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poetdameron reblogged
Inspired by this one-shot by @poetdameron.
___
It doesn’t take long until he starts to see her.
Frankly, Jon always suspected - no, he knew - from the moment the cold steel of Longclaw sank into her tender flesh, it was over for him. He would pay for this, he realized, as he clutched her and wept while the lifeblood seeped out from her body.
He was silent when the others found him there, no longer weeping. No longer trembling. Just cradling her face in his lap and tracing her features. So beloved. So beautiful. I killed her, he thought as he threaded his fingers through her locks of silvery-pale-gold. I killed her, he thought as the others gathered around him, shaking him, tapping him, calling out to him. I killed them, he thought as he recalls her faintly swelling stomach, the way she clutched at her abdomen as he betrayed her. I killed them, he thought as he stands in front of her pyre, as her ashes float away with the wind.
I killed you, he thinks the first time she appears before him, late at night in the halls. She’s beautiful. Wavy, unbound hair of pale white-blonde, flawless skin accentuating full pink lips and breathtaking purple eyes, small frame clad in a flowing white gown. Her belly is swollen. With child. My child. I killed my child too.
“Dany,” he murmurs. “Dany.”
“Jon.” Her voice is naught more than a whisper, so silent that one might mistake it for the wind echoing faintly through the corridors. Even as he approaches her, he strains to make out her words. “You killed me.” A small hand settles on her belly. “You killed our child.”
He sinks to his knees before her. Forgive me, he wants to say, but he cannot say the words. He will not ask that of her, he does not deserve to plead for her forgiveness. I killed you.
“You are right,” he whispers. “I killed the woman I love.” His eyes drift to her stomach. “I killed my child.”
In a trance, he reaches for her. For the hem of her dress, because he does not dare lay his hands on her flesh. He does not have that right. This is the most he can hope for, kneeling at her feet, unsure of if he is worthy of dirtying her dress with his touch.
He is not. Of course, he is not. As his fingers make contact, she vanishes, slipping from his grasp like wisps of smoke. He is left there kneeling, staring. Hollow.
From then on, she is his companion when she desires. As he lays on his bed and stares up at the ceiling, she sometimes stands over him. Whispering. Beckoning. “One day, Jon,” she promises. “Live. Keep living. Suffer.”
And so he does. He lives, and breathes, and keeps himself alive, if only barely, and she rewards him from time to time with that satisfied little smirk that is the sole thing that brings him any semblance of happiness anymore. He cannot lose that smile. He will do anything, anything at all, to keep it.
“One day, when I am satisfied,” she assures him, “I will come for you. I am waiting, you know. Our child is waiting.”
“Please,” he begs her. “Dany, make that day soon.” She never deigns to reply to that request.
His other, more constant companion, is emptiness. He spends his days in his chamber, scarcely sleeping, scarcely eating. Some nights he ventures out in the forest, half-hoping he will stumble and fall down some ditch and break his neck in the process. But he mostly does it because she seems to have a fondness for the open night air, and will appear more often in the forest after all other men have retired to their beds.
He cannot hang on to any sort of repose, and food is now naught but tasteless lumps that travel down his intestine and into his stomach, to be shat out again. Most of his time is spent sitting on his bed, staring. Remembering. Wondering.
Why do I live? He asks himself one day. He does not know. He has no desires, no pleasures, no joy. Not even simple contentment. He is nothing, he has nothing, and inside him is nothing. There is no reason for his existence.
“Because”, she answers him, taking a seat on the bed some distance away from him, “I want it, Jon. Keep living. Keep breathing. Keep existing.” She smiles, gently and spitefully, and by the gods, she is beautiful. “Then I will come.” A whispery laugh. “I cannot wait, Jon. Our child,” her hands go to her swollen belly, lovingly. “Our child is excited, too.”
Life goes on like that.
Jon cannot recall who died as he stands before the dead man’s funeral pyre, emerging from his rooms during daytime for this rare occasion. Locks of his hair, now more silver than dark, flap about his face and sting at his eyes. Flames lick and spark and travel over the wood until they are stoked into a roaring fire. Standing close to the pyre - too close, he hears the men whisper, for he always stands closer than any other - the heat is intense, and Jon does not care.
She hasn’t come for some time. It is driving Jon mad, the hollowness inside him yawning and gaping. Where is she? Has she abandoned him? If she had, he would sooner walk into the flames himself than continue living. But she wishes him to wait. She wants him to live, until she is satisfied.
So he will. Even if she does not return.
He gazes into the flames. How beautiful they look. How inviting. He envies the body lying peacefully amidst the fire, dissolving into ash and bone. He wished he could be that corpse, instead. Would that not be wonderful?
Don’t, he reminds himself. Dany is not satisfied yet.
“Jon.”
His eyes widen. Is he hearing things? Has he finally gone mad in her absence? He gazes about frantically, but he cannot find her, cannot pinpoint where her voice came from. Where is she? Where is she?
“Jon. Here.”
His eyes fall on the funeral pyre, on the fire. And she is standing there, back to him but looking over her shoulder, amidst the roaring flames. Pale hair unbound and dress billowing, still as youthful and lovely as she was when he killed her. She looks poised to walk away, and Jon’s heart drops sickeningly; no - no, Dany, please, don’t leave me - but then she turns completely towards him and his chest swells. Cradled in her arms is a babe with tufts of silvery-gold hair, deep indigo eyes, plump and rosy cheeks.
By the gods.
It is his child. It is their child.
Jon can do nothing but stare. He’s unable to tell if the child is a girl or a boy, but he doesn’t care. Fuck, he does not care. It is the most wondrous thing he has ever beheld.
Dany beams gently at him, and his heart thumps. The babe looks at him curiously, sucking its thumb, and Jon could die from the swelling tide of love that swamps him as he gazes at the two of them.
“Jon,” Dany calls. Cradling their child in one arm tenderly against her chest, she opens her other arm to him. Jon can swear that his heart stops in that moment. She cannot mean…
“I am satisfied, Jon.” The words he can hardly believe. “And,” Dany adds, turning a loving gaze to the babe, “our child wants to meet you.”
Tears spill from Jon’s eyes. “Dany,” he whispers. “Dany.”
Her hand is still extended to him as she calls, “Come here.” The babe looks at its mother quizzically and then back at Jon. He realizes he is trembling.
“Come here, Jon,” Dany smiles.“Join us. We miss you.”
Jon is only too happy to comply.
For the first time, for the first time since countless years ago, he runs. He runs toward the pyre, ignoring the startled shouts and calls of “Lord Commander!” from the men at his back. His old and unused joints groan and creak, but pain has never felt so utterly trivial before.
Closer. Closer. Almost there. Almost…
Jon flings himself onto the pyre. He cannot see anything but shades of orange, red, dark yellow, and more importantly, Dany and their babe, standing amidst the flames, welcoming him. He cannot hear anything but crackling and snapping, and more importantly, Dany’s calls. “Join us, Jon,” she whispers. “Come here. We miss you.”
“Dany,” he hisses, frantic, desperate, fighting through the wood and smoke and fire to reach her and their child. His lungs burn and scream for air and his vision is fading and his skin is washed in a peculiar warm, prickling sensation, but he struggles and shoves and claws. “Dany,” he cries. “Dany!”
And then she is in front of him, cradling their child in her arms, and smiling at him. He stares at her.
He wants to say something, anything, but the sight of her and the babe has him struck dumb and mute, unable to utter a single word. And yet, even as he gapes like a halfwit, he feels the smile split his face, the tears clouding his vision. His head is pounding, and his body feels like it has been thrust into boiling water.
Dany grins. It is a carefree grin, girlish and enthusiastic and pleased. She bounces the child on her hip and reaches up, placing a pale, cool hand on his cheek. A shiver of euphoria grips Jon’s body, and he all but moans in bliss at her touch.
She goes to retract her hand, but Jon catches it and clutches it fiercely. He brings it to his mouth and kisses it; all over her palm, on the tip of each finger, on her knuckles. Dany laughs. “You’re quite eager, Jon Snow,” she comments slyly. Jon almost weeps to hear her voice so full of mirth.
“Dany,” he rasps, “You do not know…you do not know how much I have missed you.” His vision is fading, his body is numb, and his skin looks…queer, fleshy pink and bloody red and purple-grey. But it all means nothing as he stares at her, and at his child.
Dany’s gaze turns solemn. “I do,” she murmurs, looking down at the babe. “I know exactly how much. Our child and I…” She glances back up at him, and he hopes she is smiling. He prays to the gods that she is smiling, but he can no longer - no longer see her, he can no longer make her out. He feels weak, hazy, sapped of all his strength.
Tired. So tired.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Jon.”
The men of the Night’s Watch shout and bellow for help, but there is nothing to be done. In the end, they are forced to watch as the pyre collapses and the flames consume it, their Lord Commander still somewhere in there.
When the fire dies at long last, the men of the Night’s Watch gather around the piles of cinder and dust, and find two piles of fragmented bones and two piles of ash.
Jon Snow was a mad man, they say.
___
I’m pissed.
I’m so fucking pissed at those leaks and the way Dany was handled. D&D’s writing is absolutely atrocious. Not only did they go for the sexist insanity angle, they portrayed it in the most hilariously idiotic way possible.
But. This is my headcanon now. Jon returns to the Night’s Watch and he goes mad. If all Targaryens are insane as Dumb&Dumber are trying desperately to convince us, then Jon is insane too. He’s been through enough traumatizing shit to break him mentally, and in my mind, killing Dany finally drove him over the edge. I refuse to accept the misogynistic idea of Jon remaining a tortured hero TM after he kills Daenerys because men are too strong to succumb to madness even in the midst of their man pain.
Anyway, as you can probably tell, I went for the angle made by @poetdameron that Jon begins to hallucinate the spirit of a pregnant Daenerys speaking to him. The pregnancy may or may not be a product of Jon’s delusion; I’ll leave that for the reader to decide.
Daenerys, though, is absolutely a hallucination on Jon’s part imo, not her actual ghost. It doesn’t fit ASOIAF’s mythos for Dany’s spirit to be able to communicate with Jon. And besides, Dany’s spirit wouldn’t hang around Jon like that after he killed her. She certainly wouldn’t be welcoming him to “join her” with open arms like she “did” in the fic. That’s all a product of Jon’s insanity.
Jon Snow is a mad man, it is said.
From mouth to mouth, they say he lives in silence a top of the Night’s Watch, walks along others wearing black that call him Lord Commander and watch him go alone in the night when the cold is more cruel until morrow comes and he is back in his chambers, alone and ever silent.
He never leaves the castle, barely leaves his chambers. He only resurges at night to meet the White Lady that haunts the place, the men say when they go down to town.
That they hear the chain he wears on his wrist and around his hand, when he walks alone, murmuring back to the White Lady at his side.
She whispers for him to come to her when he has paid for what he’s done, she awaits with child. They await his homecoming.
The mad man refuses her sight, her voice, her touch, yet always follows her direction with his eyes to the ground. And he speaks of her and sometimes even dares talk to her, like only a mad man can believe its ghosts are real.
He sees her at down, too. In the snow and beyond the wall. She’s always there, the men say to have seen her too. The White Lady with her almost full belly, her red cheeks, pink lips, white hair.
She’s always there.
"I killed the woman I love”, he answers when Lords come and ask why he has exiled himself to the North, smelling of smoke and holding himself miserable, all in black, chain in his hand.
“I killed the woman I love,” he talks of her like if she was still breathing, his White Lady that never leaves, that mourns at night his lost mind.
He is a mad man now, starving himself from the rest of the world, refusing to see the King and the Queen in the North that call him a brother, even if people believes him the last true Stark standing, the hero of Westeros.
Sometimes, there’s a gilmmer of purple in his eyes when he looks at those who call him that. He refuses the name, the people, the story. Refuses the fire in the coldest nights as he refuses guards and more men when going beyond the wall.
“He is mad”, the men say.
“He wants to die.”, and he tries and tries, and tries, yet always comes back.
Jon Snow is a mad man that speaks alone at night, holds around his right hand a chain with a three headed dragon until it numbs it, that wants to die, yet refuses to at the end.
“I killed the woman I love,” he answers when asked why, in spite of the subtle attempts and his disenchantment of the world, he doesn’t die. “I killed my only child.”
One day, the men say, he will purge his sins and the White Lady will take him back.
At night, the last mad Targaryen prays for it.
#jonerys#jonerys fic#gotjonerys#jon snow#gotjonsnow#got leaks#got spoilers#spoilers#i mean i guess the leaks are true so yeah i was sad tonight#eh#mine#my fanfics#my short fics#otp: a song of ice and fire#guess i should change that uh?#christ#angst#unbeta'd#1k#I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS 1K!!! THANK YOU GUYS!!!
DAENERYS TARGARYEN official Mother’s Day card by HBO.
Dude, I miss johanbeck suddenly. Do you have any new headcanons for share? :D
- None of them is particularry good in the kitchen, but both have a good taste for food and have similar eating habits.
- She enjoys comedy and silly movies, while Chris has an easy mood for the dramatics and more deep ones, but both will fall asleep to too artistic shit.
- He secretly loves action movies, so she pretends to chose the action films for her during movie nights but in reality is for him. She doesn’t mind them, but think it’s cute how he tries to not be that guy.
- Chris was scared shitless to meet Beth’s father but soon realized the one he should had feared was her mother. He has a good relationship with both anyway.
- Yet, the one they trust more with their child(ren) is Chris’ mother.
- At first, he didn’t like the cat sleeping with them because of his allergies, soon he didn’t mind it much and sometimes falls asleep with the cat in the couch. He has to be given shots after it, but he loves Piper the cat, too.
- Once Piper dies, he can’t help but cry him with Beth and their kid. He gets them a new kitten when the grief is less, but he has a picture of Piper in his office back at NASA’s hospital.
- She loves Star Wars, he loves Star Trek, their daughter believes they are both idiots (but enjoys hearing their discussions about it).
- Yet, both would put their likings aside to watch whatever with their loved one.
- They have their own profiles in their netflix account, but always end up using Beth’s.
Hi! Do you know good jonerys modern AU? I need fanfics for my travel!
I’m gonna be honest with you, I haven’t read THAT many fanfics in the fandom (yet). But I can recommend you my favorite Modern AUs so far:
Fight or Flight, and I Flew by crossingwinter
Summary: Maybe she’s imagining hearing Jon’s voice in the night. She probably can’t hear anything over the wind roaring in her ears as she makes her way through the city towards the bus that will take her down to Hyde Park. She feels her phone buzzing in her purse, but she doesn’t want to untuck her hands from her sleeves long enough to put on her gloves so she lets it be.
She’ll look on the bus. She’ll have to—she needs to let Missandei know she’s coming.
Rated: M
Commentary: I read this because I love suffering. This fic shocked me in a good way, it left me without words and sometimes, I still think about it and how I felt when I first read it. I have read it at lest six times since I found it, three months ago. It’s amazing.
Let Me Take Your Hand And Dance ‘Round The Flame by thefairfleming
Summary: Dany runs her family’s company, and Jon is her assistant. They meet at a bar after hours, events ensue.
Rated: T
Commentary: Listen, this story is… something else. I don’t know why I’m like this, why I like this kind of stuff but I do. Is hot and fun to read.
Draw Your Swords by sulasass
Summary: Jon and Daenerys are mere strangers competing for the same promotion and they are fighting with intensity. However when it all comes down to it will they end up caring more about the promotion or each other?__________________
It didn’t matter if this was completely wrong – this was what they both wanted and needed right now.
“But if I kiss you,” He leaned in, his hand pushing the wall by her head. He was so tantalizing close that what he was offering up was driving her wild. “Then I won’t be able to stop.”
“I’m not going to want you to stop, Jon.”
Rated: M
Commentary: This on-going story has me happy since I first read it. I started it as the author started postng, too, so I have a special connection to it, I feel. It’s just– such a wonderful, well characterized and written piece, you have to read it.
Meet me halfway. by kcsantos
Summary: The first time he saw her was the first of many times that she would knock on his door.
Rated: T
Commentary: OH, THIS IS MY FAVORITE. I love it, both chapters are amazing and draw the characters in such a beautiful way. The little details of this fic is what makes it so perfect, and you gotta read it. Right now.
and the dream was just the same by l_cloudy
Summary: Jon calls her princess and brings her roses and ruins her lipstick every damn time, and then Jon is bleeding on the sidewalk and they tell her Jon is dead, and –
(That’s how it starts: there’s a girl, and one day she meets a boy.)
Rated: T
Commentary: This fic killed me in many, many ways. It’s like a poem. It’s THAT beautiful.
And I have some Modern AUs of my own, too:
Small Bump by poetdameron
Summary: When Dany and Jon left their apartment that morning, she already knew they’ll get bad news.
Rated: M
Commentary: Heads up, I talk about some heavy and personal stuff in here.
Open Windows by poetdameron
Summary: Jon has a new neighboor he can see across his open window every morning, and he’s sure Ghost and Nymeria, like Arya, are in love with her.
Or, Jon and Arya share an apartment and Dany moves to the building in front of their window and plays with their dogs at the distance.
Rated: M
Commentary: I WILL FINISH IT, I promise. I just need to get out this horrible writer’s block.
poetdameron reblogged
loyal friend, don’t palm my back tonight,
i’m yet not ready for the latest news.
i know your whisper is true,
‘he is never coming back’,
but tonight it will be my comfort to know,
you are visiting him for me.
embrace his grace in bright warm,
feed him crumbs and make him cry his thank you.
love him like no other until he’ll beg to be destroyed.
and just then, let him feel the sharp
of your smile, kiss him goodnight
and let his blues be my waltz.
solitude. nc. (via poewhowrites)
poetdameron reblogged
poetdameron reblogged
I know you think of dying, I’m there too.
You are in love and you think it’s the one,
he is not (neither is the next one).
The world will not end because you haven’t kiss,
it won’t end either because your legs are closed.
You lie to protect yourself,
and it all will blow on your face,
but you will end in the City.
It may not be as glorious as you dreamed,
it’s not a victory but another lesson.
A little death, whispering to be mourn.
Don’t do it, don’t start so young.
Remember that I cannot hold you,
but you can keep walking.
That’s all that matters now,
to keep walking, and walking.
Wake up, Coppelia.
dear fourteen years old me. nc. (via poewhowrites)
poetdameron reblogged
And just then, you can finally don’t look back again. x
Source: rrogers
poetdameron reblogged
poewhowrites-deactivated2016061
Él está enojado contigo,
mereces su odio, lo haces.
Él te mira con enormes ojos,
estás muerto.
Y volverás de entre los huesos por él,
siempre lo haces.
Forma una línea escandalosa con sus labios,
vomita la ira en jardín seco,
ya no te necesita.
Quisiste besarlo frente a su chica
y cuando sus brazos se cruzaron sobre su pecho,
te diste cuenta: lo perdiste.
Ya no te necesita,
ya no es pequeño.
Enormes ojos te miran asustados
mientras tú murmuras:
‘¡Al fin tienes una chica!’
‘Pero yo te amé primero’.
Estás solo.
Soledad ardiente, nc. (via poewhowrites)
poetdameron reblogged
i’m standing in a pool of uncertainty,
whispering to the world to shut the fuck up.
all around makes me wish for brighter words,
a softer world maybe,
certainly more light on my talk.
here’s the trick of all this,
it’s called survival and i feel like i’m–
just– not using it right anymore.
it has died for me,
i’m not longer able to cope
with what gave it to me in the first place.
the world is too big
and i’m too tiny to even dance again,
let alone write,
let alone speak,
there’s only acting now.
but I’m an adult (goddammit)
and i wake up earlier to work better,
hate the noise of happy kids
and lovers in the streets.
i dream with paid taxes and longer breaks,
a one bedroom apartment
with a view of a city that doesn’t belong to me anymore.
brighter days, maybe.
certainly winter, warm sheets,
hot coffee and an open moleskine,
a pen that can write,
a mind to write with.
being me again.
poetdameron reblogged
poewhowrites-deactivated2016061
Es una cueva:
de piedra y silencio.
Más silencio que piedra,
así soy yo.
En la cueva, Elena es lo más importante
y lo otro, que caíga en pozo.
A esta cueva,
nadie entra.
Y si se permite, ya no sale.
Así como no saldrá nada más,
aquí y ahora…
elena. nc. (via poewhowrites)
How do you think was the johanbeck wedding?
A lot of fans like to think of it as a big thing, but I think it was a more private affair between friends and family. None have a exactly big family, but the entire Ares III crew was invited with their families/dates, along other friends from NASA, college, the Air Forces and more.
The groupd of nerd friends of Beth made her happy by appearing to her wedding even when they haven’t talked in a while, and she was glad to meet the rest of Chris’ old squad in the Air Forces and the rest of his cousins.
I do believe there was some press, since they were pretty known back on Earth and after what happened with Mark, they had a lot of spotlight over them. Besides, at some point the romance in space may become public or people will suspect it happened out there, and you know how we are in social media and more.
WE WANT MORE.
And it can even help the Ares Program, you know? It may have some people looking down at it because of what happened, but if you have a sane, healthy and happy crew back on Earth that is so close, two of them are getting married, making the public happy, too, it’s good for the image of it.
But it wasn’t like, papparazzi all over. Maybe they allowed a magazine or two to enter, tak esome pictures of them, none of the party. But there was probably papparazzi after the ceremony in the church and before the party.
Overall, I think it was very intimate and happy for them. We know Mark probably gave a speech and told a few things that happened in the travel back home, and when Chris told them he was crushing on Johanssen, and it made everyone laugh and happy.
poetdameron reblogged
“We don’t have epic space battles here on planet earth, but he (Adam Driver) said ‘A lot of kids can relate to having parents who are really devoted to like a political cause or to a business, or to their faith, their church. And that devotion sometimes makes the kids rebel against it, rebelling in this case against the actual rebellion.’“ - Anthony Breznican on how Kylo Ren is relatable
#*and supreme leader snoke like a lot of predators out there*#A LOT OF PREDATORS OUT THERE#tHank you#fucking THANK YOU#like cool if you don't get the dude or just don't like the character#but dON'T BE A FUCKING DICK ABOUT IT#TO ANYONE#YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT FEELS ALRIGHT#YOU DON'T#YOU FUCKING DON'T#AND YOU DON'T WANT TO#FUCK YOU ALL#star wars#st#ben solo
Every time I watch the movie, ‘While We’re Young’, I can’t help but think about that one time a friend of mine, who showed me the movie in the first place, told me he wished it would had gone different since he felt Ben Stiller’s character was so heartbroken when he discovered the truth about Jamie (Adam Driver) because he had an actual crush on the younger man.
At the time, a common friend we had told him he just wanted everything to be gay, but I found it very interesting and we meta-ed about it for a whole night, it was pretty fun. It was 2014, I was still in uni and sleepless night were my every day. I have great memories of that.
I think about it a lot because a year later, my man here admitted to himself a few things and came out to his family and closer friends, and last year got married. The movie would had gone different for him, because what potential he saw was something he was going through at the time. Isn’t it nice when movies talk to people in different ways?