Her mind had wandered far away from the vine latticed stone walls and black packed earth that created a sort of gilded cage for her. She hadn’t left the safety of the walls in quite a while and was beginning to go stir crazy. Prior to this position as a fake newly married Lady she was running wild, going where she pleased and doing what and who she wanted. But she understood her assignment would not be completed until the true Lady’s uncle and his forces were eradicated.
But it became increasingly difficult the longer she repressed her urges while having to listen to the Lord and the true Lady sing their carnal calls throughout the night. More times than not she rose to wander the secret passages or the grounds within her stoney prison to fantasize about the man at King’s Landing. There had been an undeniable connection that sparked a light within her, illuminating a reflection of who she truly was. She wanted to feel that familiar warmth course through her veins again and tell him the truth this time. An offer had been made to shelter him dare he try and rip away from the lioness’s grasp but dogs were loyal and she did not have the gold to compete. Still, what if?
Faye had made her toward the eastern gate when she heard the commotion, men — her guardsmen in fact, were ordering a large, cloaked figure to leave. Her heart palpitated, wondering if perhaps fantasy were to creep into reality. Unlikely but a girl could dream.
“What’s all this then?” She asked,straightening her posture to appear more regal than she felt.
“This man says he was invited! We weren’t informed of any guests.” One of them replied, a firm hand brandishing a well polished sword. She doubted it had ever bitten flesh or tasted blood before. And this was not the time for its first feast.
Placing a hand on his arm, she forced him to lower his weapon, allowing her to step closer to the stranger. Once more her heart skipped a beat, sending a flash flood of renewal through her veins. It was him! Try as he might, he could jot hide his appearance beneath the large hood. The charred and blackened skin easily gave him away to her. Sandor had left the lion’s den and found her once more. She wanted nothing but to grab his hand and drag him inside or better yet, take his hand and leave this place. The pair could easily survive on their own but she knew better. As much as she hated playing the part of a Lady she truly did want to help the true one.
“He was long ago by myself. It seems it just took him a while to arrive. Now let him pass,” she couldn’t peel her eyes away from Sandor.
Blood blooms stained his clothes and left her wondering if it was his or someone else’s. Likely a melody of both. A giddiness filled her at the thought of tending to his wounds. They could be alone in the infirmary; the servants sent away.
“I believe the Lord should be made aware first,” the second guard’s warning glance and tone burned away her thoughts like dragon’s breath. It was enough to cause her facade to falter, her own gaze becoming venomous enough to cause the young man to place his hand on the hilt of his blade. His brown eyes grew wide for a fraction of a second before he straightened back up, intricate metal armor clinked noisily as he repositioned himself. She couldn’t blame them for their wariness. Everyone within the walls were well trusted and aware she was merely a decoy. So them wanting to inform the Lord and Lady of her inviting an unknown guest was smart.
“The Lord will trust my faith in someone so you can run along and tell him but that will not stop me from bringing him in and tending to his wounds. This man can be trusted and will be under my watch,” Faye waved her had dismissively and the guards obeyed, stepping aside to allow Sandor in with soured faces. There was no doubt in her mind she would get a lecture about this but it was worth it to her.
She then waved for Sandor to come with her before turning on her heels to begin walking to the infirmary.
ONE. I'm not sure how to exactly answer this question, so we'll go with what I can think of.
It's no secret that I'm not a fan of Danny's backstory in canon. There's a reason why I throw it away, why this blog is canon divergent. Honestly, I think his character would have been strengthened if his backstory had been kept a mystery. There's nothing more petrifying than a killer whose entire life outside of the mask is unknown.
TWO. I genuinely don't pay much attention to deebeedee fanon. I saw enough of the marvel fanon back around 2012-2015 to be content with completely ignoring fanon everywhere, anywhere for the rest of my life dskgnks.
BUT I do dislike when I see people turning GF into nothing but a meme. I think he can be a meme, and I do indulge in that on occasion myself; however, he's not defined by that. I think it detracts from his character when it's done consistently, especially in fanon spaces.
Who’s he? The friend in school who always carried gum, Tylenol or Kleenex for somebody else. Pot-bellied, and cockroached by niggardly wages from the great liberals.
‘ I saw you watching this house at four in the morning. '
@trashcollected. — this is all ancient history. i’m over it. ( kyle )
“ you know, ” theo begins, treading carefully, a hidden minefield beneath their feet. it's dangerous to make assumptions of people, and they have learned by now when to be bold and when to be subtle. ignoring their instincts is a shortcut to regret.
they scent steel, blood, a history that they aren't privy to. it isn't reassuring, but it doesn't stop them from speaking their mind, either.
“ people who say that often aren't over it. it's the same as insisting you don't care. aggressively insisting it doesn't matter to you is the same as admitting that it does. ” they study him from beneath the long fan of their lashes, lips in a thoughtful line. “ is that true for you, as well? ”
the ghouls in ghost, as far as we have seen in Terzo-era youtube videos, are actually just guys and gals in masks, per canon. the fandom has just made them demons, which is far more interesting.
the fanon is that the Ghouls are basically ABO werewolves/cats, with "packs" and "mates" and "heats" and "knotting"
“Some people at least feel like they do.” Q pointed out from where he was sitting on the wall, green eyes locked on the actuators with delighted interest despite how they were moving. “I do work. And I’m happy to work. But that doesn’t mean I belong with real people.” He let out a sigh. “Can I touch them?”
There was a tremor in his hands now, one that he could no longer distinguish if it appeared due to his nerves or if was it the torture that had made it impossible to make his fingers stop twitching on their own. The bathroom mirror was unwelcome as he stood looking at the water that he was to wash his face with. Long silver strands of hair framed a face he no longer recognized. Lucius had hardly slept, his body felt beaten, each part aching in a different way if he dared move.
The only reason he had forced himself up from his bed, was to accompany Narcissa as some guests would arrive at the Manor for breakfast. Long brittle fingers moved under the surface of the water, wishing to submerge himself fully but having no longer the fake bravado to even pretend, to his own pathetic reflection that he would be capable of doing anything other than becoming another ghost, hardly any different to the portraits lining the walls, the same ones that now nagged far less, and looked and peeked when he would walk by, hushed worried voices that taunted him.
As soon as he was dressed, his cane in his hand, he made his way to the bedroom door, he needed to go down but his body refused to move. What horrors did await him today? What torture would he survive? Would he? A prisoner in his own home, brought down to beg and hope.
Turning the knob, the door revealed the hallway, to his left there would be the stairs that would lead him to the first floor and the dining area, but before he could take two steps, another crossed his path. “ You are not supposed to be on this floor. ” What bite and aggression he once had, was lost. His voice felt distant and alien, without any authority or conviction. It was as if someone else had spoken for him with a weak attempt at copying his voice.
Lucius's knuckles are white on his wand. "You are less use than my worthless house-elf." Lucius has never polished anything in his life, but it can't be that bad if Dobby can manage it in good time. "And that fool doesn't even have a wand." Too many things have gone wrong today: the menu had to be changed twice, Draco was lost track of, and one of the peacocks tried to eat a decorative fairy and nearly choked to death.
The only thing that makes him feel better is kicking Dobby whenever he sees him and tormenting the lackeys around him. Lucius looms over Wormtail with icy eyes. "I have so many more things to do in the next two hours, and you can't even polish silver on command. It's a miracle you can keep a grip on your wand." If this somehow goes horribly wrong, he's telling the Dark Lord it's Wormtail's fault. It's not as if it's difficult to believe.
