#and then the horse the game gives you as back up I drove directly into a tree and I did not have the horse cure so I put him down

[sktls-ig]

would you like to tell us about your current hyperfixation?

Why yes I would

DO NOT GET ATTACHED TO ANYONE IT WILL HURT

OKay so recently I've been getting into red dead redemption 2, so far I think I"m on chapter 6, maybe five, and boy oh boy this game has me by the balls, I've even taken to playing the online version (where all my horses happen to magically "die at war*")

Basically it's about a gang of outlaws trying to escape the law and (mainly arthur, the character you play) their past, you go around the game making choices to increase or decrease honour and such with side missions and random npcs you find while riding, the main storyline consists of you trying to get away from the pinkertons, who are being paid by a man named leviticus cornwall to find you and kill you, and you have to keep moving camp

Personally my favorite characters are hosea matthews, javier esculla, and charles smith, hosea is (one of) the father figures in the game who kind of keeps dutch sane and all, majourly gay those two, in words of the game 'the curious couple and their unruly son' , then followed by the fact you can find this at seans party

Throughout the story your gangs leader who is (the other one of) your father figures slowly loses his damn mind and now he wants to flee to tahiti and become farmers but not without making some noise, he wants you to have some damn faith because he always has a plan, though for this one you needa rob a bank in saint denis and I won't spoil much but it goes shit and now you're trapped on an island near cuba, which also does not go the greatest, but you get home and then run into eagle flies and rains fall who need help with their troubles with the army, which I think goes better but that's about as far as I am, I also recommend reading arthurs journal when you can because i think that's pretty fuckin neat

I fucking hate micah bell he's such a prick like actually, little racist dill weed, wish he would stay alive when he needed to (like main missions) and die for the rest of it

I love this game so much, it's so much fun to play the storyline is amazing, it's a tad glitchy every now and then but it is fantastic, seriously I do not recommend getting attached to the characters, it will make you cry

Oh also when you buy horses in story mode it lets you name them so now I have two horses named too much mayo and second cumming, overall fantastic game tbh it is very pretty as well, tumblr won't let me post images rn I assume it's the wifi but it is very pretty, can't wait to get the first because that's a sequel to the second

[nicklloydnow]

"They grew gaunted and lank under the white suns of those days and their hollow burnedout eyes were like those of noctambulants surprised by day. Crouched under their hats they seemed fugitives on some grander scale, like beings for whom the sun hungered. Even the judge grew silent and speculative. He’d spoke of purging oneself of those things that lay claim to a man but that body receiving his remarks counted themselves well done with any claims at all. They rode on and the wind drove the fine gray dust before them and they rode an army of gray-beards, gray men, gray horses. The mountains to the north lay sunwise in corrugated folds and the days were cool and the nights were cold and they sat about the fire each in his round of darkness in that round of dark while the idiot watched from his cage at the edge of the light. The judge cracked with the back of an axe the shinbone on an antelope and the hot marrow dripped smoking on the stones. They watched him. The subject was war.

The good book says that he that lives by the sword shall perish by the sword, said the black.

The judge smiled, his face shining with grease.

What right man would have it any other way? he said.

The good book does indeed count war an evil, said Irving. Yet there’s many a bloody tale of war inside it.

It makes no difference what men think of war, said the judge. War endures. As well ask men what they think of stone. War was always here. Before man was, war waited for him. The ultimate trade awaiting its ultimate practitioner. That is the way it was and will be. That way and not some other way.

He turned to Brown, from whom he’d heard some whispered slur or demurrer. Ah Davy, he said. It’s your own trade we honor here. Why not rather take a small bow. Let each acknowledge each.

My trade?

Certainly.

What is my trade?

War. War is your trade. Is it not?

And it aint yours?

Mine too. Very much so.

What about all them notebooks and bones and stuff?

All other trades are contained in that of war.

Is that why war endures?

No. It endures because young men love it and old men love it in them. Those that fought, those that did not.

That’s your notion.

The judge smiled. Men are born for games. Nothing else. Every child knows that play is nobler than work. He knows too that the worth or merit of a game is not inherent in the game itself but rather in the value of that which is put at hazard. Games of chance require a wager to have meaning at all. Games of sport involve the skill and strength of the opponents and the humiliation of defeat and the pride of victory are in themselves sufficient stake because they inhere in the worth of the principals and define them. But trial of chance or trial of worth all games aspire to the condition of war for here that which is wagered swallows up game, player, all.

Suppose two men at cards with nothing to wager save their lives. Who has not heard such a tale? A turn of the card. The whole universe for such a player has labored clanking to this moment which will tell if he is to die at that man’s hand or that man at his. What more certain validation of a man’s worth could there be? This enhancement of the game to its ultimate state admits no argument concerning the notion of fate. The selection of one man over another is a preference absolute and irrevocable and it is a dull man indeed who could reckon so profound a decision without agency or significance either one. In such games as have for their stake the annihilation of the defeated the decisions are quite clear. The man holding this particular arrangement of cards in his hand is thereby removed from existence. This is the nature of war, whose stake is at once the game and the authority and the justification. Seen so, war is the truest form of divination. It is the testing of one’s will and the will of another within that larger will which because it binds them is therefore forced to select. War is the ultimate game because war is at last a forcing of the unity of existence. War is god.

Brown studied the judge. You’re crazy Holden. Crazy at last.

The judge smiled.

Might does not make right, said Irving. The man that wins in some combat is not vindicated morally.

Moral law is an invention of mankind for the disenfranchisement of the powerful in favor of the weak. Historical law subverts it at every turn. A moral view can never be proven right or wrong by any ultimate test. A man falling dead in a duel is not thought thereby to be proven in error as to his views. His very involvement in such a trial gives evidence of a new and broader view. The willingness of the principals to forego further argument as the triviality which it in fact is and to petition directly the chambers of the historical absolute clearly indicates of how little moment are the opinions and of what great moment the divergences thereof. For the argument is indeed trivial, but not so the separate wills thereby made manifest. Man’s vanity may well approach the infinite in capacity but his knowledge remains imperfect and howevermuch he comes to value his judgements ultimately he must submit them before a higher court. Here there can be no special pleading. Here are considerations of equity and rectitude and moral right rendered void and without warrant and here are the views of the litigants despised. Decisions of life and death, of what shall be and what shall not, beggar all question of right. In elections of these magnitudes are all lesser ones subsumed, moral, spiritual, natural.

The judge searched out the circle for disputants. But what says the priest? he said.

Tobin looked up. The priest does not say.

The priest does not say, said the judge. Nihil dicit. But the priest has said. For the priest has put by the robes of his craft and taken up the tools of that higher calling which all men honor. The priest also would be no godserver but a god himself.

Tobin shook his head. You’ve a blasphemous tongue, Holden. And in truth, I was never a priest but only a novitiate to the order.

Journeyman priest or apprentice priest, said the judge. Men of god and men of war have strange affinities.

I’ll not second say you in your notions, said Tobin. Don’t ask it.

Ah Priest, said the judge. What could I ask of you that you’ve not already given?"

[a-libra-writes]

How the Peaky Blinders React To You Being Shy

ok so the original request was “could you do how they would react when their girlfriend is very quiet but talks a lot when she's excited but kind of cuts herself off in fear of talking too much?” but then i uh ,, ,went overboard like i do so here yall go lmao. bad title is bad

In this imagine, you’ll be with: Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, John Shelby, Ada Shelby, Polly Grey, Michael Grey, Alfie Solomons, Isaiah Jesus, Luca Changretta, Aberama Gold

TOMMY SHELBY

Even if you had worked for the Shelbys for more than a year, he hardly talked to you directly. You were so quiet, and while you were very pretty, the shy sort of girls just didn’t catch Tommy’s attention. This changed on a day when he stopped by Charlie and Curly’s, and saw you excitedly talking to them about a horse Tommy had just bought. When he made himself known, you went red in the face, clammed up and shied away while Charlie talked to him. 

First of all, it was strikingly cute, and Tommy didn’t often think that about anything. Secondly, he hated the idea that you might be anxious around him. Tommy said you could come see and ride the horse anytime, and still after that, kept trying to talk to you and see your eyes light up again. 

Once you two are in a relationship, whenever you start excitedly talking about something, he’s quiet and pays complete attention to you. You’re still as quiet and shy as the day he  met you, but not to him - which he privately likes. He enjoys being one of the few people you open up to.

ARTHUR SHELBY

From the day you first started working for the Shelbys, Arthur thought you were gorgeous. He completely lost his train of thought when he walked in and saw you, and John had to snap his attention away. He tried talking to you best as he could, but you were so quiet, and often had trouble looking at him. Arthur was convinced that you didn’t like him, so he tried to give up on his crush, as much as it hurt. (Okay, well, he couldn’t stop thinking about you that easily, so he just admired you from a distance).

One day he saw you outside the shop for the first time, and couldn’t keep himself from seeing what you were doing. You were bundling up a cat you found on the street. If that wasn’t precious enough, you were happy to see him and chattered about the cat, how you’d been feeding it and earning it’s trust, and you wanted to take it back home to treat its wounded leg. He walked you back home and once there, you blushed and clammed up, and apologized for taking up so much of his time. Arthur blurted you could have as much of his time as you wanted.

He visited you every day, using the cat as a lame excuse, and before long you two were dating. He was so relieved you weren’t afraid of him, he couldn’t help but confess as soon as possible. Whenever he gets you talking about something you like, he can’t help but grin and look at you like you hang the moon. He does tend to be protective of you, especially in big crowds, and he gets an adorably jealous expression whenever you chat animatedly with his brothers. 

JOHN SHELBY

He was drawn to you right away, so he wasted no time in trying to chat you up and get to know you, even when Polly scolded him many times to let you focus on your work. You shied away so much and made excuses that he worried you were scared of him. John tried to brush that off, but it ended up bothering him more than he wanted it to. It was Ada who told him he was coming on way too strong, you were a shy and sweet sort of girl who didn’t need him messing with her heart (that last part may have ended with a not so subtle threat).

John wasn’t deterred, though. He just had to get to know you better, and when he he caught you outside of work, he noticed you were admiring several cars. This was his chance, and he was grinning like a dork once you began chattering away at different models of automobiles and engines. He absolutely showed you the Shelby car and even drove you home several times after work. 

John is still much louder and more outgoing than you. During parties he'll take a minute to ask if you're comfortable and won't hesitate to take you home, he also makes a point to have everyone shut up if you want to say something during a family meeting. He loves it when you explain things to him because of how you word it and your voice - he could listen to you rattle off a weather report. 

ADA SHELBY

Ada was drawn to your sweetness right away. She didn’t have many friends herself when you met, and while you were bashful, you were also honest. Ada always encouraged you to speak up for yourself and to not be afraid of other people’s opinions, especially after she stopped seeing her family for a while. 

She adores how you light up when you talk about something you love, and she’ll always shush someone if you’re talking like this. It makes her SO angry when someone tries to speak over you. If you ever feel insecure about being shy or introverted, Ada will quickly tell you it’s one of your most endearing traits … though you’re certain she thinks anything you do is “endearing”. 

POLLY GRAY

She wasn’t so sure about hiring someone outside the family for some bookkeeping and secretariat work, but Polly was impressed with your punctuality, thoroughness, and most importantly … You kept your mouth shut. Polly was the most hesitant to hire you at first, but once you proved your loyalty, she was quick to get to know you personally. She really felt you ought to speak up more, and not be so shy; especially in their line of business. 

Pol has no regard for anyone who tries to talk over you or intimidate you, and anytime the Shelby boys (or anyone else) tries to flirt, they tend to get a glare from her. To say Pol is protective of you is a bit of an understatement; sometimes you worry she sees you more like a little girl than a woman.

Still, she means well, and it’s Polly who invites you to tea at her house and gets you to laugh and chat about all sorts of things. She’s very relaxed around you, and has confided in you many times, confident you’ll keep her secrets, as you keep the secrets of the Shelby company.

MICHAEL GRAY

At first, Michael got a little frustrated with you. He was fond of you, but he didn’t understand why you were seemingly afraid of him - okay, maybe he didn’t have the friendliest expression sometimes, and maybe you overheard him arguing business, but sometimes you’d just spend almost an hour in the same room together, saying nothing. Finally Polly had to give him advice, she thought you were a nice girl and not the type to be impressed by jewels and extravagance.

So, Michael started to do soft small talk and would bring you something nice, like a small vase of flowers for your desk or a cute box of sweets. You didn’t care for the grand parties that he’d partake in, so after work he’d linger behind and ask about your evening plans - probably slip and ask about a boyfriend, too. One of these evenings he got you chattering, and it was such a change, seeing your eyes light up and your cute smile as you talked. You both ended up staying way later than intended, and Michael was even later to the party because he wanted to drive you home. 

Even after you’ve been dating for a while, Michael wants to spoil you with beautiful things and have you on his arm at parties and important business meetings. When he notices you start to shy away, he’ll ask if you’re alright and if you want to leave early. He always has a driver on hand to take you home if that’s what you wish, though he obviously prefers to do this himself. He has zero patience for anyone trying to egg you into talking more or asking pointed questions; he’ll shut them down harshly. 

ALFIE SOLOMONS

You were one of the secretaries for their “legitimate” store fronts, one that Alfie had to visit often, and holy shit if you weren’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He always liked to tease the new secretaries once or twice, but you were the only one who lit up like a fire engine and stammered. He told your boss to make sure you were working the days he came in, and he’d spend several minutes teasing you and getting you to blush before starting business. 

He did feel a little bad for always flustering you, and he wasn’t totally sure if you even appreciated the attention, so he figured he’d buy some flowers as an apology and (maybe) let up on teasing you. The thing is, you gave him the sunniest smile when he delivered them, and you started to chatter about the flowers with total confidence. You didn’t even shy away from his gaze or stumble over your words, you were so excited about whatever rare lily he bought - is that what it was? - and when your boss walked in to greet him, you clammed up. Alfie immediately told the man to fuck off and go back into his office.

After you’re together, Alfie still likes to good-naturedly tease you, but he’s great at getting you to chatter away at this or that. He encourages you to be more confident, but he knows it isn’t that easy. If anyone attempts to talk over you or interrupt, they get a terrifying glare from your boyfriend. 

ISAIAH JESUS

Isaiah was SO sure you were just being aloof on purpose, that you were making him go through some kind of test. He heard about girls doing things like that, so he’d talk big game around you to impress you … Only to glance over and noticed you had walked away at some point. His father thought the crush was amusing, and it was him who said you were a shy girl who needed a gentler touch. Isaiah worried he’d mess it up somehow, but it ended up coming to him easily. His favorite thing was to stop by when you were leaving your workplace, so he could take you for a quick bite to eat, or he’d show up on your break to give you flowers or some sweets he just “happened” to have. 

Once he found out how far your house was from your home, Isaiah liked to walk with you in the evenings. First the conversation was short and a little awkward, but then he started asking questions and got you talking, which he was very proud of. He’d quickly ignore anyone calling out to him in favor of walking and chatting with you. His friends would tease him once he finally showed up at the Garrison, but he’d just talk about how pretty and sweet you were, zero shame in his voice as he went on about his crush. It wasn’t too long before he asked you out.

Isaiah prefers to keep you separate from his gang life. Admittedly, he used to treat you like you were too fragile to handle the truth, but you quickly proved him wrong when you treated his wounds and scolded him for worrying you. Whatever you’re interested in, he likes to find out more about it so he can surprise you. 

LUCA CHANGRETTA

Luca often flirts with the new girls who work for his family, and he found you especially charming. Once he realized how shy you were, he became gentler with his words, speaking to you in a more flattering way, loving how red your cheeks would get. He started to become very fond of you, and even a little protective - if his men tried to flirt as well, he’d irritably tell them to keep to themselves. He wished he could talk to you and learn more about you, but he also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

His wish was swiftly granted during the huge Christmas celebration his family always threw. They invited everyone from closest family to minor acquaintances, so of course you were there. Not only were you radiant in your dress, you were talking animatedly to some friends, and Luca couldn’t stop staring. He wanted to step in, to have you talk to him and look at him that way, but he didn’t want to interrupt the story you were telling, so he just listened. 

The next he saw you, he made a point to casually bring up whatever you were talking about, and he tried to contain his happiness at how you began happily chatting away like you did with your friends. When you blushed and apologized for it, he was quick to ask you questions to keep you talking. 

ABERAMA GOLD

Pretty girls often caught his eye, and not only were you that, you seemed to be the only quiet, reasonable person amongst the Shelbys. He liked to observe you, watching in amusement how you’d take careful notes, making little expressions as you wrote: rolling your eyes, biting your lip and so on. He casually asked after you when Arthur was drunk and got plenty of information. Whenever he’d see the Shelbys for business, Aberama made a point to say hello to you and exchange some words.

It was just fun flirting at first, but then he sent you into chatterboxing and when your hands hastily flew to your mouth to shut it, Aberama grabbed your wrists without thinking and asked you to please continue. Now he was too far gone. He’d bring you flowers, a bottle of wine, and you’d blush to your ears whenever Lizzie teased about where it came from. Tommy bluntly told him to stop flirting with his secretary whenever you were working.

It didn’t take long at all for him to ask you on proper dates. He’d want to take you wherever he goes, but he understands if you’d rather keep to yourself, especially at the rowdy boxing matches or big parties at the Garrison. His favorite thing is when you tug on his sleeve and make him lean down so you can whisper something to him.

LIZZIE STARK

Lizzie noticed you were a shy sort right away, and how easily you tended to blend into the hectic workplace of their company. She thought you were pretty, and had little opinion beyond that ... Until she noticed how clever and adept you were with the work, and how easily you handled the more interesting sides of the Shelbys. She made a point to talk to you, because in a way, she felt a bit of comradeship with you. 

You started taking lunch together and she was delighted by how you’d go off on these tangents or deep discussions of work. Lizzie would sharply stop you anytime you apologized for talking too much, or anything, really - she wanted you to build confidence and insisted it started with stopping all these apologies. Anytime the men would talk over you, she’d give you a look and nudge you forward to say your piece. Polly and Ada teased her about her favoritism, and Lizzie thought it was very cute when you’d blush at their words.

You’re much more open with her in private, which she likes, and with her encouragement you’ve become more confident at work. If you’re still feeling nervous around strangers, especially all the parties you two are dragged to, you two have a system where you nudge her hand or say an innocuous word, and you both slip out and go home. 

[hectabdr]

Dragon Raja IV - Chapters 13 - 15 + epilogue (Abridged)

Hi everyone, sorry for taking so long to post the last part, I had a lot of work this week.

BTW, since it's over, I put the whole novel summary on a PDF document, which you can download from here.

Previous Chapters

Chapter 13

The nurse at the mental hospital couldn't believe her eyes when Luminous came back and requested to be admitted in his old room. He asked for his usual injection and went back to his not-so-favorite video game level.

In his vision, he kept accelerating far away form the swarm of death servitors, everything went according to plan and they still had lots of time to spare. He made many excuses to Nono in an attempt to justify his incredible performance, in the radio, there was a very strange song, Luminous recognized it, the name was "Daily Growing" by the folk group Altan, it was the same song that Johann and his father heard before they ran into Odin.

Nono was confused, Luminous just seemed to know way too many things. He knew about the damaged tire, about every safe route, the reach of the Nibelungen and the presence of a small, strange building hiding in the distance. It was the Media Asia Group building, according to Finger, this is the place where Nono found Chu Tianjiao's home. If this was a Nibelungen, an exact copy of the room should be there as well, still intact.

There was nothing surprising about the small place, but that was intentional. A person like Tianjiao was probably trained against people with skills like Nono's, so there had to be a secret compartment or a hidden door. He lifted the bed and there it was!

Mr Chu managed to create an underground bunker for himself. There was a bigger, more comfortable bed, a record player with Elvis Presley's discs and leather jackets. Luminous wanted to be more like this stylish man every second he spent there.

He noticed a bunch of pictures hanging from a string. Tianjiao spend a lot of time making copies of photographs from his family, but he wasn't in them, there was another man next to his wife and his son, but he used chemicals to erase him from the images. He also wrote small phrases dedicated to his wife in the back of the photos, like:

"This is the first year since you left me, you look good"

"This is the third year, you're getting fat"

"Fifth year, I don't have time to think of you anymore"

"Sixth year. ...but I still miss you".

The rest of the walls were filled with images and documents connected by red strings. Multiple events were listed in them, including the fall of Black Swan Bay in 1991 and the Greenland incident from November 7, 2002. These events related to dragon sightings and awakenings all led to a specific incident: The resurrection of the Black king Nidhogg. Even to the other dragon overlords, Nidhogg is a god-like existence, and its words are taken as prophecies. Chu Tianjiao was the city's watchman, he came to that place with a special purpose, but he mistakenly fell in love with a young dancer. They got married and had a child, they were happy, but he knew very well that he couldn't give them a peaceful life, so he signed the divorce papers and watched her take Johann away and marry a different man. While that family went to amusement parks and movie theaters, Tianjiao stayed on his underground room thinking about the fate of mankind.

Luminous memorized as much as he could from Tianjiao's investigation and went back with Nono, he kept driving and they entered the empty city, the lights were still on and the amusement park shined like a neon show.

- I always wanted to be in a Nibelungen, but I didn't expect it to be like this.

- How did you think it would be?

- Distorted, scary, definitely not this beautiful.

They looked up and they saw Odin, standing on top of the clock tower, Nono raised a gun and pointed at him but Luminous held it down, telling her not to disturb him, they kept driving silently and the god didn't notice their presence.

Luminous took her to a shopping mall, where they entered a department store and he gave her a dry change of clothes. This was still strange to her, he already knew her size, he never stopped looking at his watch and somehow he also picked an outfit that she liked (a pair of burgundy sports trousers and a fleece hoodie).

He gave her a cup of hot coffee and he suggested they waited on an empty movie theater while they waited for help.

Nono waited uncomfortable in front of the screen, Luminous picked up a random movie from the projector room, it was Wall·E, the second film roll to be exact, so the film started from the halfway point. The movie slowly relaxed her and she started chewing popcorn while they waited.

- I've been here before, haven't I?.

This was the theater where she rescued him from a failed love confession to Wenwen, before taking him to sign his Cassell admission papers. Actually, Luminous was watching Wall·E with his fellow literature club members. All of these were deliberate choices, he only picked the second half of the movie because they didn't have enough time to watch it from the start.

- You have been here, you have experienced all the things we are experiencing now and I have lived this moment many times.

Nono was a profiler, it wasn't that easy to trick her, so he admitted the truth. At 12:00am, Nono was going to die, like every other time.

- This dream will become a reality. I have repeatedly entered this dream just to find a way to save you, but I couldn't find it.

- If you can't find a way to save me, why don't you save yourself instead?

- My senior brother said that he always regretted leaving his father here alone, that feeling of regret is so terrible, it made him want to go back and die right there.

- Don't say such disgusting things, if this is really my end I will accept it.

The answer became obvious, the only way to escape this Nibelungen was for one person to stay behind and die. As the movie reached its climax, a spear broke through the screen, Nono didn't move, Luminous didn't move.

- No, senior sister, this will not be you end, it will be mine.

Chapter 14

Luminous opened his eyes, it was still a quiet summer night, he slid a small knife that he bought at the convenience store and ripped the straitjacket open. The hospital personnel were resting in different rooms so he sneaked out with ease.

His last attempt was the 108th, none of them managed to give him the perfect ending that he desperately chased. The old man with the tricycle was waiting for him outside, Luminous got on the small bike and drove away. The security guard couldn't believe it when he saw the same tricycle pass by for a third time that night, straight into the elevated road.

Luminous reached the old Asia Group building, now flooded and filled with rubble and mud. He managed to find the secret door and found the insides half-submerged as well, but not everything was ruined, he located a small metal suitcase in the corner that was filled with multiple weapons, including a revolver, a tactical shotgun and a Uzi submachine gun.

All seemed to indicate that this equipment came directly from Cassell College, an academy that never bothered to mention Tianjiao's existence.

In his way out, he picked one of the photographs that managed to survive the flood, it portrayed a family of three. Johann was probably five years old and his expression was as emotionless as usual, his robot face wasn't the result of some traumatic event after all, it came with him from the moment he was born. In the corner, Tianjiao wrote some words as well: "Stay like this, not crying, just looking into the distance".

This arsenal was strong, but insignificant in front of a being like Odin. Ming·Z·Lu showed up to offer one last gift.

Something for nothing, 50% fusion.

Luminous was familiar with that sensation, his nerves burned and the depths of his mind seemed to be cracked open, the pain was bigger than any human can endure, but once it was over, there was a feeling of euphoria, a need to fight. His senses increased immensely, he could now distinguish every single drop in the middle of the rainfall. This usually costed him a full quarter of his life but now it was... Free?

He finally heard the distorted noises of the death servitors, it sounded like the crying of babies. The wall of water and wind that protected Odin became visible, the black figure mounted an eight legged horse. He was in the Nibelungen again, this time he didn't plan to turn around.

Luminous approached them and parked the tricycle next to the Maybach, he stood in front of Odin and the god stayed silent. The words "You are finally here" were not uttered this time, he was right, Odin was waiting for Nono, but he didn't bring her this time, Luminous's presence was meaningless to his rival.

Odin kept staring at the end of the road, waiting for Chen Motong to appear and show her face.

- This is the right way to start the game, my senior sister is not here, only you and me, only one of us can leave this place alive!

He was vey happy, he finally played the god. He slowly grabbed a spear rocket launcher from the tricycle, the little devil was as reliable as always. The servitors immediately recognized the destructive potential of the weapon and tried to disperse, but Luminous opened fire first and scattered their shadowy remains on the road.

He saw his face in a puddle, the crazy expression of Ming·Z was now his own, like every other time they fused, it felt like this was his true nature. Weapon after weapon he ran out of ammo, some servitors sneaked behind him and sliced his torso with their claws, if it wasn't for the bulletproof vest that Tianjiao left in his suitcase, Mingfei would have died already.

A shot of his last gun, a M500 revolver finally broke one of the servitor's masks. He hadn't seen one of those faces since his mission in Japan, their skin was covered in scales and their teeth were long and alien-shaped. Odin gave them black robes and masks to use them as his personal servants. Odin was definitely different to every other dragon king he had faced before, they were all savage and aggressive, but this one was stoic and dressed like a figure of mythology, unless...

That was it! Odin wasn't a dragon disguised as a mythical character, Odin, the myth himself has been a dragon all along. The secret party had misread norse mythology, now it was clear that it narrated the history of the dragon clan and it was written by the dragons themselves. Every god was in fact a dragon king, in those myths, the main antagonist of Nidhogg was Odin. This god had already foreseen the coming of the end of the world, the so-called twilight of the gods, where the world tree would wither.

The suppressed Nidhogg will rise in the air, ready for revenge, it will destroy everything and ruin the kingdom of the gods. Therefore, Odin prepared himself for this battle, ordering the Valkyrie goddesses to gather the heroes's souls and place them in the Hall of Valor to assist him in resisting the black dragon. If the norse myths are indeed dragon history, the hall of valor must represent a place filled with countless dragon cocoons and embryos waiting to be awakened.

This information, this great secret was about to be buried there with him if he didn't survive this battle. Nono was probably packing, ready to leave with Finger and go back to Cassell, for whatever reason Odin needed her, she would be out of his reach, he just needed to endure and Odin was still as invincible as ever. Making a deal with Ming·Z was inadmissible, giving the little devil enough power to materialize could bring an immeasurable catastrophe. The boy appeared in front of him.

- Brother, you finally asked to see me, do you want to... Shake my hand?

The multitude of servitors overwhelmed him, he contemplated dying there, it wouldn't be so bad, just very lonely. With a loud bang! the strongest servitor flew out and fell motionless on the mud.

A red BYD car swiftly parked next to him, a hand came out of the window and shot the three closest servitors, that was Finger, of course it was him!

- Drive faster! Why the fuck are you here?

- What do I know? I was eating dumplings with your aunt and the hospital called to tell me you were gone!

Finger placed a tracking device on Luminous just like he did with Nono and saw his trace disappearing in the highway, so he went to investigate and entered the Nibelungen by accident.

- Don't get confused by my F-Rank rating, I started as an A-rank, remember?

Flammel tasked Finger with helping Luminous to prove Johann's existence, he didn't remember the young hybrid either, but he trusted Anjou, and Anjou believed in the importance of Luminous more than anyone. Not everyone on Cassell gave up on him after all.

- Don't drive away, we can't escape!

- I thought you told me to drive faster!

- Yes I did, but I meant towards Odin!

The servitors quickly realized what they were intending to do, so they formed a barrier in front of their master. Finger pressed a button on the car and one mini-gun came out of each side of the vehicle.

- The equipment department makes phones that double as grenades, you think they can't make 007's car?

The gatling guns opened fire on the crowd of servitors, effectively cleaning the way. Finger put the car on self destruct mode and got ready to jump out, Luminous got on the roof, aiming his knife at Odin. The car hit Odin's water barrier and exploded, the shockwave soared into the sky, filled with flames. Luminous jumped and managed to pass through, and with a swift move, he pierced through Odin with the blade, just like Tianjiao attempted to do many years before.

Every servitor stopped their movements, Odin's scores started dropping down immediately and his body got split in two. There had to be something wrong with that, there's no way he would fall to his death so easily. Luminous took the god's skull and removed the mask, under it, the face of a death servitor greeted him instead, the others started crying and laughing at them. Odin's only goal is Nono, it had always been Nono, this was a trap and he was already on his way to get her.

Chapter 15

Nono was sitting next to Su Xiaoyan's bed, peeling an apple. The woman happily ate the bonbons that Nono brought for her as a gift.

- Nono, how is your mother doing?

- She's fine, she's still working and always asks me when I'll get married but I just don't tell her.

Nono had to make up that story, but at that moment she really felt like Xiaoyan's niece. She checked the woman's medical records, apparently the doctors thought she was schizophrenic and amnesiac, as long as Nono played her role well, the medical personnel would think Xiaoyan's amnesia made her forget about her relative.

Because Nono brought Bonbons, Xiaoyan recognized her immediately and happily accepted her gift.

She had been there since her son's death, she lost track of time, to the point where she felt like she had been there for three or four months, when in reality, seven years had passed. Not many people visited her in that time, her husband would take her home for a few days every now and then, but those events became less and less usual. Of course, Nono was there for a reason, without Tianjiao's apartment, her only remaining clue was Johann's mother, but the woman wasn't very open about her life. Nono's ability allowed her to put puzzles together, but Xiaojiao kept messing up the pieces.

- Did your former husband treat you well?

- He couldn't make enough money and he was very unmotivated, playing foolish all day long, I had enough of him!

- But he's handsome, and he's probably still breaking hearts.

- How do you know that he's handsome? You haven't seen him before.

- Of course I have, I remember hugging my uncle!

- Come on, do you really think I'm that broken? I know I don't have a niece.

- Then why didn't you tell the doctor?

- Because you're so pretty, and I like to chat with pretty girls, there's no one else here to chat with me, and you don't look like a bad person either.

Nono was genuinely surprised, so she declared her intentions straight on, she wanted to know more about Chu Tianjiao, but his ex-wife didn't seem to know a lot about him either, he would constantly lie about his past and alternate between multiple versions of the story.

- Sometimes he told me that he was a great spy, and that he came here to complete a task, and I believed him, without a clue of his salesman-like nature!

- And you still married him?

- He was handsome, and I was young.

Xiaoyan didn't express any regret in divorcing him, she'd rather be with someone she could rely on, but there was something else she could not explain.

- But he seems to have left something behind with me, a very important thing, I just can't remember it.

- What is it?

- I said I can't remember it, I've been thinking about it for a very long time.

- What kind of thing?

- A very important thing, I must find it, it would be very bad if I didn't.

A burst of cold wind opened the windows and made them shiver, Nono stood up and went to close them but she noticed something strange, the flowers on the outside were all withered, black petals flew through the room, she closed the window as fast as she could, something bad had happened and the air outside smelled of death.

She took out a desert eagle from her bag and stopped Xiaoyan from screaming, the woman relied on her intuition to understand that Nono wasn't going to hurt her. The place was silent and the lights flickered, the instinctive feeling of being alert that came from true isolation soon got a hold of her. She and Xiaoyan got out of the room, door after door, every doctor and every patient had disappeared.

The rain and the wind rapidly eroded the building. The day was finally here, she had never been in a Nibelungen before, she once regretted not being able to experience it, now Nibelungen came to see her. She didn't knew wether to be nervous or excited.

- Someone, someone is coming. Su Xiaoyan's voice trembled slightly.

The sound of footsteps made an echo in the building, those weren't human steps, that sounded like a few horses were coming their way. The storm, the Nibelungen, the steed, the rider, it seemed to be an ancient king who came with a strong breath of death, and the flowers in the garden withered in front of him. Nono remembered him, she saw his silhouette in the reflection of the glass when she went to Tianjiao's apartment.

The rider didn't seem to know where Xiaoyan's room was and he was checking them one by one. They ran towards the elevator, the rider was on the first floor so they needed to get to the top as fast as they could without the sound of their steps giving away their position. Behind them, the fluorescent lights went out one by one. Nono finally saw the reflection of the elevator's door in a mirror, but when its doors opened, the light of Odin's flames came out.

They ran in the other direction and soon reached the stairs, they ran down but it didn't matter, they were trapped on an endless loop. She shot at the creature but the bullets melted before touching the god's armor. They kept running and Nono kept shooting back but it wasn't buying them any more time, temperatures were rising and there was no way out.

Odin wasn't even in a hurry to reach them, Nono took Xiaoyan in her arms and ran across a hallway, enduring the terrible heat of the floor. She tried to get out through a window, but after opening the curtains she noticed that the whole world outside had changed and she was greeted by the sight of a roman pantheon.

Nono suddenly fell silent, she helped Xiaoyan to sit down on a bench and put her boots on the woman's feet. She noticed something, she was crying, she was remembering.

- There might be a way for you to get out of here by yourself, now tell me, what did Tianjiao left for you exactly?

- It's... A child. I had a son with him, his name is Johann Chu, I can't find my son... I can't find my son!

Xiaoyan was holding a pillow in her arms, the doctor said that she would put this pillow in her belly every morning and happily declare that she was pregnant. Nono took it from her hands and threw it away.

- Since you have a clear memory of him, you don't need this anymore, you will find your son, although I don't know where.

In this world, those who are not lunatics are the ones who were deceived. Luminous and Su Xiaoyan were the craziest because of their link to Johann Chu, to the truth. His mother's mental disorder was not there because she had lost a son seven years ago, a certain god wanted to modify her memory of him and she was resisting. She tied the little pillow to her back because a child is only safe in his mother's body, she sensed that someone was going to hurt her boy, so she wanted to feel like she could protect him.

Nono pushed Xiaoyan into a cubicle next to the ward and told her to keep the door closed until someone came to rescue her. She took Finger's GPS device out of her bag and broke it, expecting Luminous and Finger to arrive there after seeing her signal disappear. Odin arrived, his flames evaporated the strong currents of water and stood in front of her, Nono kept two knives on her back and a desert eagle in each hand.

- Odin!

The creature and his lance were impossible not to identify, the god actually exists.

- You are finally here.

He slowly raised Gungir and a faint white thread appeared, connecting the tip of the spear and Nono's heart. She thought his goal was Xiaoyan, due to her connection to Johann, but she was wrong, Odin's goal was her and only her. No wonder Luminous threw her down in the library, he probably had a foreboding of her death for some reason and tried to save her, his eyes showed a constant state of panic.

She didn't believe him and they put him on a psychiatric institution. She really wanted to tell him that she was sorry, because she had underestimated him.

She had always tried to be there for Luminous, she couldn't deny that she saw a lot of herself in him, this obsession with taking care of her sidekick was so prevalent because she knew how it was like to be powerless, lost and defenseless, but in the most critical moment, she had failed him.

Nono vaguely heard a song, a duet about a father and his daughter, it was coming from somewhere, along with the noise of a car engine. Luminous was coming, that song came from the radio, but how could she hear him? It didn't matter, she felt him presence and she believed it.

- Luminous! Don't you fucking dare to come here!

Nono shot every bullet she had left and they melted on Odin's presence. The lance was thrown and suddenly, the Maybach smashed through the wall, its lights illuminated Nono's eyes. She smiled, the moment she saw him, the cartridge of her gun was empty. The lance had already started its course and Luminous could only see her lips moving:

- I'm sorry

- Ming·Z·Lu! Luminous roared, time slowed down in his eyes

- The little one is here! Ming·Z smiled, Since I promised my brother that I'd try everything!

Come out! Golden saint cloth of the zodiac!, Phase shift armor!, Fierce fist! Seven-fold ring of the blazing sky!, Absolute domain AT Field!.

Every time he yelled a strange name, Luminous froze for a moment, these strange spells were taken directly from anime shows, they were weapons that lined up in front of Odin's lance, even a nuclear explosion could be rejected by them.

- What are you doing?

- I don't really know what tricks would work so I'm doing all of them!

Ming·Z kept casting spells, the speed of the lance was indeed affected but it never stopped nor it changed its trajectory.

- Hurry up brother, run!

Nono tried to yell, telling Luminous to stay away, but her mouth moved too slowly. Luminous ran past Odin and past the lance. The seven-fold ring was the strongest defense against projectiles, every time the Gungir lance pierced through a layer, it made a loud noise. Nono dropped the empty gun, she didn't have the strength to wield her knives. The spear hadn't arrived yet, and she was already like a lamb crucified on an altar.

Gungir hit the final defense, the sound was almost glass shattering.

- I couldn't stop it, even with the last layer. Give her a hug, kiss her! This is going to be your last chance! I'll buy as much time as possible for you!

Ming·Z made another barrier but the lance broke it, the little devil's hands were splashed with blood and they stained his bow tie, but he didn't care and looked at his side as an indifferent Luminous passed by and stood in front of Nono. He never managed to change the events, just the scenery. Gungir pierced through Ming·Z's chest.

- Brother, I tried my best

- It's ok, I'm here as well.

Luminous wasn't going to hug or kiss Nono, he was there to take her place. He could clearly feel his heart being cut open. The spear hadn't even touched his skin and his body had begun to carbonize and turn black, showing a rare struggle, burning it inch by inch.

- No! No! No! Nono struggled to stand up and pull the lance away from him.

- Don't come near me!

The lance tried to go through him, but it only managed to pin him against the wall. Nono shivered slightly and tears slowly ran down her face, but she didn't realize that she was crying. She always wanted him to grow up and go his own way, to use any advantage she might have over him to push him forward, but now the person who was crying on the floor was her.

- Senior sister, are you okay? It's okay.

Luminous raised his head, half of his head and body were carbonized, the cracks at the end of his lips extended all the way to the roots of his ears. He was really happy, because he finally managed to achieve his goal. He didn't want to live with the regret of losing her, he had seen Johann's own regret already.

Odin wasn't pleased, the god roared as he realized he had missed his chance. Luminous whispered:

- Ming·Z·Lu...

- Brother, I am here, you really found a method to stop the lance!

- In this world, only a monster can stop a monster, and I am the biggest monster in the world...

- Yes, you are the biggest monster in the world, brother! You are awesome! Then, are you ready to make the last deal? I can't do much against the lance, but I can take care of the monster behind it, the little devil is good at this dirty work!

Luminous stared at him and asked for two conditions:

- Kill Odin, but also take Nono back to safety.

- Alright but hurry up! That guy is almost here!

Sleipnir's eight legs made a thunderous sound, the dragon subspecies that Odin mounted carried its master into the room. Luminous raised his blood-soaked hand and gave the little devil a high-five. Ming·Z's figure suddenly appeared in the night sky, this time he stopped laughing and opened his arms. He looked like a suspended cross.

- Something for nothing, 100% fusion.

He breathed deeply, as if he wanted to inhale all of the world's air into his lungs. Sharp bone spurs protruded from his body and he was covered in black scales. Huge black wings sprung from his back and he took flight, diving down, his image poured into Luminous's body.

The carbonized skin quickly peeled off, he experienced musculoskeletal growth and deformation and the sound of a glacier cracking was heard across the hospital.

The black wings were opened and Gungir was ejected from his chest. Sleipnir couldn't move a single inch closer to them, because Luminous placed his hand on the horse's chest. Nono stared blankly at him, because she couldn't tell if the monster in front of her was a friend or an enemy, but Luminous stared back at her.

- Sister, don't be afraid, as long as I live, you'll be fine.

After two years, Chen Motong saw the devil that rescued her from the bottom of the Three Gorges Dam once again. She remembered how he held her, his childlike fear and his voice.

Don't die, don't die, don't die... Don't Die!

- So it was you...

But Luminous didn't hear those words at all, he rushed to Odin, at the flash of lightning, the monsters that had been in conflict with each other so many times, leaving countless disasters, clashed once again, and the claws and the sword stained the place red and black.

They roared, they fought, a war between kings that can only be ended by death.

Epilogue

On the elevated road, Finger stopped for a moment to catch his breath. This guy is usually slacking and his posture is erratic. The death servitors are struggling to even reach his clothes.

There should be half a marathon left before he can lose them, however, the physical strength of those things is almost unlimited.

Seeing him stop, a group of servitors suddenly became excited and the baby-like cries they made reached the heavens. A girl in a black outfit and a gauze mask appeared in front of him, a ninja.

- How did you know I was here?

- I have a radar for pretty girls... Can you handle that many servitors?

Mai Sakatoku drew two small blades.

- Those are too many, I'm specialized in assassination, not group combat. It's a pity that the other two girls are not here...

- Then I hope I can help.

He had a sword in his hand, the mirror-like Murasame suddenly turned black, the black blade light soon extended all the way to his body and the rain around it evaporated. Mai was surprised by the brutality of the sword, but Finger remained indifferent.

- What kind of sword is that?

- Murasame, have you never heard of the Dragon Slayer of Fire? Then you are really kind, but a bit ignorant, my friend!

After saying that, he jumped and cut off the elevated road.

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Bluegrass-Chapter Nineteen

                 A special thanks to @statell​ for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Nineteen

Claire was unprepared for the public support of Runner after winning the Preakness. The moral of the country was at an all-time low as people were divided by the two factions of government, neither of which could get anything done. Misinformation was the norm and people lost faith in the evening news, Washington, the president, everything. Finding something to believe in had become impossible. The crown races were an American favorite with historically high viewership. When Runner won the first two crowns, America had a new hero to root for, and he was dubbed the People’s Horse.

There were seven horses in the past thirty-seven years that won both crowns, but all had failed at the Belmont Stakes. The hope for a triple crown winner swelled and moved across the country.

Jamie’s phone rang the instant he put it down as people called with good wishes, just wanting to talk to someone directly involved with the famous Runner. It was getting impossible, so he hired Lulu to answer the phone during her summer break. Lulu was five foot five inches with natural platinum hair cut into a pixie. She wore cut off shorts and cowboy boots with a loose-fitting button-down that was never tucked in. Her face was dominated by large round Hazel eyes that sparkled under heavy lashes. She was delighted with the job because it paid very well, and her secret crush was always nearby. If Claire had not been so preoccupied with interviews and the upcoming race, she would have noticed the way they gazed at each other.

After workout one morning, Claire asked Michael what she should say to reporters about her background, and how she came to be Runner’s rider. She wanted to uphold her promise to let Michael tell the story, but she was getting boxed in by questions. She, Michael, and Jamie met to discuss the talking points and decided unanimously to answer truthfully. Claire had a glass face that would give it all away if she tried to lie. She was very relieved.

Nosh, the reporter from Sports Illustrated left multiple messages for Claire. Lulu added them to the stack while she smiled coyly at Jason peeking into the office. When Nosh could not get a call back, he made a bold move and drove to the countryside to find them. He brought large framed pictures of Runner and Claire, hoping to delight her enough to agree to an interview.

Jason recognized Nosh from their brief meeting in the stall aisle at Aqueduct when Runner lost the Wood Memorial. He shook his hand with a big smile and looked at the pictures. Claire was doing her afternoon workout and Jason invited Nosh to watch. Seeing the horse breezing up close made his heart pound. He looked at Claire’s determined face, all business, no emotion. After an hour watching the duo together, Claire handed Jason the reins and went to speak with Nosh. She felt so comfortable with him, he was like what a beloved uncle would be. Because of her desperate desire for such a thing, Nosh was able to set her at ease.

The reporter sensed immediately that she was not like other jockeys that were full of themselves, with practiced answers that sounded rehearsed and boring. This girl was open and honest, and he pressed for the interview.

“I am done for the day. Would you like to come to the house and do the interview now? I have to start dinner but that won’t get in the way.”

“I would be thrilled, Claire. I can get the story into next week’s publication before the race. It will be fantastic timing.”

Claire had a sudden spark of apprehension and begged off for a minute to find Jamie. She called Jason and Runner over to entertain the reporter. When she peeked in the office Lulu was picking up the phone immediately after each call and rolled her eyes when she saw Claire.

When she found Jamie, her heart jumped into her throat watching him with the mares and their babies. He leaned against the bars separating two of the stalls. One baby was searching his jeans for the smell of treats, in the other stall, the baby was chewing on his shirt. The mares were pressed so close to him Claire almost missed him.

She watched him in his element, spending time with the future kings of the racetrack and the dams that would bring future generations to the world. This was so different from the actual track. The sport of kings required jockeys, trainers, grooms, and an unsung hero that made the matches, toiled year around, hoping for a miracle horse to drop its wet body into the hay. He worked very hard and he loved them, all of them. She could hardly take her eyes off him until he startled her calling her name.

“Come Sassenach, and see the beautiful babies we have this year.”

Claire opened the stall door and walked directly to him, wrapping her arms around his waist she looked in his eyes and kissed him.

“I love you so much, Jamie. I can’t wait to start our life together after the race next week.”

Jamie looked like he had just received a promised gift and pressed his forehead to hers, holding her hand to his lips.

“So, this is what you do all day. Play with baby horses and hide out in the dam’s wing?”

“Something like that.”

He was taking control of the kissing until Claire remembered the reason for finding him. She explained and Jamie went to meet Nosh. They agreed to do the interview in their kitchen while Claire and Jamie prepared a lovely dinner for three.

Nosh was very impressed with the house that Jamie built and toured the two levels while Claire pulled steaks out of the freezer and started cutting vegetables. Nosh was a pro, undaunted by the continuous movement of his hosts as they prepared dinner. When the grilling steaks reached his nose, he realized it had been too long since his last meal. So far he found out Claire was a veterinarian, who had saved Jamie’s horses on her first visit to the farm. During the sumptuous meal, he heard about Claire cutting the colt out of the dead dam in time to save him and Jamie hand-feeding the orphan for months until he was weaned.

Nosh looked at Jamie, impressed with his commitment to saving the colt’s life. It was no small task to play mommy to a growing colt and no one to help. Nosh laughed hearing about the FBI meetings with Runner pressed into Jamie’s side.

“Yep, he would come into my office and run to my side pressing his face into me, hungry and scared. When the dams rejected him, I knew I was in it for the long haul and didn’t expect he would ever run bein raised by a human.”

Nosh was so engrossed in the story he would just stare at Jamie for several minutes like he was trying to wrap his head around it all. Jamie took him through the impossible weaning and the next year of letting him grow into the monster he is now.

“Did you help Claire?”

“Me? No, I didn’t see Jamie or the colt for two years. When Jamie put him into the training program it was clear that Runner didn’t have a clue he was a horse. Jamie called me to help and to be honest, I thought Runner was a lost cause. I walked out to the round pens and saw two beautiful yearlings running on the lunge line while Runner was giving kisses to his handler.”

Something in Nosh went boom, boom, boom. He stared at Claire with his mouth open. “This would have been three months before his maiden race?”

“Yes, three months.”

“How did he learn to race then.”

“I taught him. I had to make it a game and told him I would beat him. He made it very difficult to keep my line in the dirt until I stood with my arms crossed fuming at him. When I took off for the finish line, he didn’t ge…”

“Wait, wait, wait. You raced him on foot? Runner. You ran on the track and he ran too?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Jamie sat back, enjoying Nosh’s face as the story unfolded.

“Just you…and Runner?”

“Yes. Jamie had to hide in the equipment barn so Runner wouldn’t see him. Otherwise, he would want kisses and wouldn’t work. Poor Jamie had to hide for the whole first month.”

Nosh shook his head a bit and flipped through the pages of his notebook. He wondered if they were playing him because a human doesn’t ordinarily teach a horse to run. What was happening here he wondered?

“Let’s talk about your training Claire. Did you always want to be a jockey?”

“Never wanted to be a jockey, had no jockey training, and was scared shitless of him the first time I mounted him.”

Nosh held his hand up, “wait.”

“You are a veterinarian with a completely green horse that has tossed every person off his back. Why would you get into the saddle?”

“Teaching him to love winning a race meant I had to be very pissed off when I lost. I played it up until he got it. He wanted to win every time and showed us speeds that blew us away. He beat me every time and told me I would be a winner if I got on his back.”

Claire’s voice started to quiver remembering his promise and her tears flowed down her cheeks. “He promised I would be a winner, like him, so I got on him and held my breath.”

There was the emotion Nosh was looking for, but he hardly noticed in his confusion. He stammered for a coherent question feeling like he just busted through the heart of the story.

“How did he tell you that?”

“I can’t tell you anymore. I’m sorry. Our trainer agreed to work with Runner for first rights to the story. After he is published, I can tell you the rest. I’m sorry, I promised.”

Nosh was feeling woozy from the disclosures and requested just a few more questions about general racing.

“Why do you hand ride? I have never seen you use your whip?”

“He doesn’t like the whip.”

“He what?” Nosh took a deep breath, “Alright, I have enough for a pre-race article. Thank you for talking with me on such short notice, and thank you for dinner. I believe Runner is a horse in a million. I also believe you will win at Belmont next week. I cannot wait to hear the rest of the story.”

Claire smiled at the reporter and they showed him out. As she rinsed dishes her eyes lost focus as she stared at nothing, thinking about the long race ahead. It was like Nosh had injected Claire with the reality of what was ahead. She read the papers, the industry magazines, and read through the messages coming into Jamie’s phone. The swell of support from the public had taken her mind off the actual dirt and grit of the one and a half mile race that was still ahead. She swallowed hard and felt the anxiety building in her stomach.

She spent time alone with Runner, always in the predawn hours when the cold bed would be noticed by Jamie. He would come and get her, pulling her into his warmth with the promise to love her forever, no matter what.

Claire and Michael spent hours each day watching video of the other horses they would be racing. When night came, Claire would become anxious and moody because another day was behind them. A day she should have found some peace. Jamie could only watch her helplessly and coax her to bed where she would promptly leave him in unconsciousness. He prayed for her strength as the pressure was beginning to take her apart. He prayed for himself, that life would become a new normal, full of love and enduring commitment. Win or lose, that is what he hoped for.

Finding Claire pacing in front of Runner’s stall, a day before they flew to New York was Jamie’s undoing. He gathered her in his arms and fought to keep her there as she tried to break free.

“Sassenach. There are two of ye racin in a couple days. Runner here looks calm, if not tired from bein up all night with ye. You, my love, look like yer ready to crumble. I’m worried about ye lass. Are you gonna fall apart and lose the race for him?”

Claire wanted to slap him at first. She was the one who rode his exercise every day, she is the one who risked life and limb in the races, she is the one who coached Runner. How dare he ask if she would throw the race. When he wouldn’t let her go, she quickly tired from trying to break free and the energy had to go somewhere so it came out in sobs. Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that broke his heart. He let her cry for several minutes until she wrapped her arms around his waist and told him how tired she was.

“Suppose we ask Runner how he feels about the coming race. Does he know why you are so wound up? Sassenach, does Runner know how important this next race is?”

Claire was lost in her thoughts for several minutes. “No, he doesn’t know. I didn’t want him loaded down with pressure.”

Jamie pulled Claire into Runner’s stall. “I think it’s time ye told him lass.” Claire looked up at Jamie’s face, so confident and knowing. “He can handle the truth of it.”

Claire reached shaking hands to Runners cheeks. She could talk to him now, but he often misinterpreted her words, so she spoke with her mind and showed him how important he was to the world at this moment. Several times he nickered, several times his muscles bulged with his understanding, but he never moved his head, the story was too important.

You are one in a million Runner. A miracle, to enchant the world and give hope for a hero. I know you can do this; I know you are faster than any other horse alive. Don’t be afraid. Just run like you own the world, as fast as you can. Now sleep, dearest boy, and know how much you are loved.

Jamie saw him relax into Claire’s hands and close his eyes. It was done. Runner knew the magnitude of this race and Jamie knew the level of difficulty they were facing. One and a half miles. Long enough to cause all his predecessors to tire and lose. He was running without an experienced jockey to hold him back and signal when to increase his speed. Jamie feared they were both running head-long into failure and didn’t know how to advise her. Claire now felt the calming effect of the truth and Jamie stopped sleeping all together.

By the time they landed in New York, Jamie had not slept a wink the night before. Dark circles under his eyes gave testament to the pressure he felt, and he glared at the world for making such a big deal out of this horse. Michael tried to talk to him and calm him down, Claire tried to coax him to sleep, but nothing worked. He was in it for love now, the gains they would reap no longer entered his thoughts. He loved Claire and he loved Runner, and he wanted them to win.

Sports Illustrated published Nosh’s article about Claire saving the colt, Jamie raising him, and Claire teaching him to run. Claire’s lack of jockey training and Runner’s choice of who would ride him made the pair seem unreal. The country doubled-down with their support.

At Belmont Park, the crowds pushed into the stands. Seasoned betters paced with anticipation and Runner lovers were in force to scream him to victory. Jamie walked the track trying to relax. He saw entire families pressed into the rail. Parents and children were there, not to bet, but to watch their hero horse win the third crown. He wanted to shout at them to go home. They could lose this race like so many double crown winners had done in the last thirty-seven years. He tried to remember them all. Superstars going into the race, soon to be forgotten when they lost. It was too much for him to deal with, so he went back to the shade of the stalls and by some miracle found Runner alone.

Jamie leaned against him and told the story of how he came to live in this world. He knew Runner couldn’t understand him, but he went on with the story of hope. He told him, no matter the outcome of the race today, it was his once in a lifetime pleasure to know him. When Jamie hugged his neck, Runner brought his head down and embraced him. Jamie couldn’t hear Runner asking if it was time to go, could they please go now, where is Sham, he wanted to race and show them all. When Jason approached loaded down with tack, he saw the two of them and gave them a moment before Jamie staggered out of the stall.

Claire was in new silks with “Highland Brothers Farms” emblazoned across the back and down the arms of her jacket. She was all smiles in front of Runner and the crew while she searched for Jamie. By some miracle, he had alleviated her worry and taken it upon himself. She was very worried about him.

The pre-race parade was starting, and Jamie lifted her to the saddle. She felt his arms shake with the effort and her worry deepened. She looked down at his haggard face and told him not to worry.

“I will see you in the winner’s circle, love.”

When she was ponied to the gate she twisted in her saddle and gave him a dazzling smile. The colt stood quiet, waiting to load into his number one post position. He was in his warrior stance looking ahead at the track while Claire told him to relax. He had looked at the stands during the parade. All the smiling faces calling his name were even more incentive to win. Claire reminded him it was the longest race and he should pace himself.

When the gate slammed open Runner leaped out and to the rail, no waiting for the other horses to break. Right from the start he and Sham were running nose to nose as they came through the first turn, changing lead position several times while the crowd roared. It was him and his nemesis battling it out in front of the world. They had gained a five-length lead on the rest of the horses and seemed to be in their own world. Running the backstretch, Runner was ahead by half a length until he moved forward, engaging his power. Claire felt the spike in energy as he stretched into each stride, moving ahead of Sham steadily. And the crowd lost their minds watching the widening gap between Runner and Sham.

Michael, Jamie, and Jason gripped the rail and pressed their chests into it to see the horses coming out of the second turn but they only saw Runner. Michael was going crazy, yelling about his speed, shouting that he couldn’t sustain it and would crash and burn. Jamie said nothing, moved not at all. If not for the tear that slid down his cheek he might look like a statue. He watched as Runner increased his speed yet again and widen the gap. He watched every stride hit the dirt as Claire tucked tightly and didn’t seem to move. Michael was holding his head, shaking it back and forth.

“He’s going way too fast! He is gonna have a heart attack or fade quickly to last place. They have a quarter-mile to go, he’ll never make it!”

That sentiment rippled through the crowd as every trainer, owner, and handler anticipated the worst. Jason shouted that Claire broke the track record for the quarter-mile, Michael was yelling at no one in particular. Jamie watched Claire and Runner, in his silence, he prayed for them both.

When Runner came out of the turn Claire felt him dig in and accelerate. She knew he was running too fast and they had a quarter mile left to the finish line. It felt like he continued to accelerate, and Claire just tucked and cleared her mind. He was running his own race as she promised. She heard the announcer’s voice sounding incredulous, calling the lengths between Runner and Sham and she heard the crowd going wild. She felt Runner dig in again and increase his speed, right about where the experienced horsemen in the crowd expected him to collapse or fade. He just ran faster, and the world watched an incredible athlete in the home stretch increase his speed again.

Claire could see the finish line and knew they were far ahead when her deafness crept in and she tucked tighter, keeping her mind blank, all she heard was Runner’s breathing and her own.

The sound in the stands, if she could hear it, was deafening. Runner was too far ahead to be beaten and was still accelerating. Jamie continued to stand stock-still and watch them run the race. His tears fell because he knew they couldn’t be caught. She won the Belmont. She won the Triple Crown. Michael grabbed Jamie and shook him, it didn’t matter, he couldn’t take his eyes off them.

Claire saw the finish line ahead and couldn’t resist looking behind her, but she was alone. She felt Runner accelerate again and knew he was showing the world just how fast he was. When his front legs crossed the finish line and the camera lit up, the noise of the crowd came rushing back and she heard the magic.

“Midnight Runner wins the Belmont by thirty-one lengths! He wins the Triple Crown!”

Claire worked hard at slowing Runner while she gushed that he did it. He won the hardest race. When she could stand in her stirrups her crop was raised above her head and the crowd went crazy. When she came around the turn, she saw that Jamie was surrounded by cameras and reporters, but with his extraordinary height, he could see her clearly and the kiss she blew.

Jason held the reins while people surrounded Runner and Claire. It felt surreal with the cheering fans that were weeping and holding their arms out to them. Claire took off her helmet and saluted the crowd only to have the deafening sound get louder. She dropped her upper body down on Runner’s neck and told him he was the king of horses, never to be forgotten.

It was thirty minutes before they made it to the winner’s circle where Claire leaned down to kiss Jamie.

“Ye alright, love?”

Claire nodded and smiled before Jason led them to walk in front of the stands to let people see Runner one more time. When he led them back, Claire was finally able to dismount, right into Jamie’s arms. When she looked into his beautiful eyes, she said the first thing that came to mind.

“Does this mean we can go on vacation again?”

“If we can call it a honeymoon, we can stretch it to a week, maybe more.” He kissed her and heard her answer seconds later.

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

[spyder-m]

Shumako Week 2020, Day Six: Immersion

@shumakoweek​ Day Six: 

AO3 / FF.net

A/N: This story references Makoto's Showtime attacks in the Royal. If you're someone who has been avoiding trailers and wants to go in completely blind, you might want to give this a miss.

Summary: After visiting the arcade with Makoto more often, Ren begins to notice the moves she does in battle seem to take inspiration from the games they play. 

.

Makoto grit her teeth, readjusting the white-knuckled grasp she'd locked around her weapon as she ducked down, trying to recuperate.

The attack had taken them completely by surprise; a swarm of enemies ambushing both her and Ren while their guard was down. Their numbers were too great, and in the ensuing chaos, they’d been separated from one another.

As their strategist, Makoto felt a burden of responsibility; that she should have some advice or words of encouragement to help them out of this plight. Especially seeing as, while she was pinned behind cover, Ren was still fighting. Valiant, as always.

Makoto growled, desperate to help. Yet, every time she so much as lifted her gaze slightly beyond the threshold, her head was narrowly grazed by a spray of bullets.

She flinched and pulled back, knowing that she couldn't afford to take another hit.

Still, Ren couldn't have much left in him. She noticed, even fleetingly, the weariness and pained expression settling across his face; weakness he didn't usually let show easily. 

Makoto was caught between the natural instinct to keep herself from harm and her desire to protect and fight alongside him; two urges struggling to pull her down different paths.

But now was not the time to deliberate. They were losing time and she needed to act.

Determined, Makoto lifted her weapon and stormed out into the fray.

.

With the last sliver of her health bar fading away, Makoto lowered her gun, pouting as the 'game over' screen flashed before their eyes.

She turned to Ren, visibly disappointed, who stifled a chuckle; not wanting to hurt her feelings. Though her reactions weren't as vocal as the time first time they'd played together, it was still adorable to watch her become so immersed in a video game.

"Not bad," He said, their final score rising through the ranks. "We held out much longer that time."

While Ren seemed cheerful in defeat, the loss weighed heavily on Makoto's mind; shaken by the very real threat that the game had presented.

Even though their party was much larger, they could still be outnumbered just as easily in the Metaverse. If it was a strategy that an AI programme could mount against them, then shadows could surely do the same.

She would have to come with a countermeasure they could employ if such a situation faced them.

From his periphery, Ren noticed Makoto's hand touching her chin, a sign she was lost deep in thought. Her face relaxed as he cleared his throat, pulling her back to reality. 

"Want to go another round?" He asked, nodding towards the cabinet.

"No. I think I'd like to try something else," Makoto answered, locking the gun back into its stand and glancing over the throng of machines surrounding them.

She held a soft spot for the Central Street Arcade.

It was the first place she and Ren had hung out together and quickly became something of a sentimental, date-night favourite for them. 

It also didn't hurt that, upon doing research, Makoto found that there actually a number of benefits to playing video games. They helped hone reflexes, hand and eye coordination and could even make one more adept at problem solving; all skills that would greatly benefit them in the Metaverse.

She had especially developed a fondness for the MotoGP racing games. Still without a motorcycle license, it was the closest she could come to recapturing that liberating feeling of riding Johanna; without the added distraction of shadows or palace infiltration.

As tempting as it was to play again, Makoto wanted to try something different. Particularly, after they had fallen short in their last round of Gun About.

After their first trip had helped her devise new tactics and approaches to battle, she was enthusiastic to find what other potential inspiration could be waiting for amongst the myriad rows of games.

Perhaps one of them could offer insight into how to help sway the flow in battle in their favour.

Makoto was fascinated, wandering between the different consoles.  The brightly flashing lights, the whirring of mechanics, the clash of different jingles and sound effects resonating over one another in an effort to catch her attention.

She wasn't entirely she was searching for, but sensed that something would strike her as interesting.

Fortunately for her, she didn't have to go far.

"Oh? What's this?"

She was first drawn to the gun.

Unlike the futuristic models on the Gun About machines, this looked similar to the revolver she wielded in the Metaverse. Weighing it in her hand, Makoto already felt an affinity for the control, finding it fit comfortably in her grip.

Looking up, her eyes narrowed in on the cross hair, testing her aim on the screen.

While the controls had led her to expect something reminiscent of American Wild West films, she was surprised to find the game portraying gangs of outlaws dressed in leather dusters and bandannas, their faces caked in paint and soot.

They drove around in giant, rusted cars modified with turrets and spikes protruding from the sides; enormous wheels that elevated them several feet off the ground.

It was unlike anything she had seen before.

Were these the "steel horses" referred to in that song Ryuji sung to her?

"Oh that?" Ren stopped beside her. "That's one of those post-apocalypse games."

"I see."

"Want to give it a shot?"

"I- I suppose so."

.

Outside of Futaba’s palace, a sprawling, desolate wasteland stretched in every direction. The oppressive heat weighed them down, sand dunes carrying as far as the horizon.

The Pyramid was different from any of the other distortions they'd ventured into. Their presence was not registered as a threat. Their clothes did not transform initially, and the entrance was free of lurking enemies.

Futaba's Shadow had even approached them directly, ordering that they retrieve something from a neighbouring town, something of hers that had been stolen by bandits.

It struck Ren as odd. Was Futaba talking about her treasure? Was this all they needed to do? Recover it from Bandits? They wouldn't have to defeat her, the Palace Ruler. He supposed it made sense that this operation would be different. This was the first time someone had willingly asked them to change their heart.

Perhaps for anyone else, the trip might have posed a risk. The town was miles away, lost amidst the arid desert. But the Mona Bus allowed them to traverse the distance without much difficulty; even if the ride was stuffy and uncomfortable.

Still, the entire situation awoke an unease in Ren. Compared to obstacles they'd been faced with in the past, this seemed relatively easy. Suspiciously so.

It gave him a distinct flashback to Madarame's Palace, when Morgana had tried to nab a treasure left out in the open, only for a blockade of lasers to rise from the floor, separating them. Ren couldn't help but feel these stolen goods were luring them into a similar trap.

That apprehension wasn't without merit, as they encountered a Garuda on the town's outskirts, poised and ready to strike.

It pulled back shortly upon their approach, flapping its wings and steadily building power. Joker’s eyes widened before he turned to the others.

“Hold on!” He called.

At their leader’s instruction, the party switched into defensive stances, trying to shelter themselves from the shadow’s powerful wind attacks.

They grimaced, sand whipping painfully around them in all directions. Their balance almost thrown off by the relentless Magaru spells.

Fortunately, the strength Garuda exhausted with each attack wore it down over time. That was all the chance they needed to retaliate.

“Queen!” Joker instructed, noticing she had been first to recover.

Seeing the break in their foe’s attack, Makoto’s grasped her revolver. Firing rapidly from the hip, she clipped their enemy’s wing. It collapsed against the ground with a pained shriek. Vulnerable, but still far from defeated.

“Skull!” She called, as the shadow was downed.

“On it!” Her teammate yelled back, leaping beside her.

Taking to the air, they disappeared in the cloud of sand they kicked up in their wake; out of the shadow’s sight. It scanned the surroundings, desperately trying to gauge where their attack would come from.

As the dust cleared around them, Makoto and Ryuji appeared on the horizon, bathed by the sun’s light.

With their masks and dark clothes, the spikes on Makoto's shoulders, and Ryuji resting a bat against his shoulder, they looked the part of wild bandits

Even Ryuji's familiar, cocky smirk, and knowing that they were two of his closest confidants, Ren couldn't help but find the sight of them intimidating. They exuded a threatening aura.

Carelessly waggling his weapon around, and nearly bumping it against Makoto’s head in the process, Ryuji taunted the helpless Garuda. His voice trailed off in a faint, pained groan as Makoto; stern as ever; elbowed him in the side, admonishing his childishness.

Clenching her firsts, Makoto charged towards the enemy; crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. Straightening up, Ryuji shadowed closely behind her.

As the two raced upwards, Ryuji swung his bat in a full, powerful extension of his arms. It was there that Makoto landed, the force of his swing propelling her up even higher. She struck hard against the ground on her descent, the earth beneath exploding into a crater of dust and debris.

With a laugh, Ryuji shuffled back up to his feet, hollering in celebration. He lifted his fist up to Makoto, who rolled her eyes with a fond smile, and bumped it.

Ren watched silently as they returned to the group, still processing what had just happened.

“Joker?” Mona looked up.

Startled, Ren's head whipped around, noticing Ann, Morgana and Yusuke's eyes weighing over him as they awaited his next instruction.

Clearing his throat, Ren fought to suppress the flush building across his face; conscious his mask only partially covered it. 

“Alright. Let’s keep moving.”

.

Makoto found herself captivated by the game's open world, relishing being given free rein to explore and uncover each detail of the expansive wasteland.

To her, there was something remarkably freeing about driving through the vast space, uninhibited by roads and rules to follow.

It gave limitless possibilities.

Though, the aesthetics of the game were bleak. That is, at least when compared to some of the Arcade's flashier titles.

It couldn't hold her attention forever and wasn't long before the flashing lights and sounds of the machine Ren played beside her caught Makoto's attention.

Setting down her own controller, she turned towards him.

"What are you playing?"

"This is Water Pro." Ren explained, eyes concentrating on the screen as he mashed out a string of button combinations. "It's a Wrestling game"

From over his shoulder, Makoto looked on, curious.

Though she hadn't really watched wrestling before, she was familiar with some of the more popular names on the Japanese scene. Many of them had made cameo appearances in her favourite movie series, Like a Dragon.

Admittedly, the game’s violence was wasn't quite as brutal as what Makoto had seen them endure as Yakuza gang members. Though, the combatants were still performing rough looking strikes and throws on one another.

Their actions seemed to carry a lot more flair.

They walked towards the ring dressed in extravagant costumes, throwing their arms our dramatically in front of the crowd as they were showered beneath a flash of lights and pyrotechnics.

The heroes fought nobly and engaged the audience whenever they were in control, feeding off of their support. While villains would employ under-handed tactics, clawing at their opponent's eyes and pushing over referees to a wash of jeers and boos. 

Their presence was eye-catching. They were striking, self-assured and deadly, a combination that reminded her distinctively of Joker.

Judging by the game’s retro-style graphics, Makoto suspected much of what she was seeing was exaggerated and not an exact reflection of the real life equivalent. Still, she was captivated by the wrestlers’ fighting spirit. Their passion to stand up and continue even while being relentlessly beaten by their opponent.

The different, distinct characters Makoto saw Ren playing as reminded her, in many ways, of the Phantom Thieves.

She supposed it made sense. From what she understood, masks were common in wrestling; particular amongst the Japanese and Mexican styles. They played an important role in its history and often bleed into the way certain wrestlers would portray themselves. Outfits like theirs in the Metaverse, therefore, might not be out of place in a wrestling ring.

It even made Makoto wonder if their battles could take inspiration from wrestlers.

The way they would effortlessly spring through the air impressed her. They performed feats of acrobatics that she could imagine having difficulty replicating; even with her background in Martial Arts.

Though, in the Metaverse they were capable of performing well beyond their usual physical limitations.

Perhaps the idea was more feasible than she'd first thought.

.

Like any luxury cruise ship, Shido’s palace boasted premium facilities; plenty to keep his elite guests occupied as they traversed the flooded city.

In their exploration they'd encountered restaurants offering exquisite banquets, bars, a pool, and even a selection slot machines dotted about the Entertainment Hall; though not quite as many as they’d seen in Niijima-san's palace.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, however, most of the guests seemed to content to crowd around the speakers blaring Shido’s speeches.

In Ren’s mind, it was a blessing.

The more there was to keep the guests entertained, the more their focus could be kept away from the Thieves storming the ship.

They sought an audience with some of the ship's more esteemed guests, and Shido's trusted allies. Access to the Representative Chamber, where Shido’s’ treasure lay, was blocked off and anyone wishing to enter needed letters of introduction from the five VIPs on board.

It was for that reason they found themselves breaking into the hotel room of an IT Company President; a man who revealed himself as the culprit behind the fake Medjed's attack.

With the contempt they held for the man spilling over, their identities did not remain secret long. The President's body shifted before them into Oberon, two Scandalous Queens appearing at his side.

Throughout their infiltration of the Cruise Ship, they encountered several powerful enemies and had been routinely swapping out party members to preserve their strength.

Their line-up proved fortuitous when Haru's Mapsio attack pummeled the group, downing the President's two lackeys.

Pressing the advantage, Makoto drifted on Johanna, kicking up a powerful Freidyne spell like rubble beneath the bike's tires. Oberon grunted in pain, as the attack blasted him off of his feet.

"Noir!" Makoto called, landing on her feet her Persona sifted away.

"Right!" Haru nodded.

A ring suddenly manifested before them in an arena crowded with cheering fans. They held signs up for Queen and Noir, confetti raining down from the ceiling like a Tokyo Dome Main event.

The very sight sparked adrenaline through Ren's veins in an exhilarating rush. As though the moment was beyond mere cognition, something he was experiencing in the flesh.

Approaching the ring, Makoto sprung easily over the top, coolly cracking her knuckles. Beside her, Haru stepped between the ropes, seeming slightly more flustered and overwhelmed as she waved to the crowd.

Stopping in the corner, they raised their arms together, smiling warmly to the throngs of fans.

Despite the stark contrast of their outfits, they seemed confident as a unit; ready to stand against even the most skilled Joshi tag team.

This much became apparent when; faster than the flicker of flashbulbs among the stands; Makoto's expression changed and she leapt into action, delivering a left clothesline. Haru quickly followed up, springing off her feet with a picturesque dropkick.

Their offensive flurry had Oberon reeling and Makoto looked to finish the job, grabbing a steel chair and cracking it against the shadow's head.

Their opponent down for the count, Haru and Makoto clambered onto opposite turnbuckles, flipping off and crushing Oberon with tandem elbow drops.

As the shadow's body disintegrated into a black smog, the two posed beneath the blanket of confetti. Makoto flexing her arm menacingly as Haru winked, her fingers folding into the shape of a heart.

Lost among the masses of people, Ren was struck, similarly, by the urge to cheer. Yet, he stood frozen, as if caught in a trance; captivated watching the strength and poise that Queen exuded.

As the surrounding hotel room shifted back to its former shape, Haru and Makoto dusted themselves off, pleased.

Ren turned towards them, a more familiar, confident smirk settling back on his face.

“Nice going; Noir, Queen." He complimented, lingering on Makoto. "Where’d you learn to do something that?”

“Oh," Makoto winked. "I have my ways.”

.

A/N: The funny thing about Makoto and Haru’s Showtime attack is that a few New Japan wrestlers actually made cameos in Yakuza 6, and the Like a Dragon movies Makoto likes are based on Yakuza. Knowing that, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was an actual, conscious nod by the developers or just a coincidence. 

Either way, I’m taking it as headcanon that that was the inspiration for Makoto and Haru’s Showtime. 

The game Ren is playing is Fire Pro Wrestling, a popular wrestling series in Japan that features wrestlers from promotions like New Japan and Stardom. The one Makoto plays isn't based on anything specific, but I did have the Mad Max video game in mind. Perhaps with some Borderlands thrown in. I kept it vague though, as I haven't actually played the former.

[theusurpersdog]

An Avenging Dragon

A Storm of Swords is the second big push Daenerys gets on her path to becoming a much darker person; at the end of A Game of Thrones she is hatching dragons, but her plot pauses substantially in A Clash of Kings. While she is in a higher position, travelling through the Red Waste and staying in Qarth doesn’t give her an opportunity to actually lead her people that much; she still leads them in more subtle and understated ways, but A Storm of Swords puts her back in a position to take military action. Back in the Lhazareen village, Daenerys did not have the stomach to be the conqueror she tried to be, and in this book we see how she’s grown and changed since hatching her dragons.

Bred For War

The first two books establish a very strong symbolic connection between Daenerys and her dragons, and hint at an actual physical link between them, but A Storm of Swords is the first book to really expand on the concept.

Throughout the book, there is countless examples of Daenerys’ mood actively translating to her dragons. They are particularly in touch with Daenerys’ passionate emotions; whenever Daenerys get angry with someone, her dragons also stir:

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

Dany felt hot tears on her cheeks. Drogon screamed, lashing his tail back and forth.

And when Daenerys is having sex with Irri, her dragons seem to experience it with her:

Still, the relief she wanted seemed to recede before her, until her dragons stirred, and one screamed out across the cabin

She screamed then. Or perhaps that was Drogon.

Daenerys and her dragons have become so interchangeable that she herself can’t tell one from the other.

This very tangible connection she has with them works on two different levels; it highlights that Dany’s dragons want what she wants, and also works to strengthen the symbolic connection she shares with them. By making this emotional connection explicit, GRRM strengthens the parallels between Daenerys and her dragons that are meant to be subtext. As the dragons begin to really grow, they develop personalities and traits that reflect on Daenerys:

At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Dany had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable, that she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed.

He was always hungry, her Drogon.

Daenerys’ dragons hate being held back in any way; they aren’t happy until they can soar over the ocean, free to hunt and fly wherever they want. This doesn’t fully pay off until Daenerys chains them at the start of A Dance with Dragons, but GRRM is seeding that being chained is something that both the dragons and Daenerys will hate.

It also feeds into the larger narrative point that Daenerys herself is a dragon. She herself starts to realize this as time passes, and she grows more and more comfortable equating herself to one. Back in A Game of Thrones, she called herself “the blood of the dragon”, and when she compared herself to a dragon, it was often in symbolic terms, in a removed sort of way. She still does that in A Storm of Swords, but she is also much more direct in her language when she says she is a dragon:

“I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon

She had not meant to be so sharp with Ser Jorah, but his endless suspicion had finally woken her dragon.

“YOU ARE THE DRAGON’S NOW!”

And not only is she comfortable directly stating she is a dragon, she uses it to excuse her behavior; especially in the context of Jorah “waking her dragon”. Not that it is at all wrong for Daenerys to lash out at Jorah, considering his abhorrent behavior toward her; but that particular phrase is something Daenerys is familiar with because Viserys used it as both a threat and a justification. It’s a way for Daenerys to excuse her outbursts as a right she has as a Targaryen; dragons can do whatever they want, and can’t be held accountable for the things they do.

Looking beyond the connection Daenerys has to her own dragons, the history of House Targaryen is starting to become ominously present within her chapters. I’ll get into Old Valyria and Aegon’s Conquest more below, but this particular line about the Targaryen’s dragons is very interesting:

“the dragons the Seven Kingdoms knew best were those of House Targaryen. They were bred for war, and in war they died. It is no easy thing to slay a dragon, but it can be done.”

Daario is introduced in this book, and with him the idea of Daenerys having to choose between peace or war, so this quote seems particularly damning for the choices she will make.

As Daenerys’ connection to her House grows, the parallels she shares with her brother Rhaegar also start to become apparent. Jorah always said that Rhaegar was the last dragon, before he saw Daenerys step out of Drogo’s Pyre, and as the books go on it’s made clear that the title of “the last dragon” is really hers. She is fascinated by her brother, and even dreams of herself standing in his shoes:

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent.

And when she is trying to work up her courage to turn Drogon and the Unsullied against the Great Masters, she thinks to herself “It is time to cross the Trident”. Unlike Viserys, who Daenerys had to live under and experience his cruelty, Rhaegar is just a story to her; someone who can be as brave and heroic, as Romantic and honorable, as inspiring as she needs him to be.

In many ways, Rhaegar represents all the same things to Daenerys that Westeros does. Just as she cannot acknowledge the possibility of fault in Westeros (“She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?”), Daenerys also sees Rhaegar as flawless; instead of placing blame on him for running away from Elia Martell and his children, she asks Ser Barristan just how awful Elia was to make him abandon her. Part of why she feels so uncomfortable buying the Unsullied to fight for her as slaves, is because Rhaegar’s men followed him out of love and loyalty, which leads to Jorah Mormont’s famous line:

“Tell me, then-when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? 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.”

I find this argument between Jorah and Daenerys so important because we’re definitely not supposed to agree with Jorah. The idea that Rhaegar’s honor got him killed flies in the face of why he had to fight at the Trident to begin with; that he had run off from his wife with a young girl, and refused to stand against his father’s tyranny. Yet it also highlights Daenerys’ continued lack of understanding of what Robert’s Rebellion or Westeros really is; Daenerys specifically asks Jorah what Rhaegar said when he knighted men, the implication being that the men Rhaegar chose to knight were honorable and good. But we know that the greatest tragedy that befell Dany’s family during Robert’s Rebellion, the rape and murder of Elia Martell and her children, was carried out by Ser Gregor Clegane, who was knighted by none other than Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

Knowing Daenerys shares such a strong connection to her brother, it makes the details we know of Rhaegar’s personality very interesting:

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but. . . there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense. . .” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense. . . ?”

“. . . of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Melancholic is a very apt way to describe Daenerys in A Storm of Swords. Whether it be fear of betrayal, a profound sense of loneliness, the trauma of her past, or any other number of worries, Daenerys is incredibly sad throughout her chapters. She often finds herself crying, set off by small things, and she doesn’t even understand what drove her to tears. Similar to Rhaegar, I’m not certain Daenerys has it in her to be happy. The struggle between Dany who wants to live in a house with a red door, and Daenerys Targaryen who wants to be a Queen and Conqueror, is such a huge part of her story and in A Storm of Swords and A Dance with Dragons, is expressed through Daenerys having to choose peace or war. As we saw in A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings, choosing peace wasn’t enough for her; she could not let herself live as a khaleesi, or return and rule Vaes Tolorro. But when she chooses war, she isn’t particularly satisfied with that either:

Up here in her garden Dany sometimes felt like a god, living atop the highest mountain in the world.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely.

The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

The way Barristan Selmy describes Rhaegar as being shadowed by grief his entire life is also very true of Daenerys, and reminiscent of the Undying Ones calling her daughter of death. Her mother died giving birth to her, she was named “Stormborn” because her father’s fleet was crushed on the night of her birth, and her entire arc is shrouded in death; whether that be Viserys, Rhaego, or Drogo. And as Barristan says of Rhaegar, what I’ve been trying to outline in these metas is just how much a sense of doom follows Daenerys Targaryen.

Bricks & Blood

Daenerys’ complex relationship to slavery is driven to the forefront of her story when she arrives in Slaver’s Bay. While it has always been present in her story, from her first chapter when she was sold to Khal Drogo, it isn’t really the focus until she goes to Astapor to buy the Unsullied. It’s such an interesting part of her story, because it highlights both the best and worst of her personality; it gives her a chance to chase the ideal of being the Breaker of Chains, but also really shines a light on how little she understands what she’s doing, and how little patience she has to actually be a savior.

There is a lot of focus placed on the middle and end of Daenerys’ arc in A Storm of Swords, but it’s important to consider how she began her journey to Slaver’s Bay: to buy a slave army. Trying to argue the exact moment Daenerys decided to burn Kraznys and free the Unsullied is pointless, because GRRM writes her as intentionally vague in Astapor to keep the element of surprise, but it’s inarguable that she arrives there with the intent to buy the Unsullied:

“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.

. . .

“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.”

And once she’s in Astapor, Daenerys is clearly torn on what decision to make. Barristan and Jorah act as the angel and devil on her shoulder, and through her debate with them we can see how and why Daenerys makes her choices. When she is faced with Barristan’s steadfast refusal of the Unsullied as a potential army, we get to see Daenerys arguing for the buying of slaves, and I find her justifications quite interesting:

“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.”

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.”

For Daenerys, it doesn’t matter how wrong slavery is or how negatively it will be received in Westeros, because it cannot be worse than having to beg. In her mind, she believes that having to beg the rich men of the Free Cities to help him caused Viserys to become the cruel monster he was, and Daenerys thinks that the same could happen to her; which implies that Daenerys sees Viserys’ reaction as either valid or inevitable – either way, it’s troubling.

What’s also troubling is how Daenerys uses her past to justify her present actions:

“Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said.

“There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I. . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

The concept of slavery does not bother Daenerys, the brutality does. I briefly mentioned when I wrote about her A Clash of Kings chapters that Daenerys doesn’t think twice about Xaro’s slaves, which seems to be at odds with her actions in Slaver’s Bay; but I think this is because Daenerys isn’t really opposed to owning people, as long as they are treated well. She can buy a slave army, because she would treat them well, so it wouldn’t be wrong. But once she arrives in Astapor, and has to see the way the men are treated, she can’t lie to herself about her actions anymore. But, just as she did in the Lhazareen village, Daenerys tries to overcome horrific violence to continue in her actions:

She was feeling faint. The heat, she tried to tell herself.

She can’t bring herself to ignore the suffering of the Unsullied, though, as her fight with Jorah shows:

“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?

“If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.”

But it is dark below, in the streets and plazas and fighting pits. And it is darkest of all in the barracks, where some little boy is feeding scraps to the puppy they gave him when they took away his manhood.

“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.”

Seeing the dehumanization of the Unsullied makes Daenerys feel physically sick. Being exposed to that extreme level of cruelty stirs something in Daenerys; she has high ideals of what a King or Queen is for, and seeing so many abused people makes her want to stand up and fight for them. I’ll get into Daenerys’ version of justice more later, but I think it’s very important to understand how she sees herself. Freeing the Unsullied is in no way altruistic – it allows her to get everything she wants and lose nothing – but Daenerys doesn’t do it for entirely selfish reasons. This is how the scene is described:

She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air. . . and then she flung the scourge aside. “Freedom!” she sang out. “Dracarys! Dracarys!”

She believes she’s setting the Unsullied free, she’s singing out the words: Freedom!

But that’s not entirely true. Before she sets the Plaza ablaze, Daenerys specifically asks Kraznys about it:

“The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh,” Dany told the girl, “but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me. . .”

“They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that,” the slaver answered. “Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is all.”

“It is soldiers I need,” Dany admitted.

Daenerys is being told in no uncertain terms that the Unsullied are trained not to understand the concept of freedom. And, by her own actions, we can see that she believed Kraznys:

She stood in her stirrups and raised the harpy’s fingers above her head for all the Unsullied to see. “IT IS DONE!” she cried at the top of her lungs. “YOU ARE MINE!” She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers high. “YOU ARE THE DRAGON’S NOW! YOU’RE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!”

Daenerys makes sure the Unsullied know that she is their Master now, screaming it as loud as she can and waving the Harpy high above her for them to see, before giving the command for them to sack Astapor. Not until after they obey, does she drop the scourge. Again, Daenerys loves the idea of liberating people and she loves a version of freedom, but she doesn’t fully understand what slavery is.

A part of her is uncomfortable with her actions, though, and that comes through the most in her interaction with her handmaiden Irri. When she was khaleesi to Khal Drogo, Daenerys’ two handmaidens were her slaves, and even though she set them free at the end of A Game of Thrones, Irri doesn’t fully understand what that means:

Dany stepped away from her. “No. Irri, you do not need to do that. What happened that night, when you woke . . . you’re no bed slave, I freed you, remember? You . . .”

“I am handmaid to the Mother of Dragons,” the girl said. “It is great honor to please my khaleesi.”

When Daenerys hears this, it does not please her:

"I don't want that," she insisted. "I don't."

On some level, Daenerys understands that having sex with Irri is exploitative and wrong:

For a moment Dany was tempted, but it was Drogo she wanted, or perhaps Daario. Not Irri. The maid was sweet and skillful, but all her kisses tasted of duty.

But we’ll see in A Dance with Dragons that Daenerys continues to have sex with Irri.

I want to pause for a moment and explain why I say that Irri and the Unsullied don’t understand what their new found freedom means. I am not trying to infantilize them or remove their agency. But years and years of dehumanization and abuse have tried to take their agency from them; the Unsullied are violated, tortured, drugged, and emotionally and psychologically manipulated from the time they are little boys, all with the goal of stripping them of the very concept of self. That level of emotional damage can’t be solved by simply setting them free, especially when they’re given the option to live in their old patterns. While we don’t have details about Irri’s upbringing, we know that she was a slave Viserys was able to buy specifically to serve Daenerys, and spent a year or more of her life as Dany’s slave. So, on top of the trauma inflicted on Irri and the Unsullied through years of being told their lives were not their own, there is the added layer of them actually being Daenerys’ property at a point in their lives. It is one thing to be treated as property your whole life, and then someone comes along and tells you that you’re now free; it is quite another for someone who also treated you like property to then give you your freedom. Daenerys is, even if unintentionally, taking advantage of the slaves she freed.

This complicated relationship to slavery also gives Daenerys yet another connection to her Targaryen - and Valyrian - heritage. When she arrives in Astapor, she remembers how the Valyrians destroyed the empire of Old Ghis:

Old Ghis had fallen five thousand years ago, if she remembered true; its legions shattered by the might of young Valyria, its brick walls pulled down, its streets and buildings turned to ash and cinder by dragonflame, its very fields sown with salt, sulfur, and skulls.

Lore from The World of Ice and Fire expands on this, clarifying that the “Freehold” of Valyria learned slavery from the conquered cities of Old Ghis, and their first slaves were the Ghiscari they had taken prisoner. Similar to her ancestors, Daenerys quickly starts to profit off of selling slaves:

Dany thought a moment. "Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman." She raised a hand. "But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife."

"In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands," Missandei told her.

"We'll do the same," Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. "A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides."

Daenerys is careful to put boundaries around men selling themselves into slavery, trying to avoid people being forced back into the slave trade, but she is equally quick to make a profit off of the trade. Now that Daenerys is directly benefiting from the selling of slaves, she has less of a reason to discourage it. It’s also unsettling how she hears of how Astapor ruled, the city responsible for the atrocities of the Plaza of Punishment, and decides we’ll do the same. Like her ancestors, Daenerys is starting to fall into the patterns of Ghis and their slave trade. She is still far from being the same as the men she hates, but she is profiting off the buying and selling of human beings, which is morally bankrupt. She could have allowed the men to sell themselves back into slavery without taking ten percent, but instead she chose to follow the example set by Astapor.

Valyria and the cities of Slaver’s Bay are extremely intertwined, and Daenerys deciding to adopt Astapor’s slave tax is just one in a long list of similarities. Before Old Ghis was conquered by the Freehold of Valyria, they were in the slave trade but had an elite source of free fighting men; then Valyria salted the very ground Ghis was built upon, and adopted their people as slaves to send into the volcanic mines, where so many slaves died it would “defy comprehension”; after Valyria drowned in the Fourteen Flames, the cities of Old Ghis were reborn as Slaver’s Bay, now with no willing men to fight for them, and thus created the Unsullied. The two empires feed off each other in a twisted cycle of human suffering (one could almost say Valyria helped create a wheel?) where one is never better than the other, and only grow more similar. By the time Daenerys comes to Astapor, the Ghiscari don’t even have their language anymore and instead speak Valyrian.

The old rhyme Barristan Selmy tells Daenerys really highlights how similar the two empires became:

"Bricks and blood built Astapor," Whitebeard murmured at her side, "and bricks and blood her people."

"What is that?" Dany asked him, curious.

"An old rhyme a maester taught me, when I was a boy. I never knew how true it was. The bricks of Astapor are red with the blood of the slaves who make them."

The meaning of the rhyme is not hard to see; the slaves are the ones who built Astapor brick by brick, the very stones stained in their blood.

Knowing why Valyria took slaves – so they could work the fire mines – it is incredibly easy to make this rhyme about the Freehold:

Fire & Blood built Valyria, and fire and blood her people.

While Daenerys is far removed from the atrocities of both the Valyrians and the Ghiscari, she fails to understand how her own people helped to create the environment in which Slaver’s Bay could exist. In her mind, the six battles Valyria fought with Old Ghis is a legend of her people’s greatness, and that Valyria was somehow better than the people it conquered. One could almost argue the opposite was true, though, since they took the Ghiscari and sent them to work slave mines inside literal active volcanoes. Daenerys doesn’t know the history of her people, of her house (who brought their slaves with them to Dragonstone), so when she conquers cities in the name of House Targaryen, as the blood of Old Valyria, she doesn’t understand what she’s saying. But she is actively benefiting from an empire that served to make Essos an even worse place than they found it.

I Am Only A Young Girl, And Do Not Know the Ways of War

A Clash of Kings gave Daenerys a taste of what being a Queen was going to be, but A Storm of Swords throws her into it. Between the moments that Daenerys loves, such as setting the Plaza of Punishment afire or being named Mhysa, she has to deal with the actual day to day of leading a people. We get to see her in political situations, making diplomatic negotiations, and making policy for her people. This is the book that gives us the first real taste of what Daenerys could or would be like as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And I think we start to see why Daenerys shouldn’t be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She loves the feeling of being a leader to her people, but the actual role she has to play as Queen is so incredibly boring to her.

After conquering Astapor, Daenerys is faced with the question of how to take Yunkai. She doesn’t want to abandon all the slaves in the city, but she also does not want to risk the lives of her men and she knows they don’t have the supplies to last a siege. Smartly, Daenerys decides to meet with the commanders of the sellsword companies and also envoys from Yunkai; but her behavior during her meeting does more harm than good:

“I say, you are mad.”

“Am I?” Dany shrugged, and said, “Dracarys.”

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan’s tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat. Golden marks spilled across the carpets as the envoy stumbled over the chest, shouting curses and beating at his arm until Whitebeard flung a flagon of water over him to douse the flames. “You swore I should have safe conduct!” the Yunkish envoy wailed.

“Do all the Yunkai’i whine so over a singed tokar?”

We learn in A Dance with Dragons that this is used against her quite often, and not entirely unfairly. She swore the men would have safe conduct, and then turned her dragons against them. No real damage was done, but it leaves a lasting impression on the men who were there. And Daenerys has no real reason to threaten him in that manner; her dragons are too small to threaten the safety of a city, and she is trying to propose a nonviolent conquering of the city. She does it because her temper is raised, and Grazdan said she was mad. I don’t think it’s bad that Daenerys has such a heavy disdain for the men of Slaver’s Bay, considering how they treat her and even more so how they treat their slaves, but she tries to have it both ways; offering to meet with them and give them safe passage, and also insulting and attacking them. She tries to be the kind of Queen who can meet with her enemies, but she can never follow through.

When she arrives outside the gates of Meereen, Daenerys is given another opportunity to try her hand at politics, and this is her in her element. The champion that Meereen sends is Oznak zo Pahl, a highborn pit fighter, and Daenerys has to carefully decide who she is willing to send to face him; Greyworm, Jorah, and Daario are all eager to prove their bravery and impress her, but Daenerys knows none of them are the right choice:

“Strong Belwas was a slave, here in the fighting pits. If this highborn Oznak should fall to such the Great Masters will be shamed, while if he wins . . . well, it is a poor victory for one so noble, one that Meereen can take no pride in.” And unlike Ser Jorah, Daario, Brown Ben, and her three bloodriders, the eunuch did not lead troops, plan battles, or give her counsel. He does nothing but eat and boast and bellow at Arstan. Belwas was the man she could most easily spare. And it was time she learned what sort of protector Magister Illyrio had sent her.

Where the peace of politics does not sit right with her, Daenerys is incredibly smart and intuitive when it comes to war and conquest. Her choosing Strong Belwas as her champion was a well-made decision and the best she could have made. But it also highlights something about Daenerys personality, which being Queen exacerbates; there is almost a thoughtlessness to how Daenerys sends Belwas out to die for her. Daenerys has an incredible amount of loyalty to those who follow her, especially after they proclaim her Mhysa, but she also has less concern for people when they are not loyal to her. There is a thread that connects all the people Daenerys loves the most, from the people who follow her, to Ser Jorah, to Daario; they live for her. She is capable and often loves and shows sympathy for people who aren’t centered around her, but Daenerys is attached to the idea of being a savior. Daenerys invests in people when they invest in her. That in and of itself is not a bad thing; but she invests so much in certain people that she seems to almost forget the lives of others.

That becomes incredibly destructive when she becomes Queen of Meereen, because it’s symptomatic of how self-centric her worldview is, but the full weight of that isn’t explored until A Dance with Dragons. There is small hints of how Daenerys can treat people sometimes, though, such as this:

Irri had been sleeping at the foot of her bunk (it was too narrow for three, and tonight was Jhiqui’s turn to share the soft featherbed with her khaleesi)

Daenerys lets one of her handmaidens sleep on the floor every night. Not because she’s being cruel or malicious, but because she doesn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable that must be for them. Unintentionally, Daenerys takes advantage of her position of power by allowing people to do things like sleep on the floor or go out to die for her, and does not think twice about these decisions. Being in a position of power, especially being a Queen in a medieval setting, puts people in a position where they have control over other people’s lives and their deaths, so when Daenerys has to make these choices, she should approach them with a great weight. And sometimes, often even, she does; but there are noticeable slips, moments where she outweighs the lives she controls, that are slightly alarming. A Dance with Dragons gets into this aspect of Daenerys a lot more, but it’s been present in all her chapters and A Storm of Swords is no exception.

Mhysa

So much of Daenerys’ arc is about her family, legacy, and motherhood. She is constantly being pulled in two different direction in life, whether that be by outside forces or her own internal monologue, and who she chooses to mother is no different. Her two identities, Mother of Dragons and Mhysa, stand at odds with each other.

Mirri Maz Duur telling Daenerys that she can’t have children impacts her hugely, and she invests in her dragons as if they were her children:

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.”

So much of what drives Daenerys is the idea that she’s alone in the world, that no one else is like her. House Targaryen will end with me. The way she bonds with her dragons is her attempt at having children, giving herself a future that can outlive her. She becomes fiercely protective and maternal over them:

At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Dany had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable, that she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed.

And she watches them learn and grow with tremendous pride:

Viserion’s scales were the color of fresh cream, his horns, wing bones, and spinal crest a dark gold that flashed bright as metal in the sun. Rhaegal was made of the green of summer and the bronze of fall. They soared above the ships in wide circles, higher and higher, each trying to climb above the other.

The joy she gets as they learn the command “dracarys” or watches them fly for the first time, is like a parent. Her dragons are the only children she will ever have, and she is determined to love them more than anything in the world. And beyond just being a mother, they become her identity; back in A Game of Thrones she thought to herself “daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons”. She thinks that she wants them to be her legacy when she dies, but they already are; everything she does is because of them. Just the idea of giving Drogon away makes her feel sick:

It was a wretched thing she did. The Mother of Dragons has sold her strongest child. Even the thought made her ill.

By the time she has told Kraznys this lie, that’s all it is; she never intended to sell Drogon. Saying the words, hollow as they were, is enough to turn her stomach. Her dragons are everything to her, even her identity.

And then she arrives outside the gates of Yunkai:

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her.

Suddenly there are thousands of people, cheering, screaming, that she is their mother. These people that she liberated, that she saved, are now looking up to her like they’re her children. She has more than the dragons now; she has a people that are hers.

By the time we get to A Dance with Dragons, even though she tries not to, Daenerys just hates these people. She hates their city, she hates their culture, she hates all the things they’ve taken from her. But to understand how she ends up so miserable, you have to see just how much she loved them and was willing to give up for them:

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver’s armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

Already there’s hints of Daenerys’ frustration, but she refuses to leave them behind. Even though they’re quickly eating through her food supplies, eating off the land so quickly she can’t gain more, and almost none of them can actually fight for her, she lets them come with her. And when taking Meereen without a slaughter seems impossible, Daenerys’ men again advise her to abandon all the people she brought with her from Astapor and Yunkai, but she refuses:

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children.

She rides out among them, so they can see her and get strength from her:

If it helps give them courage, let them touch me, she thought. There are hard trials yet ahead. . .

The language of that is incredibly similar to the House of the Undying, when Daenerys is giving her life to the screaming crowd before it turns into the Undying Ones stealing it from her. I’ll get into it more later, but Daenerys is so in love with her people, her children, that she decides to stay in Meereen for them.

So she has these two identities, one belonging to her dragons and the other to her people. She doesn’t have to choose yet, but the stage has been set for Daenerys to make a choice; is she going to mother thousands of poor and enslaved people, or the three dragons that saved her life in the Dothraki Sea?

Do All Gods Feel So Lonely?

As the books go on, even though Daenerys begins to surround herself by more people and close companions, she only feels more alone. As I mentioned before, Daenerys is in many ways the product of tragedy; tragedies that have left her feeling alone and cut off from everyone else. And becoming a khaleesi and leading thousands of people takes her feelings of loneliness and turns them into something else, more like paranoia; and as people betray her and attempts are made against her life, those feelings only grow.

So much of her childhood was running from place to place, the only constant in her life being Viserys; and the older she gets, and the more distance she puts between that time in her life and where she is now, she loses that image of Viserys she had:

“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.”

She still tries desperately to cling to the good memories she has of him, though:

Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his throne.

The only other person that Daenerys sees as dependable in her life is Ser Jorah Mormont; but A Storm of Swords sees her emotionally cutting ties with him, too. In A Clash of Kings, the seeds for it were planted, as Daenerys felt slightly betrayed in the way he saw her; as a child or a woman, but never a Queen. Daenerys was willing to look past that, and give him time to see her for the Queen that she wants to be; but then he takes advantage of her, treating her as child he can take advantage of as a woman:

“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.

While it is obvious that Daenerys is made incredibly uncomfortable by Jorah’s advances, the way she explains it to herself is not entirely honest:

“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!”

She is quick to remind Jorah, and herself, that what he did was wrong because she is his Queen. But it becomes clear as the chapters go on that Daenerys is really feeling a different sort of betrayal:

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 . . .

Daenerys is still a young girl, 15 or 16, and Jorah is a grown man leering at her. And while she doesn’t entirely understand what she’s feeling, because she was raised in a society where that sort of thing is widely accepted and she was sold to the highest bidder at 13, it’s clear that Daenerys feels used and taken advantage of sexually by Jorah. She’s in a unique position within the story, because she is the only woman we see who is in a position of power above their abuser. And while the entire foundation of their society has taught Daenerys to accept behavior like that as a woman, being a Queen gives her an outlet for her rage. She can’t let herself be mad at Jorah as the little girl he’s being sexually aggressive with, but she can punish him as his Queen:

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 witth her aboard ship, and sometimes her bloodriders. He wants to kiss me again, I see it in his eyes.

While she hasn’t fully lost Jorah yet, the growing divide between them makes Daenerys feel very alone:

It was a long, dark, windy night that followed. Dany fed her dragons as she always did, but found she had no appetite herself. She cried awhile, alone in her cabin, then dried her tears long enough for yet another argument with Groleo.

But this betrayal of Daenerys by Jorah isn’t quite tangible; Daenerys hardly understands what she feels and why feels it, and almost thinks of herself as irrational in her anger toward him. Not until she finds out about his political betrayal, something she can point to and see exactly how he could have hurt her, does she banish him out of her life.

At the start of the book, Daenerys has already had two attempts against her life and is understandably paranoid:

Ser Jorah saved me from the poisoner, and Arstan Whitebeard from the manticore. Perhaps Strong Belwas will save me from the next.

Not only does this tell us that Daenerys fears another attempt on her life (which she’s right to worry over), but it also comes at the end of a long argument she has with herself over how likely Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas are to betray her. (It’s also a nice piece of foreshadowing, considering Belwas will eventually save her from a poisoner). Daenerys is starting to see enemies all around.

Yet, just as when the poisoner at the market and the Sorrowful Man with the manticore tried to kill her, Daenerys does not see the next attempt at her life coming:

Dany had stopped to speak to a pregnant woman who wanted the Mother of Dragons to name her baby when someone reached up and grabbed her left wrist. Turning, she glimpsed a tall ragged man with a shaved head and a sunburnt face. "Not so hard," she started to say, but before she could finish he'd yanked her bodily from the saddle. The ground came up and knocked the breath from her, as her silver whinnied and backed away. Stunned, Dany rolled to her side and pushed herself onto one elbow . . .

The man who tries to kill her, Mero, tells her this:

“There’s the treacherous sow,” he said. “I knew you’d come to get your feet kissed one day.”

He��s using the kindness Daenerys has, her willingness to ride out amongst her people to give them hope, and turning it against her. And in her mind, this is not the first time that has happened. When she tried to save Eroeh and instead she was raped and murdered, when she put trust in Mirri Maz Duur only to get Drogo and Rhaego killed, all of these times she tries to do something good it falls apart. In A Storm of Swords, Daenerys will still fight and try to save people, but this book helps to set up for when she eventually breaks.

And later the same day, Daenerys learns the full truth of both Arstan Whitebeard and Jorah:

“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.”

The weight of Jorah’s betrayal, made even worse by the small lies Ser Barristan has been telling, hits Daenerys like a pile of bricks. She was nothing but good to him – she was going to take him home! And he still sold her to the Usurper and his dogs; the person she trusted most in the world still betrayed her. I find it interesting that Daenerys does not let her anger and hurt fully overwhelm her until Jorah confesses that he told Robert Baratheon that she was pregnant with Khal Drogo’s baby; the rage she feels at him for putting Rhaego in harms way is in some way misplaced at anyone other than herself, since she is the one who put her baby in reckless danger chasing the ghost of Khal Drogo.

After Daenerys learns of Jorah’s betrayal, she can’t go back to the way she was before. Suddenly, whereas before she was rightfully paranoid but often trusting, she is just waiting for someone to betray her next. The prophecies of the House of the Undying weigh on her, and everywhere she turns she sees a traitor in waiting:

Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei. . . as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

And it starts to affect the way she treats people:

"I am going to take you home one day, Missandei," Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? "I swear it."

Is this an act of genuine kindness, a heartwarming promise Dany is making to see Missandei feel safe on Naath? Or is Daenerys just trying to avoid another betrayal? We don’t get to know a definitive answer to this because Daenerys doesn’t know herself.

Justice . . . That's What Kings Are For

This is the first book where Daenerys has some real agency to make choices as a Queen or Khaleesi, and we see the shape of her ruling philosophy start to take form. And she does have some great ideas about how Kings and Queens should rule, and what kind of justice they should make for their subjects. But there is also a darker side to how she wields her power; a harsh, rash, childish cruelty that looks less like justice and more like violence for the sake of violence.

Daenerys wants to be a benevolent Queen, and strives to be as fair as she can be:

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

As well as listening to the both the high and lowborn, Daenerys still believes in the idea of justice:

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.”

On the surface, this sounds like a strong moral philosophy for a Queen to have. The responsibility Kings, Queens, and Lords had, the social contract, was to protect the people below them; to use their unmatched power to protect the weak and keep the strong in check. Kings are for justice.

But Daenerys is already showing a double standard; she refused to call Robert Baratheon a king because he “did no justice”, but she still gives the title to Viserys – even though she thinks he was vicious and cruel. Viserys did no justice, and Daenerys knows that better than anyone. So why does he get to be a King? Because he’s a Targaryen. Daenerys really does try to be benevolent and fair, but it always runs up against the way she views herself and her family. Before Barristan reveals his true identity to her, he tries to tell the truth about her father as gently as he can, and Daenerys cannot hear it:

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was. . . often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”

“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”

“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany.

Even though she can see the discomfort plain on Arstan’s face, Daenerys chooses to place blame on the men who challenged her father.

Daenerys’ thoughts on Kings and Queens often seem equal parts reassuring and discomforting. For every good thought she has, an equally worrying one chases right after:

“Only lies offend me, never honest counsel.” Dany patted Arstan’s spotted hand to reassure him. “I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

Her being open to council and disagreement sets her apart from many of the tyrants we’ve seen elsewhere in the story. But the way she excuses her temper is concerning. Barristan offered well meaning council, and was met with a rather aggressive put down from Daenerys; even though she says that honest council could never offend her, she hardly gives Barristan reason to give it. And when Barristan desperately tries to talk her out of selling Drogon to Kraznys, she again rebukes him:

Whitebeard stared in shocked disbelief. His hand trembled where it grasped the staff. “No.” He went to one knee before her. “Your Grace, I beg you, win your throne with dragons, not slaves. You must not do this thing.”

“You must not presume to instruct me. Ser Jorah, remove Whitebeard from my presence.”

“Whitebeard,” she said, “I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with me. . . when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?”

Daenerys is not entirely wrong; it is not the best look as a Queen if your advisors are openly disagreeing with you. But Barristan only disagreed with her publicly because she had given him no choice to do it privately; Daenerys did not tell anyone of her plans in Astapor. From Barristan’s perspective, Daenerys is about to sell the single most valuable item in the entire world to buy an army of slaves, which he knows Westeros will not take kindly to. And not only does he believe this is a political misstep, he has made it clear to Dany that it is morally abhorrent. When he questions her, he does not do it from a place of superiority; he gets down on one knee and begs her to change her mind. Daenerys also shows him no sympathy, even though she knows he is right; she was never going to sell Drogon, never. I understand her putting on a show for Kraznys and the slavers so they don’t catch on to her game, but in private she has no reason to be so harsh to Barristan for voicing a belief she herself holds.

While Daenerys’ talk of justice sounds appealing for a monarch, the way she actually carries it out is less enchanting. When Kraznys is demonstrating how strong the Unsullied are, he shows her a grave example of their ferocity:

He stopped before a thickset man who had the look of Lhazar about him and brought his whip up sharply, laying a line of blood across one copper cheek. The eunuch blinked, and stood there, bleeding.

Daenerys has to stop him from hitting the man again, and is horrified by the inhuman response of the Unsullied, who are drugged and conditioned not to feel pain. So when she holds the whip instead of Kraznys, Daenerys doesn’t hesitate to hurt him the same way:

“There is a reason. A dragon is no slave.” And Dany swept the lash down as hard as she could across the slaver’s face. Kraznys screamed and staggered back, the blood running red down his cheeks into his perfumed beard.

There is something wholly righteous about this anger, a certain release in seeing someone hurt in the same way they hurt others. But the way in which it doesn’t matter to Daenerys is what gives me pause:

The harpy's fingers had torn his features half to pieces with one slash, but she did not pause to contemplate the ruin. "Drogon," she sang out loudly, sweetly, all her fear forgotten. "Dracarys."

The black dragon spread his wings and roared.

A lance of swirling dark flame took Kraznys full in the face. His eyes melted and ran down his cheeks, and the oil in his hair and beard burst so fiercely into fire that for an instant the slaver wore a burning crown twice as tall as his head. The sudden stench of charred meat overwhelmed even his perfume, and his wail seemed to drown all other sound.

This is written very similar to when Daenerys steps inside Drogo’s funeral pyre. In that chapter, Daenerys is too focused on the beauty of the dancing flames, the screams of Mirri Maz Duur and her people in the background less important to her. And here it is the same; there is one moment where Kraznys’ screaming drowns out everything else, his face burning with fire high into the air, but it is hardly enough to grab Daenerys’ attention.

When Daenerys is 163 miles from the gates of Meereen, she sees another horror as bad as the Plaza of Punishment:

Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai, nailed them up still living with their entrails hanging out and one arm always outstretched to point the way to Meereen. Leading her van, Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. "I will see them," she said. "I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember."

And, rightly, Daenerys cannot let this horror go unpunished:

Dany set great store by Ser Jorah's counsel, but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny arms pointing up the coast road.

But the way Daenerys punishes the Great Masters seems frighteningly unlike justice:

“I want your leaders," Dany told them. "Give them up, and the rest of you shall be spared."

"How many?" one old woman had asked, sobbing. "How many must you have to spare us?"

"One hundred and sixty-three," she answered.

She had them nailed to wooden posts around the plaza, each man pointing at the next. The anger was fierce and hot inside her when she gave the command; it made her feel like an avenging dragon. But later, when she passed the men dying on the posts, when she heard their moans and smelled their bowels and blood. . .

Dany put the glass aside, frowning. It was just. It was. I did it for the children.

Daenerys has no idea how many “leaders” Meereen has. It could be any number more or less than 163; there could be dozens of men complicit in the crucifixions of the children who are free in the city, or a dozen men who knew nothing of the children nailed upon a cross for someone else’s crimes. She also leaves it up to the Great Masters of Meereen to choose the 163 men she will crucify; there is a chance that they were honest in who committed the crime, but it seems much more likely that the Great Masters picked the least respected of them to give to Daenerys.

A part of Daenerys knows what she did was wrong, though:

Dany remembered the horror she had felt when she had seen the Plaza of Punishment in Astapor. I made a horror just as great, but surely they deserved it. Harsh justice is still justice.

But Daenerys was not after justice, she was after revenge. Her crucifying the Great Masters is very similar to when Ned refused to let Loras Tyrell go after The Mountain in the Riverlands:

Ned looked down on him. From on high, Loras Tyrell seemed almost as young as Robb. "No one doubts your valor, Ser Loras, but we are about justice here, and what you seek is vengeance." He looked back to Lord Beric. "Ride at first light. These things are best done quickly." He held up a hand. "The throne will hear no more petitions today."

Vengeance isn’t entirely wrong, but it is much more dangerous than justice. Daenerys did not consider her actions, did not make sure the right men paid for the crime; she picked an entirely arbitrary number, 163, and an equal number of arbitrary men and killed them. The Great Masters are infinitely more culpable in their deaths than innocent children ever could be, but Daenerys decided to play by their own rules in serving them “justice”. There is something harshly satisfying about that; but something equally disquieting, too.

And, going back to the connection she shares with her dragons, this passage stands out:

"They have been wild while you were gone, Khaleesi," Irri told her. "Viserion clawed splinters from the door, do you see? And Drogon made to escape when the slaver men came to see them. When I grabbed his tail to hold him back, he turned and bit me." She showed Dany the marks of his teeth on her hand.

Irri was watching the dragons while Daenerys had her fight with Jorah. So, when Daenerys is angry, her dragons are increasingly volatile; ending in someone innocent getting hurt.

It’s also incredibly interesting to me, what Daenerys is able to handle and what she isn’t. When her men first see the crucified children, Daario, Barristan, and Jorah try to have them taken down before Daenerys can see; but she demands the dead children stay on their crosses, so she can see every single one and remember. She didn’t want to shy away from the cruelty of Meereen and the Great Masters, and instead wanted to see it firsthand for when she would be in a position to get justice. Yet Daenerys doesn’t have the stomach for this:

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise. . . but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until. . .”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

When it was someone else’s horror, Daenerys understood why she needed to see the crucified children; she wanted to know, so she could make those men pay. But when it comes to her own father, Daenerys doesn’t want to know, and won’t let Barristan tell her. The vague idea of her father being mad, of knowing she needs to be careful with her own thoughts, is enough for her; the shocking cruelty, the details of the men Aerys murdered, is not important. Daenerys does not give Westeros the same curtesy she gives Meereen, because the monsters that tormented the Seven Kingdoms share a sigil with her.

The Face of A Conqueror

All of the different directions Daenerys is pulled in this book, and all her chapters really, comes back to a simple choice she has to make: to be the girl who lived in a house with a red door, or to be Daenerys Targaryen, of the blood of kings and conquerors. I think the problem a lot of people have when reading her chapters, is the assumption that it’s one choice to make, but in reality, it’s a series of choices. Like I said when I wrote about her A Game of Thrones chapters, the arc of a real person is not as clean as a traditional “narrative arc”; real people make good and bad choices, try to be better, backslide, rinse, repeat. I think Daenerys choosing to kill Mirri Maz Duur to birth her dragons sealed her fate in the way that her dragons were such a tangible thing, so real to her, that no matter what she would always go back to them. But that doesn’t mean that Daenerys doesn’t try exceptionally hard to be different. The end of her arc in A Storm of Swords is unique because it’s the only time (so far) where she has ended on the choice not to be Daenerys Stormborn.

In A Storm of Swords, Daenerys is trying desperately to be seen as a Queen and not a child:

“I am not a child,” she told him. “I am a queen.”

And even her line of being a young girl who doesn’t understand war, is about how Daenerys does not want to be seen that way; it’s an overly humble and self-deprecating line, something both her and her enemies know she doesn’t mean. It still works because the men of Slaver’s Bay are horribly sexist and will see her as stupid no matter what, but it is certainly not something Daenerys herself believes.

Yet, alone and to herself, Daenerys doesn’t know how to see herself:

Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would.

The same person who sees herself as a lonely god can also look in a mirror and see a little girl. But it’s very important to her that no one else see her that way, not even her closest companions:

I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears.

Yet, even though she is trying her best to put on the face of a conqueror, the young girl in her is still searching:

“I was looking for a house with a red door, but by night all the doors are black.”

Part of why Daenerys can keep pushing forward, city after city, is the belief that somewhere out there is a house waiting for her; a red door promising everything she can’t seem to find anymore. She looks out on the whole city of Meereen, trying to find proof that she could belong there. When Missandei asks her about the house, Daenerys’ answer is revealing:

“A red door?” Missandei was puzzled. “What house is this?”

“No house. It does not matter.”

No house. Of course, when Daenerys answers that way, she is just hand waving so she doesn’t have to explain to Missandei a personal memory; but on a doylist level, it’s confirming something we’ve suspected for a long time: Dany is never going to find her house with a red door. The vivid memory she has of that time in her life when she was safe and happy and everything was perfect is what pulls her back from the edge more than anything else, and the longer she stays in Meereen and realizes there is no home for her there, the more she’s going to regret the choice she makes at the end of this book.

Another reason for why Daenerys turns back from completely embracing Fire & Blood so many times, is that being a conqueror makes her feel terrible. Most times, Daenerys is able to keep looking forward, onto the next city full of slaves she’ll set free, the next city to conquer, onward toward the Seven Kingdoms. But sometimes the memory of all the awful things she’s seen is too strong:

She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her. It will be the same in Meereen once I march, she thought.

And she actively wants to be different than those that came before her:

“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.”

Up to this point, Daenerys was trying to balance both sides of herself; she wanted to sack cities and conquer peoples, but also save the girls from the horrors of war. She wanted to get her Seven Kingdoms and save Eroeh, too. But in her last chapter, she realizes that’s impossible:

All my victories turn to dross in my hands, she thought. Whatever I do, all I make is death and horror. When word of what had befallen Astapor reached the streets, as it surely would, tens of thousands of newly freed Meereenese slaves would doubtless decide to follow her when she went west, for fear of what awaited them if they stayed. . .

No matter her good intentions, thousands of girls will end up just like Eroeh. She thought she had done something good in Astapor, freeing eight thousand men and leaving the city in the hands of smart men on the path to a more just city; but instead she turned a nightmare into a living hell. Daenerys realizes that her path has to be that way; if she’s going to keep looking forward, forever toward Westeros, then she can’t avoid the horrific bloodshed.

And she decides she can’t keep going:

“I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

Daenerys realizes the human cost of what she’s doing, how even her good ideas only cost more lives and cause more suffering, and decides she has to change. Back in the Lhazareen village, after Daenerys turns back to save Eroeh and Mirri and all the rest, and after it falls apart so spectacularly, she makes a promise to herself: never look back. If I look back I am lost. The words serve as a reminder; that trying to help somebody had only hurt them worse, and cost her everything in the process. She needed to be like her khalasar, only looking forward on a beautiful horizon, and never back on the torn earth and trampled cities. But when she decides to stay in Meereen, for the first time since Eroeh, she breaks that promise to herself.

Daenerys’ arc this book is the best she will ever be. The character that some people fell in love with, to the point of ignoring so much else, is really on display here. Daenerys struggles, really struggles, and almost as often as not still makes the wrong choice, and gets people hurt over it too. But her heart is truly in the right place; she’s trying to fix problems she doesn’t understand, and makes a mess of it, but, in this book, she really wants to help. All of the red flags I mentioned are still there, and the seeds are planted for Daenerys to turn her back on her people, but before she does any of that, she makes the right choice.

A Storm of Swords is the story of how Daenerys looks back.

[iamalivenow]

[can’t tag but its horny]

They're short on horses, is the thing.

Beau has no real problem sharing with people, Caleb and Fjord always a calm trip, and the one time she road with Caduceus she almost fell asleep against him. Even when it's just Nott and her, she can rest her head on Nott's which sends her into a shrieking fit which always fun. She never got to ride with Molly or Yasha, but she feels like she wouldn't mind either.

Jester though.

Jester is kind of a problem.

Not- Not actually Jester- But Beau, sitting pressed up against Jester's back for long periods of time kind of drove her a little crazy.

Where was she supposed to put her hands- was she supposed to hold the leads or did Jester have it handled- was she too hot, too sweaty, was she breathing directly into Jester's ear, should she be quiet, should she make conversation- It was fine at first, when it was just a harmless crush based off of just how cute she was, but now that Beau's in deep-

It's hell.

It's literal hell.

Today's a hot day, and they're both pulling up the rear of their little caravan. Jester is wearing a cotton green dress, and it's soft against Beau's midsection, and against her arms, but the skirt is still full and she has no idea how Jester can tolerate the extra layers. Maybe it's the Water Genasi in her.

She rests her head against Beau's shoulder and sighs dramatically and Beau has to do everything she can to keep from sighing. She's so- so-

“Are you bored, Beau?”

“Huh- uh-” Beau blinks, “Why would you say that?”

“You're just kind of, I don't know-” Jester turns her head, one of her horns almost grazing Beau's cheek. “Just staring into the middle distance kind off.”

“Where else am I supposed to look? Or do?”

“I don't know.” Jester smiles. “We could- you know-” She waggles her eyebrows and Beau feels like she might just drop dead right there. She... could do that, is the thing. Slip her hand under Jessie's skirts and get her off with out any of the others even noticing. Fuck that's so- so stupidly hot. Her brain is going to melt right out of her ears at this rate.

“Do you want to?” Her voice comes out so quiet she barely hears herself, but Jester is right there and beau can watch her turn a darker shade of blue. They're both still, both silent, and Beau just waits for Jester to throw her hands up, demand to get off of the horse and tell Beau to fuck off but. But. Jester bites her lip, like she's really considering it.  

And then Jester nods.

God- God okay- okay. Okay.

“Can you hold the reigns.” Jester nods, and when their hands skim each other they both shiver just a little.

Beau runs her hand down Jester's side, and Jester squirms.

“Careful.” She whispers, voice deeper than usual. She should clear her throat but that would give the entire game away. “You have to be still, okay. Unsuspicious.”

“Unsuspicious.” She giggle whispers back as Beau's hand frags along the fabric until she can touch Jester's knee, skimming over the edges of the petticoats and sliding her hand up her thigh. “That tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“I like it.” Jester whispers again and Beau can't help herself. She kisses Jester's neck. Her skin is soft, a little salty from the heat. “I like that too.”

“Yeah?” Beau kisses behind her ear, careful of her horns. “You gotta look ahead, Jes. Or you'll run us into a ditch.”

“Look ahead- yeah. Yeah. I got it, I'm great at horse- at horses.” She skips over the words when Beau's fingers brush against the edge of her small clothes, at the juncture of thigh. It looks a little awkward, but Jester's skirts are always so full she's sure no one would notice.

Beau doesn't say anything, just listens, feels, the way Jester's breath hitches when she pushes the fabric out of the way.

“Wish I could see you.” She runs her fingers over her lips, finding her clit and rubbing against it in circles.

“You can see me right now-” It's breather than usual, and Beau takes pride in that.

“See how wet you're getting.” She wishes for a lot of things. Wishes she could slowly peal Jester out of all of her layers, wishes she could kiss every inch of her body, wishes she could eat her out- drag her tongue over her pussy until Jester digs her fingers into Beau's hair and begs her to keep going, going, going-

But for now, she's perfectly fine to feel her, warm and solid against her chest.

“Beau-” It's slow exhale, and Beau shes her gently, nipping at her ear for just a second.

“Un-” She traces the letters along her folds and Jester squirms even harder, “Sus-” Another muffled 'Beau' this time against Jester's hand, “Pi-” Her legs go straight, and her other hand, the one holding the lead grabs onto Beau's through her dress- or tries to at least. “Cious.”

“You're so mean-”

“But you like it?”

“Yeah-Mm-Mmhm-” Beau's free hand wraps around Jester's waist, and Jester takes an opportunity to grab it. And now they're holding the lead together.

“Lean back a little-” And Jester does, so quickly she almost drags the edge of her horn along Beau's forehead. Almost. Beau presses one finger into her and her pussy clenches almost immediately. “You're so sensitive.”

“Sorry-” She whispers, face very dark blue-

“I love it. I love that about you.” I love you- but that might be a little intense. “Don't apologize.” As if the situation isn't already intense enough. “Can you take more?”

Jester nods, and Beau adds a finger, gives Jester the grace period of adjustment before she starts pumping them in and out of her. She can feel how wet they both are, and she doesn't even mind the blue balls she's about to give herself.

She can't really add more fingers with out completely annihilating her wrist because of the position but she's done more with less. Jester's hand squeezes on Beau's and Jester bites her lip so hard Beau's sure it's about to start bleeding, so maybe she doesn't need to add anything else.

She spreads her fingers and Jester whines, and God Beau could drown in that sound.

“You're doing so good, Jester.”

“Mm-”

“So good.” She repeats and spreads her fingers again.

“I'm going to-” It cuts off with a high pitched whine and Beau can feel Jester roll her hips forward, so she pumps her fingers in and out again, as hard as she can in the position. With out warning, Jester's free hand tries to grab at Beau through her skirts again, and Beau can feel her clenching, shuddering, chest raising and falling-

Beau kisses the back of her neck again and Jester whines. The fingers in her skim out, so wet, and play with her clit for as long as she can stand it before she starts whining too loudly, and then Beau drags her hand out from under her skirts.

“Good?”

“You're so mean.” She whispers, and gasps when Beau stick her wet fingers into her mouth.

She even tastes good.

“But, good?” She asks again after and Jester nods.

“When we camp let me- You'll let me yeah? Return the favor?”

Oh shit-

“Yeah-” And now it's Beau's turn to blush all the way up to her ears. “That would be nice.”

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

All Fair’s Fun

So someone asked me a while ago to write reader taking Arthur to the carnival, but I changed it to a county fair cause those are bigger and funner :)

I tried this is so lame I *flitters away*

“Arthur!” You called out in a sing-song voice as you walked in the house. You spotted him lounging on the sofa, fixated on the TV. Your voice roused him as he sat up, a smile on his face.

“Afternoon, darlin’,” he greeted as he stood up to close the space between you two. He gave you a peck on the lips. “You’re soundin’ chipper.”

Returning the kiss, you smiled at him. “That’s cause the county fair is in town!”

“County fair?” He repeated. “Those still exist?”

“Yes Arthur,” you answered with a giggle. “It’s one of my favorite events of the year, so we’re gonna go tonight!”

He couldn’t help but to chuckle at your enthusiasm. “Alright then, can’t wait for you to show me your favorite event.”

It wasn’t long before you were out of your work clothes and into something more casual, donning a simple tank top covered by a flannel and jean shorts. While the sun was low in the sky, the heat of the day still remained. The two of you hopped into your car and drove off, your excitement bubbling as the horizon gave way to the brightly flashing rides and colorful tent tops.

Glancing towards Arthur to see his reaction, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the rides. When you’d pulled into a parking spot and got out, he finally spoke. “Never seen anythin’ like that before. What are they?”

You smiled, reaching to loop your arm through his. “They’re rides, Arthur. They’re supposed to be fun.”

“Fun?” He repeated, his gaze set towards the Ferris wheel. “Bein’ up that high?”

“You’ll see.” Was all you said as you led him toward the gates. After waiting a decent amount of time, paying the entry fee and acquiring wristbands, you entered inside the fair. As it was dusk, the place was expectedly packed. Your ears rang with the sounds of carnie games, the unmistakable dings of the bells, indicating winners. Children ran around, their mouths sticky with cotton candy and other sweets.

Arthur dodged a couple of boys running wildly, wielding plastic swords. “Whoa-they let them kids play like that?”

You giggled at his reaction. “They’re fake, Arthur. They’re about as sharp as a paper ball. Though they still hurt if you get whacked with ‘em.”

He blinked in disbelief, and then shook his head with a slight chuckle. His gaze traveled across the fair as you walked slowly through the crowd with him. You’d been so lost in your own thoughts that you almost didn’t feel the tug on your arm. You stumbled to keep yourself balanced, only to realize that Arthur’s solid body was pulling you elsewhere. “Arthur-” you began, about to ask where he was taking you when the sight before you answered.

The one booth with guns. Of course.

He stepped up to the counter, immediately grabbing for one of the rifles that were placed upon it. They were definitely old and worn, although the look on his face told you he didn’t care.

Although the worker behind the counter peered at him with a surprised curiosity. You knew Arthur only sometimes had a competitive spirit. You understood why he was attracted to this booth. You stepped forward and paid for a round, allowing the worker to explain the rules and attempted to go over how to use the gun, but Arthur waved him off as he expertly wielded it, tucking the stock to his shoulder as he aimed down the sights.

You hadn’t watched him use any sort of firearm since…well, he was still in his game. Since his actual weapons were collecting dust in your closet, he hadn’t used one in months. While you’d gotten used to the sight of him firing his carbine repeaters and cattleman revolvers off the back of a galloping horse, seeing this held a different feeling altogether.

He had a look of focus etched across his face, his blue eyes trained to the targets. They weren’t anything but moving duck targets. You watched as he squeezed the trigger, promptly nailing the first with ease.

The rest went down easily him firing with absolutely no hesitation. Every target had fallen within fifteen seconds.

“Whoa.” You murmured, your eyes going wide.

Arthur placed the gun down, a small smile on his lips. He turned to you, the smug look prominent on his face. “What?” he asked, noting your look.

“That was…so cool!” you exclaimed.

He gave a slight shrug. “S’only natural for me.” He turned when the worker cleared his throat, wordlessly pointing to the many prizes hanging within the booth. Looking back at you, he said, “Your pick, darlin’.”

---

A little while later, you sat yourself at a picnic table, munching on greasy fair food. The giant Rottweiler plushie that you’d picked from the booth leaned on the table next to you. Arthur walked up with two glasses full of beers, sitting across from you.

“Might as well call this piss,” Arthur said before taking a swig, his nose crinkling from the taste. “And folks are lined up for this stuff.”

You giggled. “That’s why it’s cheap. Easy way to make money and easy way to get drunk.” You took a drink of your own, managing to get past the awful taste.

Arthur mumbled about having something better, yet he drank some more anyway.

Some more time had passed and you both had finished and you wanted to check out some rides. Arthur gazed around at them, the uncertainty pain on his face as he viewed the large and fast ones. You looked around as well, figuring you would start him off easy and work your way up.

You coaxed him onto the swing ride, pointing out there was nowhere to go but in a circle. He wasn’t too keen on how small the seats were, yet after allowing him to watch the ride go a few moments, he reluctantly agreed to get on.

Watching him sit awkwardly into the seat was entertaining, to say the least. Once everyone has been strapped in, the ride ascended and slowly began to spin. The warm summer air gently blew through your hair as you gazed at the lights below for a moment before looking toward Arthur again.

His grip on the chains were tight, his eyes directly on you. He was nervous, although tried to hide it behind a stoic expression. You didn’t say anything, only gestured below. He was hesitant, but eventually peered downward. You could see his eyes widen, but a slow smile crossed his face.

“Hey, this ain’t half bad!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

“Told ya!” you responded over the gust of air.

He’d visibly relaxed throughout the remainder of the ride, which allowed it to be easier to convince him to go on more rides. From the bumper cars to the tilt-a-whirl, the pirate ship to the music express. He even gave the mechanical bull a go, which he managed to hold on for longer than average before finally falling off. He explained he’d been used to that sort of sensation from trying to break wild horses.

It was great to see him smile and laugh, as well as downing more alcohol in between activities. Decidedly taking a short break from the rides, you wandered back to some game booths.

You challenged Arthur to a few, in which you failed miserably, it wasn’t a surprise. He made it up by using his victories to earn you more prizes, thankfully small ones as you still lugged around the giant Rottie. You managed to win one, though. The water gun race which he somehow struggled to keep his hands steady for. You made it up to him by giving him a plushie of a white horse, a little reminder of his white Arabian.

You’d wandered over by a stage, where a band was performing covers of country music. Calm and relaxing to set the general mood of the night. You stopped for a while to listen, Arthur humming along to the music.

After regaining your energy, Arthur found a small stables tucked in the corner of the fairgrounds, with many horses and other farm animals on display. Arthur didn’t hesitate to spend some time with the horses, as it was the first time since his arrival since he’d seen one.

As the night wore on, Arthur had taken some of your prizes to hold for you, and you had to admit, it was adorable watching him carry around the biggest one.

“Y/N, do I got somethin’ on my face?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked. “Wha-?”

“You’re starin’ at me.” he pointed out.

You turned away, your face flushing slightly. You didn’t mean for him to catch you, and it was too awkward to explain the reason to him. Your eyes traveled across the fair, the ferris wheel practically a beacon in your view. “Hey, wanna go on that?”

Thankfully, Arthur didn’t press the matter. He looked to where you gestured, and nodded thoughtfully. “Okay then.”

After fifteen minutes of waiting on line, you’d managed to get a car for the two of you. The ferris wheel slowly made its way around, allowing a clear view of the entire fair. Arthur leaned over to observe, the lights shining in his blue eyes. His lips turned in a small smile, he said, “This is nice.”

You nodded. “Every year, I always wrap up my night here with the ferris wheel.”

“I can see why, it’s a great view,” He turned to look at you. “Beautiful.”

“Very.” you agreed.

He chuckled slightly. “I mean you, darlin’.”

That caught you off guard. Your face burned for the second time that night. Sure, you were used to hearing his compliments, although they still made your heart flutter every time. Shyly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you said, “Arthur, you’re making me blush.”

His smile, oh that smile of his. He reached over, his calloused hands gentle on your cheeks. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss on your lips. He held it, his mouth soft against yours. You weren’t sure if the ride stopped or if it were still moving. Either way, you felt weightless.

He finally pulled back mere inches to whisper, “Thanks for takin’ me.”

[vitalpen]

An alternative to the Change of Heart in Persona 5

So a while back I made a post about a criticism I had for Persona 5, a game that I absolutely love but do not believe is above criticism.

Now I’m playing Royal and falling back in love with everything (especially the sheer amount of work they put into setting up Makoto’s character, it’s so fucking great).  But I want to talk about the change of heart for a second.  Because I think as a core mechanic for the narrative, it has some issues.  And as the entitled, presumptuous human that I am, I think I can create a better alternative.

Spoilers under the cut

At the start, stealing of hearts sounds great, it’s a nice motif to go off of the public opinion angle and the idea of hearts as the location of the dungeons.  But as the story goes on, there are points where it gets to feeling kinda like a magic wand. It’s like "oh they confessed everything, it's all okay now" in some situations where it certainly is not okay (lookin at you, disturbing sidequest in Futaba's social link that I really hope they fixed or got rid of).

Along side that, it also brings up an issue in the boss encounters, most evident with the first one.

SPOILERS: Kamoshida is the best villain in the game.  No one else hits the tier of scum that he does.  He is the only one that you genuinely want to die by the end.  I just beat him again in P5R, and they found new ways to make it even worse.  I think a lot of this is owed to the fact that there isn’t any new revelations about his depravity which could risk feeling tacked on.  You pretty much get it all right from the get go.  Alongside this, you’re dealing with him directly the entire time he’s a problem, he’s at your school and has a direct hatred towards you specifically.  You are also at your most powerless and vulnerable at this point.  All of this adds up to a villain that I, as a teacher, would personally volunteer to throw the switch on the electric chair for.

So I cannot quite describe my frustration when I see him have a tearful moment of regaining his conscience and peacefully fading away. The emotional blueballs when he confesses, crying and remorseful is unholy. Now I know that I speak from personal opinion, but I don’t think the tearful confessions work as the emotional payoff.  Why?  Well there’s two reasons mainly.

When I saw Kamoshida on the stage, confessing to the whole school, I couldn’t help but feel that the wrong character was doing it. The mind control (don’t @ me) that’s at play doesn’t just take agency away from the character, it changes him into a different character entirely.  I didn’t want to see weepy, self-pitying Kamoshida deal with consequences, I wanted high-horse, hypocritical, smug Kamoshida.

You may notice that nobody else actually spoke up when Ann bitched him out.  Despite the number of abuse victims that were in that room, no one else talks.  

The Change of Heart takes away the original root problem but does nothing to address the ripples that the problem made.  Outside of Ann, Ryuji, and Shiho, the Kamoshida thing is basically treated like it never existed, no other students are ever checked up on.  They all just get better instantly.  Mishima’s and bandage instantly fucking vanish and he didn’t have the worst of it.  Some of those volleyball members were wearing casts, that doesn’t heal in a single day.

I talked about P5 having an issue with following up on things in that other post, and this absolutely falls into that category.  They have the Councilor now, which is an awesome thing to include, but much like how Ryuji treats the school’s intentions on the whole thing, it feels like Atlus putting a band-aid on a bullet wound because they had to.

All of this speaks to a lack of agency, both in the villain and in the victims (outside of your party at least).  So how would I fix it?  Instead of a Change of Heart, I would have preferred a Removal of Authority.  When you take the treasure, you drastically reduce that person’s influence over others.  

Let’s go back to Kamoshida.  Taking away his influence would give everyone a moment of clarity to what they’re doing, realizing exactly how royally (ha) fucked up the situation is.  Then students start to speak up in droves. The entire former track team, the volleyball team, even former students that had since graduated.  It gets so big that Kamoshida can’t contain it.  He tries to rage against it as much as he can, but finally, he can’t anymore.  At that point, the moment of clarity is forced upon him, his delusions disappear, and THEN he can have that Change of Heart and break down crying.

I think this does a couple good things.

1) It puts agency into the hands of the victims.  It empowers everyone else who was hurt, not just the main characters

2) It allows for a more believable outcome to a lot of stuff in that game without just saying “they’re all better now” (once again looking at you disturbing sidequest in Futaba’s social link).

3)It turns the game’s message from just a simple “rebel, fight the man” to “you have the power to change the world, together” which is something I think we all need to see right now

4) It provides an awesome alternate reality where elected officials are held accountable for their actions.

Alternatively

Just show us the person as they’re having the change of heart.  Don’t give us a before and after, let us actually see them being forced to realize what they’ve been doing.

[shellheadtm-a]

anon | What about Tony/Nat? I love the relationship you’ve built with her!

the great thing about tony and nat is that...overall, there’s not a lot you have to actually build because the canon’s done it for you.  so here’s my spiel:  i encourage anyone, i implore everyone, if you have not dipped your toes in the world of comics, please do so.  please.  you’re gonna love parts, you’re gonna hate parts.  parts are gonna break your heart.  but everything - and i mean everything - the wishful thinking 2012 mcu avengers fandom wanted has literally already happened there.  literally all of it.  okay, spiel over, but i make it because tony and nat have this...entire relationship that contains a little of everything in a way that just...you won’t get otherwise. 

like, let’s be honest here, nat and tony started out with her trying to kill him.  more than once.  he was a target, not a friend.  but look at them now, right, they’ve come such a long, long way.  part of it is nat’s change of heart, her new life, the whole thing.  part of it is tony’s indomitable spirit that got her attention, because it’s true.  tony stark really is invincible.  but he also has this amazing, unique ability to look at someone, see the worst they’ve done, compare it to who they are now, and still hand over his faith and trust to them implicitly.  he can see someone - and in nat’s case it’s very true - doing something that confirms the worst in them, and resolutely stand there and say no, they had a reason to do it, a good reason.  it’s bitten him in the ass a few times.  it really never has with nat.

the early days are all wrapped up in post-mccarthyism cold war propaganda, to a degree, so you gotta take that stuff with a grain of salt, but...let’s be real here people.  tony stark is pure of heart, dumb of ass, and will always believe the best in people.  he’ll call himself a pessimist and then throw the weight of his belief behind the dark horse in the race, the underdog.  the one you’d never bet on in your right mind.  nat’s one of those.  and listen...listen...tony...loves nat...so much.  he really does.  i wonder a lot about him coming out of his coma to be told, sure, about all the bad shit that went down, but about nat.  how she died.  (luckily we pretend secret empire was a fever dream on this blog so he doesn’t have to deal with that, too).  like there’s just...something i really can’t explain very well between them that directly comes from being on opposing sides and ending up on the same one, but without the begrudging antagonism that trope usually has.  nat’s soft with tony.  tony’s soft with nat.

to put it in perspective, look.  nat’s disabled tony’s security and climbed on his bed to sit with him until he wakes up, and this isn’t necessarily really treated as being all that unusual.  or shocking.  it’s like a joke between them, like nat regularly just climbs into tony’s room and plops down on his bed and he’s used to waking up like this.  that kind of trust.  and even when she whammies him, still.  that kind of trust, because no...no...nat’s not bad, nat has a reason, nat is doing what she has to do i believe in her.

(he’s never forgiving the lipstick whammy, though, nat, forget it, he’s holding it against you for literally ever, he’s still whining about it canon, deal with it.)

tony’s always so quick to point out hey you don’t have to go this alone, you know, we’re here, we love you, we’re you’re friends, despite...doing the same shit himself but no one ever said tony’s not a hypocrite.  he worries about her, because he knows what kind of shit she gets up to.  it’s as bad as the shit he gets up to when he’s going alone and the world is against him and while they are very, very different people with very different ways of dealing with things?  he’s got some perspective other people might not.  he doesn’t remember it, but he played spy master once.  and nat’s choice in that fight was no doubt pragmaticism than picking between two friends, she does remember that.  she also probably remembers how tony damn near drove himself into the ground with it, because i am 1000% sure she was the majority contact between tony and bucky at the time, considering bucky had declared he was doing shit his own way, which meant, on the surface, tony couldn’t be see publically supporting him.  that was a lot of fun and games, let me tell you (and by fun and games i mean everything was horrible).

and hey, it’s not like nat and tony haven’t canonically been at least friends with benefits.  whether it went deeper than two friends who love each other a lot having a bonus physical intimacy and not a full blown relationship is up to your interpretation, but that happened.  tony was comfortable with that, they had a thing.  and obviously it’s fine because it really hasn’t effected anything between them, you know?  like even today, this minute, this very moment, tony can see natasha in a situation that, to him, points the job, and he won’t do anything, won’t draw any attention to it, except ask her where she needs him, what she needs from him, what he needs to do.  no questions.  no prying.  just unfailing support, that...metaphorically taking her hand and giving a squeeze because he’s there for her, he’s got her back, no matter what.

and since i just reread name of the rose the other day, this is a good example of just...where tony stands with nat.  this guy really thought he was gonna turn them against nat.  really thought he was gonna shame bucky, clint, and tony about all having known nat intimately in some fashion.  and these three assholes...they close ranks around her.  put up a shield around her.  are very much an active part - along with logan, who taught her - in doing what they can to help her, this badass lady who goes through surgery with no anesthesia, while they’re really helpless to help there.  someone they’ve all loved in their own ways.  like, fucker, please, you could never turn tony stark against nat.  ever.  who the fuck do you think you are.

(this is also another old guard of the avengers thing when i say that - there’s a closeness from being so close to the start that just...has bound a very exceptional, very unique group of people together for what’s going to be the rest of their lives.  it’s special.  it’s sacred, kind of, in a way.)

endless wartime was...mostly a shit comic, but it had some nice touches on the tony/nat relationship, too (also nat and clint but i digress).  her joking that tony talking to bruce meant they were all going to die.  and then getting on his ass when his suit gets taken out (after being shot) when he says he can’t stand because he’s an avenger, isn’t he?  to be the one to walk him off the quinjet because he’d been hit, he’d been hurt.  like...nat and tony have been, in some way or another, nearly everything to each other.

tony and nat are...they’re just different, sure, but they’re people that have pasts rooted in war and the machinery of war and have found themselves out the other side.  it’s a unique co-fraternity to belong to.  and i can promise you tony loves nat with his whole ass heart, would do literally anything she asked, no questions asked, no blinking, because he trusts her implicitly.  their intimacy isn’t really like...i think other kinds of relationships might have, it’s having a shared part of the past and becoming better people, better heroes, and finding each other and others that give them things they had been missing, or missing for a long time, like a real family again.

INSERT TONY SHIP GET THOUGHTS | ACCEPTING

[jaydcstories]

Read this and other stories on my blog: JOHN DEE COOPER'S ALL-MALE SLAVERY STORIES

PAULO by John Dee Cooper © 2020

Chapter 2

The truck had stopped. I could hear the ugly man and his mate chatting in the driver's cabin. I was still lying on my stomach under the canvas, shackled and gagged but I'd no idea how far we'd travelled. My head was smarting from whatever they'd used to knock me out and I was feeling sick from the lack of air and food.

What was happening to me? Was I a hostage? Who would want to pay to have me back? Were they going to be turn me over to the policía in exchange for a reward? I couldn't see how I'd have a price on my head. Maybe they were just thugs and they were going to rob me and leave me for dead. But why would they do that? I hadn't got any money or valuables. I was just a poor penniless teenager. Now that I was fully conscious, I tried to squeeze my wrists out of the iron shackles, but they were way too tight. There was a chain attached to them and I tried giving that a jerk but it was fixed to the floor of the truck and I couldn't get it loose. I even tried shaking myself free of the canvas sheet but that seemed to be tied down. It was hopeless.

The engine started up again and we drove very slowly for several metres over a bumpy road. I heard other voices and the clang of an iron gate. We drove a little further and stopped. The engine was turned off and I heard the driver and his companion get out. There were more voices and then the canvas sheet was suddenly whipped off me.

"Something we picked up on the road," said the ugly man as he loosened the chain and unshackled my feet. "It'll make up for yesterday's short fall."

He pulled me off the back of the truck. My hands were still shackled and my mouth gagged with tape. My legs were shaking and it took me a few moments to steady myself. I tried to take in my surroundings but there wasn't much to see, only the truck in front of me and the iron gate behind. It was getting dark, probably early evening, so we must have been on the road for quite a few hours.  

"What is it?" asked a small man with a clipboard.

"Young fit male," said the ugly man. "We can take him elsewhere if you don't want him. But we were short on our order yesterday so you'll probably want to hang on to him. Usual payment."

I couldn't make any sense of this. Were they talking about me?

"Put him over with the others," said the man with the clipboard. "We'll go inside and sort something out."

He and the ugly man disappeared while the ugly man's companion grabbed my shoulders and steered me round the side of the truck.

I'm not sure if I was horrified, or just plain dumbfounded by what met my eyes.

We were in a small dimly lit courtyard, and some twenty youngsters were huddled together against the far wall, all shackled and gagged like me. Most of them were boys but there were three young girls standing in a group apart. The boys seemed to be all ages, mostly teenagers but with a couple of  seven or eight-year-olds cowering in the shadows. They were  all very subdued and weary, and looked as if they'd been standing there all day. Some of them were glowering angrily and one or two looked as if they'd been beaten up.

I was made to stand next to one of the older teenagers.

After several minutes the ugly man came out of the building to the left of us, boarded the truck with his companion and drove off — abandoning us to our fate. I suppose in a way it was reassuring to know I wasn't alone in my misfortune, but there was something sinister about this gaggle of frightened kids. Who were they? They couldn't all be runaways like me. Some were so ragged and dirty they could have been dragged off the streets, but others were dressed quite smart as if  they'd come from well-to-do families. The boy next to me was wearing a football strip and looked as if he'd been dragged off the pitch in the middle of a game. Apart from the two armed guards in black combat uniforms taking it in turns to wander up and down threatening us with their guns, nothing happened for several hours. The silence was unbearable. Occasionally one of the boys would get beaten up for shuffling his feet, or attempting to sit down, but for most of the time we just stood gazing out into the courtyard, trying not to draw attention to ourselves — and trying not to pass out.

That became a real challenge for me because I was already quite faint with hunger and the iron shackles were weighing my arms down. The gag made it difficult to breath and I kept losing my balance. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't let us sit down. It was as if we were being kept ready to march off somewhere at any moment.

After a while I began to think the whole thing was absurd. It was just some stupid mixup. I had no business being there at all. I had to tell them that running away had been a mistake and that I was expected back at the orphanage. I had to work out who was in charge and try to get his attention.

But then the gates opened and a very smart black car with dark windows glided in. It pulled up directly in front of us and I was expecting someone important to step out. Instead the driver lowered his window and spoke to the little man with the clipboard. The back door swung open and the three girls were pushed inside.

It all happened so quickly, without hardly a word being spoken, that the rest of us just looked on in amazement. There wasn't even enough time for the girls to put up a struggle — although they were clearly terrified. The door slammed shut, the car turned round and we watched it coast out through the gates. Before we could fully absorb what had just happened we were back to staring at the ground. It was as if the girls had never existed.  

Another couple of hours drifted by and I began to wonder if what had happened to the girls wasn't a good omen after all. Maybe they were going to be sent home. Maybe someone had been in touch and the girls were being released. Which meant there was hope for me, if I could think of a way of communicating with the right person — get a message through to Senor Martinez at the orphanage, maybe. But somehow, the way they'd handled the girls didn't inspire much confidence. They'd been pretty rough with them. Maybe this was some kind of terrorist organisation and we were all being used as bargaining chips.

But just as I was trying to make sense of this latest theory, another vehicle drove into the yard. This time it was a truck, like a small horse box. Two men in black shirts, riding breeches and calf-length boots stepped down from the driver's cabin. One of them unlocked the rear doors, while the other spoke to the little man with the clipboard. It was in a language I didn't recognise, but I guessed it was German and these men were something to do with the Reich Marshalls. Suddenly there was a frenzy of activity. Two more guards came running out of the building and together with the original two, started waving their pistols at us. The little man shouted something about getting us into a straight line. We were poked and jostled and screamed at — which is very scary when you are completely defenceless with your hands manacled behind your back and your mouth smothered in sticky tape — until we were all lined up shoulder to shoulder against the wall.

"Vier muskulösen Arbeiter; vier muskulösen Arbeiter," the little man kept mumbling as he trotted down the line followed by the German. He was making some kind of selection. Each time he tapped a boy in the chest, that boy had to take two steps forward. He only seemed to be interested in the older, tougher looking ones, so I was relieved but not surprised when he walked straight past me.

"Nackt ausziehen!" the German shouted when there were six boys standing out front.

Nobody moved at first, mainly because they didn't understand what he was saying. Then the little man explained in Spanish that the six boys were to strip naked so that they could be examined by the Offizier.

This of course meant their shackles had to be removed, which the little man did, one boy at a time, while the guards kept their rifles pointing at the boys' heads.

It was a tense moment. These boys were angry and tired and were liable to cause trouble once their hands were free. But the close proximity of the rifles kept them quiet, and very slowly and begrudgingly they began to remove their clothes. It was a weird sight watching them denude themselves in front of us. It was a mild evening, but there was enough of a chill to make their flesh quiver — and I suppose having a loaded pistol pointing at your head must have been pretty unnerving.  

They had to stand with their legs spread and their fingers touching the back of their necks while the Offizier made a brief examination, back and front. He indicated the four boys he wanted by flicking their chests with the leather gloves he was holding. It was clear he was picking out the ones with the most muscle.

The selected boys were frog-marched over to the wagon. It took some doing. Their gags had been ripped off, and so they were shouting and swearing and putting up quite a fight. Canes had to be used on a couple of them to get them on board. It was extraordinary to see those strong young bodies overpowered by the men in black. It was a desperate situation and yet there was something strangely inevitable about it. I couldn't explain it at the time.  

I had a good view of the truck from where I was standing and could see that once inside the boys' arms were forced up so that their wrists could be manacled to hooks in the roof. They hung there like meat in a butcher's shop, one in front of the other — except these carcasses were alive and kicking.

The truck door was slammed shut and bolted, papers were signed and the truck drove off into the night.

There was a long brooding silence. The stillness was terrifying. What fate could possibly await those boys? All my theories had been blown out of the window. I knew now we were up against something really dark. Something I didn't understand.

One of the guards gathered up the discarded clothes and stuffed them into a black sack. Some of the clothes belonged to the two boys who'd been left behind. They protested but were told to be quiet. The little man said it wasn't worth them getting dressed again. Instead their wrists were manacled, their mouths gagged and they were sent back to join the rest of us. They were both tough looking lads in their early twenties and even though they'd escaped the fate of the boys in the wagon, they were obviously humiliated and confused as they shuffled back towards us, unable to hide their nakedness.

A few minutes later, to my great relief, we were told we could sit down, although we had to wait while they attached our manacles to iron fixtures in the wall — so that we couldn't make a run for it when their backs were turned, I suppose.

I made myself as comfortable as I could with my back against the wall, but the manacles didn't make it easy. I only had a thin tee-shirt on and, as the temperature began to drop, I wished that I'd not taken my pullover off before jumping on board that truck. I'd left it in my backpack along with all my other stuff, and God knows where that was now. It was all my own fault. I should have gone back to the Orphanage when I had the chance and faced the music. Instead I had to get myself into this ridiculous mess. Time crept on and as it got darker and colder it became clear that we were going to have to spend the rest of the night sleeping, or trying to sleep, out here in the open. I felt sorry for the two naked boys. I couldn't see them because, they were further down the line, but they must have been shivering with the cold.

The boy on my left was quite young, I should say about  thirteen or fourteen. He looked absolutely miserable, as you would expect. I wondered what his story was and how long he had been there. Had he been captured, like me, by some ruffian on the road? Was he a runaway? Perhaps he had a family who missed him and would come to rescue him? No one was going to come and rescue me. Even if by a miracle I found my way back to the orphanage, they weren't going to welcome me with open arms. I was in deep trouble whichever way I looked.

I could see the boy was on the verge of tears. I gave him a nudge with my arm, and tried to smile — which sounds ridiculous with sticky tape covering half your face, but it seemed to work. He took a deep breath and I think he was trying to smile back. I moved in closer to him, and let him rest his head on my shoulder. It wasn't much but that little bit of human contact was enough to release all his pent up emotion. He curled up and cried himself to sleep on my chest.

I was a fool to have run away. I had no idea what kind of trouble I had walked into. But at least I had found someone I could help. He was just some nameless kid, but in this dark place he trusted me and, without having spoken a word, he had become my friend.  

[danvssomethingorother]

You Only Have One Brother

Summary: An AU where Malcom and Rusty are twins and the only thing they have keeping each other sane in face of all the danger their dad puts them through.

A03

---

“Malcom! Malcom!”

Malcom glanced up from his toy truck he was rolling across the ground to see his brother racing towards him, holding his hands behind his back, a large smile plastered across his face.

“You’ll never guess what I just found!”  

He came to a halt in front of his brother, feet skidding in the dirt making a large puff of dust hit his brother making him scowl.

“I don’t know, something dumb,” he grumbled going back to his game running over a few more ants that blocked his path.

“No stupid, its really cool and you will like it,” Rusty huffed stomping his foot testily making dirt fly again annoying Malcom further.

“No its not, you are such a nerd Rusty, its probably dumb, just like everything else you bring me…”

Rusty huffed and stomped his foot again, annoying Malcom more. His brother was such a brat and a pain. Malcom was still mad at him for ditching him on their last stupid family vacation and leaving him alone to wander around the jungle for a few hours till Uncle Rodney finally found him, he didn’t really care what his brother had behind his back. He wanted some alone time from his annoying brother and yet here he was again back to annoy him some more. Typical Rusty not getting the hint.

Malcom snarled his brother’s way as he plopped down on his blanket uninvited but didn’t do anything. Rusty was Rusty, he was going to do what Rusty wanted.  

“It’s a monarch butterfly!” Rusty proclaimed loudly pulling a jar from behind his back and shoving it in his brother’s face.

“It’s neat right?” he said proudly, his smile wide enough to make Malcom crack one as he stared at the butterfly twitching its wings in the jar.

“I found him in the back of the X – 1, he must have stowed away with us. I bet he misses his family.”

Malcom scoffed at that, “Shoving him in a jar isn’t going to make him feel any better Rusty. He’s probably tired of seeing your stupid face.”

 Rusty scoffed loudly and crossed his arms, “I named him Malcom cause he looks like you, ugly.”

  The brothers both began to giggle as they began shoving each other, nearly knocking over the jar holding the butterfly.

“Boys you stop that horsing around!” they both looked up from their pretend fighting to see their uncle Horace looking displeased at their idea of playing, hands firmly on his hips, “You boys need to play nice with each other, you only have one brother.”

“Yes Uncle Horace,” they both said in equally annoyed tones, their uncle muttering under his breath he was gonna bend them both over his knee if they kept fighting before turning back to talking to Uncle Rodney who was snickering at their antics. Rodney usually provoked their fighting and found it amusing, Horace was the one who always ended it with a quick smack to both their bottoms with his cane. Horace gave his friend the worst stink eye at his encouragement of their behavior making the boys giggle before turning back to each other.

Rusty picked up the jar and pulled it close to him, a content smile on his face.

“I wanna release him, when we go to New York tomorrow, his family will be migrating there soon according to Pop, I want him to return to them.”

Malcom just rolled his eyes, his brother just ate up whatever nonsense their dad spoon fed them. As if that particular butterfly had anything resembling a family to return to in New York.  

“I’m sure Malcom the Monarch will be super happy to be lost in New York.”

“About as happy as Malcom the human will be,” Rusty said sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“I would never get lost if you weren’t always running off!” Malcom snarled shoving his brother harder then he intended to, knocking him over and making him drop his jar, it rolling away from them and hitting against a rock cracking the side. Rusty didn’t hesitate to shove his brother back just as hard knocking him over onto his truck he had previously abandoned, breaking its wheel off under his weight.  

Malcom let out an ear shattering scream and began hitting his blanket, he really hated his brother some days, he really did and wished the kidnappers would just keep him.  

He distantly heard Uncle Rodney trying to calm him down and assure him they could fix his truck but he was having none of it, he was done with his brother. He might have said that too cause the next thing he knew he felt Uncle Rodney pulling him close.

“Ya don’t mean that Malcom, ya don’t really want the kidnappers to keep him,” he said gently resting his hand on his head, “He’s a pain in the butt that one but he’s your brother and you only have one of them.”

That’s what his uncles always told them when they fought, they only had one brother, so they needed to protect each other but sometimes Malcom wondered if Dad even knew he had more then one son.

---

Later that night Malcom stormed into the bedroom he shared with his brother after Kano had helped him get ready for bed. He spotted Dad sitting on the end of Rusty’s bed, flipping through a butterfly book with him and he just felt angry. He hated that when Dad wanted to pretend he had kids, he only put his attention towards Rusty.

“See? Your little Monarch friend is perfectly fine,” he heard his dad chuckle ruffling Rusty’s hair making his blood boil more, “They are made of tougher stuff, just like you, Rust.”

Rusty didn’t seem very convinced just flipping through the book but nodded to their father anyway.

“I want you to get plenty of rest tonight, we will be heading out in the morning,” Dad said finally turning his attention to Malcom.  

“And no more of this fighting nonsense,” he said firmly but affectionately wagging his finger at Rusty and taking his book from him and putting it up on a high shelf.  

“We only have one brother,” Rusty said in monotone drawl and Malcom on instinct mouthed it, both frowning and looking anywhere but at each other.  

“That’s right,” Dad said with a nod kissing Rusty on the cheek making him scowl and gently patting Malcom on the head as walked by, not really directly talking to him, “And you boys must learn to take care of each other. You will need each other one day.”

He paused a moment and Malcom almost thought he would acknowledge his presence but as usual he didn’t, just addressed them as if they were a hive mind.

“Pleasant dreams Rusty, don’t stay up too late, we have an adventure awaiting us in the morning.”  

With that he was gone, probably back to the lab to finish up the project he was presenting in New York or back to his study where he spent most of his time.

At first neither brother said anything to each other after their father left, both intending on ignoring the other it seemed. From the faint glow of their night light (that Rusty had to have), Malcom could make out the stupid butterfly sitting on his brother’s night stand. Rusty reached over and ran his finger over the large crack on the side before getting up, Malcom turned over in his bed not caring what his stupid brother did. He may only have one but that didn’t mean he had to like his brat of a brother.

“Malcom?”

He chose to ignore his brother but it seemed his brother wasn’t going to be ignored because he climbed in bed with him.

“I know that truck was your favorite toy…”

Malcom just snorted at that, it wasn’t like Rusty ever respected his stuff, the amount of times he just took what he wanted without asking.

“I didn’t mean to shove you on it and break it…”

Malcom continued to seethe in silence not wanting to do this now, he just wanted to sleep. He was just about ready to lash out at his brother again when he saw Rusty place something in his line of sight.  

Malcom almost choked on a sob as he saw his favorite toy, with its wheel reattached right in his line of sight on his pillow. He instantly latched onto it.

“Uncle Horace helped me fix it, he told me it was wrong of me to shove you back like that. He told me you were still upset about what happened in the jungle. I’m really sorry about that Malcom, I didn’t mean to abandon you…”

“Why did you do that?” he choked on his own sob he had been trying so hard to hold back, “Why do you always do that? You just leave me when I need you.”

“I don’t know,” Rusty was crying too, his words broken and his shoulders shaking, “I didn’t want to…but then Dr. Z grabbed me from behind and I didn’t want him to get you too, so I just said it was just me…”

Malcom rolled over and stared at his brother crying.

“Rodney says you just shove it down when you get kidnapped and give a brave face for dad, what do they do to you?”  

Rusty didn’t answer just staring off letting the tears run silently down his face. He wasn’t going to answer. Rusty was never going to tell him. He just sighed and pulled his brother down with him on the bed. His brother was a damn idiot who drove him crazy but their uncles were right, they only had each other when push came to shove. No one else was going to be there for them when they finally broke.

(I’m kinda winging this fic while I have a venture bros high, so if you have any requests on where you want this AU to go, I’m all ears)

[blankdblank]

Scotland Pt 3

Tags - @himoverflowers …

He stood frozen in shock as he felt a stab in his chest growing, the small beep from your call ending still echoing in his head, feeling as if he’d been slapped. Through this entire year he assured himself that his plan would work, that it would be worth it, that he would be able to walk away unscathed and victorious. Yet here he was feeling worse than he did when his Ex had destroyed him, wanting nothing more than to go and run to you but knowing there was no reason why you would take him back.

Your soft, “Ok” stabbing at him again and again followed by you saying, “I’m not going to force you to be with me if you don’t want to Richard.” How could you be so calm about it, it was finally hitting him, you were incredible and incredibly sexy, just right in front of him, trying to help him this whole year and he just kept walking right past you, for her, for nothing, just to walk away alone. Why couldn’t he have been like that when she had broken him, just let her walk away and let go instead of trying to drag her down to her knees in front of him.

His only solace was that you didn’t cry, which later twisted the stabbing in his chest deeper that he didn’t tell you to your face, so how would he know, you could be crying, heartbroken and destroyed by a man you’d said you’d admired for his roles you’d seen him play. Tears stared falling as he realized he could have lost a fan, an incredible woman who had admired him for years and he’d broken that image of him you’d carried of him for years, there was no fixing this now. Staggering back to his bed and dropping heavily onto it as his choked sobs he’d forced down for so long had finally broken free, one whole year and he’d just wasted his chance with you, one year and he’d learned nothing about you, somehow not even your last name.

…

The thought of him running back to her yet again stung yet again, not for your pain but for what you knew she would do to him all over again, wiping away a tear that slid down your cheek as you slid your phone in your pocket and helped Steve finish for his party and letting in the first of his friends who gave you kind smiles as they headed straight for the food. Returning to your side as you switched the large TV to the sports channel, the taller of the two sat on the arm of the couch you were near asking kindly in a thick Irish accent, “You alright Love?” You turned to him after setting down the remote giving him a small smile as you brushed your hair behind your ear, “Just peachy, you?” “I’m alright but it looks like you’ve got a few tears there.” Gently wiping your tears from your chin. His friend added in a thick cockney accent, “That guy still bothering you?” You gave him a smirk as your head tilted to the side slightly, “Actually got off the phone with him, he broke it off finally.” Steve joined you three, “He what now? He broke it off? How’s he got the right?” The others nodded as you rolled your eyes, “I’ve told him hundreds of time to stop coming over, stop calling and texting, but he finally realized that it’s finally done now and he’s going to leave me alone now.” Irish, “Well at least it’s over now, you’ve deserve better than to be some assholes arm candy.” You looked at the door as the bell rang, “That’ll be the pizza, I’ll get it, let’s just focus on the game.”

You laid out the pizzas and the rest of the group all arrived and poured into the seats adding their own snacks to the table and giving you large smiles as they chose their seats around you in your armchair. Catching a few glances of you through the game having heard whispers from the others about your breakup, happy that you were enjoying the game and seemed to be happy about it yourself as you curled sideways in your chair leaving more room for your snacks, each taking the chance to skim over your knee length sweat pants that hugged you, your tank top under your large flannel shirt hanging open with the sleeves rolled up, smiling at you as you tilted your head back to take a bite of the large slice of stuffed crust pizza in your hands before looking back to the game again.

As the game ended your phone rang again, they turned to look at you as you let out a grumble, then quickly hit the green icon and lifted it to your ear, “Mr Archibald, how can I help you?” As you took another bite of your crust and they muted the commercial for you. Watching you as you chewed and swallowed as you listened intently and rolled your head back before replying, “Sure, ya I can be there.” Taking a sip of your drink, “No, of course not, I understand entirely, protocol yup.” They leaned in a bit closer as you hung up, you glanced over at them, “My boss, needs me to head out for an old Mare, still fired though…” Standing up and heading to your room to change making them laugh as you mumbled, “Smug arrogant bastard..”

They all eyed you approvingly in your tight t shirt and jeans as you pulled back your hair as you came back out and pulled on your work boots, all of them giving you quick hugs as they joined you and Steve to the garage and headed home as he drove you out to upstate New York for the Mare. 

You admired the large stables easily finding the expecting Mare on her side starting to ready herself for the birth, pulling on your plastic tarp cover with gloves as you gently rubbed her sides to make sure it was facing properly and waiting for it to be in the right location for you to start to help pull the twins out, these being the last foals the Mare could bear in her growing age having to be neutered later for her health. 

As you started to reach in you noticed the small group of stable hands and the few guests at the ranch along the fence, some readying their phones and cameras for the foals, between them a familiar dark head of hair staring directly at you intently. You easily helped her through the birth, pulling off your cover as they stumbled onto their feet and tottered to their now standing mother who was watching as two men brought in fresh water and extra food for her, wagging her ears happily at her two little ones who bumped into her legs. 

Giving the three of them a quick examination filling out the forms as the foals snuggled their now clean heads against you letting out a giggle as their mother pressed her head against yours in thanks, letting you stroke her face for a few moments before she turned to her new food and her foals followed after her as you headed for the owner to give him his copies after pulling everything back into your work bag.

As you headed back to your car you saw Richard still leaning against the fence watching you with red tearstained eyes, quietly waiting for you to get closer to him, handing your bag to Steve who was already reaching for it and walked over to him.

He drew in a shaky breath as you got closer, forcing on a small smile as he felt another tear slide down his cheek making his eye sting again, you gave him a small smile, “Richard, nice place you found here.” In your accent free voice. He nodded, “Yes it is, an old friend owns it, lets me stay when I’m in town. You do this often? B-b-birthing horses I mean.” Rubbing his neck after his stutter. You let out a quiet chuckle, “Well I am a vet, so yes.” He nodded as his eyebrows rose, “Oh, really..” His face dropping back in remorse again, “I owe you so so so many apologies” As another tear fell down his cheek. You drew in a quick breath holding out your hand making his eyes drop to it quickly then back to yours as you said, “Jaqi Pear.” Another tear fell as he gave you a small smile and shook your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” A small smile sliding on his face as he wiped his cheeks again. As his hand released yours you told him, “You get one more chance Richard, take some time, dig into yourself, I know I never really got to see the real you, so you get to pick who you want to be and what you’re going to do from here. So take the job, think on it, and if you want to be friends then I’ll give you the chance, but I swear if you turn back into who you’ve been living as for this past year I will break both of your arms, celebrity or not.” He chuckled as he nodded and wiped his cheeks giving you another smile, “I swear I won’t be like that again, ever. So you heard about the part on TV right?” “Yes, it really does sound perfect for you. Can’t wait to see it.”

He rubbed his cheek again as another tear fell, “She um, pulled out, honestly I chose the part initially because I loved the role. I’m still taking it, don’t worry about that. What you said about me not wanting to be with you and you accepting it, it really hit me, and I’m done. As painful as it is, I’m done with her, blocked her number, and I’m heading back home to England for a time before the part, to work through all of this, and hopefully I could email you or something from time to time, about you though, not me. I just really really want to get to know you, and hopefully show you who I really am, not just this terrible Ass that I’ve been posing as for the past year. Y-you really did look beautiful yesterday, and every other time I’ve seen you, you probably don’t want to hear it from me.” Looking at you with a cautious smile. “Thank you, it’s nice to hear, especially from you, I’m glad you’re sticking with it, and I’d be happy to get to know you after you’ve taken some time to rebuild yourself. I knew it would hit you eventually.” “I’ll be heading back home tonight, I really am sorry again. How did you get home yesterday? I didn’t see you during the movie.” “You had the passes, and I had Steve come get me, I met Lee actually, he sort of followed me to make sure I got home safe.” His eyes darting to yours showing a slight protective flash at Lee’s name, giving you a small smile as he nodded, “Of course he did, he’s been after me since the beach house about how I treated you. You like him?” “I just met him.” He looked at you as he bit his bottom lip nodding again, “Did you talk at all?” “My Cousin has a restaurant, invited me there for when you didn’t need me.” His eyebrows rose again as his shoulders sank a bit, “So you had dinner together, got to know a bit about each other. Did you make plans for another date?” His face fighting back against showing his growing jealousy knowing that he didn’t deserve your treating him as your boyfriend, even before he broke it off. “It wasn’t a date, he asked for my email and number so he could check in on me while he’s filming in California.” “So he could check in on you and me you mean. You haven’t told him about our call yet?” “No, last thing we talked about was the pictures of him sneaking away from the movie for dinner.” “You’re the mystery woman then, makes sense, they didn’t get any photos of you somehow.” You caught a sparkle in his eyes as he quickly looked you over before meeting your eyes again, “Are you okay?” He nodded again, “Ya, Lee’s a great guy, I know he’ll treat you well.” You smirked as you raised an eyebrow, “It was dinner, we’re not dating Richard. He is great, for now he’s being friendly and protective.” Making a small smile slide back onto his face. “Now I have to get back to my old job and head back to my apartment getting back to being fired.” Brushing your ponytail off of your shoulder. His eyebrows rose quickly, “You got fired? When? It’s not from me dragging you somewhere is it?” “No, I offended one of my coworkers by telling him how to birth a foal.” His eyebrows slid together in confusion, “How is that possible?” “Apparently ‘elbow deep’ is an offensive term for him.” Making a small smirk slide on his face. “More likely he didn’t like having to come to you for help, it does seem like a fairly simple process.” Glancing over at the new foals bouncing happily in the field as their Mother ate with a small smile then back to you, showing you the most sincere smile you’ve gotten from him before. “Most of the time it is.” He gave you a larger smile, “Well I should let you get back.” “Let me know when you get home safely.” “I will. Thank you for the umpteenth chance.” “Just don’t make me break you in half Richard.” His smile grew even wider as he let out a chuckle, nodding again, “I swear you won’t have to, I will be worthy of this chance.” “I know.” Giving him another smile as you headed to your car leaving him by the fence to turn and watch the foals you helped bring into the world, making his smile sink in deeper to his heart at how incredible you were, choosing not to dwell on how badly he’d nearly ruined things with you.

Pt 4

[sophisticated-angel]

Family Ties - Part Six

Character: Dean Winchester

Warning: Hella feels, probably.

Word Count: 2,369

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

The Parent Trap

Summary: When Ramona doesn’t come back as expected, her parents are stirred into a panic, and Mercy’s true nature comes to light.

Story

  When Dean drifts off, his mind is filled with thoughts of the implications of his ex’s return and his brother’s intention to marry Addison. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he opens his eyes and finds that the living room is completely dark. Against his side is his wife, out cold. Carefully, he stretches and slides away to stand. The house is silent; Mitchell’s game has been shut off for the night, and Elodie must still be asleep in her crib.

  Stifling a yawn, Dean shuffles down the hall and peers into Mitchell’s room. His stepson is drooling onto his pillow and dreaming happily. Then he checks his daughters’ room. In her crib, Ellie is sleeping with her tiny hands balled into tiny fists on her tiny chest. Dean smiles at the baby and reaches down to lightly stroke her cheek. Lastly, he moves over to Ramona’s bed, intending to give her a goodnight kiss, but her bed is cold, her blankets folded over the way she left them this morning.

  Dean looks over at the digital clock on the windowsill next to the bed. The glowing blue numbers read 10:47. She should be home by now. He searches the room – under the bed, beside and under the crib, on the beanbag chair – but his daughter isn’t in her room. His heart rate picks up, and a prickly, tingling shudder ripples down his spine.

  “Mon Ami?” he calls quietly, stepping into the hallway.

  He searches his room, the bathroom, the den, and accidentally wakes Mitchell when he looks in the boy’s room. The twelve-year-old groans and rolls back over, but Dean asks if he’s seen Ramona. He hasn’t. In the living room, (y/n) stirs, roused by the activity, and turns on the light.

  “What’s going on, babe?” she asks.

  “Ramona’s not here. She was supposed to be home three hours ago.”

  This news makes her perk right up. “She’s not in her room?”

  “She’s not in the house.”

  “Did you check out here? The dining room?”

  “Why would she be in the dining room?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she read until she fell asleep?”

  “Why are you guys so loud?” Mitchell, sleepy-eyed, shuffles into view.

  Dean is on him in an instant. “Did you see or hear your sister come home?”

  “I said no.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What’s going on, Dad?” The boy’s voice takes on a tinge of worry.

  “Mitchell, are you sure?”

  (y/n) reaches out and rests her hand on his arm, bringing him down. Her touch sets his mind right, organizes the panic rising in his chest. He turns to meet her eyes and finds his worry reflected in them. Ramona isn’t home, God knows, where she is, but Dean’s heart floods with love for his wife. She’s as scared as him, as scared for Ramona as she would be were they related by blood. No other woman could ever take her place.

  It’s in the midst of this moment that Dean’s cell buzzes in his pocket. Upon answering the unfamiliar number, a young girl’s frantic voice pierces his ear.

  “Ramona? Sweetheart, what’s going on? Where are you?”

  “It’s loud here, Daddy,” she whimpers over the din on the other end of the line. “I think it’s a bar. I don’t like it here. I wanna go home.”

  “Where’s Mercy?”

  A shaky exhale. “She left.”

  Love and relief are washed away by blinding anger. Not again. This time he’s going to kill that bitch. Never again will she see Ramona. She won’t live long enough. Voice flat, a thin membrane keeping fury in check, Dean comforts his daughter, promises he’ll be there in no time and instructs her to watch out the window for him.

  “It’s by the movie theater. She said we were gonna go to the movies, but we didn’t . . .” She’s using a payphone, and her call is timing out, so Dean leaves her by reminding her that he loves her. She’s his sunshine.

  His hand trembles as he tucks his phone away. “Mitchell, your mom and I are going out.” The tremble migrates to his voice. “Stay here and take care of Ellie, okay?”

  Mitchell nods. “Is Ramona okay?”

  “She’s fine,” he lies.

*    *    *    *    *

  When you were a teenager and traveling for hunting voluntarily or not, you played a game: memorize the highway speed traps and have some fun in a car that wasn’t yours. You pushed the car to its limits, slammed on the gas pedal and spun around curves and corners, until it could give nothing more. With Dean in the driver’s seat, this ride in the Impala is just as wild but lacks the fun, carefree, daredevil quality. He keeps quiet and stares straight ahead as if he can get there faster under the power of his own glare.

  The Impala careens into the parking lot of the bar at breakneck speeds. It isn’t directed to a parking spot and halts violently by the curb. Dean bursts out the door like an overdue volcano, and you’re right behind him, ready to turn this establishment inside out to find Ramona, but she followed Dean’s instructions. The twelve-year-old pushes through the doors, blue graduation gown billowing in the cool breeze, cap missing, hair damp from the drizzling rain, and throws herself at her father. In a chain reaction, she bursts into tears and clutches his jacket tightly.

  “She told me to wait outside,” Ramona sobs, “so I did, and it was raining, and she was gone for hours, and she came back with a funny smell, and she didn’t listen when I said I wanted to go home, and then she drove away.”

  Dean holds her in his arms; his hands are claws on the back of her gown. She couldn’t escape him even if she wanted to. Feeling helpless, you run your hand through her hair.

  “She left me again . . .”

  Silently, Dean half walks, half carries his daughter towards the car. When a new vehicle peals in and squeals to a halt, he tenses. Mercedes gets out, and Dean relinquishes his hold and gives Ramona to you.

  “What the hell did you do?!” he fumes.

  “Oh relax. She’s fine, isn’t she? And I came back.”

  “You left her, you bitch!”

  “I forgot she was here! I got a little drunk, okay? Cut me a break!”

  In the split second that follows, some gate drops, and your heart clenches up and sends a vicious chill up your spine to your brain. You manage to focus on the wet, cold, terrified girl whose shoulders are beneath your palms. Dean’s gate is bigger, heavier, and represses a denser ocean of emotions. It slams to the ground so hard and stirs dead leaves, giving you a glimpse of your husband the hunter – fierce, terrifying, and not entirely human.

  “Cut you a break?” he spits. “What do you think these past weeks have been? I let you into my life, into my family’s life, and you ditch my daughter at a damn dive bar!”

  “Our daughter!”

  “She is not your daughter!”

  You try to tell him to walk away, but he’s long since stormed out that gate riding on a black horse.

  “She is not yours! You don’t deserve her, you bitch! You screwed up, and I will never let you near her again!”

  “Oh, I screwed up?” Mercedes jabs a finger into her chest, victimizes herself with one gesture. “How much did you tell your wife before you married her?” Jaw taut, the finger is turned on you. “Did he tell you about the time he abandoned Ramona?”

  “Mercedes,” you try, “please just go. Go now.”

  “Hell no! Make him tell you about the time he left Ramona! You think I’m bad? That baby could have died after what he did! Is this who you want to be with? You wanna spend the rest of your life with a man who abandons his children?!”

  “Mercedes, stop this!”

  “Better get that baby outta there, (y/n)! Get her far away before he kills her!”

  There’s a brief, highly intense snap in your brain, a moment when you want to rip her lungs out. A familiar ‘click’ resounds, and that’s what cuts the urge short. Dean now has a gun, a small revolver he must have hidden in his jacket, aimed directly between Mercedes’ eyes.

  “Get out,” he growls.

  “You’re gonna shoot me in front of Ramona?”

  “Dean, put that away and let’s go home.”

  “Do it, Dean. Shoot me.”

  “Get out!”

  Mercedes scoffs and lifts her hands as she backs towards her car. “You all are a waste of my time. Mark my words, Dean. I’ll come back, and when I do, I will get what I want, and I’ll make your life hell while I’m at it.”

  Numb, you watch the woman climb back into her car and shift gears. The farther away she gets, the lower Dean’s arms go until the revolver disappears into his pocket. Finally, you take a breath and usher Ramona, cold and damp, into the back seat of the Impala. Your husband passes the keys to you and spends the ride home staring out the window. Sam is there when you walk through the front door, forehead creased with worry.

  “Mitchell called. He asked me to come over, said you guys rushed out of here pretty quick. Everything all right?”

  One look around the room should give him his answer: his niece sullenly stripping out of her ruined graduation outfit, his brother sitting at the kitchen counter with his head in his hands, you quietly shaking your head. Though he wants to make things better, he’s intuitive enough to know that he can’t do anything at the moment, and so he tells you Mitchell and Elodie are asleep and slips away. After shutting the door behind your brother-in-law, you come back to find Ramona at Dean’s side and Dean staring into space.

  “Daddy?” ventures the twelve-year-old.

  “Hm,” is the response.

  “What happened when I was a baby?”

  “Sweetheart, you should go to bed.”

  “How were you worse than-”

  “Ramona, go to bed,” he snaps. “I don’t want to talk about it. Leave it alone, understand?”

  “Dean,” you scold, but it’s too late. Tears prick in Ramona’s eyes as she hurries down the hall and closes her bedroom door behind her.

  Casting a disapproving look at Dean, you follow the girl. If there’s one thing you know about children, it’s that they don’t want to be by themselves when they’re hurt and upset, and if they do, they’re lying. She needs someone. You find her curled up on her beanbag chair, sniffling and wiping her nose on her shirt collar. Her hair has begun to dry, and wisps stick up in places.

  When you sit beside the beanbag and rest a hand on the back of her neck, you pick up on tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors; she can’t hold back her sobs entirely. Poor girl. Twice she’s been left by her mother, once she’s seen her with a gun to her head. Pushed much farther, Dean may have shot the woman, maybe not to kill, but his instinct to protect his daughter was too out of control to be useful. Shame is on his face when he enters the room, and his apology is in the kiss he gives Ramona. Holding one of her hands, he sits silently beside her, eyes still but focused on nothing.

  “When you were born,” he starts, “I had a long way to go before I was fit to be a father. I drank too much, for one thing. One night, you were about six months old, I was home alone with you, and I got drunk in the kitchen. I forgot I was the only one there, so I went out to get more beer. I remember being in the checkout lane when I realized you were by yourself, and I went right home. You needed a hug and a diaper change, but you were fine, Mon Ami. You weren’t gonna die, I wasn’t leaving forever, and I have never done it again.”

  Dean licks his lips and pulls the twelve-year-old into an embrace. Quietly, he picks her up and carries her to her bed. He tucks her in, bundles the blanket around her shoulders, and runs a hand across her drying hair.

  “Believe me when I say I love you, baby girl.”

*    *    *    *    *

  It takes Dean much too long to come back to bed. Once he’s done pushing off the inevitable and joins you in the bedroom, it’s almost three in the morning, and he slips in beside you, lays his head on the pillow, and wraps his arms around you.

  “We’ve got an anniversary coming up,” he sighs. “Anything special you wanna do?”

  “I know you don’t want to talk about that. You scared me tonight, babe, and why did you never tell me about what happened with Ramona?”

  “I was going to, I promise. It was my last big secret. I was gonna tell you, but then you said you were pregnant, and . . . I got nervous. I thought maybe you wouldn’t trust me around Elodie, so I didn’t say anything.”

  You turn over to face him. “Dean, one of the reasons I love you is because I trust you with Mitchell. I married you because I trusted you with him and with any future children we might have. What you did twelve years ago doesn’t change how much I trust you.”

  Dean smiles briefly and cards his fingers through your hair. “I’m scared, (y/n).”

  “I know.”

  “Mercedes is a bitch, but she’s – she’s smart. If she wanted to, she could convince a judge to let her take Ramona away, get them to say I’m unfit to be a parent. I don’t want . . .” He exhales – a shuddering sound. “I don’t want to lose my kids.”

  Until he falls asleep, Dean buries his face in your shoulder and lets himself cry just a little bit. He only moves when, a half hour later, his oldest daughter comes in and slides in between her parents.

READ PART SEVEN HERE

@holahellohialoha @pureawesomeness001@27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis ​@hexparker @kdfrqqg @little-castiel13 @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @mizzzpink

[fanficshiddles]

Teasing The God Of Mischief, One Shot

One shot alert! From the imagine: Imagine teasing Loki from your cell, flashing him, touching yourself when you know he’s watching, saying dirty things to him...

The last two years had been incredibly boring for Astrid in her prison cell. She was lucky that she had been allowed a few books to have in with her, and at least her bed was reasonably comfortable. But apart from that, she was always bored out of her mind.

She had read her two books at least a dozen times, just to try and escape for a while in her mind. Most of the time she day dreamed of being free, riding her horse across the moors and mountains.

But there was one day when things got a lot more interesting. The cell opposite hers had been empty for a long time. But she woke up one morning to find someone had moved in. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Prince Loki.

She was confused, not knowing why a Prince would be in prison. He still had a lot more luxuries than the rest of the prisoners, which she was a little jealous about. But she couldn’t complain, at least she had some eye candy opposite her now.

He was very attractive. Just her type. Before she had been put into prison, she had often lusted over the young prince. He was more appealing to her than his brother, Thor. Loki was dark and there was always something mysterious about him that she liked. Seeing him in prison only confirmed her suspicions and made him even more attractive, in a dangerous kind of way. But she had always loved the more dangerous ones. They were always much more fun.

Over the first few weeks, there were a few glances at one another. Loki didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings. But he did note there was a pair of eyes on him a lot of the time.

When he eventually did look over properly, he saw the woman give him a sly smirk. With an eyebrow rising up slightly, he looked back down to his book. Not thinking much of it.

There was one night, Astrid was feeling rather mischievous. So instead of changing into comfier clothes for bed behind her divider screen, she just changed at the front of her cell instead.

She knew that if any other prisoners were in the right place, they would see her. But she didn’t care, she knew that Loki would see her and that’s what her aim was.

Loki looked up from his bed and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the woman undressing right on front of him. His eyes were locked onto her body as she let her dress fall to the floor. His mouth started to water as he gazed over her.

He felt his own trousers tightening as he watched her undo her bra and throw it to the floor as well. He couldn’t quite believe how bold she was. But she was very attractive. She had nice sized breasts, not too small and not too large either, just as he liked. They would fit in his hands perfectly, he thought.

Astrid looked over to Loki with a big smile on her face. She felt pleased when she saw that he was staring at her, unconsciously licking his lips too. That gave her a big confidence boost.

So instead of putting on her usual night clothes, she stretched up first. Giving Loki a little longer to gawk at her. Then she slipped on her rather see through night gown before settling down for the night.

The little nightly teasing continued for a few months. It was something that Loki very much looked forward to each night. Though he was growing more sexually frustrated as the time went on.

Astrid saw Loki watching her more and more as time went by. She would continue to give him sly looks and winks here and there. She nearly melted into a puddle when he actually winked back at her one afternoon with a big sly smirk on his face.

One day, he was sat on the edge of his bed eating his dinner that had been delivered to him. Astrid didn’t fail to notice that he got much better quality food than she did.

Her eyes widened as she watched him pick up a piece of meat with his fingers. After eating it, he looked directly at her as he sucked and licked his fingers. She couldn’t drag her eyes off his long silver tongue as it flicked over his fingers. She involuntarily trembled and squeezed her thighs together.

Loki grinned wickedly as he could see her cheeks turn red and she started fidgeting around. So after eating, he decided to give her a show back. Instead of using his Seidr to get changed, he changed the normal way.

He took his time and gave her a nice view of his body. But what surprised her the most was the fact he wasn’t wearing any underwear. So when he took off his leather trousers to reveal, everything, she was very surprised. And impressed.

Loki slowly got dressed again, enjoying the look on her face as she watched him. Not caring that he saw she was staring, very intently. It was only fair, she had given him a show for the last few months after all.

From that day on, the two continued to tease one another with strip teases. They both got undressed on front of one another all the time. Not caring if anyone else saw. But after another month or so, Astrid decided to up the game even more.

She lay down on her bed, the way it was positioned meant that Loki could see directly up her dress if she spread her legs open and lifted it high up. So it was perfect for her little plan.

Loki had been innocently reading a book, when he looked up and couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His new friend was lying on her bed, hand under her dress. From the look on her face, she was giving herself a good time. But Loki couldn’t quite see what her hand was doing, as the dress draped down over it, covering her up.

Astrid smirked when she saw that Loki was looking at her. His eyes darkened and he slowly put his book down beside him. Not even caring to put in a bookmark to save his place.

He stood up and walked very slowly, predatory like, towards the front of his cell. His eyes were hunger filled as he kept his gaze on her. He put his hands behind his back and his lips tugged into a big grin.

‘Show me.’ He mouthed clearly.

That was the first time either one of them had tried to communicate like that before.

Astrid felt a rush of excitement flood through her as she ran her fingers through her wet folds. She lifted her dress up and bunched it around her waist. She wasn’t wearing any knickers so Loki could see very clearly what she was doing.

She spread her legs open even wider to make sure that he could see exactly what she was doing. Loki felt his trousers tighten uncomfortably as he watched her slip her fingers across her clit. He could see that she was incredibly aroused. He so desperately wished that he could reach out and touch her, fuck her senseless on the floor and claim her for himself.

He let out a deep growl when she inserted two fingers inside of herself. He enjoyed the way she kept her eyes locked on his, her mouth parted as she was obviously moaning and panting. He wondered how she sounded.

Loki knew she was about to cum, but just before she did, she pulled her dress down to cover herself up again. Loki let out a growl of annoyance at her teasing.

Astrid came hard from her little display for the Prince. She couldn’t stop smiling as she saw the frustration written all over Loki’s face. She put her fingers into her mouth and sucked on them, tasting herself. That drove Loki crazy, so much so that he nearly came in his trousers.

When Astrid finished her teasing show, she gave him a wink and blew him a cheeky kiss. Then she turned off her light and went to sleep.

‘Such a tease. I will have her.’ Loki hissed to himself as he went to his own bed to relieve himself of his frustrations.

Astrid continued to give him a little show on a regular basis. But she never let him watch her as she had an orgasm. She enjoyed teasing him and keeping that hidden from him. The look on his face every time was priceless.

But one night, she was devastated to see that Loki was just suddenly no longer there in his cell. She had been engrossed in a new book she had been given. She hadn’t looked up for hours. Her heart sank and she was so disappointed that he was no longer there. It had been so much fun teasing him.

The following morning, Astrid was woken up to a guard bursting into her cell. She wondered what the hel was going on.

‘You have been summoned.’ The guard said as he motioned for her to follow him while holding out some chains.

Astrid felt her stomach drop. Who wanted her? And why? She was terrified as she walked over to the guard and put her hands out. The guard chained her wrists together and led her out through the prison by the chain.

She was led upstairs and was happy to see the sun again as it shined in through the windows and onto her skin.

‘Hurry up, girl.’ The guard snarled and tugged her along, making her stumble a little.

The guard led her to a room in the palace that she had never been near before. He didn’t remove the chains as he pushed the door open and pushed her inside. She jumped slightly as the door slammed shut behind her.

Looking around the room, she was even more confused. The chambers were lavished in green and gold furnishings. She knew instantly it was one of the royal rooms. But she wasn’t entirely sure who’s. That was, until she heard the door from the other side of the room open and Loki walked in.

He grinned menacingly at her, a look of hunger in his eyes as he started to stalk over to her, like a predator about to catch his prey.

Astrid was frozen to the spot. She had no idea what was going on. Why she was there, why Loki was there. How he got out, if he was supposed to be out or not.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she looked at him with wide eyes as he approached her. He invaded her space and stood right on front of her. She had to crane her neck to look up at him, but she was unable to keep eye contact so looked down at his leather and metal clad chest right on front of her.

Loki put his finger under her chin and tilted her head up so she was to look at him. He chuckled and leaned down, so his face was closer to hers.

‘Not so brave now, are we, Pet? Without the safety of your comfortable cell, you’re all vulnerable to me.’ Loki whispered seductively.

Astrid’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t know what to say. Loki took that chance and he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips roughly against hers. His tongue forced its way into her mouth to dance with her own. She lost her breath in the kiss, it was intense and hunger filled.

After going so long without touch from another, she was craving for more. Loki wanted the same, nearly unable to control himself. But he wanted to play. It was time for him to get his own back.

He broke the kiss and laughed wickedly when she let out a whine of disappointment and tried to follow his lips.

‘Patience, Pet. You did a good job of teasing me. All those nights, seeing you touch yourself. You have no idea how crazy you made me. But now, the ball is in my court. Now, you are going to learn what it is like to be teased by the god of mischief.’ Loki whispered, his breath danced across her lips.

Then in a flash, Astrid was suddenly carried over to his bed. He kept the chains on her wrists and used them to tie her to the pole along the top of his bed. Using his Seidr he removed her clothing, taking his time to look down over her naked body.

‘My my. You look so much more delightful up close. Now I can finally touch you.’ He purred.

To prove his point, he reached out and started off by caressing over her stomach. He moved his hands upwards and lightly tickled up her sides, making her squirm beneath him. He lightly ran his hands across her breasts, barely missing her nipples as she felt a light breeze across them. They went hard almost instantly as his fingers traced circles around them. Just when she thought he was going to touch them, he moved away.

He ran his hands back down her sides, over her hips and down further. He pushed her legs apart and positioned himself between her legs. He gazed right at her and saw her blush from the intimacy when he looked up at her face.

‘Nice… Very, nice. There are so many endless possibilities of things I could do with you. But where to start?’ Loki ran the tips of his fingers up her inner left thigh as he spoke.

He could see her trembling and sense that her heart was racing. But she was aroused, there was no denying that.

She couldn’t think of anywhere else she would rather be than tied up on Loki’s bed. It was like all of her wildest dreams were coming true. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she even ended up in this positon. But she wasn’t about to ask and ruin the moment.

‘I could just fuck you. I know we would both enjoy that, very much.’ Loki’s fingers ran higher up her inner thigh and the back of his hand brushed across her cunt, making her squeak and jump at the very slight contact.

‘But I think we should save that for later. Much, later. I guess the first thing would be to make you cum. My fingers have been simply itching to touch you, to explore you.’ Loki’s voice was deep and husky as he spoke.

He slid two fingers through her wet folds. One slipped inside of her with ease as he covered his thumb with her arousal, then slid it up and over her clit that was peeking out of its hood, begging for attention.

‘Oh god.’ Astrid cried out as she closed her eyes and bucked her hips up towards him, wanting more.

‘Yes, indeed. I am your god… Your King.’ Loki said proudly as he inserted a second finger, his thumb still stroking her clit firmly.

It took Astrid a few seconds to realise what he said, about being her King. Her eyes flew open and she looked at Loki, confused and shocked. Loki only gave her a smirk and a wink, enjoying her reaction.  

Loki coaxed Astrid’s body into an orgasm with ease, like it was his second nature to do so. But just as she was about to go over the edge, he stopped and pulled his hand away completely.

She let out a frustrated whine and kicked her legs about in annoyance.

‘Come now, darling. If I let you cum so soon, that would ruin the fun. Wouldn’t it?’ Loki chuckled.

‘Pleaseeee, my King.’ Astrid begged.

‘Even though you beg so nicely, and it is such a wonderful sound, you are not getting away so easily. I plan to tease and torment you, just like you teased and tormented me so much. I will finger you, lick you, bite you and caress you all over. But you will not cum, until I allow you to. You are under my control now, Pet. You’re all mine.’ Loki said, his voice vibrating deep in his chest as he crawled over her body and allowed his lips to hover just inches over her own.

‘And I plan to keep you like this for hours, or maybe even days... Until your body cannot take any more teasing. Then and only then, shall I grant you release and fuck you senseless. Because revenge can be so much fun.’ Loki finished with a firm kiss on her lips as she let out a whine of desperation and excitement.