#listen vi loving plants makes so much sense too
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Plant moms plant moms plant moms
The one prompt I managed to get done for caivi week xD
#piltover’s finest#listen vi loving plants makes so much sense too#i could write an essay about it#and cry abt it too#my art#arcane
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Prove Me Wrong, Darling
who doesn't love a bit of enemies to lovers? :)
You and Agatha had never gotten along. From your perspective, it was due to a conflict of interest. Whereas if you asked her, she'd likely say it was a conflict of intelligence, or something else insulting along those lines. Though the issue you had with the fellow witch wasn't her attitude, rather her underestimation of your powers. It'd started with her massacre of the Coven, when she'd attempted to end your life alongside the others. But to her surprise, you'd been strong enough to defend yourself and escape. Since then, there'd been several instances where your paths had crossed, and you hadn't let her live down the failure yet.
This particular occasion was different, however, as Agatha had asked you for help.
It'd taken everything in you not to immediately mock her. But you knew that she'd leave without further explanation if she felt ridiculed, and you were just dying to know what had made her stoop to your level. So, you'd swallowed your pride and attentively listened to her proposal. It'd mostly featured the repeated phrases "immense power" and "huge source of energy," and even a confession that she was baffled by the cause, which only intrigued you further.
Although you weren't too interested in accumulating anymore power, the opportunity to be on level ground with Agatha was too good to pass on. You confessed this to her upon accepting the invitation, which resulted in an unimpressed eye roll. Regardless of her annoyance, you left that same day, arriving in the least expected location. A quaint town in New Jersey.
"Well," You landed behind Agatha in the middle of a road, surveying the picturesque, colourless neighbourhood. "isn't this lovely."
She pursed her lips, looking round similarly perplexed. "Lovely?" She echoed. "This is like every outdated suburban stereotype rolled into one. Like some kind of picture-perfect movie set."
Her condescending comment jogged a memory. "That's what I was thinking of!" You exclaimed, clapping your hands enthusiastically. "Did you ever watch that sitcom- from the 50s? The Dick Van Dyke Show?"
"From the title alone I'm glad I didn't."
"Seriously, it's practically the same setting." You moved to stand directly in front, forcing her to look at you.
"So, what you're saying is someone used this insane amount of power just to recreate their favourite TV show?" She quirked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your theory.
"Well, wouldn't you?"
"No."
"Anyway." You glanced down at the rather eye-catching ensemble Agatha was currently wearing, then at your comparably casual yet modern clothes. "This isn't going to work." With a wave of your hand, the jeans and jumper combo was replaced by a more period accurate pencil skirt and blouse. Satisfied, you looked up at her expectantly.
Taking it as a challenge, she copied the gesture, managing to both create a new dress and fix up her hair. She smirked, enjoying the chance to show off her superior abilities.
"It's not a competition." You huffed.
She placed a hand on your arm fake comfortingly. "Of course not, dear."
The contact caused you to shiver slightly. It felt as though her touch ignited sparks, though the sensation wasn't exactly unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact. But indulging in it didn't feel right either, so you were grateful when Agatha removed her hand.
Her face dropped, eyebrows furrowing. Slowly, she swivelled round to point at a house. "There. Can you feel it?"
Following her outstretched finger, you tuned into the energy, focusing specifically on the house. "Mhm." Unsurprisingly, Agatha was right. An unfamiliar energy was being emitted from whoever was inside. You tried to pinpoint what kind of magic the user possessed, but found no trace of any familiar type. "Shall we go meet the neighbours, then?"
"You read my mind." She muttered, narrowing her eyes and offering an arm without so much as sparing a glance in your direction.
You hesitated, taken aback by the kind gesture. It hadn't dawned on you until then that an incredibly powerful being was residing little over 10 metres away, and that you were both about to willingly walk into their house. Looping your arm with hers created a naïve sense of safety.
Neither spoke as you approached the house with faux confidence, only pausing for Agatha to summon a potted plant. A house warming gift, you guessed. The simple gesture of goodwill brought a smile to your face.
"I didn't expect you to be such a considerate neighbour." You whispered.
"Gotta make a good first impression." She reached out to knock against the door.
---
You sighed. Barely an hour spent in this black and white world and you were already bored. Everything was so tiresomely perfect, so normal that you questioned how you'd ever suffered through those terrible old sitcoms in the first place. Sitting in Wanda's living room, the only entertainment was your partner in crime Agatha, or Agnes, as you ought to say.
She was currently flipping through a magazine, tracing the page with her index finger and reading aloud to help Wanda prepare for her anniversary.
"Any notable date you can remember? Special occasion?" She asked the redhead. "You know, to remind him of good times." She winked suggestively, briefly glancing at you with an expression that only you could decipher. She was enjoying flustering Wanda a little too much.
"Oh...I don't know." She trailed off, untrustworthy eyes darting around the room. "Do you two have any memorable date? Maybe I could steal some ideas."
Had the sitcom spell effected you, this would've been the ironic moment in which you spat out whatever drink was currently in your mouth. Fortunately though, you'd declined the offer of tea earlier, and opened your mouth to correct her.
Agatha beat you to it by nudging you with her elbow. "Oh don't we just?" She laughed deeply until you joined in with a forced chuckle.
Deciding to join in with her game, you hummed thoughtfully. "What about that picnic we had? In Salem, remember?" Judging by the way her eyes flashed dangerously, she knew you were referring to that dreadful night with the Coven, serving as revenge for the sudden change in relationship status. "Agnes decided the best time to go on a date would be at night- and in the middle of forest of all places!"
Agnes threw back her head in exaggerated laughter. "Oh hush! I thought it'd be romantic. Besides, you're the one who got us completely lost, dear." She continued, further adding depth to the altered anecdote. "And I'd say it went pretty well regardless." She turned to whisper conspiratorially to Wanda. "So I'll spare you the dirty details."
The three of you fell into easy laughter, only interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone. "If you'll excuse me." Wanda stood up to answer. "That's probably Vis."
You took the distraction as respite from forcing such an overly hospitable smile, finding that your cheeks were already aching. For the last few minutes, you'd been aware of a pair of eyes watching you closely, and finally turned to face the witch sitting next to you.
"What?"
Agatha said nothing, her invasive eyes never leaving yours as she took a sip of her drink. You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought something through, and dreaded to wonder what she was about to say.
Reaching some form of a conclusion, she leant forward to place her drink down on the table. "Kiss me." She murmured through clenched teeth, momentarily glancing at Wanda, who's back was turned.
"Excuse me?" Out of all the possible things she could've said, this request seemed the least plausible in your mind.
"When Wanda turns round she should see us-" Agatha gestured her hand back and forth as if vocalising what she was implying was too sinful to put into words. Her vagueness was met by your blank stare. "Y'know?"
"No?" You shook your head, unable to comprehend why she'd ask such a thing, untrusting your interpretation of her suggestion.
"Just-" Agatha raised her hands to grasp your face. Hesitated. Then threw them back down into her lap and sighed in frustration. The fact she was struggling to initiate contact was laughable, though eventually you took pity on her.
Leaning forward, you kept your eyes open to watch for Agatha's reaction. You found it amusing that upon realising what you were trying to do, her eyes shut impossibly fast. Satisfied that she was consenting, you raised one hand to cup her cheek and continued to chase after her lips. The kiss was chaste and affectionately mundane, exactly at it should be.
In response, she grabbed your knees and pulled you closer, nipping at your bottom lip. Clearly Agatha wasn't on the same wavelength as you. Her hands shifted further up to your thighs, bringing a startling heat to the kiss. You gasped, virtually melting at her touch. You wanted this. One hand slid to rest on her shoulder. But it wasn't the time or place. You gently pushed against her.
Agatha pulled away, breathless. She scanned your face with pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape like she'd just reached some new revelation. You were certain your expression mirrored hers.
Wanda cleared her throat somewhere in the distance.
"Gosh, Wanda I'm sorry." Agnes' cheerful voice reappeared as she addressed the redhead without breaking your intense shared eye contact. "But I think we ought to be heading home now." She said unabashedly. Like you hadn't just been caught making out on the neighbour's couch.
"Of course." You could hear the understanding smile in her voice, the slight awkwardness from intruding. "It's been lovely meeting you both."
Summoning an ounce of brainpower, you turned to Wanda. "And you. Feel free to keep the magazine." Then tugged Agatha up and began dragging her toward the front door. For once in her life she went willingly, allowing herself to be pulled along, calling out a last minute farewell to Wanda.
Upon reaching the end of the garden, Agatha wordlessly took the lead. Staying true to her fabricated story, she set a determined course for the house to the right, waltzing up as if she owned the place. A quick flourish of your fingers and the lock was rendered useless. Now the house was yours.
As soon as the door shut behind you, she turned on her heel and pushed you against it. Her mouth quickly sought out yours with a desperation only appropriate in private. Had you known Agatha was this good of a kisser, you would've done this ages ago, but elected not to vocalise the praise knowing she'd never let you live it down. You felt her smirk against your lips, and briefly wondered if she'd somehow infiltrated your mind. You wouldn't put it past her.
As she began trailing kisses down your neck, any concern about the invasion of privacy became inconsequential. You sighed. She rewarded the sound with a nip at your throat. Due to the haze of lust clouding your better judgment, you didn't register the sound of footsteps until it was too late.
"Woah!" A man called from the top of the staircase, presumably the current previous resident of the house. Agatha froze, her lips still pressed up to your neck.
"If you two beautiful ladies hadn't already broken into my house, I would've happily invited you in." The man grinned obnoxiously, slowly continuing down the stairs.
Agatha disinterestedly waved her hand, incapacitating him. The sound of the stranger tumbling down the stairs caused her to let out a short, cruel cackle, before returning to bury her face in the crook of your neck.
"Not big on roommates?" You joked, sliding a hand up and down her back soothingly.
She nipped at your flesh, a little harder this time. "Trust me, he doesn't want to be here for what I'm about to do to you."
Already impatient, you decided to tease her in hopes it would speed things up. "You're all talk and no action, Harkness."
She all but growled as she returned to your lips. Without warning her hands squeezed your hips. "I don't think you're in the position to be insulting me, love."
"Then prove me wrong, darling."
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Chapter 7: Animosity
𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁
previous || next
art belongs to rome
word count: 5.3k
A song of a humming tune drifted with the winds as Venti strolled down the town square of the city of Mond, taking a look around the various displays of outfits behind the window of a boutique shop. His eyes landed on the mannequin donned with a simple dress.
The corner of his lips tugged upwards as he placed a finger on his chin to take a closer look at the said dress. Pure white, cotton soft, short skirt, and a sleeveless dress? He would’ve run in there, put out his wallet, and buy it in one go— that is if he had the money to pay for it.
It was a perfect dress for you to show your marked skin to him. He’ll let his fingers falter behind those soft skin, watching you squirm from his sensual touches while the tips move dangerously close to your thighs as he lifts the skirt up.
The male grumbled to himself that he could only watch behind the glass window, the mannequin mocking him he can’t afford to buy it for you. Curse this boutique and its expensive price.
Maybe he could try to bargain with the shopkeeper? Surely his songs would work on them. Who would ever say no to the harmonious and dulcet of his voice accompanied by the cords of his instrument? Not to mention he’s the three-time winner of the most popular bard of Mondstadt.
The chiming of the bell reached an employee’s ears as he pushed the door open, greeting them with a big smile. And there he was, the various outfits displayed everywhere, the pieces of jewelry shimmering under the light, the welcoming expression that was graced to him filled him with anticipation.
Venti wandered each aisle, taking in the softness of each fabric from his fingertips, letting his brain think of which clothes suit you. To him, each of them absolutely matches your figure but his eyes still remained onto that one dress from the retail display.
And so when he asked the manager if he would like to settle on the agreement, he already found himself standing outside of the shop. He owlishly blinked and looked over his shoulder only for the door to slam right in front of his face. The sun’s rays cut him off from his distracted state as they were burning his skin, quickly hiding under the shadows of the roof before glaring back to the unaware man who just kicked him out.
He clicked his tongue in annoyance and huffed his chest at his failed attempt. If bargaining was not the answer then stealing it should be the deal. Before he could start planning, the sound of his name being uttered out halted him from continuing his scheme.
“Venti?”
The said male turned his head to the owner of the voice, his teal eyes lighting up at the sight of Mondstadt’s hero. “Oh? If it isn’t the Honorary Knight. What brings your presence here, dear traveler?” He questioned with a small smile adorning his face.
“Thought it would be the Tone-Deaf Bard, hmph.” The familiar voice of the flying pixie had already irked the bard as he refrained himself from grabbing her behind Aether.
“And I see your little companion is with you as well.”
“Hey!”
His deadpanned eyes flashed to the traveler before changing it back to normal and questioned him once more. “It’s a surprise to see you here. I thought you would be in Liyue to continue your journey.” Aether scratched his cheek as he threw a sheepish laugh at him whilst he looked at Paimon.
“Well, Paimon said that Ludi Harpastum will be held in here so I was curious to see what it’s all about.” The aforementioned festival caught Venti’s attention as his ears perked up at the well-known celebration that has always been feasting in the city of freedom.
Though, he did wonder why he mentioned it. It’s still far away before it will be held. “So you’re curious about this festival, eh?” The bard approached him and placed a hand on his hip, leaning forward to study the Honorary Knight.
Aether furrowed his brows at the inquisitive boy, taking a step back when he was getting a little bit too close from his comfort space. When a smirk appeared on his face, he already knew he’s going to be in one of his shenanigans. “I can tell you all the details about it but in one condition!”
“Whatever that is, I will have to decline it.” The blonde responded immediately much to Venti’s surprise. “H-hey, come now! I still haven’t said what it’s going to be…” The latter entwined his arms while he grumbles at his rapid dismissal.
It’s not fair if Aether still hasn’t lent his ears to him to listen and know what this bargain would be. Just a little more convincing act should suffice so he could comply with his words, right?
—
The lake-side air was mild with a fragrance of cecilias. With a calmness from its core to the ripples that danced the lake, it reflected the blue sky as the most sincere of smiles. The deep hue of the waters became the poetic song of the light that played upon it wind-dancing ruffles.
The universal garden has evolved over the years with Dvalin guarding the den of nature. You relaxed your body against him, feeling your soul caress in such a nurturing safety. This place is your sanctuary and you made sure to plant all the kinds of flora to enhance its beauty with nature.
The dragon shifted a bit in his place when he saw you opened your mouth to create a perfect wordless melody. It was hypnotizing and alluring. He remembered the Anemo Archon did say that your voice is a beauty of its own.
The heavenly voice gliding with the breeze calmed him down as he placed his head on the ground, grasping the notes inside his head that was almost like how he first heard the strumming of Barbatos’s lyre.
The Anemo archon’s words are true. Your voice is indeed the sound of an angel, one that can cure any poison that keeps on growing. So feathery, like a bundle of soft clouds engulfing him to the land of nod.
Your fingers continue to tie the stems of the flowers, connecting them to create a crown. You can never see flowers too many times, you can never tire of their sweet fragrance. Each one is a delicate bloom, no matter if it’s from the wild or the garden. You appreciate Venti’s thoughts of amassing flowers for you, to create a garden you never asked for.
After finishing the last knot, you’ve placed it over Dvalin’s nose, waking him. His eyes crossed at the small garland, huffing at the sight of it before swaying his head to place it over yours.
Mirthful tittering was what he heard, a sound that is full of life and gentleness that he never expected for a human like you to possess. He despised mortals because they’ve abandoned him. He yearned to be loved and understood by who he is and what he protects.
But now, he appreciates that you enjoy his presence and that you even stay and play with him. The dragon drifted back to sleep, enjoying the brushing of your hand against his scaly skin.
“You know, I was wondering if Venti takes care of you very well.” Your eyes softened as you stroke his nose. “If he doesn’t, I’ll make sure to scold him.”
You were sure you thought Dvalin snorted at what you have said. His wings flapping a bit before it eased back down. “Hm? Was that supposed to be a yes or a no?” You were peculiar by his strange behavior. You received no answer aside from the little heckled he did.
His apathetic demeanor did pique your interest. Venti had said he was a curious and friendly dragon, now you assume what he said was just contradicting. You weren’t peeved at all or anything. It just amused you.
Almost reminding you of a certain friend.
“Barbatos and you would get along very well. I don’t know how much the two of you would make fun of me.” You flashed him a half-smile and there was a hint of warmth in it that instantly caught his attention.
He never noticed he’s been staring at you for a good minute when you continue to hum a lullaby. “Barbatos and I are a good acquaintance,” Dvalin stated and he was quite entertained with the look of surprise currently painted over your face.
“Y-you know Barbatos?” You stammered, dropping down the flower crown. He simply nodded and continued to doze off though it was disrupted when you went closer to him and poked his snout.
“Do you know where he is?” A restless question, he observed. He peered at you nonchalantly then bobbed his head as a silent answer. Your eagerness to know where the little wisp was brimmed you with excitement and respite. However, before you could continue to further inquire, the dragon let out a loud groan and toppled his hand over your body causing you to fall down on the ground with a scream.
The sudden blow to you made you squirm against his hold and cry at the heavy pressure. “D-Dvalin…!” Seems like this dragon wanted to play with you, huh. If that’s what he wants then so be it. Before you could counter his tactics, he put more pressure onto you holding you back on the ground.
You pried his hand away but much to your dismay he won’t even budge one bit. You can only do nothing but groan in your ongoing predicament that this dragon only wanted his sleep.
Wait…
You gazed at the slumbering dragon then back to the sky. Maybe you should continue humming? He did look like he enjoyed listening to your song. And once he’s unconscious you can finally get out from his grasp. The possibility of a successful attempt is fifty-fifty. You never know if Venti is telling the truth when he told you that Dvalin has been longing to listen to you sing to him. He was probably exaggerating it too much.
Well, it’s worth a shot if he really did— even though you’ve already sung countless times. Humming, you caressed his claw and closed your eyes letting yourself get lost in your own melody. Your hum has carefree happiness in it; something soft in those notes as they fall into the drowsy air around him.
Finally, his grasp lightened a little that allowed you to move a bit as you wriggle out. A small sigh evoked from you once you paused your lulled song. You stared at the sleeping dragon, absently drawing questions the more you look at him.
Longing for my song…? How many years have I been asleep then?
Venti had never told you the number of years he’s been waiting for you to be awake. You don’t even know what year it is today. You knitted your brows when you stare at your hand, rotating it to see if there was any difference.
Maybe around two or three years…? There weren’t any changes in Venti’s appearance— well except for that faded cyan hair in the ends of his braids, that was the only obvious difference you can catch. As for you, your hair grew a lot longer than ever that reached below your hips.
Good thing your hair tie was still with you so you can tie it up in a simple braid. You glance back over your shoulder to see the exit of the ruin. Perhaps a little exploration can help you search for answers? Venti still hasn’t come back yet from his…
Now that you think about it, you honestly don’t know where he went off to…
You rose from your seat and straightened your dress. If you said you weren’t nervous to leave the ruins would be a pathetic lie. It’s the first time you’ll step foot outside this area. Were your father’s words really true when he said it’s dangerous?
But Venti was yearning to see the birds fly and the clear sky ever since; he was seeking freedom that’s why he rebelled against Decarabian. It’s obvious the rebels won in this war and had finally gained the liberation they’ve always wanted, yet why are you still hesitating to leave this place to see the outside world?
You feel like a small lump was sitting in your throat as you took a step forward. You shouldn’t be scared. Andrius’s snowstorm has already subsided. The bitter coldness is nowhere to be seen and it’s safe to continue moving forward, right?
Ah, if only Barbatos was here with you, the two of you could venture together. You can already hear the hysterical jingling noises if he tries to stop you from going further. You sighed once more and shook your head. You shouldn’t be relying on them anymore, if you’re seeking answers then you have to do it by yourself by any means.
Taking a deep breath, you pushed your body as your bare feet touched the lithic ground. Benign, gentle and soft, the wind zoomed past you whilst your hair fluttered along with it. Instead of feeling what you assumed of a bitterly cold air, only a refreshing breeze swayed towards your direction, manipulating your limbs to conform to its perfect dance.
Your face lighted up that it could even beat the sun’s own brightness of a smile thus abandoning your body to the merriment of the vast space stretching into the horizon. You stretched out your arms and allowed the warm rays to kiss your skin, the warmth that heated up your body in a placid manner. It didn’t scorch you. Perfect was the only description you could use to describe the sun’s heat.
A spark of excitement comes roaring to you into the purr of anticipation. You wanted to explore more, watch the birds fly and the ocean waves on the sands— to enjoy the freedom even more.
There was a flare in your head... the good sort. The type that carries more possibilities than you could be conscious of, though there were hundreds of ideas there in that buzz of electricity.
You could feel it.
It was the calling of adventure, of paths awaiting your feet.
Whatever was ahead could be a great challenge, and there could be fear in you, but it was your adventure to take and so you smiled. The answers would come, probably when you least expected it, so you proceeded to follow the path and let your feet lead you to who knows where.
This world is quite astonishing, you were even utterly speechless to see the beauty of it. When you are most awake, most present in the moment, every sense of nature converges into a single energetic joy. It’s as if there’s a feeling between each living thing, a bond that is tangible and blended, a melody beyond the range of ears but available for the heart.
And so, each of the leaves moves in the wind, a part of you does also. You caught a little slime following after you, it didn’t seem hostile since it could’ve attacked you from behind. You never bothered to shoo it away as it was too cute for your liking, the small wings on its side reminded you a lot of Barbatos.
A small company wouldn’t hurt and it feels safer to have someone tag along with you. It jumped around you and even started to nuzzle your leg. There are too many cute creatures in here! First, it was your little wisp, then it was the dragon, and now a cute anemo slime?!
Your heart would already burst from these lovely beings that are so attached to you. You paused in your tracks when you felt the winds are a bit colder than before. The air was bitter and cruel against your flushed cheeks, it nipped your neck and chilled you to the bone.
You wrapped your arms around yourself to produce heat, it wasn’t the best source but it’s the least you can do to warm yourself. As each step you took to observe the area, the gales increased in intensity.
So cold, almost like the biting chills of the winter snow. The ill winds continued howling, challenging the trees. You’re unsure if there are nearby foes lurking in here. You also lost sight of the slime now that you’ve looked around.
You’re sure you’re in a forest, though you don’t know what your current location is. Blue particles scattered in the air that allured you to follow it. It ached your bare feet when you pushed yourself to move along the cold ground. One would already plan they’ll go back and leave this area, but your curiosity got the best of you.
You were too stubborn to leave and wanted to know where you are right now. When you sensed a stony surface, your body stiffened at the intense drop of temperature. You shivered and looked around, alarmed at the rustling noises of the bushes.
“Hello…?”
Your voice merely echoed in the arena. No response, no noises, no silhouettes can be seen. There’s nothing to see here anyway, it’s best to go back to the ruins. As you turned around, sharp blue eyes glared through you, making you halt in place.
A shrill howl pierced through the eerie field. It cracked through your eardrums and ruffled your hair at the loud noise. You covered your ears at the ear-splitting sound and took a step back to run away.
Before you could, a colossal wolf had cornered you. Its piercing eyes are staring right through your soul that brought your feet cold to the ground, unmoving. A rough and gruff voice cut you off from your panicked state— commanding and loud that your whole body stiffened like a stature.
“Who dares trespass in this land to which I awaken?”
—
“Well, that settles it! I greatly appreciate your cooperation with me, traveler.” Venti gave Aether a mocking bow which he just simply rolled his eyes at his antics. Paimon groaned and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the bard.
“Sheesh, you just wanted us to buy clothes for you? Who is it even for anyway?”
“A curious one, are you? If you wish to know the answer, how about you go and pursue it?”
The pixie’s mouth had gone hard as irritation surged up inside her. Oh, how she wished she could plummet that annoying smile onto the ground to erase it from his face. A smirk emerged on Venti’s visage, placing his arms behind his head whilst whistling a random tune.
“If you really wish to know, it’s a fair maiden of mine.” The dark-haired male then twirled and gave a salute to them, bidding:
“Off I go now! As she waits for me to fulfill my perpetual vow.”
Before Aether could stop him, the boy already went off without looking back at them. The blonde heaved a sigh and rubbed his head watching his figure slowly disappear from afar. It piqued his interest when Venti mentioned this fair maiden. He remembered the archon once mentioned that to him back then.
He couldn't put his finger on it when he told him about it. He can only grumble and just put the idea aside, focusing back on his current task.
“Huh, I don’t remember the Tone-Deaf Bard having a lover,” Paimon remarked as she floated above his head. She then took a look at her companion and huffed her chest whilst placing her small hands on her hips. “And you! You shouldn’t let him off like that easily! We’ll be in trouble again when he said he wanted to steal the clothes from that shop, hmph.”
Aether released a nervous laugh and shrugged his shoulders. “At least we get to know more about Ludi Harpastum, right?” He defended. Venti’s knowledge about the said festival is enough for him to know the primary information. However, it’s still far away. It’ll be held ten days from now and he should continue searching for information about his sister.
As much as he wanted to enjoy it too, his main priority is to look for her. Maybe the festival will help him gain more information about Teyvat and expand more clues about it.
Venti swayed his arms back and forth simultaneously with the bag swinging from his hold. His legs carried him to his destination to meet you back in the ruins. He was really excited to show you his gift for you and he’s absolutely sure you’d love it. Sure he really loves your current outfit but it’s better to wear something new right?
He could also play with your hair and find a new hairstyle that could match the dress. Perhaps a braid should do? Definitely. Braids do suit you very well. He nodded to himself at that idea with a smile plastered on his face.
Reaching his journey’s end, he immediately jogged to the garden to where you and Dvalin are. The physique of the dragon enlarged the closer he gets though his smile faltered when there was no sight of your familiar figure sleeping next to him.
Missing. Missing since who knows how long now.
He can’t find a sign of you, anything that brings him the comfort of home. He takes in every detail no matter how small, any chance of finding your trail is better than nothing at all. Everything went still and it furthered his anxiety more than he could imagine.
It came like a storm in his brain that it’s too painful for him. It’s different from a headache and it feels the same as intense sorrow— most likely a frozen panic with nowhere to find you. His mind was engulfed with negative thoughts about you getting hurt.
He felt his chest burning hot, and not metaphorically. The fiery soreness in his skin bit him like a harsh storm. It intensified even more and he could faintly smell bitterness in the breeze. His eyes widened in panic and realization you were in danger. Fear and horror filled his senses— your senses. The dread coming from you alarmed him, instincts kicking in to tell him to find you.
Now’s not the time to just stay still and panic. He needs to search for you. Now.
—
“Who dares trespass in this land to which I awaken?”
The gruff voice made your whole body stiff that it growled and leaned forward close to you. You were immobilized to the spot, the intimidating ambiance holding you in a crushing grasp. You took two small steps backward to put distance between the two of you.
You wanted to run for safety, but your feet wouldn’t allow you to do so. The wolf’s eyes sharpened even more and bared his teeth once he took in the familiar scent you have. He very much knows this scent.
Indeed it was very familiar to him and he hates it. He despises it so much that he knows it very well. It was the smell of the former Anemo Archon of Mondstadt. The God of Storms.
“You dare trespass the land of wolves, mortal?” His voice sounded more commanding than a question. Pulse beating in your ears that blocked out all the other sounds. You can only focus on the intense glare of the silver wolf.
Sweat poured down the sides of your face as you stayed still possible. Your lips trembled and you didn’t dare to let out a single word. You gulped down your fear and took another step backward.
“Discerning to the scent you have,” Boreas circled around you. You can closely observe the white fur all over his body. The stance is intimidating and enormous, you fear being crushed by that claws he has instead of Dvalin’s.
“What is your relation with that foolish tyrant?”
Tyrant…?
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…”
He scoffed at your words, a look of great bitterness swept across his face. “Deceit will not work. State your business and pray tell why are you here, Decarabian.” The freezing air seemed to slither up and down your body. Your feet getting numb due to the intense coldness of the ground.
He seems to know who your father is, however you do not have the slightest clue to who he is. The air was biting cold, every breath showed as a white plume of white steam. You pulled your arms closer to you to fight back the fierce frostbite.
“Who are you? How… how do you know about father?” Your voice shudders as you struggle to release the words. You can scarcely hear yourself breathe. You shivered from the wind that entwines your body and you know it irked him— he was displeased with the fact you don’t know what he’s talking about.
“Are you naive or simply ignorant?
“…”
No words left from your lips. You could only stare at his cold glare, cowering back in fear. “If you are indeed his kin, he must’ve told you nonsense lies didn’t he?” Just what in the world is he talking about? You furrowed your brows at his cryptic messages, slightly bothered by it as each second passed by. Is he one of the rebels against your father?
“He’s— he’s already gone… Do you have a grudge against him?”
Boreas raised his lips and growled at you. A loud, piercing sound came from his muzzle, echoing throughout the forest.
“Do you not have the slightest idea of what he did? And you, you are one of his kind. Is it not better to annihilate you this instant to put an end to his perilous acts? One must know how treacherous he was.”
Annihilate? Is he going to kill you? The sudden shock made your muscles tensed, the color quickly draining from your face at the thought of being slaughtered by this wolf. You whimpered and your legs collapsed underneath you.
You wanted to scream but you can’t find in yourself to have the courage to do so. Your hands were shaking, so uncontrollable that it trembled in an odd rhythm. A feeling of dread crept up to the pit of your stomach. You don’t want to be dead. You don’t want to be killed. You still wanted to live.
Your chin quivered. You feel your eyes brimming with tears. Flood of tears gushing down your cheeks in fear and horror when he raised his paws ready to attack you. The beast had long known that the key to a lasting victory was not to hit the enemy where they are weak but to make their strength to destroy them.
You shut your eyes tight waiting for the impact to come. You didn’t want to die yet, you made a promise with Venti you’ll stay with him. What if he discovers you’re gone? You can only pray to the archons and the Celestia begging to let them spare you. It’s such a pitiful wish, after all, you can do nothing about it but plead.
For a moment you felt a strong surge of wind greeting your skin, feeling blessed to have felt it. The careless currents flow through the woodland canopy, unaware of how its song soothes those who can hear but has the faintest of mania in it.
You have always thought of the wind as so free, chaotic even, yet it too has its own path, even if there are infinite possible destinations. A drive of despair and fury that powers onwards.
You opened your eyes and saw a familiar silhouette in front of you. Green cape fluttered along with the air with an arm extending outwards to you in a protective manner. You took a long, long look at the figure before blinking.
“Venti…?”
“What in the world are you going to do with her, Boreas?”
The bard’s voice was implacable, so vindictive, it sent shivers down to your spine. He became a different person. His eyes had narrowed towards the wolf, flaring with fierce animosity. His eyes held a different mode in his brain, that he had switched gears from empathy to cold emotional difference.
Never once has he directed this anger to anyone, yet it emerges when he senses a threat, and so this is part of a full-on protective state. His softer self has taken a backseat and the hero has the wheel.
You watched in silence among their glaring disputes until the boy carefully approached you. He placed a hand on your cheek, caressing the softness of your skin as he brushed the dried tears away. You flinched when you notice how dark his eyes are.
Terror washed over you, the fine hairs on the back of your neck rising on how cold his hands are. You were supposing his gentle hold will bring comfort to you, not fear. It’s like he became a different person. It wasn’t the usual amiable and affectionate Venti you know very well. You can sense how ruthless his aura is— you don’t know why and you’re scared to know behind it.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
His voice cut you out from your train of thoughts. Your brows knitted together as your lips shuddered— is it from coldness? Or was it in fright? No sound came from your throat, you could only give him a slow shake of your head as an answer.
You hadn’t noticed the goosebumps creeping up on your arms until now. Your body jolted in surprise when you feel yourself being carried. You grabbed on his shoulders and looked at him in utter bewilderment. His face was still distant and emotionless. His hand reached for the back of your head and pushed you down until your face was obscured on his shoulder.
“You should be protecting citizens of Mondstadt. Not harm them.” Venti began, holding you tightly against him. Boreas’ face scrunched up at his words whilst he gave the bard a dirty look.
“And you’re simply letting her off to wander the city? How utterly shameless of an Archon you are.” Though the beast’s voice was threatening and harsh, Venti never faltered. He stood still and just glared back.
His hand tightened into fists and looked away from him. He shouldn’t waste his energy on the wolf-leader. His current focus is on you and needs to check if you’re hurt somewhere.
He never felt so much rage as when pushed into passivity against his will. It was like the vexing of the soul for what he felt was not human, it was twisted and distorted but it was something strong. He held himself back and walked away without sparing Boreas another glance.
Your hold on him went firm. He can see how scared you are meeting the Dominator of the Wolves. You could’ve gotten badly hurt if not for his powers to put an immediate stop on Boreas attack. If he hadn’t arrived there in time, you would’ve been slaughtered in front of his eyes.
Such thought brought a boiling fury that swelled inside of him. It burned so bad like fire lacing his veins and creeping up to his spine, his skin was a sore looking red but all he could feel was desire; a desire to hate.
He was intoxicated with emotion he had no intention of ever feeling, the acidity residing in his stomach waiting to be spat out of his mouth is foul and vulgar words he would be stared at for saying, except he wasn’t going to say them. He didn’t want to scare you any further at his sudden change in behavior. He wanted to make you feel safe around him— clinging to him as you can only rely on him and no else.
He had searched for you for time out of mind. He had searched in ways that stretched the fabric of reality and challenged the edges of the possible. Now that he has found you, believe him, he can and will keep you safe.
#genshin impact x reader#yandere genshin impact x reader#genshin impact venti x reader#yandere venti x reader#venti x reader#yandere genshin x reader#genshin impact#yandere genshin impact#yandere#yandere genshin#genshin impact reader insert#genshin impact venti#venti#elliwrites#Illusory Sense
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More Than This VI 《V》
It’s no surprise XL gains his own taste of fame after walking the red carpet with one of the most sought-after actors in the country. He doesn’t mind it, going as far as to create a few social media accounts to interact with fans and scroll through their photos and edits of him. He has a few fan sites too, but only for fancy events where he chooses to be recognized in public.
XL and HC agreed before sharing their relationship with the public that they would maintain a strong sense of privacy when it came to their personal lives. They only share what they want to. The paparazzi who manage to take photos without permission are immediately disciplined so it doesn’t happen again.
(“I can’t believe you did it.”
“Hmm, Gege said he was okay with it.”
“I know! But I didn’t expect you to actually....” XL stares at a recent selfie of them HC had posted on his Twitter, taken the night HC won his award. “We look like we just had sex.”
“Nobody’s gonna know.”
XL raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his boyfriend. HC insists again.
“Nobody’s gonna know-”
“They’re gonna know,” XL says with a sigh, pointing to the hickey marks clearly visible on the photo. HC rolls over closer to XL in their bed, scrutinizing the image on XL’s phone.
“Oh, I didn’t see those when I posted the photo.”
“San Laaang!” XL cries, pushing at the taller man’s shoulder before burying his face into his pillow. HC makes XL breakfast in bed as an apology and promises to not drunk-post anything again.)
Eight months after officially dating–which is over two years since they met–HC asks XL to move in with him. XL doesn’t even need to think about his answer, a simple “Yes! Yes please!” escaping his lips. Both HC and XL’s faces light up with overjoyed smiles.
They seem to have had the same idea about where to live, purchasing a home they’ve been eyeing for months! The best aspects include a massive yard (front, side, and back) for XL to tend to, a hot tub, and a spacious living and dining room area to entertain guests. It’s not the grandest or most impressive residence by size or feature. In fact, the first months have them living in a half-finished, rusty house with the prettiest garden you’ve ever seen.
It gradually gets better. HC and XL knew they would have to do a lot of work to improve the shape of their home. Over the next year, they repair and remodel the house themselves, simultaneously adding value to the property and curating the style to fit their dream home. XL makes sure to post progress photos on his social media. His most recent selfie of HC and himself in hardware glasses got over 500k likes! He pinned HC’s comment that said, “Gege is my own very handyman!”
(HC, in a sleeveless tee, shorts that show off his ass, hair pulled back into a high bun: “Gege, you’re the boss now. Tell me what to do.”
XL, struggling not to gawk at HC’s side boobs: “O-okay, first, can you smash those cabinets-”
Cue them making out against the counter when it’s the only part of the kitchen that is fully done.)
***
Having a partner who considers the outdoors as a second home is a special experience. XL often takes HC on dates to national parks and plant nurseries. They go on weekend camping trips where XL teaches HC how to properly filter water, summit long stretches of terrain, and stay warm during cold nights with below-freezing temperatures.
(HC, trying to fit into XL’s sleeping bag: “Hi, gege-”
XL: “San Lang, you have your own sleeping bag that you can actually fit in.”
HC: ‘But I’m cold. Gege helps keep me warm.”
XL: “Fine. But let’s use yours because it’s bigger.”
HC, kissing XL’s forehead: “Thank you, my love.”)
On their hikes, XL points to different plants, explaining their origins and why he finds each one particularly beautiful. At first, HC picks up random flowers on the way home and then he asks XL about what flower fate gave him that day to gift his beloved. (“San Lang, that’s not allowed!”) HC eventually stores all the random facts in his mind, always eager to listen to XL talking about his passion. He also learns to keep his hands from digging up “poor, helpless plants from their home soil.”
However, this unfortunately doesn't prevent HC from accidentally squishing some plants in their yard that he thought were just weeds.
(HC, thinking he’s a good partner: “Get out, stupid weeds. CHOP CHOP!”
XL: “SAN LANG STOP, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”
HC: “Gege always works so hard. I just wanted to help you in the yard today because you deserve it.” 🥺
XL: *sigh* “I appreciate the gesture, San Lang. But those particular grasses took months to grow, and you just killed them-“)
***
Countless media outlets try to stir up trouble like they typically do with celebrities. Especially when HC has roles that involve romance, articles claiming HC and XL are on the brink of breaking up receive lots of attention. However, what gains more attention are the videos the couple posts on Youtube or Instagram live of their reactions to their “scandals.”
(XL, reading a headline: “Actor bachelor Hua Cheng and co-star Yushi Huang seem to be cozying up after a late-night shoot.’”
HC: “I’m not a bachelor, the fuck?”
XL, smiling: “You could be. Me as well. We can be bachelors together.”
HC, chuckling: “All right. If gege is, then so am I.”
The comments: “That doesn’t make any sense!?”
HC, reading another headline: “HC’s lover found with a mysterious third party??”
XL, exclaiming: “Oh, that’s Shi Qingxuan! You know, the designer for all our red carpet outfits!” 🥰🥰
HC: *nodding along*
XL, cheekily: “-and my secret second-lover”
HC: *blanches* “What.”
XL: “Kidding!!!! San Lang is the only one for me, hehe.” *kisses HC’s cheek* “Okay, next one!”)
Everyone watching the videos is 50% confused and 50% entertained as HC and XL make light of any drama the media portrays them in. Viewers accept that of course, the rumors aren’t true; HC and XL are still very much in love.
They’re in love with each other and will continue falling for many years to come.
***
HC doesn’t like watching himself on screen. However, he does enjoy previewing his own movies for the first time with his boyfriend.
While XL watches the new movie, HC observes XL’s reactions. It helps that XL is a conversational movie watcher too. XL’s narrations consist of horny comments during the sexual scenes (“Ooh, that’s hot. Nice tongue.” “Thank you?”), side remarks about the plot and characters (“San Lang, your character is very rude.” “...”), and dramatic reactions to the huge reveal scenes where HC becomes a human punch bag. (“Oh my goooosh, San Lang!! It was him all along- AHH!!”)
As a perfectionist, something you have to be in HC’s field of work, HC is incredibly self-critical of his performance. Which is another reason why it’s nice to have XL watch alongside with, who never has a shortage of praises for his boyfriend.
(HC: “Fuck, why did they leave this shot in the final? I’m supposed to be mourning for my dead lover but instead, I look like I’m crying out of daddy issues. Why did no one tell me!? It looks so bad-” *pointing to himself on the screen* “-stop looking so constipated-!”
XL, squeezing HC’s nape and massaging his shoulders: “San Lang, no one thinks that except for you. You did everything perfectly. Please acknowledge your hard work and just enjoy the movie.”
HC: *sigh* “You’re right. Okay. Thanks, gege.”
A beat of silence. HC cuddles closer to XL.
HC: “Love you.”
XL: “Love you too.”)
***
XL now knows HC’s movies well enough to quote HC’s lines in his movies to make him laugh. HC happily indulges him, questioning after breaking character, “Gege, are you sure I’m the actor out of the two of us?”
One time, HC and XL are in their kitchen re-enacting a scene with HC as the investigator going to a bartender for more information on his suspect. HC has XL caged against the counter, asking in a teasing manner, “How can I repay you for your help tonight?”
XL lowers his eyelids, looking up through his lashes, flawlessly depicting his character. “Any restrictions on your offer?”
“No, darling. Name a price, a brand, a desire. Right now, anything is on the table,” HC says huskily. XL slyly bites his lip.
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
XL brings a hand up to cup HC’s jaw, then smooths it down his neck, traveling down his bare chest. XL tilts his head to expose his neck, wanting to build up his boyfriend’s anticipation. But before he can say his next line, HC effortlessly throws XL over his shoulder like a bag of rice.
“San Lang, wait, this is not how it went in the movie!” XL shouts, a little dizzy from the sudden lift turning him upside down. HC takes long strides to their bedroom, plopping XL on their mattress and blanketing him with his larger frame.
HC only utters a husky “we’re improvising” before diving down to devour XL’s lips. XL’s arms hook around HC’s neck, holding him impossibly close.
***
After a filming shoot where HC’s character gets beaten up–HC performing his own stunts–he heads home beyond exhausted. He just wants to take a relaxing shower and cuddle his boyfriend in their warm bed.
HC arrives at their house a little past midnight. He opens the door and finds XL’s back facing him, quietly humming a song as he takes care of the vase in the living room. The sight makes HC smile.
However, as XL turns around, the vase slips from his hands and explodes into pieces on the ground.
“San Lang! What happened to you!?” XL cries out, the panic in his voice only comparable to the day he had confessed. HC stands in the doorway confused. Was something wrong with his appearance?
XL is on him in an instant, his pupils shaking as he frantically asks, “Does it hurt a lot? What happened!?”
HC blinks, expression blank as he still doesn't understand what has freaked XL out. But as the shorter man gently caresses HC’s face, it suddenly hits him.
The make up!
HC urgently starts rubbing the fake bruises off his face. “Gege, I’m okay! It’s just make up, none of this is real. See?” He holds his hands out for XL to see as the pigment stains HC’s palms. “I’m so sorry! San Lang is dumb, he didn’t mean to make you worry,” HC murmurs as he takes XL between his arms. He really loves this man too much.
XL’s teary eyes shine glimmer as HC embraces him. “Y-you’re sure you’re okay?”
HC nods, leaning into the slender hand that cups his cheek.
“Thank goodness,” XL breaths out as he buries his face into HC’s neck. His next words are slightly muffled. “It looks…so realistic.”
“Yeah, the make up artists are all quite talented, aren’t they?”
XL clings tighter to HC.
“Very much so. Let’s shower so we can properly wash it off.”
“All right,” HC says. “Wait, we?”
XL tugs HC toward the master bathroom.
“Hush, let’s go.”
***
They lay in bed together after four long months of separation. Both of them had been in different parts of the country; HC filmed a drama series while XL traveled for several high-profile projects. Their respective busy work schedules limited communication to brief video chats and text messages, which never seemed enough.
Now, with his head resting on HC’s chest, their legs overlapping comfortably, XL finally feels like he’s where he belongs.
“Why did you choose me?”
Tactical fingers massage XL’s scalp, lulling him into a serene state of bliss. XL nuzzles further into his boyfriend-sized pillow.
“It’s not like I can choose who I fall in love with, Gege,” HC states with a light chuckle. “But if you want an answer, it’s because you are everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”
XL looks up at his boyfriend, mouth forming a shape of an O.
“That simple? Even when we made a deal to have no strings attached?” XL asks. HC groans at the reminder of their initial agreement.
“Yes, which was a dumb decision on my part.”
“I agreed to it too. We were both dumb.”
They are silent for a moment. It’s not the first time they’ve talked about or referenced their insecurities when it came to confessing their feelings. XL’s luck when it came to dating someone who could love him for every part of him was practically nonexistent. HC’s constant grappling for his self-identity and worth rendered most of his relationships superficial. And temporary.
Always temporary.
“I can’t believe you thought I didn��t like your plants though. They’re so pretty. And fascinating.” HC says, breaking the silence.
“They take up half our living room space.”
“So? You work with plants all day. They’re bound to be a part of your personal life as well.”
XL’s heart bursts with a sudden fondness. It’s a wonderful thing to be appreciated for the little things.
“I’m glad you think so,” he says happily. HC hums in response, sending vibrations to where XL’s cheek lays on his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t know you were a famous actor for the first three months we…”
“Met up for sex?” HC finishes with an impish grin.
“Yes,” XL laughs.
“It was nice not to be recognized for once. With you, I could just be myself,” HC says with ease he never thought he would be able to do. He’s struggled with letting himself be vulnerable his whole life. It turns out, HC just had to find the right person. And thank god he did. XL is more than HC’s outlet from his career. He’s become HC’s closest friend who knows him the best; he is HC’s number one supporter in any endeavor he pursues; he makes HC feel important. XL sees and loves HC for who he is. No amount of fame or wealth could come close to comparison.
“Gege?”
“Hmm?”
“Does it ever bother you that my life is always everyone else’s business?” HC softly asks.
“Well, the fame can be a bit…uncomfortable,” XL admits. “But you’re an amazing actor. And a remarkable person. I can’t blame your fans for loving you so much, you know? I also got to ride in a limo-“
“Which you rode very well-”
XL flicks his boyfriend’s forehead.
“You’re so predictable.”
“You would’ve said the same thing given the chance. Don’t lie, gege.”
They go back and forth a little longer, never once creating unnecessary distance between each other as they roll around until they’re on their sides. Facing each other in their bed that’s been vacant for months, HC and XL are inseparable.
“As I was saying, fame is something that comes with your job–your passion. You can’t control it, nor does it solely characterize who you are. Besides, I get to be a part of your life! That’s all that really matters,” XL continues. He shifts forward so their bodies are closely pressed together. XL plants a kiss on HC’s chin, then whispers a confession that tilts HC’s entire world on its axis.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like you.”
HC’s world spins and spins until all that he sees is his beloved, gleaming brighter than all the galaxies without the power to disrupt their orbit. He wraps his arms around XL and kisses the top of his head.
“Me too, Gege.”
Bonus:
HC watches wearily as XL salivates at a showering scene where HC’s bare ass flashes in the frame. XL turns to HC with a serious look in his eyes.
“San Lang! Hiking has done your ass wonders.”
XL sneaks a grope to a meaty cheek. HC chokes.
***
“You can’t be late to your own premiere!” XL cries incredulously.
“Try me,” HC purrs into XL’s ear, delicately kissing the lobe.
XL gasps as teasing hands roam around his torso, one of them slipping down to cup his behind. He vaguely thinks about how SQX is expecting them in the next hour to help with their red carpet outfits. But when hungry lips attach to the sensitive column of his neck, XL is a goner.
“Gege doesn’t have to do any work. Just lay back and look pretty.”
(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi!)
#tgcf#heavenly official's blessing#hualian#hualian au#cerdrabbles#fluff#Actor HC#Landscaper XL#fine.
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The Price of Self Respect
Please refer to my master list for the other chapters!
There will be ten parts in total, so only four more after this
PART VI
CW: alcohol consumption, mentions of drugs, murder
1,656 words
____________________________________________
You've gotten to drinking with Uvogin and Shalnark, they somehow provide you a sense of comfort in this weird world you're trapped in. It takes half a bottle of vodka and a few shots until you feel that incessant buzz that ravages your body. The three of you sit around the couch area- playing a game of doubt with just the three of you. Yours and Uvogin's laugh rings loudly through the inn- the owner and son not caring since you guys are the only customers at the moment. Your laughter covers up the cough that Chrollo sounds, trying to get your guy's attention.
When he stands next to the table with cards littered around it, you finally notice him. He examines all of the alcohol paraphernalia and clicks his tongue, "So have you been having fun y/n?" He asks loudly, as if you can't hear him over the sound of your inebriation.
You look at him out of the corner of your eye, having a newfound hatred for him, which is quite a change from before. "Yes."
Shalnark speaks up, "She's a lot of fun Chrollo, I'm glad you brought her here." He looks down at his cards, "And she's really good at cards." He sighs, realizing his chances of winning the game are low.
Chrollo seems to have enough of this conversation, eyeing Uvogin sitting way too close to you. So close that your thighs are touching. "Come on, let's go to bed, you must be tired."
"Actually." You say, "I'm not, so I think I'll finish my game." The alcohol seems to be speaking louder than your voice is.
Without even arguing or protesting, Chrollo grabs you by your bicep, pulling you out of your seat. "It's time for bed." He drags you from the common area with you slurring curses at him. You can hear Uvogin and Shalnark booing him from the other room. Once you reach your room, he slides the door open, and drops you on the tatami mat. You drunkenly groan at the short fall, and crawl towards the futon, pulling the blanket back and trying to maneuver yourself inside of the bed.
"You made friends pretty quickly- especially with the troupe that broke your leg." He taps his foot against the mat, watching you struggle to get under the blankets.
"Yes, they're quite nice, and very informative." Your words blend in with one another and Chrollo strains his ear to discern each word. "I even learned that you're more of a stalker than I thought." Finally you settle into the bed, turning on your side, getting ready to fall asleep.
"Excuse me?" He asks.
"I don't appreciate you trying to seduce me after having kept notes on me for almost two years." You sigh, closing your eyes to go to sleep.
You quickly notice the anger in his voice, he's not able to hide it. "I don't appreciate you hanging all over Uvogin either." He sits down cross legged next to you, "Honestly I don't appreciate you flirting with other men."
You take your chance to get under his skin, "It's easier to connect with people who don't know every detail about you."
"You're upset because I love you?"
You open one eye, looking up at him, "You have a twisted view on love."
You don't remember much of the end of the conversation, falling asleep during what you think was an argument. You rise with the sun, it blinding you in the early morning. Strong arms hold you close, too tightly to even move your hips in his grasp. A dull pain pulses through your head, with an endless sense of nausea to accompany it. The night before was fun- though you're not sure that the hangover is worth it. You tap your hand against Chrollo's and speak lightly, "Let me go, I need to shower." As if clockwork, he lets go and flips on his other side.
Before you go to the shared showers, you stand on the deck outside of your room, admiring the authentic rock garden, the water glistening and wind temporarily relieving your headache.
The shower's are nice, towels, robes, and indoor slippers are provided. You undress, dropping your clothes next to one of the stalls. Stepping into the warm water you let out a sigh of relief, thanking life for this sweet relief.
The door opens and you hear another person repeating the routine you've already performed. When you step out after finishing scrubbing your body, a woman steps out of her stall simultaneously. Her hair is in a short black bob, and has a towel wrapped around her bust, hanging just below her waist. You recognize her, you must have seen her last night. Ah that's right, she came into the common room late in the night, and Shalnark introduced her.
"Hi Shizuku." She nods at you, not bothering to speak.
The both of you stand in front of the lockers, putting on the complimentary robes and slippers.
Before you leave the room she clears her throat, "Would you like medicine for your hangover?" She asks.
You send a smile her way and nod.
---------------------
With a cup of hot tea in your hand, you watch the sunrise from the deck of your room, a slight drizzle misting and blurring your view. You can see the sun peeking through the clouds, providing little light. You don't flinch when Chrollo sits down next to you, grabbing the other cup and pouring himself a cup of tea.
"Good morning y/n." He says with a smile, and the plants a kiss on your cheek as if you didn't fight and he didn't threaten to kill his troupe members and blame it on you last night.
You hum in response and continue gazing out at the rock garden, admiring the koi fish and seeing the steam just past the garden, indicating where the hot springs are. Maybe you should sit in the springs, it might make you feel better.
"Last night, I'm sorry for getting so angry." Chrollo breaks the silence. "But don't ever be so friendly with another man. Ever." His jealousy is practically seeping through his every pore, and you know when he says not to be friendly he means it. You know he's not bluffing about hurting someone for being so kind to you.
"You're ridiculous." His eyebrows are enough to show his intrigue in your statement, "You watch me for so long, noting my every move, until you kidnap me. You seduce me and then get upset when I'm angry after finding out about this." You look his way, "You really expect me to return your affection?"
He doesn't respond to your question- knowing it is rhetorical. You're right. And you don't even know about half the things he's done for you- so imagine how you would react if you found out about that. Not well that's for sure. He takes time to process your words, swirling them around in his head so he can bend them to fit his reality he's made.
Dropping the subject completely he states, "We're leaving in twenty minutes, we have a van to fit all of us. We have a mission nearby, I'm going to need your help."
"Why should I help you?"
He frowns, "I can take your nen ability instead if you wish. "
That shuts you up, standing up and heading to grab something to eat from the continental breakfast before you go anywhere.
Fitting all of you into the van is difficult to say the least. Fitting Uvogin, Nobunaga, and Franklin in is practically a miracle. They are definitely going to have back pain once you get out of the van. Chrollo drives and you sit in the back with Machi and Shizuku. You aren't sure exactly of what you're needed for but you'll do whatever is asked of you in order to keep your nen to yourself.
Two hours of laughter and griping from the large men, you all finally stumble out of the van and onto the pavement. There's a large warehouse, and it reeks of marijuana. It must be a dispensary.
"Y/n you need to draw a key that can fit to any lock. I would have the door broken down but there's no physical way of doing that and it's loud. And it's not digital locking so Shalnark can't get us through it."
On command you conjure a pencil, sketching out a key with a malleable end. It begins materializing and everyone watches as it turns from pencil sketches in the air into a real gold key. Only you can use it since it's built from your nen, so Chrollo leads you to a heavy duty door. You put the key into one of the locks, forcing the key to bend and then harden into the shape of the lock. You repeat this three more times and watch as the troupe goes ahead. When you step into the building Chrollo stops you and points to the van.
"Make sure no one comes out, and if they do, eliminate them." You nod hesitantly, and head back to the van, hopping into the driver's seat. You hear gun shots, screaming, and pleas from inside but you have no choice but to listen to the genocide that's being put into play by the man who kidnapped you and claims to love you.
Thoughts of driving away, escaping, and running off enter your brain, but it's not like it would mean anything. They could find you in a matter of seconds if you did.
You come up with a plan on having Chrollo and the troupe trust you and maybe even willingly give you your freedom. You will just have to reciprocate his love until he thinks you love him. But the problem is that you already have feelings for him, maybe Stockholm syndrome will catch up with you first.
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i'll have to admit, i'm curious about which classic rock stars your mutuals are...
anon darling, you’re a star!
fair warning though, i’m referring to all of these people in the present tense. i don’t care. they’re still here, to me.
@archaicmusings — roger taylor
hear me out. cal and rog would get on like a house on fire. it’s very simple; they share opinions on so many things, and cal swears about as much as roger does. but that aside, like roger, cal knows good music when she hears it, tells the best stories, and is loyal to her friends until the last.
@drivenbybri — brian may
if i had to describe brian in three words, i’d say “extraordinary but humble,” and you know, i’d describe sofie exactly the same way. sofie’s got such an artistic eye, and has the ability to turn anything into a masterpiece. but she’ll never admit it; she’ll do it quietly and watch the amazement on people’s faces, and then not believe them when they express their admiration. like i said, humble. also, sof and brian have basically the same hair, so...
@brianmays-hair — paul mccartney
paul mccartney has always given me vibes of sheer and absolute chaos. jess is about the same. paul and jess have this energy in common, and also, similar smiles?? don’t @ me, but they definitely do. and similar writing styles! bet you paul macca would let jess write lyrics for his songs if she offered.
@joemazzmatazz — jimi hendrix
jimi is chill. regan is chill. i honestly feel like they’d get along very well, two creative souls, with a similar sense of humour (if you listen to some of hendrix’s live recordings, he’s honestly incredibly funny, and charming, like regan).
@deacyblues — david bowie
first of all, david bowie and pearl would gush over each other’s wardrobes. and makeup. definitely. both have such a distinct style, and that’s part of the reason why i liken pearl to bowie. but also, bowie was known for his kindness, his optimism, and his stubbornness. pearl is indefinitely kind, and stands up for what she believes in, just like bowie.
@aprilaady — john deacon
john richard deacon is a sweetheart!! just like dor. but he’s also wildly unpredictable, and has the ability to shock you with a single sentence (brian’s words on the subject were not quite this, but i’m trying to be nice here). sometimes dor will message me something, and i will burst out laughing. she’s got a wicked sense of humour, just like our beloved deacy, and if anything happened to her, i’d throw everything out the window and then jump out of it myself.
@imcompletelylost — freddie mercury
if anyone’s freddie, it’s libby. libby’s got this charisma, exactly like freddie’s. and then i ask her to tell me her secret and she insists that there isn’t one. if that’s not a freddie mercury move, then i don’t know what is. not to mention, libby is so musically talented, it’s ridiculous. she’s iconic, and kind, and funny, and freddie would definitely take her shopping, because they’re just that alike.
@speciallyred — george harrison
oh, c’mon. have you ever seen george harrison smile? it’s like the sun. anna has the ability to brighten anyone’s day with a few words, and this is a quality which george harrison also has. anna’s a wonderful poet, and i’ve always thought of george as a wonderful lyricist. anna’s got style, too, and she’d fit right in during the height of the beatles’ career, in the 1960s.
@mistiermistshazierdays — marc bolan
now, i may be a bit biased here, because phoebe posts a lot of marc, and i reblog all of it. but also, marc’s got this lovely, bright, bubbliness about him, and if phoebe is anything, it’s bubbly (i love that word!!). with her warmth and her humour, phoebe is the perfect marc bolan, and marc the perfect phoebe.
@doing-albri — elton john
vi makes clothes, and elton john, as we all know, is the ultimate fashionista. then there’s elton john’s charitability, which translates to vi’s kindness. and of course, both are musically talented, and love their friends to no end.
@im-an-adult-ish — robert plant
okay. so i don’t really know how to explain this one. but when i was brainstorming all of these, this was the third one i wrote down. i guess meredith and robert plant just have the same sort of… energy? i honestly do not know. but i think the connection is robert plant’s overall charisma, and meredith’s wonderful ability to make anyone feel welcome.
@sixbloodyminutes — suzi quatro
listen, i love suzi quatro. so much. not only did she inspire bands like the runaways, joan jett in particular, with her revolutionary talent and pioneering as a woman in the music industry, but she’s also fucking awesome. back in the ‘70s, she was a symbol of girl power, and if morgan’s got anything, it’s girl power. also, if you’ve seen that one episode of pop quiz, you’ll know she and roger taylor got along well. and i know morgan likes roger taylor ;)
@hijackmy-heart — joan jett
another queen of the 1970s rock scene was joan jett! also a pioneer in the male-dominated music industry, joan jett is known for not only for her music, but her hard-heartedness. the latter is not at all a bad thing, particularly in this world we live in; joan knew what she wanted, and she went out and got it. nat has that same spirit, and the same occasional savageness, which i can only admire.
@dancingdiscofloof — jimmy page
considered one of the best guitarists in the world, even to this day, jimmy page is one hell of a creative soul, and was responsible for (or at least in part) a great deal of led zeppelin’s discography. a dedicated session musician, jimmy determined that there was a certain science to making music. rove strikes me as someone with this same dedication, so there you go!
@almightygwil — stevie nicks
rolling stone has called stevie nicks one of the greatest solo artists of all time, and while they may have written a shit and completely untrue review about queen, they were certainly right about stevie nicks. stevie nick’s lyrics, both on fleetwood mac records and on her own, have always been poetic, and lyrical, even without music. ellie absolutely writes just like this, and so that alone is enough to liken her to stevie nicks. stevie nicks was and is iconic, and in interviews, she was always very genuine, just like ellie.
@mazzell-ro — janis joplin
emblematic of the glam rock era, janis joplin’s voice is one-of-a-kind, and her presence one of unmatchable warmth. genuine, thoughtful, intelligent, and revolutionary in terms of her rebelling against gender norms, janis joplin is perhaps one of my absolute favourite people of the glam rock generation. ro has the same genuineness, the same intelligence, and the same thoughtfulness, going out of her way for her friends, and thus, she reminds me very much of janis joplin.
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The Smell of Truth - IV
Summary: After years being forced to fight in clandestine hybrid ring, Jungkook is now living in shelter, but life remains bad, the place is abusive, and nobody seems to want adopt him. Until one night a pro-hybrid activist group invades the shelter, and a woman in black smelling like truth promises that things will get better, and he decides to follow her wherever she goes.
Pairing: pitbull!Jungkook x human!Reader
Genre: fluff, angst, future smut maybe.
Words: 4781
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Some violent nightmares, nothing too bad.
Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III - Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII
Jungkook was ready to fight.
After eating cake and tons of meat, taste coke for the first time and fall in love with it, you showed him another thing to love about his new life. Something exciting, entertaining and beautiful... He wasn't good at it at first, but seeing you doing it so well just motivated him to do better. Video games of course. All the sounds and colors made his eyes sparkle. The characters were so amazing too. You let him choose what game he wanted to try first, without much reference he didn't know where to start, using as a criterion the cover that most caught his attention and the little you said about each one. In the end he tested so many games that the order wasn't even important.
You noticed that he avoided violent themes, like fight games, and he preferred the sports, adventure, or cute-looking ones. You came to that conclusion when you decided to show one of your favorites, Dead By Daylight, and before you could start a match he wanted to change to Plant vs. Zombie. At some point you both stopped by Mario Kart and that was the thing. One hour later Jungkook was better than you, throwing all the bananas on you, like losing wasn't an option to him. The bastard is competitive.
"AAaaaaah! nonononon noooooo!" You lose the control of your kart just before finish line as he passes you, crossing the line and winning for the sixth time in a row.
"Yeah!" He jumped from his spot on the floor, running circles arond the couch and you, who was also on the floor.
"That's not fair, half of an hour ago you didn't even know how the controls work..."
"Let's play again!" He seated beside you again, and then his ears perked up. "Can I eat more cake?"
He already ate almost half of the cake, and was clearly in a sugar rush.
"Of course. The cake is yours."
With a happy squick he ran to the kitchen, sliding the new pair of white socks over the apartment's wooden floor. As you waited for hi to come back you once again searched your games, looking for any more he might like, and came to the conclusion that you have a very violent taste to games - you are a fervent Outlast fan, for example. You have never dealt with a hybrid so full of trauma so directly, let alone inside your home, so involved in your life, and despite having some sense of Jungkook's past, you don't know everything that torments him or how much, so making him one hundred percent comfortable in this new life is your plan. What you need is to pay more attention to the small details. And maybe you can start by letting him choose some lighter games himself in the online store.
Jungkook emerged from the kitchen, now walking slower, balancing two plates of cake in one hand, and a huge glass of coke, full to the top, in the other, taking care not to make a mess. Carefully he sat next to you again.
"I brought cake for you too." He gave you one plate and got ready for another round.
"Oh, that's sweet of you. Thanks."
You played for another hour or so, Jungkook's victories proving that it was not beginner's luck but that he is indeed a fast learner. You were already more asleep than awake, as a result of bad nights and unregulated sleep in the last week, when he got tired of running and decided to change the game.
"What is this about?" Jungkook asked, showing you another one.
"Ah, is a remake of one of my childhood favorites. It's about a bandicoot who lives on an island in the south pacific, and a magic mask that flies around him, and has a big-headed villain. It's pretty fun." You yawned.
"Let's play this one then." He excitedly stated.
"Sorry, Jungkook. I'm really tired, and even if I'll work from home, I need to get up early tomorow... I'm going to bed now." You saw the disappointment in his eyes, his ears and tail falling, and added. "But you can keep playing without me."
Jungkook looked around, clearly not so happy as before.
"Ok. I will play another one that is not your favorite then. See you tomorrow?"
He was pouting again, and you thought to yourself if you're going to be able to get used to it. Despite being upset, you could see that he didn't want to have a tantrum asking you to stay.
"You are so cute." You said before you could stop yourself, pulling him by the hands for a hug. You rested you head on his chest and reasurely passed your hands on his back. You couldn't see right now, but the brightest smile settled in Jungkook's face. "See you in the morning. Sleep well, JK."
"Sleep well, Y/N."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
You took a fast shower, put yourself in comfy pijamas and dropped your tired body in the bed. In less than five minutes you were fast asleep. You are the type that has a heavy sleep, that doesn't wake up with anything, and if it happens it is not fully awake, easily coming back into slumber. Normally a lightning storm would not be enough to get you out of dreamland, quite the opposite, the thick rain hitting the window glass has always been like a lullaby. But for some reason, by two in the morning your sleep-pumping eyes were open and alert. Something was off.
You sit, checking your surroundings, listening. Everything seemed ordinary. You got up, looking for your phone, trying to remember where you left it last. You found it lying on the floor beside the bed, between your slippers, some social media notifications and messages that you didn't see before stamping the screen.
Opening one of the messages, a smile formed at the corners of your mouth, as you rubbed your swollen eyes. Still half asleep you played the audio massage, a male voice sounding low.
"Hey sweetheart, I'm coming back already. If my flight doesn't delay, I'll be home in the late afternoon... Then I will see you before anything else ok! I'm missing you so fucking much it feels like dying... So..."
Before you could finish hearing the message something else caught your attention. You were silent trying to hear again. A soft sound from the floor below. A cry. It brought you from the brink of slumber, zombie mode of yours, to full alert awake mode.
"Jungkook" You went to the door and, knowing the way even in the dark, did not even bother to turn on the lights in the corridor, or the stairs, to run to the hybrid who now lives with you. The closer you got, the more certain you were that the crying came from Jungkook's room, a tightness in your chest leaving you worried at every step without knowing what was happening.
You entered as quietly as you could, stepping inside on the tip of your feet, the room was lighter than the corridor you came from, because of the headlamp on. Jungkook was lying in the shape of a ball, his back to you, wearing silk pajamas that you bought him earlier, the cover lying on the floor indicating he was having restless sleep. He was crying, but still asleep, clutching the pillow as hard as if his life depended on it, his body shivering, from cold or stress, or both, you couldn't say. Regardless, the nightmare he was having must have been horrible.
Sitting next to him on the bed next to him, you put your hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly.
"Jungkook, wake up."
As if your touch had burned him, Jungkook's eyes snapped open, his body reacting defensively before you could do anything. In a second his hand was around your wrist, holding tightly at a sore angle, making you gasp in pain. For a moment it seemed that even looking directly at you, he didn't recognize you.
"Jungkook, it's me. Y/N. You were having a nightmare, but is everything ok. You are ok." You softly said, ignoring the pain in your wrist he was still holding, and reaching your other hand to his face, brushing the hair away from his sweaty forehead. "You are ok, Jungkook."
"Y/N..." His lips quivered, small voice barelly reached your ears.
Jungkook is a pile of muscles, much taller than you, bigger in every way, but at that moment, with scared eyes full of tears... you never thought he was so small.
"It's, ok." You whispered, afraid that if you spoke a little louder it might scare him. "I don't know where you were, or what was happening... But now you are home, safe."
He blinked a couple times, looking around, recognizing his own new room, his things, the smell of the surroundings. His tense, ready to fight body, relaxed as his breathing was soothing. He finally noticed his tight hold hurting you, released you and more quickly he sat against the headboard, moving away from you and your touch. The boy's pale face acquired a feeling beyond fear... guilt.
"So- sorry..." He weakly apologized.
It is not the first time he has had this nightmare. It is always the same, sometimes with small differences, but in short it is a ring, metal screens closing all sides and the ceiling, with electric barriers and poles, that if he tries to escape or fall out by accident the injuries will be terrible, that if he doesn’t die by it. There’s a white light on him, as if it were a show and he was the star, but it’s a show of horrors, the fans screaming loudly, from the dark, asking for blood, dozens of men without face wanting someone to die in front of them. Jungkook experienced this so many times in real life, that in a dream it shouldn't be so scary, but here comes the worst part... He's losing, this time he's the one going to die today. While the other guy is sitting on top of him, giving blow after blow he can't defend himself, he looks back, looking for his owner. Jungkook's owner is sitting in a deck chair in the middle of the audience, watching the fight with his eyes without emotion, he is not happy, and Jungkook knows why: he has not been a good boy, he is no longer valuable, and doesn't bring tons of money anymore... So the owner won't help him, he won't find a way to stop the fight to save Jungkook, because it's not worth it. When Jungkook looks up again and faces his opponent it is his own face what he sees, like a mirror, violent and empty... He sees himself as the scariest hybrid in the world.
"I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... Y/N I'm sorry." He started to sob, bringing his knees close to his chest, turning into a ball again, to look smaller and not threatening.
Carefully you risked approaching him again, placing your hand on his knee in an attempt to make some comforting contact, without being too invasive.
"Shhhh... No need to apologize now." Seeing that he didn't withdraw from you again, you finally took his face in your cold little hands. "How are you feeling?"
"What?" A tear ran down his cheekbone, wetting your hand.
"I want to know if you are ok, JK." You smiled softly. He hurting you it's not ok, even if by accident, but that's a subject for another moment, now the focus is on him only.
He sighed, closing his eyes and letting himself relax at your touch, feeling the soft tips of your fingers drying his tears. He took a deep breath once, twice, three times before nodding.
"I'm. I just need to go to bathroom."
"Ok." You let him get up, his well-built body looking so fragile as he walked out of the room, disappearing into the dark corridor. You got up yourself, to fix the bedding, get it ready for when he returned.
Jungkook washed his face several times, trying to get the bad impression he could still see when looking in the mirror. "When you're scared, laugh in the face of fear, he won't take you seriously and then he'll leave you alone." The child's voice rang in Jungkook's mind, making him give a weak little smile when he thought that this silly psychology has kept his sanity for years. He wiped his face with a soft towel, and then looking at himself in the mirror he made a funny face. And then another ... And one more. One funny face after another until he feels like smiling for real.
Your happy bathroom, with a nice scent of soap and cute plants, also helped a lot. The urge to cry went away much easier than at any time in Jungkook's old life.
Not really in the mood of trying to sleep again, he dragged himself back to the room, feeling the weight of the world on his legs, considering returning to playing video games and staying up all night... He saw you still on his bed, waiting for him, and stopped by the door, surprised.
"You still here..."
You were zoning out, due to his delay in returning. His voice - now more peaceful - put a smile of relief in your distracted face.
"Do you want me to stay with you till you fall asleep again?" You suggested.
Jungkook felt something in his chest, almost like a heartache, warm, when he heard that question.
"You don't need to..." He spoke before he could stop himself, regretting immediately, because it wasn't what he wanted to answer.
You left a warm laugh scape your lips.
"That's not what I asked, JK. Do you want me to stay?"
"Yes."
You caring for him like this is like a dream to him, so, afraid of making a mistake that would make this moment end, he camly walked to you, lying on the spot you were invitingly tapping beside you, almost with his head on your lap. Almost... You covered him, taking care to wrap every inch of him with the blanket, to keep him warm, as you would do to a child, or at least, how you like to sleep when it's cold, like a comfy burrito. He felt loved.
A few minutes went by, you patiently petting his hair. When you thought he would have fallen asleep, Jungkook opened his eyes to look at you thoughtfully.
"Y/N..." His voice was already sleepy.
"Hum?"
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"
It's not like you're not expecting such conversation to happen sometime in the future, but at that moment the question took you by surprise.
"What do you mean, Jungkook?"
Jungkook had a hard time finding the right words. He didn't expect you to respond with another question, he wanted you to answer more objectively. A line of frustration formed between the boy's eyebrows as he thought hard on it. You just kept petting him, waiting for him to elaborate his thoughts.
"I don't... know. Everybody does... I'm a pitbull and I was a fight dog... I've done so many bad and scary things, so everybody is afraid of me. The people that didn't want to adopt me, the employees of the shelter who beat me, even the doctor who saw me... She was so sweet to me, but she always saw me with a security guard in the room. Even my former owner was always armed when he came to talk to me..." He was frustrated and agitated when speaking. "He always told me that being a fighter is the only thing I good at... That I'm good at being violent. So why aren't you afraid?"
He could sense you getting dark feelings as he spoke. You were pissed, just thinking about what they did to his head made you want to punch someone. Making Jungkook think he deserves to be feared instead of being loved, pampered and adored every day of his life is unforgivable.
"First of all... Get ready because I'm going to give a speech here. Second: it is a protocol, standard procedure, to have support staff when treating new hybrids, especially when they have a history of abuse. It's not because the doctor was afraid of you, it's because she wanted to take good care of you." You paused for a breath, taking care not to be too harsh when speaking and it looked like you were scolding him, which was nowhere near your intention. You sighed and pulled a lock of hair out of his eyes. "Jungkook, you can't believe in any word your former owner told you. If he was always armed when he came to talk to you, it wasn't because he was afraid of you, it was because he wanted you to be afraid of him. He is very bad person. And he's in jail for all the evil he's done, for you and many other people ... And he's a liar. Nothing he has ever said or done to you can define your future or who you are. Can you believe me?"
"Yes." He said with a soft and vulnerable voice.
He was crying again, with a little smile forming in the corner of his mouth, but still crying. And your heart can't take it.
"And the reason I'm not afraid of you...?" You raised an eyebrow and looked deep into his eyes, as if you were going to tell an incredible secret. "I recognize a cinnamonroll when I see one."
At this, one laugh left Jungkook mouth, and you couln't think he is any cuter.
"Seriously... Look at this doe eyes and sweet smile! You are a cutie pie, JK! The most precious one..."
He let you squish his check with a blush taking over his whole face, but then he noticed the bruise forming in your wrist and his smile fell.
"But I did hurt you." He sadly took your hand in his.
"Yes, but it can be fixed. It will heal, and it can heal even faster if I treat it right. And you can never do that again." You said logically.
"How?"
You pointed your index finger to the middle of Jungkook's forehead, and then to the middle of his chest.
"Healing yourself too. I know you're messed up, and that's ok. I'm here to help. We can start with therapy, you know..."
Jungkook didn't like the idea of therapy at all, but for now he won't discuss it. You were probably right.
"Ok." He said, snuggling closer to your leg.
A very loud thunder burst outside, coming very close to the lightning, startling Jungkook, who reflexively grabbed the hem of your cotton shorts. You didn't refrain yourself from hugging him with your whole body, planting a heavy kiss on his cheek.
"Saw what i mean? You are too precious."
With his heat beating frantically he answered in a timid way.
"I don't like loud sounds... That's all."
"Is just loud, it can't hurt you." You said looking into his eyes, your nose almost touching his nose. "As long I'm here no one can hurt you."
And there it is again. The smell of truth. The idea of someone as small as you protecting Jungkook from anything or anyone may seem absurd, but for no second he doubt your words, because each one of it smell like sincerity. Your eyes too, so intense as you said it, that made him want to protect you too.
"And what if you are not around when I need you?" He tested playfully.
"Then you scream my name as loud as you can and I'll be there in no time!"
"Seriously?"
You seated straight, handson your hips.
"Of course! I was on the athletics team at college. I'm super fast!"
He was laughing, your work was done.
"Sorry I woke you up... And thank you for saving me." Jungkook said it with so much affection it made you heart skip a beat.
"Don't worry, sweetie, I woke up to the thunder." You simply said, but he knew this one was a lie.
_________________________________________________________________________
After the incredible conversation he had with you in the middle of the night, and the rest of the night well slept, Jungkook started the day very willing and happy. He could barely walk, instead it was as if his legs were jumping around the apartment by itselves. You were up hours before him, but waited to eat breakfast with him - you already had a liter of coffee by yourself anyway. Despite not being what you like to do with your life, and and having another job - running a chain of stores for your family - you have been working as a lawyer for a member office for a few months. Even working from home, you have soooo much paperwork to fill out and study, reports with deadline to deliver, to be a suuuuuper efficient employee. So after you finished eating your cereal bowl, you left Jungkook to play video games alone and locked yourself in your personal upstairs office to work.
He can hear you walking around as you talk on the phone, your voice sounding serious and professional. He was having fun by himself, such a good time with snaks and left over cake, but at the same time he was struggling on not gonna check you out. You strictly asked him to not interrupt you till lunch time.
Jungkook spent an hour in this internal fight to go or not to see if you didn't need something or want a glass of juice, to maybe get scratch behind his ear and a smile from you as reward. Like... You were just upstairs and he miss you too much.
He was so focused on the game and his own thoughts that he didn't even notice his steps down the stairs and into the living room.
"Jungkook. I need to sign some papers in the office. If anything I'm downstairs."
"Ok."
Then you left the apartment. You were too serious. Too cold. Too focused on serious and adult things. A world-sized pout formed in Jungkook's cute face. It is only the third day with you in his life, but he already feels very used to it - your presence of light and warm hugs was able to erase all the years of loneliness that in which he learned to be alone and be satisfied with his own company. Thinking about it he decided to change his plans. He turned off the video game, stretched out and went on an adventure ... He was going to inspect every corner of the house. Field recognition.
He started in the kitchen. He found out where everything, utensils, different types of pots, foods, is kept, and with that he learned a little bit about your personality too... Everything is so methodically organized by category and size that it became very clear that you are a tidy freaky. No problem, learning to respect your habits and quirks, being clean, shouldn't be that difficult. The same style of organization also in the hall closet, and in the bathroom, and on the bookcase for games and movies. He did not enter your room or private office - although the door was open, and he could see a very large bookcase and a table full of papers and an open notebook - because he thought it would be too much intrusion. So the only place on the top floor that went through Jungkook's inspection was the terrace, where your plants are also very well cared for and categorized by type and alphabetical order - including name and scientific name signs. In the tool cabinet, he found gardening tools - as expected - and some useless things or at least he hadn't imagined you'd have ... Like a neon pink pilates ball and an inflatable Santa Claus.
Jungkook lay on the deck chair on the terrace to sunbathe - few times in his life he had this luxury - and took the opportunity to take a nap. He woke up just before lunchtime.
"Y/N?" He checked on your office, and then in the living room.
You weren't back yet, but since it was time for lunch he could finally go after you. Without hesitating he ran downstairs when he saw what time it was, escaping some steps to go faster, and without thinking, or rather remembering, that you probably wouldn't be alone in the office, Jungkook knocked twice on the door and went in before hearing an answer. So he froze by the door when he saw the two men from the other day with you in the room.
You were sharing the office chair with that hybrid - in fact he was practically sitting on your lap while you typed something on the computer, arms around him, both focused on the screen. The other guy, the human, had his back to Jungkook, hunched over the table, also looking at the same thing as you. It must be something important, because none of them noticed Jungkook's presence at first. Once again he felt that he was interrupting something he shouldn't be getting into - the little line forming between your eyebrows, while you read something on the screen in deep concentration saying it. With a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach he also felt that he should be interrupting for sure. No other hybrid should be on your lap while he is home alone.
He was about to cough to get your attention, ready to make it very clear how unhappy he was with the scene, to let you know that your attitude was not cool, but the hybrid looked up from the computer, making eye contact with him. All of Jungkook's feelings are gone all of a sudden, leaving only the need to hide in a hole on the ground.
"Hi." The hybrid smiled at him, eyes turning into two crescent moons.
This made you and the other guy see Jungkook too. The man, who today was dressed as a very stylish grandpa, turned around, sitting on the edge of the table and crossed his arms. JUngkook felt his face getting hot with all eyes on him.
"Oh, JK. I didn't see it's lunchtime already. Sorry." You said, checking your wristwatch.
Jungkook couldn't answer, his voice stuck in his throat.
"We ran into each other in the hall yesterday, right?" The human calmly asked Jungkook, not really waiting for an answer. His eyes were so intimidating, a whole dominating vibe coming from him. "He's the one living with you?"
"Yes! This is Jungkook." You pridely said, giving a light pat on the hybrid knee, so he could let you get up. "And this is Taehyung, my friend who rents the studio across the hall. And this little cutie here Jimin he works for me as a counter."
"I like numbers!" Jimin said, cat ears excitedly pointed up.
"Nice to meet you." Jungkook finally put some word out, still avoiding eye contact.
You closed some folders, saved some docs... Finding it super cute that Jungkook was so shy.
"Let's eat." You stated.
"Finally..." Teahyung and Jimin whined in unison.
Taehyung out of nowhere lost his frightening posture, practically becoming a child right in front of Jungkook. A very excited child.
"Can we get hamburgers today? Last time Jimin chose, and before him was you..." He picked his shoulder bag and went to the door, stopping right next to Jungkook, who practically froze in place.
You followed suit, stopping on the other side of Jungkook, pressing a reassuring hand against the boy's back.
"I actually want to put Jungkook on a healthier diet. A regular meal would be better." You softly but certainly said with a smile, no room for debate. You wouldn't say that out loud, because it would be exposing Jungkook unnecessarily, and you don't know if he would like it, but his blood tests, done at the shelter, showed anemia, among other consequences of a poor diet, even though he is strong his health was not very good, and your plan is to take care of it.
" I think Jungkook could choose, since he is new." Jimin practically put everyone out to lock the door.
The silence that followed made Jungkook look up from the floor to see that the three were looking at him expecting him to say something he wanted to eat.
"Me..meat?" It was the first thing that came to his mind.
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#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts fanfction#bts#hybrid bts#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungguk#jungkook fic#jungkook x reader#hybrid jungkook#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook#dog Jungkook#bangtanshadowfamily
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The Last Night Part VIII
(A/N at the end)
All Parts:
Here is Part I
Here is Part II
Here is Part III
Here is Part IV
Here is Part V
Here is Part VI
Here is Part VII
Part VIII
James stood frozen in the street. His hands still clenched around Matthew’s waist coat; his neck strained from looking over his shoulder at where Anna had pointed to.
A body lay in the street.
James found himself unable to speak, to move, to operate past filling and releasing his lungs in short bursts. He could hear his name being called as if through a thick wall.
Is it Lucie? The question lingered on his tongue, but he could not bring himself to ask it.
He didn’t want to know the answer.
Thomas was the first of them to move. Carefully at first, waving his arm in the air to make sure the fog wasn’t concealing something more, and then he broke into a run and slid to his knees beside the body.
After a breathless moment, he turned his head to the rest of them and said, “It’s Alastair. Come quick, it’s Alastair.”
James released Matthew and felt life swell inside of him again like the first hit of hot hair in a balloon, but his relief was quickly replaced by another fear. If Alastair Carstairs was the body in the street, then where was Lucie. Where was his sister?
~*~
The moment the sand left Cordelia’s hand, Belial stumbled backwards with a cry, giving Cordelia enough time to reach forward and pull the knife from his scabbard. She flipped it deftly in her palm and pushed herself precariously to her feet. With malice in her eyes, despite the pain that coursed through her ribs at the discordant movement, she held the knife out in front her towards Belial posed to strike with everything she had left inside of her.
It wasn’t Cortana, but it would have to do.
She caught a glimpse of her arms, and saw the black veins that coursed underneath her skin, but she didn’t have a moment to care for that now. If she was going to stop him from using Lucie, and she intended to do just that, she’d better do it quickly.
Belial scrapped the sand from his eyes; his back turned towards her. A strange noise came from his throat. It took Cordelia a moment to realize that it was laughter.
When he turned back around his face was orange from the sand. He spit a glob of tinted saliva down at her feet and grinned wickedly as he took in the knife that she had acquired from him.
A cough ripped out of Cordelia. She felt something hot burn up her throat as she wretched into the crook of her elbow. When she looked down, black liquid stained the ripped fabric of her dress sleeve. She didn’t look on it for too long before she straightened again and forced her aching body back to her feet, all while closely watching Belial.
A light breeze could knock her over, but she widened her stance in an attempt to gain balance. The shake in her legs did not go unnoticed by Belial.
“What do you mean to accomplish, Miss Carstairs?” Belial dropped his hands to his sides. “Do you intend to fight your way out of this, as you did before? When you can barely stand on your own two feet.”
“I had a broken leg the last time I drove a sword through your chest.” She grimaced, as a painful wave went up her torso. “I am no stranger to pain.”
Belial tilted his head back. “A true fighter. You might do well in my new world. Perhaps I’ll keep you as a pet for my granddaughter, to keep her in line.” She thrashed the knife when he stepped towards her and nearly cried out from the pain of the movement. “You cannot hurt me, child. You are only making things worse for yourself.”
“You cannot have Lucie,” said Cordelia, stepped back once as Belial stepped forward. Her teeth ached from clenching them together. She focused on that pain instead of the one at her side. “I don’t care how many times I have to drive my blade through you, you will not take my friend.”
Belial tilted his head. “You cannot kill me, Miss Carstairs. No mere mortal can, not in this form, and not with that stick. ” He glanced over his shoulder as a flash of bright light rippled through the smoke colored clouds. The air seemed to crackle with a new energy. Cordelia wasn’t sure, but it felt as if the ground trembled underneath her already unsteady legs.
With his back turned towards her now, Cordelia seized the opportunity and brought her arm back over her shoulder and threw the knife forward, hilt over tip, but as it was about to sink into Belial’s neck, the smooth pale skin of his hand shot up and gripped the blade, instantly turning the knife to ash.
Cordelia felt her mouth drop open. Her breath caught in her chest as she sank back to the ground.
Her last hope was now blowing away with the breeze.
“Cordelia!”
Belial face curved into a malevolent sneer. “Our company has arrived.”
Cordelia looked up as both an odd sense of relief and dread overcame her. Lucie, dressed in her black Shadowhunter gear, ran towards them, small but lethal. Her hair had come undone and whipped behind her in wild torrents before careening over her shoulder as she skidded to a stop inches from where Belial and Cordelia stood. In both her hands were perfectly sharpened daggers.
Lucie’s rage filled eyes softened when they fell on Cordelia. “Are you all right? Are you injured?”
Cordelia removed the hand that clung to her ribs and saw the fresh blood on her palm. “I’m injured, but I’m all right. Lucie, you should not have come.”
“Of course I should have,” said Lucie and her eyes narrowed on Cordelia’s bloody hand. “You’re bleeding. How bad is it? Did he do this to you?”
She rushed forward, just as Belial cleared his throat and stepped in-between the path separating Cordelia and Lucie. “Granddaughter. How lovely to finally meet you.”
“You’ll forgive me for forgetting myself, but I cannot repeat the sentiment,” said Lucie, planting her hands on her hips. “What do you prefer to be called? I refuse to call you grandfather, as that implies some familial affection, which for you I harbor none, so what will it be? Belial? Lord of Lies? Whacking disappointment? You choose.”
Belial’s hands flexed at his sides. “I suppose Belial will do.”
“Excellent,” Lucie shifted her stance. “Belial, let Cordelia go. You have what you wanted. I’m here. Your need for her is over.”
“Happily, dear granddaughter,” Belial glanced over his shoulder at Cordelia. “Nothing would bring me more joy than releasing Miss Carstairs back to earth. However, I feel the need to keep her as insurance.”
“Insurance?” Lucie prickled. “What does Cordelia insure?”
“Your cooperation.”
Cordelia coughed again and sank farther towards the ground. More black ichor burned up her throat as the demonic poison raged war against her blood stream. Sweat poured from her brow as she lifted her head, defiant against leaving Lucie alone with this monster.
Lucie’s eyes met Cordelia’s exposing the first hint of fear. “My cooperation?”
“Yes,” hissed Belial, as he started walking in a leisurely circle around Lucie. “It’s recently come to my attention that you possess a power far greater than any of my offspring.”
“Are there others?” Lucie scoffed. “I was not aware. You must clean up well if women are willingly throwing themselves at you.”
Belial paused. “Who said anything about willingly.”
A visible shudder went through Lucie. “What is it that you want?”
Belial continued to walk, his hands clasped behind his back. Something about the way he tilted his head back to look at the sky reminded her again of James. Not so much in appearance anymore, but more in the gestures; the way he held himself.
“At this point, you have only barely grazed the ability of your power.”
“Power?” Lucie glanced back at Cordelia. “What power? I think you are mistaking me for my brother. I am completely ordinary.”
“I’m quite sure I have the right offspring,” said Belial, his eyes wandered over Lucie in a way that was entirely too possessive.``Your mother has the ability to shape shift, your brother the ability to jump transfer himself into other realms. You, I’ll admit, I overlooked you. I’d preferred to have a male, but that was before I became aware of your truly interesting gift.”
Lucie scoffed. “I wouldn’t consider it a gift.”
“Oh, but it is,” Belial stepped towards her again, only this time Lucie didn’t step back. “You have the ability to control the dead. Tell me, have you ever brought someone back to life?”
“No,” said Lucie. “I can only communicate with their ghosts.”
“Communicate?” asked Belial, as he continued to walk around in a leisurely circle around Lucie. “Or control?”
Lucie’s teeth skimmed her bottom lip. The first sign for Cordelia that confirmed what Belial had told her about Lucie was true. It was no secret, to anyone, that Tessa Gray was the daughter of a demon; therefore, it was no secret that James and Lucie were the grandchildren of one. They were both young children when Lucie told Cordelia about her grandfather; confided in her. Lucie could have told her that her hair was brown for all Cordelia cared.
So why, thought Cordelia, after all these years of friendship did Lucie never tell her about this power? Did she not trust her to keep the secret? Or that it would somehow change the way Cordelia felt about her?
Lucie shifted her stance. “Prefer a male for what?”
Belial blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You said a moment ago that you preferred to have a male… a male what?”
“A male host,” said Belial. “I want you to willingly let me take possession of your body so that you and I can fully access your abilities. You will help me raise an army and take possession of every realm.”
Lucie’s hands balled into fists. “No.”
“Then Miss Carstairs dies a miserable death,” said Belial. “She’s not far now.”
“Lucie don’t,” begged Cordelia. “He will kill me anyway!” Tears burned Cordelia’s eyes. “He will kill everyone— everyone we have ever loved and force them to join in his army in their death. Lucie, you must go. Run away from here and go home.”
“I’ll keep her alive,” said Belial. “For you, granddaughter, I will keep her alive.”
“Do not listen to him.” All she could feel was the exhaustion, the poison in her veins, waiting to rush back, moments away from claiming her. “Even if he did allow me to live, what kind of life would that be, Lucie? I would have no one. I would have nothing. Leave me and run back the way that you came. There should be a portal where you came through—“
Cordelia watched as Lucie looked over her shoulder in the direction she had come from. Her hair concealed her face as the wind started to rage around them, picking up the sand and ash, making it difficult to see. For a moment, Cordelia saw Lucie pick up her foot, and the same overwhelming sense of dread and relief consumed her.
Belial stood impossibly still, though she watched his fingers stretch as if he’d been burned.
“If you run—” he started, but Lucie cut him off. “I’m not running.” Lucie looked down at the dagger in her right hand. The same expression that would cross her face when she is stuck on a particular scene in one of her books crossed her face now.
Belial inhaled slowly. “You cannot kill me with that, Lucie. Ask Miss Carstairs, it won’t work.”
Cordelia wanted to stand, to fight beside Lucie, but she couldn’t rise: her body was shutting down. Shadows began to creep in at the edges of her vision. The smell of spices that reminded her of her home filled her lungs. She thought she could hear the sound of children laughing and music playing, a soft trickle of sound ushering her into the unknown.
Cordelia pulled her hand away from her ribs. The wounded was still bleeding freely, but her blood was no longer red, but black as ink.
“I know that you understand only a fraction of the power that you possess.” He leaned towards Lucie. The wind raged harder around them. Sand burrowed into Cordelia’s skin, her eyes, her mouth, unable to shield herself from it as she lay limp as a corpse. Tornados of bones, trees, and sand funneled around them; she could see the strange patterns they made in the sky. “Together,” he said, his voice echoed with something demonic, “we can take claim of any realm we desire. Together we can raise one the greatest armies any world has ever seen.”
Lucie’s back was to Cordelia now. If she was able, she could reach across and grab her ankles.“You’re wrong,” said Lucie. “I understand my power perfectly and I will not let it be used by you.” Lucie spun on her heel and threw herself beside Cordelia, wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around her friend.
With her mouth inches from Cordelia’s ear, Lucie screamed. “Now Jesse!”
Cordelia was overcome with the sensation of falling. She could hear yelling and something hot and sharp pinch the skin around her wrist as a face came to loom over hers.
“Don’t die Miss Carstairs,” Belial smirked. “There is still a need for you yet.”
“Cordelia!” Lucie’s voice was the last thing she heard as the darkness slowly enclosed her vision and they fell, like burning angels, towards the earth.
Author’s Notes: Hi everyone! Sorry this is being posted so late. It was a busy day. Hope you are well, safe, and happy. Thank you for ALL the well wishes, I am doing much better and I’m excited to get back into this. If you didn't see my previous post about possibly continuing this fic for upwards of 20 chapters (that’s what I have outlined so far), I have decided that I am just going to go for it, which might make the end of this chapter slightly jarring. I set it up for this to be a type of grand finale, but I have more I want to do with these beloved characters. I will continue to post on Sundays, so next post will be Sunday 5/31. As always, please hit the heart, reblog, or pop in with a lovely comment. And most importantly, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy it.
#jordelia fanfiction#jordelia#Cordelia Carstairs#james herondale#the shadowhunter chronicles#the last hours#the last night#chain of gold#cassandra clare#lucie herondale#belial#Matthew Fairchild#thomas lightwood#christopher lightwood#anna lightwood#the merry thieves
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Dany and Jorah’s relationship
This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Jorah's relationship.
Thanks to that show, a lot of people misunderstand Jorah's character and the nature of his relationship with Dany.
In the books, he is a predator trying to groom a teenager who is three times younger than he is. In order to do so, he undermines her authority, tries to make her distrust other men and violates her boundaries several times (e.g. forcing a kiss on her, looking at her breasts, etc).
In the show, he's a Good Guy who we are meant to empathize with; as Benioff describes, "part of Jorah's tragedy is that he was in love with a woman who couldn't love him back".
That change is pretty disgusting, and look how it shaped the general audience's opinion:
I think Dany is ultimately selfish and unfeeling. I'm not sure she actually ever loved Jon at all, and her affection for Ser Jorah Mormont strikes me as more utilitarian than compassionate. Dany is concerned with herself and her dragons and little more. If she doesn't back Jon despite his superior claim to the Iron Throne, that's all the proof I need that she is rotten to the core. (x)
~
What would Jorah (Iain Glen) think of Dany's turn? Would he love her still? Would he have been able to do the deed? In a sense, I wish it had been him instead of Jon. Jorah has loved her for so much longer. But he died defending his queen, and perhaps he would have forgiven her even this atrocity. (x)
~
Her charm, beauty and overall skill in luring people to her cause, whether genuine or not, has always been about creating a facade, someone you wouldn't mind seeing win even if they lose the plot and go crazy. And everyone Dany's recruited along the way has been nothing more than a pawn.
Just look at how she sent away her lover, Daario Naharis, for fear he'd stunt her march on the throne, or exiled Jorah for being a spy. (x)
~
28 Reasons Jorah Mormont Was The Best Man In Westeros (x)
Thankfully, for all his faults, I think GRRM is framing the story the way it should be:
“Will Jorah ever get out of the friendzone?” (side-eyeing the person who asked this). GRRM: “I would not bet on it.” (x)
I really want to get a tattoo of this response, lol.
A Dance with Dragons
ADWD Daenerys X
Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the Dothraki sea, the great ocean of grass that stretched from the forest of Qohor to the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. She had seen it first when she was still a girl, newly wed to Khal Drogo and on her way to Vaes Dothrak to be presented to the crones of the dosh khaleen. The sight of all that grass stretching out before her had taken her breath away. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I was full of hope. Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. She’d had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.
~
Meereen would always be the Harpy’s city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.
Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.
The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. “I am dreaming,” she said. “A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost.”
Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind. Alone, because you sent me from your side.
“You betrayed me. You informed on me, for gold.”
For home. Home was all I ever wanted. “And me. You wanted me.” Dany had seen it in his eyes.
I did, the grass whispered, sadly. “You kissed me. I never said you could, but you did. You sold me to my enemies, but you meant it when you kissed me.”
I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.
“I had to take Meereen or see my children starve along the march.” Dany could still see the trail of corpses she had left behind her crossing the Red Waste. It was not a sight she wished to see again. “I had to take Meereen to feed my people.”
You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered. “To be a queen.”
You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. “It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”
No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.
“Fire and Blood,” Daenerys told the swaying grass.
A stone turned under her foot. She stumbled to one knee and cried out in pain, hoping against hope that her bear would gather her up and help her to her feet. When she turned her head to look for him, all she saw was trickling brown water ... and the grass, still moving slightly.
ADWD Daenerys IX
Dany had once eaten a stallion’s heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb. Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?
ADWD Daenerys VI
Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?
ADWD Daenerys V
Afterward, Ser Barristan told her that her brother Rhaegar would have been proud of her. Dany remembered the words Ser Jorah had spoken at Astapor: Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.
~
Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me. She missed Ser Jorah Mormont too. He lied to me, informed on me, but he loved me too, and he always gave good counsel.
ADWD Daenerys III
“Barristan the Old, did you say? Your bear knight was younger, and devoted to you.”
“I do not wish to speak of Jorah Mormont.”
“To be sure. The man was coarse and hairy.”
~
“You heard Xaro make his offer?”
“I did, Your Grace.” The old knight took pains not to look at her bare breast as he spoke to her.
Ser Jorah would not turn his eyes away. He loved me as a woman, where Ser Barristan loves me only as his queen. Mormont had been an informer, reporting to her enemies in Westeros, yet he had given her good counsel too.
ADWD Daenerys I
Dragons are fire made flesh. She had read that in one of the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.
~
The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?
A Storm of Swords
ASOS Daenerys VI
The way before her was fraught with hardship, bloodshed, and danger. Ser Jorah had warned her of that. He’d warned her of so many things ... he’d ... No, I will not think of Jorah Mormont. Let him keep a little longer.
~
Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all ... I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she’d swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears.
~
Ser Jorah cleared his throat. “Khaleesi ...”
She had missed his voice so much, but she had to be stern. “Be quiet. I will tell you when to speak.”
~
“I will admit you helped win me this city ...”
Ser Jorah’s mouth tightened. “We won you this city. We sewer rats.”
“Be quiet,” she said again ... though there was truth to what he said.
[...]“You helped win this city,” she repeated stubbornly. “And you have served me well in the past. Ser Barristan saved me from the Titan’s Bastard, and from the Sorrowful Man in Qarth. Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner in Vaes Dothrak, and again from Drogo’s bloodriders after my sun-and-stars had died.” So many people wanted her dead, sometimes she lost count. “And yet you lied, deceived me, betrayed me.”
[...] The other will be harder. When Ser Barristan was done, she turned to Jorah Mormont. “And now you, ser. Tell me true.”
The big man’s neck was red; whether from anger or shame she did not know. “I have tried to tell you true, half a hundred times. I told you Arstan was more than he seemed. I warned you that Xaro and Pyat Pree were not to be trusted. I warned you—”
“You warned me against everyone except yourself.” His insolence angered her. He should be humbler. He should beg for my forgiveness. “Trust no one but Jorah Mormont, you said ... and all the time you were the Spider’s creature!”
“I am no man’s creature. I took the eunuch’s gold, yes. I learned some ciphers and wrote some letters, but that was all—”
“All? You spied on me and sold me to my enemies!”
“For a time.” He said it grudgingly. “I stopped.”
“When? When did you stop?”
“I made one report from Qarth, but—”
“From Qarth?” Dany had been hoping it had ended much earlier. “What did you write from Qarth? That you were my man now, that you wanted no more of their schemes?” Ser Jorah could not meet her eyes. “When Khal Drogo died, you asked me to go with you to Yi Ti and the Jade Sea. Was that your wish or Robert’s?”
“That was to protect you,” he insisted. “To keep you away from them. I knew what snakes they were ...”
“Snakes? And what are you, ser?” Something unspeakable occurred to her. “You told them I was carrying Drogo’s child ...”
“Khaleesi ...”
“Do not think to deny it, ser,” Ser Barristan said sharply. “I was there when the eunuch told the council, and Robert decreed that Her Grace and her child must die. You were the source, ser. There was even talk that you might do the deed, for a pardon.”
“A lie.” Ser Jorah’s face darkened. “I would never ... Daenerys, it was me who stopped you from drinking the wine.”
“Yes. And how was it you knew the wine was poisoned?”
“I ... I but suspected ... the caravan brought a letter from Varys, he warned me there would be attempts. He wanted you watched, yes, but not harmed.” He went to his knees. “If I had not told them someone else would have. You know that.”
“I know you betrayed me.” She touched her belly, where her son Rhaego had perished. “I know a poisoner tried to kill my son, because of you. That’s what I know.”
“No ... no.” He shook his head. “I never meant ... forgive me. You have to forgive me.”
“Have to?” It was too late. He should have begun by begging forgiveness. She could not pardon him as she’d intended. She had dragged the wineseller behind her horse until there was nothing left of him. Didn’t the man who brought him deserve the same? This is Jorah, my fierce bear, the right arm that never failed me. I would be dead without him, but ... “I can’t forgive you,” she said. “I can’t.”
“You forgave the old man ...”
“He lied to me about his name. You sold my secrets to the men who killed my father and stole my brother’s throne.”
“I protected you. I fought for you. Killed for you.”
Kissed me, she thought, betrayed me.
“I went down into the sewers like a rat. For you.”
It might have been kinder if you’d died there. Dany said nothing. There was nothing to say.
“Daenerys,” he said, “I have loved you.”
And there it was. Three treasons will you know. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love. “The gods do nothing without a purpose, they say. You did not die in battle, so it must be they still have some use for you. But I don’t. I will not have you near me. You are banished, ser. Go back to your masters in King’s Landing and collect your pardon, if you can. Or to Astapor. No doubt the butcher king needs knights.”
“No.” He reached for her. “Daenerys, please, hear me ...”
She slapped his hand away. “Do not ever presume to touch me again, or to speak my name. You have until dawn to collect your things and leave this city. If you’re found in Meereen past break of day, I will have Strong Belwas twist your head off. I will. Believe that.” She turned her back on him, her skirts swirling. I cannot bear to see his face. “Remove this liar from my sight,” she commanded. I must not weep. I must not. If I weep I will forgive him. Strong Belwas seized Ser Jorah by the arm and dragged him out. When Dany glanced back, the knight was walking as if drunk, stumbling and slow. She looked away until she heard the doors open and close. Then she sank back onto the ebony bench. He’s gone, then. My father and my mother, my brothers, Ser Willem Darry, Drogo who was my sun-and-stars, his son who died inside me, and now Ser Jorah ...
“The queen has a good heart,” Daario purred through his deep purple whiskers, “but that one is more dangerous than all the Oznaks and Meros rolled up in one.” His strong hands caressed the hilts of his matched blades, those wanton golden women. “You need not even say the word, my radiance. Only give the tiniest nod, and your Daario shall fetch you back his ugly head.”
“Leave him be. The scales are balanced now. Let him go home.” Dany pictured Jorah moving amongst old gnarled oaks and tall pines, past flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, and little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. She saw him entering a hall built of huge logs, where dogs slept by the hearth and the smell of meat and mead hung thick in the smoky air.
~
She found herself reading the same passage half a dozen times. Ser Jorah gave me this book as a bride’s gift, the day I wed Khal Drogo. But Daario is right, I shouldn’t have banished him. I should have kept him, or I should have killed him. She played at being a queen, yet sometimes she still felt like a scared little girl. Viserys always said what a dolt I was. Was he truly mad? She closed the book. She could still recall Ser Jorah, if she wished. Or send Daario to kill him.
~
Distant torches glimmered red and yellow where her sentries walked their rounds, and here and there she saw the faint glow of lanterns bobbing down an alley. Perhaps one was Ser Jorah, leading his horse slowly toward the gate. Farewell, old bear. Farewell, betrayer.
ASOS Daenerys V
The eunuch wrenched the blade loose and parted the hero’s head from his body with three savage blows to the neck. He held it up high for the Meereenese to see, then flung it toward the city gates and let it bounce and roll across the sand.
“So much for the hero of Meereen,” said Daario, laughing.
“A victory without meaning,” Ser Jorah cautioned. “We will not win Meereen by killing its defenders one at a time.”
“No,” Dany agreed, “but I’m pleased we killed this one.”
~
“...Already we’ve had reports of sickness in the camps, fever and brownleg and three cases of the bloody flux. There will be more if we remain. The slaves are weak from the march.”
“Freedmen,” Dany corrected. “They are slaves no longer.”
~
“Then what do you advise, Ser Jorah?”
“You will not like it.”
“I would hear it all the same.”
“As you wish. I say, let this city be. You cannot free every slave in the world, Khaleesi. Your war is in Westeros.”
“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”
“As Aegon did,” Ser Jorah said, “with fire. By the time we reach the Seven Kingdoms, your dragons will be grown. And we will have siege towers and trebuchets as well, all the things we lack here ... but the way across the Lands of the Long Summer is long and grueling, and there are dangers we cannot know. You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”
“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.
~
“Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”
“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”
~
And Daario Naharis made her laugh, which Ser Jorah never did.
Dany tried to imagine what it would be like if she allowed Daario to kiss her, the way Jorah had kissed her on the ship. [...] Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon? Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who’d said she had to take two husbands. Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it.
~
“I had a look at the river wall,” Ser Jorah started. “It’s a few feet higher than the others, and just as strong. And the Meereenese have a dozen fire hulks tied up beneath the ramparts—”
She cut him off. “You might have warned me that the Titan’s Bastard had escaped.”
He frowned. “I saw no need to frighten you, Your Grace. I have offered a reward for his head—”
“Pay it to Whitebeard. Mero has been with us all the way from Yunkai. He shaved his beard off and lost himself amongst the freedmen, waiting for a chance for vengeance. Arstan killed him.”
Ser Jorah gave the old man a long look. “A squire with a stick slew Mero of Braavos, is that the way of it?”
“A stick,” Dany confirmed, “but no longer a squire. Ser Jorah, it’s my wish that Arstan be knighted.”
“No.”
The loud refusal was surprise enough. Stranger still, it came from both men at once.
Ser Jorah drew his sword. “The Titan’s Bastard was a nasty piece of work. And good at killing. Who are you, old man?”
“A better knight than you, ser,” Arstan said coldly.
Knight? Dany was confused. “You said you were a squire.”
[...] “I have told you no lies, my queen. Yet there are truths I have withheld, and for that and all my other sins I can only beg your forgiveness.”
“What truths have you withheld?” Dany did not like this. “You will tell me. Now.”
He bowed his head. “At Qarth, when you asked my name, I said I was called Arstan. That much was true. Many men had called me by that name while Belwas and I were making our way east to find you. But it is not my true name.”
She was more confused than angry. He has played me false, just as Jorah warned me, yet he saved my life just now.
Ser Jorah flushed red. “Mero shaved his beard, but you grew one, didn’t you? No wonder you looked so bloody familiar ...”
“You know him?” Dany asked the exile knight, lost.
“I saw him perhaps a dozen times ... from afar most often, standing with his brothers or riding in some tourney. But every man in the Seven Kingdoms knew Barristan the Bold.” He laid the point of his sword against the old man’s neck. “Khaleesi, before you kneels Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who betrayed your House to serve the Usurper Robert Baratheon.”
The old knight did not so much as blink. “The crow calls the raven black, and you speak of betrayal.”
“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood
aside ... “I want the whole truth now, on your honor as a knight. Are you the Usurper’s man, or mine?”
“Yours, if you will have me.” Ser Barristan had tears in his eyes. “I took Robert’s pardon, aye. I served him in Kingsguard and council. Served with the Kingslayer and others near as bad, who soiled the white cloak I wore. Nothing will excuse that. I might be serving in King’s Landing still if the vile boy upon the Iron Throne had not cast me aside, it shames me to admit. But when he took the cloak that the White Bull had draped about my shoulders, and sent men to kill me that selfsame day, it was as though he’d ripped a caul off my eyes. That was when I knew I must find my true king, and die in his service—”
“I can grant that wish,” Ser Jorah said darkly.
“Quiet,” said Dany. “I’ll hear him out.”
“It may be that I must die a traitor’s death,” Ser Barristan said. “If so, I should not die alone. Before I took Robert’s pardon I fought against him on the Trident. You were on the other side of that battle, Mormont, were you not?” He did not wait for an answer. “Your Grace, I am sorry I misled you. It was the only way to keep the Lannisters from learning that I had joined you. You are watched, as your brother was. Lord Varys reported every move Viserys made, for years. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”
He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”
“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”
“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”
“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.
I was going to take you home! Her dragons sensed her fury. Viserion roared, and smoke rose grey from his snout. Drogon beat the air with black wings, and Rhaegal twisted his head back and belched flame. I should say the word and burn the two of them. Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe? “Are all the knights of Westeros so false as you two? Get out, before my dragons roast you both. What does roast liar smell like? As foul as Brown Ben’s sewers? Go!”
Ser Barristan rose stiff and slow. For the first time, he looked his age. “Where shall we go, Your Grace?”
“To hell, to serve King Robert.” Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth. “The Others can have you both.” Go, go away forever, both of you, the next time I see your faces I’ll have your traitors’ heads off. She could not say the words, though. They betrayed me. But they saved me. But they lied. “You go ...” My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him? And the old man, my brother’s friend. “You go ... go ...” Where?
And then she knew.
ASOS Daenerys IV
Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged.
~
“I will like the taste of your tongue, I think.”
She could sense Ser Jorah’s anger. My black bear does not like this talk of kissing.
~
“To be sure, I am only a young girl and know little of war. What do you think, my lords?”
“I think you are Rhaegar Targaryen’s sister,” Ser Jorah said with a rueful half smile.
“Aye,” said Arstan Whitebeard, “and a queen as well.”
~
“My sword is yours. My life is yours. My love is yours. My blood, my body, my songs, you own them all. I live and die at your command, fair queen.”
“Then live,” Dany said, “and fight for me tonight.”
“That would not be wise, my queen.” Ser Jorah gave Daario a cold, hard stare. “Keep this one here under guard until the battle’s fought and won.”
She considered a moment, then shook her head. “If he can give us the Stormcrows, surprise is certain.”
“And if he betrays you, surprise is lost.”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont lingered. “Your Grace,” he said, too bluntly, “that was a mistake. We know nothing of this man—”
“We know that he is a great fighter.”
“A great talker, you mean.”
“He brings us the Stormcrows.” And he has blue eyes.
“Five hundred sellswords of uncertain loyalty.”
“All loyalties are uncertain in such times as these,” Dany reminded him. And I shall be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love.
“Daenerys, I am thrice your age,” Ser Jorah said. “I have seen how false men are. Very few are worthy of trust, and Daario Naharis is not one of them. Even his beard wears false colors.”
That angered her. “Whilst you have an honest beard, is that what you are telling me? You are the only man I should ever trust?”
He stiffened. “I did not say that.”
“You say it every day. Pyat Pree’s a liar, Xaro’s a schemer, Belwas a braggart, Arstan an assassin ... do you think I’m still some virgin girl, that I cannot hear the words behind the words?”
“Your Grace—”
She bulled over him. “You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better.”
Mormont had flushed red when she first began, but by the time Dany was done his face was pale again. He stood still as stone. “If my queen commands,” he said, curt and cold.
Dany was warm enough for both of them. “She does,” she said. “She commands. Now go see to your Unsullied, ser. You have a battle to fight and win.”
When he was gone, Dany threw herself down on her pillows beside her dragons. She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon.
He will forgive me, she told herself. I am his liege. Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”
ASOS Daenerys III
Afterward she called her bloodriders to her cabin, with Ser Jorah. They were the only ones she truly trusted.
[...] Ser Jorah soon joined her by the rail. He is never far, Dany thought. He knows my moods too well.
“Khaleesi. You ought to be asleep. Tomorrow will be hot and hard, I promise you. You’ll need your strength.”
“Do you remember Eroeh?” she asked him. “The Lhazareen girl?”
“They were raping her, but I stopped them and took her under my protection. Only when my sun-and-stars was dead Mago took her back, used her again, and killed her. Aggo said it was her fate.”
“I remember,” Ser Jorah said.
“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”
“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”
“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”
Ser Jorah had no answer. He only smiled, and touched her hair, so lightly. It was enough.
ASOS Daenerys II
“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. My bear is more clever than he looks.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont she had left aboard Balerion to guard her people and her dragons.
~
She made herself smile. “I have my own bear on Balerion,” she told the translator, “and he may well eat me if I do not return to him.”
“See,” said Kraznys when her words were translated. “It is not the woman who decides, it is this man she runs to. As ever!”
~
“Then leave this place before your heart turns to brick as well. Sail this very night, on the evening tide.”
Would that I could, thought Dany. “When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says.”
“Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace,” the old man reminded her. “There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you.”
~
He has a good face, and great strength to him, Dany thought. She could not understand why Ser Jorah mistrusted the old man so. Could he be jealous that I have found another man to talk to? Unbidden, her thoughts went back to the night on Balerion when the exile knight had kissed her. He should never have done that. He is thrice my age, and of too low a birth for me, and I never gave him leave. No true knight would ever kiss a queen without her leave. She had taken care never to be alone with Ser Jorah after that, keeping her handmaids with her aboard ship, and sometimes her bloodriders. He wants to kiss me again, I see it in his eyes.
What Dany wanted she could not begin to say, but Jorah’s kiss had woken something in her, something that been sleeping since Khal Drogo died. Lying abed in her narrow bunk, she found herself wondering how it would be to have a man squeezed in beside her in place of her handmaid, and the thought was more exciting than it should have been. Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont stood waiting for her. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. “The slavers have come and gone. Three of them, with a dozen scribes and as many slaves to lift and fetch. They crawled over every foot of our holds and made note of all we had.” He walked her aft. “How many men do they have for sale?”
“None.” Was it Mormont she was angry with, or this city with its sullen heat, its stinks and sweats and crumbling bricks? “They sell eunuchs, not men. Eunuchs made of brick, like the rest of Astapor. Shall I buy eight thousand brick eunuchs with dead eyes that never move, who kill suckling babes for the sake of a spiked hat and strangle their own dogs? They don’t even have names. So don’t call them men, ser.”
“Khaleesi,” he said, taken aback by her fury, “the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—”
“I have heard all I care to of their training.” Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry.
Mormont touched the cheek she’d slapped. “If I have displeased my queen—”
“You have. You’ve displeased me greatly, ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.” If you were my true knight, you would never have kissed me, or looked at my breasts the way you did, or ...
“As Your Grace commands. I shall tell Captain Groleo to make ready to sail on the evening tide, for some sty less vile.”
“No,” said Dany. Groleo watched them from the forecastle, and his crew was watching too. Whitebeard, her bloodriders, Jhiqui, every one had stopped what they were doing at the sound of the slap. “I want to sail now, not on the tide, I want to sail far and fast and never look back. But I can’t, can I? There are eight thousand brick eunuchs for sale, and I must find some way to buy them.” And with that she left him, and went below.
~
There was a soft step behind her. “Khaleesi.” His voice. “Might I speak frankly?”
Dany did not turn. She could not bear to look at him just now. If she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness. “Say what you will, ser.”
“When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done.”
Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs.”
“Your Grace,” said Jorah Mormont, “I saw King’s Landing after the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs they’ll kill are those you want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as I recall.”
The Usurper’s dogs. “Yes.” Dany gazed off at the soft colored lights and let the cool salt breeze caress her. “You speak of sacking cities. Answer me this, ser—why have the Dothraki never sacked this city?” She pointed. “Look at the walls. You can see where they’ve begun to crumble. There, and there. Do you see any guards on those towers? I don’t. Are they hiding, ser? I saw these sons of the harpy today, all their proud highborn warriors. They dressed in linen skirts, and the fiercest thing about them was their hair. Even a modest khalasar could crack this Astapor like a nut and spill out the rotted meat inside. So tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”
“You have a dragon’s eye, Khaleesi, that’s plain to see.”
“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”
“There are two reasons. Astapor’s brave defenders are so much chaff, it’s true. Old names and fat purses who dress up as Ghiscari scourges to pretend they still rule a vast empire. Every one is a high officer. On feastdays they fight mock wars in the pits to demonstrate what brilliant commanders they are, but it’s the eunuchs who do the dying. All the same, any enemy wanting to sack Astapor would have to know that they’d be facing Unsullied. The slavers would turn out the whole garrison in the city’s defense. The Dothraki have not ridden against Unsullied since they left their braids at the gates of Qohor.”
“And the second reason?” Dany asked.
“Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably unwarlike people.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but north of the slave cities is the Dothraki sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking cities and carrying off their people into slavery.”
“Carrying them off where? What good are slaves once you’ve killed the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly to every passing khal, just as the magisters do in Pentos and Norvos and Myr. They know that if they feast the horselords and give them gifts, they will soon ride on. It’s cheaper than fighting, and a deal more certain.”
Cheaper than fighting, Dany thought. Yes, it might be. If only it could be that easy for her. How pleasant it would be to sail to King’s Landing with her dragons, and pay the boy Joffrey a chest of gold to make him go away.
“Khaleesi?” Ser Jorah prompted, when she had been silent for a long time. He touched her elbow lightly.
Dany shrugged him off. “Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”
“I remember, Daenerys.”
“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”
“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”
“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.
“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”
ASOS Daenerys I
Yet even so, it was noted that none of the pit dragons ever reached the size of their ancestors. The maesters say it was because of the walls around them, and the great dome above their heads.”
“If walls could keep us small, peasants would all be tiny and kings as large as giants,” said Ser Jorah. “I’ve seen huge men born in hovels, and dwarfs who dwelt in castles.”
“Men are men,” Whitebeard replied. “Dragons are dragons.”
Ser Jorah snorted his disdain. “How profound.” The exile knight had no love for the old man, he’d made that plain from the first.
~
“A warrior without peer ... those are fine words, Your Grace, but words win no battles.”
“Swords win battles,” Ser Jorah said bluntly. “And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one.”
~
“...A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”
Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”
Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”
~
Ser Jorah watched with a frown on his blunt honest face. Mormont was big and burly, strong of jaw and thick of shoulder. Not a handsome man by any means, but as true a friend as Dany had ever known. “You would be wise to take that old man’s words well salted,” he told her when Whitebeard was out of earshot.
~
“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”
“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”
Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”
“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.
“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”
“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”
Dany leaned forward and yanked Viserion’s tail, to pull him off his green brother. Her blanket fell away from her chest as she moved. She grabbed it hastily and covered herself again. “The Usurper is dead,” she said.
“But his son rules in his place.” Ser Jorah lifted his gaze, and his dark eyes met her own. “A dutiful son pays his father’s debts. Even blood debts.”
“This boy Joffrey might want me dead ... if he recalls that I’m alive. What has that to do with Belwas and Arstan Whitebeard? The old man does not even wear a sword. You’ve seen that.”
“Aye. And I have seen how deftly he handles that staff of his. Recall how he killed that manticore in Qarth? It might as easily have been your throat he crushed.”
“Might have been, but was not,” she pointed out. “It was a stinging manticore meant to slay me. He saved my life.”
“Khaleesi, has it occurred to you that Whitebeard and Belwas might have been in league with the assassin? It might all have been a ploy to win your trust.”
Her sudden laughter made Drogon hiss, and sent Viserion flapping to his perch above the porthole. “The ploy worked well.”
The exile knight did not return her smile. “These are Illyrio’s ships, Illyrio’s captains, Illyrio’s sailors ... and Strong Belwas and Arstan are his men as well, not yours.”
“Magister Illyrio has protected me in the past. Strong Belwas says that he wept when he heard my brother was dead.”
“Yes,” said Mormont, “but did he weep for Viserys, or for the plans he had made with him?”
“His plans need not change. Magister Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen, and wealthy ...”
“He was not born wealthy. In the world as I have seen it, no man grows rich by kindness. The warlocks said the second treason would be for gold. What does Illyrio Mopatis love more than gold?”
“His skin.” Across the cabin Drogon stirred restlessly, steam rising from his snout. “Mirri Maz Duur betrayed me. I burned her for it.”
“Mirri Maz Duur was in your power. In Pentos, you shall be in Illyrio’s power. It is not the same. I know the magister as well as you. He is a devious man, and clever—”
“I need clever men about me if I am to win the Iron Throne.”
Ser Jorah snorted. “That wineseller who tried to poison you was a clever man as well. Clever men hatch ambitious schemes.”
Dany drew her legs up beneath the blanket. “You will protect me. You, and my bloodriders.”
“Four men? Khaleesi, you believe you know Illyrio Mopatis, very well. Yet you insist on surrounding yourself with men you do not know, like this puffed-up eunuch and the world’s oldest squire. Take a lesson from Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos.”
He means well, Dany reminded herself. He does all he does for love. “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?”
His jaw set stubbornly. “Your path is dangerous, I will not deny that. But if you blindly trust in every liar and schemer who crosses it, you will end as your brothers did.”
His obstinacy made her angry. He treats me like some child. “Strong Belwas could not scheme his way to breakfast. And what lies has Arstan Whitebeard told me?”
“He is not what he pretends to be. He speaks to you more boldly than any squire would dare.”
“He spoke frankly at my command. He knew my brother.”
“A great many men knew your brother. Your Grace, in Westeros the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard sits on the small council, and serves the king with his wits as well as his steel. If I am the first of your Queensguard, I pray you, hear me out. I have a plan to put to you.”
“What plan? Tell me.”
“Illyrio Mopatis wants you back in Pentos, under his roof. Very well, go to him ... but in your own time, and not alone. Let us see how loyal and obedient these new subjects of yours truly are. Command Groleo to change course for Slaver’s Bay.”
Dany was not certain she liked the sound of that at all. Everything she’d ever heard of the flesh marts in the great slave cities of Yunkai, Meereen, and Astapor was dire and frightening. “What is there for me in Slaver’s Bay?”
“An army,” said Ser Jorah. “If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen ... but it is Astapor I’d set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied.”
“The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?” Dany had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. “Why should I want Unsullied? They don’t even ride horses, and most of them are fat.”
“The Unsullied you may have seen in Pentos and Myr were household guards. That’s soft service, and eunuchs tend to plumpness in any case. Food is the only vice allowed them. To judge all Unsullied by a few old household slaves is like judging all squires by Arstan Whitebeard, Your Grace. Do you know the tale of the Three Thousand of Qohor?”
“No.” The coverlet slipped off Dany’s shoulder, and she tugged it back into place.
“It was four hundred years ago or more, when the Dothraki first rode out of the east, sacking and burning every town and city in their path. The khal who led them was named Temmo. His khalasar was not so big as Drogo’s, but it was big enough. Fifty thousand, at the least. Half of them braided warriors with bells ringing in their hair.
“The Qohorik knew he was coming. They strengthened their walls, doubled the size of their own guard, and hired two free companies besides, the Bright Banners and the Second Sons. And almost as an afterthought, they sent a man to Astapor to buy three thousand Unsullied. It was a long march back to Qohor, however, and as they approached they saw the smoke and dust and heard the distant din of battle.
“By the time the Unsullied reached the city the sun had set. Crows and wolves were feasting beneath the walls on what remained of the Qohorik heavy horse. The Bright Banners and Second Sons had fled, as sellswords are wont to do in the face of hopeless odds. With dark falling, the Dothraki had retired to their own camps to drink and dance and feast, but none doubted that they would return on the morrow to smash the city gates, storm the walls, and rape, loot, and slave as they pleased.
“But when dawn broke and Temmo and his bloodriders led their khalasar out of camp, they found three thousand Unsullied drawn up before the gates with the Black Goat standard flying over their heads. So small a force could easily have been flanked, but you know Dothraki. These were men on foot, and men on foot are fit only to be ridden down.
“The Dothraki charged. The Unsullied locked their shields, lowered their spears, and stood firm. Against twenty thousand screamers with bells in their hair, they stood firm.
“Eighteen times the Dothraki charged, and broke themselves on those shields and spears like waves on a rocky shore. Thrice Temmo sent his archers wheeling past and arrows fell like rain upon the Three Thousand, but the Unsullied merely lifted their shields above their heads until the squall had passed. In the end only six hundred of them remained ... but more than twelve thousand Dothraki lay dead upon that field, including Khal Temmo, his bloodriders, his kos, and all his sons. On the morning of the fourth day, the new khal led the survivors past the city gates in a stately procession. One by one, each man cut off his braid and threw it down before the feet of the Three Thousand.
“Since that day, the city guard of Qohor has been made up solely of Unsullied, every one of whom carries a tall spear from which hangs a braid of human hair.
“That is what you will find in Astapor, Your Grace. Put ashore there, and continue on to Pentos overland. It will take longer, yes ... but when you break bread with Magister Illyrio, you will have a thousand swords behind you, not just four.”
There is wisdom in this, yes, Dany thought, but ... “How am I to buy a thousand slave soldiers? All I have of value is the crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood gave me.”
“Dragons will be as great a wonder in Astapor as they were in Qarth. It may be that the slavers will shower you with gifts, as the Qartheen did. If not ... these ships carry more than your Dothraki and their horses. They took on trade goods at Qarth, I’ve been through the holds and seen for myself. Bolts of silk and bales of tiger skin, amber and jade carvings, saffron, myrrh ... slaves are cheap, Your Grace. Tiger skins are costly.”
“Those are Illyrio’s tiger skins,” she objected.
“And Illyrio is a friend to House Targaryen.”
“All the more reason not to steal his goods.”
“What use are wealthy friends if they will not put their wealth at your disposal, my queen? If Magister Illyrio would deny you, he is only Xaro Xhoan Daxos with four chins. And if he is sincere in his devotion to your cause, he will not begrudge you three shiploads of trade goods. What better use for his tiger skins than to buy you the beginnings of an army?”
That’s true. Dany felt a rising excitement. “There will be dangers on such a long march ...”
“There are dangers at sea as well. Corsairs and pirates hunt the southern route, and north of Valyria the Smoking Sea is demon- haunted. The next storm could sink or scatter us, a kraken could pull us under ... or we might find ourselves becalmed again, and die of thirst as we wait for the wind to rise. A march will have different dangers, my queen, but none greater.”
“What if Captain Groleo refuses to change course, though? And Arstan, Strong Belwas, what will they do?”
Ser Jorah stood. “Perhaps it’s time you found that out.”
“Yes,” she decided. “I’ll do it!” Dany threw back the coverlets and hopped from the bunk. “I’ll see the captain at once, command him to set course for Astapor.” She bent over her chest, threw open the lid, and seized the first garment to hand, a pair of loose sandsilk trousers. “Hand me my medallion belt,” she commanded Jorah as she pulled the sandsilk up over her hips. “And my vest—” she started to say, turning. Ser Jorah slid his arms around her.
“Oh,” was all Dany had time to say as he pulled her close and pressed his lips down on hers. He smelled of sweat and salt and leather, and the iron studs on his jerkin dug into her naked breasts as he crushed her hard against him. One hand held her by the shoulder while the other slid down her spine to the small of her back, and her mouth opened for his tongue, though she never told it to. His beard is scratchy, she thought, but his mouth is sweet. The Dothraki wore no beards, only long mustaches, and only Khal Drogo had ever kissed her before. He should not be doing this. I am his queen, not his woman.
It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. “You ... you should not have ...”
“I should not have waited so long,” he finished for her. “I should have kissed you in Qarth, in Vaes Tolorru. I should have kissed you in the red waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well.” His eyes were on her breasts.
Dany covered them with her hands, before her nipples could betray her. “I ... that was not fitting. I am your queen.”
“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—”
“Your Grace!”
“Your Grace,” he conceded, “the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders.”
“Yes,” said Dany, “but my brothers are dead.”
“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.”
A Clash of Kings
ACOK Daenerys V
Ser Jorah would sooner have tucked her inside her palanquin, safely hidden behind silken curtains, but she refused him. She had reclined too long on satin cushions, letting oxen bear her hither and yon. At least when she rode she felt as though she was getting somewhere.
~
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.
~
“The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”
“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”
“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”
“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”
“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”
“Blue lips speak only lies, isn’t that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now.”
“Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “Yet the things I saw ...”
“A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood ... what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer’s dragon, you said. What is a mummer’s dragon, pray?”
“A cloth dragon on poles,” Dany explained. “Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight.”
Ser Jorah frowned.
Dany could not let it go. “His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”
Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”
She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”
“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”
“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”
“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”
“I went to the warlocks hoping for answers, but instead they’ve left me with a hundred new questions.”
ACOK Daenerys IV
“What power can they have if they live in that?”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont gave the merchant prince a sour look. “Your Grace, remember Mirri Maz Duur.”
“I do,” Dany said, suddenly decided. “I remember that she had knowledge. And she was only a maegi.”
~
Ser Jorah Mormont knelt beside Dany in the cool green grass and put his arm around her shoulder.
ACOK Daenerys III
Ser Jorah she had left behind today, to guard her other dragons; the exile knight had been opposed to this folly from the start. He distrusts everyone, she reflected, and perhaps for good reason.
~
Xaro’s flowery protestations of passion amused her, but his manner was at odds with his words. While Ser Jorah had scarcely been able to keep his eyes from her bare breast when he’d helped her into the palanquin, Xaro hardly deigned to notice it, even in these close confines.
~
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.” [...]
“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?”
ACOK Daenerys II
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.
~
“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.[”] [...]
The knight frowned. [...] “My place is here at your side.”
“Jhogo can guard me as well.[”] [...]
Reluctantly, the exile nodded. “As you say, my queen.”
~
“Khaleesi,” the knight said when they were alone, “I should not speak so freely of your plans, if I were you. This man will spread the tale wherever he goes now.”
“Let him,” she said. “Let the whole world know my purpose. The Usurper is dead, what does it matter?”
“Not every sailor’s tale is true,” Ser Jorah cautioned, “and even if Robert be truly dead, his son rules in his place. This changes nothing, truly.”
“This changes everything.”
~
“The high lords have always fought. Tell me who’s won and I’ll tell you what it means. Khaleesi, the Seven Kingdoms are not going to fall into your hands like so many ripe peaches. You will need a fleet, gold, armies, alliances—”
“All this I know.” She took his hands in hers and looked up into his dark suspicious eyes.
Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed, but does he ever truly see me as his queen? “I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true ... but I am as old as the crones in the dosh khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea. Mine is the blood of the dragon.”
“As was your brother’s,” he said stubbornly.
“I am not Viserys.”
“No,” he admitted. “There is more of Rhaegar in you, I think, but even Rhaegar could be slain. Robert proved that on the Trident, with no more than a warhammer. Even dragons can die.”
“Dragons die.” She stood on her toes to kiss him lightly on an unshaven cheek. “But so do dragonslayers.”
ACOK Daenerys I
The knight’s face was grey and exhausted. The wound he had taken to his hip the night he fought Khal Drogo’s bloodriders had never fully healed; she could see how he grimaced when he mounted his horse, and he seemed to slump in his saddle as they rode. “Perhaps we are doomed if we press on . . . but I know for a certainty that we are doomed if we turn back.”
Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.
~
“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”
Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always. “Tell me the name of your ghost, Jorah. You know all of mine.”
His face grew very still. “Her name was Lynesse.” “Your wife?”
“My second wife.”
It pains him to speak of her, Dany saw, but she wanted to know the truth. “Is that all you would say of her?” The lion pelt slid off one shoulder and she tugged it back into place. “Was she beautiful?”
“Very beautiful.” Ser Jorah lifted his eyes from her shoulder to her face. “The first time I beheld her, I thought she was a goddess come to earth, the Maid herself made flesh. Her birth was far above my own. She was the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower of Oldtown. The White Bull who commanded your father’s Kingsguard was her great-uncle. The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud.”
“And loyal,” Dany said. “I remember, Viserys said the Hightowers were among those who stayed true to my father.”
“That’s so,” he admitted.
“Did your fathers make the match?”
“No,” he said. “Our marriage . . . that makes a long tale and a dull one, Your Grace. I would not trouble you with it.”
“I have nowhere to go,” she said. “Please.”
“As my queen commands.” Ser Jorah frowned. “My home . . . you must understand that to understand the rest. Bear Island is beautiful, but remote. Imagine old gnarled oaks and tall pines, flowering thornbushes, grey stones bearded with moss, little creeks running icy down steep hillsides. The hall of the Mormonts is built of huge logs and surrounded by an earthen palisade. Aside from a few crofters, my people live along the coasts and fish the seas. The island lies far to the north, and our winters are more terrible than you can imagine, Khaleesi.”
“Still, the island suited me well enough, and I never lacked for women. I had my share of fishwives and crofter’s daughters, before and after I was wed. I married young, to a bride of my father’s choosing, a Glover of Deepwood Motte. Ten years we were wed, or near enough as makes no matter. She was a plain-faced woman, but not unkind. I suppose I came to love her after a fashion, though our relations were dutiful rather than passionate. Three times she miscarried while trying to give me an heir. The last time she never recovered. She died not long after.”
Dany put her hand on his and gave his fingers a squeeze. “I am sorry for you, truly.”
Ser Jorah nodded. “By then my father had taken the black, so I was Lord of Bear Island in my own right. I had no lack of marriage offers, but before I could reach a decision Lord Balon Greyjoy rose in rebellion against the Usurper, and Ned Stark called his banners to help his friend Robert. The final battle was on Pyke. When Robert’s stonethrowers opened a breach in King Balon’s wall, a priest from Myr was the first man through, but I was not far behind. For that I won my knighthood.”
“To celebrate his victory, Robert ordained that a tourney should be held outside Lannisport. It was there I saw Lynesse, a maid half my age. She had come up from Oldtown with her father to see her brothers joust. I could not take my eyes off her. In a fit of madness, I begged her favor to wear in the tourney, never dreaming she would grant my request, yet she did.”
“I fight as well as any man, Khaleesi, but I have never been a tourney knight. Yet with Lynesse’s favor knotted round my arm, I was a different man. I won joust after joust. Lord Jason Mallister fell before me, and Bronze Yohn Royce. Ser Ryman Frey, his brother Ser Hosteen, Lord Whent, Strongboar, even Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard, I unhorsed them all. In the last match, I broke nine lances against Jaime Lannister to no result, and King Robert gave me the champion’s laurel. I crowned Lynesse queen of love and beauty, and that very night went to her father and asked for her hand. I was drunk, as much on glory as on wine. By rights I should have gotten a contemptuous refusal, but Lord Leyton accepted my offer. We were married there in Lannisport, and for a fortnight I was the happiest man in the wide world.”
“Only a fortnight?” asked Dany. Even I was given more happiness than that, with Drogo who was my sun-and-stars.
“A fortnight was how long it took us to sail from Lannisport back to Bear Island. My home was a great disappointment to Lynesse. It was too cold, too damp, too far away, my castle no more than a wooden longhall. We had no masques, no mummer shows, no balls or fairs. Seasons might pass without a singer ever coming to play for us, and there’s not a goldsmith on the island. Even meals became a trial. My cook knew little beyond his roasts and stews, and Lynesse soon lost her taste for fish and venison.”
“I lived for her smiles, so I sent all the way to Oldtown for a new cook, and brought a harper from Lannisport. Goldsmiths, jewelers, dressmakers, whatever she wanted I found for her, but it was never enough. Bear Island is rich in bears and trees, and poor in aught else. I built a fine ship for her and we sailed to Lannisport and Oldtown for festivals and fairs, and once even to Braavos, where I borrowed heavily from the moneylenders. It was as a tourney champion that I had won her hand and heart, so I entered other tourneys for her sake, but the magic was gone. I never distinguished myself again, and each defeat meant the loss of another charger and another suit of jousting armor, which must needs be ransomed or replaced. The cost could not be borne. Finally I insisted we return home, but there matters soon grew even worse than before. I could no longer pay the cook and the harper, and Lynesse grew wild when I spoke of pawning her jewels.”
“The rest . . . I did things it shames me to speak of. For gold. So Lynesse might keep her jewels, her harper, and her cook. In the end it cost me all. When I heard that Eddard Stark was coming to Bear Island, I was so lost to honor that rather than stay and face his judgment, I took her with me into exile. Nothing mattered but our love, I told myself. We fled to Lys, where I sold my ship for gold to keep us.”
His voice was thick with grief, and Dany was reluctant to press him any further, yet she had to know how it ended. “Did she die there?” she asked him gently.
“Only to me,” he said. “In half a year my gold was gone, and I was obliged to take service as a sellsword. While I was fighting Braavosi on the Rhoyne, Lynesse moved into the manse of a merchant prince named Tregar Ormollen. They say she is his chief concubine now, and even his wife goes in fear of her.”
Dany was horrified. “Do you hate her?”
“Almost as much as I love her,” Ser Jorah answered. “Pray excuse me, my queen. I find I am very tired.”
She gave him leave to go, but as he was lifting the flap of her tent, she could not stop herself calling after him with one last question. “What did she look like, your Lady Lynesse?”
Ser Jorah smiled sadly. “Why, she looked a bit like you, Daenerys.” He bowed low. “Sleep well, my queen.”
Dany shivered, and pulled the lionskin tight about her. She looked like me. It explained much that she had not truly understood. He wants me, she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah’s arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. When she closed her eyes, his face kept changing into Drogo’s.
[...] She had heard the longing in Ser Jorah’s voice when he spoke of his Bear Island. He can never have me, but one day I can give him back his home and honor. That much I can do for him.
A Game of Thrones
AGOT Daenerys X
“Princess ...” he began.
“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?”
“He was, my lady.”
“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now.”
“My ... queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee. “My sword that was his is yours, Daenerys. And my heart as well, that never belonged to your brother. I am only a knight, and I have nothing to offer you but exile, but I beg you, hear me. Let Khal Drogo go. You shall not be alone. I promise you, no man shall take you to Vaes Dothrak unless you wish to go. You need not join the dosh khaleen. Come east with me. Yi Ti, Qarth, the Jade Sea, Asshai by the Shadow. We will see all the wonders yet unseen, and drink what wines the gods see fit to serve us. Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”
“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”
“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”
“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”
“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”
“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.
~
She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions. “Ser Jorah Mormont,” she said, “first and greatest of my knights, I have no bride gift to give you, but I swear to you, one day you shall have from my hands a longsword like none the world has ever seen, dragon-forged and made of Valyrian steel. And I would ask for your oath as well.”
“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serve you, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”
“Whatever may come?”
“Whatever may come.”
“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet. Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of my Queensguard.”
~
“Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”
“To the ... my queen, no, hear me ...”
“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever might come. Rakharo, help him.”
~
Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. [...] She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE?
~
When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.
The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.
Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.
And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.
AGOT Daenerys IX
Ser Jorah Mormont lifted her in his arms and carried her back to her sleeping silks, while she struggled feebly against him. Over his shoulder she saw her three handmaids, Jhogo with his little wisp of mustache, and the flat broad face of Mirri Maz Duur. “I must,” she tried to tell them, “I have to ...”
“ ... sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.
“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”
“Yes.” He covered her with silk, though she was burning. “Sleep and grow strong again, Khaleesi. Come back to us.”
~
“I want Ser Jorah,” she said, standing.
~
Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,” she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What do you feel?”
“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”
“Heat?”
“No. Cold stone.” He took his hand away. “Princess, are you well? Should you be up, weak as you are?”
“Weak? I am strong, Jorah.” To please him, she reclined on a pile of cushions. “Tell me how my child died.”
“He never lived, my princess. The women say ...” He faltered, and Dany saw how the flesh hung loose on him, and the way he limped when he moved.
“Tell me. Tell me what the women say.”
He turned his face away. His eyes were haunted. “They say the child was ...”
She waited, but Ser Jorah could not say it. His face grew dark with shame. He looked half a corpse himself.
“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.”
Darkness, Dany thought. The terrible darkness sweeping up behind to devour her. If she looked back she was lost. “My son was alive and strong when Ser Jorah carried me into this tent,” she said. “I could feel him kicking, fighting to be born.”
“That may be as it may be,” answered Mirri Maz Duur, “yet the creature that came forth from your womb was as I said. Death was in that tent, Khaleesi.”
“Only shadows,” Ser Jorah husked, but Dany could hear the doubt in his voice. “I saw, maegi. I saw you, alone, dancing with the shadows. “
“The grave casts long shadows, Iron Lord,” Mirri said. “Long and dark, and in the end no light can hold them back.”
Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. “The shadows have touched you too, Ser Jorah,” she told him. The knight made no reply. Dany turned to the godswife. “You warned me that only death could pay for life. I thought you meant the horse.”
“No,” Mirri Maz Duur said. “That was a lie you told yourself. You knew the price.”
Had she? Had she? If I look back I am lost. “The price was paid,” Dany said. “The horse, my child, Quaro and Qotho, Haggo and Cohollo. The price was paid and paid and paid.” She rose from her cushions. “Where is Khal Drogo? Show him to me, godswife, maegi, bloodmage, whatever you are. Show me Khal Drogo. Show me what I bought with my son’s life.”
“As you command, Khaleesi,” the old woman said. “Come, I will take you to him.” Dany was weaker than she knew. Ser Jorah slipped an arm around her and helped her stand. “Time enough for this later, my princess,” he said quietly.
“I would see him now, Ser Jorah.”
AGOT Daenerys VIII
“Khaleesi,” he said, “the Andal is come, and begs leave to enter.”
“The Andal” was what the Dothraki called Ser Jorah. “Yes,” she said, rising clumsily, “send him in.” She trusted the knight. He would know what to do if anyone did.
Ser Jorah Mormont ducked through the door flap and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. In the fierce heat of the south, he wore loose trousers of mottled sandsilk and open-toed riding sandals that laced up to his knee. His scabbard hung from a twisted horsehair belt. Under a bleached white vest, he was bare-chested, skin reddened by the sun. “Talk goes from mouth to ear, all over the khalasar,” he said. “It is said Khal Drogo fell from his horse.”
“Help him,” Dany pleaded. “For the love you say you bear me, help him now.”
The knight knelt beside her. He looked at Drogo long and hard, and then at Dany. “Send your maids away.”
Wordlessly, her throat tight with fear, Dany made a gesture. Irri herded the other girls from the tent.
When they were alone, Ser Jorah drew his dagger. Deftly, with a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he began to scrape away the black leaves and dried blue mud from Drogo’s chest. The plaster had caked hard as the mud walls of the Lamb Men, and like those walls it cracked easily. Ser Jorah broke the dry mud with his knife, pried the chunks from the flesh, peeled off the leaves one by one. A foul, sweet smell rose from the wound, so thick it almost choked her. The leaves were crusted with blood and pus, Drogo’s breast black and glistening with corruption.
“No,” Dany whispered as tears ran down her cheeks. “No, please, gods hear me, no.”
Khal Drogo thrashed, fighting some unseen enemy. Black blood ran slow and thick from his open wound.
“Your khal is good as dead, Princess.”
“No, he can’t die, he mustn’t, it was only a cut.” Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. “I will not let him die ...”
Ser Jorah gave a bitter laugh. “Khaleesi or queen, that command is beyond your power. Save your tears, child. Weep for him tomorrow, or a year from now. We do not have time for grief. We must go, and quickly, before he dies.”
Dany was lost. “Go? Where should we go?”
“Asshai, I would say. It lies far to the south, at the end of the known world, yet men say it is a great port. We will find a ship to take us back to Pentos. It will be a hard journey, make no mistake. Do you trust your khas? Will they come with us?”
“Khal Drogo commanded them to keep me safe,” Dany replied uncertainly, “but if he dies ...” She touched the swell of her belly. “I don’t understand. Why should we flee? I am khaleesi. I carry Drogo’s heir. He will be khal after Drogo ...”
Ser Jorah frowned. “Princess, hear me. The Dothraki will not follow a suckling babe. Drogo’s strength was what they bowed to, and only that. When he is gone, Jhaqo and Pono and the other kos will fight for his place, and this khalasar will devour itself. The winner will want no more rivals. The boy will be taken from your breast the moment he is born. They will give him to the dogs ...”
Dany hugged herself. “But why?” she cried plaintively. “Why should they kill a little baby?”
“He is Drogo’s son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It was prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood.”
The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried. “I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo’s bloodriders will—”
Ser Jorah held her by the shoulders. “A bloodrider dies with his khal. You know that, child. They will take you to Vaes Dothrak, to the crones, that is the last duty they owe him in life ... when it is done, they will join Drogo in the night lands.”
Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”
~
“No? You say me no? Better you should pray that we do not stake you out beside your maegi. You did this, as much as the other.”
Ser Jorah stepped between them, loosening his longsword in its scabbard. “Rein in your tongue, bloodrider. The princess is still your khaleesi.”
~
She saw Ser Jorah Mormont, wearing mail and leather now, sweat beading on his broad, balding forehead. He pushed his way through the Dothraki to Dany’s side. When he saw the scarlet footprints her boots had left on the ground, the color seemed to drain from his face. “What have you done, you little fool?” he asked hoarsely.
“I had to save him.”
“We could have fled,” he said. “I would have seen you safe to Asshai, Princess. There was no need ...”
“Am I truly your princess?” she asked him.
“You know you are, gods save us both.”
“Then help me now.”
Ser Jorah grimaced. “Would that I knew how.”
~
An arm went under her waist, and then Ser Jorah was lifting her off her feet. His face was sticky with blood, and Dany saw that half his ear was gone. She convulsed in his arms as the pain took her again, and heard the knight shouting for her handmaids to help him.
[...] “Come here. Fetch the birthing women.”
“They will not come. They say she is accursed.”
“They’ll come or I’ll have their heads.”
AGOT Daenerys VII
Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.
“I’ve told the khal he ought to make for Meereen,” Ser Jorah said. “They’ll pay a better price than he’d get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them.”
Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany’s hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver’s head. “Make them stop,” she commanded Ser Jorah.
“Khaleesi?” The knight sounded perplexed.
[...] Jorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. “Princess,” he said, “you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward.”
[...] “I will not have her harmed,” Dany said. “I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”
[...] The knight gave her a curious look. “You are your brother’s sister, in truth.”
“Viserys?” She did not understand.
“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.” He galloped off.
~
Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.
“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.
AGOT Daenerys VI
“My princess. How may I serve you?”
“You must talk to my lord husband,” Dany said. “Drogo says the stallion who mounts the world will have all the lands of the earth to rule, and no need to cross the poison water. He talks of leading his khalasar east after Rhaego is born, to plunder the lands around the Jade Sea.”
The knight looked thoughtful. “The khal has never seen the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. “They are nothing to him. If he thinks of them at all, no doubt he thinks of islands, a few small cities clinging to rocks in the manner of Lorath or Lys, surrounded by stormy seas. The riches of the east must seem a more tempting prospect.”
“But he must ride west,” Dany said, despairing. “Please, help me make him understand.” She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.
“The Dothraki do things in their own time, for their own reasons,” the knight answered. “Have patience, Princess. Do not make your brother’s mistake. We will go home, I promise you.”
Home? The word made her feel sad. Ser Jorah had his Bear Island, but what was home to her? A few tales, names recited as solemnly as the words of a prayer, the fading memory of a red door ... was Vaes Dothrak to be her home forever? When she looked at the crones of the dosh khaleen, was she looking at her future?
Ser Jorah must have seen the sadness on her face. “A great caravan arrived during the night, Khaleesi. Four hundred horses, from Pentos by way of Norvos and Qohor, under the command of Merchant Captain Byan Votyris. Illyrio may have sent a letter. Would you care to visit the Western Market?”
Dany stirred. “Yes,” she said. “I would like that.”
~
“If you would pardon me for a time, I will seek out the captain and see if he has letters for us.”
“Very well. I’ll help you find him.”
“There is no need for you to trouble yourself.” Ser Jorah glanced away impatiently. “Enjoy the market. I will rejoin you when my business is concluded.”
Curious, Dany thought as she watched him stride off through the throngs. She didn’t see why she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to find a woman after he met with the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveled with the caravans, she knew, and some men were queerly shy about their couplings. She gave a shrug.
~
She did not realize that Ser Jorah had returned until she heard the knight say, “No.” His voice was strange, brusque. “Aggo, put down that cask.”
Aggo looked at Dany. She gave a hesitant nod. “Ser Jorah, is something wrong?”
“I have a thirst. Open it, wineseller.”
The merchant frowned. “The wine is for the khaleesi, not for the likes of you, ser.”
Ser Jorah moved closer to the stall. “If you don’t open it, I’ll crack it open with your head.” He carried no weapons here in the sacred city, save his hands—yet his hands were enough, big, hard, dangerous, his knuckles covered with coarse dark hairs. The wineseller hesitated a moment, then took up his hammer and knocked the plug from the cask.
“Pour,” Ser Jorah commanded. The four young warriors of Dany’s khas arrayed themselves behind him, frowning, watching with their dark, almond-shaped eyes.
“It would be a crime to drink this rich a wine without letting it breathe.” The wineseller had not put his hammer down.
Jhogo reached for the whip coiled at his belt, but Dany stopped him with a light touch on the arm. “Do as Ser Jorah says,” she said. People were stopping to watch.
The man gave her a quick, sullen glance. “As the princess commands.” He had to set aside his hammer to lift the cask. He filled two thimble-sized tasting cups, pouring so deftly he did not spill a drop.
Ser Jorah lifted a cup and sniffed at the wine, frowning.
“Sweet, isn’t it?” the wineseller said, smiling. “Can you smell the fruit, ser? The perfume of the Arbor. Taste it, my lord, and tell me it isn’t the finest, richest wine that’s ever touched your tongue.”
Ser Jorah offered him the cup. “You taste it first.”
“Me?” The man laughed. “I am not worthy of this vintage, my lord. And it’s a poor wine merchant who drinks up his own wares.” His smile was amiable, yet she could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.
“You will drink,” Dany said, cold as ice. “Empty the cup, or I will tell them to hold you down while Ser Jorah pours the whole cask down your throat.”
The wineseller shrugged, reached for the cup ... and grabbed the cask instead, flinging it at her with both hands. Ser Jorah bulled into her, knocking her out of the way. The cask bounced off his shoulder and smashed open on the ground. Dany stumbled and lost her feet. “No,” she screamed, thrusting her hands out to break her fall ... and Doreah caught her by the arm and wrenched her backward, so she landed on her legs and not her belly.
The trader vaulted over the stall, darting between Aggo and Rakharo. Quaro reached for an arakh that was not there as the blond man slammed him aside. He raced down the aisle. Dany heard the snap of Jhogo’s whip, saw the leather lick out and coil around the wineseller’s leg. The man sprawled face first in the dirt.
A dozen caravan guards had come running. With them was the master himself, Merchant Captain Byan Votyris, a diminutive Norvoshi with skin like old leather and a bristling blue mustachio that swept up to his ears. He seemed to know what had happened without a word being spoken. “Take this one away to await the pleasure of the khal,” he commanded, gesturing at the man on the ground. Two guards hauled the wineseller to his feet. “His goods I gift to you as well, Princess,” the merchant captain went on. “Small token of regret, that one of mine would do this thing.”
Doreah and Jhiqui helped Dany back to her feet. The poisoned wine was leaking from the broken cask into the dirt. “How did you know?” she asked Ser Jorah, trembling. “How?”
“I did not know, Khaleesi, not until the man refused to drink, but once I read Magister Illyrio’s letter, I feared.” His dark eyes swept over the faces of the strangers in the market. “Come. Best not to talk of it here.”
AGOT Daenerys V
“Where is my brother?” Dany asked. “He ought to have come by now, for the feast.”
“I saw His Grace this morning,” he told her. “He told me he was going to the Western Market, in search of wine.”
“Wine?” Dany said doubtfully. Viserys could not abide the taste of the fermented mare’s milk the Dothraki drank, she knew that, and he was oft at the bazaars these days, drinking with the traders who came in the great caravans from east and west. He seemed to find their company more congenial than hers.
“Wine,” Ser Jorah confirmed, “and he has some thought to recruit men for his army from the sellswords who guard the caravans.” A serving girl laid a blood pie in front of him, and he attacked it with both hands.
“Is that wise?” she asked. “He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”
“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.”
“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.”
“Then let us hope your brother will be wise enough not to steal anything.” Ser Jorah wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned close over the table. “He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.”
For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs ... but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want ... they’re only stones ...”
“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess ... and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.”
Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then ... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother ... and my true king.”
“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.
“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.”
“Once,” said Ser Jorah. “No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world.”
~
Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.”
“No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively.
AGOT Daenerys IV
After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame ... yet he had done as she bid.
~
“I pray that my sun-and-stars will not keep him waiting too long,” she told Ser Jorah when her brother was out of earshot.
The knight looked after Viserys doubtfully. “Your brother should have bided his time in Pentos. There is no place for him in a khalasar. Illyrio tried to warn him.”
“He will go as soon as he has his ten thousand. My lord husband promised a golden crown.”
Ser Jorah grunted. “Yes, Khaleesi, but ... the Dothraki look on these things differently than we do in the west. I have told him as much, as Illyrio told him, but your brother does not listen. The horselords are no traders. Viserys thinks he sold you, and now he wants his price. Yet Khal Drogo would say he had you as a gift. He will give Viserys a gift in return, yes ... in his own time. You do not demand a gift, not of a khal. You do not demand anything of a khal.”
“It is not right to make him wait.” Dany did not know why she was defending her brother, yet she was. “Viserys says he could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers.”
Ser Jorah snorted. “Viserys could not sweep a stable with ten thousand brooms.”
Dany could not pretend to surprise at the disdain in his tone. “What ... what if it were not Viserys?” she asked. “If it were someone else who led them? Someone stronger? Could the Dothraki truly conquer the Seven Kingdoms?”
Ser Jorah’s face grew thoughtful as their horses trod together down the godsway. “When I first went into exile, I looked at the Dothraki and saw half-naked barbarians, as wild as their horses. If you had asked me then, Princess, I should have told you that a thousand good knights would have no trouble putting to flight a hundred times as many Dothraki.”
“But if I asked you now?”
“Now,” the knight said, “I am less certain. They are better riders than any knight, utterly fearless, and their bows outrange ours. In the Seven Kingdoms, most archers fight on foot, from behind a shieldwall or a barricade of sharpened stakes. The Dothraki fire from horseback, charging or retreating, it makes no matter, they are full as deadly ... and there are so many of them, my lady. Your lord husband alone counts forty thousand mounted warriors in his khalasar.”
“Is that truly so many?”
“Your brother Rhaegar brought as many men to the Trident,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but of that number, no more than a tenth were knights. The rest were archers, freeriders, and foot soldiers armed with spears and pikes. When Rhaegar fell, many threw down their weapons and fled the field. How long do you imagine such a rabble would stand against the charge of forty thousand screamers howling for blood? How well would boiled leather jerkins and mailed shirts protect them when the arrows fall like rain?”
“Not long,” she said, “not well.”
He nodded. “Mind you, Princess, if the lords of the Seven Kingdoms have the wit the gods gave a goose, it will never come to that. The riders have no taste for siegecraft. I doubt they could take even the weakest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, but if Robert Baratheon were fool enough to give them battle ...”
“Is he?” Dany asked. “A fool, I mean?”
Ser Jorah considered that for a moment. “Robert should have been born Dothraki,” he said at last. “Your khal would tell you that only a coward hides behind stone walls instead of facing his enemy with a blade in hand. The Usurper would agree. He is a strong man, brave ... and rash enough to meet a Dothraki horde in the open field. But the men around him, well, their pipers play a different tune. His brother Stannis, Lord Tywin Lannister, Eddard Stark ...” He spat.
“You hate this Lord Stark,” Dany said.
“He took from me all I loved, for the sake of a few lice-ridden poachers and his precious honor,” Ser Jorah said bitterly. From his tone, she could tell the loss still pained him. He changed the subject quickly. “There,” he announced, pointing. “Vaes Dothrak. The city of the horselords.”
~
“Your brother had part of the truth,” Ser Jorah admitted. “The Dothraki do not build. A thousand years ago, to make a house, they would dig a hole in the earth and cover it with a woven grass roof. The buildings you see were made by slaves brought here from lands they’ve plundered, and they built each after the fashion of their own peoples.”
Most of the halls, even the largest, seemed deserted. “Where are the people who live here?” Dany asked. The bazaar had been full of running children and men shouting, but elsewhere she had seen only a few eunuchs going about their business.
“Only the crones of the dosh khaleen dwell permanently in the sacred city, them and their slaves and servants,” Ser Jorah replied, “yet Vaes Dothrak is large enough to house every man of every khalasar, should all the khals return to the Mother at once. The crones have prophesied that one day that will come to pass, and so Vaes Dothrak must be ready to embrace all its children.”
~
As each rider swung down from his saddle, he unbelted his arakh and handed it to a waiting slave, and any other weapons he carried as well. Even Khal Drogo himself was not exempt. Ser Jorah had explained that it was forbidden to carry a blade in Vaes Dothrak, or to shed a free man’s blood. Even warring khalasars put aside their feuds and shared meat and mead together when they were in sight of the Mother of Mountains. In this place, the crones of the dosh khaleen had decreed, all Dothraki were one blood, one khalasar, one herd.
AGOT Daenerys III
“I warned him what would happen, my lady,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “I told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.”
“I know you did,” Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.
“Take his horse,” Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. “Let everyone see him as he is.”
“No!” Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. “Hit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.”
The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his face. “He shall walk, Khaleesi,” he said. He took her brother’s horse in hand while Dany remounted her silver.
Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.
“Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,” he replied.
“He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.”
Jorah laughed. “Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.”
Dany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of
them ... and of her, now.
“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some strange dream that she had dreamed. “Ser Jorah, do you think ... he’ll be so angry when he gets back ... She shivered. “I woke the dragon, didn’t I?”
Ser Jorah snorted. “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.”
His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed were suddenly called into question. “You ... you swore him your sword ...”
“That I did, girl,” Ser Jorah said. “And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?” His voice was bitter.
“He is still the true king. He is ...”
Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Viserys sit a throne?”
Dany thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”
“There have been worse ... but not many.” The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again.
Dany rode close beside him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them.”
“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”
Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah’s words, the more they rang of truth.
“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.
“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.
“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.
Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”
But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.
“My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,” Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear.
Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. “You think not.”
“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Dany said. “He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.”
“Wise child.” The knight smiled.
“I am no child,” she told him fiercely. Her heels pressed into the sides of her mount, rousing the silver to a gallop. Faster and faster she raced, leaving Jorah and Irri and the others far behind, the warm wind in her hair and the setting sun red on her face. By the time she reached the khalasar, it was dusk.
AGOT Daenerys II
“Best we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords and bravos,” Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered her brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Kbal Drogo; Viserys had accepted eagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since.
~
Ser Jorah Mormont apologized for his gift. “It is a small thing, my princess, but all a poor exile could afford,” he said as he laid a small stack of old books before her. They were histories and songs of the Seven Kingdoms, she saw, written in the Common Tongue. She thanked him with all her heart.
~
Dany sat there uncertain for a moment. No one had told her about this part. “What should I do?” she asked Illyrio.
It was Ser Jorah Mormont who answered. “Take the reins and ride. You need not go far.”
AGOT Daenerys I
“Those three are Drogo’s bloodriders, there,” he said. “By the pillar is Khal Moro, with his son Rhogoro. The man with the green beard is brother to the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.”
The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?”
“No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.”
“What is he doing here?” she blurted.
“The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.”
“I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.
She was still looking at this strange man from the homeland she had never known when Magister Illyrio placed a moist hand on her bare shoulder.
#daenerys targaryen#dany passages#dany relationships#valyrianscrolls#a dance with dragons#a storm of swords#a clash of kings#a game of thrones#jorah mormont
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Chapters: 12/?
Fandom: Incredibles (Pixar Movies)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Violet Parr/Buddy "Syndrome" Pine, Violet Parr/Original Male Character(s), Invisigirl - Relationship
Characters: Violet Parr, Invisigirl - Character, Little Miss Disappear, Buddy Pine, Buddy "Syndrome" Pine, Bartholomew Pine, Original Male Character, Original Male Superhero Character
Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Corporate Espionage, Modern AU, Spy Invisigirl, Smut, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Aged up characters, Still, A bit of an age difference, Safe Sane and Consensual, Love Triangle, Assets & Handlers
Summary:
Ten years after the events in the movies yet in a modern setting.
Violet Parr as Invisigirl, has since disappeared from the public eye several years ago. She became a protégé to none other than Mirage and has had an incredibly successful career still working for The Agency but working as a spy and agent behind the scenes and foiled more Villains without anyone but The Agency ever knowing that she was the one who foiled them. However Superhero Work has it's price- mentally, emotionally and most of all physically and now Invisigirl has to come out of the shadows and work one last job as a public handler for an aristobrat, genius, billionaire, playboy- Mr. Phillip Sebastian who has his own tricks and agenda and requests Invisigirl specifically. Which in turn- put's her back on the radar and put's her under an iron clad contract with not just The Agency but with Mr. Sebastian. And it's this one last job that will be the answer to all of Violet Parr's problems. After this, she can disappear for good and never, ever, be found again. It's a three year contract and she is already a year in and everything is going perfectly.
Until- Buddy Pine decides to try his hand at corporate espionage. His target? Phillip Sebastian.
And just in case you don’t want to click the link- I’ll have a read more.
Why So Jaded?
Chapter 12
"What did you sign?" Violet demanded of her brother, trying to keep her rage in check as she prayed her brother wouldn't be stupid enough to sign anything without having at least one lawyer.
"I didn't sign anything." Dash reassured her before she blew out a breath of relief.
"I have a healthy enough fear of you Ms. Parr to know that if I would even entertain the possibility of hiring any relation of yours that I would have several lawyers involved." Phillip offered with a charming smile as Violet smiled politely in return but she was ready to roast Phillip on an open spit for even entertaining the idea of hiring Dash as Violet simply crossed her arms over her chest and popped her hip. She had to get Dash out of this building before he did something everyone would regret. She would never forgive herself if something ever happened to Dash and that burden would be too much even for her to carry. She needed to get Dash out of this building and away from Phillip before Dash came to any more harm. Because Dash probably had at least one suicide seed planted in his head, who knew how many others Phillip had already planted there with just him being in this office.
"A private word Mr. Sebastian." Violet urged, she needed to intervene. She would pull the overbearing, controlling bitch card if she had to if it meant her brother could walk free.
"Oh come on, give me a chance before you shoot me down Vi." Dash argued.
"Mr. Parr had quite the convincing argument as to why I should hire him along with Mr. Traeger." Phillip explained.
"Then I have a counter argument which you should find even more convincing." Violet insisted. She hated to do it but she needed to make Dash out as the worst possible candidate for Phillip. It would be like opening up old wounds between herself and Dash and rubbing new salt in them but it would save his life and make sure that he in turn would be alive to at least watch his own children grow up. She didn't care how she would come across or who would hate her for this, it was for his own good.
"Come on Vi." Dash pleaded.
"Dash, this is your one opportunity to get up and walk out of this here and now. This is not the time or the place for you." Violet insisted as she gave him her own pleading look while doing her best to keep in control of her emotions, praying that Dash wasn't going to push this because she knew he was too stubborn yet alone, mentally weak enough to fight against anything Phillip was pumping into his head, she needed to fix this before it became a catastrophe. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to Dash because of her, the blood of other Supers was already a torment to her conscience. She couldn't have Dash's too.
"Well in the spirit of fairness, please, enlighten me as to why Mr. Parr wouldn't be a good fit. But don't do him the disservice of saying it behind his back." Phillip offered and Violet was never more furious for being pitted against her own brother especially by Phillip but if Phillip wanted an entertaining show, she was going to give it to him if it meant that Dash could walk away from this. She could deal with Dash being pissed at her for "ruining" his chances. But if she had to worry about not only keeping her own head and her own wits, she couldn't handle juggling Dash's too.
"First off, what exactly do you want to hire Mr. Parr for?" Violet asked, hoping that by some miracle, that it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe he wanted Dash as a PR man? Maybe?
"As an associate handler." Phillip answered and Violet was ready to curse, scream and cry because of course Phillip would want to keep his leverage against her as close to himself as possible.
"Does Mr. Parr have any handler experience?" Violet asked as she looked from Phillip to Dash pointedly.
"I handle myself just fine." Dash answered and Violet snorted a laugh as she pretended to pat her hips down.
"Are you missing something Ms. Parr?" Philip posed.
"Yes, Mr. Parr's microphone because he's obviously trying to do some stand up comedy." Violet answered as Leo snorted a laugh in turn as he simply sat in the chair and looked over at Violet fondly. Violet was always a special treat to be in the presence of, no matter the circumstances around their meetings.
"Mr. Parr, you have never, in your life, handled yourself well." Violet answered dismissively.
"How can you say that?" Dash demanded before Violet came over and perched herself on the corner of Phillip's desk between Phillip and her brother because there was no other chair for her to sit at at the desk and she didn't want to sit in Phillip's lap or actually bring another chair over from where the living room space of his office was.
"Mr. Parr, if you are even going to apply for that kind of position, for not only a fortune 500 company but for an asset worth billions who in all respects is a very high value asset, you need to have a minimum of 2-5 years experience of being a handler for other high value assets and handling yourself doesn't count you also need to have at least three to five, preferably seven, very glowing letters of recommendation and be vetted by at least two to four, maybe five individual, independent and completely objective guarantors. Do you even know how to spell guarantors?" Violet put to Dash.
"G-u-a…." Dash tried to think.
"And have a body count of at least 10." Violet interrupted.
"Oh I got that in the bag." Dash scoffed.
"Really? You've killed more than 10 people in cold blood and buried all evidence that you were the one to kill them?" Violet asked and watched as Dash's face fell as he realized that she was asking for that kind of body count, a kill count. Not a "body count" as in had sex with at least ten people.
"Mr. Sebastian, go on The Agency's data base and inform Mr. Parr what my body count is." Violet invited as she scooted back onto the desk to sit more comfortably.
"I don't know if.." Phillip began as Leo simply raised his eyebrows and bit his lips to keep his face from splitting in half from a smile because he could sense this was about to get really ugly in the most entertaining way.
"Do it." Violet ordered as Phillip nodded and did as she asked.
"You have 3,744 confirmed kills and another 2,317 additional assumed kills," Phillip read off as both Leo and Dash's eyes got wide.
"So, Dash, what's your body count?" Violet repeated.
"Uh, well, we did kill like a dozen henchman when we stormed Syndrome's…" Dash began.
"No, you tipped off their flying hovercrafts so they could run into each other, how many people have you either shot, dismembered, strangled, poisoned, bombed, or just outright slaughtered?" Violet asked.
"Well how many have you…?" Dash asked.
"7,834." Violet answered.
"Damn." Leopold coughed like he got shot in the gut.
"And over a thousand of those were mid coitus." Violet grinned triumphantly.
"Fuck." Leo coughed again before he got his glass of water and drank it like it was whiskey, he knew Violet was lethal and one of the more dangerous Supers at The Agency, but that would put her in a league all her own as Violet seemed to appear a whole lot more sexier than she ever was in his eyes, no wonder Phillip adored her, he could see why, she was all femme fatal.
"You've killed, over a thousand guys, while their dicks were.." Dash paled.
"845 men, the remaining 347 were women." Violet smiled like 'fuck you' was written on her teeth as Dash looked downright scandalized as Leo couldn't help but whistle lowly and mutter a 'wow' under his breath.
"But moving on from the body count. Dash, you don't fucking listen. You don't listen to anyone about anything, you don't listen to your own handler or your own manager or your own coaches for crying out loud or anyone else in any position of authority. If I tell you to duck, you ask why and argue with me along with everyone else. Your immediate and unquestioning obedience to orders given, no matter who gives them, means your life in this business. Even when you don't agree with it or don't see the sense in it at the time. You had a hard enough time being obedient to Dad, let alone Mom. And your sexist bullshit has no place here because you don't listen to women especially even when those women have earned that place of authority to tell you what to do. Not to mention you're a selfish, self absorbed asshole whose ego can practically touch the moon and you need a measure of humility in this job, of which you have none. You don't know how to walk into a room and not immediately want to be in the center of attention in it." Violet leveled and even Leo had to agree with her very valid points because Violet knew what she was talking about.
"Dash, you are a great Super and an awesome hero and you know exactly how to play to the media to make yourself the star of the show because you have a ton of charm and charisma, which you get honestly from Dad. But it's because you are those things that disqualify you from this kind of position. Because in this job, you're not the star, you're not even supposed to be on the damn camera or even in the shot. You are offscreen supporting cast only and an asterisk in the credits. You don't get any limelight and when you do, it better be pointing it Mr. Sebastian because since he's the asset, he's the star of the show, he's the focus, he's the target, he's the focal point. And if you detract from that, you're not doing your job correctly. Also if you're working for Mr. Sebastian, that means that your life as White Lightning, not to mention Dash Parr the Olympian, gets put on hold and on the last back burner. Because you'll be working as yourself which means that White Lightning has to be completely separate from this. Which means you won't be able to do any stunts or any press or any media work for yourself. Which means your own popularity will wane and the focus at The Agency will focus away from you and find someone new to push onto the masses. Someone younger, prettier, bigger and better, faster and stronger. New Supers are found and practically made- every day and that eventuality is the given, it's the rule and the expectation which is why I never bought into it. Which means, that your time in the spotlight, your own fifteen minutes of fame- should you take this position, will be over. And when you're done being in this kind of position, mounting a comeback- isn't going to happen with any measure of success, because you will just be a has been and old news and a passing fling for all your adoring fans. Also your training as an Olympian will also wane and fade. Which means you won't be an athlete anymore. At least one that won't and can't compete professionally. Which means your "real life" persona, will also fade. What brand wants to sponsor a has been? Old news? Your ego already can't handle your rival's popularity if it overshadows yours, you'll implode on your own downward spiral and fall from grace and your current media darling status." Violet warned, hoping and praying that Dash was listening to a word of this because she was pulling out every stop she could think of to make him see sense and make him see that this would not serve him well in the long run and knew that Dash held his own fame near and dear to his heart and if anything was going to snap him out of the spell Phillip put him under, this should be it.
"Also, loose lips sink ships. And you can't keep a secret to save your life. For someone as selfish as you are, your own sense of self preservation is next to zero because you can't help but reveal your own secret or super identity because there's no difference between the two. I'll give you a fairly recent example. How much money, would it take for me to offer Bianca, the Victoria Secret model who you spent your weekend with to find out how many times you showed her your 'human vibrator' trick? A hundred dollars? A thousand dollars? Ten thousand maybe? You do it with almost every girl you sleep with. And it's the reason you can't keep a condom on that pecker of yours because you literally burn through them because you're a show-off. Because whoever you are fucking, her adoration and her being in a state of impressed is always like a drug to you because you're addicted to always being the best, no matter what you're doing. Because the only reason that Ashley and Amy get as much child support from you is because half of it is practically hush money which they abide by because you're a cash cow for them, and as long as they keep their mouths shut, they get to live comfortably and raise your kids in your absence because you can't be bothered to actually raise them half the time because if word got out that the reason you're the fastest man alive and the reason you're always a gold medal Olympian is because you're a Super, imagine the fallout. Every girl that you fuck, can put it together that you're really White Lightning. And everything will get taken away once that barely held secret comes out and then all your popularity, all your sponsorships and endorsements on both sides, both for Dash Parr and White Lightning will be taken away and you'll go from most popular to most hated overnight because you're a cheater in every sense, you cheated on your high school sweetheart with your first college crush for crying out loud and your two sons by two different women are only six months apart. Do you really think that speaks of your character in any kind of good light?” Violet posed.
“Mr. Sebastian has enemies in both high and low places. Enemies that pay more money than you can comprehend to find any cracks or kinks in his armor. I would give it, maybe 12 hours at the soonest, 72 at the very latest, that the moment you are even rumored to be involved with Mr. Sebastian that every deep dark secret you possess would be offered up to them on a silver platter by all their moles and hunters and then that very dirt is used against Mr. Sebastian and yourself or because you're a greedy, selfish, two timing, cheating motherfucker, who is to say you won't go to them yourself? And not only tell all your own secrets but tell on mine, or tell on Mom or Dad or tell on everyone you know or you're associated with, let alone Mr. Sebastian's? And you'd do it for one thing, money. Because you blow money faster than you spend it and you're drowning in debt and yet the moment you make a hundred bucks, you're spending a hundred and fifty? You've fired every money manager I've gotten you because they told you things that you didn't want to hear like 'stop buying everything in sight'. Do you really think that I, let alone Mr. Sebastian of all people are going to bend over backwards to protect you when all you are to us is a liability, when you can't even perform the fucking job in the first place?! You are in way over your head and you have no business in this business." Violet plainly and yet strangely, honestly appraised and didn't know if it was Phillip urging her to be honest or her own will to finally let all this air out because she had been stamping all this down since she came back.
"And the word on the street may be that I'm a hateful, mean, domineering and controlling bitch. But you know what? I perform my job with a margin of error that is in the fractions of a single percent and I have earned every single person's loyalty and respect on my team to the point we take bullets for each other all the time on the regular. I not only have to deal with ransom situations and assassination attempts but also deal with corporate espionage that makes just regular governmental espionage look like child's play and you wouldn't even know what any of that looks like because you'd again, hand over everything for a pretty face with a smile and short tight skirt." Violet accused evenly as Dash simply sat there and pouted like a child being told no while Leo sat there as realization hit him over the head how much sense she was making because while Dash was his bro. Violet was speaking nothing but truth and if Leo really had to be in this job himself, he didn't know if he'd be willing to have Dash's back when Dash was so clearly ill equipped to have his.
"And I can see it written all over your face because you have a shit poker face, that I'm just being mean right? I'm just out to ruin everything for you? That this is a personal attack on you and I've taken this all too far? Well I got news for you. I'm literally just being honest. I'm not a bossy bitch, I am the big boss bitch. I have dozens of others coming to me for mentorship and advice on how to do this job the right way and the most successfully viable way because I've been there and done that with everything that can happen. Because I have set the precedent and the standard. And it is the gold standard in this industry for very good and valid reasons. All that money that I make that you're so jealous of, because all this really is to you- is about the fucking money and nothing else. Guess what, I've earned and payed for every cent of it with my own blood and every drop of my enemies blood as well because Mr. Sebastian's enemies which in turn are my own by principle alone. Because that's what a shield does. And while on paper I'm a handler, what I really am is a shield and a deterrent and every other Super in my position, is a shield for their assets in turn and the reason Mr. Sebastian is safe is because who is left of his enemies knows that they can not strike at him without me giving a counter strike and when I strike, I hit hard and they stay down and they never get back up. I'm a hunter and I always hunt to kill and I'm always successful because my life depends on it and my life is spent serving others and I am perfectly happy and content with that and that’s your problem, you’re never happy or content with anything. And that's what's the biggest disqualifier for you, you only know how to serve yourself. You don't know how to best serve others because you've never cared enough to learn how to do it. And the reason all of this has worked so well is because I hold myself to a standard of perfection that you can't even dream of holding yourself to. I operate with surgical precision because I have to because not only does my life hang in the balance, but so does my asset, and his family and everyone he cares about and everyone who depends on him works for SEB and all of Mr. Sebastian's companies depend on me to protect the man who signs their checks and gives them their means of living along with every single person on my team and all of their families and loved ones, not to mention my own." Violet specified.
"Tell me Dash, how many back up plans do you have? If a swat team decides to storm this building, which has actually happened more times than I can count, and if they decide to blow out these windows again and open fire from a helicopter that is hovering just outside this office- right this second. What would you do? How do you protect yourself? Are you even carrying a gun or any kind of weapon or is your plan always to just 'duck' and use your powers to move faster than the bullets themselves? Do you protect yourself or do you protect Mr. Sebastian first? How do you counter attack? How do you get to safe spaces? Where are the safe spaces even located? And what happens when you get shot dead? What plans do you have in place for Dash Jr and Dillon and Ashley and Amy? So they don't raise those boys all on their own or are you going to leave it to chance and the universe to take care of them when you're not around to? Do you just get to hope and pray that whoever will marry those girls will treat their future step sons ok? Or will they be the proverbial redheaded step children who get left out in the cold? Do you even have life insurance? Who gets to bury you? And where do you want your body to be laid to rest? What kind of funeral do you want to have? You're a 'take it as it comes, I'll figure it out when I get to it' kind of person. You can not be that kind of person in this job, you need to not only have your day planned out, your week, your month, your year. But you also need to have plans, structure, protocols and contingencies in place for whatever happens and be ready to react however you need to and not always how you want to and you need to have all that memorized and your body to be ready to go into action and evasive maneuvers in the blink of an eye and do you have any idea how exhausting it is not just physically but mentally because that can happen at any moment without warning, whether you're on the clock or not. Because if you are not in complete control of every situation in every moment, accidents and chaos will happen and will always surprise you and do it's utmost to catch you with your pants down when you're not ready and recovering from the damage inflicted in those moments will take the rest of your life. However long or short that will be. You have dealt with some pressures in your life, but these pressures here, are too much for you. It will take at least a year or two or maybe three, to get you properly trained in all the disciplines you'll need to know to even attempt to hack at this job and all that time is going to cost at least seventy five to a hundred and fifty grand per year. And your value as a person and your value as a production entity, and what you produce is protection and safety- needs to outweigh your liability and your investment. And from where I sit, you're a bad fit who needs too much work to be made viable who's own liabilities are too high risk and whose value of protection will never pay out in any meaningful way. And your connection to me is a hindrance, not a help. Nepotism kills in this industry. Everyone has a 'I tried to get my nephew or my brother or someone else I know into this and they're dead now and we've had a fall out in the family since and we don't talk anymore' story. And I don't want to have one of my own, and neither should you." Violet insisted.
"With all due respect Mr. Sebastian, with respect to everything that Ms. Parr has brought to light. I will not be signing on if Mr. Parr does. Because I am in agreement with Ms. Parr on this 100%. Mr. Parr isn't right for this. The closest I would want Mr. Parr is just a friend and not a close one at that in light of all those liabilities, and frankly, I'm underqualified for this, the fact that Ms. Parr even mentioned my name in the first place is very high praise that I'm not worthy of and I'm frankly honored to bear witness that Ms. Parr lives up to her reputation of being the best in the business for every good reasons that she just demonstrated, to the point that she is so professional that she won't let familial ties cloud her judgement or keep her from making the right call and to ignore her or go against her very sage advice, would be courting disaster." Leo formally answered Phillip who frowned. Not thinking that Leo would rather side with Violet instead of Dash, here he thought he would have it easy to have a three against one but right now it was two against one and if he wasn't so hell bent on his own objectives, he would immediately dismiss Dash. He had to find a way to make everyone happy while still serving his purpose.
"But..." Dash began to argue before Leo reached over and clasped his shoulder to stop him from making a fool of himself.
"Dash, Violet has you dead to rights, to sign on with this is signing your own death warrant and you have too much to lose if anything goes sideways and you're just plain, not cut out for it, it's not gonna work out man and it's ok, just accept it. No amount of money in the world should make you want to risk not watching your kids grow up. And you may be pissed at your sister and your pride and ego might be bruised right now but she just saved your life and you're an idiot if you don't see that. I wish I had a badass sister like you who looked out for me the way she just did for you. And she honestly did you a favor and every word out of her mouth rang true and she just gave you a priceless service of pointing out, in less than, say 20 minutes, where your weaknesses are and what you need to work on as a human being to be better. She did her job right. And she did right by you by making sure you stay out of harms way, which this job has more than it's fair share of. You can't ask anything more from her. Now, let's get out of here, I'll buy you a drink." Leo offered.
"Mr. Sebastian, thank you for your time, we'll be in touch and I'll give you my answer when I have a chance to think it over and sleep on it. Ms. Parr always a pleasure to see you." Leo offered as he stood and shook Phillip's hand. then Violet's hand.
"Mr. Traeger." Violet returned.
"Thanks for at least hearing me out." Dash offered to Phillip as he shook his hand but still offered Violet a dirty glare as he passed her to leave with Leo.
But Violet could handle Dash's hurt feelings more than his innocent blood, she did it, she saved him. And what's more is she at least had Leo to back her up before she swiveled in her spot on the desk and turned around and faced Phillip, ready to take on whatever bullshit he would come up with to excuse himself.
"You were too hard on him." Phillip offered to Violet.
"No. I'm the only one who can see through bullshit apparently. What is wrong with you? Did you think that just because he shares some of my blood that he'd be anything like me? How many times have I told you about how he needs reminders to pay his own child support and bills, how he can't even function as an adult. He can't even cook or take care of himself properly and how the only thing he knows how to keep clean is his shoes, his car and his super-suit, because he can’t do laundry to save his life and he just drops all his clothes off at the drycleaners so they deal with it. The guy buys paper plates and bowls and plastic cutlery because he can't even bring himself to actually wash his own dishes. If he can't take care of himself, how in the fuck is he supposed to take care of you? What kind of sob story did he try to ply you with?" Violet posed because she knew outright accusing him of trying to hire Dash to use as leverage against her wasn't going to work. But if she could shift the blame to Dash, it would effectively make it look like she was letting him off the hook.
"You're right, I'm sorry. I didn't take any of that into consideration and as always, you did bring up some very valid points, so I conceded, I will not be hiring Mr. Parr as my handler and anyone who hires him in any position where his own liabilities endanger others is foolish." Phillip cooed to sooth her anger because her rage was palpable even without his powers before her anger seemed to abate as his own spark of genius thought of ways he could get around this.
"Before you sign anyone else, at least run it by me. I appreciate you doing everything to keep things from off my plate, but Dash was the worst candidate for that job. Or really any job that doesn't involve his own ego and his own popularity and fame, because he is shallow, like a puddle, or maybe the Habsburg gene pool." Violet teased with a laugh as Phillip simply chuckled with her.
"Anyway, do we have anything new for Mr. Pine this evening?" Violet asked.
"Nope, nothing new, good night Ms. Parr." Phillip bid her.
"Goodnight." Violet grinned as she nodded and hopped off the desk and walked down to Buddy's floor.
"Good evening Mr. Pine." Violet greeted.
"Good evening Ms. Parr." Barret greeted.
"Any new business?" Barret asked before Violet started laughing that laugh that portrayed how close she was to losing her goddamn mind.
"What happened?" Barret asked.
"Some damn foolishness, that's for sure." Violet answered as she pulled up the feed from Phillip's office from about an hour ago on her tablet.
"Not to be an imposing guest, but could I trouble you for about an hour of your time and a glass or two of wine?" Violet asked with a giddy smile because she wanted Barret to see what had happened.
"You're never imposing." Barret immediately reassured her as he immediately put down what he was working on as Violet happily pressed a button on her sleeve and her outfit changed into one of just a casual outfit of a nice blouse and leggings with flats as she followed him into his apartment and took a seat on his breakfast bar as Barret went through what he had before he threw together the leftovers from the weekend as an offering for her before he got up on the other barstool next to her as Violet felt cameras and listening devices power down now that she was on this side of his space before she pulled up the video for Barret to see.
"Who's this?" Barret asked.
"That's Dash, as I'm sure you've figured out, is really White Lightning and that, is Leopold Traeger, aka Mysterio, but obviously, don't tell, anyway it's Leo who I suggested to Phil because Mysterio has a decent head count and has his own fair share of scandal and cover ups who's been around the block a few times and wouldn't judge Phil for his vices and would be flexible to work the schedule and wouldn't mind the cage too badly. He's not the greatest but he'll do for now until someone awesome becomes available because obviously I've been reassigned to you." Violet murmured quietly with a happy smile before she pulled up the video as Barret opened the bottle of wine and started to pour two wine glasses full before Violet put the tablet on the counter between them as they watched Dash try to spit his best game trying to get whatever job Phillip could use him for.
"Desperate much?" Barret muttered with a frown.
"That's Phil." Violet breathed in Barret's ear.
"What?" Barret asked as he moved his arm to rest on the back of Violet's backrest of the stool as Violet happily cuddled into his side as she put her mouth over his ear, her other hand cupping between her lips and his ear.
"That's Phillip. It's not that he can read thoughts per-say, he can read emotions, and he manipulate your emotions, even if all Dash did was look at him and go 'damn I wish he was my boss so I could make as much money' he takes that and turns it up to 11. He can make anyone feel desperate, desperate for him or what he could give them. Which in this case- is money. Phillip probably made Dash feel like if he didn't get a job from Phillip today- that he would starve to death before he would get evicted tomorrow. That kind of desperate." Violet revealed into Barret's ear as he fought not to shudder in delight, having her that close to him as his fingertips curled around her arm once the inside of his forearm made contact with her back and shoulders as her warmth seeped into his soul.
He knew it was going to be her job to "seduce" him, thankfully slowly. But he'd be lying if he tried to deny that he hadn't already fallen for her. But he also knew, the "harder" he made it for her to get close to him, the better for her in the long run because that would buy them both time to figure stuff out with Phillip, but in these moments, it was hard not to give in because his heart was ready to turn itself into an airplane runway and start waving her in.
"I see." Barret nodded in understanding before they watched the rest of the video as Barret watched on in awed amazement to see Violet do her best to try to counter all of that as he thought Leo's reactions were hilarious if not incredibly appropriate as he found himself mirroring the same reactions to everything Violet said.
"So I take it had you not been there to intervene and interfere, Dash would have been the real take." Barret realized.
"Yup. Now if Phillip goes to my father to try to do the same thing to him, I'll end him. So my question would be, should that happen, do you want me to take you with- after I do?" Violet asked.
"Please." Barret found himself saying before he could stop himself.
"Awesome, well, until then and while I'm here and while the spiders are sleeping, you and I should really talk about how we're going to proceed with 'the give'. Because I feel like the moment Philip is sure that you've fallen for me, he's going to order me to undo you. And I don't want to do that, for real at least. But even if we have to play this up for the camera so to speak, I think there's a way we can do it without hating each other's guts by the end of it. So I have an idea." Violet began.
"Ok," Barred prompted.
"I know we agreed about the Mr. Pine, Bartholomew, Buddy, Barret thing. As much as this hurts to say and I feel sick to my stomach just saying this out loud but, when the time comes for when Phillip orders for me to undo you. If I absolutely have to and have no other choice, I would prefer to undo Tully, not Barret and just in case you need to undo me for any reason, undo Eloise, Ellie for short, not Violet. Eloise is my real middle name and it's a nickname that very, very few people use or would even know to use and it'll be something that can also get by the sensors and it'll give Phillip something somewhat tangible for when we have to put on a show in here and that way I can "hurt you" at least mentally and emotionally without actually hurting you, or at least, the real you." Violet suggested and Barret was ready to kiss her because his love and adoration for her just about overpowered him.
"Violet and Barret, Ellie and Tully." Barret nodded in agreement.
"So tell me about Ellie then." Barret invited as Violet smiled happily.
"Well, Ellie…" Violet began giddily as she settled in and took advantage of the fact that they could talk for now without anyone overhearing them.
#Why So Jaded?#Why So Jaded? Chapter 12#Synlet#Violet Parr#Buddy Pine#Bartholomew Pine#Barret Pine#the incredibles#modern AU#Corporate espionage AU
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Hidden Beauty
Here is my submission for Days 1(First Sunrise/Set) & 2(Late Night Adventure) of Kacxa Week I had this plan to do quick ficlets for these 2 days but no matter what I did they merged into one and Kind of ties in with “The Promise.”
This post would have been up sooner, but I kind of pepper sprayed myself. Harvested hot pepper seeds from plants I grew earlier and apparently I didn’t wash the oils off well enough xD xD xD
Anyway, here is my submission for days 1 & 2 titled Hidden Beauty
"Let me take you somewhere in which you will feel young and take your mind away from all this..."
It was nighttime on Verolgah-VI. The two planetoid moons did their annual dance across the evening sky as shooting stars streaked the upper atmosphere. The devastated planet's temperature was chilly, but nothing like what most of the Paladins were used to, save for one.
He looked to the lions with 3 out of the 5 charged up, Red was in the final stages of charging up. He let out a sigh; some things were going to plans, but he had to remain on edge as the leader. Shit tends to hit the fan when one least expected it, and with friends still about 2 maybe 3 more days away, anything could go wrong.
Since they first landed on, well, more or less crashed when the lions collapsed from low energy, the Paladins all slept in the cave with Acxa. But tonight was different; it was cold enough to drive them to the lions that were charged. Hunk, Lance, Shiro, and Coran were sleeping in the Yellow Lion. Allura, Pidge, and Romelle were sleeping in Green, with Blue-Powered down to preserve power. Krolia and Keith's wolf were snuggled up in Black, which was somewhat comfier than the ground from the Star-whale, but nothing close to temperature.
Keith only grabbed his red & white jacket from Black's storage locker, from when he grabbed what little belongings he left on the Castle when he took a sabbatical from the Voltron-Force. Krolia was ready to get some sleep when she asked if he would turn in. His response was he had too much on his mind and was going for a walk. When his mother saw Acxa walk out of the cave, she gave him her sly "mother knows all" smirk and responded with "you kids don't stay out too late" before turning and taking his wolf with her.
Blushing and stammering at her, he turned to see Acxa wearing something similar to an Earth styled tank top in the moons' light, which her blue skin radiant. When he got within range of her, she gestured her head to follow her. He threw his jacket on which even over his Paladin Armor slightly loose. He put his belt with his Marmoran blade on and started walking with her. She took him to her favorite spot in silence. It had been three long years since she saw him last and even though she had so much to tell him, opening up was something relatively new for her. Even taking him to a spot she had grown to love in her mind was a huge gamble, that she was surprised she was doing.
It was one of the most stunning sights next to her that he had ever seen. It was a massive valley with a small creek like waterfall leading into a small shallow lake. Further behind were some of the most gorgeous mountain ranges he had ever seen with millions of stars. Even the nearby Argola nebula was just barely seen. Its blues, greens, purples, & reds intensified by the planet's atmosphere. His mouth agape, Acxa finally broke her silence. "I found this place about a year and a half after I was left here by the coalition."
Keith walked forward, taking in the beauty of the water, reflecting the moons and stars. The water droplets flying into the air reminded him of fireflies he used to catch with his father when he was a small boy, "It's beautiful." She walked up to match his location, slowly wrapping her arm around his. She sensed him tensing a little and then relax, but she knew he was much like her. Both introverted warriors, just starting to let their feelings show on the surface. "In the morning this spot reminds me of my homeworld, before it was officially... 'indoctrinated' into the Empire."
He looked to her, seeing a sorrowful look on her face. "Tell me about it?" She looked at him softly, smiling, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. She started to sit down, but he stopped her taking his jacket off, laying it on the ground gesturing for them to sit on it. She slowly sat down on his coat. She looked at him. "Won't you get cold?" He shook his head, "Nah, I grew up in the desert for the most part. I am used to brutally hot and brutally cold temps."
Acxa nodded and looked up to the stars and looked back at him. "From what I remember, it wasn't like this planet. For the better part of a deca-phoeb the planet was a relatively fridgid planet, but it was no barren froze wasteland. My mother's people were born in a region in which it was neither barely above freezing or frozen. The closer you got to the planet's polar region the darker blue their skin got, towards the equatorial sections they were either a lignt blue almost white color almost like that little girl & those two Alteans. But regardless of our skintone we all loved Aaenergola..."
Keith continued to listen to the Acxa tell him of her homeworld. The architecture, the lore, some of the history, the customs, and so much more emphatically. But when it came to the story of the Empire coming to her world, her demeanor and tone changed. Her planet had fought the best it could but ultimately was indoctrinated into the Empire.
She revealed her father was a doctor and her mother a Galra Lieutenant who he had saved from dying. Both harbored no ill will towards the other's race. When she was born, both parents wanted her yo have a decent education despite being a half-blood. But it wasn't until she got to her parents' death when she was 9 that she became bitter. When Aaenergolan Terrorists executed her parents for helping Galran citizens while Aaenergolans were starving. She trailed off as she remembered coming out of her hiding place. Finding her father brutally murdered, protecting the area she was hiding.
Keith, for the first time, saw tears streaking down her face and her lip trembling. He placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to scoot closer to him. He had asked if she wanted to stop, and she nodded her head, wiping some of her tears away, asking about his homeworld.
As she did to him, he told her of Earth and his life on the distant planet they were trying to get back to. Of the blue skies and oceans, everything that made the planet one of the most beautiful he has ever lived on. Growing up with just a father before he died fighting a fire. His life before his adopted brother Shiro came into it.
Keith told her it wasn't until he was on a Blade mission did he learn who his mother was and later on in the Quantum Abyss, the reasons why he grew up without her in his life. Just hearing his voice caused her to relax and snuggle up to him. He felt her wrap an arm around his waist, prompting him to wrap an arm around her shoulders. When he stopped talking about Earth, she was fast asleep, snoring softly on his shoulder. Not long after, he fell asleep after repositioning, so her head was on his chest armor.
Many Vargas later, Acxa sat right up as one of the suns started to rise. She was expecting to be alone, which typically happened when she let her guard down, showing a side people typically never see. But was relieved seeing Keith still sleeping next to her. She pulled her legs to her chest and started watching the suns rise.
He started to stir, feeling the warmth on his face. When he woke up, he saw Acxa sitting up, his jacket draped over her shoulders. He slowly sat up and beheld one of the most stunning sights as the twin suns started to dance across the sky. The water, especially the waterfall, looked like it was molten lava. Like the sky, the vegetation itself looked like it was ablaze, swaying in the wind with colors of reds, blues, greens, and purples.
Both half breeds talked a little while enjoying the beauty of the sunset heads perched against each other. When the bottom of the second sun was just barely over the distant mountains, they decided it was time to head back to the group. But before leaving, he took one last look at their surroundings and turned to her.
She had a nervous look on her face, "About last night..." He had a delicate look on his face and softly smiled, "I want to thank you for last night. You bringing me to this beautiful place was as if you were opening your true self to me." She closed her mouth, being a little surprised at being thanked; she started to blush purple. "It takes great courage and trust to open up to someone, and I hope I am worthy of both."
Almost 2 hours later:
The group was starting to freak out that Keith was nowhere to be found, nor was Acxa. Most of the group was searching the compound, while others were searching the immediate area. Some were worried that the pirates took them, one worried that their host handed him over to the pirates, while another knew all too well where they were. She refused to answer anyone's questions about why she wasn't worried. But Coran soon put two and two together, once being a parent himself.
When the group regrouped, it wasn't until his wolf snapped his head up, ears perked that everyone put their attention elsewhere. With their leader and hostess missing, The Paladins drew their bayards ready for anything. If it were an ambush like last time, they'd be prepared to fight.
Two figures were walking towards them with the suns at their backs, nearly blinding everyone. When the wolf bolted and teleported, everyone got on edge, waiting for the inevitable attack. But it never came. Instead, they could barely make out one figure stopping greeting the wolf and the three of them walking back.
As they got close, enough everyone realized that it was Keith with Acxa wearing his jacket. But what really caught their attention was that they were both holding hands and that their demeanor was different. It was no longer of two socially awkward Galrans who tried hiding there was something there to clearly having broken the ice with each other.
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Andante, Andante | Ch. VI
“You sure you’re alright? You’ve been like this since we ate at Taco Bell like a few nights ago.”
“Well,” You huffed, shoulders deflating, “I just want to get out of here, call selfish but, my painfully average life just ain’t cutting for me.”
“No?”
Word Count:1,609
A/n: I’ve got like eleven requests to do, so please bear with me, I feel like I’m not working quick enough in getting the requests out, so like please don’t give up on me. Apologies!
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“What’s up with those two idiots?”
Sam and Clint were shoving at each other as they played on the game console whilst Natasha was reading her magazine whilst Bucky was staring at you and Peter at Peter’s lab, his eyebrows furrowed and looking real puzzled.
“I believe Tony refused to make an upgraded version of (Y/n) suit so he passed the project onto Pete,” Steve says, standing next to his best friend with a grin, “Tony’s helping Peter with (Y/n).”
“Helping him with what?” Sam calls out, kicking Clint’s knee, “There can be only one bird in the team!”
“Peter wants to be more than friends with (Y/n),” Natasha muses out, her eyes not leaving the interesting article, “I think it’s really adorable, you should see them together - unbelievably cute.”
Meanwhile, over at Peter’s side of the lab, Peter stood close to you as you looked down at the holograms of your new suit. Tony was distracted of his own project as he kept nudging Bruce about and pointing over to you two, he was a child and internally cheering for Peter and you, whilst Bruce tries to stay neutral.
“Are you sure this will hold the power?” You asked, looking at the stats, a little unsure - it wasn’t much of your expertise, “I mean, one electricity energy blast holds a lot of currents, I don’t want my suit to be disintegrated.”
“It’ll be fine,” Peter waves his hand as he spins the hologram of your suit, “I think, we can test it later.”
You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest, “You think? I don’t want you to see me almost naked if it disintegrates.”
“It’ll be fine,” Peter reassures you as you narrow your eyes and let out a tsk noise out of your mouth.
“This isn’t a plan for you-”
“You’ll be fine!” Peter exclaims making Tony look at the pair of you two, you found yourself smiling at him teasingly as Peter flushes red, before he mutters, “Shut up.”
“You boys alright there in the corner?” Tony asked as you shake your head, looking at him.
“We’re good, just asking questions, that’s all,” You shrugged your shoulder, there was no teasing smile on your face anymore as Tony narrows his eyes at the pair of you, thinking there is tension between the two.
“Okay, the suit will be done for an hour,” Peter announces, as you nodded and crossed your arms over your chest, “You think you can wait that long?”
“Yes,” You say, almost offended, “I can, Parker.”
“So, go be grumpy elsewhere.”
You grumbled as you leaned off the table and leave the labs as Peter sighs, running his hand through his hair, truth be told he kicked you out so the pressure of you being there would go away. He had to get your suit perfect, not because it’s you but because the team depended on your powers out on the field.
“Now, he’s in a bad mood,” Tony pointed out as he watches you tackle Sam down in the living room whilst Bucky cheers on.
“He’ll be fine,” Peter says, snarkily, Tony raised an eyebrow.
“Uh oh,” Tony tsk out, there was a teasing tone as Bruce decided to ignore Tony and Peter, “He’s rubbing off on you like you’re rubbing off on him.”
“No, I’m not!” Peter shakes his head, trying to stop himself from watching you outside the glass wall.
Meanwhile, on your end, as you leave the lab the group playing on the game console was being too happy for your liking as Sam says something suggestive as you covered his eyes from the screen before tackling Sam, making him lose the game.
“Boys,” Natasha says, uninterested as you and Sam fight whilst Bucky came cheering, “How're things with you and Peter?”
“Things are things,” You say, she frowns at your vagueness as she narrows her eyes to you, “I’m going to take a nap.”
“Oh, you’re not leaving!” Steve calls out as you detangle yourself from Sam’s grip.
“Watch me, Cap,” You slowly inch yourself closer to the door as you stare at the five people accommodating the living room before exiting to your room.
“This conversation isn’t over!”
“You alright?” Peter asked, finding you on the rooftop, when he was looking for you everyone said you had retreated back to your bed.
He didn’t find you there so he went venturing out, you weren’t by the wooden pier and you weren’t in the training room, so he came to the rooftop next, sighing in relief that you weren’t kidnapped.
“Worried, Parker?” You grunted, running your hand through your hair, tucking a piece of paper into your jacket pocket.
“What was that?”
“Just a letter,” You shrugged your shoulders, rubbing your hands on your thighs, nervous. Could you be nervous? Was it him or was it the letter?
“Oh, Cambridge?” Peter asked, sitting next to you, feet dangling off the edge, “England, not Cambridge M.I.T.”
You sighed, looking at him, “I’m still going, you haven’t made me change my mind.”
“Yet,” Peter says instinctively, too fast for his brain to catch up, he smiles at you sheepishly as you rolled your eyes, looking away from him, “You sure you’re alright? You’ve been like this since we ate at Taco Bell like a few nights ago.”
“Well,” You huffed, shoulders deflating, “I just want to get out of here, call selfish but, my painfully average life just ain’t cutting for me.”
“No?”
“I’m the kid who’s raising his little siblings because his parents are busy out working too much, I’m the kid who’s constantly looked at as a freak at school, I never fitted in, change of scenery, start a new life. I’m an outcast, I’m a nobody.”
“You’re someone,” Peter says, as you looked at him, “At least to me, to the team.”
“Would it be selfish to say that I don’t want to be tied down to the team?” You wondered loudly, fighting yourself from smiling at Peter’s compliment, “I don’t want to be a superhero forever.”
“Same,” Peter nods, agreeing with you as you give him a questioning look, “Mr Stark expects so much from me.”
“And you just want to be the friendly neighbourhood spiderman,” You concluded, crossing your arms over your chest as the wind blows through your hair, “I understand, after all, we are still kids in a sense.”
“Exactly!” Peter throws up his hands in the air, “No one gets it but you, maybe it’s just us being angsty teenagers.”
“Are we not allowed to feel angsty?” You asked, “Is that feeling invalid to us? Listen, Parker, it’s your life, dictate it as you will but don’t forget things happen for a reason.”
“Right back at you,” Peter tells you as you paused, not expected to be hit by your own advice, “A sign is a sign, no?”
You stare at him, noticing how brown his eyes are, you gasp so softly as you look away as quickly as you looked at him. A sign is a sign, his voice echos in your head as you try to throw that thought process out the window, however, it just added itself to the Peter Parker storage in your mind.
“Yeah, seems like you’re right, Parker.”
The two sat in silence, looking at the skies and taking everything in. You looked over to Peter, taking a minute longer to look at him as you looked away, unfortunately yet fortunately, Peter could not feel your soft gaze staring upon him and how your eyes wander to examine him.
He looks at you and you look back him, just the silence between you says that you two were feeling much better.
“Glad we could share such an intimat-”
“Don’t finish that, Parker,” You grumbled, shaking your head, “Why did you come looking for me?”
“I was wondering if you want to test out your suit? I just finished it and added some cool stuff to it, I’ll explain it whilst we test it,” Peter look excited as he swings his legs over to the roof side and unzipped a bag you hadn’t noticed he took up with him.
Your suit was all shiny and new, “Wow, you really outdid yourself.”
“Since you don’t have a set colour scheme like most of us,” You paused to glare at him as he continues, “But you have a sigil slash logo to identify you, I thought if this suit is approved by you, we can make a whole colour pallet of your choice, with sigils and all decked out.
“Wow,” You breathed, one side of your lips curving upwards, amazed at the kid genius, “So, why did you pick purple and white for the first suit?”
Peter faintly blushed red at your question, “Well, you like wearing those windbreakers jackets and the first time we saw each other in Queens, you wore a purple and white windbreaker, I’ve been told that’s your favourite, and I added black to it to make it ten times cooler.”
“Denny’s,” You chuckled, smiling just a bit and swinging your legs to the roof, joining and getting a better view of him, “You remembered what I wore at Denny’s a week ago?”
“A week and a half ago,” Peter corrects you as your mouth gapes open, “That sounds...somewhat creepy, I apologise-”
“You perceptive son of a gun, Parker,” You shake your head but Peter sees the fond smile firmly planted on your face, “Well, are we going to try out the suit or not?”
Peter notes to himself, he really really fucking loves your smile.
Tagged: @locke-writes @yesthetrashbin @blackirisposts @idwithoutthesuperego @screamingmuffinsunite @fifi550 @vydante @batfam16 @kpopchangedmylifesstuff @chaotictyler @accio-taurus @daeshaunex2 @spideylovin @lewi-black @vances-violets @hey-cigasrette @vaijuiins-shelter @wobbleknocker @awkwardwintersoldier
#peter parker#peter parker imagine#peter parker x male!reader#andante andante#x male reader#Avengers#avengers imagine
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13th November >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 17:26-37 for Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time: ‘People were eating and drinking, buying and selling’.
Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
Gospel (Except USA)
Luke 17:26-37
When the day comes for the Son of Man to be revealed
Jesus said to the disciples:
‘As it was in Noah’s day, so will it also be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating and drinking, marrying wives and husbands, right up to the day Noah went into the ark, and the flood came and destroyed them all. It will be the same as it was in Lot’s day: people were eating and drinking, buying and selling, planting and building, but the day Lot left Sodom, God rained fire and brimstone from heaven and it destroyed them all. It will be the same when the day comes for the Son of Man to be revealed.
‘When that day comes, anyone on the housetop, with his possessions in the house, must not come down to collect them, nor must anyone in the fields turn back either. Remember Lot’s wife. Anyone who tries to preserve his life will lose it; and anyone who loses it will keep it safe. I tell you, on that night two will be in one bed: one will be taken, the other left; two women will be grinding corn together: one will be taken, the other left.’ The disciples interrupted. ‘Where, Lord?’ they asked. He said, ‘Where the body is, there too will the vultures gather.’
Gospel (USA)
Luke 17:26-37
So it will be on the day the Son of Man is revealed.
Jesus said to his disciples: “As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be in the days of the Son of Man; they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage up to the day that Noah entered the ark, and the flood came and destroyed them all. Similarly, as it was in the days of Lot: they were eating, drinking, buying, selling, planting, building; on the day when Lot left Sodom, fire and brimstone rained from the sky to destroy them all. So it will be on the day the Son of Man is revealed. On that day, someone who is on the housetop and whose belongings are in the house must not go down to get them, and likewise one in the field must not return to what was left behind. Remember the wife of Lot. Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses it will save it. I tell you, on that night there will be two people in one bed; one will be taken, the other left. And there will be two women grinding meal together; one will be taken, the other left.” They said to him in reply, “Where, Lord?” He said to them, “Where the body is, there also the vultures will gather.”
Reflections (7)
(i) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
In the gospel reading Jesus refers to the ordinary business of human living, namely, eating, drinking, buying, selling, planting, building, marrying and raising a family. We are all engaged in some or all of these activities. Along with other activities, they are all essential to human living. Yet, Jesus is saying that there is something even more important, and that is our openness to receive the coming of the Son of Man, our welcoming of his presence to us. He is inviting us to look beyond all the many worthwhile activities we are engaged in and to notice his presence at the heart of it all. We are to pay attention to the Lord present in the midst of life. We could refer to this as a contemplative attitude towards living. We remain engaged in all the activities that make up our usual day but we recognize that there is a more at the core of it all, and that more is the Lord seeking us out, calling out to us. What is his call to us at the heart of all that we do? We find the answer to that question in today’s first reading, where Saint John refers to the fundamental commandment, ‘let us love one another’. To say that the Lord is at the heart of all our living is to say that Love is at the heart of all our living, the Lord’s loving presence to us and his call to us to reflect his love for us in the way we relate to one another, to love one another as he loves us. Whenever, in the midst of all our activities, we are seeking to open ourselves more fully to the Lord ‘s loving presence to us and to pass on that love to those we meet, then we are contemplatives in action. All our activities will be shaped by the Lord’s presence.
And/Or
(ii) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
Each of us in our own way is involved in the daily business of life. The ordinary day to day matters engage us. Most of our time is taken up with just living in that very ordinary sense of the word. Jesus refers to this rhythm of daily living in this morning’s gospel reading. He speaks of eating and drinking, marrying wives and husbands, buying and selling, planting and building. This is the stuff of life. Without it life could not go on. It is no surprise that it takes up so much of our time and energy. Yet, in the gospel reading, Jesus warns against becoming so absorbed by the ordinary routine of life that we never look beyond it or look at a deeper level. In that context of ordinary human activity Jesus speaks of the day of the coming of the Son of Man. That will be a day that puts everything we do, the ordinary business of life, into a totally different perspective, an eternal perspective in a sense. We need something of that eternal perspective before the arrival of that day of the Son of Man. The glorious Son of Man, the risen Lord, is already among us. There is a sense in which he is arriving in the course of our day. The gospel reading warns against becoming so immersed in our day to day affairs that we fail to take notice of him or pay attention to him. We need to be fully immersed in our world with its various comings and goings while at the same time not being so absorbed by that world that we forget about that someone greater who stands among us calling out to us, inviting us into a personal relationship with him. It is out of that relationship that we then engage with the nitty-gritty of life.
And/Or
(iii) Friday, Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time
Today’s gospel reading speaks about the activities of eating and drinking, taking wives and husbands, buying and selling, planting and building. These will always be some of the main activities of any human life. We could add to that list. Jesus reminds his listeners that in the time of Noah people were all engaged in these activities when, suddenly, disaster struck, the flood came and all these vitally important human activities seemed less important. On this basis Jesus warns his contemporaries not to become so absorbed by these very human and necessary activities that when he, the Son of Man, comes at the end of time, they will be unprepared for his coming and caught off guard. Jesus is reminding us that we need to keep a proper sense of perspective. The activities of life can be so absorbing and so wonderful in many ways that they can become an end in themselves. There is a deeper dimension to these activities which we can miss. The Lord who comes at the end of time is present to us in and through all of our daily activities. The Lord is present in all things. We need that contemplative approach to life which allows us to recognize the Lord present to us in all our activities. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. We encounter the Lord in and through the flesh of life. If we are open to his presence at the heart of life, then his coming to us at the end of time or at the end of our own earthly time will not take us by surprise.
And/Or
(iv) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
The gospel reading this morning warns against being so absorbed in the ordinary things of life that we neglect what is of ultimate importance. The reading speaks of eating and drinking, buying and selling, planting and building, marrying wives and husbands. These activities and many others are the stuff of life. They are very important. Life could not go on without them. They are so important that we may to see them as of ultimate importance; this is all there is. Yet, above and beyond all of that necessary activity there is a deeper reality, what the reading refers to as the day for the Son of Man to be revealed. The Son of Man is revealed at the end of time and at the end of our own personal lives. The Son of Man is also revealed in the here and now; the Lord calls out to us in and through the ordinary activities in which we are always engaged. The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. All of life is an invitation to contemplate the Lord who is at the heart of life. He calls out to us, as we go about our daily lives, to seek him with all our being just as he seeks us with all his being.
And/Or
(v) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
The gospel describes a situation in which the normal business of life is suddenly cut short by some unexpected event. The eating, drinking, buying, selling, planting, building, marrying wives and husbands, that went on in the days of Noah and the days of Lot were suddenly brought to a stop by catastrophic events, the great flood and the destruction of a city. In our own lives we can have a similar experience. We are caught up in the ordinary day to day business of living, and suddenly something happens that renders all of that of secondary importance. What is it that keeps us going when those familiar routines no longer sustain us? For us as Christians, it can only be our faith in the Lord. We know that when all else changes, when everything else collapses around us, the Lord endures. In the words of yesterday’s gospel reading, ‘the kingdom of God is among you’. God’s reign, God’s power, is among us, in and through his Son. When all else fails, we can rely on that. Like Saint Paul, we can discover that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. In our times of greatest weakness we can experience the Lord’s power most fully.
And/Or
(vi) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
The first reading from second letter of Saint John expresses our baptismal calling in a very succinct way, ‘to live a life of love’. The author assures us that all the Lord’s commandments can be reduced to this one commandment to love. It is above all Jesus who shows us what it means to love, by his life, death and resurrection. He also gives us the power to love as he loved and continues to love by pouring the Holy Spirit into our hearts. To love in this sense is to give of ourselves in the service of the Lord and his people. In the words of today’s gospel reading, it is to be prepared to lose our lives for others, rather than putting our efforts into preserving our lives at all costs. That gospel reading also speaks about the coming of the Son of Man and the suddenness of that coming. The reference is primarily to the coming of the Son of Man at the end of time, but we can apply what is said to Jesus’ coming at the end of our own earthly lives. If we live a life of love each day of our lives, then we will be found ready and waiting whenever the Son of Man comes to us. At the end of our lives and at the end of time, it is the quality of our love that will matter most in the Lord’s eyes. Have we shown to others something of the love that God has shown to us by the sending of his Son, something of the love that Jesus has displayed in his life, death and resurrection.
And/Or
(vii) Friday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time
The activities mentioned in the gospel reading of eating and drinking, marrying wives and husbands, buying and selling, planting and building are the stuff of everyday life. Yet, Jesus suggests in that reading that all those activities can suddenly come to a stop, as at the time of Noah and the flood, and the time of Lot and the destruction of Sodom. Jesus is not suggesting that all these activities are not important, but he is implying that they are not of ultimate importance, because they will all pass away and, sometimes, quite suddenly. What then is of ultimate importance? Both of today’s readings suggest that it is not so much the activities themselves that are of ultimate importance but the fundamental attitude of heart that lies behind them. Saint John in the first reading names this attitude of heart as love. ‘To live a life of love’, he says, is to live according to God’s commandments, and this is what ultimately matters. In the gospel reading, Jesus declares that anyone who loses his life will keep it. By ‘losing one’s life’ Jesus means giving one’s life in love to others, and to God present to us in others. This is what gives meaning to all our activities, and it is this quality of heart which will endure when all else passes away. As Saint Paul says, ‘Love never ends’. Love never ends because it is of God, it is a reflection of God’s life, and God never ends.
Fr. Martin Hogan.
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THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !
incoming information on vigilante, selene.
get to know them !
faceclaim: jeon jeongguk
name: min jiho
vigilante name: selene
gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him
age: 22
reputation: selene - a name borrowed from the goddess of the moon, the vigilante is never seen under the sun. wearing a black mask to conceal his identity, not much is known about him. selene operates by his own devices, his affiliation a mystery. he spends his nights on the hunt for information on buried civilian incidents, from villains to heroes, no target of selene’s is ruled out. rumor has it, selene is the vigilante seoul needs, protecting the ignored of society. others insist that selene is the failed byproduct of the pro hero system, another unregulated danger to seoul.
the quirk !
quirk name: lunar cycle
quirk description: able to use moon energy by the phases of the moon.
abilities:
lunar energy blasts - jiho is able to create balls of lunar energy, manifesting in pale, grey light - that he can use to launch, as part of a melee attack, or as a way of transportation.
lunar bolts - bolts similar to lightning emit from his hands, stronger near the full moon.
light manipulation - jiho can manipulate light from the moon, with a range of uses from lighting a path to temporarily blinding an opponent.
by the water - jiho is most in tune with his quirk near the full moon, especially so if he is near a body of water. he is able to manipulate water during the time of the full moon, an ability that greatly drains his energy when used.
weaknesses:
burn out - if jiho utilizes his abilities past the bandwidth that the current phase of the moon allows, he experiences an intense burn out from the inside out. when this happens, jiho is bedridden for a day or two.
nighttime - jiho can only activate his quirk at nighttime, when the moon is out in the sky. during the daytime, jiho cannot utilize his quirk at all.
phases of the moon - his quirk allows full bandwidth of power near a full moon, while being incredibly weak around a new moon.
fatigue - after using his quirk, jiho is in desperate need of rest, especially when using his quirk for a long period of time. in the day after using his quirk, time is often reserved for conserving his energy.
the history !
triggers: death
i. min jiho had always been afraid of the dark.
the day he was born, the moon had been full. the brightest it had ever been, his mother always said.
his mother called him a child of the night. the moon’s son.
his mother knew she would always raise her son with gentle words and tender touches, a woman with legend and spirits coursing through her. rather than practicality, she rested her fate upon the universe. a single mother, with stars in her eyes and no plan for the future, min jiho was brought into a world without regulations.
his mother adored giving life to entities, as she puts it, the owner of a quaint little flower shop on the corner of one of seoul’s bustling districts. jiho’s very first memory of her is fuzzy, but he can make out watching her sing to her audience of flowers. he found out later, that was his mother’s quirk, a woman with the healing voice to nurture plants. jiho always thought it was the coolest thing.
his mother was his very best friend. she made sure nothing would ever come to harm him.
he only ever felt scared in the dark.
ii. jiho always felt safer under the moonlight.
at five years, he woke his mother up, right in the middle of the night, insisting they go outside and look at the sky. a night of watching the clouds roll by quickly morphed to his mother laughing in delight at the pale, grey lights dancing on his palms.
“jiho, you’ve been blessed by the moon!”
from then on, his childhood was characterized by getting to know his quirk. every day, he and his mother would tend to the flower shop. they would paint, sing, dance. and each night, they would chip away at the curiosities of the moon.
iii. they never spoke about jiho’s father.
the man was a goddamn mystery to jiho. when it clicked for him, watching kids on his block run home to their fathers, he asked his mother.
“where’s my dad? is he lost?”
“no, petal,” she replied easily, a somberness young jiho could have never picked up on. “he’s done great things. you should be proud of him.”
iv. great things meant he died saving others.
his father was a hero, he learned at twelve. a hero with the undeniable power to move mountains, one that selflessly pioneered for the public safety of seoul. his strength was unmatched, until he pushed it too far.
jiho learned from an old newspaper in the school library that his father died in a building fire. he saved a family, but passed away before reinforcements could arrive.
jiho vows then, that he would do good. he would do what his father did and save people.
he wanted to be a hero.
v. thirteen meant jiho fully handled the money in their family of two.
his mother hated it. pieces of paper that dictated whether she could eat or not. naturally, jiho had to be the sensible one. when his mother began to skip meals in favor of keeping their flower shop open, jiho took on odd jobs after school to afford it all.
he told her he was out playing with friends. she knew he was lying.
vi. his very first u.y blazer was his pride and joy.
he was going to be a hero! there’s only so much classes could do for a student whose quirk only comes alive at night, but jiho was determined.
he had stars in his eyes watching pro heroes, entranced with the thought of being someone people can lean on.
the blazer eventually grew too small for him. he cried on the walk home at the prospect of having to scrape enough cash for a new one. by the time he arrived home, he wore a big smile and spoke about the imagined highlights of his day.
instead of being teased by his classmates, he told her he was praised for his diligence.
it was just easier.
vii. he should have picked up the cake on his eighteenth birthday.
things had been going relatively well. the flower shop had been flourishing, his mother’s light never ceased to dim and he was nearly finished with school. everything was going well.
jiho insisted he didn’t need a cake, just another thing to eat up at their expenses. his mother refused with every bit of stubbornness.
“today is your day, my love, and we’re celebrating it.”
viii. his mother never did return.
after the first thirty minutes, jiho assumed the bakery was backed up. it happened, from time to time, although his mother left far after peak hours.
an hour passed. jiho began to console himself. things were fine. everything was fine. perhaps the busses were slow? that had to be it.
two hours. panic drove him to hastily close up the shop, panic encouraged him to run through the streets. panic began to suffocate him upon hearing the wails of distant sirens.
ix. brain dead upon impact.
the doctors told him, this happened, rarely, from time to time. in the scuffle of a pro hero reacting to a crime, unfortunately civilians could easily get hurt. his mother was simply at the wrong place, at the horrifically wrong time. the details of the attack were brushed away, just another terribly sad occurrence.
his mother wasn’t the first to fall victim to an accident at the hands of a hero. maybe if he was there, he could have stopped it. he could have saved her.
he was numb.
her body is here,
but she’s gone.
x. all jiho had left was himself.
the flower shop fell into his hands, the never ending flow of hospital bills weighed upon his shoulders. school wasn’t something he cared enough for. he dropped out of u.y a week after the accident.
resentment was a funny thing. it flourished in empty hearts.
twenty two now, the new routine has long been cemented. during the day, jiho runs the flower shop with a warm smile. selene came to be in the nightfall. selene wanted answers. for his mother. for those who fell for heros to rise.
selene isn’t scared of the dark.
selene craves the taste of revenge.
selene fights for the forgotten.
the personality !
jiho tends to be more soft spoken than most, one to listen and observe rather than run his mouth. jiho is much more comfortable in places where he can collect his thoughts on his own time.
jiho has built wall upon wall to outside eyes, wanting to be perceived as the typical flower shop keeper. nothing more, nothing less. he sees no reason for trusting anybody, having learned that no one is exactly who they say they are.
he keeps the few he loves incredibly close, often overprotective to a certain degree, which can be attributed to the unexpected loss he’s experienced in his past. once he adores someone, a rare happening, he would sacrifice anything for their safety and well being.
he has an affinity for astrology, finding solace in the stars when nothing makes sense in real life.
behind his carefully crafted persona, jiho is quite tender hearted. empathetic to a fault and endlessly ambitious, jiho has elaborate dreams of the future that he wouldn’t dare share with anyone else.
quietly cunning, jiho sports a sharp tongue reserved for loved ones for during the day, and for his enemies when night falls. selene, quite literally his alter ego, is confidence personified. slick, sly, cocky, selene is a silent threat to his targets, with no concept of good or evil.
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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Seventy-Two: Future ]
[ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ]
[ SasuHina ]
[ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ]
[ AO3 Link ]
Many years ago, Uchiha Sasuke did not consider the future outside of a singular idea. That being the vengeance gained for his slaughtered clan when he finally eliminated their murderer: his elder brother, Itachi. A secondary goal to restore his clan was...vague and half-hearted at best. Partially because he didn’t yet realize just what such a goal would take. Partially because he knew full well that he may die in pursuit of his revenge.
And partially because he had no romantic inclinations until late into his teens.
Sasuke spent nearly every day after his release from Konoha’s hospital a few days after the massacre training, one way or another. Be it practicing his taijutsu, his bukijutsu, his ninjutsu. Or doing extensive study on any subject that offered an inkling of advantage. Seals, chakra rationing, even the history of Konoha and his clan. He couldn’t waste a single moment...because every one he let slip away was another spent with his clan in turmoil, surely trapped in a kind of limbo while they awaited justice for their untimely deaths, from elders to children.
He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let them down.
Beyond his eventual goal, Sasuke took life one day at a time. Get up, eat, train, eat, clean himself up, sleep...repeat. Barely any variation save for whatever obstacles life threw at him. His time at the Academy was spent obsessively studying and practicing. Upon being assigned a genin team, he felt held back by immature missions, and even more immature teammates. Even his sensei seemed too aloof, not giving his goal true consideration. Kakashi didn’t seem to care that Sasuke was so driven. He still held him to the same standards - the same routines - as the dead-last and the annoying girl that was far more focused on him than her shinobi career.
He became so blinkered, that any interruption - any waste of time - was unforgivable. Naruto’s incessant bickering was infuriating. Sakura’s attempts to distract him for her own selfish desires were aggravating. Kakashi’s lack of drive and refusal to take him seriously was a source of constant irritation. Naruto called himself his friend. Sakura claimed to love him. Kakashi, once things got bad enough, tried to relate to Sasuke and his own childhood actions.
But none of them...none of them truly understood. And it was clear in their actions. In no way did they attempt to help him. Instead, they impeded him at every given opportunity.
And yet…
...and yet…
Buried beneath the anger, the hurt, the obsession...was the same caring little boy that fed stray cats in the Uchiha compound, and spoke softly to his classmates, and eagerly vied for the attention of his peers and betters. Because at the root of Uchiha Sasuke’s character...was a deep and unbreakable caring for people.
Why else would be try so hard for people now dead? Because he loved them. Because their deaths were a grave injustice. Everything else? The hatred, the fury, the drive? Was to shelter and protect that ideal from the corruption of his brother. He had to hate him. Had to be angry. Had to strive every moment of every day, or he would fail.
Fail them.
So, despite the aggravations they caused him, despite the impediment of his goals, despite his overall annoyance toward his team...they were his team. They were, in some sense, like family. It’s why he threw himself between Haku’s needles and Naruto. Why he fought so hard against Gaara to save Sakura’s life. Why he tried so hard when Kakashi finally took him for solo training. These people, whether he liked them or not, were tied to him. And he couldn’t deny that.
Not even when he left.
They were the first glimmers of hope for a future. That maybe something could exist for him when all was said and done. When the Uchiha were avenged, maybe...he could shed his layers he’d built up to protect that core.
But until then, to save himself - to save them - he cut his ties. Nothing could hold him back from this destiny. This goal. This purpose that had become the center of his very being.
And just as he thought justice was his - just as Itachi lay dead at his feet - everything shattered.
...everything.
Itachi was not the culprit. He was the puppet. The puppet of the village Sasuke had been born in, grown in. They had betrayed their own, ignoring their abuse and their wants for freedom...and met them instead with blades and subterfuge.
...and what did his team do when they learned this truth?
Nothing.
That...had been a blow almost akin to learning that truth. The betrayal Sasuke felt when Naruto knew that Konoha had killed his clan, and yet still tried to drag him ‘home’. The audacity of Sakura trying to end his path for justice by killing him, to put him out of his misery…? The sheer hypocrisy of Kakashi, too loyal to a bloody-handed village to see why Sasuke abandoned them - they who chose Konoha over their teammate, friend, love, student - was too much.
In that moment...he truly did hate them.
And those dreams of that future died in the fires of that hate.
How dare they…? How dare they?! How dare any of them uphold a system that produced the most virulent ‘villains’ of the ages? Madara, Obito, even Sasuke himself in some minds...all products of the shinobi system and its broken ideas of loyalty and servitude to the state...even if it means wiping out a bloodline long used and abused by the village they helped create.
So Sasuke saw a new future. One with a slate wiped clean. Dead kage, dismantled villages...whatever it took to destroy that which had made his monster.
And who would stop him...but Naruto?
Even with the ultimate powers granted to him, Sasuke still couldn’t best him. It felt cruel. To be once again shackled to Konoha, to the system of shinobi. It was either that, or death. And death was no future.
So...he gave in.
...but not completely.
Upon the return of Itachi, raised from the grave, Sasuke found - at last - his final calling. To see Konoha’s shadows burned in the light of truth and justice. They would confront the council. They would reveal the truth behind the massacre. Itachi would be pardoned and seen for the hero he truly was: someone forced to make an impossible choice by killing the few to save the many. Neither of them were perfect, and neither claimed to be. But both were done wrong by the village they’d been born in. Given so much of their lives to.
And if Sasuke could not change the world...he would change Konoha.
They had allies. The Hyūga stood with them, debts owed thrice over to one of their own. Cousin clans stood together to shed light on the past.
And it was that act that revealed to Sasuke - even if time would have to pass before he realized - the largest part of his true future.
Hinata had been a virtual stranger. There had been brief meetings during clan talks, and they’d attended the Academy together. Took their first chūnin exams together. But they had never really talked. Sasuke had no recollection of her, really, upon his return to Konoha outside a vague impression of a quiet, shy, but seemingly good-hearted little girl.
A girl who had grown into a fierce defender of what she believed in, and the people she cared for. Whose gentle nature was backed by an iron will. In some ways...she reminded him of himself. He had a basic respect for her, especially as she worked with their clan to help bolster them in their singular numbers. She wasn’t overbearing like many of her clansmen, but instead warm and diligent, paying close attention to the needs and comforts of others.
She was...calming. Quiet, like himself, they could sit in a companionable silence when brought together: be it for clan business, or being dragged along by shared friends or acquaintances. Her temper meshed against his own almost shockingly well. And while everyone else walked on eggshells, she simply went on like business as usual.
It was unbelievably refreshing.
For the first time, he felt he could be heard. He didn’t have to bicker with her like Naruto. He didn’t have to know he wasn’t being listened to like with Sakura. She treated him like she treated everyone else. And their parallels served as a basis of understanding he’d really found in no one else, not even Naruto.
Once he realized how well they got on...he sought her out like a plant in a dark room, reaching for a crack bleeding light. Everything about her just felt...right. Comforting. Comfortable. Nothing forced, nothing expected, just...someone who listened. Who understood.
...and then he realized that he loved her. In his nineteen years, he’d never felt love like that before. Love for family, yes. Love for friends, sure. But love in another half? In someone who made him feel...whole?
...he was terrified.
Partly due to inexperience. Partly due to a fear of driving her away. But mostly due to fearing his reputation’s effect on her own.
But Hinata, of course, refuted it as soon as he brought it up. Her life had nearly been lost so many times...and several times in pursuit of a love never returned. But now, she had someone who made her feel seen. Who she didn’t have to fight for his attention. She and Sasuke just...worked. Never had she felt so connected to and understood by someone. There would be - could be - no one else. And she would gladly risk her reputation - or her life - for such a love.
...so he agreed. And together, they took their first steps into a future for two.
.oOo.
Phew, finally done with this one! I'm still technically a day late (and probably will be for...quite some time as I do another ship month for October), but at least I'm more caught up than I was lol
This piece is more...narrative and introspective. I love love LOVE getting inside Sasuke's mind. He's such an intriguing character to me. Even more so, admittedly, than Hinata (though I still love her to pieces). I love thinking about and studying his story, and imagining how it could go post-war in another verse with Hinata. Even recently I've changed a small portion of my view of him yet again - seems he's still evolving for me, even after all this time. There's just so much potential for expansion for him...and so much of it wasted in canon by Kishi just sweeping everything tidily after 699. It really irks me xD
But, it's late and I'm rambling! Thanks for reading!
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this is pt 2 of this drabble and it wont rlly make sense w/o it! time 4 violet. cw for i mean general fuckery that is conditionally present in the box boy universe, contracts n ownership discussed, also mention of drugs
the inspiration for the setting of the underground military bunker turned psychedelic warehouse is from a real case that was i think still the largest lsd bust in the 2000s which is neat. drug history! that link has pics of the actual bunker too and im p sure vice also did a documentary on it, its a really interesting case! anyways i just want to get to bunker time so i can introduce poppy bc i love her.
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Safiya could not, for the life of her, figure out what the fuck was wrong with this algorithm. She kept running it through her IDE over and over, checked all the spellings of the variables, and it still wouldn’t run the way she needed it to, or be a functional block of code in any way, intended or not (she got that sometimes, when a program would run but it would do something completely fucking different than her intentions.) She dragged her hands down her eyes, and took another long sip of her energy drink. She hadn’t slept in two days and she was still behind on her end of the code for her company’s new game- which fucking sucked, but at the same time, Saf liked the challenge, the conflict. Having something to do. Vi left her with enough money that she’d never have to work a day in her life again and still be fine, but she was good at game development- well. Not right now, but in general. Right now, she was about to ring whoever invented C++ by the neck.
Safiya was set up at the table by the kitchen, hosting her computer, a jumble of folders and piles of unorganized papers, at least three finished Monster’s scattered in between it all, and herself: wrapped in a knitted blanket, the monitor’s blue light bathing her dark skin. Summer was a couple steps away on the couch, lying down on her stomach and watercoloring, her legs idly kicking this way and that in the air (when Saf was working, Summer liked to create with her, she’d put on one of Saf’s records and make all kinds of art in a concentrated, comfortable silence, but watercoloring was always her favorite. Sometimes she’d give Saf painted pictures of the characters in whatever game she was working on, which made Saf smile like an idiot every time and put them someplace safe.) There were still wildflowers and weeds weaved into Summer’s golden hair, mud caking her tennis shoes laid forgotten by the door, and a soft smile on her face; all clues that made Saf infer she’d probably been out in the garden this morning that Summer had recently started. Saf had a lot of land extending from the cottage she’d never explored and left wholly wild and uncared for, so Summer kind of took over.
Now when Saf looked out one of the front windows, there were all kinds of flowers lining the house, fluffy bumblebees laying on their petals, the beginnings of an apple tree supported by two wooden poles on either side as big as the sapling was. Once, she got dressed in all of her protective clothing because Summer asked if she could bring her outside and show her the full tour, just to see her get excited talking about all the different seeds she’d planted, her plans to tie a swing to the big oak tree out front. Safiya, in those moments, felt like she knew Summer, really. Felt like she knew what she could do to keep her in that good place, and even if she still slipped into being far away, Saf could handle it.
(There were other kinds of days, too, when Summer felt like a completely different person and Safiya was out kicking in the fucking deep end with no understanding of what to do, if anything she could do would make a difference anyways. Sometimes Summer wouldn’t talk for days. Sometimes, she’d sit poised and elegant- on the couch or the rocking chair or her bed in what used to be the spare room- for hours and hours and hours with the only movement being her blinking every so often, her face otherwise looked like it was as trapped in a pose as the rest of her. Safiya would try sitting down with her, and talking as quiet and gentle as her voice would allow, ask her if she was alright, if she wanted to maybe stand up with her and they could take a little walk around the rooms of the cottage, maybe, or- or Saf could put on all of her gear and they could go outside together- take my hand, everything’s okay, you’re safe I promise- but Summer would be unresponsive at that point, staring straight ahead, and Safiya would realize just how fucking unqualified she was to try and help her at all.)
Safiya fell out of her thoughts as the record Summer put on got caught in a groove, and started repeating the same chord over and over. Summer’s head peeked up from the couch, and she walked over to the record player, delicately flipping the vinyl and motioning towards putting it back onto the player.
She never got the chance, though. The front door made a clicking sound, the hinges sighed, and Violet Lowe was standing in the doorframe. Summer dropped the vinyl and it shattered.
“I thought I changed my locks.” Safiya didn’t move from where she spoke.
Violet shrugged. “You did.” There was quiet. She closed the door behind her to keep the light out.
Safiya stood up, her blanket dropping to the floor, and she felt stupid for being in her sweats and a pair of fucking crocs because it would be really great if she was anything close to intimidating right now. Still, she walked over to Vi, putting herself in between her and Summer.
Safiya intended to say a lot of things to her, everything that had been boiling in her mind since the morning Vi left and didn’t come back, insults and how could yous and I deserve better than thats. Instead, this is what came out: “I missed you, Vi. So much.” If, Saf thought, she was just a little less emotionally stunted, there’d be tears in her eyes. She really thought Vi wasn’t going to come back this time.
Violet smiled, but it was unreadable behind her sunglasses. She was definitely selling again, it showed in the gold and silver coiling around her fingers in serpentine rings and dripping down her neck, contrasted starkly against her black cocktail dress. She had new heeled boots that made her stand almost as tall as Summer was, their glossy cold-black finish the exact same shade as her perfectly maintained bob. “I know you missed me. It’s why I came back.”
“Where have you been selling?” Saf knew Vi had friends in the business with mansions up and down the west coast they’d hop around, going from city to city giving out all kinds of compounds and getting rich as fuck in the process, living like psychedelic royalty. But this felt different, she’d been gone for too long.
Vi shook her head. “Not selling. Manufacturing. That’s where the real money is. We don’t have to move around, either, we bought this underground military bunker-”
“A bunker. An underground military bunker.” How the fuck do you just buy an underground military bunker.
Vi mhm’d impatiently, as if she was puzzled as to Saf not being able to keep up. “It used to be for large weapons storage, but it got auctioned off. One of the smartest decisions me and Nic ever made.” Sometimes Saf didn’t recognize the names Vi would rattle off, but Nic, Nic she knew from the one time she’d been with Saf while she was away on her business trips. She swallowed the memories she, frankly, could not be less prepared to deal with, back down.
Violet took Safiya’s hands in hers, the cold metal of her rings making imprints against Saf’s fingers. “Saf, Elana’s making psychoactive compounds nobody’s even theorized about before, with the amount of privacy we have there. You understand? We’re about to change the drug underbelly of this entire nation. And I want you there with me.”
“I’d go with you?” Vi’d never offered to take her with, ever since everything happened that summer, with her Vi, Elana and Nic. Safiya looked back at Summer in her floral sundress (she only wore that one on days when she was feeling good, Saf knew it was her favorite,) who at that point had pressed herself against the wall, standing straight and dead silent, staring at the both of them, her face unreadably calm to most, but Saf knew she only disconnected like that when she was fucking terrified. The record was still in pieces on the ground. With both eyes on her, Summer peeled herself off of the wall and hurriedly started picking up the shattered bits. Safiya moved towards her, breaking Vi’s grip. “It’s alright, Summer, I’ve got this, don’t worry about it-”
“Summer?” Vi said behind her, and Safiya realized just how badly she does not want these two people in her life to interact ever. Fuck. “It suits her so well. How have you liked my birthday present for you so far?”
Safiya stomped back up to Violet, and in a whisper edging on a growl, “We are not doing this right now Vi.” Saf would make grave eye contact with her if it weren’t for the fact that Vi still had her fucking shades on.
“Now, if you had such a problem with my generosity, she’d be gone by now, wouldn’t she?” And then, after a moment, she added: “Stop acting like a saint, Safiya. You’ve never been a good liar.”
The room buzzed with the echo of her words, and Safiya stood there, quiet, for a dragged out moment, trying to think of some way to spit back at her. It didn’t happen. With the most calm face she can put on right now, she turned back to Summer. “Summer, maybe you should... go outside, for a little bit. I’ll tell you when I’ve shown Violet out.” She makes those last words taste like venom, matter-of-fact, so Vi can hear her anger.
“No, she can stay.”
Summer stopped dead in her tracks. Looking at the fear in her eyes, that sinking look that overpowered any kind of calm Summer usually had when Saf was there, Saf knew she was lost. Summer was listening to Vi, now, all Vi, the kind of gone Saf was all too familiar with people getting under Vi’s words.
“Anyways,” Vi said, a tad annoyed, as if all of that had just been a mere blip in the conversation, turning her head to address Saf, “yes, you’re coming with. You’d be safe in the bunker, I made sure of it. All of your special lights. I want…. I want you there. With me.”
If this had been in literally any other context, Safiya would’ve smiled at Vi’s effort to communicate her feelings, Saf had been with her for years and she knew how hard it was for her to even understand her own emotions, much less say them out loud. But she was pissed at her, and she was going to hold onto that feeling for as long as she could to make her feel worse. “Summer stays here.” There was no way in hell she was going to let Summer anywhere near Vi’s fucked up drug empire.
Vi just fucking shrugged. “She’s coming.”
Saf charged at her again, pointing an accusing finger at her and getting close enough until it buried into the fabric of Vi’s dress. “You can act like I’m as fucked up as you are but I would never trust her with your or your f-”
Vi smiled, and batted Saf’s hand off of her as if she was a somewhat disinterested cat. “Let me rephrase that. My name is on her contract. She’s coming.”
#bleas read the cw at the front!#whump#box boy universe#char: violet#char: safiya#char: summer#dehumanization#pet whump
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