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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

Smalltown Bringdown 1

Warnings: blood, violence, more to be added.

This is dark!biker!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live in a smalltown run by a biker club. When your boss gets into debt, you find yourself drawn into the crossfire.

Note: Yesterday I tried writing Sugar, Sugar. That didn’t work out. I had a migraine on Monday that I’m still tiptoeing around. I wrote this a week ago but wanna continue it. Well, if there’s any interest in my doing so. So to those who take the time to read, thank you. Love you guys!

Please, leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

Birch was a small town, named for the line of pale tree at its heart. The streets were built around it. It had stood for centuries like a guardian over residents. Like a harbinger of their eventual fates. White as a ghost, looming like the reaper.

And death lived in Birch. It rode the streets on iron steeds. The apocalyptic horseman roaring down the roads in leather. Oblivion was the bar on the main road.; The Asp was a remnant of the town’s birth. An inn for those who claimed to discover this “new world”. Cleopatra reclined along the sign’s moniker, a snake around her arm, poised to sink its long fangs in her throat.

Further down was the Chipped Saucer. The British were the first Europeans to settle here and when they supped with the Natives, they found their dishware cracked from their long journey. The tale outlived those early townsfolk painted across the window of sleepy old diner. The history of the forgotten town was long remembered because there, time didn’t seem to move very fast.

The town was more purgatory than hell. Few ever escaped it. You were among the trapped. A waitress in an aged yellow uniform and frilly white apron at the old diner. Sundays were busiest. The older folk were hungry after the weekly service and the younger residents were trying to caffeinate their hangovers.

You did your round of refills and returned the carafe to the machine. You took your time replacing the filter and adding the grounds. The rusted jingle of the bell above the door barely registered in your head. But the decisive stomp of boots did. Not just one set, not two, but more than you could count. You looked up as you closed the lid on the machine.

The diners sat frozen as if in a tableau. Not a single breath was drawn as you watched the leather-coated men walk between the tables. You didn’t need to see the patches on their backs to know who they were. Everyone knew who they were because they owned everything and everyone. The police, the town council, the mayor, and any who called Birch home.

Every small town has its dark secrets but the club had never really been a secret. The Howling Commandos had reigned since the boys returned from the war in 1945. Since, their mantle had been taken up by sons, nephews, cousins. Those glory days loomed as if it were only yesterday that the newspapers declared victory in Europe! Victor in Japan! Korea! Vietnam! Iraq!

You skirted behind the counter as Lillian, the oldest of the waitresses, stood by the kitchen window. Artie, the cook, neared the other side and gave a grunt at the bikers kicking around the diner.

“From what I heard,” He said loud enough for them to hear. “They serve hash down at The Asp, don’t they?”

“Artie,” Lillian hissed under her breath as she touched her immense bosom.

The diners, the servers, the bus boys, all exhaled in communal dismay. Mr. Elrich watched as Danny, the boy he’d once taught, took his mug of coffee and emptied it in a single gulp.

“Where’s Jimmy?” A golden-haired man stepped forward.

You knew him. Knew of him. He had been a few years ahead of you in school. He was held back and sat beside you in math and copied off your tests. Steve Rogers was too much trouble for a browner like you.

“Jimmy’s out,” Artie waved his spatula. “Can’t you see these people are tryna enjoy their breakfast?”

“Jimmy’s out,” Steve repeated slowly as he neared the counter. “Well, that’s a first. I always thought he slept off his Saturday nights in his office. Least I always found him half-asleep at his desk. Definitely wasn’t working.”

“You come back later when he’s in,” Artie shook his head. “Goddamn, boy, my eggs are burning.”

“Artie,” Lillian and several other waitresses wailed at him.

“How long you worked here, Art?” Steve was close. You could smell the leather and smoke as he passed you. His hand was on the door as he glared at Art through the window.

“Be thirty years, soon enough,” Artie answered defiantly. “Since you were a kid tossing your pancakes at the wall, you brat.”

Steve chuckled and pushed through the door. Several women screamed and men shushed them at the flurry that followed. The crash of pans as Steve grabbed the old man by his collar and pushed him against the window. You stepped through the door before it swung shut.

“Don’t.” You pleaded. “Don’t hurt him. Jimmy’s not here. None of us have seen him since yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve shrugged you away. “Loyalty is admirable. The man pays your check, so I understand your insistence on protecting him. I only wish he was as diligent in paying his dues.”

“St-stop,” You squealed as he his hand wrapped around Artie’s thick throat. “Goddamnit, you know Artie. You know he means no harm.”

“I know he’s always had a mean mouth,” Steve snarled. “Where’s that spatula now, hmm? You gonna give me a swat, Art?”

You looked around. The waitresses gaped through the window as the men loomed around the tables. Amused, they crossed their arms and watched the helpless old cook struggle. On the long steel table behind Steve was a large knife. Your heart pounded as you inched around him.

“Steve, come on, you can wait around for Jimmy,” You offered. “I’m sure he’ll be in. Hell, you’ll have more luck heading down to his. I’m sure he’s sleeping it off there.”

“I came here to get the money and I’m not leaving without it.” Steve snarled.

You bent slowly and took the knife, careful not to drag the blade on the floor. You stood and came around Steve. He glanced over as you pointed it at his neck. He chuckled as his eyes flashed.

“You don’t wanna do that, girl,” He warned.

“I don’t so long as you let him go,” You declared. “You go sit down, we’ll get you coffee, Art will cook you some bacon, and we’ll wait for Jimmy.”

“Don’t think I will.” Steve squeezed tighter as Artie turned red.

“Oh yeah?” You touched his neck with the blade’s edge. “You want Jimmy, no one’s keeping you from him but we can’t help you if you throttle poor Artie.”

A chuckle came from behind you. Deep and venomous. You looked slowly over your shoulder as the back door whisked shut. The knife slipped from your hand as you were faced with the barrel of a gun. The metal clattered to the tile as you dropped your arms and stared at the pistol’s mouth.

“You grew some balls since grade school,” Bucky remarked.

Him and Steve had always been inseparable. You should’ve known he wasn’t far. And as the main shareholder in the Asp and therefore the club, he was owed more than any. It would be a mark on the crest not to collect the debt himself.

“Wish I could say the same of you,” You retorted. “So, you gonna shoot me?”

He laughed again and Steve did too. “Let the man go,” Bucky said. “There’s a safe in the office. If there’s not enough in there, we’ll empty the till.”

He lowered the gun. Slowly as if taunting you. You turned to check on Artie as he leaned heavily on the wall. Steve headed for the door to the back hall where Jimmy’s office was.

“You okay?” You helped Artie stand straight. “You need some water. You should sit down. I’ll get Billy to finish service.”

“You are going to go out there,” Bucky said as he holstered his gun. “With the rest of the girls and stay away from sharp objects.” He grabbed your arm and dragged you to the door. “Artie, you get back to your tickets. These people look hungry.”

He shoved you through to the dining room and you stumbled into the counter. Artie coughed and wiped his sweaty hands on his apron. He waved at Billy, his sous chef, and ambled back to the grill.

It was a few minutes of tense silence filled only with the sound of pots, pans, and plates. As Artie called out an order and Lillian loaded her tray, Steve emerged from the back. Donny stood at the front door and kept any from leaving. Not than anyone had the strength or courage to even stand up.

“I don’t think we’re getting that thing open.” Steve said.

“Hey!” Donny shouted and the door chimed as he pulled it open.

Everyone watched as he raced out and chased Jimmy past the window. The small, greasy-haired man put up little fight against the burly biker and was dragged inside.

“There you are, Jim,” Bucky swung the door open and brushed past you. “We were starting to get impatient.”

“Bucky,” Jimmy’s voice cracked. “What are you--”

“Jim, let’s not play this game,” Bucky snapped. “I think you know I haven’t brought everyone here for breakfast so why don’t you help us crack the code and we’ll be on our way.”

“Crack the code?” Jimmy whimpered.

“We found the safe,” Bucky crossed his arms. “So, you open it up and we’re on our way. I only came for what’s mine. For what you owe me.”

“I-I-I--” Jimmy stuttered.

“Grab him,” Bucky ordered and Steve was quick to grab the thin man by his scruff and drag him across the diner.

Bucky led the way into the kitchen and the weak struggle could be heard as they disappeared through the back door. Artie called another order and Kimmie balanced it on her tray. When the three men returned, Jimmy had a bloody lip and Steve carried a black bag of what could only be the safe’s contents.

“Well, you see, we still got a problem here, Jimmy.” Bucky hauled him over to the window by his arm. “That’s not even close to what you owe and you’ve got late fees on top of it. Dodging me all week like this.”

Jimmy looked ready to cry as Bucky took his hand and slammed hit flat on the window’s ledge. He held his wrist down as he reached to his waist. “Check the register.” Bucky ordered.

Steve went to the till and hit every button until it opened. He emptied the drawer and shook his head. “Not even a hundred.” He scoffed.

“Pity,” Bucky pulled a knife from his belt. “Well then, Jim, there’s only one thing for you to do; pick a finger.”

“Wha--” Jimmy yelped. “What do you--”

“You pick a finger or I will find something worse to cut off.” Bucky lowered the blade and Jimmy flinched away.

“Please,” Jimmy begged. “I’ll get the money. End of the week, I promise.”

“You said that last week,” Bucky countered. “And I can’t gamble my integrity as lightly as you do, Jim. So hurry up or I’ll make you pick two.”

“Uh…” Jimmy quaked and went pale. ‘Th-the pinkie.”

Bucky was quick. The knife cut easily through flesh and bone and blood pooled beneath Jimmy’s hand in second. You covered your mouth as your stomach flipped and several people wretched, some followed by sloppy splats onto the floor.

Bucky held up the finger and admired it before he tucked it into his pocket and patted Jimmy on the back. “One week for the rest of it, Jim.” He strode through the door and stopped just beside the counter. He turned to you and smirked as he took the cloth from your apron pocket. “Get some pressure on that before he passes out, will ya?”

He handed you the cloth and winked. He nodded to his men and they filed out the door without another word. You blinked and shook yourself from your shock. You pushed through the kitchen door and grabbed Jimmy’s hand as he held his wrist. You pushed the rag to his severed pinkie and he hissed.

“Someone call an ambulance,” Your voice seemed to break the pall that had fallen over the diner. “Please!”

💀

By Tuesday, it was as if nothing had ever happened at the Chipped Saucer. The usual customers stopped by for their breakfast or lunch and Artie was back to his grumpy ways. The only thing that remained was the blood stain on the window ledge. And the bandage on Jimmy’s hand.

When you were done your shift, you hung your apron on its hook in the back and clipped your name tag on it. You covered up your hideous yellow dress with your black cardigan and grabbed your purse before you headed out. Your mother texted you to grab some cheese on your way home and a sixer of Blue for good measure.

You stopped by the grocer first and added a box of oreos to your bill. The liquor store was just next door and the after work crowd strolled its aisles. You traipsed to the back, the paper bag balanced against your hip as you browsed the cans and bottles. You grabbed some Blue and turned to head to the check out. You were the only person left in the aisle, well aside from one. Likely the reason for the sudden desolation.

Bucky Barnes stood before you in his leather jacket. You hadn’t noticed him there at the end of the shelf, watching you, arms crossed. You sighed and walked towards him, deliberately sidestepping him. You stopped short as he blocked you with his arm.

“Not even a hello?” He mused.

You scoffed and shook your head and stepped to the other side. He blocked you just as quickly. You tilted your head wryly and he smiled.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.” He said evenly.

“Mmhmm,” You rolled your eyes. “Forgive me if I’m not up for it.”

You tried to shake him again and he caught you around your waist. “Honey, honey, honey.”

You wriggled away from him and almost dropped your armful.

“You had a gun in my face two days ago. I have nothing to say to you.”

“You had a knife to my man’s throat.” He said. “Think we’re even.”

“Just say whatever it is you want so that I can go home.” You grumbled.

“How you like working over there at the Saucer?”

“What?” You shook your head.

“Seems slow. Tips any good?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You challenged.

“Well, we got an opening at The Asp and you’ve got experience serving.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d put that out there. Not many ways to move up in this town.”

“I don’t wanna work at a dive.” You said through your teeth. “You done?”

“Sure.” He backed up and turned so he was almost against the shelf. He waved you past him. “Go home. Relax.” You began to step by him and he spoke again. “Say hi to your ma.”

You stopped but didn’t look back at him. You swallowed and carried your sixer to the counter. You set it down and dug for your wallet with one hand.

“It’s been covered.” Larry said as he scratched his thick mustache and glanced at Bucky. The biker pretended to peruse the white wines.

“No, it hasn’t.” You slammed a bill on the cans. “You give him his money back. Or keep it. I couldn’t care less.”

You waited for your change and grabbed the beer. You kept your head high as you swept out onto the street and past the motorcycle parked across two spots. You’d have to barter a can off your mom when you got in.

💀

On Friday, Jimmy called you to his office. He never called anyone to his office. Well except Kimmie but that’s because everyone knew what was going on between them. So you punched out and headed to the small back room with the dented metal desk from the 60s and the cinder block wall poorly disguised with flowery wallpaper. You knocked then entered when he replied.

You sat in the small chair with the orange cushion. The same one you’d sat your interview in. Jimmy spun his pen in his hand. He was jumpy. More than usual. The small safe hidden beside his filing cabinet was scratched but still in tact. He dropped the pen and twined his fingers together.

“So, uh, yeah,” He blinked and sniffed. “Well, this isn’t… easy. Not quite sure how to say it really.”

You were quiet. Confused. You scrunched your lips and listened. You had a bad feeling. Unusual things didn’t happen for no reason. Not in a small town.

“Heh, well, I’m sure you know I’ve come into some financial hardship and, well, it looks like...uh,” He sat back and smoothed his greasy, thinnng hair. “I’m gonna have to let you… go.”

“Let me go?” You repeated. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I need the, uh, cash,” He turned back and forth in his chair. He was nervous.

“Cash. Sure. You couldn’t sell that heap of junk parked outside?” You sneered. “I have no doubt this has something to do with those goons but I don’t think you’re being honest about the why.”

“Look, I’m real sorry. You’ll get severance.” He sputtered.

“You can’t afford to keep me on but you can afford the pay out?” You scoffed and stood. “Let me ask you, have you received any other visits from your friends at The Asp?”

He shook his head frantically.

“Yeah, you haven’t been around Larry’s to grab a mickey at all? Or passing by? Maybe Tuesday night?”

“It’s a small town. I got nowhere to hide.” He cowered.

“Suppose there’s nothing else to say. Nothing I can say.” You threw up those hands. “You tell Bucky you were a good boy, okay?”

“I…”

“I get it. You owe them.” You started to turn away. “When should I expect my cheque.”

“Usual,” He answered glumly. “I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You stopped by the door. “You remember how sorry you are the next time you pick up a cue, eh.”

💀

Another trip to the liquor store, this one unimpeded. A bottle of wine from some unheard of vineyard on some distant island. You carried it home in the bag, its shape visible beneath the wrinkled paper. You went in the back way, as you always did. Your mother’s dog, Ash, wiggled his bum as you stopped to pet him. You let him inside as you entered the kitchen.

Your mother was at the counter, working on dinner. You set the bottle on the table heavily and sat. You let your purse fall to the floor and sighed.

“Hey, hon,” She said. “How was your day?”

You grumbled and unsheathed the bottle. You crumpled the bag and tossed it in the middle of the table. You unscrewed the lid and drank from the long neck. Your mom stopped her chopping and turned with a hand on her hip.

“Rough one?” She asked.

“I got fired.” You said numbly.

“Fired? For what?”

You shrugged and took another drink. She huffed and set aside her knife. You listened as she opened and closed a cupboard and crossed to you. She set down a glass.

“Pace yourself.” She reproached.

You frowned and filled the glass to the rim. She tutted and went back to the counter.

“It’s because of them.” You said at last.

She looked at you but kept quiet. She knew who you meant.

“Some kind of game.” You muttered.

“Oh, Lillian told me about your heroics.” Your mother sighed. “I knew you weren’t telling me something.”

“Christ, ma, they were gonna give Artie a heart attack,” You exclaimed. “What was I supposed to do? He’s a defenseless old man.”

“And? The Commandos are thugs. They have no qualms against old men and young women.” She dumped her cutting board in the pot and covered it. “Losing your job is nothing. You could’ve lost a lot more messing around. You know how things work.”

“Not as well as you, yeah?” You drank deeply. “Dad learned it the hard way, didn’t he?”

“That he did,” She assured you and took a glass of her own from the cupboard. She sat with you at the table. “You’ll find something else. Something better than the diner. That little tourism place, they need a new receptionist.”

“Great, I’ll get my resume printed tomorrow.” You poured her a more modest glass. “It’s a show. Don’t worry, ma. They just want to wave their-- well, you know.”

“You just stay clear of them. Let them find bigger fish to fry,” She advised.

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westerhos · 4 years

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Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

#outlander #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #myfic #i am so bad at dialogue!!!!!

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chidoroki · 4 years

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So, with release of ch181 this weekend, the manga is coming to an end. While I hope and pray desperately for a happy ending, there's still a lot on my mind. I can't help but think about some unanswered questions and just stuff I'm generally curious about. Most of these ideas may not be important now, so I doubt we'll touch upon the majority of them in the last 27 pages, but here's just some things I want to learn more about in the future (whether future anime seasons expand on them or from upcoming volume extras).

"Isabella's second weakness." What exactly did Ray write on the note that Krone found in ch22? Krone claims Isabella herself wouldn't know the contents of the note, much less tell Ray about it, yet Krone was able to look up if such information was true herself moments later and was convinced that it would cause the higher ups to lose trust in Isabella. I don't think it was about her being Ray's actual mother (because wasn't that disproven already?) so yes, I'm still curious.

Ray doesn't get enough credit for knowing exactly who was able to undergo a blood transfusion with Emma back in ch96, but when and how did he learn the blood type of everyone in his family?

What did Norman say to Ayshe in ch160 via demon language? Did he apologize? Regardless if he did or not, does she forgive him?

Speaking of demon language, how and when did Norman learn it? I know the boy is smart but damn, he was certainly busy those few years already.

Do the other children know Ray was Isabella's biological son or not?!

Will our precious mc get her memories back or am I gonna cry about this ending forever?

Why does Paula cover her mouth? Is she perhaps hiding a scar of some sort or does she just wanna look cool? There's an extra page in ch92 (i think) that shows her pulling down her bandanna as she eats with Adam but we don't get a clear view and it teases me so much!

Why is Emma's Goldy Pond outfit so powerful that it makes me smile and incredibly happy every time I see her in it?

Will our adorable boy Chris ever wake up???

Did Anna and the others ever find a cure for the Lambda crew's seizures? Are they okay now? Not to mention they also got pretty heavy injuries during the queen battle & at GF, so are they truly fine?

Just more in general about the "windmill girl" that saved Lucas.

Also more about how Yuugo, Lucas & their family escaped Glory Bell. Maybe more about Norman's escape from Lambda too.

Were Ayshe's dogs able to cross over to the human world too?

I know we probably won't learn this until season 2, or whenever the anime reaches the Goldy Pond arc, but what kind of music do they play to announce the start of each hunt? Or is it just a blaring alarm of some sort? ..Can you imagine if the sound is like a speed-up version of Leslie's song?

Where exactly was Emma in ch159 when she said she once imagined what dying was like? Was that after she returned from the 7 walls? Or while they were out looking for the temples and golden water? Perhaps one night during their trip to the capital demon city?

Will the last chapter make me cry happy or sad tears?

Any significant or clever reason as to why Emma went from three hairclips to two? Or is it simply because one just got lost during their travels?

RAY'S SCARF!! We know he got it during their temple & golden water search, but when exactly? Did he buy it himself somewhere? And why? To help cover his numbers or simply just stay warm? Or was it given to him? Did someone make it for him? And why blue? Tell me everything!

What exactly did Andrew talk to Phil about in ch100? Anything important? Or was that just to scare us readers?

Was the Grace Field plantation the only premium farm without artificial lighting?

What's the name of Emma's third father?? Old dude we've only known you for one chapter but you're such a kind person.

(edit): Demon god took away Emma's memories and id brand on her neck, but what about the other noticable features of her appearance? Is she still missing her left ear? Does she still have the scars from Lewis? Or did Demon god alter those too as a way to rid her from past memories?

I know my mind is all over the place right now so there's probably a bunch of other thoughts I'm forgetting about, but oh well. Y'all are welcome to add onto this too, or maybe answer something I completely missed and forgot about somehow. (yes im just trying to distract myself from thinking about the upcoming spoilers)

#the promised neverland #chidoroki used chatter

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thepeakyfckingblinders · 5 years

Text

Insānĭa || Alfie Solomons x reader || Part One

↬ Part Two ↫

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “Hi luv can you write a Jealous Alfie that's leads to in ur words good old fashioned rough sex pretty please 😉”

Warnings: swearing, dirty talking, smut, rough sex, oral sex, jealous Alfie getting me on my knees

Author’s notes:

Sooo, I’ve definitely decided to use this kind of titles for fics about strong feelings such as jealousy because Latin is a magnificent, very expressive language that allows you to grasp every single shade of a word and fully understand its meaning

I had to split this in two since it was awfully long, part two will be out in the next hours!

Alfie -and Tom Hardy in general- is one of my most remote wet dreams, I truly hope I did a good job with this one ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

Let me know what you think and tell me if this is what you expected ♡

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Insānĭa [insaniă], insaniae feminine noun I declension 1. madness, insanity 2. fury, frenzy 3. excess, extravagance 4. profligacy, luxury

The dark green brocade of your dress flawlessly embraced your body, creating a ravishing contrast between the bright colour of that precious fabric and your y/s/c velvet skin, as you gave a final glimpse at the mirror, appreciating what you saw for once. That surprising realization made a small smile appear on your ruby lips and you brushed behind your pearled ear a stand of your hair escaped from your fine coiffure, before finally leaving Alfie’s office, headed to the great hall of the distillery where an important business dinner was about to take place. Actually, your fiancé hardly ever involved you in his working life, indeed he always tried to keep you safe, far away from the atrocities of that cruel world, almost like you were his rare rose under a bell jar, he would’ve never let anything happen to you, at the cost of his own life. But that was a special occasion and it demanded an exception: Alfie had finally succeeded in reaching an agreement with a new Italo-American partner, in order to expand his traffic in rum all the way to the Americas; consequently, that opulent feast was arranged not only to celebrate, but also to define the ultimate details of their recent deal, and your presence was required too. Entering the huge room already half full of people, you immediately waved your hand at Ollie who was friendly smiling in your direction, before your eyes went looking for your boyfriend, finding him seconds later, while he was busy talking with who you assumed to be Mr. Antonio Fontana. As you approached them, you had to admit to yourself that Alfie’s latest business associate was, without a doubt, one of the most charming men you’d ever seen; his tall, muscular figure stroke a thrilling fear into you, as his dark greedy eyes examined your body with surgical precision and, when you eventually found yourself right in front of him with flushed cheeks, a slight smirk formed on his fleshy lips surrounded by a hint of beard, just as black as his curly hair.

You remained caught up in your inappropriate thoughts, unable to pronounce a single word, until a strong arm unexpectedly harpooned your waist, catapulting you back into real life, and you recognized Alfie’s intense cologne as it forcefully filled your nostrils. Only then you raised your eyes at him, noticing an irritated look contaminating his sublime masculine features, still you didn’t manage to say anything because, just as you attempted to open your mouth, Antonio’s deep voice overtook you, capturing your attention again.

“May I ask who this stunning creature is?” Although that question was in effect addressed to Alfie, your guest’s impudent gaze entangled yours once more, as he held your right hand, leaving a brief kiss on the ardent skin of its dorsum; his strategical sweet-talk, along with his sudden gallant gesture, inevitably intensified the blush on your face, preventing you to look the other way, so you simply kept your irises locked with his.

“I’m y/n ...” Before your full name could leave your red lips, Alfie nonchalantly took your tiny hand from his, sending him an indecipherable, unsettling glare in stark contrast with his apparently mild voice, while his fingers automatically stroked his long beard .

“Antonio, this is Y/n y/l/n, my lovely wife-to-be” That last appellative in particular was marked with far too much emphasis as his strong hand, still laid on your side, gently pulled your back closer to his vigorous torso covered by a creamy-white shirt and black jacket; already bothered by all of that impudence, he was obviously making it clear that you were not available, still the half Italian just didn’t seem to care and continued to shamelessly court you, right under Alfie’s harsh stare.

“This means it’s not too late for you to make a better choice, angel” Antonio’s grin widened while he spoke those insolent words, making his black eyes blatantly travel from your mouth to your deep neckline, his tongue slithered on his bottom lip in a salacious movement as he lingered on the soft skin of your chest. You felt your fiancé’s fists brutally clench, moreover his muscular arms visibly tautened together with his large shoulders, and you knew he wouldn’t have contained his anger for much longer, still, before your spellbound brain could start working again, your rambling mouth raced beyond the point of no return.

“Guess it’s never too late”

You said lightly and, as soon as you realized how idiotic your answer was, your eyelids snapped wide open with absolute panic for the likely destructive consequences of your foolishness; however, to your great surprise, nothing of what you expected actually happened. Alfie was still holding you tight, his heavy breaths slightly betrayed his attempt to remain calm: he was well aware that the deal with the Americans was way too important for him to ruin everything at a few inches from the finish line, so he just had recourse to all his self-control and somehow managed not to blow his shareholder’s head off his neck right on the spot. He simply cleared his throat before speaking again. “You know, my friend, we are businessmen, aren't we?” Your boyfriend’s husky voice revealed a hint of edginess, even though he was using his usual unintelligible tone “And as a businessman, there’s only one fucking thing I demand when it comes to my affairs, and that’s respect, ‘cause respect, mate, is fucking sacred, innit?” His tattooed hand drew a few little circles in the air as his brows and mouth raised simultaneously, giving birth to a brief pretentious expression. “I mean, no matter how hard I want to, I can’t just break into your house and fuck your mother under your bloody eyes, eh? That wouldn’t be right, mate” Antonio looked at him with a cheeky smile never leaving his face, and again he chose to totally ignore those veiled warnings, his attention utterly moved to your silhouette once more and his fingers dared to move a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Amico mio*, I think when you desire something so bad, you have to take it, even if it meant breaking the rules”

With fiery blood both in his greenish eyes and on the palms of his hands, due to the nails now wedged in his own flesh, Alfie abruptly breathed out, ready to assault his new sworn enemy and probably kill him right there and then, without a second thought; luckily, you were able to read him like a book, so, with great timing, you successfully avoided a bloodbath by yanking his arm, in order to dissuade him from the violent intentions crowding his turbulent mind. “Mr. Fontana, if you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, I just remembered I need help with a couple of things before our dinner is served” You put on an apologetic smile, starting to back off towards Alfie’s private room while dragging him with you “Please, take a seat, we’ll be back in a moment”

As soon as the two of you entered the main office, you quickly closed the door along with the curtains, conscious of how hard it was to cope with your man’s wrath, especially when it came to other blokes brazenly flirting with you. “What the hell was that, eh?” Alfie furiously removed his jacket, carelessly throwing it on the floor, his hoarse voice echoed between the walls almost astonishing you, as he approached your minute figure with a literally livid look. “How dare you eye-shag that fucking wop, in my own fucking home! He was practically about to put his dick in you right in front of me; and you would’ve fucking let him!” His savage screaming paused for a short instant when he spasmodically messed up his hair, madly pulling its tips in a desperate effort to hold back his rage.

On the other hand, you simply couldn’t take your eyes off him: whenever he got angry, the way veins swelled in his solid neck and half-exposed forearms drove you crazy, you were in a haze as you kept staring at his manly features pursed in such a cursed yet handsome expression, and if that wasn’t hot enough, his muscular body tensed several times, showing all of its virile glory, while he continued to shout at you. “I don’t even know why the hell I haven't killed that cunt yet! Maybe I should just go and rip his throat open” A familiar heat began to rise in your belly and you tactically sat on his desk, viciously martyrizing your bottom lip with your teeth, determined to tease him a little more, in order to eventually get what you were craving. “Oh, c’mon, love, no need to be this irascible! He is a gorgeous man, you can’t deny that” In truth, you couldn’t care less about that eyetie, still you kept using that coquettish tone, knowing how easy it was for you to find his weak spot, indeed Alfie immediately got close to your face, slightly squeezing his menacing eyes. “Are you fucking trying to make me mad on purpose, y/n? eh?” His palms loudly collided with the wooden surface on each side of your legs, his plump lips were now only a few inches apart from yours, his hot breath warming your flushed cheeks as you pierced his dilated pupils with a lustful gaze.

“Maybe.”

*Amico mio = My friend

@namelesslosers

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theusurpersdog · 5 years

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The Beggar Queen

Following up my post on Daenerys in A Game of Thrones, I also have a lot of thoughts on her arc in A Clash of Kings. In many ways it’s a very unexpected continuation of her story; at the end of A Game of Thrones, she has just hatched three dragons and walked out of a burning pyre, seemingly at the top of the world. Instead of a more typical fantasy story, A Clash of Kings sends Daenerys back down to being powerless. There’s a reality to how GRRM writes the story; sure, she has three dragons, but what good are they in the middle of a vast desert? What good are they when they can’t even fly or breathe fire yet? These are all questions Daenerys has to try and find answers to, while also trying to keep her and her people alive. And she’s also trying to build an army and fleet to take her to Westeros while navigating the wonders and horrors of Qarth.

The Bleeding Star

When Daenerys is about to step into Drogo’s funeral pyre in A Game of Thrones, she looks up to the stars and sees a streaking red comet blazing across the sky, and sees it as a sign of her dragons. That same comet guides her through the Red Waste in A Clash of Kings:

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is a herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

The comet is the connecting thread between everyone in the story. From each point of view character, we learn some new truth or interpretation for what it means:

Cressen had never seen a comet half so bright, nor yet that color, that terrible color, the color of blood and flame and sunsets

- Prologue

That night she lay upon her thin blanket on the hard ground, staring up at the great red comet. The comet was splendid and scary all at once. "The Red Sword," the Bull named it; he claimed it looked like a sword, the blade still red-hot from the forge. When Arya squinted the right way she could see the sword too, only it wasn't a new sword, it was Ice, her father's greatsword, all ripply Valyrian steel, and the red was Lord Eddard's blood on the blade after Ser Ilyn the King's Justice had cut off his head.

- Arya I

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

- Sansa I

When Bran repeated that to Osha, she laughed aloud. "Your wolves have more wit than your maester," the wildling woman said. "They know truths the grey man has forgotten." The way she said it made him shiver, and when he asked what the comet meant, she answered, "Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet."

- Bran I

All of those descriptions of the comet have one thing in common – Daenerys Targaryen. Whether it be Cressen seeing Fire & Blood in the sky, Arya seeing beauty and horror and Valyrian steel and blood, Sansa calling it the Dragon’s Tail and Arys Oakheart seeing it as the coming of Aegon’s heir, or Osha’s warning to Bran of “blood and fire, and nothing sweet.”, Daenerys is tied to the comet. Because it was meant for her. In the House of the Undying, Daenerys learns that the warlocks sent it to guide her to Qarth so they could feed off her and her dragons.

So, what does it mean, that this comet belongs to Daenerys? I think it’s very similar to how waking the dragon was used in A Game of Thrones. All of our protagonists find horror in the red streak across the sky, where only our antagonists (such as Theon) believe it belongs to them. In one way, all of the ominous foreshadowing for the comet is because the Warlocks were trying to kill Daenerys with it. But, the symbolism of the comet aligns shockingly well with Daenerys’ own path. She thinks it’s a sign of her reign, of her coming glory in the Seven Kingdoms. But instead, it leads her toward ruin; while she narrowly manages to escape the House of the Undying, following the comet almost kills her. The comet is just like the Queenship she’s chasing in Westeros; this thing she can’t let go of, that she’ll follow blindly, until it destroys her.

The comet also allows us to fully understand what Daenerys now represents to the people who saw her step out of Drogo’s Pyre:

"We follow the comet," Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo's people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

Daenerys is very far from a normal political figure or leader; she is a messiah figure to her people, the product of hundreds of years of magic and prophecy. Her khalasar will follow her through the desert chasing a comet, because they watched her do the impossible. This kind of relationship she has with her people is crucial to understanding how Daenerys reacts to them. She puts an immense amount of pressure on herself to live up to the legend that made her the Mother of Dragons:

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Daenerys knows her people are the weakest, the oldest and youngest, the outcasts, the people who cannot provide for themselves. So they turned to her, their only chance after the rest of the Dothraki abandoned them. And Daenerys is aware of this, and trying desperately to save her people and herself, but she doesn’t know how. Her dragons are only hatchlings, and all the enemies she made when Drogo died leave her no choice but to take her people through the Red Waste. As we’ll see later, her magical abilities failing her forces her to become a political and practical leader of her people, whether she is capable of that or no.

In later books, Daenerys begins to gather other followers, but in A Clash of Kings, the Dothraki are all she has. And they follow her because might makes right within a khalasar, and no one is mightier than the young girl who walked out of a fire with no burns and three dragons. Later books are much more invested in examining both the good - but especially the bad - that this kind of relationship can cause between a ruler and her people, but that part of Daenerys’ arc is already set up here in A Clash of Kings.

This dynamic does give us a glimpse into the altruistic part of Daenerys that is still there, and especially on display when Doreah dies in her arms:

Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Daenerys gives Doreah some of her own water, knowing that the girl was going to die anyway, just to ease her passing. She holds her hand as she dies, and refused to let Jhogo and the khalasar disrespect Doreah.

Daenerys is aware of the huge sacrifice her few followers made to be with her, and she’s willing to sacrifice tremendously to repay their loyalty.

The Dragons Are All The Difference

In my last meta, I talked a lot about how Daenerys is the truest possible version of what a Targaryen is, Fire & Blood writ large, and how much that has to do with the connection she shares to her dragons; and that theme is built upon even more in this book.

Now she has actually hatched her eggs, but quickly realizes that having dragons doesn’t help you feed your people:

Yet even as her dragons prospered, her khalasar withered and died.

The dragons eat many times their weight a day (and while that doesn’t seem like much since they’re so small, it’s important to remember that Dany’s people are starving to death) and don’t offer anything in return.

This is another case where the dragons function as a stand-in for Daenerys. While she gained tremendously from everything that happened at the end of A Game of Thrones, by becoming a khal and hatching dragons, the people who follow her lost everything. They didn’t even choose to stay with her; the environment she helped create was rejecting of their weakness and left them behind to die with her. And while they have their “freedom” now, it doesn’t mean much when Doreah dies in the Red Waste. Having dragons doesn’t make Daenerys capable of actually saving these people she’s led into the wilderness.

When Daenerys and her khalasar finally find the city they name Vaes Tolorro, at first Daenerys wants to make it their home:

In the coolness of her tent, Dany blackened horse-meat over a brazier and reflected on her choices. There was food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength. How pleasant it would be to wake every day in the same place, to linger among shady gardens, eat figs, and drink cool water, as much as she might desire.

And later, this happens:

"I've brought you a peach," Ser Jorah said, kneeling. It was so small she could almost hide it in her palm, and overripe too, but when she took the first bite, the flesh was so sweet she almost cried. She ate it slowly, savoring every mouthful, while Ser Jorah told her of the tree it had been plucked from, in a garden near the western wall.

The specific fruit Jorah gives her, a peach, makes this very important. In this same book, Renly tries to get Stannis to enjoy a peach in their last conversation, and Stannis will never stop thinking on what Renly meant by it; to us, it’s quite clear that the peach is the little pleasures in life, joy, happiness, pausing to love the things and people around you. The heartbreak of Stannis as a character is that he will never be able to understand the world in that way; the heartbreak of Daenerys as a character is that a part of her can sit and simply savor a peach, but something pulls her away from it; and, of course, that something is dragons:

She dreamed of Drogo and the first ride they had taken together on the night they were wed. In the dream it was not horses they rode, but dragons.

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me.”

And while this choice is fairly reasonable at the time, since she doesn’t know what awaits her in most directions, she thinks later that she could go back to Vaes Tolorro:

Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference.

The dragons always stop her from turning back, from being happy where she is. They are her reason to take the Seven Kingdoms, the motivation she has to restore her family to the glory Aegon the Conqueror raised it to.

A part of Daenerys wanting to turn back to Vaes Tolorro and start her kingdom there, is an interesting contrast to her thoughts on conquering Westeros:

Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

She has all these wonderfully idealistic dreams for her kingdom, yet all of them are made meaningless with the line “But before she could do that she must conquer”; while she wants everyone in her kingdom to be happy, she’s going to have to kill their Kings and Lords and many of the people before she can achieve that goal. The fact that she has to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms by nature means she will force many to sup on tears. But Vaes Tolorro gives her an out; a ready-made city, a rich oasis in the desert, where she could be Queen and grow her people.

But that will always be too small for Daenerys Targaryen, seed of Kings and Conquerors. She will never be content with the small matters of Essos, not when the Red Keep and the throne that by right is hers is sat by the Usurper and his dogs. The connection she has to the Targaryens who took their dragons and conquered Westeros is always going to pull her away from the part of her that just wants simplicity.

Daenerys’ understanding of how dangerous her dragons are is also touched on when she is in Qarth:

And they must be trained as well, or they will lay my kingdom to waste.

She thinks a lot about how she wants to go back to Westeros, and how she wants to avoid laying waste to it. It’s very interesting to note just how aware she is of her dragons’ destructive nature this early in the story, because it suggests she is much more culpable in their actions than some people want to admit. A lot of characters in the story make decisions that end up being disastrous, but are too young or had no reasonable way of knowing how tremendous those decisions would turn out being – the two obvious examples being Sansa telling Cersei that Ned intends to leave King’s Landing, and Bran warging Hodor – and most people file Drogon’s murder of Hazzea as a similar accident for Daenerys. Yet she is already aware that without training they will completely devastate the lands of Westeros, and actively thinks she should try and train them to avoid that. So, once they are much bigger and flying around Meereen killing sheep, it seems like willful ignorance on her part not to do something about them. I think this is so important because the line between Daenerys and her dragons has always been thin, and the further the series progresses the more that line blurs, so Daenerys choosing to look passed or ignore how violent her dragons are is very interesting in the context of how she views herself.

Viserys Always Said. . .

One part of Daenerys’ story that isn’t talked about enough, is how devastating Westeros will be to her. In A Game of Thrones, she thinks to herself that all the doors will be red in the Seven Kingdoms. She knows that the house with the red door and lemon tree in Braavos is the last place where she felt at home, and ever since then she’s been running from one place to the next, a guest in the house of strangers trying to take advantage of her and her brother’s name. She watched her brother slowly lose his mind the more they were turned away, and had to suffer through his abuses. But when she marries Khal Drogo and meets Ser Jorah Mormont, all the things her brother said about Westeros are suddenly within her reach. Instead of thinking that a house in Braavos she can never return to is her home, she can tell herself that the Seven Kingdoms are her real home; they are the place where she’ll finally feel as if she belongs. She builds it up in her mind as this place where all the doors could be red, every house a home to her. And all the things Viserys said about how beautiful it is also stay with Dany:

She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

And when thinking of Westeros, Daenerys specifically thinks that it is home. Previously in A Game of Thrones, Viserys misunderstands her when she says “home” because Daenerys had never viewed Westeros as her home. But now all of that has changed, and Westeros has become a promise to her. She never feels quite at home with the Dothraki, she certainly does not feel at home in Qarth, but waiting for her across the Narrow Sea is the most beautiful place on earth - and she is going to be the Queen.

But us readers have spent much more time in Westeros than Daenerys has, and we know that almost everything Viserys said wasn’t true. The Red Keep is a beautiful castle, but it has no pools or gardens that could compete with Xaro Xhoan Daxos’ manse. Even at Westeros’ height, it lags behind as far as arts and architecture and all the small beauties Daenerys is so enamored by in Essos. And Westeros is far from its best; while Daenerys sits in Xaro’s pool dreaming of gardens of lavender and mint, the War of the Five Kings is tearing Westeros apart. It was never going to live up to the place Viserys told Daenerys it would be, but the War of the Five Kings leaves it broken and fractured in a way Westeros had never seen before. It is not going to be the home Daenerys needs it to be.

The idea of Westeros being Dany’s house with the red door is something that follows her through the next two books, as well. In A Clash of Kings, Daenerys has firmly rejected any other future she could have to chase the Iron Throne, but she has yet to hit the emotional lows that A Storm of Swords and A Dance with Dragons bring her to. She has almost never felt at home her whole life, and the exclusion she feels from both the Dothraki and the Qartheen pushes her further into the promises of Westeros’ red doors, but she is not hopeless in Essos yet and still enjoys so much of its cities and cultures. The next two books will find her in Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen, though, and her hatred of those cities will make her emotional dependence on Westeros grow.

A Horse Girl With A Curious Pet

A huge part of Daenerys arc is how out of place she is. A combination of being the daughter of a disgraced King from a place she’s never set foot, to being a little girl running from place to place never settling, to being sold as a child bride to the Dothraki, Daenerys has never actually had a people or a place where she feels she belongs. A lot of her more problematic characteristics come from the need she has to find a place where she feels at home.

Being a Khaleesi is the closest Daenerys has come to being somewhere she feels she belongs, but the last few chapters of A Game of Thrones saw that completely implode. While she still has a khalasar and her own blood riders, there’s a distance she has from the Dothraki that is heightened in A Clash of Kings. This book is an introduction to a lot of the issues people point to when saying Daenerys is a colonizer and white savior:

She glanced at her bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts. Is it only the plunder they see? she wondered. How savage we must seem to these Qartheen.

The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them.

Daenerys does not understand the Dothraki, and is still an outsider among them. When she enters Qarth and sees all the beauty and splendor of the city, she quickly favors their way over that of her khalasar. Daenerys’ thoughts on the Dothraki are far from simple, since she herself is the victim of their more negative views on people and women specifically, but she also refuses to see them in a different light. She doesn’t even consider the possibility that the Dothraki could settle in Westeros and adjust to a more permanent lifestyle; instead she tries to find a new army to take Westeros with.

It’s really hard to find the line on what is reasonable from Daenerys in this situation, and what is her being irrational. She was sold to Khal Drogo as a child bride and brutalized for weeks or months, and then saw her life fall apart when she demanded the Dothraki be more humane in their warfare, so certain misgivings she has are reasonable.

But Daenerys doesn’t acknowledge her own culpability, and how she herself is not that far removed from the “savagery” of the Dothraki. When she thinks on how the Dothraki sack and ruin cities, it is in the context of her using them to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Even though she could take her dragons and khalasar and live a perfect and peaceful life in the Free Cities, Daenerys is choosing to take an army – which she views as savage – and conquer a continent.

And there is a certain dismissiveness she has when addressing their beliefs and customs:

Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. "Ghosts," Irri muttered. "Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place."

"I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts." And figs are more important. "Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk."

In the above exchange between Daenerys and Irri, she does have a point. If they decide not to stay in Vaes Tolorro, they could die of dehydration and exhaustion; Daenerys does not really have a choice, they must stay in the ghost city. But she has no patience for the religious beliefs of the Dothraki, and how important they are to the culture, referring to it as “silly talk”. As we see in later books, there is often a logic to Dothraki superstition and Daenerys would be better off if she took Irri and Jhiqui’s advice into consideration.

Speaking of how Daenerys overlooks how important some things are to the Dothraki, I think this passage is especially illuminating:

“We are the blood of your blood,” said Aggo, “sworn to live and die as you do. Let us walk with you in this dark place, to keep you safe from harm.”

This is right before Daenerys going into the House of the Undying, when she is telling her blood riders that she must go alone. One thing that I want to make clear, is that the blood riders are very different from any other type of group sworn to protect their King/Queen; the Knights of the Kingsguard, for example, are sworn to die in defense of their King, but are under no oath to die if their king does, and won’t be punished by death if they save themselves instead of their king. Dothraki blood riders, on the other hand, are sworn to die after they avenge their Khal; so, if Daenerys dies, she has sworn her blood riders to committing suicide. The interesting thing is, Daenerys never really thinks much about that; I think, in her mind, blood riders were something that khals had and so she should have them too, never really thinking further on what she was swearing these men to do. Daenerys builds her brand on being very anti-slavery, and the blood riders live much better lives than chattel slaves, but there is something interesting to the idea that Daenerys has a group of men essentially chained to her – because their lives depend on hers, and as the quote above shows, they actively seek out to be with her when things are most dangerous; not because they want to protect her, but because they are risking their own lives when they let her leave. Of course, she didn’t force them into being her blood riders so they chose this, but Daenerys never thinks on what her choices mean for their lives when she does something risky.

Daenerys’ thoughts on the savagery of the Dothraki leads her to distance herself from the Dothraki when she arrives in Qarth, and she begins acting like the Qartheen to try and win their favor. She dresses in their traditional clothing, lives in Xaro’s palace, does not comment (or think to herself) on the city’s slaves, and tries to use their political systems to buy an army and fleet to sail to Westeros. This leads to some conflict with Jorah, who is instantly distrustful of Pyat Pree and Xaro Xhoan Daxos. Their arguments over the Qartheen are so insightful as far as both of their characters individually, and the relationship they have.

The things Jorah tells Daenerys about Qarth are not inherently wrong, and he actually gives her good advice. From his perspective, Daenerys has told him she thinks Xaro and Pyat Pree will help her win her crown, but he knows by instinct these men are scheming, so he tries to remind her of the reality of conquering Westeros. But the problem is the way he delivers the advice, and how he assumes Daenerys is much more naïve and stupid than she is:

Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed, but does he ever truly see me as his queen?

Daenerys is aware of how he views and sexualizes her, but she also notices the way he sometimes treats her as if she’s a child. The way Jorah talks to her makes Daenerys both sad and upset; even her closest advisor doesn’t treat her like a Queen.

But Dany isn’t entirely blameless in why her advisors don’t fully trust her to act as Queen. It becomes much clearer in the Plaza of Punishment, when she doesn’t reveal her plan to Barristan or Jorah for really no particular reason, but she has a problem of communicating with her advisors. Since we are in Dany’s head, we understand that she too is nervous and distrustful of Xaro and Pyat Pree, and is trying to use them just as much as they want to use her. But all she tells Jorah is that she thinks they will help her win her crown, when she is actively taking measures to protect herself from Xaro and Pyat Pree. While she is still outsmarted a bit by the rich merchants of Qarth, Daenerys sees through a huge amount of their lies and flattery. Knowing that Pyat Pree would only show her the parts of Qarth that fit his narrative, Daenerys picked groups of her men to search every street of the city, both day and night. She also keeps guards with her dragons all day and all night, in case someone were to try and steal them.

It says a lot about him that Jorah naturally assumes the least of her, but it becomes a growing problem for Daenerys that she is unwilling to explain her actions to anyone. The reason for that, of course, is that she is Daenerys Targaryen, blood of the dragon, and her word should be law. She has an expectation for how people should treat her as a Targaryen Queen, and I’ll get into that more below, but it is a huge factor in how she interacts with those under her when she disagrees with them. She rarely understands why people don’t jump to follow her.

And as Daenerys grows further from Ser Jorah and the Dothraki, she is trying to win over the people of Qarth. As I said above, she is trying to use them to get to Westeros, so she never invests in them the way she did the Dothraki, but in order to win their favor she has to follow their customs and traditions. And to do that, she takes advantage of Xaro’s own ambition, by living in his palace and using his ideas to make enough money to buy the Thirteen and Pureborn into her favor.

I really want to emphasize how well Daenerys is treated in Qarth, even though they refuse to help her get to Westeros. I titled this “The Beggar Queen”, because Daenerys thinking of herself as one is extremely telling as to her expectations of people around her. Here is how Daenerys lives in Qarth:

Trader captains brought lace from Myr, chests of saffron from Yi Ti, amber and dragonglass out of Asshai. Merchants offered bags of coin, silversmiths rings and chains. Pipers piped for her, tumblers tumbled, and jugglers juggled, while dyers draped her in colors she had never known existed. A pair of Johos Nhai presented her with one of their striped zorses, black and white and fierce. A widow brought the dried corpse of her husband, covered with a crust of silvered leaves; such remnants were believed to have great power, especially if the deceased had been a sorcerer, as this one had. And the Tourmaline Brotherhood pressed on her a crown wrought in the shape of a three-headed dragon; the coils were yellow gold, the wings silver, the headed carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.

Yet this is how she thinks on all of her gifts:

I have become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same.

The people of Qarth are willing to give Daenerys everything the entire world has to offer, except the Iron Throne. And even though Daenerys has received plenty from Qarth, she leaves feeling used:

They never saw me for a queen, she thought bitterly. I was only an afternoon’s amusement, a horse girl with a curious pet.

I think this highlights a certain attitude of entitlement Daenerys has. If you look from the perspective of the Qartheen, they have no incentive to help her reclaim Westeros. She wants to sail immediately, before her dragons could help her with the conquest, and she wants to take their ships and their soldiers to do it. She can’t offer them any improved position, because they are wealthy beyond comprehension, and she can’t offer any improvement in their businesses because they already trade freely with Westeros. The only thing she is offering is the name Daenerys Targaryen, which is meaningless to the Essosi who never loved the Valyrians, and never had any investment in who sat the Iron Throne. Yet Daenerys, even though she has almost nothing to offer, refuses to beg:

“Tell me the words of the Pureborn,” prompted Xaro Xhoan Daxos. “Tell me what they said to sadden the queen of my heart.”

“They said no.” The wine tasted of pomegranates and hot summer days. “They said it with great courtesy, to be sure, but under all the lovely words, it was still no.”

“Did you flatter them?”

“Shamelessly.”

“Did you weep?”

“The blood of the dragon does not weep,” she said testily.

The only gift Daenerys keeps of all the riches she received from men looking to see her dragons, is the crown made to look like a three headed dragon:

“Viserys sold my mother’s crown, and men called him a beggar. I shall keep this crown, and men will call me a queen.” And so she did, though the weight of it made her neck ache.

It’s very symbolic that the crown makes her neck hurt, but it’s also very interesting how she draws parallels between herself and Viserys. Being placed in a position where she is trying to buy and negotiate her way to the Iron Throne, she starts to understand the fevered madness that drove her brother:

She hated it, as her brother must have. All those years of running from city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter. In the end it had driven him mad. It will do the same to me if I let it.

The idea of being passed over, of being laughed at, is enough to make Daenerys have to pause and check herself. She understands how begging to lesser men, when she is the blood of the dragon, could break her brother.

The rejection from the Qartheen is another step in the long walk Daenerys is taking to isolation and paranoia. A Dance with Dragons is the arc that most focuses on how paranoid and alone Daenerys is becoming, but even back in A Clash of Kings, she is starting to mistrust everyone around her; and for good reason. Daenerys is young and incredibly beautiful, and also has the only three dragons in the entire world. Once she hatches them, it becomes incredibly hard for her to distinguish who follows her or wants to have a relationship with her because of her, or if they simply want her dragons. Xaro Xhoan Daxos tries to trick Daenerys into marrying him, because Qartheen custom would allow him to claim one of her dragons. The warlocks also are trying to use Daenerys for her dragons, as they try and lure her to the House of the Undying to feed off the magical energy she has.

Quaithe is introduced in this book, and from the start she tries to warn and guide Daenerys against people who want her only for her dragons:

From her Dany received only a warning. "Beware," the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

"Of whom?"

"Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."

All of the elements in Daenerys life start to add up to her feeling alone and cornered; she doesn’t trust the Dothraki to take Westeros, the Qartheen have refused to help her sail the Narrow Sea, she is fighting with her closest companion Jorah, and the mysterious maegi Quaithe is warning her to trust no one. All of this leads to Daenerys going to the House of the Undying for answers, but I’ll get into that more below.

What is very interesting about Daenerys, though, is that after the House of the Undying goes so poorly, she throws herself back into the Dothraki culture. As a show of defiance to the Qartheen who take all of their gifts and kindnesses back after she burns the Warlocks, she searches the docks while clad in the garb of the Dothraki. The lesson she learns from Qarth is that she hates compromise. She tried fitting in with them, to play their games and follow their rules, and they still refused to take her seriously. They accepted her gifts, listened to her case, and politely but unequivocally said no. So, what was the point? Why did Daenerys give up the Dothraki, why did she bother bribing lesser men?

In the following books, she will try exceptionally hard to make compromises to rule cities, but she hates it. Even though she wants to do these things for her people, each and every time it takes a part of her, and she starts to lose sight of why she even wants to help the people she hates and rule a city that is determined to deny her. Compromise does not sit well with Daenerys.

Daughter of Three

The main points of Daenerys’ chapters in this book are foreshadowing and prophecy. I’ve always found A Clash of Kings to be such a great book on its own, but an absolutely amazing second act to A Game of Thrones, because the first book sets up in the very first chapter the high fantasy conflict with the Others, and ends on the incredibly high fantasy aspect of Daenerys walking out of a burning pyre with three dragons; but in between, the story dives deep into the political and personal stories of our protagonists. And while people still argue which element this story is “really about”, I think Clash does a great job in establishing that the answer is both. The War of the Five Kings pulls the political plotlines into harsh focus, with character like Catelyn, Tyrion, and Davos consistently acting and reacting to the respective Kings, and characters like Sansa and Arya who focus on the personal fallout of war; but A Clash of Kings also sends Daenerys and Bran on their magical journeys, and permanently sets them on very high fantasy paths. In the same book that sees the political foregrounded, two of our main characters leap forward in their magical progression. Daenerys in particular highlights the way the political and magical intertwine, and how the two can work together.

The climax of Daenerys’ arc in this book is extremely magical. The rejection of Xaro and the Pureborn leaves her feeling like the answers offered by the Warlocks is her only choice, so she goes to the House of the Undying. Once she’s inside, she sees a whirlwind of visions that give readers a glimpse into the past and the future, as it relates to Daenerys and the rest of our characters. I’m going to try and break all of them down, and what I think they mean and why the Undying choose to show them to her.

There’s two different sets of visions Daenerys sees when she is in the House of the Undying; the first visions she sees as she is trying to find the Undying, and is tempted to look into doors. This is how Pyat Pree describes them:

“Within, you will see many things that disturb you. Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, wonders and terrors. Sights and sounds of days gone by and days to come and days that never were. Dwellers and servitors may speak to you as you go. Answer or ignore them as you choose, but enter no room until you reach the audience chamber.”

The visions Daenerys sees are of the Five Kings tearing Westeros apart, the Red Wedding, Ser Willem Darry in the house with the red door, the Mad King telling his pyromancers to burn King’s Landing, and Rhaegar talking to Elia about the Prince that was Promised. These visions are separate from the prophecies she receives from the Undying, and I don’t think we’re supposed to connect them to Daenerys or to each other. Some of them go together, but some of them simply don’t; I think GRRM intentionally separated them to show these aren’t necessarily about Daenerys, or even connected in any way. I do think the visions connect to Daenerys in thematic ways, though.

The first two she sees, of small men who represent Kings tearing the woman meant to be Westeros apart, and of a dead King with the head of a wolf at a feast, clearly go together. The first she sees is what the Five Kings do to Westeros, and the second is the climax of the war and its technical end, when Robb Stark is killed at the Red Wedding. These two visions don’t connect to Daenerys as much as they are a broad foreshadowing of GRRM’s world and his books to come; but I think it’s interesting that the glimpses Daenerys sees of Westeros are horrific, terrible things. I’ve always found the use of the phrase “mute appeal” to describe how Robb looks at Daenerys to be very interesting; GRRM only uses it twice more in the series, once to describe Ned’s pleading gaze, and then he describes Jinglebell as looking at Catelyn with mute appeal before she kills him. It’s as if Robb is begging Daenerys not to do something.

As Daenerys runs from the horrors of the Red Wedding, she sees her room from the house with the red door:

“Little princess, there you are,” he said in his gruff kind voice. “Come,” he said, “come to me, my lady, you’re home now, you’re safe now.”

Daenerys remembers that Willem Darry is dead right before she enters the room, which Pyat Pree told her she absolutely must not do. But that vision is the one thing that tempts her, brings her right to the threshold. In this case, turning around was the right choice; but I think this vision has broader imagery. Daenerys, so many times, comes so close to turning around and being the “Little Princess” again, an innocent child who didn’t want to conquer a place she’d never been. But she always turns around. She’s tempted the most in A Dance with Dragons, when she thinks of having a house with Daario free of being a Queen, but she can never commit to that kind of life. It’s not her anymore; she can’t go back.

Then she sees her father in the Throne Room, getting ready to burn King’s Landing. On a meta level, this vision exists mostly to set up Catelyn’s last chapter with Jaime, as well as Jaime’s A Storm of Swords arc; but it is also the vision most connected to Daenerys. For the first time, she’s seeing the real version of her father, the truth of the man she wants to remind people in Westeros; and she’s seeing her future, too. Daenerys was right when she thinks the people of King’s Landing will greet her like they did her father, because she’s going to burn the city.

Her last vision before reaching the Undying is of Rhaegar talking to Elia Martell, and naming his son Aegon. This is the only vision that Daenerys understands; she has no idea what the first two are, and doesn’t connect the vision of the Mad King to her father, but she does know Rhaegar. This is the first time she hears the phrase “the dragon has three heads”, which will chase her through Storm and Dance. Rhaegar also says that his son is The Prince that was Promised, and that “his is the song of ice and fire”. A Clash of Kings is the first book that really starts to introduce the overarching prophecies of the series, and it’s interesting to see The Prince that was Promised introduced in this context; Rhaegar knows something that we don’t, something about his son.

When Daenerys finally finds the Undying, she sees a second set of visions, this set all about her. First, she gets her prophecies of three:

. . . three fires must you light. . . one for life and one for death and one to love. . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt. . . three mounts must you ride. . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love. . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . three treasons will you know. . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love. . .

It’s very interesting that these prophecies end on the note of a treason for love. Someone is going to betray Daenerys for someone they love, and that’s the end; I don’t have a firm grasp on the other treasons, fires, or mounts, but this one, to me, has to be Jon.

Next, Daenerys gets her mother of dragons prophecies; this is the first:

Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name. . . mother of dragons, daughter of death. . .

The three things connecting Rhaegar, Rhaego, and Viserys seems to be that all three were the Heir to the Iron Throne when they died. Their three deaths help to push Daenerys into taking the Iron Throne. Daenerys having the title daughter of death is extremely fitting with her previous imagery; everything about her life has come from death. Rhaegar dying, the Mad King dying, her father’s fleet being destroyed on the night she was born, Viserys being crowned in molten gold, Drogo and Rhaego’s deaths. She is the product of tragedy.

These are the next visions she sees:

Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies. . .

The first two are clearly Stannis and Young Griff/Aegon VI, and seem pretty straightforward; she slays the lie that Stannis is Azor Ahai, and that Young Griff is Aegon VI. The last one is a lot less clear. I really can’t say what this is. I know some people think the Stone Beast is Jon Connington with Greyscale, but to me that seems meaningless in light of the second lie. Why would both Young Griff and Jon Connington need separate lies? Jon Connington isn’t lying about anything. The imagery of a great stone beast is very prominent in all the books; from the prophecy of Azor Ahai waking dragons out of stone, to Sansa being described as a winged beast escaping the Red Keep, to Davos’ description of Dragonstone. I just can’t quite pin down what GRRM is foreshadowing.

The last prophecy she receives is this:

Her sliver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . mother of dragons, bride of fire. . .

All of these are pretty clear; Drogo was her first fire, then Euron, and finally Jon. The description of Jon “filling the air with sweetness” is very ominous, and just makes me even more confident he is the treason for love. I know there are some great metas that discuss sweetness in Daenerys’ arc, I just can’t think of any right now. But the idea of sweetness being bad, and foreshadowing a treason from Jon, is really highlighted by Daenerys hearing this prophecy in Qarth of all places. Time and again, the city’s exterior of sweet smells and beautiful buildings is used to hide the treachery underneath.

After the prophecies, Daenerys sees a whirlwind of past and future events:

Shadows whirled and danced inside a tent, boneless and terrible. A little girl ran barefoot toward a big house with a red door. Mirri Maz Duur shrieked in the flames, a dragon bursting from her brow. Behind a silver horse the bloody corpse of a naked man bounced and dragged. A white lion ran through grass taller than a man. Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed. Ten thousand slaves lifted bloodstained hands as she raced by on her silver, riding like the wind. “Mother!” they cried. “Mother, mother!” They were reaching for her, touching her, tugging at her cloak, the hem of her skirt, her foot, her leg, her breast. They wanted her, needed her, the fire, the life, and Dany gasped and opened her arms to give herself to them. . .

The vision of her “Myhsa” moment leads into the realities of the Undying:

The Undying were all around her, blue and cold, whispering as they reached for her, pulling, stroking, tugging at her clothes, touching her with their dry cold hands, twining their fingers through her hair. All the strength had left her limbs.

The wording is intentionally similar, because we’re supposed to connect the Undying feeding off Daenerys, and the reaction she has to “her people”. In A Dance with Dragons, she turns Quentyn Martell and the swords of Dorne away because she’s not going to leave Meereen, maybe ever. Daenerys loves being a savior to the people of Essos, the feeling she gets when they scream “mother!”, the feeling that what she’s doing is right and good. But apart from those incredible highs, when Daenerys has to live in the choices she made to lead the Essosi, she just hates it. In A Storm of Swords, she does give her people fire and life, opening her arms up to them, but it’s not sustainable. Her fire burns out, and she’s left feeling empty and alone and more than anything angry at the people who made her choose to stay.

The Dragons Are Returned

After Pyat Pree and the Warlocks betray Daenerys, she has finally had enough of Qarth; the warlocks hate her for burning down the House of the Undying, Xaro hates her because she turns down his proposals, and the people hate her for all she’s done in Qarth. And if they all hate her, Daenerys is done playing their games.

The next time she goes out, she does so in the traditional garb and sandals of the Dothraki, with a bell in her hair to signify victory against the Warlocks. When Illyrio Mopatis comes through with Arstan Whitebeard and Strong Belwas, Daenerys commands them to name her ships Vhagar, Meraxes, and Balerion; the world will look upon her ships and know that the dragons are returned. Where she wavered from her the Dothraki, by the end of A Clash of Kings, Daenerys is ready to double down on the “savagery” of them. She’s tired of playing nice, of diplomatically talking and negotiating. This book perfectly sets Daenerys up for the path she decides to take in A Storm of Swords. She’s going to get the army she needs, no matter what.

Even if it means Fire & Blood.

#anti daenerys #asoiaf meta #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #daenerys targaryen

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cogentranting · 4 years

Text

Favorite Lyrics from Every House of Heroes Song

*Overall favorites marked with an asterisk

What You Want is Now

Julia- "All the time you walked away The truth was at your fingertips"

Barbara’s Birthday- I never said that I love you dear I never knew, I never knew your heart at all

Mercedes Baby- Hold loosely to my hand 'Cause it's a long, long road And you don't know and I don't know where it goes

The Drugs the Drugs- Talking in your sleep Telling stories that you keep In a drawer beside your bed

The Lead Role in the Cage- When she prays at night she feels like screaming

Uncomfortable (What you Want is Now)- Don't breath the air It's contagious

Your Wurlitzer- The awkward/ The floating/ The silence and the choking/ The mystery/ Urgency/ The passion and the irony

Kamikaze Baby- I never thought it would come to this To this and maybe Suicide by small increments

Honesty- I cannot hide when honesty says I've lied Regretful and wondering why you heal me deep inside

Something of an Optimist- Days just float on by and we're so occupied That we forgot to cry Love shows its face Amazing grace And everything's just fine

Nobody Loves No One- Your eyes spoke words you didn't dare You trusted what betrayed you

Katie Baby- Watch the reruns in my mind

Say No More

Buckets for Bullet Wounds- What's your option? Cold corruption or starvation Buckets for bullet wounds

Fast Enough- Wretched melodies call you from the deep When you should be sleeping And they know, your name

Friday Night- Power's the drug, and pride is the needle And it rips through my skin And goes into my blood stream Oh I feel like laughing, I feel like choking on it

Invisible Hook- Stuffing our ears with luxury Covered our eyes in apathy What can be done with our disease?

Mercedes Baby (alt)- I sold my passion for a dime Unto a thousand hungry eyes I covet kingdoms crumbling

Serial Sleepers- Rise up, O Sons of God And sing the song that hides behind your teeth

Make a Face Like You Mean It (Vampires)- Don't bother to show integrity It never sells on the market

Metaphor in Parentheses- Darkness spreads it lonely wings On the high horizons of our hopes and dreams

You Are the Judas of the Cheerleading Squad- Forged in the fire and the fire it burns in me I've slept in the belly of the beast Now I'll sleep under your wings

Pulling Back the Skin- I'm pulling back the skin here I'm taking out the pins here I'm finding that you're still in here

Suicide Baby- I never thought it would come to this And maybe, it's suicide by small increments

Angels in Top Hats- Hopeless cathedrals, blankets and needles Angels in top hats, cups full of blood

The End is Not the End

If- If you were mine, I'd risk my dignity If only to give love a chance

Lose Control**- I am the answer that you misunderstand I do the evil that an honest man can't I live in shadows that the enemy casts I have no future and I have no past

Leave You Now- And like the river that is winding takes its water to sea The only ending that is fitting is you with me, baby

Dangerous- Hey, hey, this is dangerous I'm writing all the songs that I'll play for us

In the Valley of the Dying Sun- And then I felt it with a chill up my spine There are no words to use that truly describe The glory of the angel or the terror in me

Code Name: Raven- There's no virtue in killing a man Neither is there virtue in being afraid to stand

By Your Side- And like that sand through our hands Go our grandest plans

Journey Into Space (Part One)- Let them come for us Let them have their way with our names they drag through the mud Should they murder us We will live again in the clouds that cover the sun

Sooner or Later*- And with this untapped energy We'll carve our names in the unknown

Baby’s a Red- I will testify I loved you And I'm not ashamed to be your comrade

Drown- Grant us grace to change our minds

Faces- I'm in love but I'm tasteless I only want what's bad for me

Voices- The voices of the innocent are coming to life

Field of Daggers**- Until your rains, oh God Bring forth your colored beauty Confirm the hopes of nations in longing Bring life to tired hopes Buried in fields of flowers

New Moon- I will rise, I will rise when the new moon glows

Ghost- Now I got my freedom But it feels like emptiness

The Young and the Brutal- God give us grace to be brutally faithful And make up for wasted time

Suburba

Relentless- Rebels we become In tracks where young lions run Red beneath the raging sun Like wildfires we burn, we burn

Elevator- Time tears our hope, and the change comes so slowly

Love is for the Middle Class- If all I had was love, would I still be lovely I all I gave was love, would you give up on me

So Far Away- In this heartless world we gotta hold on to hope

God Save the Foolish Kings- We're honest only cuz the truth, it cannot hide

Salt in the Sea- Softened by the salt of the sea I'm alive And you are everything

Independence Day for a Petty Thief- Green lawns, washed in black, all reflecting exploding light

Somebody Knows- And when it blows The wreckage and the wasteland Will be refuge from the quicksand We've been sinking down in

Disappear- We built our perfect dream on shifting sand Scattered in one motion of God's hand

She Mighty Mighty- In darkness, she's a lightening bolt She's so powerful

Constant- All through the night I was falling Straining to hear your voice calling You never gave up, never gave in, never quite gave up on me You are my constant

Burn Me Down- Like a shadow, like the sea mist I cannot grasp it, yet it exists

Galveston- Your laughter kept us warm And we always had enough

Cold Hard Want

A Man Who’s Not Afraid- I see the hands of time race by my tired eyes

Out My Way*- If you add up all the risks not taken they're all misses Think I'd rather live with the knock down drag outs and the stitches

Dance (Blow it All Away)- Maybe we could make another life in the blazing lights Maybe we can rebuild in the rubble of our ruined lives

Remember the Empire- Here they threaten with murder and bribe us with peace Here they treat us like slaves and convince us we're free

We Were Giants- A ray of hope is never tangible, Change is almost imperceptible

The Cop- I love you more Than I love myself And I'm scared to death That you love me less

Comfort Trap- I heard it calling in my sleep at night So I killed my dream with a butcher knife

Touch this Light*- If I could see what you see in me If I could push through the crippling fear Then I would run with the raging wind Then I would live again

Angels of Night- Angels of night Hide in the half light Praying for souls like mine

Stay- Don't tell me you're not safe It sounds like a dare to me

Suspect- Suspect. Something isn't right Their shifting eyes betray their smiles

I Am a Symbol- So let my life be a song And may that song carry on

The Knock Down Drag Outs

Dead- I bring a knife to a fistfight But lately my baby she bring a gun

Choose Your Blade*- It was a numinous night, wet and cold like the last week of autumn

Your Casualty- You call the spirit inside me Like lightning calls thunder

Love Sick Zombie- Kill me if you must but please don't hurt me (or mess up my hair)

Patient- Be patient with me I'm planting the seed And soon, I will be in bloom, my Love

Smoke EP**

Bottle Rocket- Baby, who you fooling? I'm kerosene Add a little fire and you're warm with me But get a little careless and I'll burn you down Turn your house to rubble, smoking on the ground

The Worst Kind of Gods- Alone, we are the worst kind of Gods Slave to a selfish heart That always wants

Wake up Screaming- I break down in the chapel When only stain glass saints can hear The prayers I seldom offer Through cold and heavy tears

A Fire Only We Know- Is a bravery inside me Still clinging to my bones Like smoke from a fire only we know

Satisfied- I've come to terms with the man that I made up And the one I really am

Infinite- Even though it's gone it still lives on If only as a distant echo Bouncing off the metal of years gone by

Colors

This City is a Cage- And like a shooting star Our brightest light is in the part so close to burning up

Colors Run- But I'm a long way from going the distance Feels more like dying by inches All the wishes, and the misses The poverty of indifference

Pioneer- But the hunger in our belly makes us hard and lean Cut our way through the world with a primal scream

Rat- These shadow streets cast shadows of doubt

We Make Our Stars*- We can't change the color of the sky But we can rage against the night

Feel*- This ghetto's my cathedral This gun my Eucharist

God- But if God is a hard man, why am I still alive?

In the End- Like dreamers do, we'll dangle our feet off the edge

Crash- The love you're for is a settled score And that's why I can't love you anymore

Matador*- You pose as a king with a city to rule But you were never a lion You were always a bull

Shots Fired- Colors run deep in the city Like the color of blood On the concrete

Get Away- On a streetlight fading out I make a wish

Colors Die Out- Sometimes I dream about the stars And think it's really not so dark

#house of heroes #lyrics #music

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wouldhope · 4 years

Text

FRANKENSTEIN: A NEW MUSICAL SENTENCE STARTERS

Feel free to alter these to better fit your muse!

AMEN

“ The dead have nothing to say to you. “

“ I curse the day that I was born. “

“ I’ll seek my peace before the light of heaven’s gate. “

“ I have my sins, like any man. “

“ Innocent blood will stain your hands forevermore. “

“ Your kind has no place but the grave! “

“ Soon you will know eternal pain. “

“ What’s wrong, what’s right? Does man decide? “

“ Who dares to act as God? “

“ Our heart is beating, then it’s done. “

“ What is our fleeting escence? “

“ What I have found was thought impossible. “

“ If I could show them the impossible... “

“ Justice will be done! “

“ The dawn that waits, it calls to me! “

“ Oh, my creator, claim me now! “

“ Grant to me this nightmare’s end! “

“ No man shall mourn for me. “

“ I’ll trust in you. “

“ Who will tend to the remains? “

BIRTH TO MY CREATION

“ Your ideas are an affront to all that is moral and decent! “

“ Madness! Folly! Insanity! “

“ Little minds have belittled my dream. “

“ Think of the awe-inspiring power we would hold!

“ Electricity’s the key to reanimate the dead. “

“ The glory of a brave new world will someday soon be mine! “

“ In my hands, I’ll hold the answer. “

“ I’ll discover the secrets between the alchemists and God! “

“ Might I not one day be able to restore life to those claimed by death? “

“ The storm is nearing its zenith. “

“ The moment is at hand! “

“ Prometheus dared to steal fire from gods. “

“ My mission is this: to write a new tomorrow! “

“ My endless days of study and toil are finally near fruition. “

“ The world will be forever changed. “

“ Darkness is done, a new day has come! “

MODERN PROMETHEUS

“ Let her be once again reborn. “

“ Why does the knife quake in my fingers? “

“ Why is my heart an empty shell? “

“ I’ve gone too far to turn back now. “

“ There’s nothing left for me to decide. “

“ With every law defied, what good could ever be achieved? “

“ The power of life and death rests in my hands. “

“ This time will be different. “

“ She will be different! “

“ The question is not what you can do, the question is what you should do! “

“ Soon you’ll see I’m justified! “

“ Men mustn’t try to act like god! “

“ I cannot believe what I am hearing! “

“ A new discovery is near. “

“ I was once a dreamer, now I’m man’s redeemer! “

“ We’re on the verge of new frontiers! “

“ We’ll change the course of history! “

“ Please see beyond your petty fears! “

“ She’s going to be perfect. “

“ You’ve gone too far to turn back now. “

“ Can’t you see what you’ve become? “

“ My wishes shall not be denied! “

“ The destiny of humanity will not be staved! “

“ I will not allow you to destroy yourself! “

THE PROPOSITION

“ If I had known it would lead to such bloodshed... “

“ Our actions cannot be undone. “

“ I will reign fear upon your kind. “

“ I have a proposition to present to you. “

“ You have one chance to redeem your transgressions. “

“ You have one last experiment to do. “

“ Make her as vile as my darkest pain. “

“ Never! Impossible! Preposterous! “

“ Your scheme is outrageous! “

“ I’ll not inflict such terror on this world! “

“ I’m more than blood and bone! “

“ I won’t exist alone. “

“ Who are you to make demands? “

“ I’ll not willingly repeat my error! “

“ It’s the last I’ll ever ask! “

“ I think it wrong, I think it sick! “

“ But here’s your chance to make it right! “

“ Can I undo the great mistake? “

“ This is your chance, you will atone. “

“ Remaster your fate! “

“ I am innocent! INNOCENT! “

THESE HANDS

“ How I wonder if ever had these hands been held with compassion, could they do what they’ve done? “

“ Blind with hate are these eyes. “

“ Could it once be that someone gazed into these eyes with affection? “

“ Did they see good deep within these eyes? “

“ A soul that could love is now helplessly chained to these hands! “

“ These ears still hear her crying. “

“ I’ll never know laughter or song. “

“ Blood of the innocent runs red upon these hands! “

“ I would tear them apart. “

“ If I only could feel what I felt when I held her. “

“ Our end will not come till justice is done. “

AMEN (REPRISE)

“ At last, our final hour is nigh. “

“ We’ll both attain what we’ve so long desired. “

“ I’ll watch you breathe your last and die. “

“ I’ll destroy myself. “

“ I cannot die, and nor can you. “

“ Our time has come. “

“ One final task remains. “

“ The game is done. “

“ I have come not out of vengeance, but of shame. “

“ Damn the man who does not give his all to help his son to live. “

“ Forgive this foolish father. “

“ I can hear my name, blackened by my crimes. “

“ What have I done? How can this be? “

“ How cruel the hands of fate. “

“ Your peace has come, you’ll search no more. “

“ Soon I shall follow where you go. “

“ Go to sleep, you’re safe with me. “

“ May the darkness set us free. “

#* ask memes !#rp meme #sentence starters #roleplay meme #rp starters #uhhh idk what else to tag that as but here #* mun memes !#srry these are Thick im just like #i love this musical sm

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parismemes · 5 years

Text

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM FRANKENSTEIN: A NEW MUSICAL (PART 1)

PRELUDE

“i am the innocent.” “i am the damned.” “i am not a madman!” “i can hear my name!” “his story is the prophecy of nightmares.”

A GOLDEN AGE

“life no more is mystery.” “the world’s at our command.” “a golden age is truly upon us.” “one man with knowledge can change the world.” “monumental things await.” “the future is a banquet and it’s time for us to dine.” “i think i’ve discovered something extraordinary.” “there’s no secret that mankind will not one day know.” “how will i manage without you?”

FIND YOUR WAY HOME / A GOLDEN AGE, PT. 2

“now you must leave us to follow your heart.” “let your spirit soar.” “know that if ever you fall, i will be there through it all.” “anywhere i go you will always be near.” “someday i’ll make you so proud.” “this golden age is yours for the taking.” “how can someone who was the light of our world be suddenly gone forever?” “i have discovered the secret of life.”

AMEN

“we find your ideas to be shocking, dangerous, and an affront to all that is moral.” “the dead have nothing to say to you.” “i curse the day that i was born into a world so black with hate.” “i had my sins, like any man.” “if it is i you choose to damn, innocent blood will stain your hands forevermore.” “your kind has no place but the grave.” “soon, you will know eternal pain.” “who dares to act as god?” “a heart is beating, then it’s done.” “what i have found was thought impossible.” “the very fate of all mankind is in this mind, and in these hands.” “if no man shall mourn for me, i’ll trust in you.”

BIRTH TO MY CREATION

“little minds have belittled my dream.” “i want the world to see where brave research and bold experiments have led.” “i could spare the world the anguish of loved ones taken in their prime.” “the glory of a brave new world will someday soon be mine.” “i’ll discover the secrets between the alchemists and god.” “my mission is this: to write a new tomorrow.” “the world will be forever changed.” “a new day has come.”

1:15 AM

“pulse: 56 beats for minute. weak, but steady.” “can you hear me?” “live, damn you.” “pulse: 32. barely measurable.” “it’ll likely be dead within the hour.”

DEAR VICTOR / BURN THE LABORATORY

“please know that we miss you.” “are you consumed with study?” “i only ask for compromise.” “my dream begins with you.” “it pains me so to have to keep this secret from you.” “i’m so ashamed that this is all my many months of work have come to.” “please answer.” “i have no words to soothe her.” “what is missing?” “why do i shut them out?” “without you, our house is not a home.” “you must never know.” “have i left my greatest work and all my dreams behind me burning?”

THE HANDS OF TIME

“won’t you allay our fears?” “such troubling news we’ve heard.” “yet from you, my trusted friend, there’s silence.” “could he not stay here at our side?” “could we change the world?” “what were you doing locked up in that laboratory?” “what if we never meet again?” “the silent bonds we share with family are those that shall endure.” “a young boy needs a brother’s hand to guide him.” “reverse the ever-twisting hands of time.”

YOUR FATHER’S EYES

“his father alone knows the pain in his heart.” “i know you are troubled today.” “as long as i breathe, you are never alone.” “there is always one person who believes in you.” “i strongly urge you to pursue a path that will not lead to further destruction.” “life can be hard.” “surely someone must know something.”

THE CREATURE’S TALE PT. 1

“you abandoned me--left me for dead.” “i’ve searched for you for a very long time.” “the time has come for you to answer for your sins.” “i will not hear you!” “it is you that is the author of my misery.”

THE WAKING NIGHTMARE

“you will listen to my tale.” “there were no dreams. only a silence eternal and blissfully deep.” “am i alive or in purgatory?” “what is this animal gnawing inside of my brain?” “am i condemned, though i cannot remember my sin?” “what have i done to deserve such a sentence in hell?” “i’m here in the waking nightmare.” “every moment tastes of death.”

THE CREATURE’S TALE PT. 2

“i hear like a ghost in my mind, echoes and fragments of memory.” “was i alive once before?” “was i once human like them?” “something is wrong about it.” “that is not a cause for mistrust.” “everything will be alright.”

THE MUSIC OF LOVE

“come away with me.” “we’ll keep you safe and warm.” “no tears will find you here.” “we have everything we need.” “there might be a place for me.” “the song of life is all we need.” “finally.. peace.”

THE CREATURE’S TALE PT. 3

“why do you stand before me today?” “what kind of monster kills the soul of kindness by embracing it with love?” “don’t leave me in this heartless world alone.” “i swore that i would have revenge.” “well.. perhaps some subjects are better left un-explored.”

#rp memes #ask memes #rp meme #ask meme #rp prompts #sentence starters

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veroxina · 3 years

Text

@henkou said : 🍯 🌼 ⌛

send 🍯 for a food headcanon

daiten really tries eating healthy. she doesn’t like acidic fruits or more sugary foods other than strawberries, leans towards bitter things but can tend to eat unhealthily sometimes ------- while she doesn’t eat chips all the time, she does like pocky or ramen.

send ⌛for a sleep headcanon

in REM sleep, daitens vitals drop to an extent, to allow her to rest without destroying anything around her ; there’s no real explanation to this that she can explain on her own, but it’s freaked people out before. she’s alive, it’s just that her pulse slows.

she finds it harder to sleep because of insomnia and fear that she won’t be able to control her quirk if she’s not mentally present to.

send 🌼 for a happiness headcanon

surprisingly, while daiten’s still isolative and quiet, she can be a bit of an extrovert when she’s happier. she’d be more confident in her own abilities and show parts of her personality that she hasn’t before, such as her tendency to rely on shock factor sometimes and trying to be cryptic to make people fear her for a reason other than her quirk.

the main verse that shows this the most is honestly daitens dragon ball super bullshit, which is why i love it sm.

#i hope this is understandable ? i'm really horrible at explaining things #i. we’ll write our names in blood &&. glory / answered.

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dashielldeveron · 6 years

Text

Viper I: Vinculum Juris.

Viper AU: a Mob!Tom Holland AU in which you are a political author, Tom’s personal lawyer, and eventually his consigliere.

Warnings: swears, the law, blood.

Summary: You try to work your way into Tom’s good graces, but it could be a lot easier than how he’s making it.

Confused? Try reading the prologue first.

“Sign it.” Your knuckles turned white as you clenched the edge of your rickety desk. “Get it over with.”

Tom held the fountain pen above the contract hastily scrawled in script on a pink index card: I, Thomas Stanley Holland, will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do concerning my mafia ties. He tapped the paper twice, and two blots of ink blurred the signature line. “You’re tricking me somehow.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Explain what you mean by privacy as you define it,” Tom said, setting down the pen and leaning against the desk with one hand.

“It means,” you said, “that the only information you have on my life is what I tell you. Neither you nor anyone else within your control will go looking for what I don’t want you to know. My address, for example. My mother’s phone number. Dr. Prine’s phone number. My personal email.”

Sucking in through his teeth, Tom picked up the pen again and spun it in his fingers. “This is almost too loosely defined.”

You pursed your lips. “This is the simplest, most flexible, possibly most idiotic contract I’ve ever written up, if one could even call it a contract. It’s nothing but security for me, Mr. Holland, to get it in writing.”

“I don’t have time for this; I’ve meeting Haz in ten,” said Tom, sliding the card across the desk to you, “We’ll talk about this later.”

You caught his hand before he could retract it. “Hold up, Mr. Holland.” You shot him a look, tilting your chin up. “I’m not working against you. I’ve written this so that we can be a team. My demands aren’t unreasonable.” You lifted your hand, but his remained pressing the card against the desk. “I’m agreeing to do practically anything for you, and you can’t grant me my privacy? I almost hesitate to remind you, sir, that you can’t exactly replace me at the moment. With Ripley gone, I’m the only one trained to deal with your legal business. Not to mention I’m the only one to know some of your passwords. As much as you may not like it, Mr. Holland, I’m in.”

Tom blinked slowly, and he straightened himself, flexing his fingers as he did so. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Of course I—”

“In the mafia, I mean,” said Tom, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when your eyebrows shot up—but you recovered and pulled on the hem of your blazer, meeting his eyes.

“And how would I join?”

Tom’s jaw relaxed as he turned to retrieve his suit coat off the back of a chair. “First, you have to prove yourself,” he said, sliding his arm into a sleeve, “Second, you have to be inducted. After that, I’ll sign your contract. I’ll give you one more chance to leave—” You scoffed at this. “—once you’re inducted, the only way out is death.”

“Perfect. Ideal. Is that supposed to dissuade me?” You walked around your desk towards the door to your stupid office that doesn’t even lock. “Come on. I’m already committed.”

“Funny how I don’t believe you,” Tom said, buttoning the last and ignoring your gesture to hurry up and leave. He took one last look around your shoddy, leaky office and strode towards the door.

You opened it for him. “Then how do I earn your trust?”

Tom stopped in the doorway and broke into a grin.

***

Ms. Glory Pham lived alone in a narrow, white house in a gated community called Crosscreek outside of New York City. You need two codes to get past the first gate and had to be buzzed through after that. The housekeeper who ushered you inside instructed you to leave your heels at the door, so here you were, the cold of the stone floor seeping through your stockings as you gazed around Glory Pham’s living room: white, capacious, and untouched, as if it were from a catalogue. The only colour in the room came from the abstract painting above the fireplace (you could make out the semblance of a piano keyboard and what was probably a trumpet) and several cracked geodes on the mantel.

“So, you have arrived. From your emails, you didn’t seem like the type to keep appointments.” A little offended, you turned your head in the direction of a tall, Vietnamese woman in her late forties with her shoulders rolled back and a notebook in hand coming from the kitchen. She rounded the island, paused to glance at your feet, and set her notebook on the coffee table before sitting on the edge of the leather couch.

You moved to sit on the opposite couch so that you could have the table between you, but she raised a finger, her glare sharp. “No,” she said, “Stand. Put the bag down.” Glory raked her eyes over your wool suit, and she couldn’t spot cat hair from where she was sitting, could she? “Turn,” she said, twirling her finger in a circle, “Slowly.” You did, and she clicked her mechanical pencil before jotting something down. She nodded at you to sit. “You are two minutes late. You have eight minutes left to convince me.”

“Ms. Pham, we agreed on three-thirty. Your watch must be fast,” you said, the leather creaking as you sat onto it.

She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting. You say you represent Osseous Enterprises?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you said, and she wrote something else down at that. “Osseous Enterprises wants to sponsor a special exhibit in the Morgan Memorial Hall of Gems. The green diamond that was discovered two months ago in Arkansas, the Gawain Diamond, has just been cut and sold to the state park. Osseous proposes that it be on display in the American Museum of Natural History for a year before it is returned to Arkansas.” You handed her some of your research and the written proposal from your bag.

“You say it’s been cut.” Glory flipped the first page over. “To what dimensions?”

“It was originally 134.7 carats, but it’s been cut to 61.” A little larger than a shooter marble. At the moment Tom told you about it, you’d wanted to put it in your mouth. You’d shaken yourself at that intrusive thought and dismissed it.

“Waste of a rough green. Is it really this deep, Brunswick green, or is this picture too saturated?”

Brunswick? “It’s an accurate depiction,” you said, “If you say the word, I have the Crater of Diamonds State Park foremost in my contacts. The calls can be made today, if you like.”

“Give me your phone.” Glory held out her palm, beckoning twice with bends of her fingertips. You didn’t unlock it for her, and she didn’t ask. She set it in her lap, screen down, and didn’t examine it any further. “How much would Osseous be willing to give towards this exhibit?”

“Page three,” you said.

She didn’t touch the packet.

“Whose idea was this? Yours?”

“Mr. Holland’s. Publicity, you know. A positive name in the public sphere.”

Glory clicked her pencil again. “What’s the name of your cat?”

Shit. Wincing, you shut your eyes, cleared your throat, and said, “Her name’s Trout.”

Setting her notebook aside, Glory leant forward. “You’ve passed,” she said, “for now. I encourage you to remember the person inside your persona. Do you care for Darjeeling?”

***

The stack of papers landed on Tom Holland’s desk with a thump that upset dust. “There,” you said as he looked up, a curl falling over his forehead, “We’ve got our exhibit.” Crossing your arms, you put your weight on one foot and smiled as Tom checked the four places Glory had signed and dated. “But in case you doubt me any further, please turn to the page that’s been torn out of a notebook. Remember how the Morgan hall of gems is currently closed for building that new wing? Well, let’s say that the future Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals now have a featured exhibit.”

Tossing the notebook paper aside, Tom leant back in his chair, the tip of his tongue against his two front teeth. “Impossible. How’d you do it?”

You had no fucking idea. “Talent, Holland. Some of us have it.” When Tom gestured for you to carry on, you said, “Once I got past Ms. Pham’s impermeable coldness, it was easy. Even offered me tea.” She also told you to paint your toenails (“And a decent colour, by God.”) the next time you were summoned, but Tom didn’t need to know that. “Told me a little about being director of prospect research and management and some stuff about how it would work. We called the state park towards the end.”

“When we’ve tried to work with her in the past, she turned away Harrison. Wouldn’t even answer Ripley’s emails.” Tom pressed his thumbnail to his lower lip. “Wear white tonight. You’ll want your hair up.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tonight’s your induction,” said Tom, “You’re joining the mob. Eleven o’clock, third floor of the basement, yeah? Don’t talk to anyone in the building. Don’t take a taxi here. You can’t have any record that you’re going to be here tonight. Don’t tell Dr. Prine. Ah!” He raised an eyebrow when you opened your mouth, and you closed it again. “Not until after it’s done. The government’s got just as many people tapping phones as I do. Got it?” He held out his hand for you to shake.

“Yes, sir,” you said, and his hand clenched a little tighter.

“One more question,” Tom said, tapping the notebook paper, “Why’d you sign this as Viper?”

***

Your bra immediately came off once you got back to your flat, and, with Trout butting her head against your ankles, you made your way to your bed with your phone on speaker for a call with Dr. Prine. You pulled up the Epiales website while you talked, and she recommended you write something on the multiple felonies an extremely prominent politician just committed. You had more than half a mind to do it, especially since Polson was on the team of prosecutors who came to that conclusion, and you still had passwords to Polson’s files. Guilt pricked at you for even considered violating Polson’s law firm like that, even though he was a twat, and your frantic attempt to remind yourself that you’re in the mob so you have to be cool with unethical things now did not work.

Polson’s not entirely stupid. He’s probably changed the passwords by now.

You pulled up his work email, typed everything in, and hit enter, and you were logged into his email account. He had two unread emails, one about a family client and the other about replacing the microwave in the break room. Fingers dancing over the mousepad, you logged out. It wouldn’t be right.

You’d write the felonies article by yourself, but not tonight. With She’s All That playing, Trout catloafed on your feet, while you ate the ingredients to a sandwich (you didn’t feel like actually making it) and fruit snacks and tried to ignore the stone in your gut when you thought about the aging, white dress in the back of your closet.

***

Five minutes until eleven o’clock, and you were bouncing on the balls of your feet in the lift to the basement of Osseous Enterprises, the label on the third floor button worn away from frequent pressing. Steeling yourself as the lift doors opened, you were greeted by a man in a suit you didn’t recognise. He snapped his fingers and gestured for you to follow, and you did, your heels clacking louder than usual down a dark corridor. He could hardly be heard or seen, but you were a sitting duck in white. He halted in front of a door and frisked you, and once he’d taken your phone and keys, he let you inside.

Cold pricked at your bare arms as the door creaked closed behind you. Around a circular table lit with candles, wavering with breath, sat Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno, Tom’s consigliere, all with hands folded. Chairs creaking and a cough came from the perimeters of the room, so there had to be capos present that you couldn’t see. Just the same.

Pulling out the empty chair in front of Tom, you sat with caution, not breaking eye contact with Tom. The candlelight flickered across the contours of his face, a deep shadow around his jawline. His deep, brown eyes were icy and detached, and honestly, it made you uneasy. But show no weakness.

Harrison spoke first, more to the unseen capos than to you. “Since the mafia is a criminal organisation rooted in secrecy, it cannot have any paper documents of its members that can be confiscated by the police. Therefore, we rely on the tradition of the ritual ceremony, although this particular induction is not traditional. There are no women in our mafia.”

Oh, God. Whose dick were you going to have to suck? You’ve never done that before, and it’d be in public—no, stop. You don’t know that’s what going to happen.

“You are to treat this woman as any member of our family. You don’t touch her. She’s not here for you,” said Harrison, unfolding his hands and looking around the room, “There are no exceptions. She’ll follow the rules just as you do. The rules will not be changed.”

“Some of you may doubt her worth,” said Maccabruno, his voice grating but caustic, “After months of keeping silence in the face of our brutality, her trial for trust was obtaining the key codes to Crosscreek, something even Mr. Osterfield could not acquire. She turned them in to us this afternoon.”

A murmur shot around room, echoing off the high ceiling. The key codes? The key codes? What about the exhibit for the Gawain Diamond? What about cracking Ms. Pham? Didn’t those count for anything? Tom could’ve at least told you, and then you wouldn’t have to have met with Ms. Pham and have been psychoanalytically scrutinised.

“Before she is confirmed, she must first understand and accept our rules. Viper,” Harrison said to get your attention, and your head snapped in his direction. That name was a joke between you and Tom; why was he calling you that? “Listen well. Should you break any of these rules, the penalty is death.”

Pretty standard in the world of law, too. You nodded.

“First and foremost is the code of silence, the omertà. You are never to speak to any authorities. You are never to be seen with any law enforcers,” said Harrison, “You cannot speak about the business to non-members under any circumstances.”

“This includes Dr. Prine,” Tom said, low enough for only those at the table to hear. He waited for you to nod again before nudging Harrison to continue.

“If a member is killed by another member, no one can murder in revenge unless Mr. Holland gives permission. There is no killing of other men of honour unless absolutely necessary. The decision will not be yours. You will not physically fight with other members, nor will you steal from them. Do not interfere with another’s interests. His business is his own.”

Maccabruno cleared his throat and sent a warning glare around the room. “You are not to commit adultery with another family member’s spouse. They are to be treated with respect.”

“You aren’t to go to bars or clubs. You will always be available for work, even if your mother is dying. Any appointments made with those above you will always, always be kept.”

“And when we ask you for any information,” Tom said, tapping his thumbs together and staring you down, “The answer must be the truth.”

“If you break any of these rules, you will be killed by another member of the family,” Maccabruno was saying as Harrison began rummaging about in his pockets, “Usually, your murderer will be the person closest to you.”

Don’t make friends. Got it.

Harrison placed parallel in the centre of the table a long knife and a picture of one of St. Peter’s icons. “Give the don your right hand.”

You laid your hand across the table as Tom picked up the knife. He gripped your hand by your fingertips, holding it up to the level of the flames.

“As you are granted a protection as no one else, so you must enter as no one else,” said Harrison.

You inhaled sharply when Tom pressed the tip of the blade into your palm, but he wouldn’t look at you. With a steady hand, he traced your bones to the end of each finger, leaving trails of blood oozing onto the tablecloth.

“You will never know this woman’s name. You shall know her only as Viper,” Harrison was saying, but it didn’t exactly register; you were more focused on the amount of blood dripping down your wrist. “This is as the don commands.”

Setting the knife aside, Tom guided your hand above the picture of St. Peter, and he curled your fingers into your palm and squeezed, indicating for you to follow. Your fingernails dug into the cuts until the paper bent with blood.

Harrison lifted a candle out of its holder, and Tom placed the sticky paper onto your bleeding hand, making it lay flat. Standing, Harrison lit the picture afire, and it blazed to life in your hand. You ground your teeth together, acutely aware of maintaining a blank expression, but your fingers spasmed under the pain. You barely heard the oath Harrison told you, but you repeated it with a steady voice: “As burns this saint, so will burn my soul. I enter alive, and I will have to get out dead.”

The candles crackled in the silent minute it took for the picture to turn to ash in your hand, and Tom, Harrison, and Maccabruno put their hands over their hearts. Tom nodded almost imperceptibly for you to do the same. And so you did, the last of the flame sizzling out as you lay your hand over your heart, permanently staining the white with ash and blood.

“As of this hour, until her death, this is a woman of honour,” Tom said, dropping his hand, “She’s one of us, now.” Amidst the staggered applause, Tom leant over the table, put his thumb under your chin, and kissed both of your cheeks.

***

Holy moly. While the capos cleared out, Maccabruno kept you behind, tossing you a washcloth to clean up your cuts. He made you write down the key codes again so that he could have a hard copy, and then he gave you a couple of books on the history of the mafia, just so that you could know the gravitas of what you were a part of. After he dismissed you, you jogged down the hall to catch up with the capo who took your phone and keys, and he not only returned them but had a welcoming gift for you, which was fucking bizarre. He gave you a tiny, potted cactus, which you resolved to check for bugs when you got back to your office.

Laden with books and the cactus in your good hand, you took the lift up to the surface of Osseous Enterprises and to your office. The moonlight came through the hallway windows in bright beams as you walked down the corridor and turned the corner. You’d flip through the books and water the cactus before going home and washing the hell out of your hand. Maybe read some poetry. Check up on Dr. Prine’s law journal.

When you got to your office, however, its light splayed into the hallway through the crack under the door. Sighing, you grasped the knob with your free hand, wincing as you did so, and opened the door to see Tom Holland sitting on your desk, fountain pen in hand.

He cracked a smile. “You see why we can’t have a hard copy of a contract now?”

You made a huffing noise and began to shelve the books. “If you’d mentioned that, I’d’ve understood. I’m not going to outsmart you on anything that matters.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. You forget your place,” Tom said, fiddling with the index card contract, “How’s your hand?”

“Disgusting, thanks.” You cupped your cactus and looked around for a place for it to live. “Will you still sign it?”

“Start a new index card and rephrase it. So long as the mob isn’t explicitly mentioned, I’ll do it.” Tom took the cactus and passed you the pen.

I, T.S.H., will give my lawyer any form of privacy as she defines it in exchange for her compliance and silence regarding anything I may instruct her to do within reason.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to do your laundry,” you said as he initialled the card at the bottom, “I intend to keep this relationship as professional as possible.”

Tom slid the index card towards you. “Keep this somewhere safe, where no one else can ever see it. This is just between you and me.”

“Absolutely,” you said, pocketing it at the same time Tom’s phone went off. He yanked it out and muttered a soft fuck once he saw the screen. “What’s going on?”

“There is no rest for the wicked. We’ve got to go.” Tom shoved his phone back in his coat and buttoned it up, and he grabbed your jacket from a chair and tossed it to you on the way out. “Crosscreek has been bombed.”

*** vinculum juris: the chains of the law; something that is legally binding.

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#tom holland #fic #tom holland/reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #mob tom #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #mob au #dash it all #viper au

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bazzledazzled · 6 years

Note

Have you seen that fanart of beauxbatons!Lance and Durmstrang!Keith? You could write about them meeting during the Triwizard Tournament... Maybe even attending the Yule Ball?

anon u have answered my prayers all i have been reading is harry potter fanfic I AM READY AND I LOVE THIS IDEA AND I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVENT THOUGHT OF IT YET????? Anyways here we go this is gonna be great.

Also lance with glasses fite me

also i feel like i should have a warning about this but there’s langst which means basically boggart lance is telling lance that he’s terrible and ye (like the squip!)

This turned out way longer than expected so here’s a 10k word fic!

I am going to kill this boy, Keith thought to himself as his eyes narrowed at the Beauxbatons boy. The names had just been drawn for the Triwizard Tournament, and Keith was a whirlwind of emotions.

For one, there was the fact that of all the people from Durmstrang including his adopted brother, Shiro, he was the idiot chosen to compete. He was the one chosen to be put in the spotlight when he barely even wanted to be at the stupid Tournament, even as a spectator. And now everyone was giving him attention, including a painfully cute brown haired boy with glasses and the most dazzling smile that would make anyone swoon.

Except the brown haired boy wasn’t making Keith swoon at this very moment, because the brown haired boy decided to be annoying and actually talk to Keith, even though they were competing against each other.

“So….. you nervous?” The boy asks, casually seating himself beside Keith. They were supposed to attend a meeting after the drawing to discuss rules and stuff for this years tournament. The brown haired boy named something stupid that started with an “L” was from Beauxbatons, the Hogwarts girl named something that Keith couldn’t remember who was wearing a Slytherin tie, and Keith, representing his own school, Durmstrang.

“No,” Keith says, brushing the other boy off, ending his sentence with a definitive end to tell the boy to go away. The boy did not go away.

“I’m nervous. I mean, I guess I’m not super nervous because I’ve seen this happen before and I’m pretty sure I could handle the different challenges, but it’s exciting, isn’t it?” There’s an excited smile on his face, one that could’ve been contagious if Keith wasn’t so angry at him for interrupting his brooding session.

“I guess.”

“You guess? Wow you Durmstrangs are lame, am I right Ravenclaw?” The Ravenclaw girl seems caught off-guard as she looks up, eyes wide before nodding in agreement, definitely not knowing what he just said.

“Are not!” Keith says, not sure why he’s getting defensive. He himself has said that Durmstrang is lame, but it hurt coming from someone else’s mouth. Especially from a Beauxbaton who had horrible taste.

“Mmkay,” the boy says with a sly smile. Keith wanted to punch him.

“You Beauxbatons are to pretentious,” Keith says with an eyeroll. The boy raises an eyebrow. “And the Durmstrangs aren’t?” Keith looks at him with an “are you being serious?” expression.

“What! You were all flashy and stuff when you came in.”

“And you weren’t?!” Keith says, still confused as to where the boy was going with this.

“Yeah but we did it in a cool way.”

“So did we!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!” The Sytherin girl bangs her book on the table, causing both of the boys shut up.

“I am trying to read,” she says, exasperated. He wrinkles his nose.

“Since when do people read?”

“Since forever??” The brown haired boy rolls his eyes.

“That’s lame.”

“Beauxbatons is lame,” the girl shoots back. The boy looks offended.

“HAH! See?”

“You two are getting taken down.” The girl just rolls her eyes, turning back to her book. Keith tries to come up with a witty reply, but not before the headmasters of the three schools come in.

“Congradulations! You three are the champions for this years Triwizard Tournament! Lance Mcclain will be competing for the Beauxbatons,” –Lance gives a charming smile– “Katie Holt will be representing Hogwarts–” “It’s Pidge,” the Slytherin girl pitches in, not looking up from her book. “And from our very own Durmstrang, Keith Kogane!” There was the sound of crickets. The headmaster of Durmstrang takes a deep breath.

“Your first trial will be held next week, which should give you plenty of time to prepare.” The headmasters go on about rules and make sure they know that the games are dangerous and that they accept the conciquences, and basically reading over the terms and conditions everyone usually skips over to get to the good stuff. The Beauxbatons boy– Lance– couldn’t seem to sit still as he went from tapping his foot, to tapping his fingers, to fidgeting with his hair. It started to irritate Keith to the point where he wasn’t paying attention, just glaring at Lance.

“Any questions?” There were none.

“Great! We’ll see you next week for the tournament.” They leave the room, leaving the three of them to assume that they were dismissed. Pidge didn’t even skip a beat, definitely seeming to get some time to herself before she was pushed into various interviews with flashing cameras and annoying fans. Keith was about to do the same, but not before Lance grabbed his elbow. Keith turned in both surprise and annoyance. Lance was lucky he had such a pretty face, or else Keith might’ve broken his nose.

“May the best man win,” he said with a smirk, holding his hand out. Keith hesitated before shaking it.

“Good luck losing.” Keith walked out of the room, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

The first challenge was… moderate. At least for Keith.

Lance on the other hand… struggled.

The task was simple. They were to walk into the arena where a boggart was waiting for them. The boggart would morph into their greatest fear and they would yell “ridiculous!” and it would be gone.

Except it didn’t end there. Because as soon as you got rid of one boggart, two more would take it’s place. And you would keep doing that again and again, until you were surrounded by hundreds of boggarts, all portraying your biggest fear, which is something that Lance never wanted to become public.

Lance stepped into the arena, heading for the closet, his head held high. He opened the door boggart walked out of that closet, taking the form of Lance, except it was some form of a twisted Lance, with glowing yellow eyes and fangs.

It wasn’t scary or frightening in the way a spider was. It wasn’t stupid like Pidge’s where the boggart turned into one of her teachers saying she was failing every class except lunch. But Lance knew, as soon as the creature opened its mouth, the monster was supposed to represent his insecurities.

You’re a coward. You don’t even belong here. Filthy mud-blood.

Lance gulped, the spell on the tip of his tongue. It wouldn’t come out.

Your parents would disown you if they knew who you really were. All your friends are faking it. They don’t care about you. No one does. You can’t even care about yourself.

Lance squeezes his eyes shut, hearing the words echo and bounce around inside his head. They were always there, at the back of his mind whenever he talked to a friend or he didn’t tell his family that he was actually a wizard instead of just going to some fancy private school he got a scholarship for. Or when he found himself daydreaming about a black haired boy, knowing that he was out of his league and the boy was probably straight anyways.

You’re selfish. Everyone hates you. The world would be better off without you.

Lance takes a deep breath. He can feel the tears welling inside him, and he knows everyone is watching. This is supposed to be a test of strength, a chance to prove that he isn’t some shitty wizard who everyone thought cheated the system to get into the Triwizard Tournament even though he didn’t. But standing there, facing the bogart, he started to wonder if the whole thing was a mistake.

“Ridiculous!” He cries, summoning all his energy, every single pent up emotion inside him as he looked the bogart in the eyes, telling himself one thing over and over. I am enough.

There was something different about the way his wand cast the spell than when he cast it before. For a moment he thought it was because he did something wrong and the spell was backfireing as a blue light started to glow from the wand. As it got brighter, to the point where it was blinding, Lance started to worry he might blow himself and the rest of the spectators up. Some Triwizard Tournament that would be. He could already see the headlines of the boy who ruined everything.

And then.. something amazing happened. It was almost as if he cast a patronus charm, which didn’t make sense. The light danced in the air with no distinct shape. It saw the bogart, darting for it and causing it to disappear. Like before when Pidge did it, two more took its place, but before Lance could even raise his wand to get rid of them, the light darted through them, and they were gone just like the first. There were gasps from the crowd and Lance gaped in amazement as the spell took out bogarts faster than his eye could catch. It only faded when the biggest one of all appeared, towering over Lance in all its glory. Lance gulped, facing it, trying to tap into the same energy from earlier.

As the bogart took form, Lance realized instead of being a large version of himself, similar to the ones before, it was shrinking, taking the form of a large mass of people, all of which he recognized. All of them were shouting insults as they surrounded him.

His family was there, his sisters and brothers and niece and nephew. His mom and dad too, both barely looking at him, telling him he was a disgrace to his family. He turned away, only to bump into his friends, shouting insults at him. Allura told him that he was a thorn in her side for years, and how she wanted to get rid of him, but he kept coming back. Hunk told him he never did everything right and that he would never be taken seriously as long as he had Lance for a friend. Tears pooled in Lance’s eyes as he turned away from them, wrapping his arms around himself.

There were teachers there too. The told him he was failing, said that he was barely even a wizard considering how bad he was at magic. They said he was probably more of a muggle and never had a spot in Beauxbatons to begin with. Classmates taunted him, calling him crude names, chanting “mud-blood” as they grinned viciously. Lance curled in on himself, not sure what to do.

“What’s taking him so long?” Pidge says inside the tent, fiddling with some muggle device. Keith leaned against the wall, practicing spells and ignoring her.

“You’re just mad because you failed.” Pidge shoots him a glare, but Keith doesn’t give her the satisfaction of even looking at her.

“I did better than he is if he’s taking this long.” Suddenly shouts Keith assumed to be the crowd at first, grew louder and more vicious. It startled the two champions and they shared a look.

“That doesn’t sound good….” They rush out of the tent, looking around, trying to figure out what is going around.

The arena was filled with people. All of them were shouting angrily, at a specific person who Keith could only guess was Lance. The crowd was completely quiet, some of them turning away from the scene, feeling bad for the boy at the center of the chaos. The judges were talking amongst themselves, not yet sure if they should call it. Keith takes a look at Pidge and Pidge looks at him before he darts into the arena. He hears Pidge call his name, but he doesn’t listen.

Inside the arena is madness. People were yelling and screaming and throwing things. They were trying to push their way through the crowd to get to the center, all of their words negative. None of the words were directed at him, but Keith could feel his self-esteem lowering, making him feel weak inside. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Lance. He pulls out his wand, casting spells to get people out of his way. He needs to get to the center. From there, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He doesn’t even know what Lance is facing since he was supposed to go last.

He makes it to the center and sees Lance. The poor Beauxbatons boy is on the ground, curled up into a ball as tears stream down his face. A boiling hot anger suddenly fills Keith, one that he’s experienced many times before. He didn’t care if they all signed up for this, nobody should be put through this much emotional trauma.

“Lance!” Keith calls as people try to shove him back. Lance doesn’t move.

“LANCE!” Keith calls again. Lance grits his teeth.

“LANCE!” Keith emerges from the crowd, looking down at Lance, who looks up at him, hatred shinning through his expression.

“I just met you how can you already hate me?” Keith frowns, bending down to Lance.

“C’mon. Your trial’s over.” Lance looks up at him, his chin wobbling. Keith immediately feels a sort of protectiveness for this boy. He was battling too many monsters, many of which Keith found himself battling as well.

“Shove off, Kogane.” Keith huffs, grabbing Lance’s arm roughly and pulling him up. Lance pulls away, his shoulders hunched.

Someone jumps out at them, their expression vicious as they spit out words, calling Lance things like “mud-blood” and other even worse variations. Without thinking, Keith throws himself in front of Lance as if he could protect Lance from the person’s hurtful words.

Then something interesting happens. The crowd merges together in one large form, the image flickering and stretching. Keith furrows his brow in confusion

It starts to take form, glimmering black hair styled like Keith’s and bright, glowing yellow eyes with purple irises. The creatures fingers elongated into talons coated in blood and even around it’s mouth Keith could see traces of it. There was a wicked grin on its face and its clothes were in tatters. Keith recognized it immediately. He recalled a Defense Against the Dark Arts class from years before when they first learned about Bogarts. He was faced with this same monster, his greatest fear.

He was scared he would turn into this monster.

He grabs his wand, ignoring the fears rooted deep in his stomach as he shouted “RIDICULOUS!”

The air was still. The bogart was gone. Behind him, Keith heard Lance sniffle. Everyone was looking at him with disbelief, including the Beauxbatons boy.

“Why would he do that!?” Lance says exasperatedly as he talks to his friend, Hunk. Hunk was from Hogwarts and an old friend of Lance’s. Their families were close and Hunk was surprised learn that Lance too was a wizard. They usually didn’t talk much over the school year considering they went to different schools, but they hung out almost all the time over the summer, telling school secrets about Hogwarts and Beauxbatons that they thought the other might find funny.

Hunk shrugs, obviously tired of this conversation. This is the third time Lance has talked about it since the competition. “Why don’t you ask him.” Lance gave him a repulsed look.

“I can’t ask mullet why he saved me.”

“Awww you have nicknames for each other.”

“No we don’t! We barely even know each other.”

“Just because you don’t know him doesn’t mean you don’t like him.”

“Wh-what?” Lance says, his cheeks reddening. Hunk laughs.

“Look Keith probably saved you because he felt bad for you. I would’ve done the same.” Lance crosses his arms and sticks out his lip.

“I didn’t need saving.” Hunk sighs, knowing that Lance was probably embarrassed that he wasn’t able to handle a simple bogart.

“Did you prepare for the next task.” Lance groans.

“No.”

“Do you know what it’s going to be.”

“I don’t know! They gave us a vague clue.”

“Clues are supposed to be vague.” Lance huffs, hitting his head on the table.

“What is it? Maybe I can help.”

“They said something about looking through the history of Triwizard Tournaments.” Hunk furrowed his brow.

“Why?” Lance shrugs.

“If I had to guess, they ran out of ideas and they’re stealing one from a previous one.”

“Did they say anything else?”

“They said it would jump out from history, that there was something about the tournament that was different than the others.” A lightbulb goes off in Hunk’s head.

“We should head to the library.”

Keith just wanted to have a quiet study session for the tests he had to take, was that too much to ask? It didn’t seem like much and, for the most part, people kept to themselves in the library because that’s what people do at libraries.

Lance Mcclain seems to have not gotten the hint.

“What are you doing here Kogane?” Lance says, looking at Keith with narrowed eyes. Keith looks up at him, a bored expression on his face.

“Some of us actually go to school her,” Keith says, turning back to his textbooks. Lance huffs, siting beside Keith.

“Do you want something or are you just here to make sure I fail potions?” Lance glares at him, getting more annoyed when he sees that Keith just ignores him. Lance puts his hand over Keith’s textbook, forcing him to look into the Beauxbaton boy’s blue eyes. He’s aware of how close they are and how cute Lance is… for a Beauxbaton. Too bad Lance hates him, Keith might have even dated him.

“What do you want, Mcclain?” Lance’s jaw is set. He looks like a boy on a mission.

“Why did you help me?” Keith bites his lip, trying to actually figure out why he did it. He shrugs.

“I felt bad for you,” he says, grabbing his textbook and scooting away from Lance. Lance grabs his arm.

“I didn’t need saving,” Lance says, pratically choking on emotion. Keith puts his books down, turning back to Lance, concern in his eyes. Lance’s face flushed with embarrassment as he let go of Keith’s arm.

“I just… I’m not stupid, alright?”

“I didn’t say that you were?” Keith furrows his brow in confusion.

“The cup picked me for a reason this isn’t some mistake.” Lance clenches his fists, barely even looking at Keith.

“Are you… okay?”

“No.” Lance slumps against him, crossing his arms. It catches Keith off-guard, considering he’s not the most affectionate person, but a look into Lance’s eyes tells Keith that he needs something to ground him.

“Um….” Keith doesn’t know what he should do. In his head he’s going into a gay panic.

“I’ll show them,” Lance says determinedly to himself. Keith doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. “I’m going to place first in the next challenge. I’m going to win.”

“Hey Lance!” A voice calls. There’s a chorus of “shhh”s directed at a boy in a yellow Hufflepuff tie, he apologizes, running towards Keith and Lance. Lance jumps away from Keith, perking up slightly. Hunk takes the seat next to Lance, making Keith even more annoyed. Really he just wanted to study, not have a party with his rival and said rival’s friend.

“What’s up?” The Hufflepuff flips through a book that seems to be full of old records. Keith can’t help but be slightly interested. He leans over Lance’s shoulder. Lance turns to him, a smirk on his face.

“You trying to cheat, mullet?” Keith turns bright red. He moves away from Lance.

“I wasn’t– I was just–” Lance looks thoughtful.

“Tell you what…” Both Keith and the Hufflepuff boy raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll help you in the next challenge.” Keith’s eyebrows seem to raise even more.

“Okay?”

“I mean, it’s the least I can do after… the incident that shall not be named.”

“Okay??” Lance nods, satisfied, and turns back to Hunk.

“Go on.”

“Do you remember Harry Potter’s Triwizard Tournament?”

The weeks leading up to the second trial were… interesting to say the least. Lance was dead set on repaying Keith after the first trial, which meant that he followed him. Everywhere.

Keith wanted to complain but… he began to enjoy Lance’s company. Because they were visiting, students from Beauxbatons and Hogwarts weren’t required to go to classes like the rest of the Durmstrang students, but they were highly encouraged to go to these classes and experience new “cultures.”

Lance claimed that he didn’t have a choice, but Keith knew that he secretly loved accompanying Keith to his classes, helping him figure out potions and listening to Keith laugh as Lance messed up a charm. But Lance was determined to do his hardest in everything, as if he had to prove something. Sometimes he failed, sometimes he embarrassed himself miserably, but he still kept trying, and Keith found it almost admirable.

Despite being sort of kind of friends now, they still held onto some rivalish qualities, probably because everyone kept fitting them into those roles. They were going head to head in the Triwizard Tournament still, and Keith and Lance weren’t shy to go into a not so friendly competition during Transfiguration, much to their teacher’s annoyance.

That’s probably why the media was always buzzing about them.

There were tons of articles, some of them ridiculously sappy about how it’s beautiful to see their friendship blossom even though they’re from different schools. There were debates about Keith saving Lance, some people even saying that Keith should be disqualified. Some say Lance should be disqualified because he accepted Keith’s help. Some people, deep on the internet, suggested that Keith and Lance’s friendship is something more. Maybe it always has.

Except Keith and Lance were too busy for the internet, between planning how to get through the second challenge, brewing potions to help them breathe underwater, and Lance pretty much tutoring Keith in potions, there was no room in between classes to casually surf the internet. Maybe if they saw these speculations, it would’ve drawn them apart with repulsion, feeling uncomfortable with this development. Or maybe it would’ve made them realize what they really wanted.

“Scared mullet?” Lance says with a smirk, looking over at Keith as they stood over by the Lake, getting ready for the competition. Keith scowled.

“Stop calling me that.” Lance sticks his face in front of Keith’s, a mischivious grin on his face. The slightest blush crosses Keith’s face.

“Why?”

“Because my name is Keith,” Keith says, crossing his arms. Lance’s playful energy was contagious and that’s probably what Keith liked the most about him.

“You’re the one who chose to have bad hair!” Lance says defensively. Keith gasps, touching his hair.

“You take that back!”

“Seriously who cuts their hair like that!” Lance says. Keith pouts.

“You’re jealous.” Lance rolls his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you just…” Lance digs through his pockets, looking for something. He frowns.

“Hold on.” He runs over to someone Keith supposes must be a friend who’s standing a few feet away in Beauxbaton robes holding a flag with Lance’s face on it.

“Yo Allura you got a hairtie?” Lance calls. The girl– Allura– furrows her brow.

“Yeah why?”

“My buddy Keith needs it,” Lance says, pointing over at Keith. Keith’s face goes red as he buries his head in his hands, wondering why he still let Lance do these things to him.

Lance runs back over, hairtie in hand.

“Turn around,” he orders. Keith huffs, doing as told, his face still red. Lance runs Keith’s hair through his hands, untangling any knots. He gathers his hair, pulling it up and tying the elastic around it. He turns Keith around, smiling and brushing his bangs out of his eyes and behind his ears. Lance smiles.

“You have eyes,” Lance says dorkily. Keith starts to snort, erupting into giggles and leaning on Lance slightly, the purest of expressions on his face. The smallest of blushes passes across Lance’s face and a thought flitters through his head.

Oh god help me.

Pidge, Keith, and Lance stood side by side, looking over the lake, their stomachs filled with anxiety. They all knew that they would have to find something at the bottom of the lake, thanks to them all being friends with Hunk, who was having a hard time choosing one person to root for, but they had no idea what they were actually looking for. The books from the library full of records had certain words blacked out, giving the competitors a vague idea of what the actual challenge would be.

Then, there was a loud whistle, and the second trial began.

Pidge shoved some sort of plant in her mouth, jumping in without hesitation. Lance chugged a bottle of a blue liquid that looked like water, sputtering at the taste before jumping in. Keith, since him and Lance worked on the potion together, not only for Keith’s potions project but also for this competition, did the same.

Being submerged in water was an… odd feeling. For a long moment, Keith floated, the potion taking a little longer to take effect, unlike Lance who was already halfway to the bottom.

Then he felt something pull at his feet. He looked down, gasping in shock, fumbling for his wand to cast a stupefy on whatever it was.

But there was nothing there. It was the potion, starting to take effect. Keith remembered what Lance told him, how it not only allowed you to breath underwater, but it made your body mass heavier, allowing you to sink all the way to the bottom of the ocean at a rather quick pace. It was a complex spell, one that Keith had struggled with greatly, but he got an A on the assignment and it didn’t seem to have any after effects.

When Keith got to the bottom, he saw what the “treasure” was. There was three people floating in the water, tied there with seaweed. Mermaids flocked around them.

The first person looked a lot like Pidge. In fact, it was eerie how close they resembled each other. Keith knew for a fact that it had to have been Pidge’s brother or something.

The second person was a girl. She had hair cut to about her shoulders and glasses that sat askew on her face. Her features vaguely resembled Lance, which obviously could only mean that it was Lance’s sister. Keith recalled Lance talking about her and the rest of his siblings.

The third was someone Keith knew. He didn’t have to guess to know that this was his treasure.

He would recognize his brother anywhere.

His feet touched the ground and he ran to Shiro, his jaw set. It was an odd, running in water. What was weirder was, even though Keith could see the fish swimming around him, it didn’t feel like he was running anywhere underwater. It almost felt like he was on dry land.

The mermaids didn’t stop him as he passed them. Lance was already there, tearing at the seaweed for his sister. He turned to Keith, flashing one of his dorky smiles. Keith rolled his eyes, smiling slightly as he used his wand to to cut the rope. He grabs Shiro, turning back to Lance. Above them they saw Pidge, looking angry at the fact that they beat her here. Lance pulled out a second potion from his pocket, this one more sludgy and red. Keith did the same. They looked at each other before, emptying the bottle.

Pidge got to the bottom, letting her brother free. That’s when the potion started to take effect as Keith and Lance started to rise back to the surface. As they rose, Keith started to notice the effects of the other potion start to wear off. He found it more difficult to breathe and he saw Lance seem to have the same problem. But it didn’t matter. He could see the sun above him, feeling the warmth. Lance was a good deal ahead of him, but he didn’t think anything of it.

Until he realized he wasn’t moving at all. Lance kept going up and up and up, but he stayed right there. He started to gasp for air, trying franticly to swim back up to the surface. But it wasn’t working. He felt himself inhale water and his eyes widened with panic. He tried to call out for Lance, but Lance didn’t seem to hear. Pidge swam by him and he felt the truth sink in on him.

He messed up the potion. He was going to die down here.

Lance felt like he was on top of the world. After the first challenge, he was sure the goblet made a mistake. The first challenge was supposed to be the easiest, and he couldn’t even face a bogart.

But this? This was almost too easy. He always loved potions so as soon as he heard about the challenge he knew exactly what potion he needed to make. He didn’t need the weeks to prepare it. He could’ve done it that day and had it done by dinner. But he knew that Keith struggled with potions and decided to take things slow, taking his time to explain to Keith why things worked a certain way and how to be careful with the measurements. Still, Keith struggled. The poor boy always looked so defeated when the potion blew up in his face, saying that Lance should stop trying to help him it wasn’t going to work.

But Lance didn’t give up. He wasn’t going to give up.

He can see the surface, he’s almost close enough to touch the surface and feel the cool air. He grins, looking down to share a smile with Keith, who was no doubt behind him.

Except Keith wasn’t behind him. Lance started to panic, looking around wildly. He saw Pidge come up behind him, her brow drawn. But Keith wasn’t there.

Lance pulled out his wand, casting the spell to momentarily stop the effects of the potion, just for a little bit. The world stilled and he looked down for the black haired boy in a red coat. Far bellow he spotted him. He thought about how much time he had before the spell wore off and he would be forced to float back to the top. He could cast the spell again and again, but he could feel it already starting to wear him down. He took a deep breath, hoping beyond hope that those stupid swim lessons would be useful. He let go of Veronica, letting her float to the top. God she would be so angry when she woke up. Lance still has forgotten to mention the whole wizard thing to her.

He started to swim towards Keith, kicking his legs as hard as he could. He swam past Pidge, who looked at him with confusion, but didn’t stop. She was here to win, Lance knew this. He was too, but he couldn’t leave Keith down there. What if something bad happened.

After what felt like hours but only was probably twenty minutes, Lance reached Keith. He was franticly kicking his legs, but Lance could tell he was losing energy. He had a death grip on his “treasure” and tears seemed to be pooling at his eyes. He was blue and looked on the verge of passing Lance cursed, pulling his wand back out and swimming up to Keith, grabbing his hands. Bubbles escaped from Keith’s mouth as he looked at him with surprise. Lance takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm even through Keith’s panic. He had to, or else something terrible might happened.

He remembered the charm, saying it in his head and pointing the wand up between them. A bubble swelled up between them, spreading wider and wider until it encompassed both of their heads, the bubble full of fresh air. Keith gasped, drinking up the air, his skin turning back to its normal color.

“You good?” Lance says, touching Keith’s shoulder. Keith gulps and nods, not able to form words. Lance smiled warmly, releasing the hold of the previous spell, causing them to rise up. Thankfully, whatever was causing Keith to stay stationary seemed to disappear as Lance’s potion took over him.

They surface both of them gasping as they swim to shore. Lance sees Pidge wrapped in a towel, standing next to her brother and shivering. He also saw Veronica, standing next to them, looking bewildered, but also relieved to see Lance.

Lance helps Keith stand. Keith seems to be a little weak from almost drowning. Behind them, the guy that Keith was saving, called out.

“Keith!” He runs up to him, hugging him tight. Lance smiles, walking over to his sister. She proceeded to look at him, soaking wet in his blue swim trunks. And then, miraculously, she starts to laugh.

“What?” Lance says, blushing.

“All this time I knew you were hiding a secret from us and all along its because you were going to some elite school because your a nerd.” Lance stumbles over his words, but Veronica just smiles, enveloping him in a hug. Lance smiles, glad to see his sister.

He looks back at Keith, who’s staring at him, his expression a mix of awe and confusion. Lance just laughs.

After the tournament, the three champions are ushered into a room, still dripping wet for interviews. It was obvious that they were excited to get the latest scoop, considering everyone saw Veronica surface without Lance and Lance later surface with Keith and Shiro. Everyone knew that it would add to the tale of Keith Kogane and Lance Mcclain, Friends or Lovers?

Before they started prepping them for interviews, the three discussed the events of the tournament quietly amongst themselves.

“That task wasn’t that hard…” Pidge says, obviously taking pride in the fact that she came in first place. Lance pursed his lips, nodding in agreement but also looking at Keith out of the corner of his eye, who had his blanket wrapped around him tightly. Keith didn’t say a word, frowning.

“Congrats on getting first, Pidge?” Lance says with a warm smile.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Pidge finally bursts. Keith and Lance incline their heads towards her.

“Lance… I saw you ahead of me. You could’ve won this and got in first place instead of making us all tied. So why didn’t you win?” Lance bites his lip. Keith looks at him too, a curious expression on his face.

“Well I… I saw that Keith was struggling…” Keith looks away blushing. He swore he saw Pidge smirk.

“So you decided to sacrifice your win to save the damsel in distress?”

“Well… yeah.” Pidge just smiles, looking like she knows something.

“I see.” They call for Lance for his interview. He grins and walks into the room, obviously enjoying the attention. Pidge turns to Keith.

“You like him.” Keith turns bright red, mumbling incoherent nothings.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says finally. Pidge raises an eyebrow.

“He’s from Beauxbatons.” Pidge’s eyebrow arches further.

“We’re rivals.” Pidge bursts out laughing.

“WHAT!” Keith says defensively. She snorts.

“Some rivals you are.” Keith plays with the sleeves of his jacket.

“I mean I guess we’re friends, but we’re competing against each other. Plus, Lance couldn’t like me back.”

“So you admit you like him.” Keith squeaks, his face as red as a tomato.

“What? No I-I was– I meant– I–” Pidge puts her hand over his mouth. He gives her a panicked expression.

“Look. I know Lance.”

“You do?”

“Yes he’s Hunk’s friend god have you been paying attention?”

“Oh yes that answered all my questions. Thank you,” Keith says sarcastically. Pidge laughs.

“Oh I like you.”

“What’s your point, Pidge?”

“I know Lance. I also know that he flirts with literally any girl he sees comma but the ones he really likes he gets all flustered and does a weird thing with his hands.”

“ I don’t understand what this has to do with anythi–”

“When he likes someone he tries to spend every waking hour with them and will do anything for them.”

“So?”. Pidge huffs.

“So I’m saying that he’s the same with you!” Keith scoffs.

“No he’s not. He’s just being Lance.” Pidge groans.

“Wow you’re about as thick as he is.”

“HEY! Lance is really smart, I’ll have you know,” Keith says defensively, maybe a small part of his tone is dreamy. Pidge rubs her brow.

“I’m too ace for this.” Lance walks back out into the waiting room, a nervous smile on his face. Keith feels his heartbeat quicken and he scratches his neck in an attempt to hide his blush. He didn’t know if it worked as Lance walked up to him.

“How did it go?” Keith asks. Lance purses his lips, fidgeting with his hand a little. Pidge gives Keith a look.

“It went good! They asked some personal stuff about… nevermind.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Keith swore he saw Lance blush the slightest bit. But the moment was gone.

“Kogane!” The lady called. Keith takes a deep breath, walking into the room.

The room is just a normal classroom, set up for an interview. Two chairs sit across from each other, one occupied by a lady with curly hair and glasses. Keith gulped, sitting down across from her.

“Hello Mr. Kogane,” she says, smiling warmly.

“H-hi,” Keith says, pulling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“So. This challenge was a lot harder for you, wasn’t it.” Keith gulped and nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you care to explain what happened?” Keith dug his nails into his palm.

“I don’t know. I made my potion wrong and I couldn’t get to the surface so Lance saved me.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know why he did that? Rumor has it he would’ve won if he hadn’t gone back for you.” Keith curled and uncurled his fists.

“I don’t know. It was probably payback for the first challenge.” She hummed.

“That’s not how Lance tells it.”

“How does Lance tell it?” Keith growls. The reporter flips to a new piece of paper.

“Next question. How did you feel when you saw Lance come back for you.” Keith didn’t know what this had to do anything.

“I don’t know. I was happy that I could breathe.”

“In the metaphorical sense?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“No? He spelled a bubble around us so we could breath.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Did you say anything to him in this… bubble?”

“I couldn’t breathe?” Keith doesn’t know where she’s going with this.

“Next question. How do you feel about Lance Mcclain? Do you think your relationship has evolved?”

“Well… yeah.” The lady leans forward slightly. Keith coughs, his cheeks reddening. “Well I mean–” Keith coughs. “We’re closer friends now and stuff. And he’s really smart and helps me with my potions…”

“Is she trying to make a move on him?” Lance says, face pressed up against the glass of the classroom door. Pidge groans, playing Zelda on a DS.

“She’s not, Lance. And if she was then that would be creepy and wrong.” Lance frowns.

“She’s too close.” Pidge huffs, stepping on the tips of her toes to look in with Lance. She rolls her eyes.

“They’re literally a meter away from each other.” Lance huffs.

“He’s blushing.” Pidge groans, slinking against the floor.

“Keith’s always blushing.”

“Yeah but…”

“Lance.”

“I mean….”

“Lance.”

“What if…”

“LANCE!” Lance turns to the Pidge. She pushes up her round glasses.

“Keith is fine he’s just nervous.” Lance sighs, sinking to the ground.

“I know I just….”

“What?” Pidge sits next to him. Lance frowns, seeming conflicted.

“I just know how shaken up I was after the first challenge and how answering their questions made it worse and… you didn’t see him down there, Pidge.” Pidge sighs.

“Keith will be fine. If he’s not I’m sure he’ll deck her.” Lance laughs a little.

“Yeah.” Lance looks down into his lap, his features soft.

“Hunk was right, you got it bad.”

“What?!” Lance says, jumping. “I swear if Hunk told you–” Pidge rolled her eyes.

“It’s obvious Lance. He didn’t need to tell me anything.” Lance threads his fingers through his hair, sighing.

“It is?”

“The only person that doesn’t seem to know is Keith.” Lance huffs, resting his chin on his hand.

“What should I do, Pidge?” Pidge coughs.

“Are you seriously asking me for relationship advice?” Lance glares.

“Just ask him to the Yule Ball or something. That’s coming up soon.” Lance chews his lip.

“Maybe….” The door behind them opens, causing both of them to yelp, scrambling up. Keith frowned at them.

“Why were you sitting by the door?”

“It was Lance’s idea,” Pidge says with a shrug, heading into the room, closing the door tightly behind her. Lance starts to fidget with his jacket and Keith scratches his neck.

“So….” Keith says, coughing. Lance bites the inside of his cheek.

“Want to go find something to eat?” Keith grins.

“Sure.”

“Who’s Keith talking to?” Lance says, leaning into Hunk, a frown on his face. Hunk follows his line of sight.

“Acxa. Why?” Lance raises an eyebrow.

“Who’s she?”

“A Gryffindor girl. She’s friends with Allura’s ex. But don’t worry, she’s cool.” Lance chews his lip, glimpsing back at them. He knew what flirting looked like.

“Do you think she’ll ask him to the Yule Ball?” Hunk shrugs, taking a bite of his food.

“Pidge has heard rumors about it. They might be true.” Lance looks back at them. Keith has a frustratingly cute expression on his face as his brows draw with confusion, tilting his head curiously. Sometimes Lance swore he was like a puppy mixed with a cat and it made Lance’s stomach flip. He sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“Wow. Pidge was right.” Lance squeaks, jumping and turning away from Keith.

“Right about what?” Lance says nervously.

“That that Durmstrang boy is going to be the death of you.”

“N-no he’s not!”

“Lance you’re looking at him again.” Lance sighs dreamily.

“He’s so pretty.” Hunk rolls his eyes.

“Tell me again why you haven’t asked him to the Yule Ball yet?” Lance huffs.

“Because Hunk.” Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“”Because… I don’t know. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

“No?”

“But it’s Keith, Hunk.” Hunk just laughs, shaking his head. Above them they hear a chirping sound. Everyone in the room cranes their heads up at the noise as dozens of birds flood the room, all of them with letters tied around their ankles. They swooped down, landing at tables where students recognized a family owl and took the letter, reading it to themselves with smiles and frowns. Another round of owls came in, dropping in the daily newspapers. Lance picks one up, casually flipping to the article on the Triwizard Tournament.

There’s a picture of the three of them, all drenched from head to toe. Pidge was grinning wildly, her eyes dancing with excitement. Meanwhile, Keith was shivering, wrapping himself tighter in blankets. Lance was beside him, looking slightly concerned for his friend as he offered Keith his blanket. Lance skipped over the picture to the article.

“Yesterday the three Champions of this year’s Triwizard Tournament completed their second challenge. Katie “Pidge” Holt from the Slytherin house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came in first place, saving her brother, Matt from the bottom of the lake. Next to come up was a bewildered muggle by the name of Veronica who is our second champion’s sister. However, Lance could not be seen, causing anxiety to build up within the stands of the arena, wondering what could possibly have happened to the Beauxbatons boy. There was still no sign of the Durmstrang boy or his treasure.

“Just as the officiators began to organize a team to look for the two boys, they shot out of the water, arm and arm, both of them holding tightly onto Takashi Shirogane, Keith Kogane’s adopted brother. The audience cheered, rising up in the stands as Keith and Lance tied for second place, causing a three way tie between the three champions. They were all–” Hunk kept poking Lance’s shoulder and it was really starting to dampen his reading ability. He huffs, getting slightly annoyed, and turns to Hunk.

“What?!” Hunk chews his lip.

“Uh dude…” Hunk points to a picture later on in the article. It was of before the match where Lance was helping Keith with his hair. They were facing each other, both of them blushing, looking soulfully into each other’s eyes. Lance gulps as he reads the headline.

“Rivals… or Star-Crossed Lovers?” Lance looks over at Hunk, a nervous expression on his face. He quickly turns back to the article, pratically inhaling the words on the page with a frantic energy.

“One cannot deny that since the first trial in the tournament there has been a spark between the two boys of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. As some may recall, Keith Kogane came to Lance Mcclain’s aid when he couldn’t muster the courage to face his greatest fear. Since then, the two boys have been almost inseparable. Sources say that it was because Mcclain felt indebted to Kogane after he saved him and was bent on helping the Durmstrang in any way he could.

“But one cannot deny the energy these boys give off. Hidden deep within there is a passion that most anyone can see, and it has only been strengthened since the second trial. The two boys have become a popular… so to say… ship amongst fanatics of the Triwizard Tournament. And they no doubt are gobbling up this exclusive interview with Lance Mcclain:”

“Whatcha reading?” Keith says from over Lance’s shoulder, scaring Lance senseless. Without hesitation, Lance takes the article and shoves it in his glass of milk, looking up at Keith.

“Just enjoying my breakfast!” He says, laughing nervously. Keith squints at him, sitting down beside him. He reaches for the pitches of orange juice, his hand brushing Lance’s in the process. Lance goes bright red.

“Okay but seriously, what were you reading?” Keith says, staring at him from over his orange juice.

“Nothing.” Keith frowns. Lance can feel everyone looking at him now. They no doubt read the article, read about all the embarising ways Lance gushed about Keith during his interview in ways he didn’t mean to. If he could do anything to change that moment, he would in a heartbeat.

“What did Acxa talk to you about?” Hunk asks, bless him. Keith shrugs, stabbing his egg and frowning.

“She asked me to go to the Yule Ball with her.” Oh no oh no my life is over I failed bury me now–

“What did you say?” Hunk says, looking at Lance nervously. He could tell that Lance seemed on the verge of a breakdown. He made a mental note of the best escape route for his friend.

Keith continues to frown, stabbing his eggs, looking at Lance through his lashes.

“I said no,” Keith mumbles. Lance gasps, standing up.

“You what?” Keith seems to shrink in on himself a little, thrown off by Lance’s outbreak. Lance immediately feels horrible as he sits back down.

“Sorry, sorry I… what do you mean you said no?” He says in a much gentler voice, leaning slightly towards Keith. Keith shrugs, holding his gaze.

“I just… said no?”

“But she’s so your type!” Keith almost snorts. In fact he does… a little.

“I just…” Keith pushes his bangs out of his eyes, not meeting Lance’s gaze.

“I was just hoping someone else would ask me,” He says, a bright blush spreading across his cheeks. Lance gapes at him.

“Who is it?” he says, a little too quickly. Keith chews his lip.

“C’mon you can tell me.” Lance says, smiling and bumping his shoulder with Lance’s. Keith blushes, smiling a little.

“You’re going to have to wait, loverboy.” Lance’s heart pounds in his chest and in that moment, he wants to do nothing more than kiss Keith and tell him how he feels. But, the mullet boy’s heart is taken by another.

“You coming with me to Charms?” Keith says, gathering his stuff to get going. Lance smirks.

“How else can I beat you into a pulp with my fancy spellwork.” Keith laughs a snorty kind of laughter that makes Lance’s heart flutter.

It was a day before the Yule Ball and Lance still hasn’t asked Keith to go with him.

At this point Lance wasn’t sure why he was worried. Everyone Keith hung out with seemed to have a date, so it wasn’t like one of them could be Keith’s-mysterious-crush-that-he-was-hoping-would-ask-him. But Lance still couldn’t help but feel a lump in his throat every time he tried to ask Keith to go with him.

In the end, he said it the night before the actual dance and made a complete and entire fool of himself.

They were up in Keith’s dorm, lying next to each other on his bed with books propped open, their eyelids drooping.

“Why did your professor assign you a test on the day of the dance anyway?” Lance says with a yawn. Keith sighs, face planting into a textbook.

“Because my potions teacher enjoys watching me suffer.” Lance sighs, pulling the textbook away from Keith, who pulled his head up in surprise, turning to Lance. Only when Lance put away the textbooks did Lance realize their noses were almost touching.

“What are you doing?” Keith says, looking confused. Lance huffs.

“You’re way too tired for this and we have the Yule Ball tomorrow you need to get some sleep.” Keith groans, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Lance does the same.

“Do you have a date to the ball yet?” he asks curiously. Lance feels his heart pound in his chest, wondering if this was the moment. He takes a deep breath, telling himself to chill out. He leans back, relaxed.

“No. All the girls are too shy to ask this guy,” he says cheesily, pointing finger guns at Keith. It was a lie, a bunch of girls asked him, but he said he had his heart set on someone else. And he did, if he would just work up the courage to ask the boy in front of him. He just needed to say those eight words. Will you go to the dance with me?

“What about you? That lucky lady ask you yet?” Keith frowns, playing with a loose string on the bed.

“No.” Lance tapped his fingers against his leg.

“Great. So neither of us have dates.”

“I guess…” Lance laughs.

“God that’s going to be so embarrassing.” Keith furrows his brow, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re the champions and we don’t have dates.” Keith doesn’t look at him as he continues to mess with the blanket.

“So?” Lance chews his bottom lip, his face heating. God, how is he supposed to say this? Its a good think Keith is distracted.

“So I mean… It will be kind of embarrassing… won’t it? Being the center of attention without a date?” Keith shrugs. Lance knows that Keith probably doesn’t care, but he needs an excuse, something to hide under if Keith lashes out at him.

“What are you saying, Lance?” Keith says, looking tired. Man, he should really go to sleep. Lance threads and unthreads his fingers together.

“Well you know… maybe we can both go together? Since we don’t have dates…” Keith was suddenly wide awake now. His eyes fly open as he turns to Lance, who’s trying to hide his blush. Did he just…. was he playing a trick on him? Keith drew his brows together. Lance started to panic.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Keith murmured, not looking into Lance’s eyes. Lance scrambled up, his heart pounding.

“Sorry I’m sorry Keith I….” he starts to grab his bags, running his fingers through his hair, getting that look in his eye. It was the same look he had in the arena when facing the bogart. Keith wanted to reach out but he was too frozen. His heart was pounding, Lance’s words ringing in his ears.

“I shouldn’t have…” Lance was rambling like he did when he was upset. It was funny how much they’ve gotten to know each other within the span of this competition and Keith wanted nothing more than to go to that dance with Lance Mcclain.

But by the time he finally opened his mouth to tell him yes, yes I want to go to the dance with you, Lance was rushing out the door, rubbing tears from his eyes. Keith stood up to chase after him, opening the door and running down the stairs into his common room. He emerged into the hall, but by that point, Lance was gone and all of Keith’s opportunities went down the drain.

“HaveyouseenLance?” Keith said the next morning to Hunk and Pidge, completely ignoring the other three girls sitting at the table. They seemed startled by his appearance, but Keith didn’t care. He didn’t sleep at all the night before and every time he laid down he tossed and turned. Eventually he snuck out to try and find Lance, but he ended up getting caught and sent back to his dorm.

“Wow Keith so polite of you to say hi to our friends Allura, Shay, and Romelle,” Pidge says sarcastically. Keith glares.

“Where’s Lance?” Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“He’s not with you?”

“Why would he be with me!” Keith runs his hands through his hair, sitting down.

“You guys were studying together last night where did he go after that?” Keith whimpers.

“I don’t know. He stormed off and–”

“Wait. He stormed off?” one of the girls, Allura, pitches in. Keith nods worriedly.

“Dude what did you do?” Pidge says. Keith buries his head in his arms.

“He asked me to the Yule Ball.” Everyone at the table gasps.

“Keith I swear if you said no–”

“I didn’t say anything but he started freaking out and I just…” Everyone is leaning close to him.

“Did you tell him?” Pidge asks. Keith shakes his head.

“I thought it was a joke! I didn’t think he would actually ask me!” Pidge shakes her head sadly.

“Do you ever read the Daily Prophet?” Romelle says. Keith looks up at her, an angry look on his face. Pidge shoves a paper in his face. He looks down at the article.

There’s a big picture of him and Lance, standing close together just before the second challenge. The headline read, “Rivals… or Star-Crossed Lovers?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“Lance’s interview. You haven’t seen it?” Keith shakes his head, starting to read intently.

“R: So Mcclain, would you care to explain to us what happened in this round of competition?

L: Well, this part of the competition was always meant to help repay Kogane for helping me in… the first challenge. I felt bad and I wanted to help him as much as I could so we worked together to create our potions to help us. We started swimming up together, but I noticed that Keith was no longer next to me.

R: So you gave up a win to help him?

L: Yes.

R: Why?

L: I… well I don’t know. It only seemed fair considering he lost a significant amount of points for helping me.

R: You still could’ve swam for the surface and got him help. You didn’t have to be his knight in shinning armor. So why did you save him yourself?

L: I didn’t think of that….

R: No, you didn’t.

R: Would you have done it differently?

L: No. I would’ve risked everything to save him– I mean, I don’t want to see a fellow competitor get hurt. He would’ve drowned.

R: I see… and what are your opinions of Keith? You two have gotten extremely close during this competition.

L: We have. Keith has been amazing, the kind of friend I never knew I needed. He’s a bit temperamental, but once you get through his shell he has so many admirable traits and he’s so handsome….

R: Would you ever see Kogane as more than a friend?

L: Ye–NO! NO not at all that’s not what this is. We’re just friends, sometimes rivals. We would never– he would never– we don’t like each other in that way

R: Maybe he doesn’t, but how about you, Mcclain?

L: *no comment*”

“This isn’t real this had to have been forged. Lance would never say this.”

“He saw the article and tried to burn every copy of the Daily Prophet so you wouldn’t see it.” Keith frowns.

“Because it makes him look bad.” Pidge rolls her eyes.

“You need to go talk to Lance.”

“I don’t know where he is.” Pidge huffs.

“C’mon.”

Keith knocked tentatively on the door Pidge said was Lance’s. They had a little house set up with rooms for each of the students and Keith was sure he was going to get lost, but Pidge managed to find their way.

“Yes?” A voice called, cracking towards the end of the word. Keith felt his heart splinter. He was aware of some people around him whispering about his appearance saying things like “the Durmstrang boy” and “Lance” and “Klance.” He ignored them.

“It’s Keith,” Keith says. Keith hears sniffles from inside.

“Can I come in?” There’s no answer. Keith takes a deep breath, opening the door.

The room was actually really neat. So neat that it made Keith felt bad about the times he brought Lance into his dorm which was utter chaos. But everything seemed to have a place, down to the pencils on the desk.

“Wow your room is so neat…” Lance rubs his eyes. They’re red and puffy.

“I organize when I’m upset…” Keith walks over to Lance’s bed, sitting next to him. Lance pulls his knees to his chest. Keith bites his lip, trying to figure out what to say.

“You look tired,” Lance says, frowning. Keith yawns.

“Maybe I didn’t sleep.” Lance looks appalled.

“Keith! You need to take care of yourself! You have a test today that’s it your skipping first and second block.” Keith smiled a little.

“What about you, Lance?” he says softly. Lance seems a bit surprised.

“What about me?” Keith frowns.

“Look Lance about last night–” Lance presses a finger to Keith’s lips. Keith looks at him with surprise.

“Keith look. I shouldn’t have asked it just made things awkward I’m sorry.”

“Lance listen to me–”

“Keith you don’t need to apologize. I understand you don’t feel the same way.” Keith grabs Lance’s hands, twining his fingers through Lance’s, his face red.

“Look I… I’m glad you asked.” Lance searches Keith’s face, looking confused. Keith shies away from him, seeming super flustered,

“Keith what–” Keith looks up at him.

“I said no to Acxa because I was waiting for you to ask me.” Lance gapes at him.

“No.. Keith just… Please don’t do this to make me feel better that’s so much worse–”

“Lance I’m not–”

“Keith really its okay if you don’t like me–” Keith has never been good with words. He knew that there was no way to tell Lance the way he felt. So he fists his hands in Lance’s shirt, pulling him close. He hesitates for a moment, their lips centimeters apart. Then, Keith kisses him.

Lance pulls away, a surprised look on his face. Keith looks at him with those eyes, those purple eyes with unreadable emotions that Lance finally understands. He kisses Keith again, his heart pounding, not sure if this was real and not caring.

When they break they look at each other for a long moment… then burst out into giggles, laying down on the bed, Keith’s legs hanging off the end and Lance’s propped against the wall. Lance looks back at Keith and Keith looks back at Lance, both of them smiling.

“So…” Keith says, grinning dorkily. Lance loved that grin. “Wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Allura helped Lance get ready for the dance because, well, he was a bi disaster.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Lance says, frowning down at his suit. Allura rolls her eyes.

“You know blue looks good on you Lance. It matches your eyes.” Lance huffs.

“I know I just… I want to make a good impression. This is our first… I guess date?” Allura just smiles.

“That boy is over the moon for you. I’m sure you could wear a trash bag and he would think your the hottest guy in the room.”

“Do I look good, Lura?” Lance says for the last time with a sigh. She smiles.

“Yes Lance, you look great.”

“Shiro where’s my tieeeeee.” Keith groans, running his hands through his hair. His outfit was almost complete, he just needed find his freaking tie.

Shiro decided that it would be a good idea to help Keith get ready for the Yule Ball for unknown reasons. He kept going on and on about how him and his boyfriend, Adam, met at a school event similar to this one. He was such a romantic it made Keith gag, although he wasn’t any better. He kept stressing, trying to make everything perfect.

“Keith. You’re wearing your tie,” Shiro says with a bored expression. Keith looks down.

“Oh.”

“You okay?” Keith bites his lip.

“What if he decides he doesn’t like me?”

“He’s not going to do that Keith.”

“What if he backs out? What if I get stood up?”

“Keith calm down.”

“What if–” Shiro grabs his shoulders.

“Lance fell in love with you, he wants to go to this dance with you.” Keith huffs.

“Alright…” Shrio smiles.

“Just be yourself. He loves that.” Keith sighs and nods.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect.

As instructed, Lance, Keith, and Pidge arrived early to go over the procedures for how they were to handle the Yule Ball. They arrived at their given time, much to to the headmasters surprise. He frowned when he saw them.

“No one got dates?” Lance coughs.

“Uh we’re together….” He takes Keith’s hand. The headmaster smiles a bit.

“My brother said he’ll dance with me.”

“Okay then. I trust you all know how this works?” Pidge nods, Keith and Lance shake their heads. He takes a deep breath.

“It is tradition that the Champions walk out once everyone has settled and do the first dance.” Keith stiffens.

“Something wrong?” Lance whispers, his brows drawn in concern.

“I can’t dance,” Keith says nervously. Lance laughs.

“No one can.” Keith pouts. They go over a few more things. People start to trickle in, mingling amongst themselves.

“You know… you look amazing tonight,” Lance says, playing with Keith’s ponytail as they wait for their cue. Keith blushes brightly.

“S-so do you!” he says defensively. Lance laughs.

“Thank you.” Keith wraps his arm around Lance, snuggling close to him. Lance felt his heart thud in his chest.

“I bet I can dance better than you,” Keith mumbles. Lance snorts.

“You’re on Kogane.”

Lance felt like he was flying. Everything about the night was perfect, and it didn’t matter that he was about to face the third trial soon. All that matters was he was sitting here, in the warm and inviting dorm of Keith Kogane, explaining what a cell phone was and how Keith needed to get one immediately. Keith seemed confused.

“Where do the messages go?” Lance laughs.

“They come to me, silly.” Keith gets that adorable, quizzical expression on his face.

“But how do they get there?”

“You’re questioning actual muggle technology proven with science but not the entirety of magic.” Keith shrugs.

“I’ve always lived around magic. I guess I never thought about it.” Lance sighs, leaning against Keith.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For just… being the most amazing person I ever met.” Keith turns to Lance, a flustered smile on his face.

“It’s only fair. You’re the most extraordinary person I ever met.” Lance blushes, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder.

“Keiiithhhhh who taught you how to flirt?” Keith laughs.

“If I recall, you did. When trying to help me get the guy I was holding out on to take me to the dance. Which was you.”

“I do recall that…”

“Remember that time I made you blush so hard you had to physically walk out of the room?”

“IN MY DEFENSE– I was not prepared for you to be that good.” Keith laughs softly.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t figure out that I liked you.” Lance huffs.

“To be fair, you didn’t figure it out either even when it was all in a nice interview tied with a bow.”

“You got me there.”

THE END

#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #keith x lance #lance x keith #laith #candy writes #klancemonth2018 #hogwarts au #klance hogwarts au

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