so the children  d a n c e .

                           "It is a shell they found, laid beside the river.  Each day, at this hou-                            r, she comes to bring music to the Skahazadhan.  If I do not listen,                            my day seems brief and callous."

[blackwxter-blog]

[blackwxter-blog]

YO since I hit my first 100 followers in like the first 36 hours I couldn’t really do a follow forever BUT NOW I have 200 followers and I’ve been here for like 2 weeks so I actually have some insight! (not really don’t come to me if you’re looking for insight oh god what a horrible idea)

anyway I really like a lot of people here so I thought I would do a nice little promo to give back to the people who gave to me! uwu

The babes:

clxgane  You’re really precious and fun to talk to and your feelings about Clegane make the love real. The love is real. Your Clegane is spot-on and you deserve sooo much recognition for him. dariadraconis  

We haven’t really talked OOC, but you were the first thread that I really enjoyed doing and that I eagerly await the reply to. You are perfectly sassy and commanding and your Daenerys is a total pleasure to be around.  flayedbastard   OH RAMSAY. OHHHH RAMSAY. You promote wonderful safe sex for me and the bae even while you spit in Bronn’s face. Thank you for being a wonderful creep. I adore you.  goldorred You are SUCH a sweet human being and I just want to cuddle you and gently pet your hair. Your Cersei is frightening and real and when I finally get off my ass I’ll get around to doing that starter that I’m looking forward to so much. It’s going to be wonderful.  lostnorthern Again, we haven’t really interacted OOC but I’ve really enjoyed our thread so far (probably going to pick up with a new one, since ours has hit a wall!). Your Robb has the same upstanding morals and sense of character as the real thing does, and your writing is fun and more than quality.   noplaceforaking The Bae. The Singular Bae. Best Viserys I’ve seen here, and that’s not just affection speaking. There are a handful here that are popular as hell, and yours tops them all. Vyserry is sassy and angry and bitter and sad and that is just what he needs to be: a bitter little angry brat who hates everyone. Good job. ilu. 

Senpais??? senpais: 

alamelion  ||  aliion  ||  eomeer  ||  herunfailingkindness  ||  iscxriot  ||  lordoflions  ||  lordxeddard  ||  motherviper  ||  malitiosii  ||  naharix  ||  ofliesandarborgold  ||  pureironking  ||  rhomru  ||  ringmasterofmordor  ||  rxfined  ||  thekingrenly  ||  thesunviper  ||  viipxr 

Some serious quality: 

acrownedrose  ||  astormcrow  ||  bindikh  ||  chaosclimber  ||  corleaena  ||  crimsonpawed  ||  drownxd  ||  egoxistic  ||  firekissxd  ||  ofgildedsteel  ||  ornxry  ||  propheticxreed  ||  purissiima  ||  rhymeswith-pain  ||  shaeisdabest  ||  sovereignstark  ||  taketheflame  ||  tobesnow  ||  undxrfoot || vindicio  ||  vxdosa  ||  wildlyexpensive  || 

I’ve left out a lot of people that I happily follow, just for the sake of succinctness, but let it be known that I admire and appreciate all of you, and enjoy seeing all of you on my dash! 

[brysontillergifs]

[shxriffwoody-deactivated2014071]

anonymously tell me what you think of my character portrayal

[naharix]

[nowat-nilehorn-deactivated20190]

there are ship partners and then there are ship soulmates who headcanon with you until you run out of things to say about your ship (which is never) and who you can message like “hey do this with me” and they will and who are chill about replies bc lbr your ships aren’t gonna die anytime soon

[naharix]

i perpetually look like an emotionless rodent.