brazieres

the bittersweet between my teeth

Pairing: Daenerys Targaryen x Jon Snow
Rating: Explicit
Word count: 3,750

Belowdecks, all Jon could hear were the creaks of the boat as they rode the gently rolling waves to White Harbor and his own quick, shaky breaths. He lingered outside the queen’s quarters, shoring up the courage to knock. There were no sounds coming from beyond the door. Perhaps the queen was already asleep. Perhaps, despite the lingering looks, first in her council room then later in the mess hall over dinner, she wasn’t waiting for him at all.

He wet his lips, eyes boring into the finely carved Targaryen sigil in her door. It was foolish to be nervous. He could face down the White Walkers and their dead with all the grit of a true Northern-born son, lead the Night’s Watch and thousands of Wildlings as Lord Commander, and protect the people of Winterfell as King in the North–but all that went to shit when Daenerys so much as looked at him, that violet-hued gaze as sharp as Valyrian steel.

And yet, whatever misgiving he had about being here, he knew she wouldn’t turn him away. It was inevitable he’d end up here. He knew that much.

Gods be good. One more deep, fortifying breath, and he rapped a sharp knock on her door. He didn’t wait long for her to answer. Hazy lighting from candles and a crackling fire illuminated her silhouette from behind as she opened the door, staying her movements at the sight of him. There was surprise in that normally impassive, steely-eyed stare. And–acknowledgement, he thought. A shared understanding.

She knew it was inevitable, too.

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8

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. 

for @dreamofspring

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

You think you are funny?

Something comes over her at breakfast that morning. She sits beside Malcolm and listens absently as he explains his latest ideas for updated Camp defenses–chews on a piece of toast, taps her fingers against the table, makes vague sounds of agreement–but she feels inexplicably giddy today, for perhaps no other reason than being alive under a beautiful, sunny sky. 

Plus, Percy’s got a terrible case of bedhead, and his shirt is on backwards and inside-out, and she can’t help but smiling as she watches him, three tables away, falling asleep in his cereal. 

“Sounds good,” Annabeth says, bumping her shoulder into Malcolm’s as she gets to her feet. She tugs her baseball cap from her belt loop. “Show me the plans later.” 

Malcolm sighs. “Because you only heard half of what I said. Don’t cause too much trouble?” 

“You know me.” 

“That’s the problem!” 

She pulls her hat on and slips from visibility, makes her way towards Poseidon’s table, where Tyson is humming along to a song one of the Demeter kids is singing. Percy is too easy a target–his chin rests in his palm, his elbow at the edge of the table, and he’s already nodding off. She sneaks up behind him, safe and grinning beneath her hat, and pushes the at back of his head. 

He face-plants in his cold bowl of cereal. 

Campers around him erupt into laughter as Percy comes up gasping, milk dripping down his face and cereal clinging to his cheeks. He looks accusingly at his half-brother, who raises his hands in innocence, before taking a handful of scrambled eggs and smashing them into Tyson’s hair. The Demeter kid stops singing. Someone gasps. Malcolm–wise, exasperated Malcolm–groans. 

A familiar voice at the Ares table yells, “Food fight!” 

Annabeth is safe from the initial volley. Invisible, she ducks behind Tyson’s broad shoulders, misses a glob of jelly that flies right by her head. She’s content to watch the chaos–Will Solace wields bottles of honey, and Hazel flings waffles like discuses, and Piper is cackling as she shoots sausages from her cornucopia. Goblets topple over and stain the white tablecloths. French toast and bacon sizzle as they land on the central brazier. Campers duck beneath tables and slip around the pavilion and toss muffins at one another like dodgeballs. 

She thinks Clarisse is the one that ends up landing the hit that gets her found. It’s a splatter of strawberry jam, and it lands right at her jaw. She reels back from the force of it, reaches back to catch herself, probably makes some sound of surprise. 

And Percy, ever in tune with her, whips his head to the side. 

She crab-walks backwards, hand after foot, as if that’s going to save her. A huff of breathless laughter escapes him. He stares at her, through her, the smear of jam across her jaw, the only thing of her that he can see. There’s a flash in his eyes before he’s throwing himself from the table. He lands on top of her in a mess of limbs, wrestles his way up her body, pins her to the ground. 

She can’t help but laugh. 

“You think you’re funny?” Percy asks, grinning. He reaches up and pulls her hat from her head, reveals her face in its strawberry-covered glory, kisses her forehead and nose and cheeks until she aches with happiness. “You did this!” 

Annabeth wraps her arms around his neck and rubs her face against his, smears jam across his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. She kisses it, sweet and tart, from his lips. She thinks her heart is going to burst from happiness, from love. “Good morning.”

Okay but think about how PERFECT it is that Vex flew as a Red Dragon into the Dawn Father’s brazier. This is the form of her fears, of her hate, the form she chose all those years ago to direct her vengeance toward. It spurred her quest for knowledge and self-mastery. It was the impetus to hone her skills. It killed her mother, changed her life forever. She is the Dragon’s Bane and she flew as the manifestation of her first and most primal fear, wearing the scales of one of its lieutenants, into the heart of fire and came out the other side glowing I just can’t even begin to even. 

(ALSO CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW FAST SCANLAN REACTED. WITHOUT A SECOND’S HESITATION HE BELIEVED IN HER ABILITY TO DO THIS SHIT ON HER OWN SO MUCH THAT HE DUMPED HIS HIGHEST LEVEL SPELL INTO HER. I CANNOT BEGIN TO EVEN WITH THIS FUCKING SHOW.)

Dungeon Crawl Classic Shenanigans

K: So I’ve got an Oil Flask if we encounter something dangerous.

R: Don’t you also have a cart full of dead people?

K: Yes? Oh, that’s disturbing.


DM: You find a burial chamber.

K: We have more dead people for the dead cart!

Y: Yay!


DM: You kneecap the snake.


R: Brazier, not brassiere. You put fire in it instead of boobs.

Where There’s Smoke

NurseyDex, 3600 words, Rated Teen, Fluff/First Date/First Kiss (here on AO3)

For day six of @nurseydexweek! There aren’t nearly enough fics about the SMH folks going to WaterFire, so here’s my contribution.


“My sweet, sweet frog.”

Dex groans, the noise muffled into the pillow that he’s holding over his face. “I’m not doing so great, Bitty.”

“You’re gonna be fine.” Bitty climbs onto his own bed and sits against the wall, pulling Dex’s legs over his lap. “I still think that for your own sanity, you need to do something.”

Dex pulls the pillow away so Bitty can get the full brunt of his expression and how much he does not appreciate that suggestion. “Um, no. We’re, like, living together and actually getting along, and I don’t wanna do anything to screw it up.”

“Sweetie.”

“I can’t just ask him out!”

“And why not?”

“Because the thought of it makes me wanna throw up.”

Bitty sighs and pats Dex’s shin. This is a familiar argument, but usually Bitty gives up sooner. Not that Dex can blame him, really, with how often he slinks across the hall to Bitty’s room just to whine about his pathetic crush on Nursey.

“Then you need end up on a date without actually asking him on a date,” he says firmly, and Dex raises his eyebrows.

“That seems like a clichéd, awful idea.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “I’m giving you an opportunity here. Jack and I have been meaning to go to WaterFire, and y’all should just come with us. There’s one this weekend.”

“I have no idea what that is,” Dex admits.

Bitty waves his hand. “It’s this public art installation thing, there’s a lot of fire and it’s really romantic. And it’s right up Nursey’s alley, he’ll totally be up for it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me.”

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Door Struggles

Critters asked: How many cumulative hours has Vox Machina fought with doors on stream?

It’s impossible to say in in-game time because some of it wasn’t measured in neat 6-second rounds. We can, however, measure real life time! For this (and for fun), we decided to include some barriers and portals that functioned as doors as well. We didn’t include doors that didn’t pose a threat to Vox Machina. Updated to Episode 85.

Time Spent Dealing With Doors and Barriers: 4:11:13

Thanks to icecream-s-coops, @JacobSBrowning, @_miss_maria_, Monique S., and our past volunteers for their work compiling this list!

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(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DUKVzytLPE)